Mama was a Preacher Chapter Eleven Mission Impossible Copyright 1996 AUTHOR22@aol.com All rights reserved.
I passed through puberty during the next 3 years, both physically, as well as philosophically.
My studies at LIFE were structured around the denominational doctrine of Angelus Temple. The school taught more than the Bible. There were courses in music, psychology, public speaking, church administration, and history. The mysticism of language had been stripped away from the Bible, dropping the "thee"'s and "thou's", and it was this version of history that I found fascinating.
The technical side of the music course interested me, but I found it difficult. The accounting side of church administration I hated. Nevertheless my grades were in the upper 10 percent.
Sunday was my longest and most productive day. At 5:30 in the morning Jerry (Cowboy) would drive me to the Don Martin School where I would record my teen sermons for the Old Time Revival Hour. By 8:30 we were finished, and would eat breakfast either at home or at the Pancake House across from Hollywood High School. After that, I'd drop Jerry and drive to the Jewish Temple on Fairfax, where I would study with rabbi Solomon.
The Jewish studies were research exercises whose daily goals were my own. If there was a gap in my understanding of the old testament, the rabbi would direct me toward the sources from which those parts had been translated. If there was a conflict, he would again act as a sign post. He never attempted to editorialize, nor to direct my conclusions.
The rabbi and I had been discussing my new ideas, and he told me of an archeological text about the Mayans who were situated in what is now Southern Mexico and Guatemala.
The Maya were a remarkable people who had a complicated religion. To me it seemed more soundly based on nature and the universe. It explored the physical world. It went beyond our concept of religion. It was not mere ideas. The Mayan religion rewarded it's followers with insight and moral riches.
On still another level an interesting set of events started one Sunday morning. As usual, Jerry and I had driven to the Don Martin school to record our broadcast. Jerry had learned to use the audio equipment and thus became my producer, director, and engineer. What that really meant was that if I screwed up, he'd stop the tape, and we'd back up to the last sentence, and then continue recording. But also, if he didn't like something or thought that I could do it better he would say so.
It was in mid December. We had finished recording, and had locked up the school. It was raining, so the top was up on the MG. We drove south on Cherokee to Selma, jogged over one street and then turned right onto Sunset.
The weather had turned cold. We passed the Pancake House, and agreed that a cup of coffee with breakfast was a good way to warm up before I dropped him at home and proceeded to rabbi Solomon's. As we parked we saw Danny (Ho) exit the restaurant accompanied by the youngster we had seen at OKI DAWGS some months earlier.
The boy was dressed provocatively; tight jeans, T-shirt cut short so that you could see his rippling belly. Cowboy waved at them. They came running over to the car, squeezing their way in. The hustler was practically sitting on the gear shift, and Ho sat on Cowboys lap. It was then that the heavens opened up with a deluge of rain so heavy that we couldn't see through the windshield even with the wipers going full blast.
"No use trying to get a table in there. It would be at least an hour's wait." As Ho described the waiting line of customers our combined heat and breath succeeded in fogging the windows so that we couldn't see out, even if the rain had let up.
Ho introduced the new boy as Phil. From his accent I presumed he was from Boston. The way that he pronounced Coffee was a dead giveaway. The lad tried to move so that I could get my hand on the gear shift, and instead he fell to the side, his hand landing flat on my cock. He gave me a little smile, and a wink. Finally, the rain started to let up. We needed to wipe the fog from the windshield. Phil removed his shirt and wiped away the moisture in front of my position.
Ho wanted to be dropped at OKI DAWGS en route to the house. As we pulled into the parking area we could see at least six young hustlers huddled around the ever present pile of French fries. They were drinking coffee in an attempt to stay warm.
Instead of dropping our two, we all joined them for a cup of Java.
The hot drink was so strong that even copious amounts of cream and sugar hand little effect. But, it was hot and filled the heat - caffeine needs of our bodies.
Phil was still naked from the waist up. The humidity generated by the four of us being cooped up in the tiny MG combined with the rain to develop a strong, but not unpleasant body odor, that was Phil. As with my first encounter with Ho so long ago, it stirred by libido, my cock jumped to rock hardness.
The stark adventure twanged at my soul, but in the intervening years I had begun to exercise will power. It was with regret that I suppressed my appetite, and adjusted my cock so that the boy would not see it. As Cowboy and I finished the last drop of the potent brew and departed there was more than a bit of regret as I stepped beyond the entrapment. I knew that Phil would have intentionally propelled my fantasy into reality if he had an inkling of my interest.
"So, you're hot for the little kid?" I could not hide my slightest inclination from Cowboy. It was another demonstration of the extent of our bonding.
"Was it that obvious?" I asked.
"Naw, but my dick jumped when you were squirming around. If mine does, then I know yours does too."
We had pulled up in front of the house. At that moment the clouds dumped their complete contents on to our neighborhood. I couldn't see two feet beyond the MG. Cowboy used the sudden seclusion to lean over and kiss me deeply. "If the weather stays like this, come home as quickly as you can. I've got a very special surprise for you."
My hand brushed across his lap. His cock throbbed, restrained by his jeans. "What's a surprise? You are always hot to trot." My tongue was exploring my lovers mouth. I could taste the strong coffee which was still lingering. "I love you."
A short break in the rain forced our uncoupling before we might be seen. He took advantage of the lull and raced for the house.
For the second time in the last hour I had to exercise a maximum of will power to drive to the rabbi's; I would have preferred to snuggle up against Cowboys naked body in the privacy or our bed. "Damn it!"
My weekly schedule became a routine: Sunday mornings we would record the broadcast, then study with the rabbi, Monday through Friday 8 to 3 I attended classes at LIFE, then took the bus down Hollywood Boulevard to meet the gang at the Don Martin school. Most spare time was spent studying. Only Saturday was unstructured.
