Crusade: The Spirit Moves in the City of Angels

By Robert A. Allen

A WWII veteran at Northwestern Bible College on the GI Bill is recruited by Billy Graham to be his driver during the 1949 Crusade in Los Angeles. There he witnesses firsthand the outpouring of the Holy Spirit at work in the Canvas Cathedral. The conversion of Stuart Hamblen provides the impetus for the extension of the revival from three to eight weeks. During that time, he courts a young lady who works for William Randolph Hearst, and she encourages Hearst to promote Billy Graham. The young lady's roommate becomes involved with a member of the Communist Party, USA, and the wire-tapper Jim Vaus, who also makes a decision for Christ. The amazing story of Billy Graham's rise to international prominence is told through the eyes of this young couple. In spite of their different goals--she wants to be successful in Hollywood, and he wants to enter the ministry--they realize that the Spirit has also worked in their lives to bring them together.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Resource Publications
• Release date: Apr 10, 2023
• ISBN: 9781666774009

Robert A. Allen

Robert A. Allen has moved between pulpit and lecture hall over fifty years of ministry. Pastor of churches large and small, and professor of speech, drama, and homiletics, in retirement his focus has turned from nonfiction to fiction. He continues to teach as an adjunct professor at Liberty University online and the University of Northwestern, St. Paul. His favorite title, bestowed upon him by his children and grandchildren, is Storyteller.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

The sandlot ball field in a corner of Loring Park in downtown Minneapolis would never be mistaken for Yankee Stadium. Rough benches held the opposing teams without a dugout. The bleachers consisted of blankets strewn on the ground. No vendors hawked bottled water to quench thirsty throats on a late summer afternoon.

The man on the mound, staring down a pinch-hitter in the bottom of the ninth inning of an inter-mural contest, was not a Joe Page or Cuddles Marshall, but the stakes could not have been higher. Jim Freeborn’s team had led all through the game. His pitching arm had not tired, but errors in the field resulted in a bases-loaded final surge from the opposition. In a desperate attempt to eke out a victory, they recruited a heavy hitter.

Billy! Billy! Billy! The cry echoed from students gathered to enjoy the pick-up game. Billy Graham was the youngest college president in the entire nation, and also one of the most popular.

Stepping up to the plate to face Jim’s fastball, the young, fresh-faced batter shrugged off his suit coat and loosened his hand-painted tie. Glad to be outside after a long board meeting, the president of Northwestern Bible College and Missionary Training School tapped his bat on the ground.

Give me your best shot, he shouted in the direction of the pitcher’s mound.

Jim responded with a wind-up worthy of Satchel Paige and rocketed his fastball toward home plate.

Strike one, shouted the umpire, delighting in his opportunity to call strikes on the president.

The batter stepped back, pounded the bat harder on the ground, and resumed his stance at the plate. This time Jim, after a sign from his catcher, released a slider which just caught the outside edge of the zone.

Strike two, shouted the umpire, throwing his right hand into the air with a clenched fist.

Stepping away from the batter’s box, the president removed his tie entirely, handing it to one of the players on the bench. Striding back to face the enemy, he raised the bat high in the air above his shoulder and prepared for the next attack. Jim shook off the first sign and then reared back and released another signature fastball.

The crack of the bat brought everyone on the benches to their feet. The ball sailed over the head of the center fielder and rolled into the bushes that marked the edge of the field. Students on the blankets cheered as the president ran the bases, offering high-fives to each player as he crossed their bag. Billy Graham had hit one out of the park.

As soon as he crossed home plate, Billy headed out to the mound to shake hands with the pitcher.

Jim Freeborn, right? Thought you had me there with that slider. Didn’t think you’d come back with another fastball.

My mistake, grinned Jim, accepting the offered hand. Rowdy called for another slider, and I shook him off. Great hit, sir.

Billy, said the president. Just Billy. I assume you perfected those pitches during your days in Luzon. Heard the boys played a lot of baseball in the Philippines.

Every chance we got. How did you know I was stationed in Luzon?

Been checking up on you. Enrolled here at Northwestern on the GI Bill. Drove Jeep for General MacArthur. Originally from Los Angeles. Single and looking. Have I missed anything important?

Jim fell into step with the president as they headed back toward the administration building on the Loring Park campus. I guess I should be impressed, Mr. Graham. I really don’t think it would be right for me to call you Billy. I did drive the General around, but it was only for a week. You’ve done your homework well.

