Herman van Dyck
A theological history by David Powell
Herman van Dyck was born January 2, 1887 in Groningen, Holland and was a 79-year-old blind man when he came to be a part of the West Islip Church of Christ family in West Islip, Long Island, New York in the summer of 1966. Herman was a much-loved part of the West Islip family until his death in January, 1980, just after his 93rd birthday.
Herman was born a Roman Catholic and was an altar boy from his 8th until his 14th year, serving the priest at the altar daily. It was his intention to become a priest and be a missionary, saying he’d gladly shed his blood for the Lord.
But then he began to go to the library, and there he learned so many facts contrary to the teachings he had been observing, that he had to give up his beloved religion. At home, every night at 6 o’clock, the whole family, servants and all, got on their knees to pray the rosary. But that became such a habit, Herman could do part of his homework while answering the prayers.
And so it was not real. Herman gave up his belief not only in the church, but he began to doubt the existence of God himself -- at least the God he had always worshiped. He did not deny God, but considered him just a force:
Herman was born a Roman Catholic and was an altar boy from his 8th until his 14th year, serving the priest at the altar daily. It was his intention to become a priest and be a missionary, saying he’d gladly shed his blood for the Lord.
But then he began to go to the library, and there he learned so many facts contrary to the teachings he had been observing, that he had to give up his beloved religion. At home, every night at 6 o’clock, the whole family, servants and all, got on their knees to pray the rosary. But that became such a habit, Herman could do part of his homework while answering the prayers.
And so it was not real. Herman gave up his belief not only in the church, but he began to doubt the existence of God himself -- at least the God he had always worshiped. He did not deny God, but considered him just a force:
Bigger than the wind, for I could feel the wind, |
Bigger than gravitation - I also could feel gravitation, |
Bigger than lightning – a greater power. |
For the spark of life I found was not spontaneous; it had to be created. |
And all the other forces had to be created – they did not come of themselves. |
Herman heard other people say they knew God. Herman questioned how that was possible: “Does a Father play favorites with his children, that you know him and I don’t? You say you do the will of God; I would do the will of God if I [knew] Him - not for fear of hell or for gain of heaven; that would be striking a bargain. I would do God’s will like a child does the will of his father – out of love for creating me. But I don’t know Him.”
Herman left home because he did not want to be “a black sheep among all the lily white sheep, for I would not lie or pretend.” He found a trade as a pastry baker and lived with a Protestant family in his hometown. Every afternoon, the Bible was read, and because he lived two years with that family, Herman heard the Bible twice through. The Bible had been forbidden in his own home because “only the priest was able to interpret the Bible, not the average person.” Herman had not even been allowed to play with Protestant boys, for they had Bibles in their homes, and he might be contaminated.
“Still it did not help me,” Herman said. “It was 63 years I lived on like that.”
During that time, Herman joined the Dutch Merchant Marine and sailed around the world, serving as a baker and eventually as Chief Steward. Herman liked to say he was “navigator of the world since it was flat.” He emigrated to America at about age 40 and was married briefly, but his wife and child died in childbirth, and he remained single after that.
Herman had lived in New York City 30 years when blindness struck him, and he had to go to Bellevue Hospital. Bellevue transferred him to the state hospital in Central Islip -- primarily a hospital for the mentally unbalanced -- where Herman was examined to see if an operation could cure his blindness. After two months observation, his Glaucoma was declared incurable.
Now what to do? Herman had acquaintances but no close friends who would take him in. Burrwood Industrial Home for the Blind selected him as a resident, and Herman stayed there for 3 years and 3 months. But he could not adjust himself to group living; he wanted to be in a home where he could live his own life. He had always been independent, and it was difficult to change now.
Herman came to what he thought was a rest home, but it turned out to be a nursing home. He stated from the beginning that he considered himself not a patient – just a resident. He would not have a medical record, he would not be attended by a doctor, and that was “contrary to the institution. Always it was a little difficult with these people.” And so, after 3 years, the proprietor wanted to get rid of him.
It was the 31st of May, 1966. After supper, Herman lay on top of his bed in his pajamas, listening to a baseball game, when a knock on the door caught his attention. And there was a doctor.
