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It is a rare event, to be sure. Usually, my review of the book I am reading is already coming together in my mind as I read, because I react to sure passages in a queer manner and am plainly conscious of whether my reading experience is an pleasurable one. But there have been a couple of occasions when I’ve been unsure when it comes to what I wanted to express in my review, even after I’ve finished reading the book. The most stunning example of that phenomenon occurred lately as I finished reading The Devil in Pew Number Seven, a essay by Rebecca Nichols Alonzo. Synopsis: Becky’s father, Robert Nichols, was a divorced hell-raiser who, following a Navy stint, enjoyed drinking and brawling. In his mid-20′s, he had a conversion experience, for the duration of which he became a Christian and wholly changed his lifestyle. As Alonzo describes it, he became obsessed with studying the Bible and, even though he never attended seminary or received any formal theological education, begun his career as an evangelist within six months. When he met Alonzo’s mother, Ramona, she was a church organist who had likewise been married once before. He was conducting a multi-night revival at the Church of God in Bogalusa, Louisiana, and Ramona was instantaneously attracted to Robert. She was relieved when he cautiously returned her affection. Six weeks later, they married and embarked upon a joint ministry of music and the Word. Called to the Free Welcome Holiness Church in the tiny community of Sellerstown, North Carolina, in late 1969, the Nichols were soon blessed with their original child, daughter Becky. The parsonage they settled into was throughout the street from the home of a “wealthy, well-connected, and valued businessman,” Horry James Watts, then age 65. Watts wielded power both in the congregation (even altho he wasn’t a member) and community, and became progressively incensed as the new pastor’s popularity and influence grew, while his power base diminished. A parish made up of a mere 12 members when Nichols arrived soon outgrew it is physical facilities and the construction of a more spectacular church was planned. The little church had seven rows of pews on either side of the center aisle, and Watts took up residence for the duration of each worship service in the last row, number seven, from which he made faces and noises at Nichols as he preached in an undertake to disrupt the proceedings. Hence, the book’s title. On occasion, he walked out before the service concluded, slamming the door loudly as he left. Watts likewise engaged in a systematic war of terror with the pastor and his family. Threatening telephone calls and letters were just the beginning of an eight-year calculated attack designed to send the Nichols family packing, “crawling or walking… dead or alive.” As Becky’s father became more determined to stay in Sellerstown, Watts’ attacks escalated in intensity. Telephone lines were cut and security lights shot out just before dynamite exploded near the parsonage and next-door church. Watts contracted with a local thug to run down Becky’s father with his vehicle and make it look like an accident. The Nichols family almost escaped death more than once. Review: Alonzo’s tale of growing up in Sellerstown is without apparent effort one of the most disturbing books I have read in a very, very long time. The initial chapter opens with seven-year-old Becky running out of her home — her father had been wounded twice, her mother shot dead right in front of her, and the crazed gunman remained barricaded in Becky’s bedroom keeping his wife and infant child hostage — to seek help. From the book’s very initial words, “I ran,” Alonzo pulls her readers into a grim, unfeigned story punctuated by years of maliciously calculated, unspeakable acts of violence directed at a charismatic, but peace-loving pastor, the wife who was his collaborator in life and ministry, and their two very young children, by a crazed, power-hungry, and evidently evil community leader. Convinced he was called to minister to his Sellerstown flock at any cost, Becky’s father remained to model the kind of conduct Jesus exhibited toward his enemies. Remarkably, her mother stayed, as well, standing steadfast alongside her husband with Becky and, later, the Nichols’ second child, Daniel, as Watts menaced their family, even when armed guards were posted around their residence. Watts knew no moral, ethical or legal boundaries. His catalogue of despicable stunts included killing innocent family pets as percentage of his quest to regain the power he once wielded over Nichols’ congregants. Alonzo has received exuberant praise for the book on various counts. That praise is, for a assortment of reasons, well-deserved. The book is