ABOUT THE BOOK

Herb Shreve's mother always said he would be a preacher. He fought against this destiny until he heard the voice of God say "Herb, preach!" Many sermons later, a late night return from a revival ended in an altercation with his teenage son. Realizing the emotional distance between them, Herb purchased two motorcycles to rekindle their bond. Traveling to rallies, Herb saw hurt and pain masquerading behind black leather and roaring engines. Here were thousands who would never enter church doors. His wife gave him thirty days and the promise of Tupperware income. Discover for yourself how $17 and submission to God's will built the Christian Motorcyclists Association---now a global ministry, serving in all 50 states and 30 countries worldwide.

HOW THIS BOOK CAME TO BE

After retiring from my day job, I bought a motorcycle and joined a group of Christian bikers. At a rally in Arkansas, I met Herb Shreve, a small town preacher who had founded Christian Motorcyclists Association. I learned from old timers in the ministry how CMA had grown from a garden shed in Hatfield into a global ministry, active in all 50 states and 30 countries worldwide. I knew I had found my book, if Herb would let me write it.
Long story short, I rode with Herb Shreve the last 10 years of his life, all the while keeping notes and info that became his life story:

FISHER OF MEN: The Motorcycle Ministry of Herb Shreve
Paperback

Herb Was One of A Kind

ONE OF A KIND. Herb Shreve. He was the last of the breed. He believed, wholly and completely, that God called him to minister to motorcyclists. He never got impatient with anybody who approached him. He never failed to have a sharp comeback to someone who tried to pull some humor on him. I never saw him bend from his principles just to "get along." Often during the day, or late at night, he would retire to his room to read his Bible and to make sermon notes on a tablet. The satchels and boxes I picked up from his wife Mary have a ton of Herb's tablets and notes. He never saw himself as anything more than a small town preacher. He never sought fame or money. Truly a "FISHER OF MEN" - he impacted my life as no man ever did. If I must, I will become a Circuit Rider to get his story out there. Just as Francis Asbury rode his circuit on a horse, Herb Shreve rode his circuit on a motorcycle. The mission was the same - "One heart at a time."

Herb (back row, wearing helmet) on Deal's Gap with the Tennessee bunch, 2010.

PICTURES

Shreve Family, Herb standing behind his mother.....CMA, age 3.....Tom & Phyllis Pitman, first evangelist.....Herb, foot washing in Ohio.....Herb's first Harley.

CMA Work Center (Hq.) & Iron Mtn.

PICTURED: CMA Work Center, Hatfield.....Pavilion on Iron Mtn.....Bell Tower & Inscription.....The Rock on exit road from Iron Mtn.

Herb's Early Days, Before CMA & Later

PICTURED: Herb & Shirley wedding, 1955.....Herb at Bible College.....CMA troupe of motorcyclists in convoy.....Herb & bike.....Herb, Shirley and Kelly.

Picture Post

PICTURED: Shirley Shreve.....Curtis & Carole Clements.....Roy & June Johnson.....CMA's first office bldg.....Herb & 2nd wife Mary.

Herb Pictures

PICTURED: Herb with Bess & Harlan Powell, 2005.....Herb at Sturgis, 1975.....Herb's boyhood homes (Monticello & Heber Springs).....Brother Andrew (Open Doors).....Herb at Two Mile Church, Hatfield, 2004.

Herb Pictures

PICTURED: Greg Heinritz on his Jesus Bike, in the 80's.....Herb as a toddler, in the 30's.....Herb, back row center, on Deal's Gap, 2010.....Pin for the first CMA rally (Cedar Lake, OK - 1976).....Herb & Shirley, anniversary pic.

Divine Appointment ... It was.

