Chapter 2 the harvey family

A SECOND FREE CAR!

In 1981, the IRS had "picked our name out of a hat" (according to the agent) for an audit of our 1980 income tax return. At the time, we were very upset about this. American citizens living abroad were allowed to earn $80,000 per year tax free and our income was below poverty level! We were required to drive three hours to Vienna and show receipts pertaining to our rent and utilities. The IRS even wanted the exact dates when our children went off to boarding school in Germany.

According to the letter accompanying our check, the IRS had found all our records in order, but discovered that we had paid too much Social Security for 1980. They were returning the money with interest!

After returning to Elmer, New Jersey, I began immediately to look for a good station wagon for $750. This time it had to be a Ford! My first stop was at the Ford dealership only a block from where we lived. The dealer was a Christian and we had purchased cars from him before. He had a nice yellow 1977 LTD wagon for only $1,500, but that was twice what we could afford. I traveled all over South Jersey and Philadelphia looking at cars, but found nothing suitable in our price range. In fact, the best deal I had found all day, was that yellow LTD back in Elmer!

It was evening when we drove back to Elmer, dejected that we had not found a good car. As I drove past the Ford dealership, I stopped again to look at the yellow station wagon; thinking we could perhaps borrow money to get it. At the back of the lot, I saw a second LTD wagon without tags. Curious, I asked the dealer about the car. He said that they had just taken it in trade. It was a 1973 model, but in good condition except for the tires.

I went over to look at the car and found that it had half as many miles as the newer yellow LTD. When I asked to take a test drive, the salesman warned me about the tires, saying I shouldn't drive over five or ten miles per hour. The Firestone tires looked like new, but I soon found out what he meant! At 5 mph, the car began to bounce and at 10 mph it lept like a kangaroo! The dealer explained that it had puncture-proof tires which don't need balancing due to a gooey substance in the tires. It had been parked for a long time and the sticky stuff in the tires had settled to the bottom and hardened. There was no way to get it to spread properly again. The dealer said that we could have the car "as is" for $700!

I signed the necessary papers and went to see Fritz Harz, the Christian tire dealer where I had purchased tires for the Chevy. I explained my situation and asked if the Chevy tires I had purchased would fit the Ford LTD. He looked in a book and replied, "The tires are OK, but we will have to remount them on the Ford rims. According to this chart, the only Chevy rims that fit a Ford are the 1971 model." That was exactly what we had!

That LTD station wagon was one of the nicest cars we ever owned, and nine months later, we sold it for a $300 profit!

A SECOND CHEVROLET

CHEVROLET NUMBER THREE

A ROLLS ROYCE?

Needless to say, we declined that generous offer! Who would want to support missionaries who drove around in a Rolls Royce? I wanted to at least take a ride in the plush vehicle, so I tried to start it, but the battery was dead. I couldn't figure out how to open the hood and resorted to the owner's manual which was in the glove compartment. It looked more like a luxurious family Bible and gave instructions on how to open the "boot" but not the "bonnet." There was no mention of a battery so I finally gave up looking. I later learned that "Rolls Royce automobiles don't break down, and if they do, the owner has no business trying to solve the problem."

CHEVROLET NUMBER FOUR

THE FIRE

In January, Pop became ill and we thought he was going to die. He was taken by ambulance to the hospital, but was home again in a few hours. The doctors said that he just had the flu. He was so weak that he couldn't stand, so I had to carry him into the shower to bathe him. It was a painful experience for my father, and wasn't easy for me either.

On February 11, we were ready to speak in Verna's home church when my brother Dave called. He said that there had been a fire in Pop's shop at Daretown, and he was inside. Pop was now in heaven. Early the following morning we left for Daretown. When we arrived, we had to catch our breath at the sight. The fire had demolished the shop and everything in and near it, including our Chevy. There was much hugging and weeping with siblings and Mom.
Pop had bought a new shovel and wanted to brand his name onto the wooden handle with a branding iron. He built a fire in the shop furnace, but was called in for lunch. While he was eating, Mom suddenly said, "What is all that smoke coming from the shop?" Pop ran out and went inside, probably in a futile attempt to save his beloved shop. When he opened the door at the top of the stairs, the fumes must have overcome him and knocked him unconscious.

