The Emancipation of Robert Sadler (24 page)

In February of 1947 I left Detroit for Bucyrus, Ohio. I rented a room, had a telephone put in, and took out an ad in the newspaper to clean carpets and upholstery. I received so many calls I could hardly handle the work. In three months' time Jackie was able to join me.

I tried to get a job as a machinist but I was always turned down, even though I was qualified and had plenty of experience. One day a white man and I were in the employment office at Swan Rubber. We got to talking and discovered we were both applying for machinist work. When I went in for the interview the personnel manager told me the jobs were filled and there were none left. The white man who went in after me got the job and was told they were still hiring.

I tried to get a job at Timken Ball Bearing when they advertised for men, but when I applied they said there were no jobs. The same happened at Ohio Crane. The only jobs I could get were cleaning toilets or pushing a broom. Finally I got my gumption up and carried myself to the office of the vice president at Swan Rubber. I told him I needed a job and I gave him my qualifications. I told him if they was hiring whites, they must have openings. The vice president sat in his big chair listening to me and then he went to the personnel office and insisted they hire me at the plant.

I stayed on that job and years later a new white personnel manager was hired at Swan Rubber and he was sympathetic toward Blacks. He told me that he would hire any Negro I sent to him. I traveled to the neighboring towns of Crestline, Marion, Fostoria, Wyandot, Galion, Mansfield, and Tiffin with the news, and the man kept his word and hired the men I sent.

———

We stayed in Bucyrus for four years and in August of 1951 we packed the car with our belongings and moved to Clemson, South Carolina.

I got a job as a baker in the kitchen of Clemson College, even though I didn't know a lot about baking. Jackie worked in the college laundry.

Jackie and I loved children and we had none of our own. We began a children's Bible class and thirty children came every week to these meetings. Then we were invited to have a children's radio program, so each week we brought a group of children to the radio station for our program. We sang mostly, and Jackie told a Bible story in her sweet, gentle voice.

Jackie wanted the Lord to help her be a blessing to others and she complained to me one morning before going to her job, “Honey, I'd sure like to lead someone to the Lord. Seem like I just never get the opportunity.” You see, Jackie and I knew that the only way to live a life worthwhile or in any way with hope and dignity was to have a deep relationship with God. I nearly died without Him, and Jackie's good and decent life was without the fire of love. What I called love before I gave my life to God was more like need.

———

That morning at the laundry Jackie was praying with a lady friend and she prayed for people who were lost without God. A man was walking by the laundry door and he heard her praying. He began to cry. Minutes later, he walked into the laundry and turned his life over to the Lord.

I took Jackie to nearby Anderson for a visit. This was the last time I saw my father. He died a few months later.

Buck and Corrie Moore were living in Anderson, not far from Margie. They lived in a run-down shack just like everybody else in the neighborhood. There was an arbor of ivy over their walk leading to the broken wooden steps, and along it grew honeysuckle and roses. I couldn't wait to see them again. I ran into Buck's arms, and we rocked, embraced, and carried on, promising we'd never lose touch again.

Things in Anderson were not good. Many of our people couldn't get jobs. The good jobs went to the white men, and the Negroes had to take the lowest and dirtiest jobs for the least pay. Many black men worked two and three jobs just to put enough food on the table.

Very upsetting to me was the number of cults that black people were trapped in. Charlatans who professed to be God, or God's “prophet,” were exploiting the people. One such man was Daddy Grace. They even worshiped his picture and forked over their money to his cult in hopes of receiving his blessing. Witchcraft, voodoo, and Satanism were very dominant among the black people of the South. Sound Bible teaching was needed because the devils behind the cults kept people in bondage, kept them sick, poor, and miserable.

I wanted so much to help my people. I cried out to God night and day for them. I wasn't afraid of the white man. I refused to bow and say, “Yes, Cap'n. No, Cap'n.” But many of the people in Anderson were still doing it. They didn't know they were supposed to be free.

Someday, Lord,
I prayed,
I'll see black people and white people living together and worshiping a wise and good God as His children. Someday I'll see us sharing the world and respecting each other. Someday, Lord, there'll be an end to the wars in men's hearts. . . . Oh, someday, someday, Lord, it won't be like this no more.

