Going to the Mat

I had always respected Russ as the closest thing to a father figure that I had. He gave my brother, Patrick, and I our first jobs cleaning the brochures up in the sanctuary after second service (That's when there were only two services). We each got a dollar for doing it and I couldn't wait for him to finish his sermon so we could race up to the front and start grabbing them up. We would sit with Bob Hindman during the service and clean up after. This kept us out of mischief like trying to reach up the "new" Coke machine in Fellowship Hall with our little arms to get free pops.

One story that I have told about Russ more times than I can count, is how he convinced my mom to let me start on the wrestling team in high school. I had wanted to be on the wrestling team in school since there was a team I could join in 8th grade. I told my mom I had band, or orchestra or something so that I could go to practice. That never lasted more than a week before she would come into practice and pull me out. I was embarressed, but I never stopped trying. Freshman year, then sophomore year ... no luck. My junior year I thought "I bet mom would listen to Russ" so during one of our sit downs with him in his office when I was in my rebellious stage, I asked him to tell her to let me wrestle. He looked at her and said "Sharon, let the boy wrestle." She replied with "O.K., but NO FOOTBALL!" I could of kissed him. Thanks Dad, I needed that.

Russ, I hope you knew how much of an impact you had on my life. I love you, and I will miss you.

Michael D. Gerth / November 27, 2007
Now of Rolling Meadows, Ill.