Herman left home because he did not want to be “a black sheep among all the lily white sheep, for I would not lie or pretend.” He found a trade as a pastry baker and lived with a Protestant family in his hometown. Every afternoon, the Bible was read, and because he lived two years with that family, Herman heard the Bible twice through. The Bible had been forbidden in his own home because “only the priest was able to interpret the Bible, not the average person.” Herman had not even been allowed to play with Protestant boys, for they had Bibles in their homes, and he might be contaminated.
“Still it did not help me,” Herman said. “It was 63 years I lived on like that.”
During that time, Herman joined the Dutch Merchant Marine and sailed around the world, serving as a baker and eventually as Chief Steward. Herman liked to say he was “navigator of the world since it was flat.” He emigrated to America at about age 40 and was married briefly, but his wife and child died in childbirth, and he remained single after that.
Herman had lived in New York City 30 years when blindness struck him, and he had to go to Bellevue Hospital. Bellevue transferred him to the state hospital in Central Islip -- primarily a hospital for the mentally unbalanced -- where Herman was examined to see if an operation could cure his blindness. After two months observation, his Glaucoma was declared incurable.
Now what to do? Herman had acquaintances but no close friends who would take him in. Burrwood Industrial Home for the Blind selected him as a resident, and Herman stayed there for 3 years and 3 months. But he could not adjust himself to group living; he wanted to be in a home where he could live his own life. He had always been independent, and it was difficult to change now.
Herman came to what he thought was a rest home, but it turned out to be a nursing home. He stated from the beginning that he considered himself not a patient – just a resident. He would not have a medical record, he would not be attended by a doctor, and that was “contrary to the institution. Always it was a little difficult with these people.” And so, after 3 years, the proprietor wanted to get rid of him.
It was the 31st of May, 1966. After supper, Herman lay on top of his bed in his pajamas, listening to a baseball game, when a knock on the door caught his attention. And there was a doctor.
He said, “How are you?” |
I said, “I feel fine. What is it you want doctor? You know I’m not your patient.” |
“Well,” he said, “I just want to know how you are.” |
I said, “I feel just fine. Will you leave and close the door, please. I’m listening to the ball game.” |
He went away…15 minutes later, a nurse comes in – the night nurse, with two male attendants. I said, “What is all this? I’m listening to the ball game. I don’t want no disturbance. I want no nurse. I didn’t ask for anything.” |
“I came to give you an injection,” she said. |
“An injection?! What for?” |
“To calm you down,” she said. |
I said, “Get out of here. I don’t need no calming down. I’m listening to the ball game. What’s the matter with you?” |
But these men get a hold of me, they gave me an injection, and they put a straitjacket on me – tied my arms behind me, and I was rushed out the back way to that mental hospital... I didn’t know what to do -- what was the matter? In my pajamas, I sat in that car, only my cane – that’s all I had. I came to that hospital, they registered me, and they put me to bed. |
And there I lay..., abandoned, I felt, by everybody. How would my friends know I was there? I was... in that bed with the gates all up, I couldn’t even climb out. I was in the mental hospital! ...I did not know which way to turn! How was I, a sane person, in a mental hospital, doors all locked behind me? In my agony, I cried out, that if there is God, then now help me! I cried out… and then came calm. |
I said, “God’s here.” I became calm and began to recognize then that there was a God. Then I knew there was a God. I felt calm. After all that agony, all of a sudden, a peace came over me I had never known. In all these 63 years, all this doubting, always not knowing which was which, and now I knew. I had rest. I slept good that night, and in the morning, I was [walking in the corridor], and somebody called my name. |
I said, “Who is this?” |
“I’m the doctor,” he said, “who examined you several years ago. I saw your name on the list of incoming patients, and I wondered how you came here.” |
I said, “Doctor, I was railroaded here.” |
“Come in my office,” he said, “and tell me all about it.” |
I told him all that had occurred to me, that that woman had railroaded me in that mental hospital -- out of anger, to get rid of me. Remember, that was at 6 o’clock on the 31st of May – six more hours, and a new month would begin, and she would have to keep me for another month. She was clever. |
“Yes,” he said, “I understand...Now, I want you to sign this paper. You don’t have to.” |
I said, “What does it signify, doctor?” |
He said, “You trust me? |
I said, “Absolutely.” |
“Have I ever lied to you?” |
“No,” I said... “[And] I have never lied to you, doctor.” |
“I know,” he said, “that’s why I want you to sign this paper. It signifies that you have committed yourself, and now you can go out in two months. And you have the freedom of the place. You are not my patient,” he said, “you are my guest.” God was working for me now. God was working – how I felt that! You understand? “You can go out for 10 days,” he said, “or 5 days, or 3 days – as many as you want. Just... let me know when you’ll come back.” |
During those two months, Herman was more out of the hospital than in. The doctor put Herman in touch with a Day Center where he met 10 or so ladies from a new church in West Islip who were ministering there. He found comfort with his new friends and spent days and nights in several of their homes, talking to them about the Bible. When the two months were up, one of the ladies secured a place for him in a rest home in Babylon.
