Bruce “Butch” Gerencser and his younger brother and sister, 1960s, San Diego, California. First time I noticed that my pants are unzipped, underwear is above my waist, and no shoes. I was quite the fashion statement.
In the early 1960s, my dad packed up his family of five and moved us to San Diego, California in the hope of finding the proverbial pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. Dad never found his dream, but while there the Gerencser family found Jesus and became members of a large Independent Fundamentalist Baptist (IFB) church. I attended kindergarten and first grade in California. My memories, as to be expected, are spotty, but one moment in time stands above all others, one I have not forgotten sixty years later.
Most of my time in California was spent living in a small single-story home on Columbine Street. The house sat across the street from a canyon that would provide my siblings and me with countless hours of fun. That said, I can’t imagine letting a 6-year-old, 5-year-old, and 3-year-old play by themselves without adult supervision. Such were the times, I suppose.
In our backyard was a courtyard of sorts, with three other homes closely situated to ours. One day, I heard a bunch of screaming in Spanish. Always a nosey little boy, I went to the courtyard to see what was up. Much to my fascination — at the time — a Mexican man was savagely beating his wife. Adults stood by and did nothing — out of fear, I suspect — as the man inflicted such damage on his wife that one eye popped out of its socket on her blood-soaked face. The man’s white T-shirt was covered with his wife’s blood. As I think about this event decades later, it’s clear that the man intended to murder his wife.
By the time the police arrived, the man had fled the scene, and could be seen attempting to escape via a water pipe of sorts that traversed the canyon. Soon apprehended, he was placed in the back seat of a police car. As the car began to pull away, the man turned to look out the back window. Still filled with rage, his mouth was foaming.
Little children should never have to experience such things in their lives. I am not sure where my mother was at the time, or why she didn’t shield us from the carnage. Perhaps she tried to do so, but my curiosity won the day. Regardless, this event made a deep mark on my life. When confronted with circumstances later in my life, I chose to intercede instead of standing by and fearfully doing nothing as those adults in the courtyard did over half a century ago. I refuse to stand by and do nothing when people use physical strength or power to psychologically or physically harm others. Yes, that means putting myself in harm’s way, but imagine if all of us stood up to bullies and those who use violence to make a point or get their way. If we don’t, who will?
Bruce Gerencser, 69, lives in rural Northwest Ohio with his wife of 48 years. He and his wife have six grown children and thirteen grandchildren. Bruce pastored Evangelical churches for twenty-five years in Ohio, Texas, and Michigan. Bruce left the ministry in 2005, and in 2008 he left Christianity. Bruce is now a humanist and an atheist.
Your comments are welcome and appreciated. All first-time comments are moderated. Please read the commenting rules before commenting.
The old man is lying in bed, weary from yet another day of pain and suffering. He hears keys in the front door lock, announcing that the old woman has arrived home from work.
She too is weary and tired, ready to retire, but can’t because of insurance needs.
How was your night? the old man asked. Anything new?
The old woman shakes her head. She had already told the old man about the fire at the plant that night. No need to repeat that story.
The old man told the old woman about the eight raccoons that were in their yard tonight, three adults, and five babies.
After a few minutes of chit-chat about their day and what they planned to do on the morrow, the old woman asked, do you want something to eat?
Sure. What do you have in mind?
How about eggs and toast?
Sure, make them scrambled. I’ll take some orange juice too.
When the old woman returns to the room with that night’s cuisine, the old man said, Happy Anniversary!
Happy Anniversary to YOU!, the old woman replied.
It’s 3:00 AM on the fifteenth of July. Forty-four years ago, the old man and the old woman, then twenty-one and nineteen, recited their vows and said I do at the Newark Baptist Temple in Heath, Ohio.
Six weeks after they married, a baby was on the way. Over the next fourteen years, five more children would come their way, including a child with Down syndrome.
For many years, their lives were in perpetual motion. Serving the Lord and trying to make ends meet. There were stressors on their marriage, times when they wondered if their relationship would survive. Yet, they endured, and now they can’t imagine not being together.
Later years brought health problems, hospitalizations, and loss of faith. Parents, grandparents, siblings, aunts, uncles, and cousins died, leaving them to wonder when it will be their obituaries in the pages of the local newspaper.
Blessed with thirteen grandchildren, the old man and old woman are grateful that they can enjoy them together. While life had brought them trials and adversity, both are glad they could walk this journey called life hand in hand.
