Mama Was a Preacher

Mama was a Preacher Chapter Sixteen. Fin Copyright 1996 AUTHOR22@aol.com All rights reserved.

The four hour drive from El Centro to West Hollywood was a mixture of moods. There was excitement and proposals about building the new television production facility. But there was also a spirit of unhappiness being injected by the twins.

The discovery of the boys duplicity by Carmen made them realize the selfishness of their deeds. No amount of moralistic lectures could have done more.

Usually the boys were a constant vocal presence. Their silence was as much a statement of their depression as would have been a flow of tears.

Philip was the only one of our group who tried to comfort the lads. The rest of us felt the boys got their just desserts. But considering the noisy night that Tommy had had with Philip his support came as no surprise.

Only Robbie was strangely silent on the issue of the twins misdeeds. I suspected that the kids were really going to be in for it once they were by themselves.

Over the course of the years Robbie had been quiet about sexual matters. It was obvious that he did not suffer from the high degree of sexual appetite displayed by the majority of his peers. He probably never understood the lustful force that drove most boys through puberty.

I made a mental note to give Robbie a copy of an old 19th century English limerick that I had filed away titled "Forty and Fourteen":

"She lusted after the young ones, this dowager of 40; whose ample bosom and girth certainly made her portly.

"Her gardener had a tender son of just fourteen; an age which she thought made him ripe for courting.

"He would help his father pull the short weeds; showing his buns and enticing her needs.

"One day the father who was old became sick, she felt sure this day the boy's cock she would lick.

"Oh! Young man, come here and bring me some posies; she had in mind playing with something, and it wasn't his toseys.

"So straight and so strong, so muscular and dark his cock in her she was sure he would park.

"A young virgin must he be. Not for long she would see.

"She wanted the flowers put next to her bed; so it t'was there to which she him led.

"Oh, young man, under the bed my ring it did fall; so under her play pin did the boy crawl.

"She kneeled along side him, her hand on his butt; his dick grew so hard it created a rut.

"Surrendering your virginity whether ninety or nine is any boys fantasy and hope for all time.

"While under the bed, on his back he did turn, and the size of his tool the lady did learn.

"She unbuckled his trousers, sliding them down his face still hidden, with the rest of him she did clown.

"Pushing his shaft into her furrow, deeper and deeper did he thus burrow.

"Within a short time his climax he did reach; oh what a day, and so much yet to teach.

"A tender young boy under the bed she did urge a wiser young man from under the bed did emerge."

A smile crept across my lips as I remembered those words, realizing just how well the author had captured that spirit of a boy's developing sexuality. Those youthful years were innocent yet there was an urgency that demanded the display of their proud manhood. All the world must recognize that they had reached that plateau beyond which they would no longer be children.

Robbie's comment made years ago, "Only Schmucks play with their Schmucks," stated quite succinctly his lack of understanding about the drive which powered that march through puberty.

I resolved to have a private discussion with him before he confronted the twins.

This clash between male and female sexuality displayed the twins lack of understanding. No boy could feel the betrayal that Carmen must have felt. She was a casualty of this adolescent escapade. To the boys it was the ultimate in adventure: covert, collusive, the incredible feelings swelling up within their guts pushing its way into their nuts, and penis; the indescribable feelings of the cock head as it absorbed heat and tactile stimulation. A boy's encounter with sex always started as a fantasy centered around his genitals. The female path to sexual desires is the antithesis of the males. Her interest in sex does not start between her legs, but rather is cushioned within her emotions. It comes from romanticism. Yet there is also another need that must be satisfied. That need is not the sensory one that drives the male. Instead it is a need to exercise control. Where a boy's need on that plateau is one of advertising his ability to procreate, the girl's need on that same plateau is to demonstrate her ability to control the male.

Carmen's loss of domination robbed her of the purpose of her copulation as much as though she had been raped. No male can understand how a woman feels when she has been taken advantage of. Boys do not understand the trauma a woman experiences when she has been raped. Presume a prostitute sells her body for $20.00. Logically, then if she is forced to submit, the loss should be the same as though someone robbed her of $20.00. Yet it is not the same. The damage goes beyond the ability of the male to understand. The need to retain control is at the root of a woman's existence. A woman loosing control is in the same league as a man being castrated. It is the reason that when men seek a divorce, women will project hate to the point of using their children to damage their former spouse.

But Carmen must suffer alone. She had no one with whom she could confide. The priest from whom she might seek council and comfort is a male who if subjected to hearing her tale would most likely develop an erection fantasizing the scenes from the twins point of view. He would be hard pressed not to let his hand slip below his holy robes to satisfy his personal needs.

Those several days in El Centro started a chain of events that became self propelled.