When the ladies offered to take Herman to church with them, he at first agreed, but then decided if he went, he would be going “under false flag” -- that the people there would think he had come to worship, and that would be lying, which he could not do. Kay Wells assured Herman she respected his feelings and would not force him to go.
But Herman continued to visit his new friends, and one Sunday, as he was spending the day with Kay and her husband, Forrest, Herman asked him, “Do I need any more instruction?”
When the ladies offered to take Herman to church with them, he at first agreed, but then decided if he went, he would be going “under false flag” -- that the people there would think he had come to worship, and that would be lying, which he could not do. Kay Wells assured Herman she respected his feelings and would not force him to go.
But Herman continued to visit his new friends, and one Sunday, as he was spending the day with Kay and her husband, Forrest, Herman asked him, “Do I need any more instruction?”
He said, “No, Herman, you don’t need any more instruction. What is it, you want to be baptized?” |
I said, “Yes, that’s what I was going to ask you." |
"Now?” he said. |
I said, “Any time.” |
And that was 2 o’clock in the afternoon. In the meantime, [Kay] had already been calling up several friends, and about 3 or 4 o’clock in the afternoon, I was baptized, and I became a Christian... and I’ve loved the Lord ever since. |
Herman did love the Lord, and once he had learned the songs at his new church home, he sang them with gusto. His favorites were “Blessed Assurance” and “My Jesus, I Love Thee” -- both of which speak of an intimate, personal relationship with Jesus. Herman was known to start the songs from his pew if the service was a little slow getting started!
Herman loved the children and brought pockets full of candy to give away after the service. “Do you want a red one?” he would ask, then pulling a green piece of candy from his pocket, the child would say, “But it’s green!” and he would answer, “well that’s what I meant.” Herman was a favorite speaker at elementary schools, where he showed them his Braille watch and a card with the Braille alphabet.
And Herman’s gift for friendship was not limited to children. Entire families at West Islip adopted him as their grandfather away from home. As Wally Collier said at his memorial service, “Herman probably had the largest family of any man I’ve ever known. He had many children and many grandchildren... He had time to listen. And he had a wit and a humor that always came through.”
Herman even visited some families after they moved away from New York, flying to Texas and Colorado during the summers. And he continued to make new friends to the end, as several testified to at his memorial service, including a woman who had made a connection with Herman because her late husband was Dutch and a man named Jack, who had been Herman’s roommate at Good Samaritan Hospital.
Bob Riggs closed the memorial service by recalling Herman’s testimony about the time when everything looked black: “And in that black hour, he found God -- or, as he always corrected himself -- God found him."
Herman loved the children and brought pockets full of candy to give away after the service. “Do you want a red one?” he would ask, then pulling a green piece of candy from his pocket, the child would say, “But it’s green!” and he would answer, “well that’s what I meant.” Herman was a favorite speaker at elementary schools, where he showed them his Braille watch and a card with the Braille alphabet.
And Herman’s gift for friendship was not limited to children. Entire families at West Islip adopted him as their grandfather away from home. As Wally Collier said at his memorial service, “Herman probably had the largest family of any man I’ve ever known. He had many children and many grandchildren... He had time to listen. And he had a wit and a humor that always came through.”
Herman even visited some families after they moved away from New York, flying to Texas and Colorado during the summers. And he continued to make new friends to the end, as several testified to at his memorial service, including a woman who had made a connection with Herman because her late husband was Dutch and a man named Jack, who had been Herman’s roommate at Good Samaritan Hospital.
Bob Riggs closed the memorial service by recalling Herman’s testimony about the time when everything looked black: “And in that black hour, he found God -- or, as he always corrected himself -- God found him."