Two weeks had elapsed since my encounter with Philip. The California weather was still nasty, cold, and unpleasant. The silver lining to that was that neither Cowboy or myself wanted to leave the coziness of our bed. Nevertheless the alarm clock went off demanding that we snap into our routine. Sunday ... record the broadcast, later coffee, then Fairfax and the rabbi.
We peeked into Peter and Ho's room. Surprisingly they weren't there. The household was still asleep. Quietly we closed the back door and hurried to our car. The sun was on the verge of rising if it could penetrate the clouds. Rain and then sprinkling followed by rain again threatened to keep the day suitable only for ducks, or humans who wanted to stay at home in front of a fire place.
Cowboy was driving as I leafed through some of the notes in my brief case. We had driven east on Sunset, then north on Highland, then east again on Hollywood Boulevard. This would put our car directly in front of the school. At 6:30 in the morning there were no other cars on the street.
As we turned on to Cherokee Cowboy said "Hey look, there is Stack and Ho." Referring to Danny and Peter. They were not alone. Most of the boys we had seen at OKI DAWGS were huddled under the protection of the entrance to the building.
"The guys want to watch you do your show." Peter's statement came as a total surprise. Never had we suggested that anyone attend our recording sessions.
However, mother nature was not being congenial leaving hospitality up to me. Cowboy unlocked the building, and we proceeded to the small studio where I usually worked. It was far too small for 8 people.
I had not been aware that the control room served two studios. The other was a miniature television sound stage. There were folding chairs stacked in a corner which our visitors helped themselves to, creating an audience.
Jerry had to rummage around in an equipment locker to find microphones. Phil and another boy pulled a table and chair for me to use. An overhead mike had been placed on a boom which dangled three or four feet above our "congregation." Finally, a desk microphone was connected.
I decided not to record the prepared sermon. This one I would wing. If the results were not satisfactory Jerry and I could return Sunday evening and create the one originally planned.
This little band of boy whores would not know that I was doing something specifically for them.
Everyone was seated quietly waiting for me to start recording. Cowboy was behind the audio console. A speaker in the studio squawked. "Johnny give me a sound level."
I leaned into the microphone, "One, two, three, test. One, two, three, test." I looked towards the control room. I got a nod that everything was OK.
The red "On the Air" sign flashed on.
"Last week I ran across a book with a chapter called.... Sex: What do you really want?"
I paused looking at my audience for some kind of reaction. Mostly what I observed were smirks, winks, and squirming. I was surprised that these boys whose livelihood was the marketing of sex, should find the subject disquieting.
"The question stuck... "
"I have read much on the subject, everything from biblical studies on the subject to pornography. I found the pornography more interesting." My audience laughed a little. They were getting over my opening remarks. "I have come to the conclusion that folks do not want sex... they want sexuality."
"Once the sex act is learned... one moves into variations on a theme much like music - and that moves one into the realm of play an imagination. This is the domain of mind, spirit -- and... sexuality."
"The core of sexuality is this: First, the desire for effective communication with other folks. Second, the desire to give and receive affection. Third, the desire to know and feel that one is held in a certain measure of regard by those they deem necessary to themselves... Their buddies, their lovers, the people with whom they associate."
"If these elements are missing... then one views oneself, as starving within the very core of their being. They will either seek to get what is needed... or they will construct scenarios to cover the fact. And believe me when I tell you that some of those scenarios can be blatantly harmful." I was thinking of Ho's encounter with his S&M customer several years before.
Somehow I had touched the life experience of these boys, as I could feel a surge of power created by their interest in what I was saying. "You know we are both selling the same thing. We are just selling it in a different way. Love is the commodity. Love is at the core of lifes needs. The physical aspects of sex can be accommodated quickly. This, however, is not done without imagination."
"You will find this hard to believe but this leads directly to having our feet planted firmly in spiritual issues... because spirit to spirit communication, the level to which deep sexuality progresses, asks the essential religious questions... who/what am I? who/what are you? and where are we?"
"Another way of putting it is 'what is this thing called the world? - where did it come from and where is it, and us, going...?"
"It becomes difficult to differentiate between the spirit and the intellect as they interrelate very tightly. It becomes a matter of definition as to whether they are one or separate."
"I am a spirit - albeit with a physical body. You are like me; we are similar. We are to become one. We are to learn, through sexuality and other means, to be one in spirit with each other, with all others and ultimately with the Spirit that created us. This will be a marriage that will, eventually, contain, sustain and enhance all those who are willing to join their essence with others. The effect of individual effort is as arithmetically logical as algebra, or geometry."
"Heaven is this marriage. Hell is the lack of it..."
"C.S. Lewis joked, it is said, 'that in passing on... not much changes...' He said that 'it is just that your elbows will no longer bend. In heaven, folks feed themselves and in hell they don't!"
"This goes to the larger themes. Creation was pronounced 'good'. The question in the garden of Eden was 'will you accept the basic oneness, the cohesive wholeness, of the created order which is good or will you alienate or isolate yourself?"
"The garden was replete with distinctiveness and diversity - Adam's job was to name all of this diversity... so that 'bad' has to mean exclusivity."
"Because we are finite and cannot maintain a completely isolated existence... the only question that is available to us... is whether we will eat of the fruit of the knowledge of good and evil. Will we try to construct a reality that is, at one and the same time, both integral to creation, good, or exclusively distinct, evil?"
