My first assignment as a Bethelite was to stand outside the 124 Columbia Heights building, directing traffic away from a blocked section of the street. The Watchtower Society was constructing underground tunnels between their two main buildings — 124 and 107 Columbia Heights — which required closing off the road. This seemingly simple task presented two unexpected challenges.

1. Neighborhood drivers weren’t exactly thrilled about being rerouted. New Yorkers, not known for their patience, would leap out of their cars, hurling curses at me for blocking their way. They didn’t seem to care that, had I let them pass, their vehicles would have plunged into the gaping tunnels below. For me, being on the receiving end of such verbal abuse from strangers was a new experience — up until that point, only my father had spoken to me like that.
2. The second problem was far worse: I was entirely unprepared for the brutal New York City winter. I had no cold-weather gear — just a thin raincoat and no gloves. The relentless January winds blowing off the East River cut through my meager clothing, burning my exposed skin and leaving my hands numb. By the end of my first day, I was on the verge of frostbite. But, being a “new boy”, I was too afraid to complain to the Bethel Office.

Thankfully, one of my roommates, a seasoned New Yorker, was not so shy. Seeing the state I was in, he grabbed a stack of towels from inside and helped me wrap them around my hands, packing them inside my raincoat for insulation. But even with this makeshift solution, my face grew painfully red from the windburn. After a couple of days, my roommate marched to the Bethel Office and insisted that I be given a new assignment. Once the staff saw the damage to my skin, they transferred me to the wall-wash crew inside the Bethel Home, sparing me from further suffering in the cold.

On the wall-wash crew, I spent my days cleaning bathrooms, floors, and walls — gritty but far warmer work. After a couple months, I was reassigned to the dry-cleaning shop in the 124 building, a task I found surprisingly enjoyable. I made a game of it, challenging myself to see how many pairs of pants I could press in an hour. I can’t remember now what my personal record was, but I recall feeling a sense of accomplishment with each crease I perfected.

New Bethelites were assigned either to the Kings County Congregation or the Brooklyn Heights Congregation, both of which met there at Bethel. I was assigned to the Brooklyn Heights Congregation.

One evening, after working overtime pressing clothes, I rushed to make it to my Tuesday night book study, conducted by Charley Ploeger. I arrived just in time, but without a tie. As I stepped into the room, Charley greeted me with a sarcastic remark: “You look good. But you’d look better with a tie.” Embarrassed, I tried to explain that I had worked late and didn’t have time to run back to my room to grab one. Charley wasn’t one to let things slide so easily. After the study ended, he looked at me and said, “We’ll see you next week … with a tie.” I responded, “God willing.” Without missing a beat, Charley replied, “God’s willing. Are you?” That phrase stuck with me, and over the years, I’ve found myself using it more times than I can count.

After three months in the dry-cleaning shop, I was called into the Bethel Office for a two-week trial to test my typing skills, which someone had noticed on my application. During this time, I worked under the supervision of Dave Madsen, who would later enter circuit work with his wife. Though it was only a temporary assignment, I welcomed the change of pace and recognized it was a promotion.

Having passed the typing test, I was assigned to the Service Department as secretary to George Nejame, one of the two Pioneer Desks responsible for overseeing all the pioneers in the United States. For a ‘new boy,’ this was a prestigious position, and with it came the added honor of being appointed as a ‘table foot’ at meals. I was overwhelmed by these developments, feeling certain that Jehovah was blessing me. However, George Nejame did not share my excitement. He made it abundantly clear that he had wanted a female secretary and was far from happy with my appointment.

Working under George was difficult, and there were moments when I considered asking for a reassignment. However, being in the Service Department was a privilege I wasn’t willing to relinquish so easily. Fortunately, not long after, George and his wife left Bethel, his Pioneer Desk was removed, and I was reassigned as secretary to Joe Gorra, the head of the remaining Pioneer Desk. Joe’s easygoing nature made him a pleasure to work for, a welcome relief after my challenging time with George.

After some months working as secretary to Joe Gorra on the Pioneer Desk, I received another reassignment — this time as secretary to Harley Miller, the overseer of the entire Service Department. Harley was one of the most influential figures within the organization. Only a select few — such as the Watchtower Society’s President (Nathan Knorr), Vice President (Fred Franz), Knorr’s Secretary (Milton Henschel), and the Factory Overseer, Max Larson — held comparable authority. Harley had control over the appointments and assignments of all circuit and district overseers in the United States, was responsible for approving every letter issued from the Service Department to congregations, elder bodies, and traveling overseers, and had final approval of monthly issues of Kingdom Ministry (later renamed to Our Kingdom Service).

