New to my research collection

Volume 2 only. Notes by Rufus Wendell, Jonas Wendell's nephew and with Storrs one of the organizers of the Life and Advent Union.

You might find this useful

https://www.ebay.com/itm/Bible-Students-Monthly-Volume-7-Number-3-Law-of-Retribution-Watchtower-Jehovah/362888511377?hash=item547dd73f91:g:OLYAAOSwNcReJfPx

You

In the last few years research into the history of Jehovah’s Witnesses has resulted in books and journal articles of mixed character, but often better than the few academic works previously printed. But coverage of the Russell era has not materially improved. Judging by content and limited contact with some of the authors, the fault seems to be lack of thorough research.

Some of those who visit this blog have notable research and writing skills. A few of us are aging. And we won’t be here forever. It’s past time for you to turn your talent into writing based on fresh research. Anyone can repeat the nonsense written by those who preceded them. A convention of academic writing is to reference and repeat what others have written. This nonsense takes the place of solid, fresh research. Where are the newer writers? Why haven’t you done your best to add to quality research?

It’s time to create a flood of deep, accurate research. If you want to see better quality books and articles, you must take up the task. No-one else is.

A 'new' picture of Charles T Russell and his wife, Maria

Photographs of Maria Russell are hard to find. There is one undated and one from c. 1894 with her husband, Charles. Then there is a line drawing from a 1906 newspaper during a court hearing. From the Pittsburgh Press for April 26, 1906:

And – while you cannot recognise her – in one of the funeral pictures for CTR she is pictured wearing a long dark veil, according to the identification made in the St Paul Enterprise newspaper. There are two heavily veiled ladies in the photograph and the other is likely her sister Emma.

From the description by William Abbott in the funeral number of the St Paul Enterprise newspaper for November 14, 1916:

But returning to a recognisable picture of Maria, there is another example from what will already be a well known photograph. Most will be familiar with the group photograph of the first main Watch Tower Convention held in Chicago in 1893. It was reproduced in the Chicago City Temple brochure in 1914.

Most copies in circulation have low definition so are not easy to examine that closely. One usually looks at the bottom right hand corner where you can see Rose Ball and Ernest Henninges sitting next to each other on the grass, a couple of years before their marriage. But in the middle of the picture, as one would expect, is CTR. And next to him we must assume is Maria. Maria had a very high profile at this time, and would no doubt have gone to Chicago because that was where her brother, Lemuel, lived.

I am grateful to Bernhard who has superimposed our known photographs of CTR and Maria from this era, next to the selective enlargement from a better quality print than is normally seen.

First there is the portrait of CTR. Compared with another photograph from the same era, while he appears a little thinner in the face from this angle; it is obviously the same person.

Then there is the portrait of Maria, compared with the two known portraits of her mentioned above. There are some superimposed lines between the pictures to show the similarities in features.

From this evidence I believe we can safely assume that it really was Maria in the 1893 group photograph.

So here is the ‘new’ photograph again.

originally published on https://jeromehistory.blogspot.com/

I'd love to own this

wouldn't you? But, alas, I could pay off one of our medical bills if I had this much money in my pocket.

https://www.ebay.com/itm/Edward-Bishop-Elliott-Horae-Apocalypticae-4vols-AUTHORS-COPY-w-notes-prophecy/261872896902?hash=item3cf8d74b86:g:OC4AAOSwEeFVQ6ot

1914 Convention

A convention souvenir from 1914. It's on ebay. It's interesting. Enjoy.

Research Need

I need contemporary clergy reactions to Millennial Dawn IV The Day of Vengeance, later entitled The Battle of Armageddon. Can you help?

Some of you might find this useful.

https://www.ebay.com/itm/A-Miracle-In-Stone-Or-The-Great-Pyramid-Of-Egyp-J-A-Seiss-1111-ID-50150/383072147838?_trkparms=aid%3D111001%26algo%3DREC.SEED%26ao%3D1%26asc%3D20160908105057%26meid%3Ddf4bb2cce42249198f3c560748382030%26pid%3D100675%26rk%3D1%26rkt%3D15%26mehot%3Dnone%26sd%3D273817345167%26itm%3D383072147838%26pmt%3D0%26noa%3D1%26pg%3D2380057&_trksid=p2380057.c100675.m4236&_trkparms=pageci%3Acd8498a4-3d6d-11ea-848d-74dbd180c6b7%7Cparentrq%3Acf8ecbc316f0ad4a6ba8af0cff77f9ae%7Ciid%3A1

On ebay

Very reasonable price for this set of Studies.

https://www.ebay.com/itm/Watch-Tower-IBSA-Winged-Globe-Studies-In-The-Scriptures-1-7/392619534788?hash=item5b69f2a9c4:g:w8MAAOSwt95eDXFH

I need an exact date

... to the month and year for this tract

Need an exact date

Printed, I think, in the years shortly after Russell's death. Can you date this more exactly?