"The point of the story of the garden of Eden ... and all of human history to date... is that we cannot do that... and that attempts to get back to where we were in the garden without recognizing the critical decision that was made - confronts us with the logical consequence of that decision - death. That is, we cannot maintain an exclusively separate existence. The 'angel with the sword' guards the gate, and we can not duck around. Even forthright attempts to 'climb to heaven' on our own... a la the tower of babble... meet with failure... and defeat."
"I firmly believe that if we truly love, we must, by necessity, discover God - because love is at the essence of reality and the creativeness of all things and if one will make a serious attempt to love truly - in whatever context... then one must, eventually, stumble into God on one's way... That is, you must join with the God who is there, or abandon your choice to love truly."
"If you are confused by this, then, as my teacher keeps reminding me, you must go back to the fundamentals. You must define or redefine those fundamentals. All of these things of which I have spoken are self provable by our own experiences. We must then, as almost every human being is eventually forced to do and has been forced to do since the beginning of time, you must define God. If you examine the Bible you will see that it constantly redefines God, progressing from a malevolent spirit which dispensed anger and death to one that is the totally opposite providing the basic needs of mankind; love, compassion, and forgiveness."
"Your life style is by choice. Love is at the core. Sex usually evolves from love. But at the very bottom, at the very foundation is sexuality, and love, not sex, is the basic element."
"I find it interesting that society condemns those that trade their resources more harshly, than those that lie or steal. But you should not be repressed by such misguided misunderstanding. The secret to a happy life is to find a kindred spirit with whom you can bond." I looked directly at those young hustlers whose ears and minds were soaking up my words. "Living as you do provides you with an opportunity of finding that special someone. Few others, living more conventional lives, enjoy that same resource."
"I have been the most fortunate of men. Even before I discovered sex, I met and bonded with my life's partner. From the beginning we joined in mind, spirit and body. We share feelings, impulses, and desires. If I see someone who turns me on, Cowboy knows it and in most instances shares that urge. We have become one person sharing two bodies."
I looked up at the clock. We were already 4 minutes past our half hour. I concluded simply by saying. "Love is the secret to happiness. Without it only our bodies can survive."
Needless to say, Cowboy and I returned to Don Martin later than night and recorded the original sermon for the Revival Hour.
My personal breakthrough in sharing these most basic fundamentals of my developing religious philosophy left me with an astounding feeling of fulfillment. These young prostitutes knew what I was talking about.
From then on, I recorded two broadcasts each Sunday. More and more young teens waited at the entrance to the school at that ridiculous hour to share my thoughts and feelings. We saved the morning tapes, not knowing what we would do with them.
It was the following July when the big breakup occurred. For several months both Ray and mama had been pushing for me to expand my radio ministry. They had objected to my solicitation of funds within my sermons, and had actually edited them out. Yet, they had made no provisions for helping fund the work we were doing. In all fairness, I have to admit, that they had no idea as to either the importance or the direction of our Sunday morning efforts. The only thing Ray knew was that I had started a mission for street kids, and that this was taking more and more of my time.
He and mama felt that while the work was good, I was limiting myself to a handful of kids instead of being heard by thousands.
One of Phillips tricks was an announcer at the Pacifica Foundations FM Radio Station over in the valley. He suddenly appeared one Sunday morning along with the regulars. The kids were usually dressed in their provocative street wear. The man stood out as not being part of our group.
We had not deviated from the "Broadcast" format even though the tapes were being archived.
Stanley became a regular, then shortly other of his friends began to attend. The dilution of our congregation did not change the direction or content of my sermons. The material that I presented became quite different than anything I had ever offered and reflected a changing religious philosophy which was challenging the fundamentals of organized Christianity.
After one of our Sunday morning services Stan asked if he could borrow one of our tapes; he wanted his station manager to hear it. Maybe they would be willing to air it in the wee early hours. The station agreed. And the Shit hit the Fan.
Sid Cohen was very unhappy. LIFE asked me to withdraw. Jackie blew his stack. Ray pulled my Teen Sermons from his network. Only rabbi Solomon seemed to understand.
On the other side of the coin our congregation grew as our revolutionary church services astounded KPFK's listeners, and rocked the Christian hierarchy. One of Stan's close friends owned an old movie theater in West Hollywood. We were offered the use of the abandoned building.
The young whores had been the nucleus of our audience, but as the months raced by more and more of their customers also began to attend. They attracted each other. Their social contact was shifting from the streets to our services. Cute young kids looking for a sugar daddy attracted the older affluent men. It paralleled the straight world but with more honesty, and less camouflage.
Jew Boy (Robbie Cohen), had convinced his dad to loan us the audio equipment which had been installed in the Capitol audio bus.
This radical change in our lives had not been planned. Events overtook us creating their own path, much like a river.
Eventually Jackie came around. Once he realized that we had not circumvented him as the Boss, he began to see the need that we were fulfilling. The opportunities ahead of us operating outside of the restrictive structures of organized religion provided bright new goals. It was surprising. Jackie was becoming as radical as the rest of us. We had been released from the bonds of conventional religion; we could now soar.
Jackie, Jerry, Danny, and Peter continued at the Don Martin School. Thankfully Capitol Records could not cancel the tuition as it had been paid in advance. But money was getting short. Even though we were still under contract to Capitol Records they had all but abandoned us.
Todd, who worked in the mail room at Capitol kept us informed. The nationwide publicity that had been created by our mission resulted in an unexpected market. It seemed that every gay guy in America suddenly wanted a copy of our first album.
Robbie was still living with his father, and over breakfast one morning Sid had suggested that starting a new record company might be a good investment. The new company could handle more controversial artists. Capitol would continue to own our contract, but they were prepared to let us record for another company.
We still were unhappy with the way that Capitol had treated us after we began our mission.
