A BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OF PASTOR LEONARD SCHMIDT
                                                      1875 – 1964
                                Written by:  Pastor Harry A. Schultz 1901-2004
                                                Alpena, MI  49707

I am pleased to make this contribution to the files of the Historical Society of Presque Isle County, Rogers City, Michigan.  This Biographical Sketch is essentially my recollections of Pastor Leonard Schmidt, a man whom I knew well, whom many deeply loved and highly respected during the forty years of his active ministry and twenty-six years of retirement.  It was a privilege to be among those who knew him, who belonged to his parish, who sat beneath his pulpit, and who were his catechetical pupils.  It is a privilege to have him as guest with his discreet, modest wife, Elizabeth, and his three children, Herman, Marie and Karl.  It was a privilege to be guest in his home and, wherever it might be, to enjoy his wit and learn of his wisdom.  Not long before his death I told him of our love and respect for him.  He accepted this compliment in his customary unassuming manner.  But beneath this demeanor of humility was an unmistakable measure of personal pride and self-respect, a virtue for which I also respected him.  He was a source of inspiration and still remains that after his death in the memory of those who knew him.  I saw in him an outstanding example of one who was both, sin - and Christ-conscious.  The poet Tennyson once wrote,  “I am a part of all that I have met.”  If this is true, and I believe it is, then I say gratefully and with a measure of pride, I am glad to have met Pastor Leonard Schmidt.

I would like to say at this point that since Leonard Schmidt was a theologian and pastor much of this BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH  will be related to Christianity and theology, something which you will already have observed.  Any denominational references or overtones are incidental to the fact that he was specifically a Lutheran pastor and theologian.  Much of what I will write about Pastor Schmidt will be about him as a Christian for this is what he was first and foremost.  It would be impossible to write about him in any other way.

Pastor Leonard Schmidt was born on March 28, 1875 in Abswind, Bavaria, Germany.  He was one of seven boys in the family.  His father was a farmer, a keeper of a vineyard.  Farming in Germany was and still is being done on a smaller scale than in America.  Farming families live in a village known as a “Dorf”.  The farms they operate, consisting of relatively few acres, lie outside of the village.  Pastor Schmidt’s father was mayor of the village Abswind at one time.  He received his early education from Pastor Eichorn of whose scholarliness he often spoke with great admiration.  Pastor Eichorn was pastor of the congregation to which the Schmidt family belonged.  In later years the learned pastor taught his pupil the classical languages of Greek and Latin.  Pastor Schmidt’s life goal was to be a missionary in New Guinea.  With that in mind he enrolled as a student of theology at the Neuen Dettelsau Mission Institute.  Here he was under the influence of another great and good man, Inspector Deindoerfer, of whom he also spoke very highly.  Upon graduation he was to learn that by the guidance of divine Providence his field of labor in the vineyard of his Lord was not to be New Guinea but the United States.  At that time there was a shortage of pastors in what was then known as the Iowa Synod.  Pastor Wilhelm Loehe of Germany had taken a personal interest in the welfare of this young synod and was recruiting pastors for it.  He stayed in close touch with the Mission Institute at Neuendettelsau and its president, Pastor Deindoerfer.  Leonard Schmidt’s pious mother sustained him in his initial disappointment of not going to New Guinea.  Kneeling with him she took the matter of the future of her young theologian son “to the Lord in prayer.”  He came to the United States in 1896.  His first field of labor was at St. Petri Lutheran Church, Toledo, Ohio, Theodore Meyer, pastor.  He was here for one year when he was transferred to Hope Lutheran Church, Hamler, Ohio, George Hueter, pastor.  It may be of interest to some who read this that Pastor Schmidt was the sponsor of George Hueter, Jr., who after his graduation from Wartburg Seminary, Dubuque, Iowa, was commissioned missionary to New Guinea.  Thus it developed that his godchild went to New Guinea where he himself originally had planned to go.  In 1898 Pastor Schmidt accepted a call to St. James Lutheran Church (Iowa Synod) in Molten Twp., Rogers City, Mich.

Here Pastor Christian Schwann had served as pioneer pastor since 1876 when the congregation was founded.  It is almost impossible for people of this generation to realize what the deprivations of our pioneer forefathers were like.  Theirs was a generation of poverty, of getting along with very little.  Ours is one of affluence, of having much, frequently including those things, which are over and beyond necessity.  The parsonage the congregation had built for Pastor Schwann was constructed of large cedar logs, hewn into shape and size by cedar swamp workers who had gained their experience hewing railroad ties.  It was a simple oblong building, which also served the purpose of a schoolhouse for catechetical instructions.  Log buildings were never complicated structures of many angles.  They were buildings put up to be practical, livable, and durable.  There was no regard for architectural design.  The main entrance to this building was on the south side.  To the right were the living quarters for Pastor Schwann.  They consisted of two rooms, one the study-living room, the other the kitchen-bedroom.  Straight ahead as one entered was the stairway to the upstairs used for storage.  To the left was the schoolroom where the majority of those who were confirmed during the history of St. James received their catechetical instructions, including the writer.  Here Pastor Schmidt taught catechism, Biblical history, hymns, and memorizations.  Included had to be a course in reading and writing German because the entire instructions were in German into the twenties when some instructions were given in English.  The school benches were home-made.  Each accommodated five or six pupils.  The furnishings included a table for the pastor, a creaky swivel chair and a pot-bellied wood burner that often kept those close to it uncomfortably warm while those in the back were uncomfortably cold.  There was also, as I recall, a large map of several pages of Palestine and of Jerusalem during the time of Jesus hanging on the west wall.  The scholar himself would supply all books, pencil and paper needed.  Speaking of needs, pioneer times dictated that each was all but on his own.  There was help from the neighbor but none from the government.  These were also times that can be characterized as the do-it-yourself age with no kits for help on how to make it.  In many instances if something was needed it had to be made or one went without it. 

