Frank Calloway, Jehovah’s Witness (1997; Last in a Series of 5)

Frank’s Unexpected Epiphany

2006 photo of Castle Crags by Clay Shannon

There were a variety of reactions in Fort Bragg to Frank returning home. Some were jealous of him, for the fame he had acquired. They had known him as just a local guy, a neighbor and the former football coach and teacher at the High School, but now—a former Governor? They felt upstaged by him and, worried that he “wouldn’t know them anymore” now that he was such a big shot, they fired the first volley by ignoring him.

Some were disappointed in Frank, or at least a little confused about why he hadn’t at least tried to remain Governor. He had explained his reason for leaving politics clearly enough, but some just didn’t want to hear it, and so closed their ears and brain to his explanation.

Others, though, were happy to have Frank back in town and were proud of him for what he had accomplished while in office. They enjoyed the warmth of basking in the reflected glow of his fame. They had known him before he was famous! He still talked to them! Those ones didn’t really care that he had bowed out of politics; it was enough to them that he was famous, and they could rub shoulders with him and say they knew him when.

Still others, wanting to be viewed as even more cynical than they were, feigned indifference regarding Frank’s return to town, and sometimes even ignorance that he had ever been gone or had served as Governor. To acknowledge Frank as someone special was to diminish themselves in their own eyes, and so they seized every opportunity to imply that Frank had been kind of a dud in his capacity as Governor, and if they had been Governor, they could have accomplished a lot more.

Frank’s own reaction to his return to private life and his accustomed surroundings was to first take a long vacation exploring places in California he had only gotten glimpses of while in office but which he wanted to explore and examine more closely: he walked stretches of the Pacific Crest Trail, especially in the Trinity Alps, around Castle Crags, Lone Pine, Tuolumne Meadows, Carson Pass, and Lassen Volcanic. Frank, accompanied by friends or family on some stretches of that National Scenic Trail that runs from California’s southern border with Mexico to Washington’s northern border with Canada, and trekking on his own in other portions of it, thus gradually “unwound” from the pressures of politics. He hadn’t even realized how tense he had become from always being expected to be “gubernatorial” and photo-op-ready, with a quote-worthy quip on the tip of his tongue at all times and occasions. The trees and boulders and squirrels and deer expected no grandiose expressions from him. Most people he met on the trail didn’t recognize him; he was dressed differently, and out on the wilderness trail was the last place they were expecting to see a former Governor, so they paid no special attention to him. He liked it that way. It gave him time to meditate on what he would do now in the next chapters of his life.

Frank didn’t require much, materially, and he had saved a fair amount of money over the years, so he need not worry about making a certain amount of money—or any, really, as he was a man of modest tastes, preferring the cozy to the chic. So he decided to go back into the law, on a pro bono basis. That way he could choose the battles in which to wrestle, and fight on behalf of the people and issues which were most important to him.

Sometimes Frank would offer his services to organizations who were defending victims of racism and discrimination, abuse of various types, and on behalf of efforts to retain the pristine serenity of places he had seen while hiking the PCT; other times, Frank would read something in the paper that would move him to offer his services directly to the individual or family written of whom he felt were being treated unjustly.

This work was satisfying, and Frank was able to help many people doing it, but after several years, he took another extended vacation to “commune with nature.” While atop the summit at Castle Crags, Frank reviewed his life as he scanned the panoramic vista. He was now in his early 60s, an age at which many are considering retirement, or have already. What had he accomplished in his life?

Not that he was perfect by any means, but he had always tried to do what was right. Yet, he got fired for it more often than not: as a football coach, he had put character-building ahead of winning games, and that focus was at odds with those who select coaches, leading to his being replaced. While teaching at Fort Bragg High, he was dismissed for downplaying the importance of students going on to college. As an attorney, Frank was on the first occasion warned, and subsequently let go when he continued to put justice, rather than winning the case, front and center. Even as Governor of the State, his power to effect positive change had been limited and eventually squelched by those who wanted to revert to the status quo. He had been thwarted and rejected at every turn, it seemed.

He was able to accomplish some good as an independent barrister, Frank acknowledged to himself with satisfaction, but it was a bittersweet realization that, although he is happy to do all he can to help the downtrodden and marginalized, there are simply too many problems in the world. He, and like-minded people, cannot solve them all. They are too numerous, too complex, and their foes are also too many, too powerful, and too cunning.

Frank had noticed how his fellow reformers would each dedicate themselves to a single, specific problem—whether it be racism, hatred, and intolerance (discrimination); unemployment and poverty (the economy); pollution and climate change (the ecology); war and terrorism (geopolitics); sickness, inequality, or what-have-you—but even where they could make a dent in these problems, there were so many others. When you solve problem #1, problem #2 gets a promotion. And then problem #1 crops up again, if you’re not tenaciously tugging and tearing at it!

