Story by Douglas John Hall, DD
Submitted on 14 October 2009
Remembering Huron - both old and new
It was with fear and trembling that I walked up to the doors of Huron College that September morning in 1949 - it was the old college, on Grosvenor Street. I had no idea whether I could meet university standards.
As I sat in the classroom that day waiting for the professor to appear, I learned two things about myself that gave me even greater pause. Noticing me cowering in the back row, the roomful of confident young Anglican males (several of whom later became bishops) inquired who I might be. When they discovered that I was a candidate for the ministry of the United Church of Canada, they registered shocked surprise.
I soon learned that I was (a) a 'non-conformist', (b) entirely untouched by 'apostolic succession'; and that, as such, (c) there was little or no hope for me in this world or the next.
This information, as you can imagine, rather dampened my enthusiasm - but only temporarily; for my teachers, who certainly knew these devastating truths about my condition, treated me in exactly the same manner as they treated my fellow students who were in possession of the marvellous if (I began to think) rather elusive qualities that I lacked.
Moreover, one of my teachers, from whom I received instruction in two subjects, was a bishop: a wonderful bishop, the only bishop I have ever known who could wear, on occasion, gaiters, pantaloons, and silver-buckled shoes and seem entirely authentic - even in this Canadian wilderness where, as has been said, gaiters do not go well with moccasins. His name was William Hallam, and he quickly became for me not only an authority on Christian Apologetics and an exemplary Christian person.
Well, I managed somehow to pass all my courses in both arts and theology that year and the next; and when, in September of 1951 the College moved into these beautiful new buildings, I went with it!
And since my main interest and study prior to university had been music, I was asked to be organist for evensong (still my favourite liturgy, though very hard to find these days!)
I loved the brand new Casavant organ, and whenever I had a chance I would indulge in fanciful flights of improvisation at its console. After one evensong, when I was giving full reign to musical imagination in my postlude, I heard someone ascending the stair to the choir loft. It was Bishop Hallam:
"Hall," said the bishop - "Hall, we do appreciate your music. But you know, Hall, after the benediction some of us like to pray. Quietly."
This was the same wise teacher who used to tell us in homiletics: "Gentlemen, do not read the Scriptures as if you had written them", and who remarked to a tee-totalling low-churchman that "rhubarb juice would scarcely gladden the heart of man." (There are many ways of teaching, and irony should never be ruled out even if few can grasp it!)