 

This parsonage-schoolhouse building stood on its initial location to the left of the path from the road to the parsonage, the present parsonage, for approximately sixty years.  Albert Schleben, a parishioner of St. James, bought it and moved it log by log and reconstructed it on his property a half a mile farther south on S. Ward Branch Road.  Here it can still be seen with most of the logs as sound as when they were originally hewn

 

I regret the fact that this old log building was not kept and preserved as a museum.  Many artifacts could have been preserved for posterity.  There would have been items of interest from Pastor Schwann, from Pastor Schmidt and his family, from the parsonage, from the church building, from the three congregations which included Hope at Hawks and Trinity at Ocqueoc.  I am thinking specifically of such items as books from the libraries of Pastors Schwann and Schmidt; for instance Pastor Schwann’s large two-volume German Bible with many of his scholarly notes in his own hand writing, picturesquely beautiful in the German script, meticulously exact and uniform.  His handwriting reflected his scholarliness.  Pastor Schmidt gave this two-volume Bible to me.  I gave it to our son Charles as a keepsake.  There would have been other items like Pastor Schwann’s riding saddle which he used to ride to Cheboygan, Riggsville, near Cheboygan, Hagensville, Metz and, of course, Hawks and Ocqueoc.  That alone could have served to remind future generations of his missionary journeys on horseback when sleeping under the stars next to his horse was not an uncommon experience.  I am also thinking of the beautiful reed organ upstairs in the church, still in good playing condition, the key to the lock of the high double doors to the entrance of the church, one of those double doors replaced in 1972 with steel doors.  In my own museum at the farm I have the shovel which Pastor Schmidt, a lover of trees, used to plant many trees around the parsonage, the church and across the road.  Some of these trees have already been cut down because of size and age.  I also have the axe he used for splitting wood.  I came across other items of interest for the present and future generations.  For a project such as a museum leadership of men and women is required who have an interest in people and things of the past of historical significance.  This is what brought this historical society and the new museum of Presque Isle County into being and what will make both thrive.

The woods and wilderness played a vital part in the life of the pioneer pastor and his people.  The land had to be cleared so that food could be produced for man and animals.  All this work had to be done without power equipment except for horsepower in the flesh.  But farming alone, necessarily on a very small scale, was not an adequate source for making a living.  This had to be supplemented largely with wood products such as pine and hardwood logs for lumber, cedar for fence posts and railroad ties, shingles for roofs and hemlock bark for tanning.  Much of this was hauled to Rogers City with large lumbering sleighs drawn by heavy draught horses.  A great deal of it also was hauled to Hawks on the South Ward Branch Road which originally was the roadbed for a spur of the D & M Railroad.  For those unfamiliar with our virgin forests it is hard to imagine their majestic immensity and their elegant beauty.  To make ones way thru those dense forests and swamps without benefit of a compass or roads was a daring adventure.  This would be particularly true if overtaken by darkness.  There comes to my mind an experience of Pastor Schwann.  He had made a call one evening on foot.  On his return after dark he decided to take the shortcut thru what was known as Wiseacre’s woods.  Walking thru dense woods in the darkness of night is not for the timid.  Pastor Schwann was not a timid soul.  Neither darkness nor wilderness could intimidate him.  Unfortunately he got off the path and though less than a half mile from home he was lost.  There was nothing else for him to do but to call for help.  No one would come and look for him for he had neither wife, nor child, nor cat, nor dog, only a horse home in the barn.  A call of distress came forth from the strong vocal cords of a distressed Pastor Schwann.  Edward Foppish, Sr., the grandfather of Martin and Harry, currently members of St. James, Moltke, and Trinity, Ocqueoc, respectively, happened to be outside at the time.  His farm was across the W. Ward Branch Rd. from the woods, now shrouded in darkness to the dismay and embarrassment of a bewildered pastor.  Mr. Joppich heard the call but was himself bewildered at what he heard.  To shout, “Praise the Lord!  Praise the Lord!”  overwhelmed perhaps with the beauty and majesty of the Lord’s creation, would be one thing.  But to be doing this in the darkness of night is quite another.  But, seriously, could it be the call of some one weak of mind who had wandered into the woods by daylight?  Could it possibly come from some senile or even demented person?  You can’t always tell.  One never knows.  With thoughts such as these he went to the rescue.  Imagine his surprise when he discovered that the call of distress had come from his pastor, strong of mind, totally without evidence of senility and completely devoid of dementia.  Fearfully and, of course, innocently, the pastor had called for help with shouts of  “Wiesegart!  Wiesegart!”   his next door neighbor.  They were far from shouts of “Praise the Lord!  Praise the Lord!” as Mr. Joppich had falsely interpreted them.

Pastor Christian Schwann died on August 28, 1912.  I remember the funeral.  The service was held outside on the parsonage lawn.  The large number of people present from the three congregations could not have been accommodated in the small church building.  Pastor Herman Brueckner of St. Paul’s, Alpena, preached the sermon.  Pastor Schmidt was in charge of the service on the lawn and at the graveside.  During the last twelve years of his life this scholarly and dedicated veteran of the parish ministry had assisted the fledgling Leonard Schmidt who often referred to him in a manner of reverence and of love.  Pastor Christian Schwann lies buried in St. James church Cemetery.  A large granite cross, emblematic of his granite faith in the Rock of Ages, Jesus Christ his Lord and Savior whom he served so faithfully, marks the place of his final resting place.  Engraved on this massive marker are the words from the Bible, “Well done, good and faithful servant.  You have been faithful over a little, I will set you over much; enter into the joy of your Master.”