After a few days of concentrated searching by everyone in our group, a piece of property was located in the western part of the San Fernando valley near the tiny community of Tarzana. The building had been a super market which could not survive the competition of new Safeway and Ralph's markets only a few blocks away.

The market had been the center piece of an anticipated shopping center. The death of the market had also been the death of the shopping center.

Robbie negotiated a purchase where the present owner financed the sale and held a Trust Deed on the property. In addition the owner demanded a pledge of additional security. I proposed that we pledge the Little Rock account. A telephone call to Judge Jackson in Clinton Okayed the arrangement. My name was the only one on the Little Rock account even though control was maintained by Jackson. The status would survive a credit investigation.

The next eight weeks were hectic; filled with hard work and truck trips to and from El Centro. We could not allow the move of equipment and construction of the production facility to interfere with our other responsibilities. We still had the weekly tapings at KTLA. Sunshine was working eight to ten hours a day at Paramount, as well as pastoring the Sunday services at the church.

Ho and the mission group recruited a number of street kids to help with the construction work. The opportunity to work rather than hustle was a momentary diversion. The kids could make a hundred dollars a night working Sunset and Santa Monica Boulevards. Even being generous we could not compete. Nevertheless they seemed to thrive in this more productive enterprise. The opportunity to talk openly about their sexual escapades provided an avenue of social acceptance with no need to guard their emotions from stones being thrown by society.

We would send a truck to El Centro each day with six to eight people to dismantle equipment and move it to Tarzana. The crew were mostly street kids under the supervision of either Danny or Philip. Most of the lads were good looking. Their attire had been chosen to entice customers; usually tight fitting jeans, form fitting shirts, no underwear, and the ability to return an appreciative glance. This daily import of hot teen males did not go unnoticed by the high school girls of El Centro. Even though the school was on the other end of Main Street, girls suddenly found a reason to walk by and linger at the station as the boys showed their muscles, their bodies straining against the restrictions of their clothing.

One day I joined the morning trip, to help with the disassembly and loading.

Around noon I noticed Carmen walking past the station. She was alone; not part of a group. I asked her to walk with me. We found a shaded picnic table. I needed to let her know that I understood how the twins had hurt her, and tried to explain the difference between male and female sexuality. At first my directness embarrassed her. But it was important that she know the accuracy of my facts. Thus, I explained how I had been trapped in the control room during the initial stages of her romantic episode with Tommy.

She understood, in her mind, what I was saying. That did not satisfy the needs of her heart. Yet she asked about the twins, and despite the hurt still was interested. She said that Alfredo had asked her to find out if he could help with our work, and maybe even return with us to Tarzana. Of course I told her we could use all of the help we could get.

During the next week Alfredo arrived on the truck from El Centro. Danny had been the supervisor. He brought a small duffel bag, a sleeping bag, and his guitar. At least for the moment it was his intent to stay awhile, and expected to sleep at the work site.

The following day was Philip's turn to supervise El Centro. On his arrival in Tarzana he was surprised to discover Alfredo. Reluctantly he departed with his team, but not without first asking Alfredo to have dinner with him when he returned that night.

Alfredo's first day seemed to make him uncomfortable. The free wheeling speech of the others about dating and sex left him out of the conversation. The boys would make off color jokes about dick sucking and ass fucking which Alfredo could not associate with reality, and thus could not find humorous. If anything the general trend in conversation embarrassed him.

An occasional appreciative glance from the others added to his discomfort.

Danny soon realized the problem and assigned the Mexican youth tasks where he worked by himself.

Philip had been eager to return to Tarzana in anticipation of his diner date. He immediately sought the boy out upon his return.

Within a short time everyone, except Alfredo, had guessed the basis for Philip's interest, and kept silent.

The unloading had gone quickly with both teams pitching in.

Alfredo may have suspected, in a general sort of way, the reason for Philip's deference, however Phil represented a safer harbor so he gravitated toward his host.

Diner that night was at Michel's. The red wine coupled with the good food, put them both in a good mood. While Tarzana was closer to Hollywood than Decker Canyon it was in the opposite direction, so despite a feeling of uneasiness he accepted Phil's invitation to spend the night at the ranch. Sleeping in a bed rather than in a sleeping bag on a cold concrete slab may have weighed in favor of his decision.

While Philip was paying the check Alfredo walked across the street and began browsing through magazines at a sidewalk news stand. He had found one over which he was lingering. The merchant told him he must buy the publication if he wanted to read it. It was then that Philip joined them, and paid for it. It was an adult magazine featuring naked women. While not pornographic, it left nothing to the imagination.

The Mexican youth was somewhat shamed by Philip's discovery of his interest in the sex book. However once in the station wagon he began leafing through the pages of color photographs.

Phil made no comments, other than to acknowledge the "Thank you."

As they drove towards Santa Monica, the street lights created a strobe effect preventing further reading.

