3. CITY LIFE
3
CITY LIFE
On a blustery February day in 1854, seventeen-year-old Dwight Lyman Moody sat in a train car en route to the big city of Boston. His jaw was set firmly, his homespun clothes patched and fairly wrinkle-free as he gazed out the window at the passing landscape.
“I WILL MAKE A NEW LIFE FOR MYSELF IN BOSTON.… AND I’LL BE SUCCESSFUL!”
“I will make a new life for myself in Boston—where I don’t have to do all those dirty, old farm chores like putting up hay and milking cows all the time. I’ll buy some new clothes, see some new things, and…and I’ll meet some new people. And I’ll be successful!” he murmured to himself as the train clacked and jerked along on the sometimes bumpy rails.
Dwight reveled in the journey as the speeding train carried him farther and farther from the small village of Northfield. But a gnawing sensation in the pit of his stomach reminded him that he faced an unfamiliar and uncertain life ahead. Suddenly, the train would lurch, the whistle shriek, and the bell clang as it passed one sleepy hamlet after another.
He remembered his mother’s words uttered with choked emotion: “Please, Dwight, don’t leave Northfield just yet. Maybe you can find some work besides those farm chores you hate so much. We don’t want you to go far away! Besides, I need you to stay close by and help with the rest of the family.” She had sobbed, clinging tightly to him.
But he had made up his mind. Whatever misgivings he had about leaving Northfield and going to Boston he kept to himself. The previous Thanksgiving, he had even asked his uncle Samuel Socrates Holton about a position in his shoe store: “Uncle,” he faltered at the dinner table, “I want to come to Boston, and have a place in your shoe store. Will you take me?”
Every eye at the table had been fastened on young Dwight. Squirming uncomfortably, he’d looked from face to face.
Uncle Samuel cleared his throat and looked across the table at Dwight’s mother. “Shall I take him?”
Twenty-one-year-old brother George blurted out, “No! He’ll soon want to run your store!” As Dwight’s brown eyes continued to scrutinize each face and glimpsed amusement, consternation, or contempt on each one, they rested finally on Aunt Typhenia, Uncle Samuel’s young, second wife. Her eyes offered sympathy and understanding, traits the young Dwight would always hold dear. But nothing was settled for him at that time. He would have to wait until he finally got to Boston.
His thoughts returning to the present, Dwight nervously fingered the five-dollar bill his brother Ed had pressed in his hand. Ed wasn’t so hardhearted after all, he mused. He had regretted all the tearful good-byes, though. But they couldn’t be helped. He was going to Boston to make his fortune, and that was that.
Shortly after the Central Vermont train chugged into the station, a confident Dwight marched down to Court Street and Uncle Samuel’s shoe store. Uncle Samuel, both surprised and alarmed to see him, found himself at a complete loss of words when confronted with young Dwight’s request for employment. After inquiring about the family’s health and other matters, he gave no other response. But Uncle Lemuel, his partner in the shoe business, suggested that Dwight stay with him in suburban Win-chester while looking for work.
Dwight left the store with a smug look on his face and a swagger in his step. He knew that Uncle Samuel would soon feel chagrin at having missed out on such a good assistant!
But as Dwight stopped at store after store and shop after shop, he realized that there were more people available for jobs than there were jobs to be had.
Many Irish immigrants had come to Boston following the potato famine in Ireland. All of these people were looking for work. Dwight’s confidence in finding a job began to lag. By the afternoon of the second day he was miserable and said later, “The feeling…that no one wanted you. I shall never forget those two dark days. Oh, the sadness, the loneliness.”
HE DRIFTED TO THE DOCKS AND PONDERED SIGNING ON AS A SAILOR.
He drifted to the docks and pondered signing on as a sailor. He also haunted the post office, hoping for a letter from Northfield. His little twelve-year-old sister Lizzie wrote him warning him about pick-pockets, but Dwight’s pockets were as empty as his stomach.
Trudging back to his uncle Lemuel, he made a vow, promising God that “if He would give me work, I would love and serve Him.” But when he saw uncle Lemuel, he was defiant. “I’m going to walk to New York!” he exclaimed.
Wise Uncle Lemuel realized that Dwight’s pride had nearly broken and advised him to “ask your uncle Samuel for a job, but be direct about it.”
Dwight hesitated. “He knows perfectly well what I want.”
Again, Uncle Lemuel urged, “Go on, ask him!”
His uncle won out, and a humbled Dwight sought out Uncle Samuel. Uncle Samuel responded with a long, thoughtful stare.
At last he said, “Dwight, I’m afraid that if you come to work here you will soon want to run the store yourself. Now my men do the work as I want it done.” Then he decreed some regulations, laid down certain conditions, and suggested that Dwight think them over during the weekend.
Dwight blurted out, “I don’t want to wait till Monday. I promise now!”