One Friday night Todd came into the living room with a smirk on his lips. Todd had been hoping to be promoted from the mail room which was on Ivar Street a block west and two blocks south of the main building.
Mr. Krone, who ran the department, had explained that assuming all went well, within three months Todd would move to the headquarters building as apprentice to one of the production people. In the meantime, Todd would work at whatever chores required attention in his fiefdom as well as drive a company pickup truck on errands and deliveries.
The work entailed proved routine. Still, it became obvious he was "Johnny on the spot," the eager beaver, for whatever there was to do. As his thirteenth month there approached, he was certain the very next opening in the main office would be his. And then came the first disappointment. Mr. Krone called him to his office and explained that one of the VIPs had a nephew who was going to work at the main building right away. He asked how come he didn't get a shot at the job and was told it was none of Todd's business.
As he made deliveries that day, he told himself it was only natural that some important dude would use his influence to help a family member. "What the hell," he thought, "It's natural. A little nepotism would be found anywhere. After all, in a way he had been hired as a favor to Robbie. And anyway, he's sure to get the next shot." However, another opening didn't occur for nearly three months, and when it did, it was not Todd who was granted the posting, but another relative of some senior secretary.
After talking it over with Jackie and Charlie he finally decided to have a talk with Mr. Krone the next day to find out exactly where he stood.
The next morning, he did just that. Krone said that he considered Todd a very good worker, in fact, one of the best he'd had in his department for some time. Todd was taken aback by how pleasant Krone came off during their conversation. "He genuinely seems to like me," Todd thoughtfully reflected. There was no use in arguing with him about the situation, especially since he promised that the next opportunity would definitely be his. He went back to work with raised spirits. And again it happened. Someone else was moved, this time from the mail room, to the main offices.
The lad really felt cheated now, and as soon as he could, he confronted Mr. Krone about it. This time he was told that the guy who had moved up didn't have a driver's license and therefore could not take over for Todd. He felt it would be difficult to replace him since he did such a good job, but that as soon as he found a likely candidate to fill Todd's spot he would personally make a recommendation to the bosses for his advancement. "What a bunch of shit," he thought to himself. But he decided that two could play the game he was into. He'd continue the job, with somewhat less enthusiasm, and start calling in sick from time to time in order to have the chance to look elsewhere again. Payday came and went again, but he was not the happy puppy he'd been in the past.
Krone called him to his office one morning, and though Todd now knew better, he still could not avoid thinking that perhaps this was the day; that he'd be told to report to Mr. So-and-so next morning, dressed in a coat and tie. Instead Krone pointed to a cardboard box about two feet square that sat on his desk.
"Take that to the warehouse, and be very careful with it. That's the original we use for photography." The box was not sealed on top and he opened it to show Todd the contents. It was a beautiful rendition of the Capitol Dome building in Washington, DC. The artist who'd made this must have been exceptional. "That's plaster of paris," Krone continued. Put it on the driver's seat next to you so it doesn't get damaged. It's very delicate."
Todd left with the box and did exactly as he'd been told by carefully placing it on the seat next to him.
Again disappointed because Krone had not called him in for good news, the boy moved off south on Ivar to make a left turn onto Sunset Boulevard and continue east. As he reached the intersection and saw the way was clear for his turn, some idiot who had been parked on Sunset, almost at Ivar, backed up rapidly and was about to smash the passenger side. Todd immediately backed up smartly to avoid the collision, and of course, the box slid off the seat crashing onto the floor. The car's driver was not even aware of a problem and just moved out into traffic before Todd could even get a look at his license plate. He stopped, and as he picked up the box, the distinct sound of pieces of plaster jiggling together told him that he was in deep shit. He looked inside, and had trouble recognizing the previously beautiful dome. It was broken into several pieces and parts of it were even crumbled.
"Fuck!" Without even giving the situation much thought, he turned the truck around and made the two left turns needed to put him on Vine Street and in front of the main office. He parked in a yellow zone and carried the package inside. Without a word to anyone he just walked around the reception area and up to the office of Johnny Mercer, president of the company. When his secretary asked if she could help him, he replied, "I don't think anyone can." and he just brushed past her with his burden and into the office of the top man.
Mr. Mercer had no idea who he was, and before he could even ask, Todd set the box on his desk. "Mr. Mercer, this is the capitol dome used for the company's logos. It fell in my truck when I avoided an accident just now. I was supposed to take it to the warehouse." With that, he opened the box and showed the president the mess.
Surprisingly, Mercer did not seem too upset as he looked in the box. "My, my," he began. "That's not much good any more, huh?"
"No, sir, it sure isn't. If it's all right with you, I'll just leave it here and go on home."
"Wait a minute, son," he replied. "You were supposed to take it to the warehouse? Is that right?"
"Yes, sir."
"Well," he continued, "why don't we just seal up the top, and you go ahead and take it there. It may not be needed again for years, and when it is.... Well... No one will know by then that you did it." He flashed a big smile at me, "And I promise I won't say a word about it. Okay?"
Todd couldn't believe his good luck. This guy. This multitalented guy who was easily a millionaire was conspiring with a messenger in a cover up because he felt sorry for the lad. Todd shrugged and looked dumbfounded. In the meantime, Mercer had his secretary find some shipping tape and shredded paper, with which he himself packed and secured the box. "Forever," he hoped. Todd did manage to say, "Thank you, sir," as he picked up his burden and left.
The box was accepted at the warehouse without incident. By now, Todd started to be amused by the whole situation. When he returned to the mail room, Krone actually asked if everything went well. Todd smiled as he said, "Oh, yes, Mr. Krone. Everything went just fine." Inwardly he was saying "Fuck you you ass hole."