Forty-four years ago, the soloist for their wedding sang We’ve Only Just Begun by the Carpenters (causing controversy because it was the first and only secular song sung at the church):
We’ve only just begun to live White lace and promises A kiss for luck and we’re on our way (We’ve only begun)
Before the risin’ sun, we fly So many roads to choose We’ll start out walkin’ and learn to run (And yes, we’ve just begun)
Sharing horizons that are new to us Watchin’ the signs along the way Talkin’ it over, just the two of us Workin’ together day to day Together
And when the evening comes, we smile So much of life ahead We’ll find a place where there’s room to grow (And yes, we’ve just begun)
Sharing horizons that are new to us Watchin’ the signs along the way Talkin’ it over, just the two of us Workin’ together day to day Together Together
And when the evening comes, we smile So much of life ahead We’ll find a place where there’s room to grow And yes, we’ve just begun
When evening comes, the old man and old woman still smile, happy that a kiss for luck and lots of hard work has given them a well-lived life. Not a perfect life, and certainly not a perfect marriage. A marriage that began with love is now one deeply rooted in an abiding friendship. Oh, they still fight, and all those irritating habits each of them had four decades ago are still there. Change is hard, they learned, so the old man and old woman learned to adapt, ignoring the niggling things that still annoy them to this day.
The old woman takes the dishes to the kitchen, heading to the bathroom to perform her nightly rituals before bed. Forty-four years, the old woman walked out of the bathroom of their hotel suite in a sexy negligee. Tonight, it is well-worn comfortable sleepwear. The old man looks at the old woman and reminds himself of how lucky he is. Of all the girls he could have dated and married, he married her. Fate? The old man wants to say yes, but he knows hormones, personalities, and common interests drew them together at a Fundamentalist Baptist college forty-six years ago.
The woman crawls into bed and snuggles up to the old man. He draws her close, putting his hand on her breast. After a few minutes, the old man can no longer lie in that position due to excruciating back and neck pain. With a gentle squeeze, he says to his beautiful bride, I love you. And to her man she replies, I love you too.
Another year together, what more could the old man and old woman ask for?
Bruce Gerencser, 69, lives in rural Northwest Ohio with his wife of 48 years. He and his wife have six grown children and thirteen grandchildren. Bruce pastored Evangelical churches for twenty-five years in Ohio, Texas, and Michigan. Bruce left the ministry in 2005, and in 2008 he left Christianity. Bruce is now a humanist and an atheist.
Your comments are welcome and appreciated. All first-time comments are moderated. Please read the commenting rules before commenting.
Go to the ant, thou sluggard; consider her ways, and be wise!
— Proverbs 6:6
There be four things which are little upon the earth, but they are exceeding wise: The ants are a people not strong, yet they prepare their meat in the summer.
— Proverbs 30:24, 25
Several weeks ago, we took a vacation to southeast Ohio, a trip that turned into a disaster and left me in a precarious mental state (from which I have not recovered). Please read I’m Back From Vacation for further information about our trip.
One evening after we returned from our trip, I told Polly I wanted to go to the Jubilee — a fair and carnival that has encircled the William’s County Courthouse in Bryan, Ohio every June of my sixty-five years of existence. The Jubilee is a shell of what it once was, an empty reminder of glory days long since passed. Declining attendance and exorbitant prices likely will doom its existence sometime in the future. When I was a teenager, the Jubilee was THE place to be. The square would be packed with people. I typically went to the Jubilee every night, hoping to run into my friends. We’d eat high cholesterol, sugary food, ride the Ferris wheel or Scrambler, flirt with girls, and horse around.
The Jubilee has a deep, sentimental connection with me. Not so for Polly. She never liked going to the Jubilee. Of course, always having toddlers and children in tow will do that to you. Polly knew that going to the Jubilee might be good for me mentally, so she said “sure, let’s go.” We put on our go-to-town clothes, lathered up sunblock, got $60 from the ATM, and parked a couple of blocks away from the Square. Bethany was with us. I thought she might enjoy riding a couple of rides. She did, though Polly was not as excited since she had to ride with her. They rode the Ferris wheel and the carousel.
As I stood nearby watching them, I looked down to the ground and saw a big black ant. He quickly captured my attention. Long-time readers know that I love ants. My grandchildren are not permitted to kill them. As I watched this ant scurry about, I thought about his brief and dangerous existence. Here he was scuttling around, searching for food. All around him was danger, particularly thoughtless humans who wouldn’t give a moment’s pause before crushing his insignificant body on the sidewalk. Everywhere this ant went there were obstacles to avoid; threats to his very existence. With nary a thought (do ants think?) about the existential threats around him, the ant continued to look for food. For a few minutes, the sounds of the causeway faded away and my mind was focused on this diminutive, yet magnificent creature.
