THE WESCOTT CHRISTIAN CENTER LIST OF LISTS!
I have no idea who created this resource, but I'm grateful.

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Wescott Christian Center (WCC) - Official Creed

THE BIBLE is the Word of God, our rule of faith & practice.

GOD is revealed in 3 persons, Father, Son & Holy Spirit.

MAN is a sinner by nature, until he is born again by the work of the Holy Spirit.

JESUS CHRIST, born of the Virgin Mary, is the Son of God, Savior from sin.

SALVATION is offered to mankind through repentance & faith in Jesus Christ.

WATER BAPTISM by immersion is an outward sign of the work of God's Grace within.

THE HOLY SPIRIT was sent by Jesus to bring man conviction of his need of salvation.  Jesus also promised that believers may be baptized in the Spirit.

JESUS CHRIST is the Healer of our bodies, through faith.

THE LORD JESUS promised He would return to earth, & there are many signs that His coming will be soon.  Till then Christians should live a holy & dedicated life.

1--WCC would get out of it's present problem

2--Doc's ministry would settle in 1 location

3--Doc's teaching would be used as a compass point around the world as the Antichrist's message would lead people astray

4--Miraculous healings would be added to Doc's teaching ministry to counterbalance the phony "Healing Evangelists"

5--A note of joy would enter Doc's ministry

RETURN TO MEMORIAM
 

Date

Event

02/23/1906

William Theodore [W T] ("Ted" or "Pop") Scott is born in Stone County, MO [http://death-records.findthebest.com/l/214742135/William-Theodore-Scott]

03/12/1911

Inez Leona Graves ("Mom" Scott) is born in Stone County, MO [http://www.gravesfa.org/gen030.htm]

04/04/1915

Hope Street Church (HSC) opening day [http://cityplanning.lacity.org/complan/HCM/HCMDatabase/images/323%20Church%20of%20the%20Open%20Door.pdf]

12/31/1928

Mom & Pop Scott are Married [http://www.gravesfa.org/gen030.htm]

08/14/1929

Doc is born (William Eugene Scott) in Buhl, Idaho [http://archiver.rootsweb.ancestry.com/th/read/WORLD-OBITS/2005-05/1116013457]

02/17/1935

First "Jesus Saves" neon sign is erected on Hope Street Church (HSC) [http://magazine.biola.edu/article/12-spring/jesus-saves-a-timeline/]

xx/xx/1935

Mom gives birth to twins--baby girl dies in a few hours

xx/xx/1935

Baby boy dies a month later--Mom's vision

Move to Gridley, CA [http://www.ocweekly.com/2005-02-24/news/god-s-angriest-man/full/]

xx/xx/1935

Doc's family moves to Oroville, CA

xx/xx/1936

Pop healed from coma of Rheumatic Fever, has vision

Pop heads an Assemblies of God church

xx/xx/1938

Second "Jesus Saves" neon sign is erected on Hope Street Church (HSC)

xx/xx/1947

Doc plays basketball at Oroville Union High School

Doc works as an ice-truck driver

Doc becomes an ordained minister

07/xx/1947

Faith Center is founded in Glendale, CA by Raymond Schoch

xx/xx/1948

Doc is ill (Mumps), has vision, becomes sterile [Mumps at age 19 - "God's Angry Man"]

xx/xx/1948

Doc enters Chico State University

06/xx/1949

Doc works as a state inspector (bureaucrat) at a peach cannery

08/xx/1949

Doc marries Betty Ann Frazer (wife #1)

xx/xx/1952

Doc graduates Chico State (BA - Major: History) [http://www.seeking4truth.com/william_eugene_scott.htm]

11/13/1956

KHOF-FM 99.5 Los Angeles begins broadcasting [https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Faith_Broadcasting_Network]

04/xx/1957

Doc completes thesis on Reinhold Niebuhr

xx/xx/1957

Doc receives Ph.D. from Stanford University [https://alumni.stanford.edu/get/page/magazine/article/?article_id=34631]