exquisitely drafted, telling her family’s story with the same flair for dramatic tension that makes the best mysteries so much fun to read. Unfortunately, in spite of Alonzo’s expertly crafted prose, it is inconceivable to forget that the story unfolding page by page is totally true, exceptionally when she recounts episode after torturous episode of mayhem, and chronicles it is affect upon her entire family. Particularly gut-wrenching are her descriptions of the manner in which Watts’ conduct served to persecute her and her younger brother, who was born with nerve harm because of the incidents their mother endured while carrying him. After one particularly virulent episode, Daniel was ran into sleeping in his crib, surrounded by shards of glass and debris. Had he rolled over, he would have suffered severe injuries… or worse. Alonzo believes that he was spared because the hand of God was upon him that night as he slept, peacefully incognizant of and too young to comprehend the violent attack upon his family. Ironically, when the Nichols family at long last left Sellerstown, it was not at the hands of their long-time tormentor, Watts. Rather, Becky’s mother was shot dead by Harris Williams, whose wife, Sue, was one of Ramona’s nearest friends. Williams, a thirty-five-year-old alcoholic, had a criminal record of domestic abuse. Against the counsel of friends and relatives alike, Becky’s mother was insistent that Sue take shelter from Williams in the parsonage with the Nichols family. “Momma said our home would be a temporary refuge until Sue could get things straightened out. I’d say that was ironic, giving careful consideration to how the parsonage had been the focal point of ten recent violent attacks,” Alonzo writes. Williams, angered because Sue sought a restraining order versus him, barged into the Nichols home as they sat down to supper on Maundy Thursday, March 23, 1978. He shot Becky’s father twice. “Harris turned and pointed the weapon toward Momma. Standing by the kitchen table and in front of the washing machine, she was unarmed; she kept no knife, no gun, not even a chair to throw in her defense. She cried out, “Jesus! Jesus!” The gunman stood seven feet from the woman who had given me life, who, for almost eight years, had clothed me, fed me, and nurtured me. The one who filled my life with laughter, love, and lessons on forgiving others just as we had been forgiven by Jesus. None of that history mattered to this man. Without hesitation, with a cold indifference to her precious life as our mother, he fired a single bullet to her chest.” So leave Sellerstown the Nichols family in the end did, with one of them — Ramona — in a casket. Becky’s father remained hospitalized for three weeks, recovering from his wounds, but he never in truth recovered at all. He was unable to attend his wife’s funeral service. Five months later, he was well sufficient to preach a farewell sermon to his Sellerstown congregation, but his ministry was over. With his children, he moved to Mobile, Alabama, where family members cared for Becky and Daniel, and Robert expended his final years in and out of mental institutions. Prior to his wife’s murder, a health scare culminated in a diagnosis of permanent harm to his heart, the cumulative result of Watts’ torment of the gentle-spirited preacher. Becky and Daniel lost their surviving parent to a blood clot in his heart on October 5, 1984, when they were 14 and nine years old, respectively. At the time of his death, Robert Nichols was just 46 years old. Williams was sentenced to life in prison for killing Ramona, but was freed in 1999 and remained on parole a scant five years. Eventually, sufficient proof was collected to also fetch Watts and his accomplices to trial. He entered a plea of nolo contendere and was sentenced by a judge who ought to have recused himself. As he ordered Watts to spend 15 years in prison, with another five-year sentence to run concurrently, the judge practically nominated him for “citizen of the year,” acknowledging that he had engaged in business dealings with Watts and, based upon his familiarity with Watts, found the charges versus him surprising. The genesis of The Devil in Pew Number Seven was Alonzo’s receipt, when she was in her 20′s, of her mother’s diary. Begun in 1976, Ramona wrote: “To my darling daughter, Rebecca, I’m writing this book in hopes of answering galore of the a great deal of questions you’ve asked, but at the tender age of 6, your little mind is not capable to conceive. Your mom is talking to you down through the years… ” Ramona described the love she had for her husband, their meeting and brief courtship, and, in the last entry, how excessively affected emotionally they were to commence their ministry in Sellerstown. Ironically, she never penned a single word