Englewood slopes down from the Palisades above the Hudson River, and the Eastern hill section was considered the best residential area. The Erie Railroad tracks cutting north and south were the dividing line. Technically we lived on "the wrong side of the tracks", meaning the western side, but since we were within a block of the border of Tenafly to the north, we were still in a very pleasant neighborhood with some very substantial homes as well as more modest ones. The southwestern quarter of the town was known as Ward 4 or "Texas". That's where the poorest homes and all the black population lived.

Our parents chose to go to the First Presbyterian Church, which was the largest and most imposing church on the east side. The only other church in town that compared to it socially was the Episcopal Church. The little Dutch Reformed Church next door to our house was not challenging enough. My parents didn't go to the Presbyterian Church to be "social". They liked intelligent sermons, and the First Church not only attracted outstanding speakers, but also had among its membership distinguished theologians and scholars like Robert E. Speer, Henry Pitney Van Dusen and Henry Smith Leiper. During the time I was growing up I heard Reinhold Niebuhr, Halford Luccock, George Buttrick and other famous preachers there.

A mile and a half seemed like a long walk to reach the church. If one took the trolley for one mile, one arrived at the main street (Palisade Avenue), and then,after walking past a row of shops, one had to climb the steep hill to the corner of Dana. Still, it was the most conspicuous Protestant church in town with its sturdy stone and masonry construction surmounted by tower, steeple and Celtic cross. Its architecture was between late Romanesque and Early Gothic and had been completed in about 1880 though many improvements had been made since. It was originally built to seat, 800 but when the transepts were rebuilt and enlarged it must have seated more than that.

My impressions of my childhood church experience were as regular as eating and sleeping. The week seemed to center around Sunday. Saturday was the day for all the shoes to be shined, and a clean change of clothes to be laid out. The only complete bath of the week occurred Saturday night. One sponge bathed every day, but Saturday night meant a tub scrubbing and every other week one's hair was washed with Ivory soap. At one period I remember mother would make Boston Brown Bread and baked beans every Saturday, and after our baths, we were put to bed and we had supper in bed on a tray. I like to think that my mother and father then enjoyed a wonderful romantic evening downstairs. I'm sure they did. Knowing how much they were in love with each other was one of the lovely unspoken facts of my childhood.

Sunday morning would start with a better breakfast than usual, maybe hard rolls and bacon and eggs instead of hot cereal, with everyone seated in his Sunday best. Then off to the church in our old Buick. "Sunday best" doesn't mean much to children who have a closet full of clothes, but our Sunday clothes were carefully inspected. Even after church one was expected to act Sundayish. We might have company for Sunday dinner or supper. There might be games or reading or learning Bible verses. We weren't allowed to play cards on Sunday. Sometimes the whole family would go for a long walk together.

Carl Hopkins Elmore is the only minister I can remember. His voice was even lower than my father's. He always wore high buttoned shoes and seemed very old and wise. Actually he was about 40--he married the poet Amelia Josephine Burr in 192l when he was 43. Though I was too young to attend the wedding, I remember very distinctly that this was an important event. Mr. Elmore (he never allowed himself to be called Dr. though he could have been entitled to it) was a man set apart. He didn't act like the rest of the people in the church and he didn't look like them. He spoke like a prophet. His eyes were warm beneath beetling dark eyebrows. He symbolized authority. He was authority.

Mrs.Elmore was something else. She was taller than he and had a kind of swooping motion. She seemed careful to conserve her presence as "the gracious lady", never perturbed, but never too friendly or intimate either. At one time she was my Sunday School teacher. I remember thinking vaguely that I liked her even though I didn't think my parents liked her much. She could be nicer to children as the grand lady than she could be to her contemporaries I suspect.

The thing I liked the best about church was the Children's Homily. I got "homily" and "hominy" mixed up. Now it would be called the Children's sermon. After the opening hymn and prayer Mr. Elmore, who never had any children himself, would bring forth some visual display geared to our level. For instance, one Sunday he brought out a very large glass pitcher and filled it loosely with oak leaves. Then he showed us that you could fill it again with smaller objects, then again with rice and finally I think he even added some water. The point was that even though you might think your life was full, you could add a lot more.