1901 Watch Tower

I need the following issues from 1901: April 15, July 15, August 1, October 15, December 1. I have scans, so the need isn't urgent. But if you have these as extras or just want to part with them, please contact me.

A Son's Letter

The Bible Student’s unofficial newspaper The St Paul Enterprise published a letter from Malcom Rutherford to his father Joseph Franklin Rutherford in December 1918.

The letter shows a family closeness and a fondness for scripture and “the Divine Plan.” Malcom was obviously in association with the Bible Students because he had just recently been at a meeting where he heard “Brother Howlett” speak about the situation. The whole letter is somewhat guarded in tone, since his father was now in prison and the war hysteria that put him there was still rampant in American society.

A greater part of the letter details how a trip through the Mojave Desert (Death Valley) nearly ended in disaster. It is extremely detailed, showing Malcom to have a good command of the English language, but with a tendency common for the era of using two words where even one was superfluous. It is so detailed, blow by blow, that he either took detailed notes on the journey, or had an exceptional memory, or just used “creative license” for some of it.

It is interesting to note that the letter was dated July 21, 1918, only a month after JFR was sentenced to twenty years in jail. However, it was not published until nearly five months later, in the December 10, 1918, issue of the St Paul Enpterprise (see page 4). Whether Malcom’s father, JFR held it back, or whether that was down to the editor of the St Paul Enterprise, is not known. What IS known is that Malcolm married Pauline Short on March 28, 1918 in Los Angeles, and after writing this letter, and having previously requested exemption from the draft on the grounds of IBSA membership, he accepted conscription and joined the army on September 10, 1918.

For those who want to read more on Malcom’s history, see the series “The Ultimate Malcom Rutherford Experience” at https://jeromehistory.blogspot.com/

(transcript)

Voices of the People, or What our Readers Say

These are Our Readers’ Columns for the Fair, Free and Frank Expression of all Matters of Spiritual Interest.

TOUCHING EXRESSIONS OF LOVE.

Thrilling Experiences Depicted by a Son, and written to Cheer and Lighten Burdens of a Father.

Los Angeles, Cal., July 21, 1918.

My dear Father:

How strange it seems to be addressing you at present, and still in other ways it does not seem so much so, because we knew from statements in the Divine Plan and Word that “all these things must come to pass.” So we sorrow not as others, surely believing that all these experiences are working out for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory, and are among the “all things” that work together for good to those who love God, and who are called according to his purpose.

We have received all of your letters, from the beginning of the present situation to your departure from Washington, and wonderful letters they were, so full of the spirit of the Master and of submission to His will. Their spirit and your attitude toward the severe trials you were enduring and expected to endure were a real inspiration to us, and I can see how, even in the midst of present afflictions, you and the dear brethren are really happy. Because “greater is He that is on our part than all that can be against us,” and regardless of what our loyalty to the Divine Plan leads us into, we surely know that God’s laws are higher than man’s laws, even as the heavens are higher that the earth. And with a proper submission to both, we need not fear what man is able to do unto us, for our Lord has said, “Fear not him who is able to kill the body, but rather Him that is able to destroy both body and soul; yea, I say, fear (reverence) ye Him.”

During the trial various newspaper reports were received and opinions and conjectures were numerous, but we took no stock in anything that we did not get direct from you, and then, at last, we learned that there has been a short termination of the case and that the present situation would result. It must have been a remarkable witness to all – the spirit manifested by those on trial. Brother Howlett spoke here last Sunday night and told some of the experiences in the court room, the departure of the brethren after the sentence to the marshal’s office, of the meeting there of the families of those convicted, and the subsequent removal to prison. His remarks made a profound impression on all, and I know we were not theonly ones, because we have seen articles in Eastern papers commenting in like manner. He told about the jourmey to Washington and the kindly attitude manifested by the officers, and that it was the first time in historythat prisoners had been removed to Atlanta without being handcuffed, or the officers required to use their guns to force submission. It does seem peculiar that seven brethren were convicted, at noon on the longest day of the year, when the sun for a moment reached its zenith and waned. Then the dungeon experience, and the removal to Atlanta on a day when a national celebration was in progress. From the human standpoint all these incidents may seem ridiculous and absurd, but to us they mean a great deal, and surely indicate to our minds that prophecy is being fulfilled, and that when these experiences come about, then the time of our deliverance is nigh, and we can lift up our heads and rejoice. In reading some of the prophecies of Jeremiah, many of us are inclined to think that present conditions parallel his experiences, nad (sic) no doubt that book contains far more of the Plan that is apparent to the casual reader and observer.

