STRONG PERSONALITIES

Doc

My dad had a unique friendship and relationship with Doc. Our family moved to Minneapolis in the summer of 1946. Dad became pastor of Lake Harriet Baptist Church that was located at 50^th and Upton, on the beautiful southwest side of Minneapolis – the city of lakes. We lived in the parsonage at 5248 Vincent Ave. South, which was a comfortable two-story, three bedroom home on a tree-lined street about four blocks from the church.

As the Lord would have it, my future wife and the pastor who influenced me so dramatically both lived on a street in the same alphabet as our parsonage. The Clearwaters and the Cutlans lived on Zenith, but they were way up on the north side. Another thing we discovered was that both Connie and I had attended the same Saturday morning Children’s Rally in the Billy Graham Crusade in 1950. Both of us vividly remember the service Cliff Barrows conducted that day and his Bible story telling ability. But, of course, as 9 and 7 year olds we did not have any idea the other existed.

It was during this time that my father became closely involved with Doc. They taught together at Northwestern Theological Seminary, and they worked closely together on various local and national boards and committees. In fact, my mother served for a few years on the board of the Conservative Baptist Foreign Missionary Society alongside Doc, and Mrs. Harriet Bratrud who was a prominent member of Fourth Baptist Church. Later in the early 60’s Connie and I attended numerous youth singspirations at Mrs. Bratrud’s large home on the south shore of Lake Calhoun.  

Lake Harriet was a growing church and it drew the attention of many leaders in the Conservative Baptist Movement of that day. After over six years of ministry in Minneapolis a large church on the south-side of Chicago contacted my dad about the opening in their pulpit. Dad was president of the Minnesota Baptist Convention, involved in a two-phase building program at the Lake Harriet church, and so he declined to pursue their entreaty to take the Chicago pastorate. However, that church did not give up and ultimately my dad felt that he should at least pray about considering Marquette Manor Baptist Church as the possible leading of the Lord.

Thus, it was after a successful eight year pastorate in the idyllic neighborhood of southwest Minneapolis we moved to the mean streets of Chicago’s southwest side. What a difference! But as a thirteen year old kid I thought it was an exciting adventure and invigorating. We even had a deacon who owned a hamburger shop – and the first week in our new home he brought us a whole bag of hot & juicy hamburgers.

But that was not the end of the drama. After one year in Chicago, Dr. Clearwaters and the leadership of the Minnesota Baptist Convention were pressuring my dad to return to Minnesota and assume the position of Executive Secretary for the state convention. Here is where I first heard of a slight conflict between my dad and the Doc. Dad told the Doc in no uncertain terms that the Holy Spirit had led him to Marquette Manor, and Dick Clearwaters was not the Holy Spirit – or words to that effect. That rebuff seemed to strengthen their friendship and deepen a mutual respect for each other. Dad was twelve years younger than Doc, but he had matured as a respected thinker and leader among his peers and was obviously esteemed by his friend Dick Clearwaters.

At the same time the Marquette Manor church was growing and I remember that dad was bringing in notable speakers to stir the church for vigorous evangelism and serious Bible teaching. Well known evangelists, pastors and teachers came to the pulpit during those years like R.R. Brown of Omaha, Evangelist Eddie Liberman, Dr. Lee Roberson, Dr. Charles Anderson (father of Leith Anderson, past NAE leader) and my favorite – Dr. James McGinley. Marquette was a strong church with a large cadre of spiritual men who witnessed fervently, served the Lord eagerly, and supported their pastor faithfully.

A year later – in 1956 – Doc Clearwaters was in the midst of launching Central Seminary after the seminary program at Northwestern was announced to be closing. In the hurried planning for that launch Doc had been talking with my father again and urging him to return to Minneapolis to give leadership and academic respectability to the new seminary venture. Dad, once again, said no to the idea of leaving Marquette church, but agreed to consider flying one day a week to Minneapolis to teach in the opening year. “Consider” was the operational word at that time.

I have often said to close friends that my dad, I think, was one of the few men who could say no to Dr. Clearwaters, or disagree with him sharply, and remain steadfast friends. They had worked together on a number of issues and fought some spiritual and theological battles together in the preceding ten years.

The two men had testified together as expert witnesses in several of the notorious court battles with the old Northern Baptist Convention over local church autonomy. Dr. Clearwaters was the expert on church polity and Dr. Carlson was the expert on Baptist History. My dad, I believe, could temper Doc’s powerful personality with a patient and firm resolve, plus balance Doc’s dominating leadership skills with a respectful logic and recognizable graciousness. There was always a mutual respect between the two men.

That relationship and balance came to a halt in 1957 when the Lord took my dad to heaven. It seemed in the years to come that Doc could have profited from a friend who both brought respect and perspective to some of the controversies that came later. But one does not know.

