A SKY PILOT OF THE DESERT

Evening Star, Issue 18031, 27 July 1922, Page 2

A SKY PILOT OF THE DESERT

When William D. Hhnobaugh was past thirty he was a street car conductor in Terra Haute, Indiana. One day a minister, who was getting on Himebaugh’s car, asked him to com© to church, and told him that one .Sunday iff every throe months was set aside to receive new members.

The conductor dismissed Hi© matter from his mind, for Sunday was a work day with him, like every other day. But one evening lie happened to be passing the cordial preacher’s church just at the. dose of prayer meeting, and he stepped -inside. The pastor recognised him, and asked him if lie wouldn't join the church the following Sunday.

■‘ .Sundays are uncertain with me,’’ said Himobangk “Why not to-night?" The result was that not only Ilimobaugh, but sixteen others joined then and there. From that time the car conductor throw himself into religious activity with all his heart, even persuading his employers to arrange his runs so that he could teach a Sunday'school class. His first job was to tame a gang of “ river rats," who made their annual break into the Sunday school just before Christmas. llimobaugh did this job so well, and tho work appealed to him so strongly, that when he moved later to Peoria- * Heights, Illinois, he walked, into the Sunday school and asked if he could try his luck with a class of (boys. “You can if you go out and get them,” was the challenging reply. He did this so successfully that before long his class was larger than all tho rest of the school put together.

Later he left the street car company, and worked ten hoars a day in a machine chop, so that lie could put. in his evenings gathering recruits for the Sunday school. Finally lie gave up his job altogether, and went into home missionary work.

linen a call came to lake charge of Sunday school work in a large district in South Dakota, he went'there, and organised fifty schools in two years. Fourteen churches grew out of these schools. At the end of these two years the Presbyterian Boaid of Sabbath School Work gave him the whole State of Arizona as his field. And for sixteen years he has gone up and down and across its thirteen thousand square miles, living a life of hardship and privation, hut carrying always the flaming torch of unquenchable enthusiasm.

He goes from one little schoolhouse to another, asking how many of the children attend Sunday schorl. At one place, near Phoenix, out of twenty-six children, net one raised a hand in response to his question : but when ho nsk?d how many would go to Sunday school if they could, every hand shot up. Ho tiavcis from one to two thousand miles every mouth, by burro or horseback, by train or battered automobile, often sleeping on piles of cow hides, or on store counters, on the ilrior of a schoolhouse, or on a bed of rags in some Mexican hut. Roughly estimated, about one-fourth of Arizona’s school children arc Mexicans, and about one-tcnt!i are Americans. Moreover, less, than half of the remaining fifty - ono thousand boys and girls are in any Protestant Sunday school. This will give an idea of the size of Himebaugh’s job.

Wherever a schoolhouse stands baugli has found his opportunity. It makes no difference whether the schoolhouse be a- brown adobe hut out in the sago bush, set off; by red buttes and distant blue mountains, or the little shack within eaishot of saloon row. or gambling alky—now a tiling of the past—or tho up-to-date brick school in the* midst of prosperous ranches. When invited to bring her children to Sunday school, one mother of eight young hopefuls pleaded that- Johnny had no coat, and Willie had no shoes, and so on down the lino. She added that, even though they could go without proper clothing, their wasrgoi) was not big enough to carry the whole family at one time. But llimebaugh made his little car serve as a chariot, .and Sunday morning saw it bulging with youngsters —a veritable Sunday school cn wheels.

Once an ugly , resident drew a revolver on him at the mere mention of Sunday school, and then' went about town boasting what lie would do to the jireacher. Of course, the schoolhouse was packed to see the fun; bat-the missionary, blissfully ignorant, preached as never before, and tho “braggart ” slunk home in silence. More oltcn there was only a handful of people. At Winkolmau there were so few that they laughed at him; but utter a struggle of two years a" 250-do!!ar frame building took shape, and Himebaugh himself helped to build it. A few weeks later a sever© wind storm swept over, and tho church went down before it.. Now, however, a 5,000-dollar building' in brick and cement, in charge of a pastor of ability, stands as an acknowledgment ol his persistence.

“I had fourteen dollars expense and only brought- back two dollars collection in return,” reported one minister, who had offered to go to one town during Himcbaugh's illness. “ There is no use keeping up that place.” But a 5,030-doliar church now flourishes in “that place,” just because Himebaugh never gives up. He has dedicated more than one saloon building with a Sunday school.

The Sunday school missionary must follow more than the Sunday school hobby. He is there to meet the needs of the people. So, heartily he answers every beck and call, and makes good ns a ready helper in a niro variety of ways. “ For people will take just the interest in you that you take in them,” he declares. Mrs Job Thompson asks him to please find her a good milk goat, and Willie Nelson asks him to Ining a pair of Belgian hares on his next trip. One dear sou! one.:' left nwatch in Phomix to be repaired. She had misplaced the check—she didn’t just remember the jeweller’s name nor where he was located; but Himebaugli proved himself a successful Sherlock Holmes, and brought tho watch on his return tiip. Starting a day school was a part of his job iil Alia mi, when it was "but a small camp with about seventy-five clil'dren. He took subscriptions and hired the teacher, then turned over to their use the Sunday school bidding which the mining company had donated. Now, after’ ton years, Miami is a bnstlinjr city of twelve thousand, with an up-to-date school .system, a 40,000-dollar Y.AI.C.A., and a 35,000-dollar church to be built where no oiio at the time thought even a Sunday school worth while.

Then there' are The funerals—for saloon keepers, cattlemen, .suicides.' The casket rests on two front desks, the aohoolhouse is pitched with those who are accustomed to hear little of religion and arc ready to throw stones if the preacher docs not ringtrue. And as they gather at llie_rockv little patch of i ground by the railroad, where a few ' fenced-in' graves 'Huddle together in the jungle of rnesquite, they think the thoughts of eternity for the first time, perhaps, in years. 1 ‘ I have the greatest thing on God * earth,” llimeb.iush ardently declares in the face of his uphill job. “ Even- day as I grow older I thunk 1 have the chance to do The most wonderful work on the face of the earth, because others do not seem to want to-do it.”

The challenge of lire situation stirs him ■to his greatest effort,, for the people of his flock arc like hires on the wthg. J here is a chance for only one shot. I* misses, most likely he has lest. The inspiration of the .only shot fires him with a zeal that an ordinary congregation coiud not kindle. Such earnest entliusineni ifl his very mainspring .of action, and. coupled with backbone and hammering hard wor.t, makes tor vital and ■ far-fe!t results.— Luella llicc, in ‘American Magazine.’