In 1899 Pastor Schmidt returned to Germany to bring back with him his fiancée, Elizabeth Mayer.  For a number of years prior to coming to the United States she had stayed with her uncle and aunt who regularly hired a maid.  Coming from those circumstances to the frontier life in America and adjusting to it must not have been easy.  They could not be married in Germany since Pastor Schmidt did not yet have his United States citizenship papers.  This made him a man without a country in Germany.  They were married by Pastor Meyer of St. Petri,  Toledo, Ohio.  Here in Toledo the young couple also purchased a few items of furniture, among them a solid oak bedstead and dresser which still can be seen in the home now occupied by their daughter, Marie.  The first parsonage of this young couple was the log building built for pastor Schwann and which they shared with him until the present parsonage was built soon after the turn of the century.  To the south of the parsonage was the cemetery, then the church, built during the pastorate of Pastor Schwann and to the south of it were the Wiesegart buildings, consisting of a small log house and a stable-barn combination also built of logs.  Across from the parsonage was the school house, a frame building.  This was replaced by a new and more modern structure of old colonial design in 1912.  It is located across from the church and is owned and occupied by the Harold Prommerenke family.  To the north was and still is a short stretch of swamp with a small trout stream flowing thru it.  This little stream was known as Pommerenke’s Creek since it flows across the Fred Pommerenke farm and also what was the August Pommerenke farm. It ultimately enters the Little Ocqueoc near the old geographic landmark known as Bismark Hill

 

Pommerenke’s Creek played a significant role in the life of the parsonage family.  Before the well was drilled the water had to be carried from it, about two blocks by way of the road which it crosses.  Here the boys, Herman and later on Karl would go brook trout fishing.  Spring-fed, cool and clear, shaded by alders, cedar and various kinds of vegetation it met the requirements for brook trout, a delicatessen for those who like fish.  Pastor Schmidt himself was not interested in fishing or hunting.  But is was not unusual for him to run down to this creek the first thing in the morning, sometimes barefooted, using the path, a shortcut, and quickly---he did everything quickly---splash the cold water to his face with cupped hands.  Not infrequently he would submerge the bare feet in the icy water before dashing home.  I am told that he would resort to this Spartan manner of cleansing in the morning even with snow on the ground.  Spartan it was, indeed, for the word means, “simple, frugal, severe, sternly disciplined, brave.”  Each one of these terms can correctly be applied to the character of this man.  They apply to him in his private, family and public life.  They apply to him as pastor, as preacher, as teacher.

The marriage was blessed with five children, two of whom, Magdalene and Christopher, died in infancy.  There remained Herman, Marie and Karl.

I want to write about Herman first.  He entered Wartburg Academy, Clinton, Iowa, in the fall of 1914.  The academy and the college were on the same campus.  Each offered a course geared primarily to the theological training at Wartburg Seminary in Dubuque, Iowa.  It was late in the fall of 1920, his senior year in college, when Herman was stricken with rheumatic fever.  I had entered the academy in the fall of 1916, two years later than Herman.  I remember the weeks of his illness prior to Christmas.  After Christmas he seemed to revive.  At this point it was thought best to take him home for complete recovery.  Dr. Otto Proehl, the president of Wartburg at the time, accompanied him on the train as far as Bay City.  Here he was met by his father.  Dr. Proehl reported to some of us who were close to Herman, the shock the father registered when he first saw his oldest son Herman at the Bay City depot.  Herman’s physical condition clearly reflected the ravaging effect of rheumatic fever defined as “and acute disease, usually characterized by fever, pains in the joints and often inflammation in the heart, causing harmful after-effects.”  He was not blessed with a robust body.  He was built like his father, small, slender but wiry.  For more than two months after he came home he appeared to be improving.  Hopes for his recovery were rising.  But it was not to be that he would follow in his father’s footsteps as parish pastor.  On March 17, 1921 Herman Schmidt fell asleep in Jesus.  Only his mother was with him at the time of his death.  Karl was in grade school across the road.  Marie, who was going to high school in Rogers City, was on her way home with her father.  I said before that the father was shocked when he first saw Herman in Bay City.  But now he was crushed when he discovered that Herman had died.  In a felling of remorse and deep anguish the grieving father lamented, “O my dear heavenly Father, what have I done to deserve this?”  Two of his children had already died, Magdalene in 1899 and Christopher in 1906.  And now his oldest son who would have graduated from college that spring and entered Wartburg Seminary for his theological training that fall, also was taken.  An expression of anguish such as the above could easily lead to thougts of the Master’s rebuke of his disciples, “O ye of little faith!”  But Pastor Schmidt was not a man of little faith according to human opinion and judgment, this incident notwithstanding.  It simply proves that even a pastor as strong in the Spirit as Pastor Schmidt cannot escape afflictions.  He too must learn constantly of the sovereignty and of the love of God.  If he learns obediently he will grow in grace and be a better pastor because of the experience.  Times of trials for the Christian are times of testing, and tests strengthen.  The funeral was on the following Sunday which happened to be Palm Sunday.  Pastor Christoph Domke of Cheboygan, MI preached the sermon, using as his text,  “For me to love is Christ and to die is gain.”  Phil. 1:21.  Neighboring pastors officiated at the altar and at the graveside.  After the sermon the father took his place next to the casket of the body of his son and briefly addressed himself to his family and the congregation.  He closed his remarks with the words,  “Farewell, my dear son!  We will meet again in heaven.”  This was a characteristic demonstration of the nerves of steel this man possessed.  He was a man of courage who sternly faced up to the reality of the sovereignty of God like the patriarchs of old.  Herman’s body lies interred in the family burial plot of St. James cemetery.  On the tombstone are inscribed the words from the Bible record of the miracle of the raising of the widow’s son:  “Young man, I say unto you, Arise!”  It was an appropriate inscription.  It reflects the faith of the family and of the young college student in the resurrection of Jesus Christ.