The following week Dwight wrote a letter to his family:
I do not board out to Uncle SS [Samuel] now I board in the city Calvin and I are going to room together bimb bi that word is not spelt rite I guess. I have a room up in the third story and I can open my winder and there is 3 grat buildings full of girls the handsomest thare is in the city they will swar like parrets.
Like his mother, Dwight eliminated most punctuation marks in his writing and also spelled words as they sounded to him, in a dialect and with idioms of the Connecticut Valley.
Dwight soon entered into Boston’s community life. His gregarious, although blunt and sometimes downright tactless, ways soon gained him many friends—along with a few enemies.
In summer he delighted in running free across Boston Common—a pastime enjoyed by numerous other newcomers. And in winter, tobogganing captured some of his scant leisure time, but he also watched rich boys race on their highly polished sleds.
Not only did Dwight join in more acceptable kinds of sports, but he relished a good fistfight as well. He remarked later about his many scraps: “I used to have a terrible habit of swearing. Whenever I would get mad, out would come oaths”—and up would come his fists, ready to slug it out with any and all comers.
PLAYING PRACTICAL JOKES RANKED NUMBER ONE WITH DWIGHT.
Most of all, playing practical jokes ranked number one with Dwight: “I was full of animal life, and shut up in the store through the day and sleeping there at night I had to have some outlet, and used to lie awake at nights to think of some new joke to play upon somebody.”
One of the somebodies turned out to be the Italian cobbler who worked in the shoe store: “Although the cobbler liked me he had such an awful temper that my joking came near costing my life. One day I fitted a lady with an expensive pair of shoes and he was changing the buttons when enraged by some trick I played upon him, he seized the knife and sprang at me and for a few minutes I had all I could do to keep out of his reach.”
Life as a salesman greatly pleased Dwight. Instead of performing unsavory farm chores, he charmed and persuaded people to buy more and costher shoes. He competed subtly with the other clerks to be the top salesman and reveled in the continual challenges.
For the first time in his life, he had money, although not all that much. He sent a portion home to his mother, informing her, “I would not go back again to live for nothing.” Then he added triumphantly, “I never enjoyed myself so well be for in my life the time goes like a whirl wind.”
Despite new opportunities, Dwight missed his family and at times experienced considerable loneliness.
Scolding his brother George, he wrote, “I wish the duse you would some of you write to me.” Another time, he admonished, “What in thunder the reason was I did not get a letter this morning I could not make out…I should like to go home this year if I could git away but it is all in vain can’t wright any more so goodby resp. yours Dwight L. Moody.”
When Uncle Samuel laid down his rules and regulations for Dwight, he included his attendance at Mount Vernon Street Orthodox Church. Coming from his more liberal Unitarian background, Dwight was now confronted, probably for the first time, with the claims of Jesus Christ as his personal Savior.
DWIGHT WAS NOW CONFRONTED WITH THE CLAIMS OF JESUS CHRIST AS HIS PERSONAL SAVIOR.
Uncle Samuel had also insisted that Dwight enroll in Sunday school and he was assigned to Edward Kimball’s class. Attending the first time, Dwight was handed a Bible and told to find the Gospel of John. As he thumbed anxiously through Genesis, the other boys began to snicker at his ignorance. Wisely, Kimball reproved the boys with a glance and quietly exchanged Bibles with Dwight, giving him one marked at the correct place. Dwight’s gratefulness became apparent when he told a close friend later that he would “stick by the fellow who had stood by him and had done him a turn like that.”
Uncle Samuel suggested to the deacons that Dwight’s lack of Bible knowledge was his mother’s fault. But that wasn’t true. He simply daydreamed through most Bible readings at home, and since grimy youngsters’ hands were forbidden to touch the Bible, he failed to glean much Bible knowledge.
Over the next eleven months, Dwight listened to sermon after sermon from Dr. Edward Norris Kirk. The church itself had been formed twelve years earlier by Bostonians unhappy with the rigid doctrinal exclusiveness of another large city church. Pastor Kirk emphasized the sinfulness of man and man’s inability to save himself. He spoke of Christ’s death on the cross for all mankind, of Christ’s resurrection from the dead, and of Christ’s desire to be the friend of each one who trusted Him. On the other hand, the minister issued dire warnings to all who refused so great a salvation, and he verbally assaulted those who failed to do so.
Over the next eleven months, as Pastor Kirk’s messages and Edward Kimball’s teaching combined in Dwight’s mind, he found himself caught up in a spiritual struggle: “I thought I would wait till I died and then become a Christian. I thought if I had the consumption or some lingering disease, I would have plenty of time to become one, and in the meantime I would enjoy the best of the pleasures of the world.”
Repeatedly stressing that the spiritual issue was one of choice and of yielding one’s will to Another, Kirk emphasized that the choice led to a life of faith. Young Dwight sensed the minister was right, yet he seemed unable to yield his will to God.