Doc teaches at Evangel College (now Evangel University), Springfield, MO

Doc attends Glad Tidings Bible Institute in San Francisco, CA

Doc begins missionary work for 15 years

xx/xx/1963

Doc helps Oral Roberts raise funds for Oral Roberts University, Tulsa, OK

xx/xx/1964

Doc returns to Oroville and founds Wescott Christian Center (WCC) [IRS records show founded 1964]

xx/xx/1965

Faith Center moves to new Glendale Ave building

10/12/1969

KHOF-TV 30 Los Angeles begins broadcasting

Doc begins work for Assemblies of God

xx/xx/1970

Doc resigns from Assemblies of God

xx/xx/1970

Doc buys Sunset Mausoleum in Berkeley, CA

Doc organizes GS Travel Inc. travel agency

Wescott Christian Center (WCC) purchases Dolores Press Inc.

08/04/1974

KVOF-TV 38 begins broadcasting in San Francisco, CA

06/xx/1972

Doc divorces wife #1 (Betty An Frazier) after 23 years (married in summer 1949) [https://groups.google.com/forum/#!topic/alt.fan.gene-scott/1GIAfiECjVw]

Claire Grace prophesies to Doc at Melodyland

02/16/1972

Faith Center (FC) acquires WHCT-TV in Hartford, CT

11/xx/1975

Doc preaches as a guest at Faith Center (FC)

xx/xx/1975

Doc's 16 conditional terms are unanimously accepted by 105 members of Faith Center (FC)

11/01/1975

Doc begins pastorate at Faith Center (FC)

Fountain of Faith completed

Faith Center acquires Cathedral Chapel, Sunset Mausoleum

Wescott Christian Center (WCC) acquires Reborn Foundation in San Paulo, Brazil

Doc fires Jim Bakker

xx/xx/1976

Doc fires Schoch and other Faith Center board members

10/01/1975

Doc is president of Full Gospel Fellowship of Churches (Oct 1975-July 1984) [http://www.thefellowshiptoday.com/past-presidents/]

xx/xx/1976

Festival Of Faith program Begins

xx/xx/1976

Los Angeles County Tax Assessor attempts to seize control of Faith Center (FC)

xx/xx/1977

King's House Numbers (KH-#) Instituted

xx/xx/1977

FCC battle begins by former board member charges

xx/xx/1977

CA Attorney General files lawsuit against Faith Center (FC)

xx/xx/1977

Faith Center files $777,777,777.77 civil-rights violation lawsuit against Deputy Attorney General William Abbey

xx/xx/1978

CA Attorney General drops lawsuit against Faith Center (FC)

xx/xx/1978

Faith Center drops lawsuit against Abbey

xx/xx/1979

Werner Hertzog Films "God's Angry Man", released in 1981

07/20/1980

Richard Pryor Burn Telethon [http://news.google.com/newspapers?nid=1356&dat=19800721&id=YbJPAAAAIBAJ&sjid=3QUEAAAAIBAJ&pg=1471,2468741]

08/26/1980

Doc is instrumental in passing CA Petris Bill (SB1493)  [http://hwarmstrong.com/ar/AR13.html]

xx/xx/1980

Phone lines are increased from 15 to 30

xx/xx/1980

FCC denies KHOF-TV (channel 30) license renewal

10/04/1981

Doc's final Living Faith service

xx/xx/1983

Phone lines are increased from 30 to 300

Doc marries Christine E. Shaw (wife #2)

05/23/1983

Doc goes off TV channel 30 (KHOF) in Los Angeles, CA (Midnight)

07/04/1983

Doc goes on satellite - Westar 5 11/1/83 - Faith Broadcast Network (FBN) becomes University Network (UN) [The UN-Channel)

xx/xx/1983

Seating capacity in KH1 is increased

xx/xx/1983

Phone lines are increased from 100 to 300

xx/xx/1983

King's Dish Numbers (KD-#) Instituted

Doc-Star 1 (Lear Jet) & Doc-Star 2 (DC-3) & 55 purchased

09/01/1983

Festival of Faith program renamed "The Dr. is In"

xx/xx/1984

Doc's Pad (Secret 1, 2 Oak Knoll Ter, Pasadena, CA 91106) secured by $60k non-refundable down-payment outside of escrow

