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In the '50s, there was an ole fellow with model T lived in town (pop 50). He swore by bacon rind for rod bearings. Pan only had about 4 bolts in it most of the time was generally laying on the running board when the car was parked in his shed. Everyone in town called him Uncle Frank. He was about 90, only drove a few hundred yards to church & back each Sunday. Car didn't have a starter. Uncle Frank was the first one out the door at the end of the service, hand cranking that old T. If it didn't start right up, he would stomp circles around it swearing at it. The rest of the congregation (maybe 20 tops) would be standing around the church steps, shaking hands with each other and the preacher. Uncle Frank is stomping around cursing 20 ft away. Everyone is pretending they can’t hear him, but I'll tell you to a young boy, his repertoire of bad words, endurance, and delivery was just fascinating. Then we got a new preacher, young guy, first job I think. Real cool. After witnessing one of Uncle Frank’s performances the last sentence of the closing prayer became “…. and please GOD, make Uncle Frank’s car start on the first crank, AMEN".....everyone there would yell AMEN. Didn't help one bit. Sheeeesh, so much for the power of prayer. Joe
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