Our experiences during the past weeks have been varied and numerous. In the swirl of events- new situations and old ones pending, the weeks have seemed moe like months, but in the midst of it all we have tried to be calm, fully submissive to the Divine Will and endeavoring at all times to seek His guidance, and so, we with others are going down the stream of time, realizing what a wonderful time it is in which to live and that subsequent to present stress, “A better day IS coming.” Present bitter experiences have surely straightened our faith, caused us to stand by one another all the more and to sympathize with one another more fully. Surely it is a time when everything that can be shaken will be shaken, and there is no longer any intermediate ground. The Scriptures tell us that brethren will hate one another and betray one another, and we have evidences of this too.

But in the midst of it all we have been happy, and have not neglected opportunities to take a little proper pleasure and recreation. On the 4^th of July, Pauline and I, her mother and father, Marguerite and the little fellow, spent the day in Tujunga Canyon. We left about 9 o’clock in the morning, had a nice drive up the Arroyo, and after leaving the new concrete highway had only a few miles to get down into a mice prt of the canyon, where we parked the car and walked a short distance ahead and prepared to spend the day under the shade of the trees, by the mountain stream, and under the lee of the cliffs. Pauline and I went in wading, and later tried to walk up the road a piece. It was an amusing incident. Not being accustomed to going barefoot, the rocks hurt our feet something fierce, and the ground was so hot that we would run a short distance and then hurriedly sit down and hold them off the ground, or carry a bunch of small branches and stand on them. When the sun was beginning to dent the rock-rimmed skyline, we departed and arrived in Los Angeles in tie to go to Eastlake Park, take a look around, listen to the band, and then return to our place here and have a few firecrackers and inexpensive fireworks – reminders of actual childhood days that seem far back in the distance past.