01/20/1984

Doc returns to TV channel 30 (KAGL) in Los Angeles, CA

Doc returns to channel. 30 1-20-84 or 1-20-85

12/07/1984

Faith Center sells WHCT TV station in Hartford, CT for $3,100,000

11/04/1984

Anniversary SS at Shrine Auditorium in Los Angeles, CA

12/30/1984

Secret-1 banquet at Westin Bonaventure, Los Angeles

05/30/1985

Secret-1 (Doc's Pad, 2 Oak Knoll Ter, Pasadena, CA 91106) closed escrow for $2M

09/07/1985

Sabbath Service in San Francisco, CA

09/18/1985

King's Tithers Numbers (KT-#) Instituted

xx/xx/1985

Doc goes off TV channel 38 in San Francisco, CA

xx/xx/1985

Doc goes off 99.5 FM radio in Los Angeles, CA

12/xx/1985

Secret-2 is announced

xx/xx/1986

Doc begins to sell paintings

xx/xx/1986

Doc buys Silver Oaks Ranch (SOR) in Bradbury, CA as a tax-shelter from painting sales

07/06/1986

First Sunday Service at Hope Street Church (HSC)

xx/xx/1986

Doc declares, but doesn't reveal Secret-3

xx/xx/1986

Secret-4 is announced

01/09/1987

Save the Books Telethon (thru 01-11-87)  [http://articles.latimes.com/keyword/gene-scott]

02/22/1987

Hope Street Church (HSC) gets Historical Designation

03/22/1987

Doc invites news media to film offering during final SS at Hope Street Church (HSC)

Phillipian Band Numbers (PB-#) Instituted

Doc institutes second Sunday Service offering

01/01/1988

Hope Street Church (HSC) is destroyed [http://cityplanning.lacity.org/complan/HCM/dsp_hcm_result_City.cfm]

Doc buys Highpoint Farms in Springfield, Kentucky

xx/xx/1989

Rose Bowl Aquatics Center - Doc donates $430,000 (Groundbreaking 06/23/1988)

04/15/1990

First Sunday Service at Los Angeles University Cathedral (LAUC)

08/30/1990

Pop Scott dies  [http://death-records.findthebest.com/l/214742135/William-Theodore-Scott]

12/xx/1990

Secret-5 is announced

11/07/1991

Rembrandt Stolen From LA University Cathedral (LAUC)

11/xx/1991

Secret-6 is announced

02/27/1992

Rembrandt Stolen From LA University Cathedral (LAUC) is recovered

Secret-7 is announced

Doc institutes Pass-System for entrance to Sunday Service

xx/xx/1993

Doc's broadcast covers the globe thru Shortwave

World Band Numbers (WB-#) Instituted

Doc dons clerical collar & black minister's attire

xx/xx/1995

Doc divorces wife #2 after 15 years

Doc marries wife #3 (Melissa)

04/21/1996

Doc's 1000th Sunday Service (VF-1000)

Secret-8 is announced

Secret-9 is announced

Secret-10 is announced

Secret-11 is announced

Secret-12 is announced

Secret-13 is announced

Secret-14 is announced

04/xx/1999

Mom Scott dies (Memorial Service 04/11/1999)

03/24/2002

Secret-15 is announced

02/21/2005

4:30 PM PST - Doc Passes Away

RETURN TO MEMORIAM
 

Associate Clergy

     Jim Elliott - Music minister, Associate pastor until about 1980

     Dan Chan - Associate pastor until about 1980

     Jack Chinn - WCC missionary work director & Oroville church pastor

Staff

     Joe Shackelford - Chief Engineer & KHOF-FM Operations Manager

     Peter Wrate - Sound engineer for many years, occasional singer

     Christine Shaw  - TV producer for many years, Doc's personal secretary, limo-driver, staff recruiter, Wife #2 [1982-1985]