My mind went to the Bible, Proverbs 6:6: consider her [the ant’s] ways, and be wise. On this hot summer night, this ant had a lesson to teach me, reminding me that life is short, filled with danger, and all I can do is embrace my life as it is. I too am scurrying about, hoping to meet my needs and make it to another day. The threats to my existence are very different from those of the ant, but they are just as real. I know that I am running out of time. Days, weeks, months, or even a few years from now, Polly will post a final article on this site, announcing my demise. I’ve embraced my mortality, realizing there’s little I can do to stave off the inevitable. So how then should I live?
You have one life. There is no heaven or hell. There is no afterlife. You have one life, it’s yours, and what you do with it is what matters most. Love and forgive those who matter to you and ignore those who add nothing to your life. Life is too short to spend time trying to make nice with those who will never make nice with you. Determine who are the people in your life that matter and give your time and devotion to them. Live each and every day to its fullest. You never know when death might come calling. Don’t waste time trying to be a jack of all trades, master of none. Find one or two things you like to do and do them well. Too many people spend way too much time doing things they will never be good at.
Here’s the conclusion of the matter. It’s your life and you best get to living it. Someday, sooner than you think, it will be over. Don’t let your dying days be ones of regret over what might have been.
Eight years later, I stand by this advice.
I continue to lose dexterity and motor function. These losses constantly chip away at the things I can safely do. Sometimes, I do things I shouldn’t, tempting fate — much to Polly’s consternation. Most days, I recognize my limitations. I am ready to die, but I prefer it not to be today.
This ant taught me a lot about life, about being focused on what matters. While I am still in a difficult place psychologically, a black ant did give me a brief respite from my struggles.
Thanks, Mr. Ant . . .
Bruce Gerencser, 69, lives in rural Northwest Ohio with his wife of 48 years. He and his wife have six grown children and thirteen grandchildren. Bruce pastored Evangelical churches for twenty-five years in Ohio, Texas, and Michigan. Bruce left the ministry in 2005, and in 2008 he left Christianity. Bruce is now a humanist and an atheist.
Your comments are welcome and appreciated. All first-time comments are moderated. Please read the commenting rules before commenting.
In 1989, Polly was driving in the northbound lane of Route 13 north of Thornville, Ohio, and south of Interstate 70. Suddenly, an automobile stopped in front of her and Polly bumped into the car. The driver quickly fled the scene of the accident. Polly, shaken, drove to the gas station at the top of the hill. At the station was a highway patrolman. Polly told him what happened. He looked at the front of her car. Seeing little visible damage, he told her not to worry about the accident. Polly continued on her trip to her mom and dad’s home in Newark.
Later that night, the person whom Polly drove into — an unlicensed teen girl, driving a relative’s car — totaled the car she was driving. Her relative had the same insurance company as we did. Unbeknownst to us, the insurance agent filed a $4,000 claim against our insurance without telling us. To this day, we don’t know how the agent connected Polly to the accident, Nonetheless, he did. Small town life, I suppose.
In Ohio, you are required to file an official accident report if you are in an accident that results in property damage. Since the girl fled the scene of the accident, Polly didn’t file a report. (And I am sure I am the one actually responsible for her not filing the report.) This would later have a disastrous (and funny) outcome.
A month later, I am standing on the porch waiting for Polly to come home from church. We always drove separate cars. On this night she was driving our 1980s Chrysler K car. As I watched Polly drive up the side street near our home in Junction City, Ohio, a village police officer pulled up behind her with his lights on. I snickered a bit as I watched this unfold. I was the one who got tickets — lots of tickets — not Polly. As I watched, the officer had Polly get out of the car. I thought, at the time, “that’s strange.” He had stopped her for a burned-out headlight. It had been burned out for several weeks. I had planned to replace it, but there were sermons to preach and souls to save, so I put it off to another day After running her driver’s license number, he informed her that there was a warrant out for her arrest, so he was arresting her for failure to report an accident. Yep, there was a warrant out for her arrest. We had just moved to Junction City and Polly’s license still had our old address on it, so she never received notice of her license suspension. Fortunately, the women’s section of the Perry County Jail was filled. There was no room for her in the inn, so to speak. Instead, she was told to contact the state highway patrol to resolve the matter.
