God's Faithful Firebrand Ralph G. Finch: A Pioneer Missionary Who Blazed a Trail for Right and Holy Living

God’s Faithful Firebrand

Ralph G. Finch

A Pioneer Missionary who Blazed a

Trail for Right and Holy Living

By his Grandson

Daniel E. Finch

Copyright © 2015 by Daniel E. Finch.

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Rev. date: 05/11/2015

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CONTENTS

PREFACE

INTRODUCTION

PART ONE

CHAPTER ONE: THE MARKING YEARS OF CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH

CHAPTER TWO: STORIES GRANDPA LOVED TO TELL IN HIS OWN WORDS

CHAPTER THREE: EARLY SPIRITUAL FORMATION AND PREPARATION

CHAPTER FOUR: COURTSHIP AND MARRIAGE

CHAPTER FIVE: PREPARING TO ANSWER THE CALL TO SERVE

CHAPTER SIX: NOT ONE, NOT TWO BUT FOUR CHURCHES TO PASTOR

CHAPTER SEVEN: THE PIONEER MISSIONARY FAMILY SETS SAIL

CHAPTER EIGHT: FURLOUGH PRECEDES TOUR OF THE WEST INDIES

CHAPTER NINE: TRAGEDY STRIKES THE MISSIONARY FAMILY

CHAPTER TEN: A MISSIONARY GENERAL SUPERINTENDENT

CHAPTER ELEVEN: TOURING THE WEST INDIES AND SOUTH AMERICA AS THE MISSIONARY SUPERINTENDENT

CHAPTER TWELVE: THE NEW GENERAL MISSIONARY SUPERINTENDENT MAKES EXTENDED TOURS ABROAD

PART TWO

CHAPTER THIRTEEN: TIME OF TRANSITION TO GENERAL EVANGELIST

CHAPTER FOURTEEN: CALLED TO GO AND KEEP ON GOING

CHAPTER FIFTEEN: TREADING LIGHTLY THROUGH TRANSITIONS

CHAPTER SIXTEEN: A PAINFUL SEPARATION

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: A NEW BEGINNING

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: LEADING IN TROUBLESOME TIMES

CHAPTER NINETEEN: TO GUATEMALA IN A MODEL A FORD

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: FIFTEEN MONTHS TO LIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO: TRIBUTES

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE: REFLECTIONS FROM A HOT HEART

POSTSCRIPT: WHERE ARE THEY NOW?

Rev. Ralph G. Finch

PREFACE

I had just turned 14 and my hero was gone. I will never forget how the peacefulness of that July Sunday afternoon was shattered by the jangling sound of the telephone. My father was summoned from his rest in the backyard hammock to learn the shocking news that his father had died behind the pulpit while preaching during an afternoon camp meeting service in Kentucky.

Every boy needs a special man in his life. From my earliest recollection, Grandpa was one of my most favorite people. Even as a small boy, I loved to hear him preach and would always sit on the front seat with my notebook. I can still remember some of the stories he told. He was always full of fun and vitality, nibbling on our ears, tweaking our toes and telling stories. He dearly loved all of his grandchildren and let us know it.

One of the scenes in the movie, Sound of Music makes reference to a few of my favorite things and then the comment, When I think of them I don’t feel so bad. I have a few favorite things that over a lifetime have brought me great joy. But nothing could keep me from feeling bad on that summer day in July. I had just received a personal letter from my Grandfather dated June 6, 1950. And now he was gone! Ever since then I have learned to treasure his memory even more My Grandpa was the one person that has most profoundly influenced me and helped form my life values both as a person and as a minister.

It has been a lifelong dream of mine to share his life story through the printed page. This book is about how to be rich without money, possessions or fame, and how to live a life surrendered to God 100%. Ralph was not known very far beyond his circle of friends, ministry and the church. Yet here was a man whose passion for God and his focus on ministry still amazes all who know or read his story. So what kind of man was Ralph G. Finch?