Todd had been tempted to quit, but we needed the money. The regularity of a predictable income was important to us all.
Todd was still dicking David's aunt. Sometimes it was just Todd, then it might be a solo performance by David. At least once a week it was a threesome. We wondered why Robbie didn't join in
For as long as we had known this Jewish lad, he had kept his dick to himself. "Only schmucks play with their schmucks," was his favorite expression when faced with explaining his sexuality.
We loved the boy, and he certainly had no qualms about showing his love for each of us. But as he pointed out when referring to one of my sermons, "Sexuality is built on Love, not the sex act. Fact is, sexuality is a misnomer, it ought to be loveality!"
Even though we were highly criticized amongst most Protestant churches our popularity among the street kids and their followers mushroomed.
There were attempts to force KPFK to discontinue our broadcasts. The radio audience was highly polarized, they were either for us or dead set against us. Many of the stations patrons were either gay or had friends who were. On the other hand the dedicated Christian listeners threatened everything from seeking FCC intervention to blowing up the station unless they ceased broadcasting the service from a church for whores and queers.
The stations ratings soared, leaving every other radio station in Los Angeles in the dust. Considering that the program aired from 3AM to 4AM Sunday mornings, it was astounding that we had any listeners at all.
Now that I was no longer in school (kicked out would have been more accurate), I had more time to devote to my studies with the rabbi; to really think out what I knew to be true about people, God, and the physical world. When the others were at home we would discuss or debate facts or conflicts I thought I had discovered.
One of the biggest problems that I faced in working with our congregation was the feelings of guilt that these kids had heaped upon them by their parents and peers.
It was a Thursday morning. Our mail had been delivered early. Sunshine had brought it in from the box, sorting through the stack, discarding advertising. "Johnny, here's one for you."
The envelope was small. The address was written with a pencil. The handwriting was almost unreadable. On the inside was a short note on lined paper. "Dear Brother Johnny: When you read this letter I will be dead. Don't worry about that, it has nothing to do with you. I telephoned my dad this afternoon, asking for his help. He said he had no queer sons, and hung up the phone. I am at the end of my rope. I have no one to turn to. I have so much love to give, and all I get back is hate. I am writing to you so that you can see that my body is properly disposed of. The idea of my rotting corpse in my lonely room offends me. You and the church have been my only pleasure. With love, Howard."
"Oh my God!" I yelled.
Sunshine came running in from the kitchen. "What's wrong?"
My hand was shaking as I handed him the note.
He read through it, then turned over the envelope. "I think this address is on Selma, not far from the school."
Sunshine dialed the phone. "Ho, is that you?"
I reached for the telephone. As it was handed to me Sunshine told me, "Ho answered."
"Danny, we've got an emergency. You need to go over to 6651 Selma. See if you can find the room Howard ..." I couldn't make out the last name. "I think its Larson, but I'm not sure. I just got a letter that the kid intended to kill himself last night. Hurry, maybe its not too late. Ask Jerry to drive over here and pick me up. I'll get there as fast as I can."
It seemed like an eternity before I heard the MG come to a stop. In reality it was less than 15 minutes. Ten minutes later we pulled up behind an ambulance. Ho walked over toward us as I jumped out of the car. I could tell by his expression that we had not been in time.
"I knew him. He ... " Danny's eyes filled with tears. "I knew him. I bought him breakfast at OKI's just last week. He had turned a trick and had a few dollars, and seemed on top of the world."
I became angry. Angry with myself. How could I be so distant from the people that came to me for guidance that I wasn't there when they became desperate. I had become a symbol, not someone to turn to.
Jerry offered to come home with me, but I asked him and Danny to return to school. Silently I wondered if the boys father would accept his body; his son was dead, he was no longer queer. I needed to think.
Sunday morning became the turning point in my life.
Our services usually started with song, but not that day. Everyone was seated. I stood behind the pulpit, and leaned into the microphone. "Friends, I have failed you. All of Christianity has failed you. God has failed you. Thursday night one of us was starving for love and affection. That starvation resulted in his death. Howard Larson was just seventeen years old. He should have had a lifetime ahead of him. But he starved to death as surely as though he had been deprived of food. In fact he had been deprived of the food of love for his entire lifetime. Believe me when I tell you I will NOT fail you again."
"Years ago I faced a conflict in belief that I did not resolve. Had I resolved it Howard Larson might still be alive today.
"Love is a mixed cup of which to partake. Our hearts are overflowing with what we feel for each other. Yet, our fellow man demands of us, the impossible ... 'show not thy love lest ye be smitten by the hand of God."
"How can ones cup runith over, yet burn the hand that holds it."
"What pitiful law holds our love apart, while those of separate gender are drawn closer together?"
"We had been singing one of my favorite hymns, 'All things bright and beautiful, all creatures great and small, all things wise and wonderful: the Lord God made them all.' Those words rang true. I knew, in my heart, that God does not make mistakes. We were who and what we were because God made us that way. It was then that I began to realize that if God was right, then the rest of the world was wrong. That harmful things were done by his children falsely proclaiming that it is being done in his name."
"Each little flower that opens, each little bird that sings, God made their glowing colors and made their tiny wings. All things bright and beautiful, all creatures great and small. God made them all."
"For the past 3 years I have been studying religion, and what I have discovered appalls me. Religion was, and still is a form of politics. It is NOT the workings of God."
"A lovely old Jewish friend of mine has allowed me to study, research, and draw my own conclusions in my search for the truth. The only thing he purposefully taught me was a method. If your understandings are in conflict then you need to go back to basics, and that starts with defining words and concepts. And friends we NEED to go back to basics. We need to redefine God."
"But before we can even begin to define God we must find some unrefutable starting point."