Cedar

I started college in the fall of 1959 as the third year of Pillsbury College was beginning. The young college had already undergone its first conflict when the original faculty clashed with Dr. Monroe Parker, who was recruited to be the first resident president of the college. Dr. Parker brought an administrative philosophy and institutional approach that had been developed at Bob Jones University over its 30 year history. Dr. Parker had been instrumental in instituting many of those organizational policies at Bob Jones. The resultant change at Pillsbury brought a batch of new faculty members who would become integral to the early growth of the college.

In the fall of 1959 the enrollment at Pillsbury was about 175 students. By the time I graduated in 1963 the college had grown to about 350. That growth continued on for more than another decade when it reached the peak of 700-800. My view is that growth was the result of a number of factors. First, there was the natural constituency of the churches who had been part of the Central Regional of the CBA. This represented probably about a 1,000 churches in Minnesota, Wisconsin, Illinois, Iowa, Indiana, Michigan, Ohio, Nebraska and the Dakotas. Doc Clearwaters was well known and respected within these churches. Second, Myron Cedarholm had been tireless in promoting church planting and growth nationally within the CBA orbit and he became a diligent promoter of Pillsbury.

Finally, Dr. Parker was an amazing promoter and strong administrator. Parker maintained a vigorous schedule of evangelistic meetings and travel in addition to exhibiting a strong leadership presence on the campus. He would often drive through the night to return to campus in time for daily chapel services where he preached and motivated the entire campus community. Under his administration an aggressive program of campus and student activities grew and flourished that included music, drama, athletics and most importantly – student extension activities among the churches.

The Cedarholms had already been a profound influence musically on my life. Music had always been a part of my church life, but it was at the little Baptist church at Lake Nebagamon where I especially remember Aunt Thelma’s piano prowess. She could make that old upright piano sing and ring. Another neighbor at the Lake was the indomitable Don Hustad – then director of the Moody Chorale and later organist for the Billy Graham crusades. I never aspired to be a musician, but I enjoyed singing and it was Uncle Myron and Aunt Thelma who encouraged me to form a quartet in high school.

In my senior year in high school I organized a quartet associated with a high school Bible club organization in Chicago. Two of us from that group enrolled the following year at Pillsbury where we formed a Freshmen Quartet with another acquaintance from the Chicago area and a recruit from Michigan. We traveled all over Minnesota, Wisconsin, Illinois, Iowa and South Dakota during that year. Every time Uncle Myron came to campus he would want to know about our ministry exploits. He gave me fatherly advice about staying busy, and about how to juggle my college studies, athletic participation and weekend ministry extension.

I remember one time he visited my dorm room and advised me to take short afternoon naps and gave me tips about doing my laundry. He said that wearing sweaters would allow me to only iron the collars of my shirts and thus save time. Uncle Myron was always practical, and it seemed he was always on a mission. Traveling with him it was known that he’d tell the waitress that we were in a hurry and he would appreciate quick service. But he’d always do that with a friendly and upbeat spirit, and never would he diminish an opportunity to witness. He had the ability to encourage, inspire and be interested in to whoever he was talking.

During this period of my life Uncle Myron always amazed me with his whirlwind preaching. Often I would see him take note paper – sometimes the back of envelopes – out of his suit pocket and jot notes for later reference. I realized that many times these notes became the basis for messages – especially when he was preaching one of his inspirational/motivational messages. He was often called upon to give a report about church planting, or give a missionary challenge based upon his legendary around-the-world mission trip. No one could talk faster and cram more words into a time frame. I would say that he could preach an hour sermon in twenty minutes.

Later my friends who were students at Maranatha in its early days would talk about his rapid-fire delivery and long messages. I would say that they never really heard him in his prime. By the time Cedar founded Maranatha Baptist Bible College he had already slowed down quite a bit. It was during his barn-storming days as General Director of the CBA that he was at the height of his energy and vitality. He was a strapping ex-football player who was a house-a-fire in the pulpit. As he would say: “Keeping on the firing line for the Lord.” 

During those days he would trade-in his Pontiac sedan every nine months after he would reach 65,000 miles. Myron and Thelma would be on the road over ten months out of the year. They would stop home in Chicago for short visits to be ready to dash off on the next trip. I worked one summer during college in the CBA office, and Lois Moyers, his secretary, would always breathe a big sigh when he would leave on his next trip because the office could calm down again. She was a devoted supporter of him, but she knew she could not keep up with his whirlwind energy.

