Marguerite teaches Bill Sears

Selection from God Loves Laughter

Love Flies in and Out of the Window

Here is a selection from the book we are reading in which Marguerite teaches the Faith to Bill. My 9 year old son Tomaso was a little disappointed when Bill Sears grew up in this autobiography. "I will always think of him like a little kid, like me." Fair enough, for he never did lose that quality, which is probably why he did children's television later on. See also the blog entry on the Badi' Blog for today, where the entire talk is reproduced.

from pp. 106-112, God Loves Laughter, by William Sears

"Wipe that sappy grin off your face," Joe said, "and tell us what happened."

I began with the voice I always used when I introduced the old sugar-stick, Guy Lombardo: "There are some girls with whom you become infatuated. There are some…"

"Never mind that," Mulligan interrupted. "How did you pay for the lunch?"

"She paid for it," I told them, knocking my cigarette ash off on Mulligan's shoes. I reclaimed my five dollars and went off to do my sportscast humming, “Just a Gigolo.”

I called for Marguerite on Saturday night and I noticed at once that she had taken off her diamond engagement ring. While we were dancing after the broadcast I thought how appropriate were these enchanting words which Satchmo's trumpet was singing:

Margie, I'm always thinking of you, Margie.

For three days and three nights it had been true.

I'll tell the world I love you.

Don't forget your promise to me.

I have bought a home, a ring, and everything

Whoa! Lothario, I warned myself. You are the father of a three-year-old son and a five-year-old son. It's all right to build castles in the air, but don't start living in them.

During the last waltz she said, "There's something I want to tell you. It may surprise you."

Surprise me! Wait until I broke the news about my family circle. I knew that nothing she could tell me could top that. She smiled up at me. "Are you interested in religion?" I nearly dropped her. She had surprised me.

"Not at the moment," I told her honestly.

"You will be when you hear about it," she said cheerfully. I doubted it.

"I knew the moment you looked through the studio window at me that there was something important between us. I've wanted to tell you ever since. Let's go for a drive and talk about it."

We drove down to the beach. Someone had arranged a perfect stage-setting: full moon, soft sands, and gentle breakers. We left the car-radio playing. It was Hal Kemp at the Drake Hotel, and Skinny Innis was tremolo-ing his way through Night and Day. I picked up Marguerite's hand and said casually, "What happened to your diamond ring?"

"Oh, that!" she said with a light laugh. And that's all she ever said about it—even to this day.

I often wondered who the poor devil was, and if he were sticking pins in a cloth doll that looked like me. I decided that I wasn't being fair, and that she might want to put the ring back when she knew, so I said bluntly, "I've got two sons."

I waited for the lava to come down from Vesuvius. There was no eruption, but it was noticeably cooler. "But no wife," I added quickly.

"Boys are nice," she said. "I've always wanted five."

I wondered if her five included my two. It was a pleasant thought. Gradually I relaxed and told her all about Grandfather, Minnesota, and my dream. She became quite excited.

"How strange!" she said. "That's just about the time he was in Minneapolis."

"Who?"

"'Abdu'l-Baha."

"Who?"

"The son of Baha'u'llah."

"Oh!" I said, completely mystified, “that explains it, there's nothing like a frank answer to make everything crystal clear."

"Sorry," she said, laughing. “Baha'u'llah was the founder of the Baha'i Faith."

"Name sounds oriental."

She smiled. "Of course. How do you think the name Jesus Christ sounded to the Romans? Like John Smith?"

Just five minutes ago I had been gracefully leading up to the subject of love and matrimony; now, suddenly, I found myself in the middle of the New Testament. I said to myself, "Go slowly. This Delilah may give you a haircut."

I cut off the discussion by pulling her up from the sand.

"I'd better get home," I said abruptly. "I've got an early broadcast."

"Of course." Her eyes were still friendly, but hurt.

Neither of us spoke as the car skimmed along Lakeshore Drive. How could I explain, without hurting her feelings that the one subject I never cared to discuss these days was religion. I had discussed it eagerly and enthusiastically with everyone for years, only to get an increasingly chilly reception, and I had finally decided it would be wise to accept the truce under which Grandfather and I were permitted to be reunited so long ago: "You can discuss God, but keep the churches out of it."

I had patiently investigated every religion, sect, and cult and belief I could find in both the East and the West. Originally, I had hoped to discover something somewhere which would lead me to that wonderful figure in my dream, or at least explain the meaning of it. I searched in vain, and with diminishing interest, until at last I was "up to here" with religion. I gave up.

For three years I had not mentioned my dream to anyone. To-night was the first time, and I had spoken of it to Marguerite only because I wanted her to know all about me before I asked her to marry me.