Serving as Harley’s secretary connected me to many Witnesses across the country. His position also came with perks, as elders from around the country often sent extravagant gifts, including cases of frozen shrimp and bottles of Chivas Regal. Unfortunately, these gifts weren’t always a blessing; it became widely known at Bethel that Harley’s wife, Brooke, struggled with alcoholism.

Shortly after being assigned as Harley’s secretary, I was appointed a Bethel elder, which came with additional privileges, including speaking assignments at congregations beyond the New York area, stretching from Massachusetts to Maryland. Now more than ever, I felt Jehovah’s favor upon me. This sense of divine approval was cemented when I unexpectedly won the bid for room 1166 — a coveted corner room in the 107 building’s penthouse. With windows offering sweeping views of Manhattan and the Manhattan Bridge, it was a dream come true. I had no hope of getting the room, believing others with more seniority would claim it. But, to my surprise, no one else thought they could win the bid, so no one else had bid on it, and the room became mine. Though it lacked a private bathroom, the communal facilities down the hall sufficed. Harley and Brooke Miller lived on the same floor, their room equipped with an en suite bathroom, of course.

Most of my friends at Bethel worked in the Factory rather than the Home. Among them were Dale Black, Bob Witty, Bill Gehring, Doug Moreland, and others whose names, unfortunately, have faded from memory.

Within the Service Department, I forged close friendships with Robert Lee, Malcolm Allen, Merton Campbell, and Howard Zenke.

After spending a year serving with the Pacific Spanish congregation in Brooklyn, I became discouraged, realizing that I might never master the rapid-fire Spanish spoken by the Cuban and Puerto Rican community. Feeling out of my depth, I requested a transfer to an English-speaking congregation. Malcolm Allen arranged for my transfer to the Middle Village congregation in Queens, where he and his wife Grace attended.

In 1973, I developed a romantic relationship with a young Bethelite named Gail Wyatt. Our relationship quickly grew serious, but Bethel’s policy required couples to serve ten years before marrying and remaining at Bethel. Uncertain what to do (and afraid to consult Harley Miller or other older elders), I sought help from Eddie Pritts, who advised me to end the relationship immediately. Nervous and unsure exactly what I was doing, I told Gail we needed to stop seeing each other — but in my nervousness I failed to convey that I intended it as only a temporary separation. Gail was devastated. I learned from her roommate that she did not go to her Bethel assignment the next day but spent the day ‘sick’ in her room, crying. This hurt me deeply, but I was so inexperienced I didn’t know what to do. Shortly thereafter, Gail requested a transfer to the Watchtower Farm in Wallkill, New York, where she soon became engaged to another member of the Farm Family, John Lehman. Ironically, just a month after Gail relocated to the Farm, Watchtower President Nathan Knorr abolished the ten-year requirement for couples to marry and remain at Bethel.

I was now heartbroken and felt betrayed by Nathan Knorr. It was March of 1974, and my friend Doug Moreland was about to head home to Southfield, Michigan for a vacation. He invited me to join him, and the congregation in Southfield asked me to be a Bethel speaker on the Sunday I was to be there. Doug knew of my recent heartbreak and suggested that while we were in Michigan, he would introduce me to some of the young pioneer sisters there. I agreed. The scene was now set for meeting my future wife.

The evening before my scheduled Sunday talk in Southfield, the Birmingham, Michigan Congregation hosted a square dance at the Odd Fellows Hall in Berkley, Michigan, situated between Birmingham and Southfield. Doug knew that several pioneer sisters would be attending and suggested we join the event. I agreed, and as we mingled with the crowd, Doug pointed out Suzanne Enfroy, the daughter of Henri Enfroy, a well-known Witness doctor respected throughout the area and even familiar to some at Bethel. Suzanne was dancing in a square with her parents. Unsure of how else to approach, I mustered up my courage and awkwardly tapped the shoulder of the young man she was partnered with, politely asking if I could cut in. He obliged, stepping aside, and I slipped my arm around Suzanne’s. I can only imagine what she thought in that moment — no doubt wondering, “Who is this guy?” But I had made my move, and there was no turning back. The first steps had been taken toward a relationship that would change both of our lives forever.

Suzanne’s parents, Barbara and Henri Enfroy, were positioned directly across from us in the square dance. I vividly recall the contrast in their expressions: Barbara greeted me with a warm, welcoming smile, while Henri fixed me with stern, unwavering gaze that communicated more than words could have … although ‘daggers’ comes to mind. As soon as the dance concluded, I immediately introduced myself, explaining that I was a visiting speaker from Bethel — and, hoping to make a favorable impression, that I served as secretary to Harley Miller, the overseer of the Bethel Service Department. This seemed to ease Henri’s initial wariness (though he later wrote a letter to Harley to confirm what I said, and Harley responded).

