How Miss Garber Got a Swanky New Front Door

It began with a wave of missing bicycles.

When I was growing up, many people in my neighborhood were horse-and-buggy Mennonites who used bikes as transportation. Volunteer firefighters kept their unlocked bicycles by their front doors so they could race to the station when a fire call came.

Then their bicycles began disappearing, along with other bikes in the neighborhood.

The police were called, but bicycles are easy to steal and hard to trace. There was talk about setting a trap for the thief, with bicycles for bait.

My father, grandfather, uncle, and most of the other adults in our community agreed on who the bicycle-thief was— a young man named Frank Murray, who lived down the road from us.

We children were terrified of Frank, although as far as we knew, his crimes were limited to stealing bicycles. Frank lived in his mother’s house, was apparently unemployed, and had shoulder-length blonde hair. We often saw Frank peddling down the road, looking like Samson on a bicycle.

One night, Frank came home drunk and found his front door locked. Only it wasn’t his front door—it was the front door of the elderly Miss Garber, who lived alone next door.

Frank began pounding on the door, yelling for his mother to come open up. He pounded so hard he broke the glass and damaged the door.

Naturally, Miss Garber called the cops.

Several days later, Miss Garber came to our house and told us the story. “Weren’t you scared, being there alone?” my mother asked.

“I wasn’t alone!” Miss Garber declared. “I had Jesus with me!”

Miss Garber was a slender white-haired woman with glasses, a small net covering, and tan shoes. She was a faithful, life-long member of the local Brethren church, even though she didn’t always approve of the decisions of the leadership, such as when they accepted money from a member who had made his fortune in brewing beer. Nor, Miss Garber told us, did she enjoy listening to the pastor who had a “college-educated voice.” She did not approve of the local Mennonite youth either. “When I was young, I stayed at home and read my Bible on Sunday afternoons. None of this going to ball games for me!”

The day she came to tell us about the broken door, Miss Garber also asked if my older brother, Tim, could come clean up the glass for her.

Miss Garber often hired the neighbor children to do chores for her.

We thought it unfair that she usually paid us in 1950 wages.

This time was different. When Tim went to her house to clean up the glass, Miss Garber told him, “Take your time. I’m paying you by the hour and turning the bill over to the police!”

Miss Garber insisted that Tim take a break and served him lemonade. “That Frank Murray is paying for everything,” she said gleefully. “I ordered a swanky new door!”

Sometimes crime does pay if you aren’t the criminal.

Later, bicycles stopped disappearing. No one knew why. Had Frank gone to jail?

It was Miss Garber who solved the mystery. One Sunday morning at the Brethren Church, Miss Garber spotted a familiar blonde head.

“There was Frank Murray! In church!” Miss Garber told her neighbors.

“I asked Frank what he was doing there! He said he got saved and is now a Christian. He even went up front and gave his testimony to the congregation.”

And that was the end of the bicycle crime wave. Today, Miss Garber has passed on to her reward. Frank Murray no longer lives in our town— wherever he is, I hope he has stayed on the narrow way. The Brethren Church is open for business as usual, every Sunday morning.

These events happened about twenty years ago. The names of Frank Murray and Miss Garber have been changed. This story is true to the best of my family’s memories. Some dialogue was re-created, but not the line about the “swanky new door.” The photo used for the main image isn’t actually the front door of Miss Garber’s house, just a swanky door photo I had my collection.

Note: After publishing this blog post, I learned from a neighbor that Frank, sadly, did not stay on the narrow path after leaving this town.