Our Gate Keeper
In a previous dispatch, I recounted our bewilderment at being instructed to “drive in the river” as we found our way into Laity Lodge in Texas.
In the pitch dark.
After a 1/8 mile scoot in our Subaru on bedrock and 2” of water, we found a slender man in our headlights, waving us on to the Waterfall Apartment.
This was Gate Davis, a former colleague I had kept up with over the years.1
Gate and I met at a training event in Jackson, MS, his hometown. I was holed up with two campus ministers in a college dorm for two weeks in the armpit of summer.2
As providence would have it, Gate made conversation with me, probably over coffee.
So, You’re From LANG-kastor?
When he found out I lived in Lancaster, PA, his eyes lit up:
Have you heard of a band called The Innocence Mission?
Grateful he didn’t ask me about Shady Maple Smorgasbord, I responded, “Why, yes. Funny you should ask.”
I was slightly familiar with them from following alternative Christian acts and by my association with our soon-to-be-best-friends, the Bustards.3
Befriended
When Gate left his campus internship, he moved to Austin to assist in a church start-up for eight years. Then he moved his family to the hill country of Texas to work with the H. E. Butt Foundation, the parent organization of Laity Lodge.
He lives in nearby Boerne, TX, is married to Sarah, and has two young children. He loves the small town life and gets out on his mountain bike whenever he can.
[It’s possible we’re long-lost siblings. Somebody look into that].
It’s fascinating how a friendship is launched around a grand idea, hobby, or experience.
Since the early 2000’s Gate and I spoke on the phone or emailed a few times, and the Innocence Mission would come up.
Being a music lover and gadfly about town, I usually I had a story for him.
Like:
How I would often see their bassist, Mike Bitts, around town at gigs with my friend Matt Monticchio, at open mics, or at home-school events with his family.
How I experienced one of their last full concerts at The Chameleon Club in downtown Lancaster.
I proudly walked to and from the venue. The show was lovely and jam-packed with local and national fans, swooning to Karen’s wispy, girlish vocals and Don’s melodic, complimentary fret work.
How once I was getting soft-serve in Leola (Gate has no idea where that is), and behind me in line was the Peris family trying to enjoy an outing anonymously.
Good thing for them, I’m not a fan at the same level of Gate or many others. I focused on my chocolate/vanilla twisty cone and coolly dipped my baseball cap in their direction.
How I laughed audibly to myself standing in front of an outdoor wedding ceremony as the bride came down the grassy “aisle.”
I was officiating the marriage of my friends Jonathan and Claire. To my right sang Karen Peris with her husband accompanying her, and I giggled because the music sounded so real. Because it was!
How when we moved to Lancaster in 1999, I commandeered a 24’ box truck, hauling a flatbed trailer with a 1965 Corvair on it, stuffed with house plants. Ask the Bustards; they saw it.
And what does this have to do with the topic?
Namely, that I found a mechanic near Columbia, PA who could work on my jalopy. His last name was Peris. It was my turn to ask if he’d heard of Don and Karen.
“Oh, yeah! Donny’s my grandson.”
Mr. Peris was one of the last people to work on my ‘65 Monza sedan, R.I.P., to them both.
Mission Texas
Over the years, Gate and I kicked around the idea of the Beckers visiting Laity Lodge. We were on their their mailing list and held out hope that one day we could drink deeply from the beauty of the Frio River valley.
So, when it came time to plan The Row House Road Show study leave, I called on the gate keeper.
The application process was painless. I was worried that Gate would insist on autographed LP’s from the band, but he made no such demands.4
We hope to go back, but it would be just as fun if Gate and his family would visit us in Pennsylvania.
If they do, we’ll keep our eyes peeled for that elusive, critically-acclaimed band that hales from Lancaster, so I’m told.
He had been an intern with Reformed University Ministries in the year 2000, and I was the initiating Campus Minister for Millersville University of PA.
Evening exploits in borrowed cars with Ben and Another Tom are harrowing stories for another time. I swear I don’t remember much except the humidity and a smooth 1973 Datsun 240 that should’ve never been lent to us.
They devour their albums like a tourist at an All You Care To Eat buffet in Lancaster County that I’m trying not to not to write about, but, whoops, I did it again. 🤢
Don and Karen, if you’re reading this because some fan sent it to you, please know that some fine people in Texas love your music and offer you an open invitation to play a simple and gentle show. It smells nice there, and they’ll put you up nicely. Tell ‘em Becker sent ya.