Polly was traumatized from this experience. I, on the other hand, was enraged. In a matter of days, I was able to get the warrant for her arrest and license suspension dismissed. All is well that ends well, right? Not in our shared life. 🙂
Two weeks later, Barney Fife shows up at our house, knocks on the door, and hands Polly a traffic ticket. For what, you ask? The burned-out headlight. Boy, was I livid! I mean, sinning-in-the-flesh angry. My wife of forty-four years and our six children will tell you that it is best to avoid me when I am angry like this. I have a quick-to-rise-quick-to-recede temper. (Apologies to readers who thought I was a perfect human being. I’m not.) Polly has learned over the years to just ignore me. Let me mutter, cuss, and air my grievances, knowing that my anger will soon disappear and I will say, “Hey, want to go to dinner tonight”? On this day, my anger was justified.
Junction City had a mayor’s court. Such courts are known for abuse and corruption. When we arrived at the appointed time for judgment, we were the only serfs there. Most people just paid their tickets, end of story. That was not going to happen for Polly Gerencser on this night. Her husband, known in them thar parts to be a fire-breathing crusader, was by her side. When they called her name, I started to speak. The mayor tried to put me in my place, telling me only Polly could speak (she was terrified). I told the mayor that I planned to speak, regardless. I then laid into them about how wrong it was to give Polly a ticket weeks later for a trivial headlight violation. “That’s the law, sir!” the mayor said. I replied, “fine. My wife is going to plead not guilty. This means you are required to transfer this case to County Court. Do you really want all this exposed in public court”? After quickly conferring with each other, the mayor sanctimoniously said — as if he was doing Polly a BIG favor — “I will dismiss the ticket, but you have to pay court costs.” I replied, “we are not paying costs.” Barney Fife and Mayor Roy Stoner (the mayor of Mayberry) conferred again, quickly deciding to waive the costs. With that, we said “thank you” and walked out the door. I am sure they were glad to be rid of that temperamental redheaded preacher. We move away from Junction City a few months later.
Bruce Gerencser, 69, lives in rural Northwest Ohio with his wife of 48 years. He and his wife have six grown children and thirteen grandchildren. Bruce pastored Evangelical churches for twenty-five years in Ohio, Texas, and Michigan. Bruce left the ministry in 2005, and in 2008 he left Christianity. Bruce is now a humanist and an atheist.
Your comments are welcome and appreciated. All first-time comments are moderated. Please read the commenting rules before commenting.
Recently, a friend of mine — also a former Independent Fundamentalist Baptist (IFB) preacher — asked me about my journey from homophobia to a supporter of LGBTQ people:
How long did it take you to come around to your current views of acceptance of homosexual folks, not simply tolerating or being kind to them? Also, if there was one, what was the “catalyst” that led you to become as accepting and even accommodating as you now are?
I ask because while I no longer consider it damming or “evil” I simply have a hard time wrapping my head around it and / or not being grossed out by those I come in contact with who I learn are of that lifestyle.
My friend asks several questions I hopefully (and adequately) can answer. I will attempt to do so, as I often do, by telling my story.
I was born in 1957. As was common for men of generation, I was homophobic. I didn’t meet my first gay person until I was thirty-eight years old. Oh, I “knew” gay men in the sense that, based on their mannerisms, I considered them to be a fag, queer, light in their loafers. Polly’s single uncle was a gay man, as was one of my cousins. I knew these men from distance. As far as lesbians are concerned, I didn’t meet a lesbian until I was in my forties.
In ninth grade, we were taught how to square dance in gym class. My pastor threw a fit over me dancing, and this led to me sitting in the bleachers while my fellow classmates danced. Sitting with me were two boys who refused to shower at the end of class. It was assumed by me and my fellow students that these boys were “faggots.” I have no idea whether they were actually gay. Just being different was enough to get one labeled with the “faggot” label.
In the mid-seventies, I casually knew a man my age who was gay. It was believed that he was preyed upon by a much older gay man who ran one of the local funeral homes. This young man, in the 1980s, died of AIDS.
I never heard much preaching about homosexuality as a teen. Oh, I heard the typical talking points about “queers” or “sodomites” having tattoos or wearing earrings in their left ears — both stereotypes of which were patently untrue.
By the time I left Bible college in 1979 and started pastoring IFB churches, I was a full-blown homophobe, a man who reveled in his heterosexuality and excoriated LGBTQ people. On several occasions, gay people visited one of the churches I pastored. I made sure they felt unwelcome. I viewed them, at the time, as child predators — another untrue stereotype.