Looking back, I can see now that it was a Divine appointment...
When I first met Herb, in the company of mutual friends at the Fish Net restaurant in Polk County, he was an old evangelist living a boring routine in retirement. I was an old salesman, also retired and somewhat bored, half heartedly involved in the ministry Herb Shreve had founded a quarter century earlier.
Herb had, prior to retirement, built a 40-year career in evangelism. I had started out trying to be a writer but had resorted to a career in sales so I could feed my growing family.
Herb knew he had found his calling at the age of 18, preaching his first sermon at Williams Baptist College in Walnut Ridge, Arkansas. The seed of a calling to be a writer came upon me at the age of 21, a young soldier serving in Japan…
After reading the war novel, From Here to Eternity by James Jones, I was stunned by its power, and I declared to friends that I would write my own book some day. With my newly wedded wife working and paying the bills, I spent a year at home trying to write “my own book.” Writing and finishing it in a hurry, hoping for sudden fame and quick money, I sent it off to the same publisher that had published From Here to Eternity…
When a brief letter of rejection came back from the publisher, I was devastated. I had to go out and find a real job. Recognizing that journaling was a therapy for me, I wrote to newspapers -- letters to the editor, at first, and finally a weekly column called On The Road with Gene H. Powell.
It brought neither fame nor money, but it honed my writing skills.
When I met Herb Shreve, the founder of CMA and once its driving force, he had become bored with retirement and he felt the ministry had mostly forgotten him. As I came to realize the great work this small town preacher had done, and the personal sacrifices he had made to do it, I had to pose the question: Is anybody taking a look at writing this man’s life story?
From Herb, and from every corner, the answer was no…
Well, I had declared to my Army buddies in 1956 that I would write my own book some day. When I met Herb Shreve, I knew I had found my book. Not for fame or money, but for a story that had to be told.
I was not devastated by a publisher’s rejection this time. I was delighted when it was accepted -- with plaudits -- by the first publisher my daughter/agent sent it to.
It had to be a Divine appointment for Herb and me to meet, a story that had to be told.

The Converted Pharisee

Paul has been described, rightfully, as a Pharisee's Pharisee. Struck down by a bolt of lightning when he was hunting down Christians to execute them, he was gloriously converted and became the leading evangelist for this new faith called "The Way." He wrote over half the New Testament and personally started 20 churches whose offshoots would rapidly number in the hundreds and, eventually, in the thousands. He made believers in frontier towns, highland villages and farming settlements. He gave most of his time, though, to preaching in the big cities like Corinth, Ephesus and Phillipi. That's where the crowds were. CMA has a tract declaring, about Jesus, "He would have ridden a Harley."
If motorcycles and on-the-spot media had been available to the Apostle Paul, he would have covered the known world at that time and, in his clashes with traditional religion, would have made the evening news every day. Limited to work with what he had, however, he didn't do too bad.

Uncle Oliver Chisolm's Birthday

Uncle Oliver (1919-2008) was my favorite uncle...
They were (those Chisolms, my mother's people) high-tempered yet gentle. Predictable yet unpredictable. Admirable yet pitiful. Blustery yet non-assuming. Mannerly yet crude. Deceptive yet straightforward. Poor in one way and rich in another...
When I was a kid they all loved me. They played with me and joked with me all the time. They captured my imagination.
When they would see me in town, they would reach in their pocket and give me a dime or a quarter, whatever they had to spare. They were my heroes then.
When I got up in high school, I saw how limited they were in their grasp of world affairs due to a lack of formal education. It was then I quit seeing them as heroes and started feeling ashamed for them.
It would embarrass me when my friends would see them spitting snuff and tobacco juice on the street.
I could see their engaging histrionics now, their changing moods at the drop of a hat, their general craziness. Me and some of my cousins started to chuckle behind their backs at their crazy behavior.
That burdens and grieves me now, when I look back and think about it. They gave me their hearts and their lives, all they had to give.
They gave me a spirit of laughter and mischief, a yen for adventure and taking chances.
All you lovable crazy Chisolms, wherever you are. I love you. I'm sorry if I hurt you.
I hope we'll be together again someday, in a family circle. And about the snuff and the chewing tobacco. That's okay too.