‘Is there any way to permanently solve the myriad problems afflicting mankind?’ Frank wondered. Although he and his fellow activists gave it their all, their efforts to right wrongs seemed to have the same effect as throwing a pebble into a lake: a minor ripple is briefly visible, and that’s all. The wavelets quickly dissipate, and then disappear. The lake little notices and scarcely remembers the puny pebble that has fluttered to its bed.

For the first time in his life (his family was not religious, in the traditional sense) Frank, while sitting alone on the mountain top, prayed in his heart: God, if you exist, and you listen to people . . . if you care: show me if there’s any hope for a complete and lasting end to all this suffering that I see all around me. Is this life all there is—some happiness, satisfaction, and joy, yes, but with it a double-helping of vexation, frustration, uncertainty, shattered hopes, blasted dreams, war, greed, selfishness, the loss of loved ones, and then sickness, old age, and death on top of it? Is this life of quiet desperation and futility really all there is?

Frank didn’t expect an answer. He didn’t know if anyone was listening. Can you hear me, God? was the last utterance that he made in his impromptu but heartfelt prayer which he mutely flung up to the heavens. He deduced that if there was a God, he would be able to discern not just verbalized prayers, but also those uttered inwardly, from his heart and brain.

Never before had Frank fully realized that man cannot solve his problems on his own. Only God could—if there was a God, and if He cared. Was there? Did he?—or she? Frank didn’t know. He tended to only believe things he could see, and he had never seen God, or an angel, or a miracle, or anything of that nature. But he had seen the marvelous beauty of the earth. If God had not created those visible and tangible things, how did they come about? How did all this get here? he wondered. Frank was agnostic—undecided, in other words—but he was willing to be enlightened, if somebody could prove to him logically that there was a God.

That night, Frank prayed again. He prayed that if God exists, to reveal Himself in some way. Who are you, God? Where are you? Frank wondered. What is it all about?

The next day, as Frank was going over the documentation for an upcoming trial, there was a knock on the door. When he somewhat distractedly opened it, Frank saw two strangers, a man and a woman—dressed as if for court, it seemed—standing there smiling at him.

Frank was a little embarrassed at first, as he did not recognize them and thought maybe he should, but they then introduced themselves as neighbors who were sharing a Bible-based hope for the future.

Normally, Frank would have politely let them know he had no time to talk to them, that he was busy; which was true. But as he was about to do just that, and was even in the act of closing the door, he remembered his prayer. He had petitioned God to, if he existed, reveal himself in some way. He then felt obliged to afford his visitors a little more time, to see if they would answer any of the questions he had posed to God.

“So what is this about, exactly?” he asked evenly, not expecting much, but attentive.

The man asked Frank if he thought that suffering would ever end. Frank was taken aback. Isn’t that exactly what he had asked God? Could it be that these people had been sent to his door as an answer to his prayer? If not, it was quite a coincidence that they came so soon after his prayer, and spoke on the very subject he had been wondering about.

Another question was appended to the initial one asked of Frank: “Would you say Yes, No, or Maybe?”

After briefly weighing his answer, Frank said, “I hope so, but I’m inclined to say ‘no’; maybe, though—what do you think?”

The stranger at his door read Frank a scripture (Revelation 21:3,4) to show what the Bible had to say on the subject. It seemed far-fetched (“too good to be true”) to Frank, but he was nevertheless drawn to these people and their positive message. When he divulged to them what his prayer had been, they assured him that Jehovah (they told him that the God who created the universe and inspired the Bible has a personal name, Jehovah) hates suffering and injustice and cares for all humans, as individuals.

Frank was intrigued. He reiterated that he was busy, but agreed to meet with them again in a few days, when he expected the trial he was preparing for to be over. How could he not? Their appearance at his door, at that time, speaking on that subject, was at the very least the greatest coincidence he had ever experienced in his life.

It took time—many discussions, much research and study, and a lot of soul-searching—but gradually Frank put faith in the novel things he learned from the couple. He met many others like them, too, and before long began regularly attending the meetings they held at the local Kingdom Hall of Jehovah’s Witnesses. Eventually, Frank was ready to “take the plunge” and get baptized as one of Jehovah’s Witnesses. This occurred in 1997, when Frank was 65.

Frank, naturally, told his family about what he was learning. His father Jackson was especially interested. He listened raptly to his son as he told him of the Bible’s promise of everlasting life on a paradise earth—which was God’s original purpose for mankind—and was especially thrilled to hear that his dead loved ones, first and foremost his wife Crystalina and their son Ben (Frank’s mother and brother), would be resurrected back to life to share in the fulfillment of that prophecy. Jackson was putting faith in these things at the time of his death, at the age of 101, in 2001.

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Frank Calloway, Football Coach (1957)

Frank Calloway, Teacher (1967)

Frank Calloway, Attorney (1977)

Frank Calloway, Mayor and Governor (1987)

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