Phil asked what kind of beer the boy liked. Alfredo said his favorite was Millers with a shot of tequila, so they stopped at a roadside market on Pacific Coast Highway and picked up two 6-packs of Miller and a pint of "Montezuma Gold."

At the ranch Alfredo proceeded to get blotto while leafing through the magazine.

Phil had gone into the kitchen for two more bottles of beer, and upon returning discovered his guest with a huge erection tenting his trousers. The boy looked up in embarrassment, and moved the magazine to cover his protruding member.

Philip sat back down and asked if he could look at the pictures. Shortly they both had unhidden boners.

Both of them being aroused by looking at naked women created a feeling of camaraderie where, over a short period of time, their surreptitious dick massaging became less surreptitious.

At almost the same time they needed to relieve themselves of beer, and jointly pissed in the toilet. At first the piss seemed slow to come. Both cocks were semi erect. Alfredo's had not been circumcised, while Philip's was. The difference seemed to attract the others attention. They stood there once the streams had stopped shaking their pricks free of any drops of urine. The toilet was almost full of piss. Phil reached for the handle to flush, and as he did so his elbow brushed Alfredo dick. The contact caused the tool to pulse. Flustered he tried to put his stiffening member back into his pants. Once concealed an attempt to close his zipper almost ended in disaster. Phil remarked that he wasn't even going to try and left his fly open.

Back in the living room they continued their drinking until both the beer and tequila were gone.

Unexpectedly, Alfredo followed Phil into his bedroom and flopped down on the bed. Phil always slept naked, so without even thinking about it he removed his clothes and laid down along side of his guest. In the dim light Phil could see Alfredo's hard cock protruding through the open fly of his jeans.

The alcohol lulled both host and guest to sleep.

The next morning Phil woke with a nasty headache. Alfredo was naked and wrapped around his host. He looked carefully for signs of sexual activity and could find none. Quietly he rose from the bed and went to the kitchen.

He brewed a pot of coffee, and heated some donuts. Alfredo, still zipping his jeans sat down at the breakfast table and asked if there were any Aspirin.

They still had a hangover as they drove toward Tarzana. Neither spoke of the previous night, but Alfredo seemed much more comfortable with Phil. Phil began to wonder if the Mexican youth might like living at the ranch; he might become an excellent lover. Maybe.

During our Friday tapings we promoted the new facility, asking for both physical and financial help. Each successive broadcast targeted the move, inviting viewers to become part of the telecasts once production originated in Tarzana.

The weeks rolled by, and we bid farewell to Claus and the gang at KTLA.

The turn out for our first telecast was phenomenal. The new building could seat more than five hundred people; from the very beginning it was standing room only for those that were not an hour early.

A telephone call from Clinton put a damper on the otherwise successful ministry. The Christian Coalition had filed a class action law suit in federal court claiming that we were misusing the funds. They had found five contributors to Gregory's ministry who had executed affidavits stating that their gifts had been for The Revival Hour ministry not "That California Circus." They wanted the funds transferred to the Christian Coalition.

As part of the suit the court had authorized a Deposition and issued a Subpoena duces tecum for the financial records of the Revival Hour.

The good reverend had not put bookkeeping high on his agenda so the records were sketchy; almost non-existent.

Jackson felt that the Coalition was more interested in stopping our use of the money than to use it themselves. So if that was their objective, they had already succeeded as a federal injunction had been issued preventing further withdrawals pending the hearing by the court. It seemed unlikely the Coalition would let the case go forward for at least a year, maybe longer. The decision to use the Little Rock account as a pledge had been a good one. It didn't touch the money. The pledge had been exercised before the filing of the law suit. The status quo would only be challenged if we were unable to keep our commitment in the purchase of the Tarzana property.

The obligations I assumed requiring monthly payments to Herb Rosen in El Centro, and to a John & Helen Tompkins for the real estate placed a pressure on me to adhere to more accepted religious doctrine.

I was in an emotional crossfire. On one side of me were the facts that kept unfolding which proved beyond a doubt that what I was preaching was hog wash. On the other side was the need to attract more and more believers to support our expanding goals.

The discoveries coming from the research foundation kept supporting and expanding a new outlook on what God was and how our people could enhance their lives by understanding those facts.

Each expansion brought with it a need for further personal and financial commitment. My immersion in work and obligation forced an isolation which separated me from those that I loved. Only Cowboy knew what was happening to me. Despite the wall that was being built around me, I kept to my pledge of being in bed by midnight.

It was only those loving hours in the safe harbor of my lover that anchored my existence in reality.

Even Jackie, and the twins began to move in an orbit only slightly affected by my presence, yet I was the central point of those orbits.

Others assumed more and more responsibility as the mechanical processes of our ministry grew.