At this point I wish to go back to Wartburg College after the telegram of Herman’s death had been received by Dr. Proehl.  This is one of my most unforgettable moments.  At mail time some one from the faculty always handed out the mail from the faculty room.  This time it was Dr. Prochl himself.  It was 10:30 o’clock.  I remember the somber look on his face as he stood in front of the closed door behind him with a packet of letters in his right hand.  As usual there was a spirit of joviality among the students in anticipation of a letter from home.  Sensing something serious which the stern face of our director seemed to convey, a sudden hush fell over the noisy group.  At this point Dr. Proehl announced the message of the telegram:  “Herman Schmidt had died.”  The announcement of death brought complete silence.  I did not stay for mail call.  I went across the hall to the room of my next class which was “Religion” taught by Dr. Proehl.  I stood by the window and looked out.  I do not remember what I saw.  My thoughts were elsewhere.  I felt a hand on my shoulder.  Dr. Proehl was standing next to me.  He did not say anything.  He really did not have to.  There are times in life when the touch of the hand of a sympathetic friend becomes the comforting hand of God.  That evening during our regular daily chapel service Dr. Proehl conducted a memorial service in honor of Herman Schmidt, our departed fellow student.

As a sequence to Herman’s death I wish to record the following incident which involved his young brother Karl.  Early Easter Sunday morning, the week after Herman’s funeral, Karl was outside.  Suddenly he came rushing into the house exclaiming with excitement, “Papa, papa, I saw an angel!”  Thinking only of a child’s fantasy, the father replied without much display of interest, “Ach, Karlchen, du traeumst.”  “Aw, Karl, you are dreaming.”  But the twelve year old lad was not to be talked out of what he was sure he had seen.  “Aber, Papa, ich hab doch einen Engel gesehen.  Er flog gerade ueber Herman sein Grab.”  “But, papa, I did see an angel.  He flew right over Herman’s grave.”  The father said no more.  The thought went through his mind; Could it be that the Lord of the Resurrection has sent us a message of comfort thru the visible presence of one of His messengers:  As such the family accepted the appearance of the angel on Easter Sunday morning in 1921.

 
The daughter Marie pursued her education with the teaching profession in mind.  This was brought home to her in a somewhat unusual manner.  On M 68 two miles from Moltke Corners stood a small school building known as the Karsten School.  Approximately fifteen pupils were enrolled there.  School teachers were hard to get in those days.  This will explain why members of the school board came to Marie with the request that she become the teacher at the Karsten school.  Marie was all but shocked.  “I have only a highschool education.  I have had no teachers training at all.”  The interviewers assured her that they were aware of this and for that reason had gotten in touch with the County School Commissioner, Mrs. Caldwell.  Under the circumstances and as an emergency measure Mrs. Caldwell gave her consent.  Though all but frightened at the prospect Marie finally consented.  The experience proved to her that this might well be her chosen profession.  After graduating from Central Michigan University known at that time as Mr. Pleasant State Teachers College she taught six years in Bronson, Michigan and thereafter in the Rogers City Elementary School until her retirement in 1967. 

 

She is currently living at 349 N. Sixth Street in Rogers City in what had been the family home since the retirement of her father in 1938. 
After graduating from Rogers City High School Karl entered Wartburg College with the Gospel ministry in view.  His first call after graduating from Wartburg Seminar was to the Metz-Hagensville parish near Rogers City.  From here her went to New Rochester, Ohio.  In 1941 he was called to the chair of Religion at Wartburg College, Waverly, Iowa.  He received his Ph.D. degree from the University of Iowa on the thesis: “Toward A Rediscovery Of The Natural In Lutheran Theology.” 

 

Dr. Schmidt has distinguished himself in the field of teaching and writing.

After several years of illness the pastor’s wife Elizabeth died.  She had been a faithful wife and mother.  Considering the environment of her birth and rearing, including the years of her teens, making the change and adapting herself to pioneer rural, even wilderness, living must have been difficult to say the least.  But she had committed herself to the task of serving her Lord and Master alongside of her husband pastor, a noble and necessary objective in the life of any pastor’s wife.  The loss of two of her babies during the early years of their marriage had taken its toll.  But it was the death of Herman that really left its mark as she at one time confided to her daughter Marie.  Every mother in the three-point parish saw in her or could see in her an example of faithfulness in time of trials of faith.  She departed this life in 1954 and was laid to rest in St. James Cemetery.  The services were conducted by Jessie Essinger,  parish pastor at the time.

