John Kuhns Kreider

On October 17, 1929, I was born in Lancaster, Pa., the first son of John Hoffman and Anna Kuhns Kreider. Like most mothers and news babies in those days, my mother and I had to stay in the hospital for almost a week before coming home to the Kreider farm where my father, Grandpa and Grandma Kuhns, and Great Aunt Ann Grove welcomed me.

My early childhood days on the farm passed happily with my brother and little sister as playmates, with pets and farm animals to enjoy, and a wide meadow and creek to explore. When I was five I started first grade, and I was learning to milk my father's cows by hand when I was six.

I attended Joint School, a one-room school about a mile from my home, for first through eighth grades. We walked out the lane, crossed the highway and railroad, then continued down the Old Harrisburg Pike to the schoolhouse. There I began friendships with neighbor kids that still continue today. I remember walking to the home across the highway from the school to take piano lessons. At home when I would practice, Grandma Martha Kuhns would often come into the living room, sit in the rocker and listen.

The most exciting event of each year at Joint School was the Christmas program that featured songs, plays, and recitations by all of the pupils. We would practice for weeks, make decorations, and string a curtain across the platform at the front of the room. An electrician would come and connect a line to provide electricity for the evening program which was proudly attended by families and neighbors.

I can still remember the tantalizing aroma of potatoes roasting on top of the Heatrola that stood near the center of the schoolroom. On many winter days, if we had brought a potato for lunch, we would revel in the hot, tasty treat that warmed and energized us.

One day during recess, a friend and I decided we would enter the school a different way and surprise everyone. We crawled through the tiny opening into the coal cellar---where coal for the furnace was delivered. Sliding down over the coal, we felt our way over to the steps up to the classroom, lifted the trap door and announced our entrance. As I remember, our teacher wasn't too happy with us!

Perhaps one of the most far-reaching influences of Joint School was instilling in me a lifelong appreciation and enjoyment of great literature. Every class regularly memorized poems, and many of these works continue to inspire me today. Near the end of eighth grade, I was sick with the mumps and couldn't take the high school admission test. (I had to take it after I had started high school.) That summer as my father, brother, and I were busy filling silo in the old orchard, two strangers drove in the lane and walked over to us. They were the principal of the East Donegal High School, Dr. J. W. Bingeman and the agricultural teacher, Mr. S. F. Simmons. They explained that since Mount Joy Township was between three districts, I could choose which high school I wanted to attend. They encouraged me to attend East Donegal and enroll in the agricultural course. So I decided to go there to high school and I learned a lot about caring for farm animals by raising Rhode Island Red Hens, and a heifer which I named Elsie the Borden Cow. Unfortunately, Elsie didn?t quite live up to her reputation and she was sold to the butcher.

We who were in the agricultural course were often envied by other students because we were frequently excused from classes; it was enjoyable to take field trips to events relating to agriculture, such as local farm shows, the Pennsylvania State Exhibition at Harrisburg, and various animal judging events.

One spring day we walked several miles from East Donegal High School in Maytown to a pumping station near Marietta to see the big open pits of oil. My classmate, Sam Ney, leaning over the railing to look down, accidentally dropped a valuable pen from his pocket. I was very impressed when the superintendent in charge drained the oil pit and retrieved the pen for him!

In my sophomore year, two of my classmates developed brain tumors. One (J. Omar Brubaker) recovered and graduated with our class; but my other friend, Donald Bucher, (whose father was dean of Elizabethtown College) died the following year. I knew that he aspired to be a doctor. I had enrolled that fall as a junior at Messiah Academy in Grantham, Pa., and I returned home to attend Donald's funeral.

My parents gradually recognized that, because of my asthma and allergies, I was not likely to become a farmer; and my focus was beginning to turn toward medicine and missions. After graduating from Messiah Academy, I enrolled in Messiah College. As I had an aptitude for science, I began taking introductory science courses.

On one occasion my roommate, Orville Heisey, and I shared our vocational dreams with veteran missionary and professor Mary Eshelman. She strongly encouraged us to prepare for missions through further training in a profession. Other significant encouragement came from my uncle, Dr. John G. Kuhns, an orthopedic surgeon practicing in Boston, Massachusetts. Having grown up on our family farm, he and his family would vacation with us each summer, joining in the farm work, and he became a role model for me in the medical profession. One day, as he stood in the doorway between the kitchen and dining room of our home, he made a comment that I never forgot. He said, "The study of medicine is not just for 'top? students, the ones with the highest IQs---but for average students who have an aptitude for science, biology, etc., and who know how to stick to such a course of study." Those words encouraged me many times later in my years as a medical student!