We moved through distribution by video tape, into distribution via satellite. The new technique was instantaneous, and even though time on one of the birds was expensive, it still was cheaper and faster than video tape.

My work in Tarzana changed very little as each service was still video taped, edited, and subjected to post production before being uplinked to a satellite.

Our network of stations mushroomed. The dollar amounts needed, and being received were astronomical.

We were considering the full time lease of a satellite transponder. It would cost $50,000 per month, plus a capitol out lay of almost a quarter million dollars for the uplink equipment. The amounts were staggering, yet making that commitment would reduce our yearly expenditures, and pay for itself within the first year.

With little additional effort, and with only a small increase in overall cost, we created and expanded a radio network. While we simulcasted in many of the television markets, the radio network also broadcast our message in small towns across the United States and Canada.

Jackie suggested that I do a remote in Chicago. The new audience would be a change, enhancing our productions. The improvement would also bring in needed funds.

Soon it was no longer unexpected to find myself before congregations in Chicago, New York, London, Paris, or Italy.

Hearing a strange voice repeat my words in a foreign tongue in non-English speaking countries was interesting. The delayed reaction at first disrupted my timing, but soon I got the hang of it.

"Far Eastern Broadcasting", a missionary group with short-wave radio stations in the Philippines, Taiwan, and Thailand, approached us about carrying our programming.

After considerable debate, I rejected the offer. The conservative Protestant group obtained its support from main stream churches. Once the Christian Coalition learned of the association there would be substantial pressure on the group to disassociate itself with us. However, there was merit in the idea of having our own short wave stations. I suggested that Peter contact his brother Steven in Atlanta to explore the feasibility.

A tight group began to form around me, isolating me from the news media, except under tightly controlled conditions; Jackie (The Boss), Jerry (Cowboy), Danny (Ho), Peter (Stack), and Robbie (Jew Boy).

The Christian Coalition joined with the Los Angeles Council of Churches in an attempt to reduce my impact on the changing business of religion.

A telephone call from Judge Jackson informed me that the Christian Coalition was ready to proceed with the class action suit. A second Deposition had been scheduled together with a Subpoena duces tecum for the financial records of the Revival Hour including all expenditures since the death of Raymond Gregory.

Jackson advised me to attend the Deposition, if I didn't, the federal court would most likely decide the case in favor of the Christian Coalition, and the three million dollars would be transferred to Virginia Beach. If I agreed, protocol gave me the option of having the Deposition held in Southern California. Jackson, however, did not want to leave Arkansas. I could hire another attorney in California to represent me during the inquiry, or we could have the Deposition in Jackson's office in Clinton ... My choice.

My choice was Jackson's office.

Most travel those days were as part of an entourage. However, this was to be a quick trip: A red eye flight into Little Rock on a Tuesday morning, and a red eye back to Los Angeles the same night.

Cowboy and I tried to get some sleep during Monday, but it seemed that problems which only one of us could solve kept disrupting our naps. At ten thirty we left for Los Angeles International Airport. I took only my brief case with an electric razor and a copy of my records on the Little Rock bank account.

The soft top on the MG did little to keep me warm. Jerry kept fumbling with the heater control, and finally got that working. Then the MG turned into a Sauna.

He dropped me in front of the TWA entrance. He was to pick me up Wednesday morning at eight.

The check-in for the flight went very fast. Not many people were traveling east at that time of night.

The airline crew were too happy and energetic for that early hour. Trying to ignore their exuberance I pushed my seat back and tried to doze. About the time I succeeded an announcement came over the loudspeakers, "Please place your seats in an upright position, and prepare for departure."

As fifty or so robotic passengers followed the instructions, the aircraft began to move. After what seemed to be an eternity the plane lifted off of the tarmac and we were permitted to push our seats back a few inches. Again, I had achieved the impossible and began to doze, but then the speakers ordered us to let the attendants know if we wanted coffee, tea, or soda. The old TWA joke flashed through my mind, "I'll have TWAT(ea)."

My watch read 3 AM as I felt the wheels impact on the Little Rock runway. Awfully damned early. Then I remembered it was 3 hours later.

Some of Robbie's frugalness must have rubbed off on me, as I ignored the high priced offers of coffee in the terminal.

The sun had just begun to lighten the morning sky as I picked up the rental car at Avis. Clinton was just a little over two hours away.

As males tend to do, I headed directly toward Conway, not willing to detour for the pleasure of breakfast.

Traffic began to get heavy as I approached Conway. The early morning rush to work was in progress. I reached down to the radio, and turned it on. It was tuned to KLRA. The Wisers were still doing their "Breakfast Show." It seemed to me that Junior was faking a "youthful voice", reminiscent of those awful juvenile impressions Dick Crenna gave in the roll of Walter Denton on "Our Miss Brooks". Those portrayals had been almost comical as Crenna had begun the roll on radio then tried to carry the character through to television. He was taller than Eve Arden, and much older than the boy he depicted.

