Moral Fortitude

NOTE: CONTAINS PROFANITY

MORAL FORTITUDE

BY

CYNTHIA FARRELL

    Retching sounds emanated from the Men’s Room, echoes of misery bouncing off the marble walls. Anson Beckwith, Birmingham Civic Center’s Religious Programming Coordinator, headed in that direction when he felt a gentle touch on his right arm. 

     “Don’t. He’ll be fine. He does this before every Revival meetin’.” Said Bobbie Jo Talmadge, a pretty blonde sporting an out-of-date bouffant hairdo (the higher the hair, the closer to God) and make-up bold enough to be seen in the nose-bleed area of a ten-thousand seat venue. Bobbie Jo pulled out a compact mirror from her pocket and checked her appearance prior to going on stage. Unlike her husband, Jimmy Rae, she basked in the adulation heaped on them by the thousands who came to hear her husband preach the Word of God. And more importantly to the Talmadges, who generously contributed to their ministry. Bobbie Jo was humbled to know that they pleased God by bringing unbelievers into the fold so that God grew their ministry from a thirty-person church to venues across the South holding thousands. Just like her husband preached, if you were faithful to God’s Word, He would bless you. Bobbie Jo took a minute in prayer giving thanks for their ministry, their television station which reached millions more, their mansion outside of Atlanta, their vacation homes in Vail and Austin and all of the earthly goods that proved that God loved them because they were living a true and righteous life. 

    Jimmy Ray finished vomiting and flushed the toilet. After leaving the stall, he grabbed several paper towels, wet them with icy water. He wiped his face and neck to tamp down the nausea. No matter how many times he preached to the multitudes, he started this same way: vomiting in the Men’s Room. 

    “I really hate this,” he thought, “There has to be a better way to swindle large groups of people instead of this religious shit-show.” He ran his comb through his thick, wavy chestnut brown hair slicked back with heavy oil to keep it out of his face while he paced the stage preaching. Finally, he took the small bottle of whiskey he kept in his designer suit pocket, swished some around in his mouth and swallowed. The cliché that a little liquid courage couldn’t hurt crossed his mind. Straightening his silk tie one last time, he plastered his smarmy smile on his face and exited to the hallway. He took Bobbie Jo’s hand, kissed her on the cheek, and said, “Let’s go win souls for God, Dearest.” Bobbie Jo gave him her biggest smile and they proudly strode together out onto the stage.

    The Christian musicians, choirs, and videos playing on multiple big screens around the civic center had the crowd prepped and ready for a good old-fashioned religious revival. They roared and gave the Talmadges a standing ovation, as if Jesus himself had just made a personal appearance. Many raised their arms, some spoke in strange tongues, some women even swooned. Perhaps it wasn’t Jesus, but a rock star they were expecting.

    Jimmy Ray expertly played their emotions, beginning slowly. “Most of you know my sad story by now. Raised by a single mother who drank herself to death. Myself using drugs and

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alcohol by the age of thirteen.” 

    Deep, heavy sighs from the congregation. 

“Running with a bad crowd. Stealing. Skipping school. Going to juvie hall when I was sixteen for robbing a convenience store. I was Satan’s child then.”

    “Preach it, Brother.” “Wasn’t your fault.” “Get to the good part.” People shouted.

But when I was seventeen, a Pastor at juvie talked to me about Jesus. About how I didn’t have to live that life. About how God wanted to make me a good person, bless me with a good life. And I cried.”

    “You go, Jimmy Rae.” “Tell us the truth, Brother.”

    Jimmy Ray’s hands started to shake, partly in fear, partly in anger. He hated being interrupted, even though he knew this was part of the show. People shouting meant he was effectively reaching them. The more he reached them, the more they would reach into their pockets later. But the more they shouted, the more he had to acknowledge the sheer numbers of people in front of him, not to mention surrounding him. If it were silent, he could imagine he were just talking to himself in front of a mirror. But all those voices! Getting inside his head, stirring up his fears, hands shaking more. 

    “And God saved me, praise his name!” Sweat starting to trickle down his face, into his shirt collar.

    “God blessed me with a ministry!” 

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    “Hallelujah, Brother Talmadge, keep on preaching!” “We love you, Jimmy Rae!” “Tell us more.” “How can we be blessed, Brother?

    Sweat getting worse. Heart pounding. Hands visibly trembling. Voice shaking. “God…God…um…God…brought me to…”

    “What did he bring you to, Jimmy Rae? Huh? What’d he bring you to?”