Pastor Schmidt was a strict disciplinarian in the home and in the classroom.  It was not beyond him to meet out punishment to his two boys if what they were doing did not have his approval and if it had gone beyond the limits of his patience, which limits, incidentally, were quite restricted for Pastor Schmidt can hardly be cited as a model of Patience.  His anger surfaced quickly.  He possessed a fiery temper.  How well I remember my second day of catechism.  I was sitting next to the aisle in log schoolhouse.  Then came Rudolph Schleben and next to him Emil Peltz.  I had finished reading the first paragraph of the first lesson in biblical history.  The title of the lesson was “How God Created The World.”  The lesson was in German.  Catechetical classes were taught in German during the greater part of his pastorate.  As Rudolph was reading the second paragraph he came to the word “Certer”,  “places” in English.  The two dots over the “O” called “Umlaut” in German, puzzled Rudolph.  Very likely he knew how easy it was to fall victim to the pastor’s sudden outburst of anger which served only to heighten his dilemma.  After a few feeble, stuttering efforts he made what appeared to be a desperate attempt to get by without pronouncing the word.  This quickly brought the pastor to his feet who was not in the mood that morning to give Rudolph credit for an honest effort.  Standing in front of Emil he placed a swift, sweeping stroke on his left cheek with his open hand.  I was amazed!  Why Emil and not Rudolph?  My amazement only increased when he added insult to injury as he angrily shouted, “Emil, warum hast du ihn nicht korrigiert?”  “Emil, why didn’t you correct him?”  I had no time to consider myself lucky for not having received the undeserved sting of his swift right hand.  He skipped to his left, placed himself in front of me and lashed out with his open left hand as quickly and deftly as any cat could lash out with her paw and let me fell the sting of his anger on my right cheek, at the same time repeating the rebuke, “Harry, warum hast du ihn nicht korrigiert?”  Let it be noted that Pastor Schmidt was left-handed.  It is quite reasonable to conclude that since he was left-handed my punishment in point of pain was greater than Emil’s.  Whether it ever really occurred to him that the guilty one escaped unscathed I do not know.  Ironically, neither Emil, or I knew how to pronounce the word.

Pastor Schmidt had a fine musical talent.  He had an excellent ear for music.  He was not an accomplished musician but played the organ sufficiently well so as to be able to play church hymns.  This was an asset for him in his church work.  Also, there was many a boy and girl in his congregations and in the community who benefited from his talent by receiving lessons from him.  I thankfully count myself among them.  When at one time an organist was needed for the lay reading services conducted by August Pommerenke I was told that I was it.  I was not asked if I would be so kind as to play.  I was simply told in a matter of fact way.  Everyone knew that this was Pastor Schmidt’s way of doing things.  No one felt hurt or offended.  I was not offended at the command.  I was frightened at the task.  Pastor Schmidt was the same strict disciplinarian giving music lessons as he was in the home or in the classroom.  He insisted on counting out aloud the time in which the music was written, 2/4, 3/4, 4/4, 6/8 or whatever it happened to be.  At the time it was very monotonous but I have long since been thankful for this discipline.  He also played the violin.  This served him in good stead during catechetical classes and Christmas program practices.  Generally he plucked the strings of his violin in pizzicato fashion.  The bow, let it be known, was for him a convenient instrument for gently tapping someone on the head or not so gently rapping him across the shoulders for not paying attention.  He played the church hymns more slowly than is generally the case today.  I assume he did this because the German chorals were sung more slowly in Germany than they are sung here.  His singing voice was weak and did not lend itself to leadership.

 
Leonard Schmidt was a dedicated man.  I saw in him something of John the Baptizer who in humility pointed out Jesus as the one who would have to increase, he would have to decrease in deference to Jesus.  Jesus said, “If any man will come after me let him deny himself, take up his cross and follow me.”  These words best describe for me the kind of Jesus follower this man was.  He did not impress his hearers with oratory in the pulpit.  He made no effort to impress them in that manner.  But he did impress upon their minds the Word of God, not only the Gospel but also the Law, not only the Law but also the Gospel.  He knew how to distinguish between the two, that both come under the category of the Means of Grace according to the concept of the unity of the Word of God.  He knew only the Christ of the Bible, the crucified Christ, the living Christ; Him he preached.  He was a scholar.  This was reflected in his sermons and in pastoral conference assignments.  He was a written epistle out of the pulpit.  I saw in him a man of humility as he went about his daily tasks as pastor of his parish.  He knew something about self-denial and he practiced it.  I have often spoken of him as a real pastor.  The Germans have a word for it: “Seelsorger”.  There is no word for it in the English language.  We can circumscribe it by saying, one who is concerned about souls.  All else appeared to be peripheral or secondary during his ministry.  This included his personal appearance.  While he never dressed carelessly neither did he give evidence that appearance, clothes wise, was primary in his thinking.  He was unconcerned about the press in his pants.  He preferred to wear ready-tied ties.  These could be simply and quickly attached.  If his shies were polished I’m sure some member of the family had taken care of it.  Karl told me one time that it was really something to see him shave.  A few dabs of shaving cream applied here and there followed by a few strokes with the safety razor and the job was done.  Vanity was not a part of this man’s nature.