This brings me to 1995.
In March of 1994, I left a church I had pastored for almost twelve years and moved to San Antonio, Texas to co-pastor Community Baptist Church. This move proved to be a disaster, and in the fall that same year, we packed up our belongings and moved to Frazeysburg, Ohio. With the help of Polly’s parents, we bought a newish manufactured home — a $25,000 upgrade from our previous mobile home.
We lived in Frazeysburg for six months. Needing immediate employment, I turned to restaurant management. I was hired by Charley’s Steakery (now called Charleys Philly Steaks) to be the general manager of their franchise at the Colony Square Mall in Zanesville. I continued to work for this restaurant until March 1995, when I assumed the pastorate of Olive Branch Christian Union Church in Fayette.
The restaurant I managed had a drink refill policy for mall employees. If employees stopped at the restaurant with their cups, we refilled them free of charge. Some employees would stop every day they worked to get their large plastic cups refilled. One such employee was a man who worked at a nearby store.
This man was in his twenties. The first time I personally refilled his cup for him, my infallible, never-wrong (I am joking) gaydar went off. I thought, “OMG, this guy is gay. What if he has AIDS?” Quite frankly, I am surprised he didn’t see the disgust on my face. Maybe he did, but ignored it. I dutifully put ice in his cup, filled it with pop, and handed it back to him. After he walked away from the service counter, I would quickly run to the kitchen and thoroughly wash my hands, fearing that I might catch AIDS.
Over time, this man and I struck up casual conversations. He was quite friendly, and truth be told, I liked talking to him. As I got to know him better, I found that I no longer was disgusted or worried about getting AIDS. I even stopped washing my hands after serving him. What changed?
My theology didn’t change. And neither did my irrational fear of gay people. Coming to where I am today, a supporter of LGBTQ rights with numerous gay and transgender friends, took years. What needed washing was my proverbial heart, not my hands.
My first step, then, in moving away from homophobia was actually getting to know an LGBTQ person. The more gay people I met, the less I could continue to hate them. I also learned that at least five children raised under my preaching were gay. These poor children had to listen to me rail against LGBTQ people. There was nothing I could do about the past. I apologized to them, and, thankfully, they completely forgave me. Does this mean I was finally free of homophobia? Nope.
The past decade has brought numerous LGBTQ people into my life, forcing me to confront what my friend called “wrapping his head around it [gay lifestyle] and/or not being grossed out by those he comes in contact with who are LGBTQ.” First, I had to learn that being gay was not a “lifestyle,” any more than being heterosexual is a “lifestyle.” We are who we are. A decade of intense counseling has taught me a lot about “self.” Good, bad, and downright ugly. Second, I came to believe that ALL people, regardless of their sexual orientation, were deserving of justice and equal protection under the law. Thus, when it came to same-sex marriage, I found that there was no rational, ethical reason to prohibit gay people from marrying. Not one. I also realized that I had to make my pro-same-sex marriage view public. Public sins require public penance. I did so by writing letters to the editor, publishing blog posts, and putting LGBTQ-friendly signs in my front yard — a heavily trafficked state highway.
Over time, I became more and more open about my unreserved support of LGBTQ people. I even offered to perform same-sex marriages. Over the weekend, Polly and I attended Defiance’s Pride Walk, proudly walking with LGBTQ family, friends, and acquaintances.
What a day! Does this, however, mean that I am finally free of homophobia? While I am not far from the kingdom, I know that buried deep in the recesses of my mind rests bigotry of all sorts. As is common for all of us, we struggle to understand people “different” from us. I am an alpha male, 100% heterosexual, a Type A workaholic and sports addict. I am a typical man for my generation. However, I know I don’t want to be a “typical” sixty-five-year-old man. People like me ARE the problem. Quite frankly, we need to die off, and soon.
The struggle that remains for me is truly, without reservation, accepting and embracing people who are different from me. I must work on this every day, pushing my bigotry farther back into the recesses of my mind. I will never “arrive.” All I know to do is to be better today than yesterday.
I would encourage my friend to genuinely befriend LGBTQ people — without reservation. When homophobia rears its ugly head, ask yourself, how would you feel if gay people treated you this way? Confess your “sin,” and do better. Practice what you preach. Participate in groups and events that challenge your bigotry. This is hard work, and you will fail many times. If, however, you believe in justice and equality for all, then you must try again.