“Do you love me, Robert?”

“Yes, Lord!”

“Will you help my people, Robert?”

“Yes, Lord!”

“Will you feed the poor, clothe the naked, comfort the mourning—?”

“Yes, yes, Lord!”

“Will you go without food? Without a place to sleep? Will you be content with want as well as abundance?”

“Oh, I will, Lord!”

“Will you trust me?”

“Yes, yes, I'll trust you, Lord!”

“Robert, go. Minister in my name. I am with you.”

It was many hours before I stumbled out of the living room that afternoon in Clemson. I had been praying, asking God to use me in a greater way, and God had spoken to me. I knew in the deepest part of me that He had called me as a minister even with no education and no formal training. I had a big love in my heart and soul for Him and I was willing to do anything and go anywhere for Him.

I was forty-one years old, and it was nearing Christmastime of 1952. I was laid off at the bakery and looking for work again. I strolled along the Clemson College campus, passed Tillman Hall with its big clock tower, and I prayed to the Lord.
Here I is, out of work again, Lord. Where shall I go? Where shall I go?
I met one of the men who worked with me in the bakery, and we walked together under the broad arms of the oak and white cedar trees. He told me they were hiring in Birmingham, Alabama. I went home, packed a grip, kissed Jackie good-bye, and drove to Birmingham, singing “Thank you, Jesus” all the way.

I got a job working on the railroad on a tie gang, and when that ended I found work painting houses. One day coming home from work, I saw two scrubby little boys standing at the edge of the road. They were dirty, needed haircuts, and wore shoes without socks or laces.

The Spirit of the Lord spoke to me and told me to talk to them. “Why don't you put some laces in those shoes?” I asked them.

“Because we don't got no money,” they told me. I took them to the store and bought them some shoelaces and told them to ask their father if I could give them a haircut.

That night the pastor of the church I was attending told me to stay away from this family. “The father is an evil man,” he said. “He hates preachers, and he'll stick a knife to you just as soon as look at you.”

“Well, praise the Lord,” I said. “I'm going over there first thing tomorrow.”

And I did. “I'm a minister of the Lord,” I announced when a surly looking black man opened the door. “I'm the one who bought your boys shoelaces.” He said nothing. “I told them to tell you that I'd like to cut their hair.” I smiled at him. “For free.”

He stepped back, squinting, and said, “Come on in.” I walked into a dark, cluttered room with beer cans, dirty clothes, papers, dishes, and toys piled everywhere. He closed the door behind us.

“You a minister, hunh?” I nodded, still smiling. “Hold it right there then. Before you cut my boys' hair . . .”

My heart began to pump faster. What was he going to do? He had the most evil look about him.

“Before you cut their hair, would you—would you—?” He fidgeted and lowered his eyes. “Would you—pray for me?”

If my jaw fell and my eyes bugged out, the man didn't seem to mind. “Of course I'll pray for you,” I said.

I didn't cut just one boy's hair, I cut the hair of everyone in the family. That family bowed their heads and let me pray for them. I explained how Jesus loved each of them and wanted to give them strength and wisdom and an overcoming life. They each prayed and gave their hearts to the Lord that afternoon. Later I stayed and helped the mother clean the living room and wash the dishes. We had a song and prayer meeting there that lasted most of the night.

I stayed in Birmingham a couple of months, and then when work ran out, I went back home. Jackie and I had a couple of weeks together, and news came that there was work in Asheville, North Carolina. I packed my grip and traveled to Asheville.

The only work I could find in Asheville was shining shoes in a hotel. In a couple of weeks I found extra work doing gardening, painting houses, and then digging ditches. I knew that God was fully aware of my situation; He saw that I couldn't get skilled work even though I was qualified. He saw me shining shoes hundreds of miles away from home in order to be a man and support my wife. Nothing escaped His eye.

I knew that I would be of no use to the Lord if I allowed myself to be bitter. “I trust you, Lord; I know you're with me.” I told myself to start being grateful and to enjoy the hilly, beautiful town and its people.