The night was reflecting my mood. The moon withdrew and took cover behind dark clouds. Soon it began to rain. I turned on the wipers. They swished monotonously back and forth, and each time they did, I was mentally saying, "Damn!"

I lit a cigarette. Without reason there flashed into my mind Grandfather's words the day he had brought a doctor to see me for the first time. I had insisted on playing with Jimmy Middleton even if he did have mumps. Grandfather said, "No." I sneaked in the Middleton's back door and was ordered out of the house. I put a ladder against the house and crawled up into Jimmy's bedroom. We played three games of checkers. He lost, but he got even with me later. My cheeks soon blew out like the mainsail on a galleon. When Grandfather brought the doctor into my room, he said, "I'd like you to meet my pig-headed grandson."

Was I being pig-headed now? I couldn't help it. I pulled the car up in front of Marguerite's driveway.

"I'm sorry," I said.

"It doesn't matter. You keep the car until morning."

"No, thanks," I said stiffly. "I like to walk in the rain." "I'll get you a raincoat."

"Don't bother."

"Wait here," she insisted. "Please." She ran quickly up the steps. She came back without a raincoat, but she put a book in my hands. "Read this," she told me. "I think you'll find something in it which will surprise you very much."

In spite of my coolness, she was behaving as though nothing had happened. Her eyes were warm and bright with some inner happiness. She looked so tempting that I forgot my mood and leaned forward to kiss her.

"Not to-night," she said. "I'm too excited about your reading the book." Then she leaned over and kissed me anyway and ran back up the stairs.

That undeserved kiss warmed me all the way home, but it didn't keep me dry. My state of detachment can best be judged by my words when I realized that I was soaking wet. I stopped suddenly in the doorway and said,

"Great Scott! What have I done with the raincoat she gave me?"

I tossed the book on the bed and got into my pyjamas. I made a dill-pickle-and-French-bread sandwich and a cup of strong black coffee. As I crawled into bed the book fell on to the floor. I had forgotten about it. I picked it up and began to thumb through it.

It was a record of the public talks given by 'Abdu'l-Baha during his visit to America from the Holy Land before the First World War.

Inside the fly-leaf there was a tribute to Baha'u'llah by Leo Tolstoy, who had written: "The whole world is seeking the solution to its problems. There is a prisoner in 'Akka, Baha'u'llah, who has the key."

"All right," I said to myself sceptically, "let's see."

I began to read. It was about two o'clock when I found out why Marguerite had become so excited when I mentioned my boyhood dream. I felt a stab-like thrill myself as I turned one of the pages and saw the date: September 20, 1912.

It was the very day and year of my first dream!

`"'Abdu'l-Baha had spoken in Minneapolis, Minnesota, on that day. He had been speaking only a short distance away from the little town in which I had lived and dreamed. I read the words of his talk very carefully. There was something vaguely familiar about them. He warned mankind to investigate the truth for themselves, and not to follow in the footsteps of those who accepted all things blindly.

I closed my eyes, and I could see our old living-room with the green velvet drapes, the faded wallpaper, and the threadbare sofa. Father put down his morning paper, picked me up, and put me astraddle his toe. I was a cock-horse and he was going to ride me to Banbury Cross.

"The man came last night," I told him.

Father laughed. "Who came?

"The man."

"What man?"

"In my dream."

I got off before Banbury Cross. Father was upset.

"Ethel!" he called. "He's at it again."

Mother hurried in. "What's wrong?"

Father was already putting on his coat. "He's seen that man in a light in his dream again."

Mother picked me up tenderly and kissed me.

"Of course, he has." She hugged me to her. "We all have nasty bad dreams."

"It was a good dream," I told her.

"What did the man look like?"

"I don't know."

"What did he say?"

"He said, 'Don't follow in their footsteps'."

Mother put me down. Father turned in the doorway. "Thank God I work in an underground mine and don't have to come back up until it's dark."

The next morning Father was shaving when I came into the bathroom.

"What's my name?" I asked him.

We had often played this game before. "Your name," he said, "is William Bernard Patrick Michael Terence Sears." "Then why did he call me Peter?"

"Who?"

"The man."

"What man?"

"The man who came in my dream."

Father cut his chin with the razor. "Ethel!"

Mother appeared from nowhere. She was very patient with me.

"Are you sure he called you Peter, dear?"

I nodded. "He said, 'Fish, like Peter.' "

Father went to work that morning with his face half-shaved. He told Mother to take me to a doctor before he came home.

I put Marguerite's book down, got up, and made another cup of coffee. Then I began to read once more. Later that same day, "'Abdu'l-Baha had spoken in St. Paul, just across the river. He called upon mankind to be like the "fisherman Peter" in their unwavering faith, and to fish energetically for the souls of men.

Be like Peter!

I put the book down. Suddenly, I was very wide awake.