It
wasn’t Saturday, but it was the loneliest night of the week.
Actually, it was the loneliest night of my life. It was 1954. I
was on a boat that had just pulled out of Montevideo, Uruguay.
Three of us had left New York together, headed for our very first
missionary assignments. One stayed in Rio [Rio de Janeiro,
Brazil], and then we were two. One stayed in Montevideo, and then
I was one!I told myself that things would be better in the morning. After all, the dock in Rio had been flooded with well wishers, including those who had come to greet Elsie. There was even a band to welcome a returning athletic team! What a joyous reception Rio gave us. Then in Montevideo missionaries and others from Crandon were able to board ship and find us in our stateroom. Lois was warmly received. So now it was my turn.
Morning came, but there were no crowds to welcome the ship--only dock hands going about their business. The day was gray and rainy, the docks and warehouses a dreary gray. No band, no shouts of welcome. I gathered up my belongings and followed others down the gangplank and into the large building where luggage was taken. Milling crowds, looking for baggage, trying to find the proper lines, and nobody available to answer questions.
Finally, a young woman accompanied by a stately gentleman approached me. It was the Director and the Chairman of the Board from the school in Rosario [Argentina], where I was to serve. Helen explained that they weren't supposed to be there. Docks were off limits. (This was during the time of Peron’s presidency.) The president of the Board had managed to get them in, probably by bribing the doorkeeper. Well, I am opposed to bribery on general principles, but I must admit that I was glad to see them. Loneliness fled!