MY HEROES

Doc

My first recollection of Doc Clearwaters was from the Mission Farms Conference grounds on Medicine Lake in suburban Minneapolis. I remember seeing him standing next to his sleek Chrysler automobile in the parking lot near the rustic headquarters lodge on the conference grounds. He was probably in his early 50s at the time, and he cut an impressive figure. Doc always looked good, and in the summer I remember he wore classy two-toned oxford shoes. He impressed a young guy!

It was in my freshman year in college that I was drawn into the ministry of Fourth Baptist Church and would be profoundly drawn into the legacy of Doc Clearwaters. A freshman quartet that I organized was invited to sing at Fourth Baptist in the spring semester. It was at that time that I got my first glimpse of Connie Cutlan – who became the girl of my dreams.

Connie says I acted like I was “hot stuff” because I was leader of the group and did all the introducing of our songs that night in the church service. I must have been within the bounds of propriety, because her youth pastor vigorously lobbied me to join their youth group camping trip headed to Wyoming that June. I went – and I was hooked – on both the young lady and the youth ministry of 4^th B (as all the young people referred to their church in that era).

The Western Camping Trip of 1960 became the first step in an adventurous ride over the next five years during my remaining college career and the first two years of seminary. Connie and I began a five year dating relationship that was immersed in the 4^th Baptist youth ministry. Many times I would have to wake her up from falling asleep on the backseat of the church’s Ford Econoline van after delivering a load of teenagers home following a youth activity.

Even though my time was primarily devoted to assisting the youth pastor, affectionately known as Nelson, I had many opportunities to interact with the Doc during those years. I remember once describing to someone the difference between the leadership styles of Nelson and Doc. I explained that, “Nelson would command and say, ‘Take this to the cleaners!’. Whereas, the Doc would stroll up to me and say, ‘Do you know anyone who could take this to the cleaners for me?’” Both of those scenarios actually happened…and I ate it all up.

Notice I use the descriptor, “the Doc” in referring to Dr. Clearwaters. That was a universally shared title, or designator, for him among the young people and church members. It wasn’t that we were differentiating between “Docs”, but it was a term of endearment or respect. He was “the” Doc at 4^th B. No one ever referred to him as Pastor Clearwaters, and rarely as Dr. Clearwaters. We all felt comfortable in calling him Doc…or the Doc, in almost any situation.

Years later Don Nelson would compose a poem that memorialized the spirit of those years which ended with these lines:

Cedar

My first memory of Uncle Myron – and Aunt Thelma – was from Lake Nebagamon. They purchased property several years after the Maranatha Bay community was established and therefore built their cabin after most of the other places were constructed. Actually, the original group did not build traditional structures, but they acquired surplus WWII barracks from an Army base in Louisiana and had them shipped via rail to the northwoods of Wisconsin. After the War lumber was scarce and these units came in pre-framed 16’x16’ sections that allowed the property owners to create adequate summer cabins rather quickly and inexpensively.  

Every summer my dad would take our family to Lake Nebagamon around the 4^th of July and we would stay at the cabin until Labor Day weekend. Dad would go back to Minneapolis for church duties and come in August for his vacation time.  I literally lived in the water each week day at the lake. It was there that Uncle Myron first taught me to surf board behind his 14 ft. Larson aluminum boat powered by a 25hp Evinrude outboard motor.

The very next summer he taught me how to water-ski as he pulled me many hours around the lake. In another year my water-ski time diminished because he expanded his teaching capacity to include all of the youngsters in the Maranatha Bay summer community. On one fine summer day over 25 kids and grown-ups were counted waiting in line for their chance to be pulled on skis by Uncle Myron.

That year I got my own 14 ft. Larson boat – or our family did, but I was the ruler of that boat and its 15 hp Evinrude that could pull a skinny 14 year old kid like me. Soon I was the water-ski legend of the Bay because I could dazzle with a slalom ski and I even learned to ski backwards.

In 1954 my dad moved our family to Chicago when he accepted the pastorate of the large Marquette Manor Baptist Church. Life changed for me as I was introduced to the rough and tumble south-side of Chicago. On the first Monday of October in 1957 my life took a dramatic turn. My dad had left the day before – after the Sunday morning service – on a hunting trip to Canada with the chairman of the deacons. On that fateful Monday we received word from the seaplane base in Kenora, Ontario, that they had lost contact with the small Cessna 180 airplane carrying the pilot, my dad and Mr. Gossage. The next day I came home from school and learned that the plane had crashed and there were no survivors.

It was Uncle Myron who broke the news to me in the living room of our parsonage on 71^st Place that my dad was in heaven. The Cedarholms, along with several other close pastor friends, had quickly gathered at our house to support my mother and our family. Dr. Cedarholm preached my dad’s funeral service in what I have often referred to as the greatest gospel service I have ever known. The church was packed to overflowing and Cedar preached a strong message and grown men walked the aisle to trust Christ as Savior.

