Sometime in 1968, I began to keep a journal. I admit this was
after the news media discovered the Jesus Movement, and it
occurred to me that it might be important to chronicle things as
I saw them.
So I began to write it all down with a pencil and a cheap spiral
notebook. I went back mentally to the night I was driving home in the
rain from my job as a shoe salesman at J.C. Penny in Corte Madera.
The Scott McKenzie song about coming to San Francisco and wearing
a flower in your hair was playing on the radio. There it was, like the
time it seemed God directly and personally called me into the ministry,
that I heard, “Go to the hippies in San Francisco.” Okay, I said to
myself, and the very next night I headed in as instructed.
That night I met David Hoyt and my whole world changed. I had
thought I would be a pastor of a normal kind of church and do the
things that I had seen my pastor, Bob Lewis, do. I had no further ambition.
I never thought I would write a book or be a great preacher or
get involved in the wild and crazy things I did.1 I paid a high price, and
my family, eventually families, also paid a high price. If I had known
then what would transpire, I might have become a Jonah and tried to
run away from the commission God gave me.
My idea was to write down my experiences as they happened and
not wait a week or so when I might have more time. As best I could,
this was the program I followed. I shared with David what I was doing,
and there were times when we collaborated and jointly tried to recall
1 Turns out I did write a book or two and, yes, I have done some wild and
crazy things, but I never did become a great preacher, although I do my best every
Sunday morning.
I hoped that, at some point, the notes might be turned into a book.
I knew I was not much of a writer, but I had an interesting story, so
I started sending out letters to publishers about what I was writing
about. Much to my surprise I got a letter from Zondervan Publishing
House in Grand Rapids, Michigan, and it was, as far as I knew then, the
largest and most prestigious Christian publishing house in America.
A vice-president named Bob DeVries sent the letter. I sent a follow-
up letter to him asking what he wanted me to do, and his reply
was a request for the manuscript, which I immediately sent. Then I
waited. Within a few weeks, he flew out to the Bay Area to meet David
and me for lunch at the St. Francis Hotel by Union Square. Having
grown up in what sociologists of that era described as lower middle
class, I had never before eaten in, let alone seen, such a fancy restaurant.
Shocking to us was Mr. DeVries’ eagerness
for us to sign a contract, which we
were also eager to do. Bob DeVries was a
most pleasant and gracious man, probably
the most important person I had ever met.
He remained so throughout the adventure
with the story of the hippies.
We had entitled the book, Two Brothers
in Haight. Zondervan kept the title
but said the book had to be rewritten, so
they hired a professional, Norman Rohr,
who made a living ghost writing as well
as teaching writing. When he showed up
a couple of weeks later we talked about
the book and our story, so he could begin
reworking what we had done. After I read
his version, however, I called Bob and said
something like, “I don’t think so.”
Not giving up on us, they hired Ed Plowman to do the next rewrite.
I knew Ed, because he was a founding member of Evangelical Concerns
and pastor of the Presidio Baptist Church in San Francisco.
Things went much better with Ed’s version, and the book was placed
in line for printing.
The whole process dragged on considerably, and by the time I
received the galley proofs, David had long since moved from Walnut
Creek to Atlanta. I sent the galleys back and waited for the printed
version.
Halt !
But then it happened; David was swept up into the Children of
God. I was presented with a dilemma at that point. If the book came
out, I suspected the COG would make use of it in a way I couldn’t tolerate.
By that time I knew way too much about The Family and was
convinced the book should not be published.
I called Mr. DeVries and told him what had happened. I unloaded
my worries and, after calming down, said, “We cannot publish the
book.” He instantly agreed. The irony is that the printing job was
nearly complete, and the book would have been in the mail in less
than two weeks.
That book, two versions of it plus my own original manuscript,
sits amongst my archives of the Jesus People Movement. It might yet
see the light of day.