One Sunday morning in the late 1950s, as I inched along in the line
waiting to shake hands with my pastor after worship, I was singled out.
The Rev. Dr. George W. Wittmer asked me, a ten-year-old, to meet him at
the door to the sacristy after he had greeted everyone. Tall and
gray-haired, Pastor Wittmer was easily the most important person our
family knew.