The fire made the headlines in area newspapers and because Pop Harvey was known all over South Jersey, hundreds of friends, relatives and business acquaintances attended the funeral. The church was filled to capacity. His six sons carried the casket to the grave in Salem, New Jersey.

Even in all this, we could see the mighty hand of God. After the fire, two different insurance adjusters showed up at the scene, each claiming to have a policy on the shop. When they realized that there was a duplication, however, both companies argued that the other company should pay damages. It turned out that my father had received a letter stating that his insurance was cancelled due to non-payment. So, he took out an insurance policy with another company. But he HAD paid the other policy and wound up with two! My brother Dave finally had to hire adjusters to settle the dispute. It was decided that they should split the cost between them.

Other arguments surfaced. The policy was for a private garage and workshop, but adjusters claimed that "his was obviously a business!" Because Pop had been retired for many years, the claim was refuted. Then they demanded proof that all the items listed were actually in the building and destroyed. We rooted through the ashes and recovered bits and pieces of the many power and hand tools, welders and all kinds of garden equipment. At one point, my brother Dan stopped sifting through the ashes and said, "All our lives, Pop preached to us, that "You can't take it with you!" After a long pause, he murmured, “...but Pop did!"

Our old Citation was parked next to the shop and burned beyond recognition. Insurance paid us more than we could ever have sold it for. If Pop's Camry had burned, it would not have been insured because it was a registered vehicle, but our car and a truck in the building were not registered, so they were classified as "vehicles in storage."

We had stored some of our belongings in a wooden cabinet inside the shop. Two typewriters were ruined that no one wanted and were hardly salable, yet photo albums in the same cabinet were merely scorched and the photos still good. Insurance paid for everything.

DODGE COLT VISTA

THE IDES OF MARCH

A TURBULENT FURLOUGH

RETURN TO AUSTRIA

CHAPTER 29 - PEOPLE

Most occupations are all about money, but missions is about people. In Austria, we tended to categorize people into three groups. The first group was composed of people who needed Christ and his forgiveness. The second group was made up of Austrian Christians, many of whom had come to know Christ or been helped spiritually through our ministry. The third group was comprised of friends in America who made our ministry possible through their prayers and gifts. Much of what I have written in this book has to do with the first and second groups. I need to share a few paragraphs about those in the third category.

WEDNESDAY NIGHT PRAYER MEETING

I explained in Chapter Two that my father's cousins were doubly related, so we called them Aunts and Uncles. One of those "uncles" had been sending regular gifts for our ministry, so he and his wife decided to visit us when they toured Europe.
Like most vacationers, they were trying to see all of Europe in a week or two, so they could only stay a couple of hours. We chatted for a while and gave them a few tips on what to see in our area. Verna served them a delicious supper, after which they began to gather their belongings to depart. I tried to convince them to stay a while longer, but my Uncle said, "We wouldn't want you to be late for Wednesday night prayer meeting."

I said that they didn't need to rush; we didn't have meetings on Wednesday nights. My Uncle looked at me in disbelief, "What, you are missionaries and have no Wednesday night prayer meeting?" I explained that we had prayer meetings on Thursday nights and Bible studies on Tuesdays. Both services normally lasted over two hours. He was not convinced and said, "Every Bible preaching church has a Wednesday night prayer meeting!" I think they made a mental note not to support our ministry after that, for it was a long time before they sent us another gift.

Almost all our support came from people and churches that knew us well. It was a rare occasion, when we were invited to speak in an unfamiliar church.

A NON-SUPPORTER

A church in Pennsylvania once wrote to our mission asking if there was a missionary speaker available in the area. We were recommended and engaged to speak. Experience has taught us that those who promise to pray but don't contribute financially, soon forget us, so we hoped that at least someone in the church would take a financial interest in our work.

After the service, many stopped at our literature table to ask questions and sign up for our newsletter. One man approached me and asked if we had a television set in our home. I answered negatively and he said, "I am going to begin supporting you. I would never support a missionary that owns a TV." I asked how long he had managed to live without a television and was surprised at his answer. He said, "Oh I have a television, but I earn my money." Another member pulled me aside and informed me that the man who had spoken with me had just received a $400,000 settlement from an automobile accident in which his wife was killed.