I’ve been blogging for fifteen years. I have met countless LGBTQ people. Some of them I consider friends. Listening to their stories — the harm caused to them by homophobic preachers (seeing myself squarely in the mirror), churches, and families — helped me not only confront my own bigotry but also develop genuinely empathy for LGBTQ people. Understanding someone’s journey will go a long way in combating homophobia
Here’s what I am saying to my friend: becoming a tolerant, accepting man requires a lot of pain and struggle. We must not rest until we have rooted every last bit of bigotry out of our lives. While we will never “arrive,” we can be better men (and women) than we were yesterday.
Bruce Gerencser, 69, lives in rural Northwest Ohio with his wife of 48 years. He and his wife have six grown children and thirteen grandchildren. Bruce pastored Evangelical churches for twenty-five years in Ohio, Texas, and Michigan. Bruce left the ministry in 2005, and in 2008 he left Christianity. Bruce is now a humanist and an atheist.
Your comments are welcome and appreciated. All first-time comments are moderated. Please read the commenting rules before commenting.
Ryan Cornell, a writer for Slate, and an enthusiastic electric car owner, recently wrote an article extolling the virtues of owning an EV:
Electric vehicles save a significant amount of time in daily driving; one second to plug in at home is significantly faster than spending 10 minutes to stop and fill up with gasoline. It’s possible that long road trips can take more time in an EV, but the difference disappears quickly if you are driving with kids or like to partake in such extravagances as eating or going to the bathroom. What rarely gets discussed is the significant advantage that EVs have on short road trips.
When we hear “road trip” we think about long days of driving and multiple stops to fill up with gas. In reality, 78 percent of road trips are 50 to 249 miles one way. If you hop in a gasoline-powered car and drive 150 miles one way, it is likely that you will still need to stop for gas on the way home. But most new electric vehicles thrive at this distance, and as long as you can charge at your destination, you won’t have to stop at all. I am not speaking about this in a hypothetical sense. I am speaking from experience.
Our family has made the 140-mile trek from Scottsdale to Oro Valley, Arizona, countless times over the past 15 years. For most of those years we drove in a gas car, and we stopped at a gas station on every single one of those trips. Now, you might be thinking: Didn’t your car have more than 280 miles of range? Of course. But it was unlikely that we started with close to a full tank of gas, which means that our range was always less than the maximum.
The process is much simpler in our electric vehicle: We start the trip with a full battery. Plug in when we get there. Spend the day or night. Then drive home. No unnecessary stops along the way. No wasted time.
Cornell says it takes one second to charge an EV at home and ten minutes to fuel a gas-powered vehicle. Really? Does it really take six-hundred times longer to gas up your vehicle? Of course not. You have to pull your EV into the driveway and into your garage. Then you have to get out of your car, open the charging port, and plug it in. You then must repeat this process when you leave the next day.
We drive a 2020 Ford Edge, which cost us almost $40,000. A similar EV would cost $60,000.
The average transaction price for an electric vehicle (EV) is $56,437, according to Kelley Blue Book — roughly $10,000 higher than the overall industry average of $46,329 that includes gas and EVs. In terms of pricing, an EV is equivalent to an entry-level luxury car.
To save time charging EVs and extend battery life, many drivers also install what’s known as “Level 2” chargers in their home, for a total cost of around $2,000, including installation. With a Level 2 charger, it will take less than eight hours to charge your vehicle, according to JD Power.
Most EVs come with a Level 1 charging cable that can be plugged into a common 120-volt household electric outlet, but it can take up to 40 hours to fully charge your vehicle. It’s cheaper, but less convenient.
We fill our SUV, which gets twenty-seven miles per gallon, once a week. It takes all of five minutes to fill up our car. I suspect there is very little difference time-wise between charging an EV and filling our SUV. Besides, we saved $20,000 buying our environmentalist-offending vehicle. If it takes a minute or two longer to fuel, that’s okay.
The most absurd part of Cornell’s article is his assertion that EVs can go farther between fill-ups than gas-powered vehicles. Really? Cornell extols the virtues of how far an EV can go on a charge. He neglects to tell readers that travel distance before charging is affected by the number and weight of the passengers, terrain, and ambient outdoor temperature. I have read real-world reports that suggest that cold weather substantially affects battery capacity in EVs.
My SUV can go 410 miles between fill-ups. So we can easily take Cornell’s 300-mile trip without refueling. Cornell skews his numbers by suggesting you start the trip with your EV fully charged, but if you drive a gas-powered vehicle you likely don’t fill your car up before you leave on your trip. Really? As a family who takes dozens of road trips every year, we ALWAYS fill up before embarking on our journey. I suspect most drivers do the same. Cornell should have compared apples to apples. I easily dispatched his argument about charging vs. gas station time difference. The same goes for his trip scenario. A fully fueled automobile can make a 300 miles trip without refueling. A fully charged EV will require one 8-12 hour recharge before making the trip home. This is not an insignificant difference.