Some people knew him for what he preached, others for his courageous stand on issues of the day, but as his grandson, I knew him as a fun-loving, warm, full of laughter, playful but motivating Grandpa that any little boy would love to have as a best friend. My greatest ambition was to be like my Grandpa, full of fun and laughter. As I grew to adulthood, I realized that not everyone knew or saw my real Granddad. To some he was one thing and to others something else. People either really loved or really hated my Granddad—there was no middle ground. I didn’t see him often—because he was always travelling all over the country. But when I did see him, he knew the meaning of quality time and I looked forward to those times and still treasure their memory today.

Grandpa was my all-time favorite preacher. He had a pulpit presence that was outstanding and unmatched. What I liked best was his energy, his passion and his missionary stories. A short term mission’s trip in those days was 6 months to a year. Once while my parents were overseas on just such a mission’s trip, Grandpa and Grandma came to fill my dad’s pulpit and to care for us three children. Every Sunday night he spoke on missions and told stories of his experiences of nearly twenty years of missionary life. As a 12 year old, I couldn’t wait for Sunday night to come.

His interest in missions was backed by a real passion for lost souls for whom Christ died, knowing that someone who lived in darkest Africa is just as precious in God’s sight as is that of an enlightened and educated person who lived in America. His was a missionary heart. His fervent, pioneer spirit drove him to always explore new opportunities for ministry. His willingness to go to the hard places never ceased. He had an ability to make any place he went to glow with expectancy and hope. To him, missions was not just an enthusiasm, however interesting and glamorous, that passed with time, but a fervor springing from a heart aflame with a burden for lost humanity the world around which lasted during his whole life.

Daniel E. Finch, 2015

INTRODUCTION

No Olympian runner ever carried a torch higher or ran with greater purpose and passion than did the farm boy from southern Ohio. Without hesitation, for a lifetime Ralph G. Finch crisscrossed America and the world holding high the torch of right and holy living. His race was forged amidst the fires of suffering and misunderstanding, yet he thrilled with the excitement of the race. He always saw victory ahead. He kept his face set like a flint of steel and never veered to the right or left.

When a raging fire filled the early Sunday morning sky, consuming the stately two story Kentucky landmark where he lived with his family, it wasn’t the first or last fire that would mark the life of R. G. Finch. Instead of getting ready for church that morning, the Finch family watched their home and all their clothes, furniture and belongings go up in flames. That Kingswood fire in 1928 cost the Pilgrim Holiness Missions Superintendent all his earthly possessions, but it was God’s Holy Fire that would make him totally surrendered to and dependent on God and would take him around the world preaching the Gospel. His heart had been set aflame for God, souls and missions years before and that fire would burn in his soul until the day he died. He often said, I was spiritually reborn in the fires of revival and I can’t live in the smoke of a dying fire. I often heard him say, I would rather burn out for God than rust out for the devil. After hearing one of his passionate missionary appeals, songwriter Bessie Hatcher wrote and dedicated a song to him, Let Me Burn Out For Thee. In his later years he once commented that he might have lost some of his thunder, but not his lightning. As God’s Holy Firebrand he spread the fires of missionary passion, Spirit-filled revivals and holy living wherever he went.

From his earliest days of ministry and up until he died, he had a strong thirst to know God and a passion to make Him known. One sentence in the Pilgrim Holiness Church Manual became his theme, watchword and song. Spreading scriptural Holiness over these lands.

Throughout his entire life, he followed that purpose with as much focus and energy as he could muster. He felt it all began with a sinner being deeply convicted of sin and becoming fully regenerated by faith, living the born again life and then seeking and receiving a deeper experience of the work of the Holy Spirit which was a dying to selfish desires, plans and wishes and a cleansing of not only the heart and soul, but also a cleansing of the life resulting in a definition of holy living. The individual following the design of holiness for his life would then fit into God’s trinity for the renewal of society:

1. The Family 2. The Church 3. The School. He felt that holy families would give birth to holy churches and holy churches would give birth to holy schools and the result would be a changed society. Throughout his life, he would work hard to bring about a Christ-centered culture in the family, the church and the school.