 
Pastor Schmidt served a three-point parish: St. James in Moltke, established in 1876,  Hope in Hawks in 1880 and Trinity in Ocqueoc in 1890.  It is 13 miles to Ocqueoc and seven miles to Hawks by way of the S. Ward Branch Rd.  For years he also served a small group near Hillman which worshipped in a one room schoolhouse.  All of the traveling involved for services, instructions, calls, trips to Rogers City or whatever the function was done by horse and buggy in summer and cutter in winter.  The latter was properly names.  Because of the narrow runners it would readily cut thru the snow.  If the snow was deep and one runner would cut thru while the other remained on the top an upset was unavoidable.  To set it aright was a difficult job for one man.  Sometimes he was glad if he had a helper along.  Two of such helpers are still living, Harvey Algenstedt and Fred Pommerenke.
The modern rural pastor is spared such tasks as daily feeding and watering the horse, currying, harnessing and hitching him to the buggy or cutter.  He does not have to concern himself about putting up hay and oats for the winter.  He does not have to face the rigors of winter traveling, exposed to the cold winds in an open cutter, driving unplowed roads or put up with the unpleasantrees of a rainstorm in a buggy.  Coming home one winter evening from Hillman our pastor was overtaken by a heavy snowstorm.  For several miles his faithful horse Fain managed to plod thru the deep snow.  Finally, near exhaustion, she stopped.  The pastor had to come to her rescue.  He broke a path for a short way, led her that far and then broke path again.  But before long he was nearing exhaustion himself.  The situation became critical.  A place of lodging would have to be found for both, man and horse.  A light dimly visible thru the snowstorm brought hope.  A hospitable farmer and his wife received him into their home for the night.  No doubt, faithful Fain also was glad for food and shelter.
It is easy to understand why a pastor, especially a young pastor, would become discouraged at times.  The conditions and environment under which both he and Mrs. Schmidt were born and brought up were so different from those under which they were living and working.  The work was difficult.  Progress in the three-point parish was slow.  In one of his moments of discouragement he wrote to the Michigan District president of the Iowa Synod to tell him of his troubles.  “Please send me a call.  I’ll die if I have to stay,” read the message of distress.  Calmly the district president, Pastor Meyer of St. Petri, Toledo, Ohio wrote in his reply, “In that case the people will be glad to have a pastor buried in their cemetery.”  Pastor Schmidt was at the difficult post for a total of forty years.  He was a faithful servant of the Lord and as such established himself as a virtual institution in the community.
A humble person is not resentful of a humiliating experience.  Coming home from Hawks one day he encountered a parishioner who was striving laboriously to walk home while under the influence.  He offered the inebriated man a ride.  It was readily accepted.  Pastor Schmidt had a great deal of sympathy for an alcoholic.  But when the opportunity presented itself he used I to remind the offender of the evils of drinking and of the sins of abuse of the body and misuse of money.  Much of what the concerned pastor had told the stupefied parishioner as they drove thru the swamp and woods of S. Ward Branch Rd. went unheard and unheeded probably also.  But he had retained enough of the young parish pastor’s disapproval to arouse his displeasure.  Home now and presumably a bit clearer of mind he did not respond with the customary “Thanks for the buggy ride,” but came back at the pastor with the parting shot, “Pastor Schwann kann besser predigen als du.”  “Pastor Schwann can preach better than you."

While writing the above another incident came to my mind, the scene of which also included the historic S. Ward Branch R.  It was in 1916 during World War I when Herman Schmidt and I came home from Clinton, Iowa for Christmas vacation.  Vacation had been extended a week because of the coal shortage.  Herman had the idea of going home.  He engineered it financially by borrowing money here and there.  We were on our way with enough for the railway tickets.  No thought was given to incidentals.  We were going home, nothing else really mattered much, at least not for the moment or the time being.  There is no use trying to describe our joy and happiness.  It can’t be done.  All went well until we go to Bay City.  Here the depot agent informed us that the D & M railroad spur from Alpena to Rogers City had been removed due to the coal shortage and that we would have to go by way of Hawks.  Our parents knew nothing of our coming.  This was to be a surprise.  As the adventure turned out the surprise happened to us.  We had originally chosen Rogers City rather than Hawks as our destination because we figured our chances of hitching a ride home was better.  The agent had another surprise for us.  The D & M had also removed the next train out of Bay City due at midnight from Detroit.  We faced the cold night without lodging and without money except enough for a sandwich and a cup of coffee in the morning.  Herman, the older and the spokesman, went to the ticket window and pleaded our case of poverty to the agent.  Fortunately for us he viewed our plight with sympathy, telling us that even though it was contrary to the principles of the company he would permit us to stay in the depot for the night.  We were saved from walking the streets on a cold winter night.  Have you ever seen railroad station benches?  Have you ever tried to sleep on them?  I became convinced that night that benches in a railroad depot were not made to sleep on, only to sit on, and that with not a very high degree of comfort.  But Herman and I were thankful for this haven from the cold of winter.  Never in my life was I happier to see the dawn of day.  And never did a sandwich and a cup of coffee taste better.  We left Bay City around 1:00 p.m. with home sweet home our destination.  It was dark when we arrived in Hawks.  Herman knew the August Grossman’s, members of Hope congregation.  We barged in on them right around mealtime.  Mrs. Grossman made supper for us without first asking whether or not we were hungry or had already eaten.  If her feminine intuition told her that we were hungry she was never more right.  I suspect she may have been able to read it out of our eyes.  We sat down to the table of fried potatoes, fried eggs, bread, butter and coffee.  Our appetite made it a meal fit for a king.  Remember we were two teenage boys who had not eaten since breakfast and you recall what we had for breakfast.  So far this had been an adventure of a trying nature.  There was more to come.  Home was still seven miles away.  These seven miles had to be walked.  They had to be walked in winter, in the dark, on a sleigh road with holes gouged out by horses in the sleigh runner tracks.  The road was the historic S. Ward Branch Road so significant in the lives of the people of the two communities, Hawks and Moltke and surrounding areas.  It took on added significance for these two boys on their way home for Christmas vacation.  We had our luggage to carry.  It was a very dark, cloudy nigh.  The swamp thru which the road runs was much heavier with underbrush than it is today, adding to the darkness.  Only as one would look up one could see the faint light of a cloudy sky.  Admittedly we were tired as we trudged along.  But so what?  We were going home!  The final leg of the journey was going down the long Wiesegart Hill into the Valley of St. James.  It was like coasting.  Weary to the bone we turned off the road and walked the path to the parsonage.  Inside everything was dark.  The pastor and his family had retired.  Herman knocked on the door once.  No reply.  He knocked again.  “Whose there?”  came the voice of the pastor from within.  “We are, Herman and Harry.”  A dim light shortly appeared thru the ornate glass of the outside door.  The door opened.  What we saw would have been a most fitting subject for an artist to put on canvass.  It was a surprised Pastor Schmidt, holding the doorknob of the opened door in his right hand, clutching a kerosene lamp and holding it high with the left.  He had put on his trousers which were being held up by the right strap of the suspenders.  The left strap was hanging down.  He was barefooted.  Peering at us thru the dim light of the kerosene lamp he fairly exclaimed,  “Was in aller Welt bring euch hier?”  “What in all the world brings you here?”  We slept in the spare bedroom, in the same bed Pastor and Mrs. Schmidt had bought in Toledo, Ohio in 1898.  The room was unheated and we lay between sheets but under a featherbed.  I don’t think I ever slept better in my life.  I don’t even recall dreaming about the benches in the D & M railroad depot in Bay City.  “All is well that ends well.”  We were home!