That’s something I didn’t hear very often from my professors at Wheaton. But there’s a reason for my research. You probably know that I’m leaving Monday by train for Los Angeles. Grady Wilson is already there coordinating the cottage prayer meetings. Cliff Barrows has been preparing a terrific Crusade choir, and George Beverly Shea will meet us there. That’s pretty much the entire team. The pastors of the greater Los Angeles area have done most of the preparatory work. Anyway, they have arranged for us to use a brand-new Hudson Commodore, but I need a driver. Someone who knows the city well. What are your plans for the next three weeks?

Wow. Just the start of school and bussing tables at Richard’s Treat Cafeteria. I reckon you just ended my baseball season. Are you serious?

"I think I can manage permission for you to miss a week or two of class. What good is a president if he can’t call in a few favors from his faculty? I know you’re in the preaching program, so it will be good practical experience. I’ll approach it from that angle. What do you think about joining the team for the Greater Los Angeles Crusade?

It would be a privilege, sir. Mr. Graham. But you were wrong about one thing. I’m single, but not looking. I’ve already met the right one. She just doesn’t know it yet.

CHAPTER TWO

Liz Jefferson honked impatiently in front of the bungalow she shared with her roommate Ginger. She hated to be late for anything, while Ginger considered tardiness to be a virtue.

Arriving late allows me to make a grand entrance just like Hedy Lamarr, she would say.

Sometimes Liz regretted driving her Plymouth Coupe all the way from Iowa when she decided to try her luck in Hollywood. But then again, she would regret having to depend on others the way Ginger depended on her. If her roommate would just get on the stick, she could drop her off at the audition for Destination Moon and still make it to her own audition on time.

She honked the horn again just as Ginger came rushing out the front door and climbed into the back seat.

Sorry, Liz. I know you want me to sit up front with you. But this looks like I’m being chauffeured, and you know how important looks are in this business. What if Delmer Daves saw me riding in the front and thought I couldn’t afford to have someone drive me around town? I would be humiliated.

Ginger pulled a small mirror out of her purse and checked her lipstick.

I just love this new Revlon color. I think the deep red helps highlight the luster of my locks, don’t you?

Liz glanced in the rear-view mirror and laughed. Ginger, anything you wear would bring out the luster in your locks. You have the most beautiful hair in all of Hollywood.

Better than Rita Hayworth?

Absolutely. Better than Joan Crawford and Marilyn Monroe. You’re going to blow them out of the water today.

It’s another B-list film. But we all have to start somewhere to get recognized, right? Maybe this will be the big day for both of us. When will you be back to pick me up?

Sorry, Gin. You’re going to have to find your own way back home. Unless you want to come to the prayer meeting with me at noon?

I’ll pass. Is this another one of those get-togethers to promote that circus tent down on Washington Boulevard? How many prayers does it take to convince God to fill up a tent for someone no one has ever heard of? At least they could have booked a local preacher instead of one from Nowhere, North Carolina. Maybe one of the director’s assistants will take me to lunch, and you could pick me up later on.

It’s a busy day, Gin. This is my afternoon to earn some rent money. Have to join the grounds crew out at the Hearst’s Beverly House if I’m going to pay my share of the rent this month. Maybe it’s time to talk to your father again about purchasing your own vehicle.

You wish. Well, maybe you don’t wish. But I wish. Of course, then I would have to sit behind the wheel instead of in the back seat. Maybe I could convince him to get me a good-looking chauffer as well. Then when I pull up to the studio they would say, ‘Here comes Ginger Russell in her brand-new Rolls-Royce Silver Wraith, driven by none other than the charming British butler, Sterling Merrick Farnham.’

If wishes were horses.

Beggars would ride. Say, there’s the tent now. Greater Los Angeles Revival. Billy Graham. Look, they misspelled ‘Glorious.’ Left out the second ‘o.’ I’m not sure I can trust a preacher who can’t even spell. But then, maybe it wasn’t him at all. I don’t suppose he set up his own tent. I wonder who chose that picture of him. He seems mighty young.

Really, Gin. You know I can’t look while I’m driving. Does it say when the meetings start?

Every evening at 7:30, and Sunday afternoon at 3:00. It says there are six thousand free seats. Hm, that’s interesting. If six thousand of the seats are free, I wonder how many cost something.

They’re all free, Ginger. Don’t be ridiculous.

I know. It is just so easy to get a rise out of you. I can’t resist. You always take me so literally. You would think you would catch on but I’m glad you don’t. It’s more fun this way. In addition to the evangelist, it says they are featuring Cliff Barrows, Beverly Shea, Billie Barrows, Grady Wilson, Rose Arzoomanian, and Wilmos Cseny. Never heard of any of them. But then, I’ve never heard of Billy Graham either. How do they expect to attract Los Angeles with a list of nobodies? We can go see the Marx Brothers, or Dean Martin and Jerry Lewis if we want to be entertained.