Jackson had scheduled the Deposition for nine AM. I questioned the earliness of the hour, and he said it was to make it as inconvenient as possible for the attorneys flying in from the east coast.

It was quarter of nine when I pulled up in front of the old brick courthouse in Clinton. Jackson's office was just a block away.

I had expected to meet him at his office and then walk back to the courthouse for the hearing. I hadn't realized that a Deposition was a hearing held between attorneys out of the presence of a judge. A court reporter would be present, and witnesses would testify under oath.

The lawyers for the Christian Coalition were already in Jackson's office. They had arrived in Clinton the night before. I gained solace in the thought that they had been forced to sleep on the lumpy beds of the Blue Bonnet Motel.

During the Deposition I was asked a few questions, but nothing worth the trip from California. They seemed disappointed in the accounting records. I had spent less than three hundred dollars.

At 10:30 they took an hours break to inspect Gregarious skimpy records more closely. In the privacy of another office I asked about Ruth. Jackson told me she was in poor health. She had gone down hill since my mother's death. Warren had become full time pastor at Crabtree. He told me that he had kept the class action suit from her.

When the hearing was reconvened the eastern lawyers became more aggressive in their questioning. There was a $45,000 discrepancy between the amount in the account at Gregory's death, and the amount currently in the bank.

Jackson told them that that was the amount used to build the church in Crabtree.

By one o'clock we were finished. This month was Jackson's turn to play judge in Clinton, and he had hearings scheduled at two. So I bid him good-bye, and drove up to Crabtree. My flight wasn't scheduled for departure until Eleven.

The road had been improved. It was now a two lane paved highway; a far cry from my memory of following in the dusty wake of the hearse bearing mama.

I almost over shot the tiny dirt path that lead into the cemetery. I pulled over to the side of the road, crossed and climbed the hill to the tiny grave yard.

The grave stones were buried in a sea of tall brown weeds. I made my way to her last resting place. The marker was dirty and worn by wind and rain. "Hi Mama." I whispered outloud. In reply there was only the sound of gusts of wind.

I walked back to the car and continued to Crabtree. Ruth was surprised to see me. She had been pulling weeds along the front of the church. Of course she was curious as to the purpose of my visit. I explained that I needed to sign some documents for Judge Jackson. Also I wanted to see Todd, and find out when he was returning to California. I thought that he, Peter, and Steven might make a good team for the feasibility study of the short wave broadcasting project.

Ruth told me that Todd was courting a young lady who had recently moved to Clinton, and that everyone expected them to marry within the year.

I kissed her good-bye and drove up the dirt road to the Osbornes. In a feeling of nostalgic regret I noted the little one room school building was no longer there.

Only Mrs. Osborne was at home. Todd worked in Clinton. Her husband was also in Clinton picking up a load of hay for their two cows. Marjory lived down in Crabtree, but on Tuesdays she and some of the other women spent the day quilting at someone else's home.

She offered a late lunch, but I declined, "I'm flying back to Los Angeles tonight."

The return flight would be lengthy and tiring. Unlike the none stop flight from Los Angeles to Little Rock, the red eye back stopped in Albuquerque, and San Diego before setting down at LAX at 8:00 AM.

I became immersed in Little Rock's going home traffic. I turned on the radio. KLRA was broadcasting something about the PTA, so I switched stations, finally settling for an all news station.

"In this report from Washington, A class action law suit has been filed against the Old Time Revival hour, and it's successor the New Day Ministry in California. The suit filed several months ago has been modified claiming the embezzlement of more than $45,000 by the California based religious group. A criminal indictment is expected shortly."

As soon as I got to the airport I telephoned Jackson's office, then his home but could not reach him.

Repeatedly I tried calling California constantly encountering a busy signal.

At about eight I finally reached Jackson. He said he had heard the news reports, and figured it was a public relations ploy by the Christian Coalition. There was no question about the integrity of the funds during the time I had control of them.

When I finally got through to California at ten thirty, I learned the phone had been off the hook because of telephone calls from reporters trying to build the original story into something more spectacular.

Jackie suggested that I switch planes in San Diego, and fly into Burbank. The news media would be at LAX. The PSA flight into Burbank would arrive 15 minutes before the TWA flight landed in Los Angeles. I'd be at home before the reporters discovered that I wasn't aboard.

Robbie was at the house when I got home. The foundation was ready to publish. They had more than 500 pages of definitive physical - philosophical facts with supports founded in the Bible, the Koran, as well as many other historical and scientific references. There was still much more to do, but the foundation wanted to publish as soon as possible, then add to the work as time went on.

