The Ladies Page


| May/June 1975


It is that time of year again when dedicated steam brothers are tuning up their engines for reunions all across the country, and their wives are wondering whether their men are black or white as they emerge from those cumbersome machines. I have, now and again, washed some decidedly sooty clothes myself

Many of our ladies are as busily cleaning house as the women we regularly see on the heading of the Ladies' Page. Certainly we often go our separate ways in interests, but there is a crucial need that we never break communication between ourselves and those nearest and dearest to us. I learned in February of this year what misery a barrier in communication can cause. ' On the last evening of January I boarded a Greyhound Bus for Kansas City, Kansas. Our eldest 'daughter and her family live near DeSoto, Kansas. We telephoned to let her know I was coming. She was excited and overjoyed. 'Now remember,' my worried husband informed her, 'she is coming to the Kansas City, Kansas Bus Station.' 'Ginni murmured her assent on the other end of the line.

Cross-country bus travel was a new experience for me. I carefully carried my money in a small shoulder bag underneath my coat, also my round-trip ticket, whilst struggling with a suitcase and a tote bag. I wasn't about to give anybody my luggage. I wanted my clothes there with me. I have heard too many stories of lost luggage.

I safely made it through Chicago and onto the St. Louis bus. In the early morning hours as I waited in St. Louis a fine looking young man sat down beside me. I soon learned he was a ministerial student from the Nazarene Seminary in K.C. He immediately took me under his wing. He couldn't have been nicer to his own mother. He checked my bags with his while we waited for our next bus. We roamed the station, talking of many things. It was just like a having a son along. He helped me on the next bus and we travelled on toward Kansas City, Missouri. Here he left me and I continued on to K.C, Kansas.

There was no one waiting to meet me when I got there. Right then Ginni was having me paged in the K.C, Missouri bus station. Soon the telephone rang. 'Do we have a Mrs. Alfred Baber here?' a voice rang out from the desk. 'Yes! Yes!' I almost shouted. 'I'm here.'


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