Pastor Schmidt was not an orator as I have already mentioned.  Oratory or eloquence did not belong to his gifts.  Nor was it a part of his concern.  He had not great appreciation for it in the pulpit.  His speech, in fact his whole way of life was that of simplicity.  He was not an advocate of the elaborate or ornate.  His sermons were simple expositions and applications of Scripture.  They were always scriptural and textual.  I doubt if he preached a single tropical sermon in his whole preaching career.  By topical preaching is meant selecting a specific text in the Bible and exploring that on the basis of the Bible.  For him the Bible was the Word of God, nothing more, nothing less.  He preached the wisdom of God in Christ crucified.  He ordained me on the 19th of June, 1927.  After the service he came to me in the sacristy and said simply,  “Harry, das Wort, das Wort!”  “Harry, the Word, the Word!”  That was all, but it conveyed a significant message that I have never forgotten.  Pastor Schmidt’s forte in preaching was underlining the theme of the New Testament, notably the epistles of Saint Paul which is justification by faith.  He was a student of the Bible.  His sermons were not sermonettes.  He would have agreed that sermonettes are for “christianettes”.  Neither was he long-winded.  He heeded Luther’s advice:  “Step up!  Shut up!"

Pastor Schmidt was very conservative about offering compliments.  If he offered a compliment you could be sure that there was a season for it and that the one complimented was deserving of it.  Woe unto the one who would seek to be complimented!  Let me tell you of an incident as proof.  It happened on the Sunday of the celebration of the annual Mission Festival.  After the service, while still in church, the guest preacher, obviously desirous of a compliment, dropped a hint or two about his sermon to Pastor Schmidt, who said nothing but thought his share.  When the guest preacher made another attempt later in the parsonage the frowning host pastor tersely replied, “Na, der Text war gut!”  “Well, the text was good!”  End of compliment and end of compliment seeking!

He demanded attention whenever he spoke, whether it was in church, in the classroom or as a guest in a parishioner’s home.  “Aufgepasst!” will sound familiar to many who remember him.  There comes to mind this occurrence during a worship service one warm Sunday afternoon.  A parishioner had yielded to the pleasure of napping instead of exercising the self-discipline of paying attention.  The offender happened to be sitting next to my father.  Pointing his finger sharply at the man in dreamland the pastor fairly shouted to my father form the pulpit,  “Wachen Sie mir den Schlaefer dort auf!”  “Wake up that sleeper for me!”  It wasn’t necessary for my father to wake him up.  The loud command from the pulpit had already done it.

No one, it seems to me, could possibly have entered the ministry in those days for the purpose of material gain.  There simply was not much material to be gained that way.  Pastor’s salaries were meager for the most part.  In some instances the amount of the salary was not even stipulated in the call.  The pastor would receive what would be given him.  This would be augmented by what is known as perquisites, extra gifts of money for baptisms, confirmations, weddings and funerals.  If he had a rural parish it was expected of the parishioners to occasionally supply items of food for his table and to be totally responsible for the supply of feed for his horse.  Parishioners were also expected to deliver him his annual supply of wood for the heater and cookstove.  It can be said for sure that Pastor Schmidt was not in the ministry for personal enrichment of money.  Paul Domke of Ossineke tells the following.  It happened at the church council meeting prior to the annual meeting when as church treasurer he suggested that the pastor’s salary be raised.  “Lass ma, lass ma, Paul; ich bin ja noch nicht verhungert.”  “Leave it, leave it, Paul; I haven’t died of starvation yet.”  He was aware of the low income level of his parishioners.  For many years it was customary at St. James and may other congregations for the pastor to buy the supply of communion wafers and wine.  After communing the communicants would place a gift of money on the altar before leaving.  The deacon would remove it after the service and give it to the pastor.  Whatever was beyond the cost of the communion supplies was his to keep.  The practice could be frowned upon, even criticized if not properly understood.  Placing the money on the altar was actually an act of Christian Stewardship.  Having received the body and blood of Christ for the unspeakable gift of the forgiveness of sins, the communicant would place a gift of thanksgiving upon the altar, the symbol of the death and resurrection of his Savior, Jesus Christ.  For Pastor Schmidt the practice certainly was not a commercial endeavor.  Usually nickels, dimes and quarters were given.  Those denominations had four and five times the value they have today.  As deacon my father would remove the money piece by piece in a manner of respect.  One time Pastor Schmidt happened to see it.  He commended him for it by saying, “So is’ recht, Mr. Schultz!”  “That’s right, Mr. Shultz!”

