Mom’s Story, Her Dad the (unlikely) Pastor

The following is excerpted from a letter from Mom to her younger brother Jim, whose knowledge of their parents’ early story was even more sketchy than hers.

That’s my mother’s parents and two of her brothers, Rolland and Jim, along with my Dad about the time he was joining the family.

Our parents never said too much about the Allison side of the family. I do remember Daddy mentioning his time at the Elim Bible College in Rochester, New York. We had a picture of him and a few other young men in waiter’s outfits, standing in a row with large serving trays held high, in front of the college. I think that might have been in some pictures that were stolen.

That was when we lived in Pueblo, Colorado. We had to move and the folks arranged to rent a house not far from where we lived. They started taking some things to it. Later when they moved more over they found the first things had been removed. That’s how they lost all of Daddy’s early pictures, and a fine set of tools. Ironically they never did move into that house.

I don’t know how long Daddy went to that Bible College . . . it might have been only a year or so. Also I don’t know when our parents met. I think the two families knew each other for years. Sure wish I knew more.  My mother was not fond of the Allisons, so anything I heard was colored with her attitude. I remember her saying that Daddy was sent off to school TO STRAIGHTEN HIM OUT.

I do know he was pretty much self-taught.

At one time, much later, when the United Brethren denomination was establishing some rules for education of the pastors, Daddy got in under the grandfather clause. He was allowed to keep his position even though he had not gone to seminary.

I remember the system of filing sermons he developed when we lived in Yuma. One category was called “Sermons Preached at Yuma.” A second category was, “Sermons Preached at Yuma and Pleasant Valley.” That was the country church north of Yuma. Then the third category was named “Sermons Preached at Yuma, Pleasant Valley and [Another].”  I can’t remember the name of where he preached on Sunday afternoons. We kids were not required to go to that church as we went to the other two.

Many years later, during one of my parents’ extended visits from Wisconsin to our house in California, I got a telephone call from a man who said he knew Daddy WAY BACK WHEN. I have no idea how he knew the folks were with us or how he found out who we were. They were out so he talked with me, wanting to know about Daddy. When I told him he was a preacher, he just HOOTED,” John Allison a PREACHER?” His attitude gave me the idea that he had known Daddy when he was in his rebellious days and could not believe that he was any different from when he knew him.

When they got home I gave Daddy the name and phone number but did not mention the man’s crude remarks. Daddy seemed a little ill at ease and I don’t think he ever returned the call. I wish I had saved that number, but didn’t feel I had the right to follow through on that.