“Um…” Jimmy Ray suddenly swayed and passed out in front of his audience of thousands. After the thud of his body hitting the stage floor there was silence, until Bobbie Jo’s voice rang out. 

    “Somebody get a doctor. Is there a doctor?” 

    Anson Beckwith called 9-1-1 for an ambulance. Several doctors from the audience came up and assessed Jimmy Rae and provided care while waiting for the ambulance. While he did not require CPR, he did not yet regain consciousness.

    Eyes slowly opening, blinking away the bright fluorescent light. Hearing voices and an incessant beeping sound. Jimmy Ray slowly pulled all of the pieces together. 

    “Reverend Tallmadge, you are in the Emergency Room at St. Francis Hospital. You lost consciousness while preaching at the Civic Center. Can you tell me what happened prior to your loss of consciousness?” Doctor Wilson inquired.

    “Well, shit-fuck. I must have had a heart attack. I vomited before going on stage.  My chest hurt. I was sweating, my hands were shaking and then nothing. Ow, my head hurts.”

    Doctor Wilson had heard just about everything in the ER, but the profanity surprised him,

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coming from a religious man, and all. “Reverend, you have a concussion from hitting your head on the stage when you fell. We ran a battery of tests on your heart to find out why you passed out in the first place. Your heart seems fine. We’ll keep you overnight and keep a watch on the cardiac enzymes to make sure we didn’t miss something. Did you ever have these symptoms before?”

    “Every time I go on stage I get these symptoms, except my chest doesn’t usually hurt.” said Jimmy Rae.

    “Do you get them any other time?”

    “No.”

    “I think you are having severe panic attacks caused by public speaking. Many people have this trouble speaking to smaller groups than ten thousand people. If your test results stay clear, I’ll write you a prescription for a medication you can take before your preaching engagements, so this doesn’t happen again. Unless of course you want to get into a different line of work.”

    “No, I’ll take the medication.” To himself, Jimmy Ray thought, “Unless I can find a way to steal millions of dollars legally to fund my lifestyle without standing in front of ten thousand people at a time.”

    Just then, Bobbie Jo came in and grabbed Jimmy Ray’s hand that was not connected to wires and IVs. She caressed his head. “Oh, my Love, how ARE you? I’ve been so worried. They wouldn’t let me in. It was so scary! You were preaching proud like always, then BAM! You

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crashed to the stage! Oh, my Love, I thought you were dead!”

    With his killer headache from the concussion, Jimmy Ray experienced Bobbie Jo’s high pitched Southern drawl as nails drawn across a blackboard. “Sweetheart, I love you, but SHUT…THE…FUCK…UP. You’re killing my headache.” He shut her out by closing his eyes.

    Bobbie Jo pulled herself up to her full five feet seven inches in heels and replied, “Jimmy Ray, you get a pass this time, but you promised to stop that cussin’! What if one of our followers heard you? It would ruin your testimony, why that’s what would happen.”

    Jimmy Ray clenched and unclenched his teeth. He opened his eyes, took a deep breath and said, “You’re right, Honey. I’m sorry. It’s just this gosh darn headache.” He reminded himself that without this dim-bulb of a wife, his “testimony” meant nothing. Without a powerful testimony, the money would dry up. Plus, she was pretty nice to him. Also, Bobbie Jo worked out and kept her body in shape, so sex was still good. She did not need to know about the girls he hired to keep their mouths shut after they satisfied his other rather exotic sexual desires.

    “Jimmy Ray, they said you didn’t have a heart attack and that you are going to be ok. Is that right? Are you going to be ok, Dearest?”

    “Yes, Honey. It’s just stage fright. The doc is giving me medicine to take before I go on stage, so I am going to be fine. But what about today? What did my little episode cost us?”

    “Oh, I almost forgot! Everyone donated before they left. You’ll never believe it. Because they were so worried about you, they gave twice what we expected to receive tonight!”

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    “Twice…twice…hmm…” Jimmy Ray’s mind began to hum. If only he could repeat this act and prey on people’s emotions every night without them catching on! How could he milk this for greater donations in the future? Well, he had all night in the hospital to ponder this conundrum.

    Just then, the transportation orderly arrived to take him to his room for the night. Jimmy Ray smiled and thought, “I know how this could work.” Later, after getting settled into his single room, paid for by the generous donations of his loyal followers, he drifted off to sleep dreaming of all the additional money flowing like a river into his coffers.

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