I am not anti-EV. In fact, once the price of EVs is comparable to gas vehicles and battery capacity is improved, we will buy one. What irritates the hell out of me is when reporters play loose with facts to advance their agenda or to justify their own economic choices.
And as far as the point of Cornell’s article: should we allow guests we are entertaining to charge their vehicles at our home? I say sure, as long as Cornell keeps a 100-gallon fuel tank on his property so I can gas up my car when I stop over to play cards and drink a few beers. Absurd? Yes, and so is trying to suggest that it is the “polite” thing to do to allow guests to charge their vehicles at your home, with you paying for the privilege.
Bruce Gerencser, 69, lives in rural Northwest Ohio with his wife of 48 years. He and his wife have six grown children and thirteen grandchildren. Bruce pastored Evangelical churches for twenty-five years in Ohio, Texas, and Michigan. Bruce left the ministry in 2005, and in 2008 he left Christianity. Bruce is now a humanist and an atheist.
Your comments are welcome and appreciated. All first-time comments are moderated. Please read the commenting rules before commenting.
Recently, a man named Bradley Brown left the above comment on YouTube. Brown wants to know if I returned the money I earned pastoring churches when I became an atheist. Evidently, Brown’s Bible doesn’t include the verse that says a “laborer is worthy of his honor” and that a pastor/elder is worthy of “double honor” (pay).
I spent twenty-five years pastoring Evangelical churches in Ohio, Texas, and Michigan. All told, I averaged less than $10,000 a year as a pastor. Two churches paid me no money, one church paid me $26,000 and provided housing, and the rest of the churches I pastored paid roughly $8,000-10,000 a year. Total that up and I made around $250,000 as a pastor.
Not one church provided health benefits or any other benefits. We relied on Medicaid or paid cash for our medical care. We only went to the doctor if it was an emergency. Our children went years between doctor’s visits.
Our hillbilly mansion. We lived in this 720-square-foot mobile home for five years, all eight of us.
Only one church provided us housing. The rest of the time, we lived in rentals or two mobile homes we purchased. For five years, our family of eight lived in 12’x60′ mobile home — 720 square feet. Most years we drove cars that cost a few hundred dollars. We did buy a new Plymouth Horizon in 1984 for $6,000, putting 102,000 miles on it in two years. We also bought a spartan low-mileage 80s Chevy Cavalier for $2,900. We junked it at 176,000 miles.
Every church I pastored had my full attention, as I worked full-time even when I was paid paltry wages. In addition, I worked secular jobs to provide for my family. Every dime I ever made, I earned. So, to answer Bradley Brown, no I am not going to return the money I EARNED pastoring churches.
Bruce Gerencser, 69, lives in rural Northwest Ohio with his wife of 48 years. He and his wife have six grown children and thirteen grandchildren. Bruce pastored Evangelical churches for twenty-five years in Ohio, Texas, and Michigan. Bruce left the ministry in 2005, and in 2008 he left Christianity. Bruce is now a humanist and an atheist.
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Self-employed (website maintenance and design for my sister’s business) PT
Due to pervasive health problems, I stopped working in 2005. While I would love to have a job, I can’t drive and my accommodation requirements are such, that I am unemployable. I did try my hand at answering calls for Amazon. I failed miserably.
Bruce Gerencser, 69, lives in rural Northwest Ohio with his wife of 48 years. He and his wife have six grown children and thirteen grandchildren. Bruce pastored Evangelical churches for twenty-five years in Ohio, Texas, and Michigan. Bruce left the ministry in 2005, and in 2008 he left Christianity. Bruce is now a humanist and an atheist.
Your comments are welcome and appreciated. All first-time comments are moderated. Please read the commenting rules before commenting.
In January 1980, tired of working mindless, boring factory jobs, I turned to the help wanted ads in the Newark Advocate, looking for a new job. The local Arthur Treacher’s Fish and Chips was looking for an assistant manager trainee. The job paid $155 a week, with full benefits. I applied for the job, and Ann Vanderslice, the general manager, hired me. Thus would begin my restaurant management career. I would continue working for Arthur Treacher’s until September 1981.