Then in April, Mount Vernon Church held a revival. And on Saturday, April 21, 1855, Edward Kimball resolutely decided to speak to his recalcitrant Sunday school pupil about his soul.
Arriving at the store, he found Dwight was in the back, wrapping shoes. He didn’t want to embarrass him, however, and almost had decided to come back at a more convenient time. “I began to wonder whether I ought to go just then during business hours,” he later reported. “And I thought maybe my mission might embarrass the boy, that when I went away the other clerks might ask who I was, and when they learned might taunt Moody and ask if I was trying to make a good boy out of him. Then, I decided to make a dash for it and have it over at once.”
Going over to Dwight in the back of the shoe store, “I placed my hand on his shoulder, leaned over, and placed my foot on a shoe box.”
Kimball looked into Dwight’s eyes and “asked him to come to Christ, who loved him and who wanted his love and should have it.”
Dwight’s struggle came to a head, and he surrendered his will to God’s will and came to Christ through Kimball’s invitation.
“My plea was a very weak one,” Kimball observed later, “but I was sincere.” He also realized, “The young man was just ready for the light that broke upon him. For there, at once, in the back of that shoe store in Boston, Dwight gave himself and his life to Christ.”
IN THE BACK OF THAT SHOE STORE IN BOSTON, DWIGHT GAVE HIMSELF TO CHRIST.
The following morning as he left his room, Dwight’s happiness and peace knew no bounds. The wide grin on his face and the fresh sparkle in his big brown eyes reflected his newfound joy. He sensed “the old sun shone a good deal brighter than it ever had before—I felt that it was just smiling upon me; and as I walked out upon Boston Common and heard the birds singing in the trees, I thought they were all singing a song to me.”
As he marched along, it seemed all creation cheered him on his way, and he sensed, “I had not a bitter feeling against any man, and I was ready to take all men to heart.”
Then Dwight’s thoughts turned to his family, his mother, brothers, and sisters, and he began “then and there to pray for them,” realizing with sadness that he had never prayed for them before.
He had tried to help his family in different ways, sending not only money but also shoes, which he purchased at trade prices. Along with his gifts, Dwight generally offered his sage opinions about everything. Now, he thought, “I could tell them what God has done for me. I thought I would only have to explain it to have them all see the light.”
Visiting home a short time later to help put in the potato and watermelon crops, Dwight attempted to tell his family about his newfound faith. They looked at him blankly, and his mother declared fervently, “I will remain a Unitarian the rest of my life!” They thought Dwight had gotten into some strange doctrine in Boston.
Heavy hearted, Dwight returned to Boston and soon appeared before the Mount Vernon Church board for membership. Not until the applicant answered the board’s questions satisfactorily would he be admitted to membership.
Sitting in front of the austere board, Dwight suffered from extreme nervousness: His dry mouth felt as though it was stuffed with cotton. His palms were sweating, and his knees would have knocked together had he been standing. His normal joviality had deserted him in the presence of this august company.
“Ah, Mr. Moody,” began Deacon Higginbottom, “have you been awakened? Did you see yourself as a sinner? Do you feel dependent on Christ for forgiveness?”
Dwight found himself at a complete loss for words. His inadequate guttural response consisted of “Yes,” “No,” and “Sure,” which the clerk quickly remedied into correct doctrinal statements.
In exasperation, the chairman rose from his seat and, glowering down on poor Dwight, fairly shouted, “Mr. Moody, what has Christ done for us all—for you— which entitles Him to our love?”
“MR. MOODY, WHAT HAS CHRIST DONE FOR US ALL— FOR YOU— WHICH ENTITLES HIM TO OUR LOVE?”
Hesitatingly, his head hung low, Dwight stammered, “I…I don’t know. I think Christ has done a good deal for us. But I don’t think of anything particular as I know of.”
Admission was denied, and the church assigned two pious deacons to teach Dwight the principles of the faith. Dwight would have none of it, avoiding the two well-intentioned men like the plague. As he remarked to a friend, “You might as well try to get a man to go before a justice of the peace.”
The next March, the church finally granted Dwight admission, although as Kimball conceded, “Little more light had appeared.”
Many years later, the officials at Mount Vernon Church were the ones to hang their heads in shame over their misjudgment of Dwight Moody. By then, they would have gladly sat at his feet.
But as Kimball pointed out at the time, the main proofs that Dwight had become a Christian were slim: he no longer swore, and he said the Bible had changed from being dull and dry to being his favorite book.
Nineteen years old and managing another shoe store for his uncle, Dwight suddenly found Boston stifling. The set ways, the tradition, the old established business houses, the rigid manners and proper social mores discouraged him at every turn. Everything he had been thrilled over when he first came to Boston lay in ashes at his feet.
He was ready for a change, and after he and his uncle Samuel had a falling out over Dwight’s request for a raise, he struck out in September 1856 for the booming prairie city of Chicago.