The Crusade team is not here to entertain anyone, Ginger. Billy Graham is coming to preach.

Yuck, said Ginger, determined to get another rise out of her roommate. I hear enough preaching at Christmas and Easter to last me the rest of the year. Why would I go to a circus tent to hear someone I’ve never heard of tell me something I don’t need to hear? So, how does this Crusade compare with the meetings your father ran?

Dad didn’t run anything. He managed advertising for Evangelist Billy Sunday. The tabernacle they built for his meeting in New York City seated over 20,000 with room for another 2,500 in the choir loft. But that was toward the end of Sunday’s career. This is one of Billy Graham’s first revival meetings.

Looks like this Billy has some big shoes to fill. Or maybe I should say chairs to fill. I don’t think they’ll attract enough people here in L.A. to fill this place even though all six thousand chairs are free. Maybe they would do better if they charged an entrance fee. Five thousand free chairs down front and a thousand in the back for two bits. That’s where I always sit when I go to church, in the back. I think people might pay for that. So, you’re going to leave me high and dry after my audition?

I’m sorry. It’s a busy day for both of us. But you’ll do so well at the casting call that they will probably start shooting right away this afternoon. Today, Poverty Row, tomorrow Universal City.

From your lips to God’s ears. That’s what my grandmother used to say. Can’t say that I ever heard Mom and Dad talk about the big guy unless they were swearing at each other. Ginger opened the door and then called back in over her shoulder. Say, maybe you can add a little plug for me during your prayer meeting at noon.

You know I will, Gin.

As soon as she dropped Ginger off at her audition, Liz punched the button on her radio. That was another difference between them. Gin demanded silence while she rehearsed lines in her head and bombarded everyone with words when she wasn’t rehearsing. Liz preferred noise, lots of noise while she was thinking. Maybe that was one reason they got along so well together. Frankie Laine’s That Lucky Old Sun blasted out of the speakers, something she took as a good-luck token. She had high hopes of getting a part in Cheaper By the Dozen, which Walter Lang was directing.

Success is one percent talent and ninety percent attitude, her high school English teacher Miss Fosland loved to say. Look confident and you’ll open every door.

To prove that theme to the members of the school newspaper she made press passes and sent Liz and the photographer, Chuck Larson, to Des Moines when President Truman came for a visit. She urged them to take seats among the press corps, and it worked. The next edition of the Wilton Leaves featured a front-page photograph of Editor Elizabeth Jefferson shaking hands with the President of the United States. Roles in numerous high school productions and the encouragement of Miss Fosland had definitely produced an attitude in her, Liz thought. Otherwise, an Iowa farm-girl had no place in Hollywood. Nothing was going to stop her from climbing the ladder to her place in the sun—that lucky old sun which had nothing to do but roll around heaven all day.

In spite of having to wait for Ginger to get ready, Liz arrived at Culver City an hour ahead of her call time. Finding a place to leave the car and walking the twelve blocks from her parking spot to MGM consumed most of that extra hour. The special entrance for call backs was crowded, and she took her place in line before the barred window for check in. Voucher in hand, the buzzer opened the security door and she was inside.

Chaos reigned. Multiple films were being cast, and while the show had been printed on her voucher, the audition stages sometimes shifted. One of the first weeks she had been in town she spent two hours waiting for her name to be called during an audition for a completely different show. Some of the stages were under construction, with carpenters hammering and painters creating backdrops.

Finding an empty seat in the room marked CHEAPER, she waited quietly for her name to be called, walked confidently onto the stage, and delivered the audition lines. When a voice in the semi-darkness called Next she handed her voucher to the attendant at the door and headed back to her car. Her best hope lay in the fact that she had been allowed to complete the entire speech. Several others had been cut off by the anonymous Next before they had said five words.

Liz knew that casting was almost entirely by type. Myrna Loy, already cast as Lillian Gilbreth, played comedic parts in all her films. Hedy Lamarr, promoted by Louis B. Mayer as the world’s most beautiful woman, filled the roles of glamorous seductresses in all of hers. Just that year she had appeared as Delilah in Cecil B. DeMille’s Samson and Delilah. When directors looked for a gruff but lovable old man, they turned to Charles Coburn. The few parts Liz had been offered in B movies placed her in the category of naïve ingenue. She wanted more.

The noon prayer meeting was held at Trinity Methodist Church where Liz had been attending since her arrival in town. Her