He loved to tell about things that bad children did, then turn it around and show how good children could behave and how much happier they would be. My mother was very critical of the way he made the bad children sound much more attractive than the good children. According to her this was terrible pedogogically. I didn't know the big words, but I knew that there was something bad about the children's sermons. But I thought they were lovely--I enjoyed hearing about the bad children and then feeling nice and good and smug when the good ones came on the scene. I doubt if my mother ever realized how seriously I took her opinions.

I remember being uncertain about what happened during the prayers--that is if I should open my eyes during the prayers: I knew I was supposed to keep my eyes closed, and I fairly screwed my face up keeping them tight shut, but if I should open them would I see angels? Or would God somehow punish me? Like Pandora's box, the temptation was irresistable, and the day came when I did open my eyes. Perhaps this was the very first of a long series of disillusionments. If there had been a sudden clap of thunder, I wonder if my whole life might have been different. Somewhere I had also acquired the notion that a soul looked like a rectal thermometer. I knew you had a body, and a mind which I could feel in my head. But your soul was invisible and that was the only thing I could think of that was transparent I guess.

I think of the F.P.C. (as we later called it) as having been inhabited by two kinds of people who could be very crudely classified as rich Christians and Pagan snobs. And then there were a handful of unrich individualists like us. At least looking back I think of our parents as being individualists--I'm not sure what I was. The rich Christians included men like Dr. T.H.Powers Sailer, Dr. Robert E. Speer, The Prentice family, Mrs. Harris Ely Adriance, etc. They were incredibly wonderful people for their time or any time. The church supported a variety of essential social projects, many of which were not advertised. Scholarships to needy students, inter-racial and inter-faith projects, visits to New York settlements with financial support, besides a host of mission projects. It is easy to look back from our vantage point and think that of course this is government's responsibility, especially in an era that makes fun of the traditional Christian do-gooder. But I am sure that people were saved from starvation and from despair by our church leaders. When I was trying to work my way through college in the depths of the Depression, an anonymous scholarship from the First Presbyterian Church helped me through.

And I'm not sure about the pagan snobs. Of course there were new dentists and other professionals who came to town and joined the "right church" in order to make contacts. And I've long since realized how unfair such categorizing of people is. Actually there was a considerable mellowing of some of the more rigid aspects of snobbery during the Depression.

However, I knew none of this as a child. I saw a sea of elegant furred and feathered people with soft kid gloves, matching outfits, exuding a variety of subtle perfumes. They were as far removed from Cleveland School as if I had gone to a different continent once a week.

The children of the congregation were something else. Many of them attended private school and, besides being over- privileged and over-indulged, were more than ready to pass on the vicious patterns of snobbery they were a part of. I suffered a fair amount of ridicule and teasing. When I was in Mrs. Foote's Sunday School class, boxes of envelopes were passed out to each child, and we went around the room announcing our pledge per week for the year. I remember the amount of $2.50 a week as being an amount the richer kids were pledging. When it came my turn I had to say 5 cents. After all, my allowance was l5 cents per week and, of that, 5 cents also had to go to church in addition to the 5 cents for Sunday School.

Years later I happened to be standing behind Mrs. Foote on my way into Virginia Sprague's wedding. Virginia was from one of the "humbler" families of the church, though her father was an attorney in good standing. I overheard the usher ask Mrs. Foote, "Are you a friend of the bride or the groom?" And then I heard Mrs. Foote sort of stutter and finally say, "Well, really neither..." with the clear implication that the most degrading thing one could do would be to associate oneself with anyone in a lower social bracket than oneself.

Yet, I also remember Mrs. Foote having the Sunday School class over for tea. I loved being in her elegant home, even if I felt a little like a charity case. Mrs. Adriance was the one who really relished entertaining the children of the church. Her large home was almost across the street from the church, and every year she would invite our Girl Scout troop over for a party. The butler and the maids, the candelabra, the elegant finger food, the Bergendahl ice-cream in molds,--she never stinted on anything, and she always acted as if we were as important as anyone in the church.