In the course of our conversation, I mentioned that I would be staying a few days beyond the weekend and expressed an interest in going out for door-to-door witnessing on Monday. Suzanne said they had a group meeting for field service at the home of Richard Straub on Monday morning at 9:30, and I was welcome to join them. I eagerly accepted, looking forward to the opportunity to spend more time with her.

On Sunday, I delivered my talk at the Southfield Congregation, and afterward, Doug and I returned to the home of Ken and Diane Pittaway, where we were staying. Monday morning arrived, and Doug drove me to the Straub home, where I joined Suzanne and the others for door-to-door service. To my delight, Suzanne and I were paired to work together, just as I had hoped.

While we were going door-to-door I asked Suzanne if she could drive me back to the Pittaway home where I was staying, since I did not have a car. She graciously agreed. However, when the time came to head back, I realized I had a problem — I didn’t know the Pittaways’ address! Worse yet, I had no phone number to contact them. The only thing I remembered was that their street ended near a trailer park with a flock of pink flamingos out front.

For more than an hour, we drove around Southfield and Farmington Hills, searching in vain for a trailer park with pink flamingos. This made Suzanne late to her job as office supervisor for her father’s practice at 7 Mile and Livernois in Detroit. Finally, we pulled into a gas station and inquired about the elusive flamingos. To our surprise, the attendant informed us we were just blocks from the trailer park. From there, we quickly located the Pittaway home, much to Suzanne’s relief — and mine.

Later that evening, I called Suzanne’s house to thank her and apologize for making her late to work. During our conversation, I gathered the nerve to ask if I could take her to lunch the next day. She agreed, and at noon on Tuesday, she picked me up from the Pittaways’ home. We drove to a small hamburger place called Jenny’s (or maybe Ginnie’s — I can’t remember the spelling) on Grand River Avenue in Farmington Hills. We both ordered hamburgers, and I made a point to tell the waitress that mine should come without cheese. Suzanne asked why, and I explained that I can’t stand cheese. She found this amusing and told me that her paternal grandfather, Louis Enfroy, affectionately known as “Pepé,” refused to eat cheese as well. Pepé had grown up in Alsace-Lorraine, France, where his family made cheese, and after being surrounded by it all all through his youth, he had grown to detest it. In that moment, I felt an unexpected kinship to Pepé.

After lunch, Suzanne dropped me off at the Pittaway home and returned to work. Just before she left, I awkwardly asked, “Would you be averse to writing?” Though she kept a straight face at the time, she later told me that my phrasing made her laugh silently, and it became an inside joke between us for years. Fortunately, Suzanne said she’d be happy to correspond. The very day I returned to Bethel, she sent me our first letter. I had accidentally left Ken Pittaway’s book bag — borrowed for field service — in the back seat of her car, and she mentioned that she’d found it. From that point on, we wrote to each other regularly, almost daily, and before long our affection blossomed into love.

During this time, as I said, Suzanne’s father, Henri, wrote to Harley Miller to verify that I was who I claimed to be. Harley responded, confirming everything I had told the Enfroys. Suzanne and I continued corresponding, and a few months later, she traveled to Bethel to visit me. While the details of that visit have faded from memory, I do recall one thing with clarity: by the time she left, I knew I wanted to marry her. I followed up on her visit by traveling to Michigan later that summer to attend my district assembly. I gave a talk at the convention held in Tiger Stadium, and before returning to Bethel, I asked Suzanne to marry me. She said yes. However, we still needed Henri’s permission. With a favorable report from Harley Miller, Henri gave us his blessing. While Suzanne was eager to marry, she made it clear that she wasn’t interested in serving at Bethel.

After returning to Bethel, I informed the appropriate people that I would soon be leaving to get married. Suzanne and her mother settled on October 12 as the wedding date — just a couple of months away. To afford a wedding ring, I had to sell my grandfather’s Longines wristwatch along with a beautiful chess set that my mother had given me, but even that wasn’t enough. I left Bethel in September and stayed with Ken and Diane Pittaway until the wedding day. During my time there, I spent a few days washing windows at the Enfroy home in Franklin, Michigan. The money Henri paid me for that work, combined with the proceeds from the possessions I sold, allowed me to buy both an engagement ring and a wedding ring.

A couple of weeks after I left Bethel Harley sent me a Thank You letter for my years of service as his secretary.

Malcolm Allen recommended me for circuit work upon leaving Bethel. However, Harley Miller rejected the recommendation. I never learned the reason, even though I was reassigned to the Service Department when Suzanne and I were invited back to Bethel. (Interestingly, in March of 1975 the circuit overseer recommended me to serve as a substitute circuit overseer for a week, and Harley did approve this.)