Not only did my time at Messiah help to clearly focus the direction of my life's vocation, but many lifelong friendships were formed during my years there. The musical experiences of singing in the Choral Society, Male Chorus, and Oratorio Society gave me a repertoire of music to enjoy for a lifetime. A highlight of my freshman year was working with three of my classmates to write the script and produce our class play, "Esther." I also remember a most meaningful occasion on our sophomore trip to New York City: on Sunday morning, as we joined the worshippers at Riverside Memorial Church, we listened to Dr. Dwight D. Eisenhower, then Chancellor of Columbia University, as he read to us from Romans 12.

After finishing two years at Messiah Junior College in the spring of 1950 I moved back to the farm, took a summer course in organic chemistry at Elizabethtown College, and then completed my final two years at Elizabethtown College in 1952. Since most of my pre-med courses were taken in those 2 years, I had chosen to take my medical college admission tests (MCATS) in my senior year. Knowing I could not enter medical school immediately, I took this opportunity to get some further preparation for Christian service through a year at Eastern Baptist Theological Seminary in Philadelphia.

That year was a truly memorable year! I had decided to work three nights a week to help pay my tuition and board. I got a job at Hawk's City Service Station, working the 11-7 shift; I was pumping gas, putting on snow chains, and mopping the bay with a bucket, mop, and gasoline (not the most intelligent idea!) One night someone filched several hundred dollars from the cash drawer while I was out pumping gas. I decided to end the job---three months of feeling half-dead most of the time was enough. That year I also learned how to operate a PBX switchboard.

The summer of 1953, back again on the farm, I took a job for Reist Seed Company. I went from farm to farm with a portable machine that cleaned and treated seed grain with a mercury fungicide. I wore a mask and cotton gloves for protection and was able to earn $800, just the amount needed for my first year's tuition at Jefferson Medical College.

But in November, shortly before Thanksgiving, my world began to fall apart. Halfway through the semester, I became aware that something was wrong with my nervous system; I had a pronounced lack of balance, especially on stairs or uneven surfaces. I was unable to sleep soundly, and studying became an effort. Because of the insomnia I often got up and studied at night. I began to wonder if I was losing my mind. I was eventually admitted to STAR 5 (room #5), on the thirteenth floor of Thomas Jefferson Hospital in Philadelphia.

My parents came to see me while I was in the hospital, and I can imagine their anxiety at seeing my dreams for a medical career crumbling. But my father, being a keen Bible student, found a "STAR VERSE" for my condition: Romans 15:13. At the time I was too dysfunctional to fully realize its power, but it steadily grew for me in its assurance and hope: "Now may the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing so that you may abound in hope through the power of the Holy Spirit."

Another unusual phenomenon developed about this time which I can't explain: the 23rd Psalm began to run through my head like an endless recording during my waking hours, when I was undistracted by other activities. At the end of the silent reciting of the psalm in my mind, the process would begin again. It was as if I had a sustained-release tranquilizer! The psalm began to be a message of reassurance and promises yet to be realized. And a verse from the hymn "In Heavenly Love Abiding" became quite meaningful:

"Green pastures are before me Which yet I have not seen;
Bright skies will soon be o'er me Where darkest clouds have been.
My hope I cannot measure, My path to life is free;
My Savior has my treasure, and He will walk with me."

About that time I learned that my doctors suspected that I had multiple sclerosis. I was advised to withdraw from the freshman class, but told that it would be possible to reenter with the following year's students if I improved. This became a glimmer of hope for me even though it seemed unlikely.

As the months passed and my health gradually improved it became clear that the diagnosis of multiple sclerosis was wrong. Instead, it was decided that my illness had been caused by acute mercury poisoning, a costly result of my summer agricultural job. I was able to return to Jefferson and audit the lectures of the second semester. But the most important lessons learned were those of hope, patience, and God's sustaining grace.

The next fall, I was well enough to return and repeat the first year of medical school. The following summer I worked as a lab technician at Delaware County Memorial Hospital in Drexel Hill where I was on call at night for emergencies. When I started my second year, my brother, Henry, was beginning his first year at Hahnemann Medical School, and we shared an apartment. As I progressed through school, I advanced to the rank of a "junior intern" at DCH, which in those days meant staffing the emergency room on nights and weekends and being on call for other hospital emergencies (definitely not considered an acceptable role for undergraduates today!)

One afternoon in my senior year, Dr. Henry Ginder visited me, proposing that I consider service at the Navajo Mission near Farmington, New Mexico, after my graduation and internship. Since I had no other commitments except for my school costs, I felt open to his suggestion. Little did I know how those awesome responsibilities at DCH were preparing me for what I would meet at the mission!

