The Wedge Blade

“Hello, you’ve reached the Manning residence, we’re not available at the moment. Please leave a message and we’ll call you back.” It's a low husky voice on the answer phone, but it's not the voice of anyone in the old remote Texas farmhouse, it's only to dissuade thieves.

“Hello Ms. Manning, Anthony Bannister from NPR, I was wondering if you could help me. Your son Ali Anthony gave me your name…”

“Hello Mr. Bannister, yes, I’m here. He wrote me and told me you might call. I don’t quite understand what you want.”

“It’s like this: I published a request for life stories of people who were involved in the Ecumenical Institute and the Institute of Cultural Affairs. Your son contacted me and said that you might be willing to tell us a bit of your story.”

“Well, I never…”

“I understand your need for privacy Ms. Manning, it can be an anonymous contribution. You can say as much or as little as you want. Your son believes it might do you some good to get everything off of your chest. He told me you still have nightmares. Perhaps I can come to see you? We can record your memories and we can even change the sound of your voice if you wish.”

“Well, I suppose that’ll be alright. Qué sera sera. We left the ICA 36 years ago, in 1983, the same year my ex-husband quit smoking and drinking. He passed away 7 years ago from lung cancer anyway, 29 years after he quit.”

“I’m sorry to hear that Ms Manning. When is a good time for you? Perhaps sometime next week?”

“Any day is like another. Whenever suits you. The morning’s better if you’re an early riser, before it starts getting hot.”

“I’ll come on Monday then, how about 8?”

“That will be fine Mr. Bannister.”

“One last thing, I don’t know how to get to your house, I just have a PO Box number.”

“You can just ask Ed or Jack at the Phillips 66 Station on West 2^nd Street. They can give you directions. I’ll tell them you’re coming. Have a nice weekend Mr. Bannister.”

“Thank you so much Ms Manning, you too, see you Monday morning.”

It’ll be a 15 hour drive down to see her, so I decide to do the trip in two days over the weekend, I can visit Monument Valley and the Navajo Reservation, I always love a visit there and I have some good friends, I’ll probably be able to find a bed for Saturday night. I book a room for Sunday night at the Red River Inn Best Western in Clarendon.

A border collie comes running up to meet me as my pick up stops in a cloud of dust. Its joyful barks fill the air, chiming in with some clucking and the gentle creaking of the water well windmill.

Lilly Evelynn Manning strolls out of the old ranch house, a hardy 50-some daughter close behind. They work their little piece of land together, about 40 acres, just a few head of cattle, some poultry…just enough to get by without any extras. Oval wire rimmed glasses encircle Lilly’s powder blue eyes, her hazel hair sways gently and the warmth of her smile is mirrored by the intense crow’s feet on her temples. Kindness and peace of mind seems to well forth from her whole being.

“Good morning Mr. Bannister, please come in. Some tea?”

“Morning Ms Manning, Yes, please.” I follow her into the living room, she bids me to sit and heads off to the kitchen. Framed grandchildren’s smiles welcome me from all corners of the room, and the all-too-familiar sweet smell of printed pages blends with those of the ranch through the flapping curtains. The bookshelves are packed. No television or other mod cons. I notice a weary Bible next to an English translation of the Holy Qur’an on the end table next to my easy chair. She reappears a few minutes later with a platter, two mugs with T-bags in them and Texas fruitcake. “Sultan Moroccan Chai” is marked on the T-bag tickets.

“My daughter has chores, so she won’t be joining us.” She notices my intrigue about the “Sultan”. My son Ali sent the tea from Morocco for Christmas, it’s delicious. So, I guess we should get started?”

I start my Tascam voice recorder running and nod. “Please, I’m truly grateful.”

“In my youth I was set on being a missionary. James and I met in seminary in the Southern Methodist University in Dallas. He was a very kind man, tall, slim, and full of joy. We married and had our first son James Jr. here in Texas in ’57. James had his first parish in Brownsville, and then in ’59 we were sent to a Mission on the Blackfeet reservation in Montana. We were both thrilled with being sent to work on the mission, and spent 9 years there. We had twin boys, one of them died, then we had another boy in ’63 and in ’66 we adopted two Assiniboine sisters from another reservation in Montana. James always attended the United Methodist Annual Conferences, and that’s where we learned of the Ecumenical Institute. In the summer of ’67 we attended a study program with them in an Urban Development Program they had started in the Black ghetto on the West Side of Chicago called ‘5^th City’. That’s where it all began for us. They had a vision, and they had a plan to change the world. They would use the existing global network of Christian churches throughout the world to recruit and build an organization full of people willing to give up everything. I believe that the most significant symbol was one that they taught from the very beginning; it was called “The Wedge Blade” You can picture it like this: a V shape pointing to the right with a vertical bar on the far right. The small tip of the V to the right of the bar represented the “vanguard”, those who were willing to throw themselves on the barbed wire of the front lines of a war, thus giving their lives for the sake of all the others. It was a religious order, and we took vows when we joined in ’69. Vows of Poverty, Chastity, and Obedience. We defined Chastity not as abstention, but as placing God and the cause above all else. We learned to think of the family as a worldly value, and as such, something that had to be sacrificed like possessions. Because the family was to be sacrificed, all children were separated from their parents at 12 years of age and sent to live with guardians somewhere else in the world, other adults in the movement. We were so involved in our mission to change the world that we forgot the importance of being close as a family. We rarely saw each other. The Ecumenical Institute wanted to change its image for the outside world and changed their public name to The Institute of Cultural Affairs, but it was still secretly a religious order. It grew to around 5000 members by the end of the ‘70s. The years went by and we were all separated, James and I were sent to Korea, then to Hong Kong, and then to Lagos Nigeria, while our children were all sent here and there around the US and abroad. I don’t regret having made sacrifices, but I realized too late that essential pages had been torn out of our lives. I don’t believe that we can ever repair the damage done. As my son mentioned, I do have recurring nightmares. I pray God daily to forgive me for my negligence. My daughter that you saw outside didn’t go through all of this. James and I adopted her here in Texas after we left the Order and James went back to preaching. I’m happy that she’s here to help me. Thank God. I’m grateful and I know that Jesus loves me.”

She wipes her eyes with a bandana and a slight smile lets me know she’s alright. She’s said all she wants to, and it’s enough. I can imagine how hard it must be for her to make something as private as this public. “Thank you for your contribution, I’m ever so grateful Ms. Manning. You’re a brave and good woman. I’m sure your children love you dearly and don’t hold anything against you. I can see that your grandchildren are present in your life. About the recording, would you like me to change the sound of your voice on the radio?”

“That won’t be necessary, thank you.” I finish my tea and she follows me out to my truck. I’m thinking that the four-day trip was well worth the few minutes of witness. The border collie comes running up for some attention so I pet it.

“She likes you. Dogs can always tell a kind person. Good bye and take care Mr. Bannister, God bless and protect you.”

“Good bye Ms Manning, thank you again. Take care of yourself, I’ll call you before it airs.”

Her red bandana waves goodbye through a cloud of dust as I pull out of the driveway.