Bill Nicks

Journal

When we were married, we promised to be together in sickness and in health, poverty and in wealth, forsaking all others, till death…We did not know what the future held, but we knew God’s hand was in it all. I imagine every married couple goes through the same experiences.

Gerry and I have gone through life now for 65 years, with our ups and downs. I can say truthfully that it has been mostly ups for us. As a preacher and preacher’s wife, our life has been blessed. We have been like-minded, able to worship together, pray together, read the Bible together, in fact, we have raised three children together. When we decided to leave our beloved country to go to Africa in order to preach the gospel to the lost, and render whatever service we could to those less fortunate than we, I could not have done this unless we had been together. We took our three children with us.

When we were 10,000 miles from home, we received a telegram that my father had been killed in a car accident, it would have been nearly impossible to endure the grief without my beloved wife and children there to comfort me. I had also the other missionaries. I could see mentally my dear mother and sister and brother grieving and wishing for me to be there to help bear the pain of loss with them. I could visualize the funeral procession going to the grave to bury my father. My beloved Dad had been a great encouragement to me. We had been in eight gospel meetings together. He was the best song leader, called on by many to lead songs in protracted meetings. Preachers loved to have his dynamic ability to get people to sing, and otherwise lend encouragement to the preaching of the gospel. He had been involved over the past 25 years before we left for Nigeria with great preachers like Foy Wallace, N.B. Hardeman, H.A. Dixon, Paul Tucker, G. C. Brewer, Guy Woods, Hall Calhoun, and many others. He was on his way on Monday, after helping in the singing at Jimmy Harwell’s funeral. Jimmy was an elder at Charlotte Ave, church of Christ in Nashville, our home congregation where dad served as deacon. He left that afternoon for a singing school at Clinton, where a friend of ours, Clifford Reel, was the preacher. He was passing through the bypass from highway 40 to Oak Ridge and had nearly gotten to the K-25 plant, when one of the workers blacked out and dad was trapped between the line of traffic and a ditch. He was taken to the hospital in Harriman, Tennessee, where he died in about twenty minutes.

We had been together in the passing of Gerry’s mother, Lottie May Petty. Lottie lived in Parkersburg, W. Va. She had been an active member of the Southside (now Camden Ave.) congregation. She loved to take mission trips to Jamaica and other places outside as well as inside the U.S. We first noticed something wrong when she told us she worked for George Herbert Bush, when she only had a job with the office in Parkersburg, typing Medicare cards sent out to applicants. We also noticed she would not get along in jobs she had after we were married. You see, Lottie had two daughters before her husband left her for another woman: Frances, who died at age 9 with membranous croupe, and Gerry. When we married, that took away the last daughter she had. She worked in the cafeteria at Freed-Hardeman for a while, then for Florida Christian, then with Potter Orphan Home, then for a Christian Paper in Parkersburg. She never seemed to fit in anywhere. So Gerry and I went to Parkersburg, picked her up and brought her to live near us in Oak Ridge, which was only a short distance from Powell, Tennessee, where we lived while teaching at E. Tenn. School of Preaching. She lived in a retirement apartment and we could visit her nearly every day, and look after her while allowing her an element of freedom to live like she wanted. We noticed signs of dementia, like when we helped her with finances, she would hide money in the oven so we could not find it. When Gerry looked all over for it, she would just sit and say nothing, then say, “I know where it is.” “Well, please tell me, I’ve been searching the house to find it,” said Gerry. “Well, it’s in the oven”, she replied. There it was- in the oven! She had a little bit of mean streak! Finally, we took her to the doctor and he had a hard time keeping her in the hospital after surgery on her colon. She would slip out and be found visiting the workers on a new wing of the hospital. She died in 1991, shortly before we moved to take up mission work in the Bahamas (Marsh Harbor), then the next year to San Fernando, Trinidad, where there was a teaching position open with Parker Henderson and the Trinidad School of Preaching. We spent seven happy years there, then spent a year teaching at Freed-Hardeman as Resident Missionary.

We lived at Hobe Sound Florida from 1991 while teaching at Bahamas, Trinidad and finally, Freed- Hardeman until 2006, when we moved to Waycross, Georgia to help Jeanie and Ronnie Crocker with Project Rescue and the church at Waycross. We sold our townhouse in Hobe Sound for a profit, and bought a nice house in Waycross, Georgia, on 3164 Wood Duck Drive. We considered this our retirement home. Gerry seemed to have lost her memory while we lived there. There is nothing more tragic than to see your wife, the dearest and closest friend you have on earth, show beginnings of dementia. I have read about Alzheimer’s disease, and it seems no one has a cure for it. I asked our family doctor and she gave us Aricept, but that had a detrimental effect, causing  cramps in the legs. Then she gave her Namenda, a pill she takes twice per day. Then she recommended a Neurologist, Dr. Baker, who gave her a patch called Exelon and is planning to do some tests on her. She shows signs of worsening. She gets confused at times and can’t function as well as in former days. For example, when we had a family gathering, we rented a house in Fernandino Beach, Fla. We all had separate rooms and enjoyed a good time. But privately Gerry asked me whom we were visiting. I could not get it across to her that we were not visiting anyone but had just rented a house. She gets confused when we change environments. She is so sweet and I still after 65 years love her dearly. That is why it pains me to perceive that she is not her usual self. Dr. Rhonda Williams says, “We can’t cure it, but the Namenda will keep it from getting worse”. I surely hope so. Her memory is so bad she cannot remember the names of those close to us, such as Melody and Sarah, our granddaughter and great-granddaughter, and those she sees less regularly, Jeremy and Dawn Harrison and their three children, Millie and Maggie and Isaac. She asks me often, showing me their picture, “who are these?” I guess it is because she doesn’t see them often, but even people she sees regularly she can’t recall their names. But regardless of her condition, I pledge, as I did when we married, to be there till death parts, to help her through any trials. She is still my sweet and adorable wife.