After my dad was killed the relationship with Uncle Myron intensified as he became somewhat of a surrogate father to me. I remember that once he had taken me to a polo match because he thought that was an experience every teenage boy should have at least once in his life. I also was a regular recipient of his urging to stay busy in sports, music, church youth activities – and not to be spending too much time with the girls. He always said there was plenty time later to spend time with the girls. I didn’t always heed that advice, but I always respected his concern and involvement in my life. I think there are literally hundreds of others who experienced his genuine enthusiasm for mentoring each one of us personally. That was Cedar.  

INTRODUCTION

I began writing this short memoir about two of my heroes several years ago. I encountered difficulty due to time constraints – but also due to a conflict in my heart. I wanted to write something that reflected what I believe to be the human side of the two men, but I wanted my account to be helpful and not hurtful.

Richard Volley Clearwaters and Blaine Myron Cedarholm were larger than life real men of the 20^th Century. They had foibles like we all do, although during their illustrious careers it seemed almost sacrilegious or disrespectful to speak of any hint of imperfection. Some of that was because of the day and age in which they lived and served, and the positions of leadership that they occupied at the time.

It was Doc Clearwaters who said a number of times that we all have feet of clay. But it is difficult for younger men – especially former students and adherents – to address their respected elders on a matter of difference or in the case of definite disagreement.

I loved both men, although at times both of them exasperated me as a young man in the ministry. But they were godly men who had a profound godly influence on my life and on the lives of countless others.

This reflection is somewhat of a healing journey for me. The healing has more to do with the disappointments of what might have been, rather than a need to reconcile feelings toward either man.

Gerry Carlson, March 2017

                                                          Doc and Cedar

Two of my dad’s closest friends in life were Dick Clearwaters and Myron Cedarholm. That is how he referred to them within my hearing as a boy. With a few others, they were among his most intimate personal friends and were compatriots in ministry – especially during the early days of the formation and development of the Conservative Baptist Movement. Dad served for eight years with Dr. Clearwaters at the Northwestern Theological Seminary in Minneapolis, and was a close ally and confidant with Dr. Cedarholm during the first decade of the Conservative Baptist Association.

Myron Cedarholm, and his wife, became “Uncle Myron” and “Aunt Thelma” to me as a young boy due to their close friendship with my parents and family. As I grew into teen years he became “Uncle Cedar” and then, just plain “Cedar” in my adult years.

Doc Clearwaters was an early role model for me, along with a host of famous preachers who were friends of my dad. He was my wife’s pastor all through her growing up days, and the father of one of her close girlhood friends. Connie stayed overnight many times at the Clearwaters’ home during her youth, and her mother was a weekly luncheon companion of Mrs. Clearwaters. 

By the time I was entering the ministry I was very comfortable in my relationships with both Doc and Cedar. They were heroes, and both were highly esteemed mentors in ministry. I had a natural respect for, and easy access to, both men – even after they became estranged from one another.

When my dad was killed in a plane crash in 1957, both men became special figures in my life. I was just 16 years old at that time and it was only two months after Pillsbury Conservative Baptist Bible College opened in Owatonna, Minnesota. Dr. Clearwaters was the founding president and chairman of the board of the college. One of the last things I remember my dad talking to me about was his encouragement to consider Pillsbury when I graduated from high school. In less than two years I enrolled as a student in the third class entering the college.

My dad, Dr. George Carlson, was a pastor and theologian, with an earned Th.D. degree from the Northern Baptist Seminary in Chicago. Initially he was assistant pastor and then pastor of the Tabernacle Baptist Church of Chicago, where the organizing meeting for the fledging Conservative Baptist Movement was held in 1943. In 1946 he moved to Minneapolis to become pastor of the Lake Harriet Baptist Church, and teach part time at Northwestern Seminary.

During his time in Minnesota dad became a leader in the C.B. Movement alongside Drs. Clearwaters and Cedarholm. Dad was for three years the president of the Minnesota Baptist Convention, and a Vice-President of the CBA. He also served under Dr. Clearwaters at Northwestern, when Doc was Dean of the seminary. This was in addition to his responsibilities of being pastor of Fourth Baptist Church.

Dr. Cedarholm became the General Director of the Conservative Baptist Association in the late 40s, but also in the early 50s became one of the property owners at Maranatha Bay on Lake Nebagamon in northwestern Wisconsin. Maranatha Bay was an association of thirteen property owners who built summer cabins on the picturesque lake shore. My father, along with Herbert Lockyer, Jr., organized this wonderful summer retreat for Christian leaders and their families.

Mine was a truly good and godly heritage.