As you read these pages you will see how he truly believed that if one person would live a life totally surrendered to God 100%, and ablaze with the glory of God, living so everyone both in and out of church would see the presence of God—how that would begin a chain reaction of change. If a family would follow God’s design for holy living and truly lived the life of holiness, then they could band together to create churches that followed the path of holiness for God said, Be ye Holy for I am Holy. In order to adequately train their children in the ways of holiness, they would then birth Christian schools that would bring moral and spiritual renewal. Ralph G. Finch’s life would be marked from beginning to end with that focus as he preached, prayed and planned for the spiritual renewal of the family, the church and the nation.

PART ONE

Ralph G. Finch’s ministry could clearly be divided into Part One and Part Two. The first 30 years of his Christian life were marked with a focus on and a passion for Missions. His call to missions was unquestioned and his zeal knew no bounds. His success as a missionary was outstanding. He could mesmerize a crowd with stories of his missionary experiences. His ability to raise funds for missions made you want to give the very shirt off your back. Of course we will have to go back and pick up his story from the beginning of his life to learn how he was shaped into God’s Faithful Firebrand that he became.

CHAPTER ONE

THE MARKING YEARS OF CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH

A HUMBLE BEGINNING

On a hot summer night, July 17, 1881 in an old log cabin located in Canary-Bird hollow situated on Indian hill near Terrace Park, close to the Ohio River, Emma Finch gave birth to her second child. Frank and Emma named their new baby, Ralph Goodrich Finch. Goodrich was selected as his middle name after his maternal uncle by marriage. Even though they lived in a log cabin long since gone, the family were life-long residents of the small village of Terrace Park in Hamilton County not far from the Gateway to the South as Cincinnati, Ohio was called in those days. Many of Frank’s ancestors including civil war veterans were proudly laid to rest in the old cemetery behind The Armstrong Chapel.

Ralph remembered well his first home, a log cabin rustic and small. At times, when the chunking fell out from between the logs, it was possible to stick a kitten through the holes. Although Ralph’s parents were very poor, they considered their children to be their greatest treasures. Ralph’s mother’s cheerful voice brightened the shadows of poverty and her presence filled the little cabin with a mother’s love not often found in mansion or palace. Beans and cornbread were their main sustenance. The family faced a constant stream of reverses and setbacks which constantly hindered both their financial and educational progress. One Christmas Frank came to his son Ralph and said: Ralph, we haven’t a thing for you and the other children this year. Circumstances have been hard, and we can’t even buy a few sticks of candy. Ralph responded, That’s all right, Pa; we still have you and Ma, and we’ll have the best Christmas yet. The happiness they enjoyed was not based on gifts they did not receive, but with the love only a family can share.

As a child he had a fearful nature which made him very shy. He was afraid of rivers, cliffs, mad-dogs, and skunks. However, he was possessed of enough curiosity to investigate everything around him. As a small child, Ralph remembered how much he enjoyed Easter. With his brother and sister they would hide eggs two or three weeks before Easter so they would be sure to have plenty of eggs on that day to eat. In fact, the egg hiding and then the feast of fried, boiled and colored eggs on Easter were their highest goal. His mother always explained that the Easter egg feast was principally to remind them, each time they broke an eggshell, of the tomb that was burst open when the Lord arose. The children didn’t grasp much but the seed was sown in their hearts and it never died.

