Fort Des Moines Methodist Church

Fort Des Moines Church (old church)

Maybe it's me, but it looks like there is a ghost standing in front of the church by the front steps...

I was very young when it came down, but I always had a preference for the old church. Probably my earliest and best recall is as a toddler having to climb a lot of stairs to reach the sanctuary. I don't think we were allowed in the sanctuary during service, but I do remember climbing to get there for some reason. In my mind's eye it was very big and there was a significant bell ringing tower. Sunday school was in the lower room beneath the old church sanctuary. The older kids were funneled off somewhere else in the church. I had a very old, very nice church lady who taught my class which was in a section of the big room in the basement. I can't recall her name, but she was sweet and way out of her element handling the little hoodlums in my class. We were taught to memorize and recite the books of the Bible and I did. I knew them all once. I was really shy and quiet, mixed in a class with rowdy, naughty boys, and the teacher liked me. At Christmas, she gave us all a plastic snow globe - everyone's was the same, with Rudolph and Santa - but mine was purposely different, and therefore more special. She gave it to me and said it was special because I was such a good girl. It had a manger scene in it, and I cherished it. That poor soul had to have found some peace in knowing that at least one kid was actually listening. I remember utter and total chaos 99% of the time. Leading the pack was Kent Cherry, of course. The church took on a different feel when they tore the old building down. I spent the entire time mixed in with hellions and mean girls. Dad forced me to attend MYF (Methodist Youth something-or-other) for teens. I think I was the only one in the family who had to go. Weds night, MYF, Monday night Rainbows. They met Wednesday nights at the church and it was almost as awful as Rainbows. (Honestly, how do teen girls survive these groups?) Being quiet, I didn't mix with these kids well. To the last kid they were outgoing and confident. The girls juggled for the attention of the (still) rowdy boys, and one girl in particular found torturing me in front of the group a particularly fun pastime. Argh. (Fun side note: This same girl was in Rainbow with me where the personal torturing continued unabated. She was a terrible person, to say the least. When she got engaged - side-side-note: she's now divorced - her announcement in the newspaper misspelled her name. Instead of "Melanie", they printed her name as "Meanie". Karma. Pure, wonderful karma)

A few other things I remember: Doris Stroud, the very nice, but very untalented Choir Director who liked to sing solos and had a terrible voice. Mrs. Dillard, the organist who wore moomoos and had stockings that slouched around her ankles. Being in the choir myself at about age 11 and singing my heart out in practice one day until I notice the girl standing next to me staring at me in horror. I think it was then I realized I couldn't carry a note. Attending MAYBE every Easter and Christmas, but not very often otherwise - and Mama and Dad never attending, except maybe once, when a special sermon was given by the older youth in our flock, including Dicky. There were four or five college-aged members chosen to give a short sermon, and he gave a rousing sermon...questioning the merits of organized religion. It rocked the congregation to the core. The first few sermons were pious and properly deferential to the church. Then came Dicky. I wish we had his words written somewhere. Jeanne may recall better what he said, but I know that it was controversial and there was quite a lot of huffing and puffing at the fellowship hall afterward. Good old Dicky.