“I would like to tell you about the Redeeming Knowledge,” began the man on the doorstep without so much as a word of introduction. “Maybe I come in and share with you for a moment?”
I had seen my mother turn away Jehovah’s Witnesses, Girl Scouts, and Fuller Brush men with a curt “No thank you,” so I was astonished when she stepped back from the open door to make way for the man. “Won’t you come in?” she asked.
The man wiped the soles of his patent-leather shoes on the doormat, picked up his satchel, and stepped over the threshold. He set the satchel back down on the floor of the front hall as my mother closed the door. He smoothed the lapels of his blue seersucker suit and fastened a couple of jacket buttons. He used a handkerchief to blot his forehead and disheveled sideburns, then stuffed it carelessly into his breast pocket.
“I don’t want to take up a lot of your time. My name is Henry Emerson Wallace, and I’ve come to Somerville to bring the good news of the Redeeming Knowledge. I represent the Redeeming Knowledge Society. Are you familiar with our work?”
My mother shook her head and looked as if she was about to say something, but the stranger went on.
“We’ve pitched our revival tent on the east edge of town. Are you familiar with the Langston farm? Yes? Well then, I would like to leave a copy of this pamphlet with you, and let me invite you personally to come out to the Langston farm at seven-thirty tonight to hear our message of truth and redemption.”
My mother studied the brochure for a couple of seconds. She laid it on the table in the hall, next to the pot of plastic flowers.
“Can I offer you a cup of tea?” I had never seen this hospitable side of Mother.
“Oh, I thank you kindly, but I have more houses to call on. We hope to see a good turnout tonight. The people of Somerville are hungry for the truth.” He picked up the satchel and opened the door. Mother followed him onto the front porch then pulled the door most of the way shut behind her.
I couldn’t make out any words in their muffled conversation, so I turned my attention to the pamphlet. “Religion Is a Fraud,” read the big bold headline at the top of the front panel. Then in smaller type beneath an out-of-date portrait of the man on our front porch, “The Reverend Henry Emerson Wallace will explain the Essential Truth of the Scientific Method and will save your mortal soul from Superstition and Supernaturalism.”
This was a revival I had to see.
Note: Today’s assignment was to write about an unexpected teacher. Couldn’t think of one in the realm of memoir, so I decided to make one up. The phrase “unexpected teacher” made me think of the recurring character of the traveling lightning-rod salesman who appears in stories by Ray Bradbury and Stephen King—the peculiar stranger who visits small-town America with an unexpected and perhaps unwelcome message. I’m not sure where this story is going. Let me know what you think so far, and stay tuned.
© 2008 Edward F. Gumnick
I suspect this came out of the meeting you went to the other night. Funny thing, though, I can see you as the salesman in the revival tent. (As long as there was coffee.) I’ve heard clips of the revival tent speech in our conversations over the last year. You must have something to say on the subject and are devising a vehicle to through which to say it. I love the play on all things revival – “hear our message of truth and redemption”, pitching a revival tent, pamphlets, and a seersucker suit. It’s a clever twist.
I look good in seersucker. I have the complexion for it.
The problem with good old-fashioned evangelism is that the message must be chased with a bit of faith healing and snake handling before people will swallow it. If the message is rationality, what sort of razzle-dazzle would go hand-in-hand with that? There just aren’t enough consonants in the bag to play dirty Scrabble. (Trust me: I’ve tried.)
I love the POV, and the twist was a pleasant surprise. Take us on to the revival.