Ralph loved animals and was never without one of some kind or another. He especially liked horses, but he also liked dogs and cats. He was always finding a dog or cat somewhere and bringing it home. His father, however, did not share these sentiments, and often the animals had to be returned. He writes about some of those boyhood experiences: "Growing up I had a few experiences with animals that taught me some good lessons. Through life they have helped me to hold steady and to prove true. It is generally understood that girls and cats make the best friends, and boys make friends with dogs. However, as a boy I had quite a liking for cats and kittens, although Mother would not allow us to have them near the house, nor did she like to have us handle them.

The barn was for cats and all outdoors was for dogs; so our kittens and cats were taught to live where they got their mouse meat. We were to give them milk in a saucer each time we milked. Even so, we didn’t blame Mother for not allowing the cats in the house.

TWO LITTLE PIGS

Once my brother and I bought two little red pigs. Their tails were frozen off and part of their ears. But we liked our little pigs so we hitched up Old Blackie to our cart and hauled feed about half a mile every day to feed them. Besides we pulled parsley and big weeds and the little pigs grew to about two hundred pounds apiece, then they were butchered and we felt so sad; but we got over it and even helped eat them.

KITTEN IN MY POCKET

At one time we had two of the prettiest kittens I have ever seen. They were gray and white with short legs and tails and very heavy coats of the finest fur. Very often my father would come home late at night from market and would have me take the team to my grandfather’s place, where they were stabled. There were two routes to get back home: one the wagon road which went past the graveyard, and the other a short cut through two hollows. I loved to drive the team to the barn, but was very much afraid to return home in the night. It was always a battle to decide which way to return, for I was afraid to pass the graveyard and also to go through those dark valleys.

However, there was one thing which gave me courage in the night. If I could have it, I was all right. You would hardly guess that it could be something as small and helpless as a kitten in my pocket! What I knew about kittens and cats was that they would purr when safe and contented, but stop purring at once if a dog appeared or anything else that frightened them. So I would carry a little kitten in my pocket. I knew that it could sense when danger was near. Many a night I have slipped home in my bare feet without making a sound, so that I could hear my kitten purring. I always let its head stick out of my pocket, so that it could see all around; thus I felt safe. Since I have grown up, I wonder if, after all, my kitty didn’t depend on me for protection and ride along in my pocket with eyes closed, while singing a sweet tune so comforting to my heart and mind!

OUR DOG BLACKIE

As a boy there were many fun times. He writes: Did I ever tell you about old Blackie, our big mountain shepherd dog. We used to drive him with a cart but when another dog showed up old Blackie would tear after it and always get us in trouble. Once he took after a dog and couldn’t make the curve fast enough and the cart with a load of hay with my brother on top jammed against the fence as Old Blackie went under. Well you would have laughed to see my brother go head first right over the top of the fence. But a worse accident happened when old Blackie took after a dog and the heavy cart shoved him into a mud puddle. Another time Cousin Vern Finch sent Blackie and the cart into a mud puddle at full speed and head first. We rushed to help him but when our father got hold of us we got handled in such a way that we gave up trying to make a race horse out of our old dog Blackie. He was a great dog, until he got to running off at nights. Finally he would be gone for days. One time we hunted and hunted for our poor old Blackie. We felt so sad because he was gone. Finally we heard he was at Yoccupp Lapackers, a dairy farm nearby. Well when we walked in the yard there was Old Blackie hips and all sticking out of big ten gallon milk can. We tried to get him to go home with us, and finally succeeded, but he had gotten a taste of licking milk out of the cans when Mr. Lapacker returned from his milk route, and he wouldn’t stay home anymore. One day someone poisoned him and he dragged himself home and crawled up under a brush pile. O, how we worked with him. He was so weak and helpless that he could hardly swallow. He got well but was not cured of running around.

In the evening I used to crawl into the dog house with Blackie and together we would listen to the mournful whistles of the trains as they neared Newtown. We lived in a cabin just up on the Indian Hill plateau from Newtown. Looking out of the dog house, I could see a wonderful field of corn and beyond it wheat. Beyond the wheat was the Norfolk and Western Rail Road. The trains rumbled down thru the valley and the whistle of their engines haunted my soul more than once. The great mogul engines would gather together their empty coal cars right in front of our cabin, less than a quarter of a mile away and then that same penetrating whistle would bring on board the train crew and they would puff away up the valley for Norfolk, Virginia and the coal mines in between.