I stayed in Asheville a couple of months, and then the Lord told me to return to Bucyrus. Happily driving along the highway, I could see the Paris Mountains, splendid and dusty in the distance, and I saw glassy lakes, streams, lush forests, and rolling hills.

The wisdom of the Lord in placing us in northern Ohio was geographically perfect and a blessing to us and to my ministry. I arrived in time to receive a job offer that would allow me the freedom to travel and minister.

The job for us in Bucyrus was on a large farm just outside of town. We were provided with a little house to live in and a small salary for cleaning the big house, keeping the yard, and doing general handyman jobs. We stayed there until 1955.

I started getting calls to come minister in town and in other towns nearby, and even some far away. The Lord usually sent me to small groups—home meetings, struggling churches, hospitals, and prisons. Many times He would send me several miles away for just one or two people who were in need. I ministered to as many white folk as black folk.

Often while working in the yard or painting a house I would hear the Spirit of the Lord tell to me to go somewhere or to help someone in need. I would try to get alone as soon as possible so I could pray, be quiet, and wait on Him for direction. Many times I had to wait for a day or two. I fasted, prayed, and read the Bible, listening for Him to tell me where He wanted me to go. Then when I knew He had spoken, I would prepare to leave.

In 1954 I was asked to hold some meetings in St. Louis and Potosi, Missouri. The Lord had blessed me with a portable pump organ, and I took it with me to Missouri.

Not far from Potosi there is a small town of about 300 people called Mineral Point. A handful of people were attending a tiny, run-down church with no pastor, and they asked me to come minister to them. They told me they didn't have any money to pay me. I said, “I don't want your money. I just want to help you.”

The first night I ministered, the people seemed cold and distant. I felt there was a spiritual wall between us. I prayed that night, “Lord, break down that wall. Whatever it takes, Lord, break it down.”

I didn't know that the Lord was getting ready to do just that.

The next night I went out to my car to go to the meeting. I started the car up and then went back into the house to get my Bible. When I came out, I saw the car rolling down the hill toward a swamp below. Though it was getting dark, I ran stumbling through high weeds and brush, trying to catch up with that car.

I saw it heading for a tree. “Please, Lord, stop it on that tree!” But the car rolled right past the tree. I sure didn't want it to end up in the swamp—it would be close to impossible to salvage from there. Another tree came in view. I prayed, “Oh, Lord, stop it on that tree,” but the car brushed right past the tree. I was running with all my strength, but I couldn't get hold of the door. The car plunged into the swamp, and I watched it sink slowly, nose first, until only the back half of the car poked out of the tangle of weeds and mud.

I stood there, out of breath, scratched, my clothes torn, my car gone—and suddenly I began to laugh. A song came to my mind and I began to sing.

I'll say Amen to Jesus,

Amen all the time,

It's Amen when in sorrow,

It's Amen rain or shine. . . .

I stayed by the swamp for about fifteen minutes praising the Lord, laughing, and singing.

An old couple up on a house on the hill saw the whole thing and they saw me laughing and praising the Lord. They were amazed. Word quickly got around that the preacher's car had gotten wrecked but he was still praising Jesus. That night there were twice as many people in church, and the atmosphere was entirely different. “Brother Sadler's car is wrecked, and we never saw a happier preacher,” they said. God had broken down the barrier between us and they trusted me.

I stayed there three months holding meetings nearly every night. I worked during the day cleaning up the church building—fixing, building, and painting it—and at night I held meetings. A spirit of trust and genuine caring replaced fear and bitterness. I became pastor of that church and traveled back and forth from Mineral Point to Bucyrus for the next five years.

I was preparing to leave for home after that first long stay in Mineral Point when Jackie called and read a letter that had come for me. It was from a fourteen-year-old girl in Sinking Spring, Pennsylvania.

“Brother Sadler, please come,” it read. “Come here because my father is an alcoholic and he need Jesus bad. Please come and pray for my father.”

The letter touched me, but I didn't have enough money to get to Pennsylvania. The Lord had been teaching me to trust Him, however, and so I prayed. I felt the Lord's approval to go to Sinking Spring to see this girl's father. The insurance company had paid enough money for me to get another car, this time a '52 Ford, and so I left Mineral Point with no money in my pocket, a tank full of gas, and a thousand miles ahead of me.

