his hand. Talk, nod, glance into his hand.
“Thomas LeRoy,” James said it like he was very impressed. “You can see he’s going to his organizer there, making notes or whatever.”
It appeared that Stan was doing the same thing. These two guys didn’t need to carry on a conversation. They could just punch their words, numbers, or thoughts into their organizers and read them.
“Skip, we’ve got to get one of those.”
“What?”
“An organizer, pard.”
I ignored him. “And LeRoy is in charge of all the financial doings of this organization?”
“Son, you’re going to be our business manager when this whole thing gets off the ground, and you’ll make more money than Thomas LeRoy ever dreamed of.”
“Yeah. But you’re the one that’s going to buy me an organizer or a BlackBerry — something so I can look important.”
“I’ll do it, pard.”
There was a hush as the spotlights went dim, then they came up full force, flashing off the gold stage and dancing in wild patterns. From somewhere, a huge organ chord thundered through the tent and a line of men and women wearing multicolored robes paraded onto the platform. Black, white, Oriental, they kept coming until there must have been forty of them. They faced the rear of the stage and, with one unseen command, spun around. Then, in one loud vibrant voice they all started singing with an up-tempo gospel beat.
Free up your spirit, free up your heart
Give to the Lord, get a fresh start.
It’s all in the giving, it’s what you must do.
Rewards from your Father, it’s all up to you.
I remember the lyrics, because I heard them over and over again throughout the hour. Every time the rev wanted to emphasize a point, he’d bring the choir back in for a reprise.
And then, I swear to you, the stage started filling with that phony fog that they used to use in discos back in the seventies. I saw movies of it. It is cheesy and if you’re too close to it the stuff gets in your throat and makes it all scratchy. But it started rolling across the stage, like smoke from a fire, and you could hear over one thousand people gasp. The organ was building to a thunderous volume and through the billowing fog this large black figure in a flowing robe came walking to the front of the stage. The lights hit him perfectly for a moment, a wind machine blowing his robe, and it seemed as if he was the anointed savior. All things considered, I was quite impressed. I glanced at my roommate and saw he was mesmerized. This was so James.
“Impressed?” The voice came from everywhere. Speakers must have been placed in numerous locations, because I thought the voice belonged to someone in the next row.
“Well don’t be!” If God has a speaking voice, this had to be it. It boomed. It rocked.
The congregation started applauding. The man held up his hands as the wind died down and the fog slowly drifted out into the tent. He gripped a gold-covered Bible in his right hand. I could feel my throat tickling already.
“God doesn’t believe in fancy entrances.” The word entrances echoed from speaker to speaker. “God doesn’t believe in noisy announcements. God brings his message to the world from a stable, from a manger in that stable. Man believes in fancy entrances. Man believes in noisy announcements. God will quietly enter your heart, and make a true believer of you. Quietly.”
A slight cough all the way in the back of the tent was the only sound to break the silence. Everything was very quiet. This guy had made a knockout entrance. He’d made an entrance to rival all entrances, then told us all to ignore that entrance. What a performer. Cashdollar tossed off the robe, and was now dressed in a tailored black suit that hid his ample girth. He accented the look with a simple red tie. Walking to the podium on the left of the stage, he held that gold Bible tightly.
“I have a message for you tonight. A message that will set your hearts free. A message that could help you move mountains. Ask me what that message is. Let me hear you say ‘What is the message, reverend?’ Let me hear you!” He stepped back and put his hand to his ear. The response was deafening.
“What is the message, reverend?”
“I can’t hear you, friends.”
I figured the guy must be deaf, because they’d about blown my eardrums out.
“What is the message, reverend?”
If this guy didn’t believe in fancy entrances and noisy announcements, I must be crazy.
“It’s a very simple message.” He shouted back at us. “God wants you to be rich. God wants you to have an abundance of everything. Do you believe God’s message?”
Like a well-rehearsed group, the several thousand people screamed, “Yes.”
“Do you believe that God, your Father, wants you to be rich?”
“Yes.”
Cashdollar turned and pointed with his Bible to the huge letters that hung above his head. “Let me read to you why your God wants you to be rich.”
The air was sprinkled with a light smattering of excited applause.
“You will be made rich in every way, so that you can be generous on every occasion. Do you understand? Do you?”
The resounding answer was “Yes.”
“God wants you to be rich, but demands that you be generous with your wealth.”
The choir sang their four-line song again, and Cashdollar smiled. A video camera picked up his face and flashed it on the big screens. The wide smile, the gleaming teeth.
“Be serious about your generosity and God will be serious about your riches. We will start off tonight with a free-will offering. Can I please have the ushers pass the plates?”
Dozens of dark-suited men stepped off the far end of the aisles and started passing collection plates down each row. James dug into his pocket and pulled a five and some ones.
“What are you doing?”
He looked at me through squinted eyes. “I’ve never given a dime to any religious group. What can it hurt?”
“Never one to take any chances, are you?”
“Skip, it’s like insurance. You never know when you might need some riches, right?” He dropped the money in as the plate passed and I saw a look of contentment on his face.
CHAPTER EIGHT
W e stayed for another fifteen minutes, just before they asked for collection number two, and right after the choir had reprised the song about three more times. Cashdollar mentioned that this collection was the serious one. I found out later there were two more during the service.
“There are those people who give and there are those who take away. Do you know who I’m talkin’ about? Do you understand the people who would stand in your way to the riches that God will give you?” He’d moved to the center podium, and he was working up to fire and brimstone, pointing his left index finger at the crowd. On the huge screens you could see his hand and the huge diamond ring on his ring finger flashing under the spotlight.
“You have a man who lives in your community, a man who eats in the same restaurants as you, who sends his children to the same schools you send your children to, a man who drives the same streets as you,” and with each “who lives,” “who eats,” “who sends,” and “who drives” he got louder, and angrier, “but a man who does not, does not, my brothers and sisters, get his riches from the Lord. This man is a racist.” Now he was roaring.
Another gasp from the crowd. It was almost as if it had been scripted.
At the top of his voice he shouted. “A racist, a coward, a man who believes that the downtrodden deserve, do you hear me, they deserve to be kept in their place. He wants the poor to remain poor.”
The word poor seemed to bounce around the cavernous arena. The glint of perspiration on his face was