"There are two ways to learn. Trial and error is one way. Being told by others is the other. While being taught is certainly more efficient it requires the use of a word I have learned to hate ... faith. Faith asks you to trust someone. Trial and error only asks for your attention. I will NEVER ask for you to accept a statement on faith. Only charlatans require faith."
"When we come into this world we come into it devoid of any knowledge. We learn through experience. We learn through trial and error. It isn't until we learn to communicate with others that we EVER are asked to accept something on faith. And frankly I think the word faith was created by either someone whose was lying, or someone too lazy to explain."
"From this moment on we will embark upon a voyage of discovery. I will not teach you, we will share this voyage together. You are free to, No!, I plead with you to share your experiences, to debate with me any logical conclusion I come to."
"There are three words that I want to define, as these three words will be the first rules that we will follow. Hypotheses, Theory, Law."
"Any idea that has merit, but which has never been tested falls into the category of a hypotheses. If I say to you that I believe that if I let go of a ball that it will move to the ceiling, and you agree that that MIGHT be true, then that is a hypotheses."
"A theory starts as a hypotheses. In order to test our hypotheses we must first find a ball, hold it in the air, and let loose of it. If it moves to the ceiling then the hypotheses becomes a theory. If on the other hand the ball moves to the floor, our hypotheses has failed the test, and ceases to be an idea of any merit."
"A theory becomes a law once it passes every conceivable test."
"Our voyage of discovery will start with what we know to be true through the process' of experience, hypotheses, theory, and law."
"Starting there we must discard all books of knowledge. Not forever, but for the moment. When we consider the writings of others, we will approach them with disbelief. We will consider who wrote them and why. We will consider what tests have been applied to prove the validity of the concepts, but we will NEVER accept their validity as an act of faith."
"I personally believe that God is real. BUT I will not accept the definition that political hacks, priests, and preachers ask me to.
"As our first project we MUST start by defining God. Not completely, but let us start. What do we know. Most teachers of religion say that God created the heavens and the earth. For the moment lets give them the benefit of the doubt, and say that is our first hypotheses. Immediately we are faced with an unproveable precept. Let's reword the hypotheses, we will call God whatever it was that created the heavens and the earth."
"Will that work? Well, we know the heavens and the earth exist. We can look at the world around us and we see that wind and rain deteriorate the earth, so therefore we can presume that sometime in the great distant future it will cease to be. If it can cease to be, then logic says that it must have had a starting point, and certainly that can be considered as creation."
"We must be careful not to give too much detail to our definitions. If we do they will fall apart. In fact that is the error in the ancient manuscripts from which the Bible was written. They went too far.
"So as we close todays services we will go out into the world with virgin minds, but we will not go out into the world without God. We need to further define and study through our experiences. We will understand ourselves in relation to God better than those who have vested interests in having you believe their way."
After the meeting Sunshine asked me if he should send the tape to KPFK.
"Damn right. You can't keep the creation of a new religion a secret when you've got more than a hundred who heard the start of it."
And thus was born the "Church of Self Discovery."
What evolved was an interesting mix. The voyage must be FUN.
Jackie had written three lively songs, "Hypotheses", "Theory," and "It's the Law." If an idea moved from hypotheses to theory it was first greeted by his lively hymn "Theory." The new theory would then become the subject of a new song.
The services also stole from protestantism the practice of "Testimony." Our congregation was encouraged to share their daily life experiences, including love affairs. We had discarded contemporary morality, so everything was grist for our mill. God was yet to be fully defined. Right and wrong were examined under the microscope of harmful or not.
For the first time in the history of the world, belief in God, and the creation of a religious philosophy would be forged in the firey furnace of hypotheses, theory, and law. Every idea whether exclusively ours, or imported from the outside world was subjected equally to our process. What we would create we would fully believe to the depths of our souls as we had invented it, subjected it to the anvil of debate and proof beyond doubt, only then would we KNOW it to be true. At the center was the concept of Love; and even that must be defined and then subjected to testing.
Our congregation rapidly grew at the expense of the streets of Hollywood. Hustlers and their prospective johns shifted their attention from Sunset Boulevard to our church. We encouraged those who joined us in our voyage to cruise the streets to find others that might find something worth while within our group. Desperately I wanted to avoid another Howard Larson.
Each Sunday morning we would gather and hammer out the next plank of our knowledge of what the world was all about. Unlike other churches we were creating our own understanding of our relationship with God. Like most other churches we were also a social meeting ground where couples found each other.
Ho (Danny) had taken charge of organizing seating. He had noticed that we had both couples and singles in our group and felt that they should be separated. He and Sunshine had printed signs which were located at the entrance, directing couples to the left, singles on the right.
I was getting ready to go on stage when I heard Sunshine speak into the microphone. "Brother Johnny will be out in just a moment. I would like everyone to get acquainted. I want everyone in the first row to turn around and face the second row. Third row turn to face the fourth, and so on."
Everyone stood, and turned as directed.
"Great. Now I want you to carefully examine the person you are facing. Let your eyes drift down their body. Pay particularly close attention to their eyes. Examine the neck, shoulders, waist, and legs." He paused for a moment, then continued, "Shake hands with that person, and tell them your name."
The murmur of conversation filled the theater.
"For the next two minutes I want you to tell the person facing you everything you can about yourself. Where you are from. What kind of work you do. What part of the city you live in. We will start with those facing towards the rear of the auditorium."
The exchange was louder, then dwindled off to silence.
"Now it is the turn of the people facing the stage."
Again the sound of our congregation getting to know each other.
When silence had returned Sunshine said, "Now I want each of you to embrace one another. Put your arms around each other and hug your partner to your chest. I want chins on shoulders, and while in that position I want you to whisper in the others ear what single thing you found the most interesting about him."
