That delightful pair were actually friends of my parents since college days, back before the war. They had books and coffee and cigarettes in common. Arguments over what current author was making the greatest impact on impressionable American youth could go on way past midnight. Sometimes at their home, sometimes ours. I clearly remember falling asleep on the huge brown davenport in their L-shaped living room. It was in the ell that Betty had the ever-present workmen install floor-to-ceiling fitted bookshelves. She generously lent dozens of books to my mother and - get this - to Stan. He would tuck himself cozily away in a little nook between the old upright Chickering and the potted Kentia, reading this, reading that and reading the other. Don't forget, I was the one asleep on the big D! Hardly something to brag about.
That only scratches the surface of their relationship. When my parents "got religion," the two couples spent less and less time together. Nothing as bad as a rift or such: NEVER DISCUSS RELIGION OR POLITICS! Politics, maybe. They simply drifted apart. I was doing my thing - cars and watching the waves at our coastal retreat, and Stan was doing his - daydreaming, reading and painting scenes of the gentle Pacific. This under Betty's watchful and loving eyes and her expert tutelage. The two flourished and basked in mutual admiration. Mom and Dad trusted their friends implicitly and never let religion divide them.
I don't think the Hendersons went to church. It simply was not discussed.
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