     Mick - TV producer, cameraman

     Brad - Cameraman, Limo-driver

     Gary - Assistant (c1978)

     Ron Kelly - KHOF Station Manger

     Larry - Sound KH-1 (1977)

     Larry Dudley - KHOF-FM General Manager

     Douglas Cramer - KHOF-FM News Director

     Mike Wakeman - Security, Cameraman, Limo-driver

     Joe Cortes - Staff, Assistant to the President [VF-189]

     Jim Castillo - Security [VF-189]

     Keith - Security (African American) [VF-189]

     Marc Travis  - General staff

     Ben Rodriguez - Chief usher for many years, Board Member (Mike's father)

     Mike Rodriguez - General staff (Ben's son)

     Melana James - Secretary, VOF telephone coordinator

     Dr. Craig Lampe - Marketing consultant, Doc-Letter writer

Attorneys

     Tom Bradley

     Peter Esser

     Bruce Henderson

     Edward (Ed) L. Masry

Translators

     Spanish - Dan Summers

     French - Dan Summers

     German - Dan Summers

     Portuguese - Jack Chinn

     Portuguese - Unknown female

     Japanese - Unknown female

     Dutch - Unknown male

Horse Trainers

     Silver Oaks Ranch

          Linda Bivins

          Jose Lopez

          Liz Martin

          Mike Martin

     Highpoint Farm

          Joe Smith

          Roy Tuttle

          Lupe Valencia

     Consulting

          Larry Hodge

          Patty Milligan

          Tom Moore

          Bill Robinson

Political Allies

     Richard Alatorre (LA City Councilman)

     Willie Brown (SF Mayor)

     Gilbert Lindsay (deceased LA City Councilman)

     Bill Paparian (Pasadena Mayor)

     Joel Wachs (LA City Councilman)

     Nate Holden (LA City Councilman)

Friends

     Lodwrick Cook (Former CEO for ARCO, Doc's friend)

     Richard Murrion (Pastor & Friend)

The original "Festival Singers" (c1977-82):

Jake Hess (vocals)

Chris Hess (vocals)

Terry Ogle (piano)

Ron Spann (organ)

Somewhere around 1982-83 Terry, Jake, and Chris all left the group The UN-Band was started around this time:

Ron Spann (vocals, piano & organ)

Sammy Lee (organ & piano, occasional vocals)

Dan Davidson (rhythm & lead guitars)

Leigh Copeland (bass guitar)

John Jordan (occasional vocals - chews gum while singing)

Grant Whitman/Chris Arnold (drums)

[2 Unknown ushers - sang with Peter on "Praisin' the Lord-Damnin' the Devil" & "Same Time--Same Place"]

Later Changes

Ron left in late '84--early '85

Grant left in 1984 then Chris left and was replaced by Jim on drums in Sept. '85

Sammy left in late '85 and was replaced by Jim

Ron returned in early '86 & Jim returned to drums & vocals

Tom joins in '86 on lead & steel guitars

John is excommunicated by Doc in Aug. '86

Ed Wheeler occasionally fills in for Leigh

John is invited back by Doc in '87

Ron left in Aug. '87 & Jim returned to piano

[Unknown keyboardist who joined in '87-'88]

Jim left in '88 or '89

Joe Shackelford plays organ in '88 or '89

[Unknown lead guitarist who joined in '91 or '92]

Jake returns in '92 or '93

Ed replaces Leigh in '93 or '94

Jake quits in '93 or '94 & John becomes permanent vocalist

Toni joins on occasional vocals in '93 or '94

Kimberly joins on occasional vocals in Jan '96

RETURN TO MEMORIAM
     

Glen Campbell - Country & Western singer/songwriter - "Rhinestone Cowboy"