I had moved from the wings so that I could more clearly observe what was happening.
"We are not done yet folks. Starting with the person on the outer end of each row, I want you to turn to face the person sitting beside you. Repeat this process with them."
The warm sounds of people getting to know each other greeted my ears as I walked to Sunshine. "Does that include me?"
We stood facing each other. Slowly we examined each other from head to toe. We put our arms around each other, squeezing so tightly that I could feel his heart beat against my chest. "I love your unpredictability," I whispered into his ear
"I love the way your dick gets hard as soon as I whisper in your ear," he said to me.
Surreptitiously I examined myself making certain it didn't show.
Our understanding of God, the universe, and human conduct was hammered out in debate and agreement with our congregation for more than a year. In fact the one point that became the cornerstone of our understanding was that it must be self discovery. Ownership came along with invention. The concept of co-researchers were substituted for teacher and student. We disbelieved nothing; our minds were open. But in the same fashion we believed only what we could prove.
The foundation definition of God was that God was the universe; was everything. The ancient Jews had gotten backwards. God was not an all pervading spirit, God was everything. The word of God was the laws which governed the universe. Once we had started with that concept there were no surprises when we applied the physical laws to human behavior. The greatest hurdle was patience, or rather the lack of it. Our definitions became too detailed. It was like looking at a piece of bread under a microscope; you lost your perspective in looking at the detail.
The laws that governed resonance became important factors. We studied oscillation in physical experiments, then attempted to duplicate those experiments with human behavior. These series of experiments led us through music, dance, and hypnosis where we began to find ways to improve our thinking and communication skills.
Our youth contingent grew dramatically as these street kids found adventure in their invention. Hustling had provided income, adventure, and a sort of love. Now there was an alternative which met the same needs.
In our church singles could meet, fall in love, and join in commitment, while continuing the adventure of discovery.
Radio listeners who tuned into our early morning broadcast were frequently captured by participating in our experiments.
Todd and David, who were as straight as an arrow came to me one Wednesday afternoon. "Johnny, we want to move to Seattle to form a church. There are a lot of street kids up there, and we think we can make a difference."
The following Sunday morning I shared their intentions with our congregation and asked for help. The congregation had grown to more than 700, and amongst them we found many resources: money, contacts, even offers to relocate to Washington to help with the new mission.
There were those who felt we should first establish a radio ministry. I differed with that point of view. Our present work had started at the grass roots level. The broadcast format had been more of an excuse to draw these street kids into our services. There was no point in our heralding our expansion to that new mission. The Christian Churches were our most formable enemy. They would discover our presence all too soon.
After the mission had been established we would then create a radio ministry. The results should be similar to those we experienced in California.
The first step, once they had arrived in Seattle was to find a house large enough to provide food and shelter.
One of our newer members was a lad by the name of Chad who had arrived from Seattle. He had been on the streets for a relatively short time, before he was picked up by an older member of our congregation. They had spent a weekend in Palm Springs.
Both the boy and his benefactor had enjoyed the 3 day adventure. Lester worked for one of the movie studios as a film cutter. One of his close friends owned a home in the Springs. Chad had never been exposed to that kind of luxury. There were a few other guests. A large backyard swimming pool was enclosed within a six foot high brick wall. Everyone swam in the nude.
Apparently the boy was well endowed, and was the center of attraction. Even though he was a hustler, he had the good sense not to ply his trade while being a guest. He stuck close to Lester.
The boy was less than five foot six inches. He was in the middle of a growth spurt as trousers Lester had bought for him less than a month before were now high watered. As with many hustlers the youth's personality was gregarious but not extroverted. He had dark brown hair, a clear complexion, and an exceptionally cute ass.
After they returned to Hollywood Chad moved in with Lester. They had made no commitments towards each other. Lester looked after the boy, fed, and clothed him.
The teenager knew several "Aunties" in the Seattle / Tacoma area whom he thought would be overjoyed to meet and help Todd and David.
I had invited Chad to the house for lunch. Even though I thought he was very cute, it was not those thoughts that had led to this invitation.
Lester had suggested that the lad might be of invaluable assistance to Todd and David during the first few weeks of their relocation to the northwest.
Chad made it quite clear that he hadn't regretted his life as a hustler. "When you are starving to death and have no where to live, selling your ass or your cock is not a choice, it is a necessity."
His parents had divorced when he was twelve and things hadn't worked out too well after that. His mom drank too much and his dad got busted for dealing dope. He ran away when he was fourteen and discovered the easy money of the streets. He never went back.
He guessed that he had gotten lucky. Most young teenage kids who run away from broken homes usually end up wasted, fucked-up or dead. He said that he felt he was only fucked-up. But the thing that made life easy for him, and probably made the difference, was a matter of inches.
Three and three-quarters of them to be precise. For it is precisely by that amount that his own erect dick exceeded the supposed average size of the adult male penis. Chad had discovered this fact in a book called the Kinsey Report which he had read in the public library during those long afternoons when he had no place else to go. He really hadn't needed a book to tell him. Long before he had discovered that all boys were not created equal.
Thus, at the age of nine, he was pronounced to be a "junior stud" by his parent's friends and earned the nickname of "Oscar Meyer". Thankfully he eventually outgrew both the names and the physical comparison.
By the age of nine or ten, he was fully aware of the fact that his dick was much bigger than other boys, even bigger than many of the older boys.