A few years later I ran into a lady from the church and asked how things were going. Although I didn't mention the conversation about TV, she told me that the man who talked with me had left the church. He married a divorcee and was consequently relieved of his position as Deacon. He then wrote a book defending such unions and had it published with money from the accident settlement. I was reminded of his words to me in defense of owning a television, "I earn my money!"

CHARLIE, THE "REAL McCOY"

I shall never forget the first time I saw Charlie. At 19 years of age, I was a relatively new convert and often the youngest person to attend prayer meetings, but one evening a kid I estimated to be around 13 or 14, walked in and sat down next to me. When I greeted him and gave him my name, he asked, "Are you Ann's brother?" I said that I was and asked how he knew her. His reply stupefied me, "She went to Philadelphia Bible Institute with me." The pastor then opened the service and Charlie was asked to introduce himself. No, I had heard correctly! He repeated the same statement, adding that his family had moved into the area to work in a large peach orchard near town. Ann had recommended her church to him.
Throughout the prayer meeting, I kept wondering how anyone that young could get into a Bible Institute. Apparently, I was not the only person puzzled because after the prayer meeting, I overheard someone ask Charlie how old he was. Charlie grinned and said, "What's your guess?.“ There was a brief pause, then came a hesitant, "Are you 16?.“ "You are very generous," Charlie responded. The State Troopers keep stopping me and don't even ask for my license; they just take it for granted that I don't have one. Charlie showed us his driver's license, which showed his age to be 21! We became close friends.
Charlie usually drove his father's 1946 Ford sedan. Once, my brother and I caught a possum on our way home from church. We drove to Charlie's house, opened the door of his dad's old Ford and threw the poor creature inside. A week later, Charlie told me of an unusual incident, unaware that I had anything to do with it. His father noticed cuts on the door panels of his car one morning and asked the children if they were the culprits; all denied any connection with the mysterious slashes. That night, he awoke to hear the car horn blowing so he went out to investigate, but there was no sign of an intruder; the upholstery, however, had fresh cuts.
Mr. McCoy was now determined to catch that culprit if it was the last thing he did. He spent the remainder of the night at a dining room window, his shotgun aimed at the car. Although he saw nothing, the upholstery was torn even more in the morning. Charlie's mother decided that it was time to call in the police. Within minutes, a State Trooper pulled up and began his investigation. Upon opening the car door, he poked his head inside and said, "I smell a possum!" He looked under the front seat, and sure enough, there was the smelly intruder. With gloved hands, he extricated the half-starved beast and placed it on the ground. True to its nature, the possum just played dead. The trooper pulled out his pistol and said, "This is the last time that possum will bother you!" He took aim and fired. He fired six times at close range, but missed every time! Finally, the possum decided that pretending to be dead was not working and decided to escape. Charlie's father grabbed a stick and clubbed the poor thing to death.
I went off to college, and Charlie worked at pumping gas in various service stations. He was robbed and his life was threatened, but he learned to be tough in spite of his small stature. In his mid twenties, Charlie started to grow again until he was about six feet tall! As customers got to know him, he made many friends who respected him for his Christian testimony. Word even got around in the underworld that "Killer" McCoy was to be left alone! Charlie later had his own stations, offering mechanical and towing services.
When we departed for missionary work in Austria in 1964, Charlie became a staunch supporter. He has been a model of New Testament-style servitude; wherever he lived, he became active in a church. In choosing a church, he didn't just look for the one that suited his tastes, but prayerfully sought the Lord's leading to a church where he could serve in some humble fashion. He encouraged churches to support missions and introduced us to his friends, some of whom became faithful supporters.
While pumping gas, Charlie often had to listen to citizens griping about corrupt politics und unfair laws. Charlie encouraged them to vote for good politicians, but they would sigh and say, "There is no such thing!" Charlie tried a different tactic and asked, "Why don't you run for office; I'll campaign for you." Most had some kind of lame excuse and expressed a fear of retaliation. They all feared that their business, family or even their reputation would suffer. One day, a customer responded by saying, "You run for office Charlie! Everyone would vote for you!" Charlie had never given that a thought but was not one to back away from a challenge. His command of the English language was not good and with only a High School education and one year of Bible college, it seemed like a crazy thing to do, but Charlie ran for election to the School Board and won. He spoke up when it was called for and refused to back down or keep his mouth shut if he felt a matter was important. Most of the citizens liked his straightforward, simple and logical argumentations, often punctuated with humorous anecdotes.
