In a bit of serendipity across decades, a high-school friend of my brother’s wrote recently to say she is now singing in the choir at a church in Berkeley, a church my grandfather founded, and did I have any memories, any souvenirs, to share.
My mother’s father died in 1966, and, since we grew up in southern California, we didn’t visit all that often. So, any memories are necessarily distant. Mainly I remember Easter – which seems to be the time we visited most – my sisters in rustling dresses, me in slippery, polished leather shoes and starched collars (stiff anyway) that pressed into my neck as we sat for what seemed an eternity in the wooden pews.
Rev. Laurance L. Cross came from a long line of Alabama preachers, a Presbyterian who found that denomination constricting. (more…)