In an attempt at humor, Robbie suggested we entitle the book, the first Jews book of John. On a more serious note I suggested we call it the first book of God.

However, a debate took place, and I changed my position. The book should be considered as a scientific work, not another religious publication. By treating it as a text book we could avoid the inevitable comparison with the Bible, the Koran, or the works of Confucius or Buddha.

Even though I had no authority over the foundation I was asked to look over the galley proofs. Both Jerry and I read the material, commenting, and learning. We made no corrections. We felt the book was extraordinary.

Then came a decision that did involve me. We wanted to distribute the book to every religious organization in the world, as well as offer it to members of both our church and the radio ministry. Robbie projected a need for not less than a half million copies. Translated into dollars we were looking at an additional commitment in excess of a million dollars.

In anticipation of publishing I began offering the book on our broadcast ministry as a gift of appreciation to those who supported our work.

Even before a printer had been selected we had orders for than one hundred thousand copies. Few contributions were under twenty dollars, so we had collected enough to pay for the printing even before the first copy came out of the bindery.

In a marketing ploy Robbie had shrewdly had each copy serial numbered offering the first printing as a limited edition.

Within 24 hours of the first shipment to contributors I received a telephone call. Jerry had answered the phone, put it down, and turned to me with an odd expression on his face. "You won't believe whose on the phone."

I had been signing thank you notes which accompanied shipments of the book. "Oh? Who?"

"That little asshole Ernest Ensley."

I picked up the telephone. "Hi Ernest, this is John. How are things going for you."

In a voice that insinuated what his words did not, "I see the love birds are still together."

I didn't respond to the taunt.

"Look John, I'm doing you a favor by even calling you. If we hadn't been school chums I'd just let you swing in the air."

He had paused, "OK Ernest, what's on your mind."

"Dad is pressing for a federal indictment of Ruth Gregory for embezzling that $45,000 from the Revival Ministry. I hear she is sick, and a little on the crazy side. If you will agree to a motion in federal court whereby the money is transferred to us, we'll close our interest in the entire matter and the old lady will be off the hook."

I said nothing. A long pause ensued where I guessed Ernest was expecting a reply. Finally I said, "Ernest I am only part of this organization so I can't make that commitment. I'll have to get back to you."

"Look you Sanctimonious queer asshole, if I haven't got an answer by this time tomorrow little old Ruth Gregory is going to find her ass sleeping on a hard bed in an Arkansas jail." And he hung up.

I was livid. After explaining the call to Jerry he went upstairs to find Jackie while I put in a call to Judge Jackson.

Jackson said that the misuse of the $45,000 to build the Crabtree church could lead to a criminal indictment, but the money was still used for a religious purpose and any court would not be likely to do much more than reprimand her.

He went on to ask what plans I had for the three million. I told him that we really didn't need it. His last words, were "Then agree to their terms. Have Ensley's people contact me so we can execute this with full protection for Ruth and you."

There was anger in my heart. How far from the ministry of Christ could the Virginia Beach crowd get, and consciencably still call themselves Christians. But despite the injustice of the entire matter we had much more work to engage our time and attention. And in the passing months it was all but forgotten.

It was times like this that I began to think about running away from the here and now. Seek out some faraway safe haven like the Netherlands, Denmark, or the South of France.

But moving elsewhere would be entering a fantasy. Each person's pendulum of living had its own length, its own time period. Short of death each individual would simply transport the highs and lows, the mountains, and the valleys of living to the newly chosen hideaway, destroying the fantasy.

Each human being was the real source of the pattern that he lived. The pulse of life could be seen as a pendulum swinging between joy and sorrow, between security and fear.

Under the pressures of life I had seen many who sought those mythical havens in some distant land. Gore Vidal and his friend had chosen the South of France. Carrol Burnett had tried Hawaii only to find that the personal need of work demanded an accounting from her soul, drawing her back to where her personal triumphs and defeats had existed.

Without the peaks and the valleys there existed only death. Real retirement was in fact death. Statistics show that most older people who were forced into retirement died within a few years. Couples whose focus was toward each other ceased the life struggle within a few years of the passing of their partner. Statistically it averaged not much more than five years.

Each creature appears to develop their own rhythm independent of either genetic or environmental influences.

Yet it was the bonding that had occurred between Cowboy and myself that provided the recharging source from which I had become more and more dependent when pressures heightened, or outside influences drained my mind, body or soul.

When things really got rough I found that closing my eyes and visualizing my partner provided pools of life giving resources. Just picturing the curvature of his ear, the line of his jaw, the taste of our tongues touching. It was easy for me to picture the detailed shape of his body to replace worry. He became my Mantra; my soft focus point. I loved the shape of his abdomen. Even at thirty plus, he was the most delicious concept in my world. One day I had vowed to buy some clay and sculpt the beautiful body I so adored.