I couldn't take the turnpike without any money because of the tolls, so through the mountains I went. As I drove, suddenly the Holy Spirit spoke to me and said, “Stop here.” I thought I had heard wrong and kept driving. Finally I knew that I had to obey the Holy Spirit. I turned around and went back to the spot He had told me to stop. When I got to the place, He spoke to me again and told me to take out my portable organ and set it up on the side of the road. I shrugged and set it up, even though I wanted to question Him. He spoke again and told me to play. I asked, “What shall I play, Lord?” He told me to play “Softly and Tenderly Jesus Is Calling.”

So there at the side of a mountain, with wilderness all around me, the sun high in the clear blue sky, I began to play. Cars went by, and I saw faces staring at me as though they were seeing things. I must have been a sight playing my pump organ and singing away in the weeds by the woods in the mountains. I didn't care. I was just lifted up in the Holy Spirit and having a wonderful time. I sang all the verses to “Softly and Tenderly” over and over again. I waited for the Holy Spirit to tell me that was enough, or to sing something else, but I didn't hear Him, so I kept on playing,

Softly and tenderly Jesus is calling,

Calling for you and for meeee . . .

I could hear the sound of my voice echoing in the mountains. I was sweating in the heat. The sun was high in the sky.

Come home, come home,

Calling O sinner, come hoooome . . .

The heat of the afternoon gave way to a nice breeze, and on I played. The same song, over and over. When evening began to fall, I was starting to get thirsty, but on I played.

Come home, come home,

Ye who are weary, come home;

Earnestly, tenderly, Jesus is calling,

Calling, O sinner, come home!

Hearing something behind me, I thought it was a bear and I played even faster.

Comehome comehome, c
allingOsinnercomehome!

I turned around and saw a man with a young boy of about nine years. They were staring at me with wonder.

“We came closer so we could hear you,” the man called to me. “We've been listening since you started singing.” I hadn't finished the hymn yet, so I continued singing as the man and boy stood listening.

Come home, come home,

Ye who are weary, come home;

Earnestly, tenderly, Jesus is calling,

Calling, O sinner, come home!

The man's face was flushed and tears were streaming down his cheeks. Then, through tears, he told me, “I was in the Korean War—overseas. I was in the front lines and I got shot. Bad. They rushed me to the hospital, and then they put me in the death room. I began to pray. I had Christian parents, and I knew they were home praying for me—” His voice broke.

“I made a vow there on my dying bed. ‘Heal me, Lord,' I prayed. ‘Let me get home to America again, and I promise I'll change my life and live for you all the days of my life.'” He wiped his face with the back of his hand. “The Lord healed me and brought me home—but I didn't keep my promise. I've been living in these mountains—hiding out—trying to get away from God ever since.

“God sent you here,” he cried. “I can't stand hearing, ‘Come home, come home, calling, O sinner, come home' one minute longer!”

I stayed there with the man and his son for several hours. He took me to his cabin, where he fed me pemmican and rice, chokeberries, and hot apple tea. When I left him, he looked like a different man, at peace and restored to God. He told me he felt like he was let out of a cage. He wanted to call his wife and go home.

I got into my car that night praising God. I drove along humming to myself and thanking God for His tender mercies, and after a while I noticed that the fuel gauge was on empty. If the Lord wanted me to get to Pennsylvania, He'd have to take care of that. I was feeling sleepy, so I pulled over to the side of the road and fell asleep.

I woke early in the morning and started out again. The gas gauge still said
E
for
empty
. I reached the southern border of Illinois and driving through a small town I noticed a church at the side of the road that looked like a good place to stop for Sunday service. The sight of people streaming into a church was so good that I felt I just had to join them. I pulled over and went inside. The white pastor saw me and came over to give me a nice welcome. Discovering I was a minister, he asked me if I'd like to minister at the evening service. He invited me to Sunday dinner at his house, and what a feast it was. Pork roast, corn on the cob, mashed potatoes and gravy, green beans and bacon, lemon-carrot Jell-O salad, icy glasses of milk, and banana cream pie for dessert.