Not knowing what had been removed from Soda, and being rather handicapped in sending others up to look at what I did not know for sure was there, we thought best for me to take a turn up at the first opportunity and make a new inventory. Last Monday night Pauline and I met Sam in town, got to talking about the matter, and he stated that he would take us up in his Ford for a very reasonable sum. There was a lull for a few days on account of waiting to hear about the stage line decision, so we decided to go in the morning, and at once hurried preparations to get together a few simple articles of food for the trip. Tuesday morning at 5:30 saw us starting. At San Bernardino we had breakfast, went up over the pass, stopped at Victorville for a drink, and went on to Barstow. Here we loaded up on gas and water, and with Sam at the wheel, started on our second half of the journey across that 125 miles of desolation. We found new road signs placed by the U.S. Geological Department, and these were a welcome contrast to the weather-beaten boards we found over a year ago. For hours we crawled along over the typical desert road, and sunset found us climbing the long slope from “Bean Soup” Lake (so named previously) to the fourth summit on the trip, and about twilight, we reached the junction point where one road goes north to Cave Springs, and the other goes directly to Silver Lake. The Silver Lake Road Sam referred to as being like a chute the chutes, or a roller coaster, on account of its rolling surface, and as the machine bounced over it intermittently up and down almost without a pause, we thought the sensation quite similar only it was pretty rough, and we had to hang on. At 8:30 we stopped for supper. Sam and I stretched out on the sand and used the running board of the car for a table. It was a wonderful night, a soaring half moon lighting the vast expanse of sand and sage brush, tinging the tips of the volcanic spurs, and a warm breeze was the only sound that broke the silence. We figured that we would reach the camp in about four hours from this point. When we started a half hour later, we all took a drink and Sam poured the remains of the water into the radiator. We had insisted on taking a 5-gallon can of water, but Sam thought otherwise, and we did not feel like bossing the job, since it was not our car. The machine rolled and plunged over the rough road for an hour or more, and then just beyond a sign, it took a sudden turn and a rapid descent began, into what appeared in the darkness to be a canyon. The hot blasts of air that soon struck us indicated that we were headed for a lower level, and worst of all, we could neither identify nor remember this road. Some distance down we stopped, turned around in the sand with considerable difficulty and managed to get back to the summit. Thinking we had taken the wrong road, that the right one should lead along the summit of the ridge. But back at the starting point we did find two faint tracks in the sand, and these only ran about 50 feet and turned back into the course we had already taken, so we knew we would have to retrace our steps. We did so, and a little farther on, all trace of a road disappeared and we found ourselves going over sage brush and rocks in a widening wash that led continually downward. When further progress seemed impossible, we stopped for the night. Pauline stayed in the machine, Sam slept on the ground a short distance away, and I laid down alongside the machine. It was a hot night and no cover was needed. Then dark clouds arose to blot out the radiant track of the moon, shadows deepened in the canyon, and soon only the stars appeared in the vast vault above, and through the sage brush a strong wind howled mournfully. Having slept little or none, Pauline and I were stirring before sunrise, and looking down the wash which seems to stretch away into the interminable distance, we were surprised to see a man approaching. It was Sam. Being concerned as to where we were, and in an endeavor to find a road, he had wandered down the wash during the night, and unable to find his way back to the machine, had laid down and slept where he was and retraced his course at daybreak. We were terribly thirsty, but there was no water, and very little in the radiator. In a further endeavor to get our bearings, we went down the wash, climbed one of the ragged cliffs and anxiously searched that vast, silent void of desert and mountain for landmarks. Conjectures as to the location of Silver Lake and Soda were numerous, and at last we practically admitted that we were lost. Then the sun rose and the temperature changed from a sultry heat to a fierce blast that increased every moment. Sam suggested to drain the water out of the radiator into the canteen and start over the range and try to find our destination. This idea was abandoned and we determined to make an effort to get back to the summit. So we packed up, took a mouthful of the dirty water out of the radiator, and then the machine began its climb up the wash to the summit, and over the rolling course back to the signs and the junction point previously mentioned. I am sure three people never watched as carefully as we did for any road that might lead off from the one we were retracing, but none appeared. At the junction point we held another parley. There was no water to drink, the machine had only enough to go a few miles farther, we had been on the only road pointing to Silver Lake and could not find it. The last resort was to go in search of Cave Springs, five miles north. Then the machine made another desperate effort to get through the sandy road, and two miles up on the Cave Springs road we came across the remains of an abandoned mine. Sam thought sure the direction was right for Silver Lake and had identified landmarks up to that point, but the mine threw us off, and there was no water in sight.