But then reality intruded, interrupting my reverie.

As my popularity grew I was able to introduce the world to more and more of my discoveries, and it was those discoveries that were bringing down the wrath of the Virginia Beach crowd.

Hints and lies about my personal life had been leaked to the press. The fight between my enemies and our ministry had moved from push to shove. I needed to bring the totality of my discoveries and my beliefs to the world, so that people could make their own choices outside of the influence of leaders that had their own agenda to impose upon the world.

We were preparing for a world wide telecast. We had chosen Atlanta as it had the most advanced satellite uplink facilities in the nation. All 375 television stations that made up our world wide network would be carrying this telecast. We had purchased double the amount of required time on each station so that this broadcast could be repeated. The 822 radio stations that carried our sermons were simulcasting this event.

Every one close to me was there; The Boss, Cowboy, Ho, Hay Stack, and Jew Boy.

They all knew something was up. Our philosophical discussions over the years had been leading to tonight.

I knew that my beliefs were right. The ancient Jews were correct. God was not an entity. They pegged it as an all pervasive spirit. It was the wrapping of the universe. Every particle of mass or energy was immersed in this all pervasive thing we called God.

All the way from the Big Bang, to atomic structure. Even "the thing" was part of that single resonant entity.

The word of God was the unspoken rules of the universe. There were things that we were yet to discover.

The spirit of love between human beings was as much a part of God as was the way electrons revolve around a nucleus. Yet humans, in an attempt to be "one up" on their fellow man had perpetrated the greatest fraud of all. In the name of all world religions they had convinced the most vulnerable persons to accept their version of the world, not by proof, but by believing.

The Christian Coalition was more evil in its propagation of its brand of politics than were governments. Government at least didn't ask you to believe without asking questions.

The Boss was quite angry with me over this issue. "Damn it Johnny, we are in the people pleasing business. You try being 'a do gooder' and you are in for the shock of your life."

"I don't care. I know the evil that has been perpetrated upon the world, and I'm going to take a stand." I got up and started to pace the floor.

"You think you are playing with novices. John, just look what happened to Jim Baker and Tammy Faye. They crossed the Virginia Beach crowd, and they were part of them. You stomp on peoples belief systems and you are carrying a lit candle into a room full of dynamite. The least that they will do is release that phony stuff on you and Jerry."

"It will be too late, 'cause my sermon is going to be about pure love, and what it means to mankind. I'm going to make them understand that my love for Jerry is the strongest regardless of gender. Even if you believe their version of God, it comes back to a giant question. Is their God stupid; does he repeatedly make mistakes which promote the love between partners regardless of gender. There are millions of people in the world that are drawn to their own kind. Look at the following that Troy and the Metropolitan Community Church have gathered through out the world. Remember that question Ho put to me years ago when we were still kids? 'Are you the kind of preacher that tells Queers their going to heaven, or the kind that tells everybody else Queers are going to hell.'

"We fought for these ideals. As more joined our discoveries we felt stronger in the strength of combining, meeting in brotherhood, proclaiming our triumph to honor the old virtues, taking pride and feeling happiness in the fulfillment that accompanies a task well done. We scorned the half-hearted, the triflers, and the equivocators who did not support this struggle toward a future that could have been theirs.

"There are no People here. There are thousands of bodies imprisoning each a soul, the center of a private world no other sees. Here they pause, and in other's company trifle a little time away, before each takes up again the labor of his solitude, by which alone his soul will live or die, his long journey home to God. Who can do good, without knowing what it is? And how will he find it except in thought, or prayer, or in talks with a few truth seeking friends, or with the teacher God has sent him?

"Truth will not come in some catch-phrase that can be broadcast to the world, but by a long learning of ones self. Trial and error, the bridling of desire in favor of submitting to the justice of Gods law are the roads we must each travel in order to live in harmony with the universe, to live in harmony with God. Only then will our labor be refined like gold.

"None of these things will happen in a crowd; for a collection of persons bends like a field of wheat in the wind of anger or fear, or ignorance, catching by infection a false concept in the believe that it is knowledge, or at best true opinion, not weighed and sifted out.

"What is the People, that we should hold it in such high regard, worshipping the beast in all men in favor of the private wealth of each soul."

Jackie clamped his jaw closed. This was something upon which we disagreed. He knew I would never change my mind.

"Well Johnny, just remember what happened to every do gooder in history. JFK, Martin Luther King, Abe Lincoln, Joan of Ark, and even Jesus Christ himself. Boy, there is a good example for you. He was less radical in his thinking than you are, and look what happened to him." The Boss got up from the couch, and moved toward the door. "I'm not going down with you. I'll be in our suite if you need me."

