So we’d spent nearly half an hour giving Doug a big build-up, and now I drought Doug out. They gave him a standing ovation that lasted nearly five minutes, as Doug just stood there looking overwhelmed.
But when he finally began to speak, he had the power of God on him, and he commanded rapt attention. Of course, the specter of prison looming before him, provided a dramatic backdrop. But I was impressed - I don’t think I’ve ever been half as good ad Doug was that night.
Billy reviewed the tape, wrote down exactly what Doug said, and his remarks speak for themselves. Midway through, he did hug me and apologize again - and was completely sincere; but he and I had already made up ( and had never been mad at each other in the first place), so we were essentially playing to the crowd.
Billy wrote that since Doug was clairvoyance, he must have known how it would all come out; and must have just been putting on an act. My “bestest brother” got it wrong. I was scared the night before Doug shot me - and Doug cried most of that night. Billy would have felt the same way if he’s been in Doug’s place.
At the end, Doug told the story about Henry G. Spafford, and he and I sang the song. Then he simply knelt at the altar rail we’d constructed at the front, and we guys took turns praying with him one at a time. Billy and I went first, then bob and Roland, then the other guys, two at a time - most of us cried the whole time we were doing it; and since we were projecting it on the big screen, all the folks could see the anguish on our faces.
The judge, who’d already agreed not to throw Doug in jail was there - and any thought he might have had of ripping up the order and sending Doug to jail anyway - and since it hadn’t yet been entered by the clerk, he could have legally done so - disappeared; indeed, everyone was so wrought up, he was afraid of getting physically attacked if anyone had recognized him.
And being a savvy politician, he realized that if he could harness all that enthusiasm on his own behalf, he might be able to run for a higher office - and, in my mind, I could see Doug giving the invocation, and myself the benediction, and the guys singing The Battle Hymn of the Republic (and yes, we’d have preferred Dixie) and All Is Well (well, most of the folks who’d voted for him were Mormons - which is generally the case in Idaho), at his inauguration at governor of the state.
The prosecutor, who’d put out the contract on me, and knew we had proof of his doing it, was terrified; but he hung around for two reasons - (1) as “cover” - to look like he was one of our supporters - and, (2) to make sure we didn’t play our incriminating tape to the crowd; or, if we did, at least he’d have time to make a run for it before the judge (who was also there, of course) could issue a warrant for his arrest (and, in my mind, I sneered, “Your tax money at work!”)
Anyhow, after we’d all prayed with Doug, then the other folks came up, two at a time, and prayed with him. They’d wanted to talk to him every night, and Bob hadn’t let them - so this was their chance to at least say, “I’m praying for you,” and it seemed like almost all of the five thousand did.
I knew that they also wanted to talk to me - so I knelt at the altar - so someone would kneel between Doug and me - and prayed. But this was “Doug’s night” - he was the main “attraction” de jour - and nobody, including me, would have wanted to go through what he did, to get the notoriety.
And every single one, Doug called their name, and said, “Thanks for praying with me.” This got a particularly strong reaction from the judge and the prosecutor, who’d assumed he didn’t recognize them.
Every hour or so, I had a break - read a Scripture, have a public prayer (I actually read a couple of prayers from the Book of Common Prayer. I really admire Cramner’s soaring phrases), sang a song. One reason was to give Doug (and me) a break - kneeling all night is quite strenuous (try it), even for a kid who’s in good physical shape.
I’d been announcing that at midnight I’d preach about Matthew 24, and we actually drew in some extra folks, who came in because they thought I’d announce the date when the end of the world would come.
I could have - I knew, and God had said I could if I wanted to, but didn’t command me to - so I started out by reading the verse from Matthew 25 - “At midnight there was a cry made,” and so on, and then I went back to chapter 24.
I explained about the rapture and the tribulation - and said the term “end of the world” is, if not a misnomer, at least not properly understood. I didn’t actually name a date - but I said the “times of the Gentiles” ended June 6, 1967, when Israel recaptured Jerusalem; that Jesus said the “end” would come within a “generation” of that date; and that in the Bible, a “generation” was 40 years - and then left them to figure it out.
Fr. remained there praying all night - Catholic priests do “vigils” of that sort, so he’d done it before - but to anyone who thought he’d just come over for “money”, or for publicity, it was a pretty good refutation - he stayed on his knees all night - none of out other staff members did.
At our next “staff meeting”, Billy waggishly pointed it out, and implicitly asked whether Fr. were the most committed of the lot, or whether it just took him longer to “get through” to God. Since Bob was among those he’d indirectly criticized, he thought Bob might pop him for lse-majesté - one of our favorite teases)
(Quite the contrary - Bob teared up, put his arm around Billy, and said, “Hermanito, I’m less than the least of all saints. When he was ordained a priest, Fr. made public vows that none of the rest of us has. If I’ve not prayed earnestly enough for our brother Doug, I ask God to forgive my unbelief.” At that point, Bob actually began sobbing, and choked out, “Ora pro nobis; ora para mi, hermanito”).
(It was a mixture of Latin and Spanish, and he didn’t have the words quite right - but it pretty effectively shut Billy down - and he actually apologized to them for having suggested they weren’t sufficiently committed.)