. Each evening when we would come home from Cincinnati on the Penn Railroad which crosses the Norfolk Railroad at Ren-Comb Junction, I would breathe faster as the conductor would call out in his slow drawl, Ren-Com Junction. To me that was a great name for a depot.

LIVING IN NORTH CAROLINA

For a brief time we lived in the mountains of North Carolina. Our home was a one room log cabin. When it rained the water poured right through the old leaky roof except where the bed sat. So, when it rained we all had to get on the bed to keep dry. Even worse than that was the chimney made of sticks and mud and when the fire got too hot in the fireplace, the sticks caught on fire and the grown-ups had to rush up on the roof with buckets of water to pour down the chimney to put it out. Naturally, we children would be running to see it all and often got in the way of what needed to be done.

Frank & Emma Finch with their four children:

Left to right: Arlie, Roy, Pearl, and Ralph

MOVING TO THE BLACK JACKS OF TENNESSEE

In 1885, having learned that there were good prospects of making an adequate living down south, Frank migrated with his family to the Black Jacks of the frontier state of Tennessee. At the time of this move Ralph had just turned 4, his older sister was six, his brother was two and little sister, Arlie was just a baby.

Every night the four children would gather around their mother’s knee for their bedtime prayer: Now I lay me down to sleep; I pray Thee Lord, my soul to keep; if I should die before I wake, I pray Thee. Lord, my soul to take. After prayer the three older children would scamper off to bed, but little Arlie remained behind and gathered up the scattered clothing, neatly folding and placing the items on different chairs. Ralph wrote in later years, As a small child, my little sister Arlie was my ideal. She was a great joy and comfort to my parents and a constant shame to me. Why did I not think to be careful and always remember to put my clothes away as Arlie did?

As a young boy, Ralph spent much of his young life gripped by anxiety. As he grew he assumed more and more responsibility, but he felt keenly the family burdens at an early age. He was always afraid something dreadful was about to happen. They were so poor, he was afraid they would get so deeply in debt that they would lose their home and all land in jail, an orphanage or a poor-house. Many a night he would hang out the bedroom window waiting for the sound of his father’s returning wagon. Everyone else would be fast asleep but he would be envisioning the team running off with the wagon, a train hitting them or his father getting arrested. However, none of these fears were ever realized and his father would always return in due time, unhurt. Ralph would then slip into bed, more thankful than words could tell and a ton lifted off his little heart and mind.

A FAMILY TRAGEDY

But even in far-away Tennessee, adversity and hardship continued to plague Frank and his young family. The days here were full of hardship, disappointment and finally tragedy. It was this tragedy that would profoundly affect the Finch family and alter the direction of their lives for years to come. Across the creek from where they lived a neighbors little girl took sick with diphtheria. Her small kitten lay in bed with her until it too became sick. While it was sick it came across and Ralph’s sister Arlie began playing with it until her father saw it. At once he killed the kitten, but it was too late. Little Arlie took sick with Diphtheria and died on November 5, 1889 and was buried in Moore County at Tullahoma, Tennessee. From then on Frank and Emma never cared for cats or kittens again. When Ralph’s sister died a dark cloud settled down on the home. Up to this time Frank and Emma professed to be Christians with Frank involved in the church, but grief turned their hearts away from God. Many questions rushed through Ralph’s mind. His mother said Arlie had gone to heaven and Ralph and his siblings must be good so they too could go and see her again. Not long after this, the family altar was abandoned and the Bible was seldom read. Finally, Bible reading and church attendance stopped altogether and there was no spiritual life throughout Ralph’s early years.