regarding the horrors that characterized the Nichols family’s days in Sellerstown. Alonzo told her family’s story for the duration of a Bible study, after which a friend with connections in the publishing industry helped generate interest in a book. Believing Romans 8:28 (“God causes everything to work together for the good of those who love God and are called according to his intention for them.”) to be the impetus for her new career, Alonzo says that “in my own novice way, I started out writing, believing I had been given a mission by God to get this story of forgiveness out there, to honor my parents’ lives and to let persons recognise that no matter what you go through in this life, God is there to help you through it.” The theme of the book is forgiveness. Specifically, Alonzo’s capacity to pardon both the man who murdered her mother before her seven-year-old eyes, as well as the man who destroyed her childhood through his heinous and unrelenting harassment of her family. Plainly, Alonzo sees her parents as martyrs. She writes: “I am so thankful that God gave me such aweinspiring parents. Not galore humans these days may say that someone laid their lives down for their friends, but mine did and I’m so proud of them for standing in the line of fire for the sake of the gospel. I can’t even imagine what their rewards are in heaven for enduring the five years of terrorism at the hands of a tormented man.” Therein lies my problem with The Devil in Pew Number Seven, and the reason it took galore time for me to determine what I wanted to say in regards to the book… and how I wanted to say it. I comprehend why Alonzo needed to pardon those who persecuted her family, including the judge who violated his ethical duties and a correctional system that permitted Williams to be freed far sooner than he ought to have been, for the sake of her own sanity, and in order to achieve a sense of peace and closure with regards to the events she lived through as a very young child. But for me, what’s missing from Alonzo’s narrative is an recognition and discussion of her need to also pardon her parents. Alonzo portrays her parents as perfectly blameless saints because they remained in Sellerstown in order to stand up to Watts, and serve as examples of faithfulness and resilience. Her single-minded portrayal of her parents robs from Alonzo’s essay a big measure of authenticity and credibility. But reading Alonzo’s descriptions of the horrific incidents of violence directed at her family caused me to become growingly angry not only at Watts, but at her parents. Given the terror that Alonzo endured — the promotional material for her book begins with the sentence “Becky Alonzo never felt safe as a child” — I find it incomprehensible that she was not angry, as well, and held expecting her narrative to include a discussion of her anger at her parents and how she overcame it in the procedure of learning to forgive. Thus, the message I took away from reading The Devil in Pew Number Seven was not affiliated to forgiveness as much as judgment of others. Reading the book constituted an ongoing struggle for me not to judge Alonzo’s parents — and rather harshly, at that. As a mother, I plainly can not fathom how Ramona could concede her young daughter’s life to be devoid of safety, security, and freedom from fear. I don’t comprehend why Ramona did not stand up to her husband, telling him to put his pride and stubbornness apart for the sake of his family. Had he refused, she will have to have gathered up her children and retreated to safety. I merely could not relate to a woman who chose to proceed living in perpetual terror to the point that, as a direct result, it caused her second child to be born damaged. I was evenly appalled that Alonzo’s mother welcomed her friend, Sue, into the home where she was raising her own children, knowing not only that Sue’s husband had a history of violent behavior, but also that he could without apparent effort locate his wife and child. There may be no argument that Ramona did not realize the danger, since she was spurred and encouraged by assorted of her own family members not to provide refuge to her friend because to do so risked her own safety and that of her family. I was raised in a Christian home as a fellow member of the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America (and it is predecessor American Lutheran Church). The God with whom I became acquainted as I grew up would never ask a believer to take absurd prospects or behave recklessly with regard to one’s own children and their well-being. Rather, I was not taught that God expects blind obedience. Perhaps it is a matter of Biblical interpretation. My Lutheran pastors never interpreted the Bible literally, nor do I. And I do not believe that a shepherd is called