I quickly learned that the restaurant business was for me — a perfect job for a Type A workaholic. After five months as an assistant manager, I was offered the general manager position at the Brice Road store in Reynoldsburg. The store was in disarray, with a staff that was, to put it mildly, lazy and poorly trained. Most employees either voluntarily left or were fired. My district manager, Bill Wickert, called me “The Hammer.” Bill told me, “okay, Bruce, they are all yours now,” meaning my hires, my responsibility.
I have worked a number of jobs over the years; I mean lots of jobs. If I had to choose one secular job I loved the most, it would be restaurant management. Quite frankly, I was good at my job. Committed. Passionate. Hardworking. Never missed work. I would later work for Long John Silver’s (Westerville, Zanesville, Heath) and Charley’s Steakery (Zanesville). If it weren’t for Jesus and the ministry, I likely would have started my own restaurant.
Periodically, the cash register had to be reprogrammed. I easily took to doing this, unlike some general managers who were technology challenged. One night after closing, I headed over to the High Street store to help program their register. One of my assistants, a redheaded man named Steve, went along with me. Off we went without a care in the world.
Nearing the High Street store, I stopped at a stop light. All of a sudden, a car plowed into the back of my 1971, three-speed on the floor, Plymouth Duster. I had bought the baby blue-colored car from Polly’s sister, Kathy, for $400. The crash crunched the rear of the car, spilling the trunk’s contents onto the roadway: spare tire, 8-track player, and a gallon of paint. Only the spare tire survived.
The driver who hit me tried to flee the scene of the accident. My car was barely drivable. I chased her for two city blocks until she stopped. The woman was drunk. A Columbus police officer came to the scene and took a report. He ignored the fact that the woman was inebriated.
The woman gave me her phone number so I could contact her about filing an insurance claim. When I called her, she informed me that she didn’t have insurance. Through my own insurance company, I learned that she did, so I called her again — at work. She worked for the Ohio Bureau of Motor Vehicles. I told her that I knew she had insurance. When she tried to con me again, I told her I planned to call her boss if she didn’t file an insurance claim. She quickly complied. Sadly, her insurance company only paid me $200 for my car. They, too, conned me out of what was rightfully mine. Lesson learned. I never let an insurance company pull one over on me again.
Bruce Gerencser, 69, lives in rural Northwest Ohio with his wife of 48 years. He and his wife have six grown children and thirteen grandchildren. Bruce pastored Evangelical churches for twenty-five years in Ohio, Texas, and Michigan. Bruce left the ministry in 2005, and in 2008 he left Christianity. Bruce is now a humanist and an atheist.
Your comments are welcome and appreciated. All first-time comments are moderated. Please read the commenting rules before commenting.
I am a restless soul. Let me tell you why. I’ve moved thirty-six times in my sixty-five years of life. I’ve lived in 45+houses, apartments, and mobile homes.
Bryan, Ohio — born 1957 Ney, Ohio — toddler San Diego, California — kindergarten to second grade Bryan, Ohio — third grade Harrod, Ohio — fourth, fifth grade Farmer, Ohio — fifth, sixth grade Deshler, Ohio — seventh grade Findlay, Ohio — eighth grade to tenth grade Tucson, Arizona — tenth grade Mt. Blanchard, Ohio — eleventh grade Findlay, Ohio — eleventh grade Bryan, Ohio — dropped out of high school Sierra Vista, Arizona — age 18 Bryan, Ohio — age 18 Pontiac, Michigan age 19-21, college, married Polly Bryan, Ohio —1979 Montpelier, Ohio — 1979 Newark, Ohio — 1979-1981 Buckeye Lake, Ohio — 1981-1983 New Lexington, Ohio — 1983 Glenford, Ohio — 1983-1984 New Lexington, Ohio — 1984-1987 Junction City, Ohio — 1988-1989 Mt. Perry, Ohio — 1989-1994 San Antonio, Texas — 1994 Frazeysburg, Ohio — 1994-1995 Fayette, Ohio — 1995 Alvordton, Ohio 1996-2003 Clare, Michigan — 2003 Stryker, Ohio — 2003 Yuma, Arizona — 2004 Newark, Ohio — 2004-2005 Bryan, Ohio — 2005-2006 Alvordton, Ohio — 2007 Ney, Ohio — 2007 to present (my final resting place)
I still want to move. My wanderlust never goes away. However, I know I’m where I need to be, close to my doctors, children, and grandchildren. It is here I will die, though my ashes will be spread by Polly and my family on the eastern shore of Lake Michigan. Why? That’s a story for another day. ❤️❤️
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