However, the scene of little Arlie and her childhood thoughtfulness and the prayers around his mother’s knees stayed with Ralph through the years of carelessness and neglect. There was never a time but what he wanted to grow up to be a good, upright man. Time and again he resolved during his boyhood days to become what in his mind was an ideal man—one who was kind, patient and good to everybody, and was like God. With this high ideal, he spent a lot of time under conviction.

LIFE WITH GRANDFATHER LOGAN

Shortly after Arlie’s death when Ralph was almost nine, he was sent back to Ohio to live with his Grandpa and Grandma Logan who were prosperous farmers, well respected, sober and reserved while the rest of his family remained in Tennessee. For the next 7 years he would live with his grandparents.

Ralph wrote about his move back to Ohio to live with his grandparents: The big old-fashioned two-story brick house stood on Indian Hill away from the main road, nestling among great cedar, pine and fruit trees. It was a paradise to a boy of nine years. Those great white and purple lilac and snowball bushes and other fragrant flowers were just right. Under a great cedar was the finest bed of violets, and in a corner of the garden were some beautiful Iris. For some unknown reason the flowers in this wonderful yard budded and bloomed far ahead of any other flowers in the neighborhood. At least, this is the impression which remains fastened on my mind after so many years. One thing was certain; I liked to be there except when one of my aunts played the old organ in that musty parlor. Many a time as one of them would begin to play, homesickness would sweep over me, and I ran out to the haymow, where I cried myself to sleep. The sound of that organ was the one thing which made me desperately homesick.

Grandpa Daniel Logan was a big, broad-shouldered gentleman with gray hair. Not much affection was bestowed upon him by other family members because of his gruff ways. But each night, Ralph would climb into his lap and kiss him good-night. Soon his paper was lowered while Grandma Logan read the Bible or good books to their grandson, Ralph. Love began to soften the nature of this staid old gentleman. Ralph wrote about his Grandfather, Logan: I do not ever recall seeing him do manual labor because he only had one leg. He always had hired men and women who did all that. Grandpa was a manager. His horses were always fat and shining. My Uncle Tom used to delight in telling the story about the time they ran away. The harness and wagons were kept in perfect condition. The fine Jersey cows were the best in the neighborhood. By the time fall frosts began, the corn crib was filled, the haymow was full of hay, the cellar bins were overflowing with apples and potatoes, and there was no end to that honey on the pantry shelf. The table was laden with jams, jellies, and tomato preserves. As the butchering time came on, the old smokehouse was overhauled to make sure that every crack was closed. Hickory wood was the only kind used in smoking those great hams, shoulders and the side meat. All of the above and much more made Grandpa’s farm home a paradise to me. It was a world big enough and full enough of everything I could possible need.

While living with my Grandfather and Grandmother Logan I got some training which no doubt helped mold my mind in obedience, respect, and carefulness so that when it came time to mind and respect God, I had little difficulty.

When Grandpa said NO, that settled things. As a child I saw my aunties, older than I, try to work through some of their plans. They could make better headway with Grandma than with Grandpa. Grandma would listen to them and talk it over so that Grandpa could hear it all, but I noticed that with all their decisions and plans and arrangements they watched Grandpa for the final word. He said but little on any subject. Patiently he would sit with head bowed, but we all knew that he was not asleep as he watched the fire with half-shut eyes. In fact, Grandpa could see farther and deeper into all the rest of our souls and knew better how to decide with his eyes half-shut and seemingly nearly asleep than the rest of us with eyes wide open and talking a streak. Finally he would say NO or YES. What a relief when he decided, whether it was just what everybody wanted or not. One word of decision from him and things began to take form accordingly.

I do not remember his ever spanking me, but he did something which made me respect him perfectly. I knew better than to interrupt when others were talking. Oh! How often I wanted to, but Grandpa had somehow trained me so that I didn’t And his rigid discipline never made any of us dislike or want to be away from him. On the other hand it made us admire and respect him and want to be around him even more. His farm seemed like a little kingdom filled with life, food, lovely animals, and all were content to stay at home. It was thrilling from morning until bed time.