Two miles farther we came to the head of another canyon, and the road leading down to this, or rather what had been a road before it was washed out, was so rocky and steep that to descend it seemed almost impossible, and Sam stated that with the water in the radiator nearly gone, if we ever got down, we could never get out again. He suggested that we fill the canteen with what was left and try that direction for Silver Lake. But weakened from loss of sleep, no water, and in the terrible glare and heat, Pauline and I did not feel equal to it, and we knew that Silver Lake lay some miles distant, in some direction, provided we could ever find it. To retrace our steps to any known spring was over 30 miles. If we went down the canyon wth the machine and found no water, we could not get out, so I think at heart we felt we were up against it in every way, and in the midst of the awful desolation and silence, I am inclined to think some dark pictures arose in our minds. Something had to be done, and at last, resigned to our fate, whatever it might be, we started in the machine down that winding, dangerous road into a narrow, rock-ribbed canyon. A mile and a half, or more, down the canyon, at a turn in the road, some willow trees came into view, and as we approached some doves flew out. “That means there’s water near,” said Sam, and we hardly whether to grasp it as a hope or not, because we knew what it meant if we did not find the springs. A short distance ahead I jumped out and started on the run for what appeared to be a spring walled in. It was simply a shelter, but arund another turn a sign appeared, and before I reached it I noticed the direction it pointed, and very plainly the sign, “Cave Springs.” The silence of that barren, rocky cavern was rent with a volley of whoops and a concentrated rush in the direction of the sign; and there in a niche in the rocks was a nice cool spring. The surface was covered with bird feathers and bits of sage brush, but by brushing this aside we could get clean water, and it seemed comparatively pure. The surroundings were quite unusal. It was a little rock cavern, not over a hundred feet long, very irregular, and in an easterly direction we could look down a long slope into the southern end of Death Valley – a weird, glistening, blinding patch of sand and alkali, a thousand feet or more below, bordered on the eastern side by the hazy, purple tinged mountains of the Panamint Range. On the south side of the cavern we found numerous holes in the conglomerate rock, remains of stone houses, or rather small rooms that had doubtless sheltered prospectors in the long ago, and one little dug-out, resembling a prospect hole, afforded shade and rest even in the hottest part of the day. It was just about noon when we arrived, and the sun blazed and scorched like an oven, but in the shade of the rocks we rested, ate a good lunch, had plenty of water to drink, and without much comment realized that perhaps the finding of the water prevented a desert tragedy, because Silver Lake is far south of Death Valley, and had we not found the spring and gone in that direction, I would not care to imagine the consequences. We poured the contents of our 5-gallon can into the fuel tank and filled this with water. Our vacuum bottle which had contained buttermilk on the way out, was also filled to say nothing of ourselves, and when it came to stocking up there was no limitation. Feeling now that we were prepared for a siege, we bade farewell to our oasis and the terrible valley below and began that fierce climb out. With the motor racing on lowfgear the machine grabbed and plunged and fought its way to the top of the canyon over the rocks and shade that just about tore the tires to pieces. Then we went back to the junction point, and seeing nothing else to do, again went back over the road that we had retraced – the only one indicated by the signs as being the Silver Lake route. Every foot of it was watched carefully for a road leading south, which we were sure was the right direction. Then we gave up entirely and quit conjecturing, and with an outburst of laughter Sam and I admitted that we were sure “horned.” Here another situation presented itself. We had been over this road, down the canyon the night before – twice – had been to the place where the road disappeared entirely. What was the use of going back there again. And if we did go and could not find Silver Lake, we would not have enough gasoline to get back to Barstow. We went as far as we dared – to the summit of the canyon, and here Sam and I climbed out to one of the nearby rocky points in a final attempt to get our bearings. And there, far ahead and below, beyond where we had stopped, stretching away across the sand waste like a tiny yellow thread, a road appeared, topped the distant sand dune, turned south, and beyond that and between two mountains, we made out what we determined to be Silver Lake. Still another range remained to be crossed.

Back at the machine a further discussion was held. Out in that land of mirages and treacherous canyons, we might be off. If we went down there and did not find our town, we would not get back on account of gasoline, and there was a grave danger of the tires giving out at any time, and if they did, it was simply impossible to go over the rough passages on the rim. But we finally agreed to it, and for the fifth time went over that stretch leading down into the wash, and there, not over 20 feet from where we had stopped during the night, we found a faint trace of a road. Quite a bit of it had been wiped out entirely, and this had thrown us off. This new course led down to the wash and finally into the long stretch across the valley, and holding on with both hands and our breath for fear the tires would let go any minute, we went after it. An hour and a half later we circled the rim of the sand dune and dropped down into Silver Lake, got a drink of soda, some food, and just at dark pulled into camp. It was a hot night. Sam and I went in the pool in an endeavor to cool off. We slept on cots out on the screen porch, where the hot wind nearly blew us to pieces. In the morning we made the rounds, looked over the place, posted signs, inspected the wagon, took a last look and at 2 o’clock started on the homeward trip.

At Silver Lake we again stocked on eats, gasolone and water, and the next big proposition was to get across that valley and up the wash without the tires failing. Out of the Silver Lake the sand was so deep that not even the bloomin’ Ford would pull it, and Pauline and I had to push the outfit. But we got back – to the summit, the roller coaster country too, and at dark reached our calculated destination – Garlick Springs, where we camped for the night. Here, on the road, is a nice spring, a little corral, a watering trough, and a little shack that is visited occasionally by its owner. We had a little campfire, fried some bacon and had a simple meal. And then we lay with our faces to the sky, with its myriads of bright stars and the soaring moon; there in the heart of the desert where the grim mountains watched like silent specters and the cool night breeze swept down to lull us to sleep. There in the midst of the elements that God made and glorified, far from the haunts of human institutions, selfishness and strife, what a contrast it seemed, and I know that little experience led us all to a greater appreciation of one another and particularly the One whose power hath for so long blessed us and who surely led us on, over the desolate places where death lurked, and where dangers lured. Somehow it reminded me of the journey of life – the desert experiences as well as the bright spots along the way, and of the power ever near, supreme yet silent as the elements, watching, guiding, keeping guard over us. It brought to mind the beautiful words of the Psalmist: “O Lord, thou hast searched me, and known me. Thou knowest my downsitting and mine uprising, thou understandest my thoughts afar off. Thou compasseth my path and my lying down, and are acquainted with all my ways. Whither shall I go from thy spirit? or whither shall flee from thy presence? If I ascend up into heaven, thou art there: if I make my bed in hell, behold, thou art there. If I take the wings of the morning and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea; even there shall thy hand lead me and thy right hand shall hold me. If I say, surely the darkness shall cover me, even the night shall be light about me. Yea, the darkness hideth not from thee; but the night shineth as the day; the darkness and the light are both alike unto thee.”

