Back in 1947 the biggest worry Southern Baptists had was the plight of millions of black Africans. We did not know any black Africans in Stonewall and only had a vague idea where Africa was. The church created missionary programs to let us know. These soon became sacred bureaucracies such as the WMU (Women’s Missionary Union) whose job was to promote and educate the church about the plight of our overseas missionaries and their unsaved black clients located in a place called Africa. Their focus (it seemed to me) was on a lady named Lottie Moon who for some reason spent her life in China, preaching to the Chinese. I figured they must have lost Africans in China too.

Most missionary work like that was run and promoted by our Baptist Women. Noticing that their male members did not seem to care much about the pressing needs of those on the mission fields, the ladies founded something for little boys called Royal Ambassadors. The RA in Stonewall was duly formed and a heavy-set woman put in charge. She started a class which educated the 7 or 8 boys (ordered by their WMU mama’s) to be there. She led our education about these Africans and our responsibilities to them and then fed us some little sandwiches and Kool-Aid. For a reward, she let us take the “Church basketball” outside and told us we could play awhile and then go home. Meeting over.

Once outside, we were usually allowed to shoot goals and have a wrestling contest, put the basketball back and go home. The church had but one flushing toilet. We were not allowed to use it since the old outdoor toilet still stood outside. We used that. Made us feel like missionaries, I guess. That said, let me introduce a little boy named Billy. He lived next door to the church and when we came out he did too. Since we did not allow him to play with us, he was on his own.

This brings me to my real story. The boy found the outdoor one-holetoilet interesting and always migrated to it. Why, I will never know. But one day we heard a commotion. Someone announced that little Billy had fallen into the toilet hole. The toilet being full, the contaminated lad was able to stand but not get out of his nasty predicament and those of us who were not concerned with things like E. Coli., quickly grabbed hold of his slippery arms and pulled him to safety. Well, sort of.

His mama, a somewhat nervous woman, a member of the WMU herself, found all of us in her back yard. We had stripped little Billy of his overalls and he stood rather naked, afraid, and crying. I got the garden hose and had started squirting cold water on him. The other boys trying to hold him still. His mama took over the squirting and crying. It was perhaps the worst thing I had ever seen since Slim Hamilton had drowned in Buck Creek. We resuscitated Slim but had little hope for Billy. We finally got so much “stuff” off him that we moved to another cleaner place and his mama came forth with some soap. We all pitched in and helped. No one went home.

Finally, little Billy’s mom got him clean enough to go in the bathtub. He was now probably the cleanest little boy in Stonewall. The next Thursday we all met, again, at the Baptist Church and our leader told us more about the poor people in Africa. Little Billy was a no show. As was the old toilet.

Two years ago, I met up with this “boy” and we chatted awhile and you know, I didn’t ask him a word about his brave dive so many years ago into the toilet hole at the Baptist Church in Stonewall. I do not know if that had anything to do with that, but the RA’s quit meeting and vanished from my memory. Except for the toilet hole incident.

I hope you all have a good week and perhaps remember to thank God that we live in rural Oklahoma during these hard-social times. Do not forget to go to church Sunday. Yes, I finally got to say it.

Wayne Bullard, DPh

cwaynebullard@gmail.com