Graduating from Jefferson Medical College in May 1958, I entered a rotating internship at Lancaster General Hospital, which meant being on call every other night and every other weekend. Often we single interns would use our weekday nights "off" to finish our histories and physicals, do studying or research, and often eat our evening meal about eleven o?clock with the night shift nurses for company. Although there were some very fine nurses there, I didn't want to get involved in a serious friendship when I was facing an unknown challenge in the Navajo Mission assignment!

Since I was to begin my practice in New Mexico as soon as possible, I needed to make two train trips to Santa Fe in May and June of 1959 in order to take the Basic Sciences test and then the New Mexico State Medical Board exam. Having completed those, in early July my parents and I began driving west. The most memorable event of the trip occurred near the mission just as dusk was settling over the sagebrush. We struck a young steer on the open range, and because it needed to be slaughtered as a result of its injuries, it created some on-going insurance problems. My car was repaired, and my parents returned home by train.

My first year at the Navajo Hospital was not an easy one for me or the nursing staff of three. The head nurse had reluctantly agreed to stay on an extra year to help make a smoother transition, but at the end of the year we had a 100% nursing staff turnover! I had a two-week vacation at home in Pa. for a minor surgical procedure of draining a troublesome abscess, the aftermath of boils that showed evidence of the stress of that year.

Returning to the mission in June of 1960, I found the newly-appointed head nurse, Ethel Wolgemuth, who had recently arrived from her previous employment in a Denver hospital. She was shortly followed by Edna Long and then by Janie Monn who had earlier worked at the Navajo Hospital. Before the end of the next year, there was a team of four nurses (including Anna Mae Ludwig) that was largely responsible for the very successful operation and growth of the Navajo Hospital over the next several years.

The unique medical experiences I encountered at the Navajo Hospital during my four-year stay would fill a volume. There were good systems in place with the Public Health Service for the transfer of patients with problems beyond my competency to treat. If time was of the essence, as in a complication of childbirth, we would transport the patient on a canvas stretcher in our station wagon to the nearest community hospital, about 45 miles away. Other cases would be transferred by air through charter service provided by the Bureau of Indian Affairs.

A number of people at the mission apparently thought that this unattached young man would benefit from a "help-meet," and our superintendent concluded he would try to encourage such a move. He approached the head nurse, Ethel Wolgemuth, with an idea that another one of our nurses, whom he named, might be a possibility to be encouraged. The head nurse demurred, stating that she didn't feel that this was part of her job, and she didn't want to have a part in this intrigue. What they didn?t know, however, was that I already was attracted to the head nurse herself, and later in my second year we were engaged. We were married the following summer, on July 23, 1961, at the Brethren in Christ Navajo Mission. Oh, yes, the nurse that the superintendent had in mind, Edna Long, later became my sister-in-law through marriage to my brother Henry, also a physician.

The following year our twins, John and Mary, were born on May 15, 1962, at San Juan Hospital, Farmington, New Mexico. Being so far from our families, we especially appreciated the helpfulness of the mission staff and friends like Mrs. Sam Minter of Abilene, Kansas, who gave loving care to Ethel and the babies during those first weeks.

My two-year term of service had stretched to four years before another physician was able to take my place at the Navajo Hospital. (This was a voluntary service position, which meant that we received the VS allowance of $15 per month, plus food and housing and $25 per quarter for each child.) By the summer of 1963, Dr. Sam Brubaker and his wife Lucy were able to come, and we returned to Lancaster County. My father later commented to Bishop Henry Ginder (who served on the Board of the Navajo Mission) that each of my yearly trips home from New Mexico during those four years was characterized by a word beginning with "b": boils, bride, babies, and bills!

Lancaster County now became home for our family, and I was asked to join the medical practice of a partially-disabled physician in Lancaster---seeing office patients, making house calls and hospital calls, delivering babies, and caring for newborns and their mothers. My beginning salary was $65 a week, which increased to $85 over the next two and one-half years! In November 1965, I resigned that position and began to work in the emergency room at Lancaster General Hospital. Six months later, being offered a medical practice in East Petersburg, I began a 22-year stint in family medicine - which I found very rewarding but quite demanding as a solo practice. However, in 1972 I hired a pediatric nurse practitioner from Meade, Kansas, who was a major help to me for the next 18 years or more.