 
Speaking of money and Pastor Schmidt this comes to my mind from my student days.  When I left home for my first year in the seminary I went to the parsonage to say good-bye.  At the seminary a week or two later I cleaned and pressed my suit.  Most students did not have the money to patronize the cleaning industry.  Usually one of the students would do the cleaning and pressing on a Saturday afternoon for a quarter.  When you did not have the quarter you did the spot cleaning and pressing yourself as I had done many times before during the eight years of academy and college.  Cleaning out the coat pockets I discovered three one-dollar bills in one of them.  I had no idea how they had gotten there.  Had I gotten so careless with money as to carry it loose in my coat pocket?  It finally occurred to me that Pastor Schmidt had slipped the three one-dollar bills into my pocket when I bade him good-bye

I never knew Pastor Schmidt to have been ill during the forty years of his active ministry.  It was rare that he would even have a cold.  This is a remarkable health record.  And yet not so remarkable when we bear in mind the Spartan style of life he lived.  He was small physically but had a wiry build.  He enjoyed a glass of wine occasionally and would indulge in smoking a cigar once in a great while.  He was not given to excesses, eating included.  He exercised moderately and frequently.  He loved to walk, preferably in the woods, which he truly loved.  For such a diversion the parsonage was ideally located.  He said at one time that if he had not studied theology he would have become a forester.  Walking for him was not only for the benefit of physical exercise but also an opportunity for meditating on things of the Spirit.  During the later years of his retirement he would walk up and down the alley after dark in the back of his property.  On occasion in the winter months he would build a wood fire in a heater in the basement and sit alongside of it in a rocker to be alone and away from the telephone, television, radio or any other source of disturbance or distraction.  He enjoyed visitors at all times but especially during his years of retirement.  The conversation was rarely idle talk, like talk about the weather, your operation or what food agreed or disagreed with you.  He loved his vegetable garden during retirement.  This was also a likely place to find him sitting in a rocking chair on the grass alongside a row of potatoes and reading.  I found him there one afternoon.  It was cool enough to wear an old suitcoat which had seen its best days.  The hat he was wearing also gave evidence of much wear.  It was of panama vintage.  For protection against soil and dirt he had tied an apron made of denim cloth about his waist.  He was reading a sermon in a sermon book.  It was another scene for an artist to put on canvass.  I asked to do the next best thing, take a picture of him.  He responded readily as always.  He was very photogenic.  “Aber erst muss ich doch gehen und mich ein bischen umziehen.”  “First I must go and change my clothes.”  I assured him this was not necessary.  In fact, I would much prefer to take the picture of him just that way.  I have several slides of him in my collection.

Pastor and Mrs. Schmidt were pious people.  Piety of that generation must not be thought of in the legalistic sense.  The German word for piety is “fromm”.  It suggests a disciplined way of Christian living.  Piety according to the concept of our forebears was a godly life in contrast to a godless life, religious, in contrast to irreligious, reverent in contrast to irreverent.

Five sons entered the ministry from St. James, which to my knowledge never had more than a hundred confirmed members.  For this Pastor Schmidt must receive direct or indirect credit.  These are: Philip Schmidt, his brother, Christoph Domke, Harry Schultz, Karl Schmidt, his son and Victor Luetzow.  His son Herman would have been the sixth.  It might be pointed out also that four of her daughters became pastors’ wives: Renata Luetzow Hanselman, Louise Schultz Domke and Wanda Domke Reck.  Also Anna Grossman Dimke.

To some readers of these RECOLLECTIONS it may seem as though I have resorted to exaggeration, that I have over-emphasized his virtues.  I have not exaggerated.  I have admittedly, eulogized, intentionally and, I believe, deservedly.  If what I have written sounds remarkable it is only because he was a remarkable man.  In fact, it was a remarkable family.  It is one of my life’s greater blessing to have had Pastor Schmidt as my pastor and friend.  I cherish as well the fact that I have been close to the whole family.  He confirmed me and ordained me to the Gospel ministry.  I have drawn a great deal of inspiration from him for my preaching and teaching.  I admired him for the deep-seated conviction of the dual consciousness of sin and grace.  A few years before his death I was sitting in a pew in S. John Lutheran Church, Hagensville when he came in and sat down along side of me.  Coming closer he said softly to me, “Harry, meine Suenden, meine Suenden!”  I should comfort him!  I did not know what to say.  I said nothing.  What would you have said?  Our son Charles was guest speaker at an annual Mission Festival at Hawks during his student days when Pastor Schmidt was serving there as interim pastor.  Later in an unsolicited expression of opinion of him Charles simply said, “What a man!”  Charles stood in awe of this servant of God.  I echo his words, “What a man!”

Many times in the General Prayer of the worship service Pastor Schmidt had prayed, “Brhuete uns vor einem boesen Tod.”  “Preserve us from an evil death.”  This prayer was answered for him when death peacefully came on Oct. 22, 1964.  It was evening and time to go to sleep.  Evening devotions before retiring were a tradition with this family.  He was sitting on the davenport at the time.  Marie was at her desk reading.  He asked for the book of devotions and she gave it to him.  Only a minute or two later she spoke to him but received no answer.  Her father had fallen asleep, asleep in Jesus.  Funeral services were held the following Sunday afternoon.  A group of pastors sang one of his favorite hymns, “My Hope Is Built On Nothing Less, Than Jesus Blood And Righteousness.”  Nothing that has ever been written about Pastor Schmidt as a Christian sums it up better than the words of this beautiful hymn.  Pastor Harvey Jaeger, parish pastor at the time, had the altar service.  Pastor Edmund Mantei read the obituary.  Pastor Homer Marsh read the committal service at the grave.  I preached the sermon on the text he himself had chosen.  The words of the text are inscribed on the tombstone of his grave on the cemetery of S. James Lutheran Church.  They make a fitting close to this BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OF PASTOR LEONARD SCHMIDT:  “I have waited for thy salvation, O Lord.”  Gen. 49:18

Harry died in September a few weeks from being 103 years old and all for the glory of God.