Our Marriage

We met at Freed-Hardeman College, a two year junior College, in 1941. We sang together in programs and were in the same Society, called Sigma Rho. We had recreation on the ball field, and would play softball games. We had tennis courts and I played often with Brother Witt, a Math teacher. When we lived, and I preached, in Paris, Tenn., brother Witt would visit his daughter, Rose James, and we continued our tennis games.

Gerry had a boy friend named Clifford Reel, a fellow student, and a grand fellow he was. He is now married to his wife of many years, Jean Duncan Reel. She was formerly a member at Highland View church of Christ, where we lived and I was the preacher from 1950-1955. Gerry and I, because we took singing lessons from Miss Ruby Caldwell, would be billed together to sing at functions like the Junior-Senior Banquet. I wondered how “Kip” (Clifford’s nickname) felt about my having to look in Gerry’s eyes and sing “Ah, love is so sweet in  the springtime and blossoms are fragrant in May, no years ever coming will bring time to make me forget dear this day I’ll love you in life’s gray December, the same as I love you today. No years ever coming can bring time to make me forget dear this day. Sweetheart, sweetheart, sweetheart, will you love me ever, will you remember that day, when we were happy in May, my dearest one?” Well, I never knew if it made him jealous, but I know I would if the situation were reversed. Anyway, he graduated in early 1942, and when school reopened in September of 1942, that is when  it all began. We did not have a date on Halloween night, but somehow got together and were together quite often since that night. Freed-Hardeman was very strict on dating couples. We could not hold hands publicly, and the boys had to go out one door of the cafeteria and the girls another. That was to keep them from talking too long at the exit of the cafeteria. As I look back on  it, that was the best way to handle the boy-girl relationship.

On March 12, I had had an appointment to preach in Columbus, Miss., where a brother owned a jewelry store. I bought Gerry a diamond ring, paid $72 for it, (she still wears it) for our engagement and gave it to her on the steps of the Administration Building of the school. I did not kiss her for that was forbidden, but I admit I broke the rule once on the steps inside the building when no one was looking. We were married at Sister Irene Foy’s house on August 27, 1943 by our favorite teacher, Brother Claude Hall, our Spoken English Professor. Bro. Hall had been my dear friend and mentor ever since I led singing in chapel. He corrected me once when I announced “we will sing the first and last verses of song #134”. He said to me after chapel, “Bill do you know the difference between a verse and a stanza?” I admitted I didn’t. He told me to look it up in the dictionary, equal almost to the Bible in his class. I looked it up and later told him I had made a mistake, and that I would not do that again. A verse is without a chorus and a stanza includes the chorus of a song. I hit a home run with Bro. Hall when I showed him he had taught me something. One day when I was talking to Lil Cates about a chapel program in the library, Bro. Hardeman showed up unexpectedly. He thought I was courting  her. He told Bro. Hall I needed some discipline, (he was the disciplinarian of the school) whereupon Bro. Hall accosted me with, “What’s this I hear about you and Bobbie Beasley?”(the girl Bro. Hardeman thought I was courting). I explained to him the facts, that it was not Bobbie Beasley, but Lillian Cates, and we were talking about a chapel program that day, and if I had been courting her, it would have been Gerry Petty and not Lillian. Bro. Hall understood the mixup, something Bro. Hardeman would never have understood. He said, “Well, don’t worry, I’ll straighten things out.” From then on Bro. Hall was my friend. He even sent letters to us in Africa on an airgram, with a check on the back flap for $10. You couldn’t do that now, for it would not have the bank number on it. He said “Take this to the bank, cash it, and spend it for something you need.” He sent several checks like this. When we came home, he said, “I thought you would soon understand that whenever you wrote me a letter, you’d get a check for $10.” I said, “I thought you would think I was begging for the money.” Brother Hall died when we were living in Savannah, Tennessee, and we attended his funeral. That was in 1967.