Lynda Carter - Actress - "Wonder Woman"

Zsa-Zsa Gabor - Actress

Merle Haggard - Country & Western singer/songwriter - "Okie from Muskogee"

Jesse Jackson - Minister, Black Rights Activist - "Rainbow Coalition"

Henry Kissinger - Former USA Secretary of State - "Nixon Presidency"

Wes Parker - Professional Baseball Player, Sports Commentator - "LA Dodgers" 

Smokie Robinson - Singer - "Tears Of A Clown"

William Shatner - Actor - "Star Trek"

RETURN TO MEMORIAM
 

RETURN TO MEMORIAM
 

From:  The Los Angeles Times 7/10/94

The Shock Jock of Televangelism

With Savvy Philanthropy and an In-Your-Face Style,

Dr. Gene Scott Has Generated a Lavish Lifestyle,

Powerful Friends in Los Angeles and a Fiercely

Loyal Global Following

By: Glenn F. Bunting; staff writer for The Times

TEXT:

    ON ANY GIVEN NIGHT, MILLIONS OF weary souls plop down on the

family-room couch, pick up the remote and scan the airwaves in search of

infotainment. They skip past snapshots of Roseanne raiding the refrigerator

and the Bundys swapping insults until a close-up of The Face flashes on the

screen.

    Partially obscured by cigar smoke, the face appears puffed with rage

and ready to explode. Piercing blue eyes stare through half-framed reading

specs and gold-rimmed shades, worn one on top of the other. A mouthful of

perfectly aligned, pearl-white teeth sneers behind a wispy beard. Shocking

white hair stands out each night from under assorted head wear--a Stetson,

a Stanford cap, a crown, even a sombrero.

    This bizarre visage lures television viewers to Dr. Gene Scott, pastor

and supreme leader of the Los Angeles University Cathedral. But it is his

provocative, profanity-laced monologues that keep them tuning in. Scott's

eclectic broadcast mixes high-voltage Scripture and obnoxious solicitations

(for money, naturally) with taped footage of his church's world-champion

American saddlebred show horses prancing to the tunes of Sinatra and

Springsteen. Toss in heavy doses of call-in hero worship from South Africa

to Santa Barbara along with amusing commentary on current events and the

result is a sort of religious Rush Limbaugh.

    "Nuke 'em in the name of Jesus!" Scott ranted during the Gulf War,

boasting that he was the only minister urging President Bush to bomb Iraq.

Recently, after three years of extensive dental work, Scott joked to his

congregation that "there'll be fewer weeks in 1994 that I come here wanting

to kill. So, get on the telephone!"

    "Get on the telephone!" is Scott's favorite bark. It's his way of

ordering the faithful to send cash. And send they do, more than $1 million

a month, according to some estimates. Through the years, the collections

have helped support Scott's lavish lifestyle--chauffeured limousines, Lear

jet travel, a Pasadena mansion, 'round-the-clock bodyguard protection and

scenic horse ranches in Kentucky and the San Gabriel Valley.

    At first blush, w. euGene Scott, as he spells his name, seems miscast

as God's renegade salesman. The 64-year-old preacher's son holds a Stanford

Ph.D., fancies himself an intellectual, a philosopher, an avid bibliophile

and philanthropist. But a closer look reveals a fascinatingly complex

character: Scott has no formal education in theology, an enormous ego,

eccentric personality and extraordinarily diverse interests. He is a

world-renowned stamp collector, an equestrian, painter and hunter, and a

saxophonist who pokes fun at "honkers" like President Clinton. He has been

lampooned on "Saturday Night Live" by comic Robin Williams, profiled in the

documentary "God's Angry Man" and feted by some of California's prominent

personalities.