A few years later, Charlie decided to run for the office of Township Supervisor. Many citizens were elated and gave him full campaign support. The incumbent Supervisor was confident that Charlie didn't have a chance to win. He had plenty of experience, money, influence and an earned doctorate, while Charlie simply pumped gas and drove a tow truck for a living.
Early in the campaign, the Supervisor challenged Charlie to a public debate and Charlie accepted. The hall was filled to capacity, and Charlie was pleased to see that his supporters were clearly in the majority. The Supervisor began with a barrage of questions designed to make Charlie look ridiculous, but it all backfired on him. "What are your educational qualifications for the position of Township Supervisor?" he demanded. Without a moment's hesitation, Charlie responded, "I am a graduate of the school of hard knocks." After a few degrading comments, the Supervisor asked what his campaign platform was. Charlie relied, "If elected, I promise to carry out my duties as Township Supervisor to the best of my abilities on a platform of good old common sense." The incumbent Supervisor fired back, "Common sense? What is that supposed to mean?" Charlie turned to the expectant audience with a mischievous grin for which he was well known, and then directed his reply to the Supervisor. "You have a doctorate and are serving as Township Supervisor and don't even know what common sense is?" The crowd burst out in laughter followed by seemingly endless applause. The Supervisor attempted to recover terrain, but soon gave up in disgust, claiming that his opponent was not prepared or able to give intelligent answers to his questions.
Soon after that debate, Charlie was hospitalized with internal bleeding. Lying in the emergency ward, Charlie received one transfusion after another, but nothing seemed to help. While Doctors gave him little chance to survive, Charlie was receiving countless letters and cards from anxious and caring citizens. The incumbent Supervisor saw his chance and churned out endless attack flyers, wrote articles for the newspaper and used every ploy to get votes. Charlie's condition improved and he was moved to a hospital room where he was able to receive visitors. One of the first was a reporter who wanted to know how he would answer his opponent. Charlie told him, "The wonderful citizens of this town have shown me so much kindness, concern and prayers. There are many hard-working, tax-paying people in town, and I am confident that they know how to vote." Charlie won hands down, but it never went to his head. He continued pumping gas and towing wrecks for the duration of his tenure.
Charlie also ran for County Commissioner, but lost that election. He said that was really a blessing, for he was getting older and didn't feel competent to clean up politics on the county level. Charlie never married, but everyone, including the ladies, loved him!
On more than one occasion, Charlie came to our rescue in providing transportation to and from airports or putting us up in his home. He helped us pick out good furlough cars on at least two occasions.
The most memorable experience had to do with our daughter, Becky. She flew alone from Europe to JFK to join her brother Richard working at a camp in Connecticut for the summer. She was to start college in the fall. Becky's plane arrived late and when she got to the bus terminal, her bus had already left. She was 20 years old, tired, carrying two large suitcases, and it was late. There were no other busses to her destination until the following day. Everywhere she looked, there were druggies, drunks and other hardly human-appearing characters lurking in the shadows. Becky found a pay phone and tried calling us in Austria, but foreign calls were very expensive and her money ran out after telling us of her plight. There was no time to respond or ask questions. In desperation, we called my sister and brother-in-law, who were pastoring a church on Long Island. They offered to call the police, but didn't even know what Becky was wearing. The trip to the bus station would have taken them at least two hours, so that seemed out of the question. Then we thought of Charlie. He often took people to the airport and bus. We decided to call and ask for his advice. He immediately recognized the dangerous situation and jumped into action. He got in his car and drove to the station, arriving after midnight. He parked in a no-parking zone with his flashers on and ran into the terminal to find Becky. He found her on a busy stairway where she felt a little safer, grabbed her suitcases and got her to the car in record time. Then, he drove her to the home of his pastor in Newton, NJ, where she spent the rest of the night. The following day, the Pastor and his wife drove her all the way to the camp in Connecticut! Charlie was out all night but refused to accept any remuneration for his trouble and costs incurred.
Our children will never forget "Uncle Charlie" -- nor shall we!

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