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.