The time was drawing near. We were going live on the satellite in just twenty minutes. Our telecast would be seen by millions world wide. It was live, no one could censor it.

We left the suite, Cowboy was on my left, Ho on the right, Jew Boy was following, Stack was in front.

The Boss usually led the way, running interference with the people who wanted to touch me. Lately some even tried to rip pieces of cloth from my suit thinking it would bring them closer to God.

The elevator door opened, we went in. There were two other people present. My four moved closer to me, creating a human barricade for my protection. The elevator stopped at the second floor. The two strangers exited. Our stop was the bottom.

You could hear the roar of the crowd from the auditorium. Reporters pushed forward, "What's this rumor that we hear about you and Jerry?"

"Just keep your ears open tonight. Tomorrow will be a different world." I shouted in the general direction of the questions.

Behind the reporters security was trying to control the crowd.

Usually The Boss and Stack spearheaded our movements. Judging from the pressing throng we could have used him.

Someone must have signaled our arrival as the choir began singing All Things Great and Small.

The Klieg lights were flooding the stage, and even the hallway leading into the auditorium. We moved forward. I could see Stack trying to move people to the side without shoving them.

Suddenly I heard what sounded like an automobile back fire, only a little sharper. The sound was followed with a push against me like I had been hit in the chest by a line backer.

I was flat on the floor.

"Oh Johnny No!" it was Cowboy, he knelt next to me.

For some reason I could not fathom tears were flowing down his cheeks.

There seemed to be a great commotion far away.

I tried to speak but there was something wrong, all I could hear was a gurgle, and my loving Cowboy, "Johnny, Johnny, Johnny. You promised you would never leave me."

Before I could whisper "I won't," that elusive white light that I had associated with "The Thing" began to shine. Jerry seemed to dissolve into the light.

The light went out, and then there was nothing.

-----END-----

WHAT HAPPENED AFTERWARD (Where they are and what they are doing)

Jerry Osborne (Cowboy) Cowboy was correct, he couldn't live with out Johnny. He seemed to be in good spirits when he and the Twins went to the beach to go swimming.

While the others were watching the Twins in a game of Volley Ball, Cowboy took a swim, and never returned. His body was found washed up on the beach several miles south of Malibu.

Jackie Marshall (The Boss) Jackie never forgave himself for not being with Johnny on that fateful trip into the auditorium. He blamed himself for the breach in security. At that time he was in his forty's; still young enough to find another "star" to promote. But the business had changed. The last time anyone heard of him, he was trying to put together a new show in Branson, Missouri.

Ruth Gregory passed away a few weeks after Johnny's death, without knowing of it.

Philip left the ranch when the foundation was dissolved and studied Hotel and Restaurant Management at Pasadena City College. At present he runs one of the restaurants for the Boyd Group in Las Vegas, Nevada.

Timmy studied motion picture production at UCLA. While free lancing he seems to work quite a bit for MCA at the Universal Studios lot. His most recent close buddy is the kid that plays the juvenile roll on "Dream On". They both live in Simi Valley.

Tommy studied Law and is a junior partner in a firm specializing in international corporate law. He married and has two children. They live in one of those houses in Pacific Palisades that are likely to slide down on to Pacific Coast highway.

Alfredo and Philip made a thing of it. I think he is living with Phil in Las Vegas. Mostly, he keeps house for Phil.

Danny (HO) Danny tried hard to keep the teen mission going. But without Johnny's influence it became impossible. He still is a youth counselor working to help the kids who come to Los Angeles to hustle.

Charlie Rogers (Sunshine) Surprisingly, Charlie returned to his family, and became head of one of the Traveler Clans. He had been sent to check out the revival ministry to see if there had been something in it for them. There had been, he got it, so twenty years later he returned to take up where he had left off.

Robbie Cohen (Jew Boy) Next to Cowboy, Robbie took Johnny's death the hardest. But above all, Robbie was... is a survivor. He is a major producer of hit Television Comedy Sit Com's. If it's new, if it's a hit, it's probably Robbie Cohen's.

Peter Hay (Hay Stack) Peter and Ho are still together. They have a nice home just off of Mulholland in Hollywood. He is a writer who has written several good scripts one of which was the basis for one of Robbie Cohen's series. He makes good money and provides most of the support that let's Danny work among the troubled teens.

Todd Osborne Still works for Capitol Records, although he's no longer in the mail room. However he was head of the section at Capitol Records whose responsiblity was the mail room when the discovery of the broken model of the Capitol dome was discovered. They never did find out who was responsible.

Ernest Ensley You can see him on Television. Most people can't stand his almost effeminate preaching. However, his father was an important member of the Christian Coalition so Ernest's spot on their network is assured ... for life.

No part of Johnny's ministry survived his assassination; except in the memories of those who loved him.

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