Some other meaningful experiences, in addition to my medical practice, have come as opportunities to help the poor, elderly, or disadvantaged. It was rewarding to become a fourth-generation Kreider to serve on the Messiah Home Board of Trustees when Uncle Ethan retired in 1968. Serving the Home before me was William L. Kreider, Grandfather Henry K. Kreider, and Uncle Ethan Kreider. This appointment opened the way for me to become part of a miraculous development. In 1981, three years after the Messiah Home had been relocated in Mechanicsburg as Messiah Village and the Paxton Street property had been sold, the new owner defaulted and the property reverted back to the Messiah Village Board. Several of us on the Board tried unsuccessfully to persuade the others to maintain this property as a benevolent ministry. A group of people carrying this vision began to meet together to plan and pray. It included Glenn Dalton, Beth Frey, David Miller, Lucille Wolgemuth, the Village Board?s attorney, Jeff Ernico, and myself. Through many difficulties and against all odds, the fulfillment of the Paxton Home dream was realized. I was privileged to be involved with these folks in purchasing and incorporating the Paxton Street Home. After intensive cleaning and renovations the property was rededicated on November 22, 1981, as a personal care home for those with limited financial resources. For a decade I also served as a physician for the Welsh Mountain Medical Clinic. I was active in the Pa. Council for Alcohol Problems, and am presently serving with the World Mission Associates.

In the early 1980s I agreed to help begin an inner-city non-profit family medicine clinic which the Lancaster Conference Mennonites wanted to create in north central Philadelphia. The site was a large old four-story brick and concrete building previously abandoned and purchased by the Diamond Street Mennonite Church. It had already become the new site for the Diamond Street Mennonite Church, and in August of 1986 the clinic opened as Diamond Street Wholistic Health Center, with three volunteer physicians staffing it alternately on clinic days. Thus began an eleven year cross-cultural experience in community medicine which opened my eyes to the stark difference between the culture of white privilege and that of inner city, where jobs with adequate benefits are scarce, health care often is fragmented, education seems unable to challenge young people, and where many families and individuals live on welfare in run-down housing. After seven years the clinic folded (September 1993), due to lack of adequate funding as a non-profit venture. I continued to see some patients by renting a nearby vacant office, but it became too great a financial and physical burden to attempt to develop a new part-time inner-city practice. My work in Philadelphia had all been all on a voluntary basis except for one year when we received a sizable grant and I was paid $30,000.

About this time I was also working part-time as a medical officer in several county prisons near my home. In July 1997, just short of my 68th birthday, my contract with the managed-care organization providing medical coverage to prisoners expired, and I felt it was time to retire. I considered it a ministry to work with prisoners, but the pattern of disrespect toward offenders, which was all too common, underscored for me the need for changes in the criminal justice system.

As a result of those experiences in prison medicine, I became involved in a Christian organization called "Justice and Mercy, Inc.", based in Lancaster, Pa. It is an advocacy program that relates to prisoners and their families, and seeks to find ways to make the prison experience more restorative and rehabilitative. In my retirement I have served as secretary of the board of LAVORP (Lancaster Area Victim/Offender Reconciliation Program) which works with juvenile offenders.

I have also joined the Pa. Prison Society, founded by Dr. Benjamin Rush and Benjamin Franklin for the purpose of giving citizen oversight to the welfare of prisoners in colonial Philadelphia. It entitles me, by act of the Legislature, to visit any county or state prison when requested by an inmate or his family.

Ethel and I continue to be actively involved in ministry opportunities in the Lancaster Brethren in Christ Church, such as Sunday School teaching, assisting in the Friendship Class for mentally and physically-challenged adults, and hospitality ministries.

Our son, John Wolgemuth Kreider, graduated from Messiah College in 1984 and married Susan Leeds, a classmate at Messiah College. John received his veterinary training at the University of Pa., Philadelphia, and is in large animal (farm) veterinary practice with Smoketown Veterinary Hospital near Lancaster. They are members of the Lancaster Brethren in Christ Church where John serves on church board and Susan is youth director. Their children are Leann, Danny, Laura, and Johnny.

Daughter Mary Ann also graduated from Messiah College in 1984 and from Jefferson Medical College. Mary practices in the field of endocrinology two days per week at Hershey Medical Hospital. She is married to Gary Lathrop, Esquire, and they have three children: Jeffrey, Matthew, and Megan. Gary serves on the pastoral staff of Hershey Evangelical Free Church, where their family worships.

Our daughter, Rebecca Sue, who was born in Lancaster, Pa., on February 4, 1966, graduated from Messiah College in 1988 and married Jeffrey Phillip Gingerich of Iowa City, Iowa. Their children are Kathryn Anna and Samuel. Rebecca is employed as a respiratory therapist in a local retirement community in Norristown, Pa. Her husband teaches sociology and restorative justice at Cabrini College, St. David's, Pa.