(Of course, Fr. had eaten at the same table with us, slept in our bedroom, paddled or tails - and he simply said, “Look, Billy, we each tried to follow God’s leading, as best we could.” So it was OK - and Billy got shut down, at least for the moment.)
At about 2:30 a.m., the judge came up - Bob recognized him, let him “cut in line”, and he put his arm around Doug’s shoulder and prayed for him. I was kneeling on the other side of him - and heard what he said.
The judge was choosing his words carefully - as lawyers and judges do (or at least should), and if his words had been read in open court, no one could have accused him of showing bias. It could have been explained as simply asking God to help him decide the case correctly. (The sessions open, after all, with the words, “God save the United States, and this honorable Court!”)
Then, at the next break, Doug came up and did the devotion (I’d been going them, to give him a break), led a prayer for the judge and prosecutor, and asked God to remind them that: - and he recited Portia’s speech, with passion and pathos. That one prayer did more than anything else had, to convince folks that if something happened to me, Doug could take over where I’d left off.
But the highlight of the night was Doug’s healing Sammy Little Squirrel. I’d told Doug he was coming, of course - but Doug was pretty wrought up, and hadn’t thought of it. Billy waited in lien in his wheelchair for more than an hour - God told me to let it happen that way, or I’d certainly have made it easier for him.
But when he finally got there, Doug looked up at him, and Sammy just started crying. Doug jumped up, hugged him, and said, “Sure, Sammy, I’ll do it!” And without saying anything else, he pushed Sammy’s wheelchair up onto the platform, picked up the microphone and asked the people to help him pray for Sammy.
I’d walked over to stand beside Sammy’s wheel chair. Doug first knelt, lifted his arms, and asked God that, “If I’m going to lose my liberty today,” to let him do this one more miracle. There wasn’t a dry eye in the house - Doug brought it off in great style, and meant every word of it.
Then, like a real trouper, he pulled himself together and tal
ked to Sammy. What my brother Billy’s written is accurate, since he took it from the tape. Doug switched to Sioux - and I translated. I thought Doug’s crack about their both being “ethnic minority guys” was cute (and, of course, accurate - and apt, since the black minister and his deacons were still there).
The three of us did sing I’ll Fly Away in Sioux, and got a round of applause when we’d done. Another poignant line was when, in response to Sammy’s saying he had no place to spend “tonight”, Doug said, “You can sleep in my box - I won’t need it if I’m in jail.” Doug had started the line, meaning to be funny - but he was crying before he got it out.
Anyway, then we knelt, Doug took the Swedish Testament, prayed for thirty seconds, then leaped up screaming, and Sammy sprang out of his wheel chair and raced back the aisle, with me in hot pursuit.
That caused enough consternation that it took us nearly half an hour to get the prayer vigil going again. We finally calmed folks down by singing the two songs we’d discussed the night before - On the Jericho Road and Jesus of Nazareth Passeth By.
While Fr. and Alex were trying to restore order, Doug and I went to Bob and told him not to send Sammy back to South Dakota, but to take him in as one of our “brothers,” and have Dad adopt him. And Doug again added his line about, “If they send me to jail, he can have my bed,” and broke down crying. Bob hugged him and said, “It’s OK, little brother - we’ve got enough money to buy any judge in Idaho.” We were all pretty wrought up.
At any rate, at the 4:00 a.m. break, Doug stayed there on his knees, all alone - and I called down a lightning bolt, his body glowed for thirty seconds - and the judge was so frightened that he started to run out of the tent - he really thought I was fixing to have God strike him dead (not that his running away would have prevented God’s doing so).
Mr. Huber was able to get him calmed down - but after the fireworks ended, the judge told him, “Al, there’s no way I’d dare lock that kid up. I value my life!” Being clairvoyant, Doug knew he’d said it - but was still scared that, when the time came, the judge would change his mind.
There were about fifteen hundred who stayed with us the whole night - and I gave each of them a card to get a “free” copy of the tape Shane was making of the all-night service. (Of course, they were all “free,” since we give them away - but the ones with the cards got first “dibs” on then).
Anyhow, we’d called it a night of “fasting and prayer,” so none of us ate anything - and at 9:00 a.m. - there were three thousand or four thousand there by that time - Bob, Doug and I - the three who’d be going into the courtroom - put on our good clothes, and we all walked downtown. We’d printed a thousand “Pray for Doug” signs, and printed matching tee shirts - so it was pretty clear who we were, and what we were up to.
We’d set up a platform, loudspeakers, and another “Pray for Doug” sign in the little park across the street. We were there by 9:30, and had about five thousand people by that time. Doug and I sang It Is Well With My Soul, (Doug cried, but struggled through it).
I read the eleventh chapter of Hebrews - yep, the whole thing - and Doug addressed the crowd for what, we feared, might be the last time. He was fighting back tears, and only said a few sentences, but it was the most deeply moved I’ve ever been in my life. Then he hugged Dad, and Bob, then apologized again to me - and he and I hugged each other, and bawled.
Then we knelt - I prayed - and cried as I did it - most of the crowd knelt with us - and when I said, “Amen,,” we got up and the five of us - Doug, me, Bob, Dad, and Mr. Huber - walked across the square. Most of the guys broke down and cried when they saw the courthouse door close behind us - Sammy most of all.
Chapter 512 - “Attempted murder!”