One of the real Christians was Sophie Prentice. I barely remember the death of her husband. They had three grown daughters, Anna, Miriam and Elouise. They always had a Christmas party to which we were invited and a particular transparent kind of sugar animals that were given out for candy. Much more tasty were the slim vanilla sticks filled with soft chocolate. Sophie was a poet and I'm sure she was interested in my mother because of their common interests. Mrs. Prentice had organized the "Sunshine Club" for girls from about 5 to 8 years old. This was before Brownie Scouts existed. We met either at her home or at the church and emphasized good manners and refreshments. That is where I tasted my first oreo cookie and my first Nabisco wafer-- we called the latter "ice-cream cookies", and somehow I thought they were mysteriously filled with ice cream.

When I was 10 a Girl Scout troop was formed, and I became its first president. I learned a lot from this experience, studying and working on merit badges and projects. I remember a mammoth mother-daughter banquet we put on. I had to make the gingerbread which called for 34 cups of flour. Dividing it in two batches, that was still 17 cups to be measured and blended with all the other ingredients--there were no package mixes, nor mixmasters in those days. I remember getting very angry at one of my best friends, Claire Gorman, who kept horsing around when I was really desperate. She had no experience in cooking or taking responsibility, and I was overwhelmed with the sheer physical task of getting the batter stirred. It wasn't well mixed but it still came out all right.

I'll never forget our first "Overnight Camping Trip". I had never been camping before. Some of the girls were driven by chauffeurs and others in private cars. We went to a lake near Bear Mountain and settled in for the night. The next morning, Evelyn Langmuir, Mary Kerr and I awakened early and wandered down to the boat landing. We had all learned how to swim and to row, and without feeling any particular duty to anyone else, we climbed into a rowboat and took off. First we rowed around a bend of the lake, then we got absorbed in looking for mud turtles, then we beached our craft and explored a bit; time was no object. After some more rowing and exploring we got tired and headed back for the dock. Four or five hours had passed and it was time for lunch.

Someone on shore spotted us coming, and by the time we pulled up by the dock, every member of the party was lined up on shore with the leaders looking full of mingled consternation and relief. Now I sympathize with Miss Murphy and the other leaders. At the time I was bewildered at the fuss. If they had had helicopters, I think we would have been intercepted earlier, but the leaders were clearly panicked. We were told that we were to be kicked out of the troop. Protestations of innocent intentions were all in vain. I was eligible to become an Eagle Scout the next year and the threat of expulsion was very real.

Later Miss Murphy relented and the next year a lovely young woman named Frances Lawton took her place. Miss Murphy was a rather unimaginative humorless spinster. Frannie was slim, vivid, and gifted with leadership and sparkle. We all loved her immediately. When she had to interview me for my qualifications for Golden Eaglet, she came to the place on the application that was marked "handicaps?" "Do you have any handicaps?" she asked. I thought fast and finally said, "Well what about my being short?" She just threw back her head and laughed. "That's not a handicap!" she burst out. She didn't make me feel ridiculed, and at the same time I never felt the same about being short again.

Sometimes I think kids who try hard to be "good" at school will spill over into mischief where they feel it is safe. Looking back, Scouts and Sunday School provided such opportunities. For instance I remember climbing out the second story window at the church chapel until Frannie stopped us. We also used to wander into the church and finally made our way up amongst the organ pipes where we discovered what fun it was to pull a pipe out and blow on it. Imagine the consternation of any musician to have a bunch of kids messing up an expensive pipe organ! Of course we were discovered, and once we realized the enormity of our sin we never committed it again.

When I think of the enormous investment in Christian education in those years I wonder what difference it made in my life or in the lives of my contemporaries. To put it at its most negative, children have to do something with their time while they are relentlessly growing and changing. No matter how boring or dull the lessons were supposed to be, there was always the hidden agenda: important people thought it was important. The problem seems to be that religion is for adults--lots of people never grow up to the point where they realize that, and some churches and people settle for something so childish and literal that it gives a bad name to everything the churches stand for.

But what is overlooked is that values are being hammered out all the time. A society has to make a place and time for that--as important or even more important than secular education. Somehow through all the blundering I came to my own ideas of what was worth living for and what was worth dying for. And I couldn't have done it without the church. It touched me at one level--but I'm convinced that no statistics could measure how many lives were touched and in how many different ways.