My father was a little man. He was a disciplinarian like Mother was in many ways. His word was just as binding as Grandpa’s, but he had to add peach sprouts and willow switches to make it just as workable. How wonderful to be able to look back on such a scene and such homes, —but—praise God we find that what we learned at Grandpa’s and Father’s fireside, works the same today. Their home was just right, and we are so glad for homes here and there today where the elders are respected and God is honored and obeyed from the head of the family to the youngest child. The good old days are gone forever only to those who refuse to live and love as did the saints of long ago.

SEEKING GOD AS A CHILD

When I was ten years old our pastor was Bro. Kogle. He was a refined gentlemanly and sanctified minister. That was the greatest year the old Indian Hill Church ever witnessed as I remember it. He held his own revival. Before it began, he preached one Sunday morning on the second coming of Jesus. That message stuck in my heart and mind. I knew I was not ready to meet God and great fear seized me. I was one of the first seekers in the revival. I well recall how I wept and feared and cried out for mercy and was no doubt saved. Oh, the change that took place. If he would have stayed as pastor I believe I would have continued to grow in grace and go on to heart holiness, but after he left I drifted away and no longer tried to live the Christian life. Even in those backslidden years so often great alarm and fear would sweep over me like a nightmare."

THE MILK ROUTE

When Ralph was about 15, he got a job driving a milk wagon. Each morning he would leave home at 4 AM, walk 2 ½ miles, hitch up his horse, load the milk bottles and drive 8 miles into Cincinnati where he would deliver the milk getting home around 8 p.m. at night. He drove seven days a week for six dollars. The boss told his drivers that if they got over 150 customers, he would pay them a certain percent of sales. Ralph went at it and soon exceeded his number, whereupon the boss took some of Ralph’s customers and gave them to another driver. Insulted some of the drivers suggested a strike and Ralph was ready. The morning was set when they were going to refuse to drive unless they received more money. The boss heard about it and by the time he finished having his say, all the drivers sneaked back to the wagons and started off—all except Ralph who stayed firm and continued to strike. He went home and a few days later the boss promised him a raise if he would return but he never did.

ALMOST A SCHOOL TEACHER

By that time Ralph had gotten interested in farming so he returned to live with his parents in Tennessee where he and his father continued to farm. When he was 17 they moved to Mahoning County, Ohio to live on Mr. Ricker’s farm which was on the Mahoning River somewhere near Newton Falls, Ohio about 10 miles north of Youngstown, Ohio or was it Warren, he couldn’t remember which. Here some of the residents were so desperate for a school teacher that they tried to persuade Ralph to teach in the little one roomed country schoolhouse. For years Ralph always wondered what he missed by not doing so.

But he didn’t and several years later after his conversion, he was placed by God into the greatest work on earth—that of teaching people how to prepare for eternity. The family lived here only briefly and soon because of a disagreement with Mr. Rickers, they moved back to Tennessee where Frank assumed a job as the superintendent of the Cincinnati Building at the Tennessee Centennial Exposition which opened at Nashville on May 1, 1897.

PARENTS RETURN HOME TO SOUTHERN OHIO

A few months later when Grandpa Daniel S. Logan passed away at age 73 on November 13, 1897, Ralph’s father and mother Frank and Emma moved back to southern Ohio from Tennessee into the old two-story brick house on Indian Hill where Ralph had already spent many of his early growing up years. During these years still none of the family went to church.

Besides what farming Frank and his two sons, Roy and Ralph did on the Logan home-place after moving back from Tennessee, they all assisted Frank’s father, Lewis Finch on his father, Henry Finch’s twenty-one acre farm located on the south-side of Indian Hill road where Grandpa Lewis Finch had been raised. At ten