to lay down his/her life for his/her flock under any and all circumstances, exceptionally when the shepherd could take proactive measures that would make that extreme sacrifice exclusively unnecessary. After all, God the creator bestowed our intellect upon us, along with other a lot of other gifts. From him comes our capacity to think, reason, analyze, and use the gift of intelligence to make good choices. I was struggling while reading The Devil in Pew Number Seven with the fact that Alonzo’s parents, in a very tangible sense, put the interests of their parishioners in front not only of their own well-being, but, far more importantly, the needs of their own children. And from my perspective, that was neither brave nor deserving of martyrdom. It was, from my Lutheran theological perspective, rather foolhardy and, in it is own way, an affront to the God who gives the gifts of wisdom, discernment, and rationality. I was sickened by the Nichols’ failure to protect their children, as well as preserve their own health and well-being so that they could raise those children themselves, supplying them guidance and wisdom until they became adults. In a real sense, the Nichols sacrificed their own children because, in the end, Watts succeeded in driving her father to a state of finish mental and physical breakdown that not only terminated his service as pastor of the Sellerstown congregation, in spite of his refusal to escape, but took his life a few years after his wife’s murder. Becky and her brother were orphaned. I’m sure that my viewpoint is likewise influenced by other constituents beyond church system of belief including locale, the time amount of time for the duration of which the events related by Alonzo occurred, and the manner in which women’s roles, as well as the role of a pastor’s spouse, have evolved and changed in the years since Ramona Nichols died. Ramona grew up in very dissimilar time and place than I did — in all likelihood in both a household and congregation where subservience to one’s husband, and surely one’s pastor, was modeled. I grew up in a home where neither spouse was subservient to the other; my parents’ marriage was very much an egalitarian arrangement. The Lutheran church has always valued the contributions of it is women members, and begun ordaining women in 1970. One thing is certain: Alonzo’s compelling recitation of the events of her childhood is fascinating, thought-provoking, and would make an splendid selection for a Christian Bible study group or book club. It surely provides a basis for discussions from which much may be learned by listening to others’ reactions to the story. Maybe the real bequest of Alonzo’s parents is the probability their story provides to explore the myriad questions raised in the minds and hearts of other believers regarding the reasonableness of the Nichols’ reactions to the circumstance they were thrust into, how improvements in law enforcement investigative proficiencies might today result in swifter action being taken not only to protect victims of violent crime, but also fetch perpetrators of such heinous acts to justice, and the respective other agencies and organizations that would intercede to help and aid the Nichols, including but not fixed to groups that provide education regarding and shelter to victims of domestic violence. One word that does not appear in Alonzo’s tale is “will,” but the book could serve as an splendid springboard to a discussion when it comes to what the term “God’s will” means. Although she does not use the phrase, it is readily apparent that she feels the events she describes unfolded in accordance with “God’s will” not only for her parents’ lives, but for all involved. For those reasons, I do commend The Devil in Pew Number Seven.
21 of 26 people found the following review helpful. Another annoying factor is the almost total reliance on performance footage which has been available for years–the Moscow recital, the London recital, etc. Aside from some grainy home movies and excerpts from an abandoned 1974 documentary, there is nothing new here. It would have been a treat to see excerpts from his 1968 Carnegie Hall recital, the 1978 White House recital, or the 1978 Rachmaninoff Third concerto performance. The pianists’ 1983 Tokyo recital was filmed and has wisely never been released. There are a few moments of insight here, but one cannot escape the impression that this material was thrown together for one purpose, to sell records. With an artist of Horowitz’ stature, that could well be reason enough–but there could have been so much more. Hopefully, someday someone will put together a real documentary about this elusive figure. 11 of 13 people found the following review helpful. |
Only Part of the Story
A tape quite worth buying, to say the least!