By the time he was thirteen in grade eight at school things definitely changed. He wasn't a little kid with a big boner anymore. He was turning into a average hormone induced teenaged. The added confusion of watching his parents go through a divorce made the transmutation more cumbersome. He knew he was fucked-up, and confused. In an attempt to anesthetize this emotional rollycoaster he had begun to smoke and drink with some older high school kids. He made out with a girl behind the Burger King loading zone in the local shopping center, hidden by a dumpster. She gave him a hand job and then told her friends that he had a huge dick. It was soon spread all over school.
He had run away from home when he was fourteen. The divorce left his mother with less money than before, which she proceeded to blow on booze. Chad's sister had already moved into her boyfriend's place and he couldn't stand his mother's new boyfriend. His dad was on his way to jail for trafficking, so the boy figured that anyplace was better than home.
He had managed to hang out at the homes of a few friend's places during the first month. Eventually he realized that he must find a place of his own, and a way to pay for it. One day when his friends were at school, he went downtown to play pinball and just hang out. A big burly Mediterranean middle aged guy named Tony befriended him offering fifty dollars if Chad would let him suck the lad's cock. Considering the state of his finances, it hadn't taken long to decide in the affirmative.
The man's apartment wasn't far away, so they walked there. Tony paid him cash up front as soon as they stepped inside the door. Ten minutes later Chad was naked and this fat guy was sprawled on top of him in a "69" position with his short thick dick in the youth's mouth. It took quite a while before he was ready to cum, however he was determined. Tony was actually jacking Chad off with one hand while using his mouth on only the top two or three inches of the boy's large dick. His own dick was rock hard and ready to shoot after only a few minutes of sucking. The man pulled out twice to prevent from ejaculating before Chad finally managed to give him his money's worth receiving a mouth full of cum.
Afterwards, Tony offered him cigarettes and a beer before ushering him quickly out the door. But, not before he squeezed a small piece of paper with his phone number into the lad's hand. Chad then walked out of the apartment building and wandered around town, feeling very pleased with himself for having earned all that money; and with so little effort. It was then that he decided that he would try being a prostitute. He hadn't realized he already was one.
Three days later found him retracing his steps to where he had met Tony. He had hung out at the same place for a couple of hours with no luck. He had worn a pair of cutoff shorts with no underwear hoping to attract some attention. He was just about to give up and go elsewhere when he met another boy, a bit shorter than himself, who he thought was about his own age. The new boy's name was Robby, and it was he who introduced Chad to the scene.
It hadn't taken Robby long to figure out that Chad was lonely, vulnerable, easygoing, ready, willing and well equipped. Robby sucked him off behind a clump of bushes just as it was getting dark on the very afternoon they had met. Afterward he informed Chad that he could make a mint by letting old guys suck his dick.
A major break came in the form of an invitation to go to a private party along with a few other hustling boys. They were to provide entertainment for a group of gay businessmen. The party was to be in a downtown condo and there would be about a dozen of these guys. When he got there he found all of them dressed in suits. They fed the boys hors d'oevres and poured hard liquor down their eager young throats. The men flashed wads of twenties around. A boy named Frank did a strip-tease. In response to Chad's growing erection (Frank was seriously cute!), two of the men got into a bidding war over who would have the pleasure of playing with his dick. Man number two won with a bid of $200 and proceeded to suck Chad off in the kitchen. The first man watched and afterwards matched the $200 offer. It was wild, this newest hustler had made $400 cash and obtained four phone numbers for future appointments; and all of this in just two hours of easy work!
Working for those businessmen had been easy. They paid ridiculously well, and half of the time, all they wanted to do was jerk him off. With one exception: A very tall, skinny man developed a passion for having his butt fucked. Chad had really enjoyed screwing the man.
Tony had become a regular and was paying $100 a week to suck his cock. At fourteen he was pulling down a pretty steady income.
The winter that he turned fifteen he became involved with another hustler named Robert. He was sixteen and super good looking. The two spent endless hours getting stoned, and fucking each other's brains out. Chad really loved Bob's body; it was lean and tanned all over. He had dirty blond hair, blue eyes, dimples and perfect white teeth. Bob explained that in the hustling business, you either had to be really young, really beautiful, a superb body builder or hung like a horse to make any real money; otherwise, you just sucked cock and got fucked.
There was not much new in what Chad had to tell me. At least three quarters of the street kids had similar stories. They came from disfuctional families, and thought that they had discovered a road to riches.
Todd and David took to the youngster like he was a little brother. However, I suspected the lad was much more streetwise than the boy from Arkansas.
Both Todd and David had helped pound out the planks of our new religious philosophy, and as "owners" they were secure in their belief that love was important, gender was not.
Personally, I felt that a gay kid, or an ex-hustler would have an edge in relating to the youngsters they wished to help.
In a last minute decision Lester took a leave of absence from work, and drove the three "missionaries" to Seattle. He had just purchased a new Dodge station wagon. "This will be a good shake down cruise," was his excuse. The look in the man's eyes when near Chad pretty much told the real reason.
The twelve hundred mile trip north would take them through Sacramento, and Portland, Oregon. I asked them to spend a night in San Francisco to check out both the Castro, and Haight-Ashbury districts. I needed to know how much good someone from our organization could do there.
The following Sunday our services had been well attended. There had not been a empty seat in the theater.
After the services I had exited the building. As I approached the MG two men approached me. "Brother Johnny?"
I nodded "yes."
We have a warrant for your arrest. The younger of the two men circled behind me. "Put your hands behind your back." The man snapped handcuffs on my wrists, as the older one continued. "You are charged with pandering, sexual assault, and contributing to the delinquency of a minor. You are cautioned that anything you say will be taken down as evidence and may be used in a court of law."
A third man drove a shabby looking gray car into the alley behind the theater. They opened the door and guided me into the rear of the vehicle. At that moment Cowboy came out of the building as I was whisked away from our church.