The following morning we arose, rather glad to stir ourselves because the last hours were rather cold, and packed our stuff again for the last lap of the journey. Without a mishap we reached Barstow, then on to Victorville, down the pass, and at 7:30 arrived at Los Angeles. Thus ended the most interesting, rough and dangerous trip we have ever taken. The few photographs I am enclosing may be of interest to you.

Mother states she hopes to be in Atlanta soon, and that she will be permitted to see you occasionally. I wish this might be my privilege also, but for the present this seems impossible. Perhaps in the course of events and the outworking of Divine Providence we may see each other face to face, but even if this is not possible, then we are resigned to whatever the situation may be, knowing that a greater purpose is being accomplished.

“Lord, tho hast been our dwelling place in all generation. Before the mountains were brought forth, or even thou hadst formed the earth and the world, even from everlasting to everlasting thou art God. So teach us to number our days that we may apply our hearts unto wisdom, and let the beauty of the Lord our God be upon us; and establish thou the work of our hands upon us; yea, the work of our hands establish thou it. There shall no evil befall thee, neither shall any plague come nigh thy dwelling. For he shall give his angels charge over thee, to keep thee in all thy ways. Peace I leave with you, my peace give I unto you, let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid. Now unto him that is able to keep you from falling, and to present you faultless before the presence of his glory with exceeding joy, to the only wise God our Saviour, be glory and majesty and dominion and power, both now and forever.”

With a special prayer for your comfort, blessing and guidance, and a like expression of love and sympathy for all of the dear brethren with you in bonds, I am, as ever,

Your most devoted son,

MALCOLM RUTHERFORD

Some of you will find this helpful

https://lollardsociety.org/pdfs/Vaughan_LifeOpinions_vol1.pdf

Letter to a member of the Barbour/Barber family

Not relevant to the history we pursue, but interesting nevertheless.

Read this ...

This post requires NO comments, but it does require your attention.

A Polish web site describes me as a “liberal JW.” I’m uncertain what is meant. If the writer suggests that I have a liberal view of the Bible, they are incorrect. If they mean that I have a lax view of moral obligations, that too is incorrect. If they mean that I have a loosely held view of congregation structure; that is wrong-headed. I am, in fact, socially conservative, a Bible believer. I believe that all the rights and obligations God grants apply to everyone. In the United States the appellation “liberal elder” or “liberal Witness” attaches to a type of apostate. Are you calling me an apostate? On what basis?

A private email suggested that I was angry at the Watchtower Society. The basis is a footnote in my current work. Perhaps the person who wrote that email is a mind reader, but I doubt the possibility.

Related to the above, but from another, is the suggestion that I should not repeat something previously said in volume two’s footnotes. This ignores the nature of volume two which is a series of essays presented in rough chronological order. My experience with that type of writing is that it may not be read in chapter order. So I have repeated key footnotes. I will not change that. If one of them reflects on your beliefs, it says no more that what is true.

The Separate Identity series occasionally challenges Russell mythology. Some who read them, some who visit this blog, are committed to the various mythologies, both pro and anti Russell. I am not. I am committed to telling you an accurate, clearly stated account. If you want to challenge the narrative as I present it, give me your sources. I will accept only original sources. Secondary sources, especially one written by a polemicist, are of no value.

Cedar Point Convention - 1922

Can you help?

I received this email today. I have passed on the very little I know. Can you help?

Dear brother,

I am ****, Jehovah’s Witness from France.

I visited the French Branch this week, and had the opportunity to visit the archives department.

Back home, making some online researches, I found your blog.

Thanks for these precious documents and facts!

Are you located in France?

Do you have items related to the Watchtower history in France?

Asking for the impossible

Many of the resources needed for my research have been scanned by someone or republished. Some have not. I need to purchase three years of a magazine not scanned by anyone. Unfortunately, the person who has them wants 300 US dollars. I do not have that, or anything close to it. If you want to donate to this purchase, please use paypal. The owner has given me two days to complete the purchase.