At our wedding on Aug. 27, 1943, there were Lillian Cates, bridesmaid, W.T. Hamilton, my former roommate at the school, groom’s best man, and Josephine Roland, daughter of C. P. Roland,  piano player. It was a small home wedding, with only a few attending: Gerry’s mother, and a friend from Parkersburg, Willie, a girl from Texas, school friend, the Oscar Foys, Sister Hall and Brother Hall, and Earl West, son of Sister Foy and former husband. After the wedding, I gave a check for $10 for W.T. to give to Bro. Hall for performing the wedding. He sent me a note back with the $10 in it stating, “Bill, I’ll excuse your ignorance this time, but a preacher never receives pay for performing a ceremony for another preacher.” I was glad to get the money for I needed it to pay Coach Stewart for driving us in his taxi to Jackson. The bill was $2.50. I figured Coach Stewart charged me instead of giving it to me was because I was not a star basketball player on the FHC team.  The room at the Southern Hotel in Jackson- where we spent our one night honeymoon- was $12. The distance from Henderson to Jackson was 17 miles, and we rode the bus back the next morning with loads of GI’s on the bus, and I had to stand. This was during WWII. and crowds rode the bus. We had third grade tires and often had flats.

Gerry and I rented a two room apartment in  Henderson  from the Johnsons for $17 a month, and were happy to get it. The Van ?, fellow -students, lived behind us in the garage apartments. Brother Van was an older student and his wife was not a student, but helped him much, They were from Terre-Haute, Indiana. During that year, I sprained my leg playing softball, and rented a churn to soak my leg in. After soaking my leg one day, Gerry asked, “Is that “butter” now?” What would we have done without a sense of humor? We traded our A-Model Ford for a 1936 chevrolet at the end of that school year.

I remember “trying out” to preach at Hogansville and Thomasville, in Georgia. A.C. Dreaden was the preacher at LaGrange, Georgia and he recommended me to these places, also I responded to a call from Crawfordville, Indiana, to “try out” there. Gerry and I took Ernie and Katie Hyne with us on this trip and had a flat on two of our third grade tires. We had to leave the car in Indianapolis while we rode the train to Crawfordville. I remember Bro. Jack, who was a member there, and taught us singing at FHC. But when Roy Hearn recommended us to Berclair in Memphis, this is the church we accepted and worked there three years. Roy and Sadie Hearn were fellow-students and good friends. He later became director of Memphis School of Preaching.

As life would have it, there were ups and downs at the Berclair church. I remember the elders were Bro. Weaver, and Eddie Pinckley and deacons were Bro Duke and Bro. Byrd. To give an idea of the Biblical Knowledge of Bro Weaver, he asked me one day what translation I was using. I told him I used principally the American Standard Version. He used only the King James. I told him I thought the American Standard was closest to the Greek, the original. He said basically if the King James is not right, none of them are right and we might as well throw them all out. I said in substance that I didn’t say the King James was no good but that I believed the American Standard was better.

Gerry served as janitor of the building, which had been towed down from Raleigh and served as Berclair’s first church building. They have since built a new building on the same spot on the corner of Summer and Novarese. To resume the subject of Gerry as janitor: the men held a business meeting in  the foyer of the building once a month, and they all smoked cigarettes. Gerry complained of having to clean the cigarette stubs. I mentioned this fact to the elders, and it didn’t go over so well. In fact, they asked me to leave, after I had been with them three years. We had to sell our piano that Ma Petty had given us, for we only had a salary of $40 per week and our first of three girls was born there. Expenses exceeded the salary, so I wasn’t hesitant to leave. I lacked one subject getting a BS at Mempis State which I finished at Abilene in 1960 after coming back from Nigeria.  However, it did pain me to be asked to leave, but as it turned out, God had a better place in store for me and that was Woodbury in middle Tennessee. My Dad, Thomas Asbury Nicks, went with me the first time I preached there to try out. They were a friendly group and were much larger, with an attendance of about 400, which was large for a small town of 3,000 people. I was their first full time preacher, for O.P. Baird, who preceded me had shared with New Hope his Pulpit with Woodbury. We were happy in Woodbury, Two more daughters were born to us at Woodbury, Betty Jean and Mary Sue, better known as Jeanie and Sue. The church grew to about 500 and we started a new congregation at Midway. This church was between Manchester and Woodbury. One of the elders at Woodbury was Named Connelly. Bro. and Sister Connelly became offended at some thing I said one day, and I knew it, so I went out to their house after church that same Sunday morning. I first apologized (I don’t remember what it was that offended them, but it was trivial). I asked them to allow me to lead a prayer during which I asked God not to allow this to come between us, but that since we were brothers in the Lord, would He heal and forgive. This was all it took for Bro. and Sis. Connelly to be my friends for as long as we lived in Woodbury. In fact, he was the one who suggested that I hold the tent meeting at Midway. With Cecil Smith as a member, it was bound to have a good church building. He was the contractor who built the Good Samaritan Hospital in Woodbury, and he built the church building on his own property. Bro. Connelly and Sis. Connelly are gone now and so is Cecil Smith and his wife, but the church remains strong, both at Woodbury and Midway. In fact, Woodbury has an attendance of over 700 now, and Herb Alsup has been preaching there about 30 years.