    Scott is hailed by some community leaders for reviving the Christian

spirit in the City of Angels. While crime, homelessness, graffiti and the

stench of the inner city have pushed other congregations to the outer

suburbs, Scott relocated his Glendale church Downtown in 1986. Every Sunday

he attracts hundreds of worshipers from all over Southern California to

hear his message in the historic United Artists Theater at Broadway and

Olympic. His church spent $2 million to renovate the classic Spanish Gothic

theater, established in 1927 by Hollywood luminaries Mary Pickford, Charles

Chaplin and Douglas Fairbanks, and today, the cathedral rooftop carries the

same neon red "Jesus Saves" signs that for decades towered over the city's

skyline a few blocks away on Hope Street.

    For all his achievements, Scott remains misunderstood and the subject

of much ridicule. His wealth and notoriety, coupled with his spirited

defense of the Resurrection lead skeptics to dismiss him as just another

greedy, Bible-thumping televangelist. But nothing infuriates Scott more

than to be lumped with the likes of Jerry Falwell, Jim Bakker and Jimmy

Swaggart.

    "In every way possible within the boundaries of God's word, I have

tried to separate from the television evangelists' image," Scott tells his

congregation. Television evangelist "has become a word that can only become

analogized to nigger, kike, beaner and other epithets designed to demean

and create a perceptual set of a lesser-quality being."

    Few quarrel with Scott's insistence that he occupies a planet all his

own in the universe of electronic ministry. Within the mainstream of

religious broadcasters, largely made up of conservative evangelicals like

the Rev. Billy Graham, Scott is regarded as unique. Indeed, he is unusual

even among the many zany characters who operate on the fringe of

televangelism. Who else spreads God's word so fervently while smoking a fat

cigar and cursing his rivals? Or advises his followers that they don't have

to go to church on Sunday to be a Christian? Now that his church's

broadcasting enterprise--the University Network--spans the globe, Scott

claims the world as his parish.

    It comes as no surprise that Scott attracts more than his share of

critics. They portray him as a paranoid, vindictive iconoclast who leads a

flock of rebellious followers. Scott, they are quick to point out, is

accountable only to himself, tolerates zero dissent and exerts a

frightening level of control over his followers.

    "He refuses to put himself in a position where he can be criticized,"

says David Gill, a professor of Christian ethics at North Park College in

Chicago, who has observed Scott. "Instead, he surrounds himself with all

these sycophants and weaklings who are just looking for somebody to submit

to."

    Scott provides a form of drive-by religion for the '90s to a transient

population that needs only to watch television and send in cash to be

counted among the faithful. But Scott preaches no easy gospel; the fiery

pastor guides his congregation each Sunday through two hours of intense

analysis that focuses on his own distinctive interpretation of Scripture.

    "I came to town 18 years ago and said I'm looking for the uncommon man

or woman," Scott explains. "I'm not here to transplant saints. If you just

want an ordinary church, pick up the Yellow Pages and find the closest one

to you."

    ON A GORGEOUS FEBRUARY AFTERNOON, NINE top officials from the Glendale

Adventist Medical Center arrive at a lavish estate in Pasadena with no idea

what awaits behind the heavy iron gates. Upon entering the meticulously

landscaped grounds, they are screened by a guard who carefully checks each

of their names against a formal guest list.

    Scott is entertaining the Adventists to show his appreciation for the

care his 82-year-old mother received after falling and breaking both wrists

and a leg. The hospital staff had accommodated Scott's daily midnight

visits and his entourage of security men, personal physicians and other

aides.

    During the next three hours, Scott conducts a tour of his church's

"Sistine Chapel"--an underground, climate-controlled museum that includes

an original Rembrandt and Monet displayed among the pastor's own paintings.

The visitors are treated to an exquisite five-course luncheon catered and

served by trendy Marino's of Melrose Avenue. They are left speechless when

Scott offers to contribute $20,000 to a hospital fund-raising drive to

obtain new surgical equipment. They are dazzled by Scott's riveting life

story, witty charm and encyclopedic mind, later describing him as

"sensitive," "urbane," "humorous," "thoughtful" and "humble." For some

guests, it is difficult reconciling this version of Scott with the same

personality who appears so wacky on TV.

    "People started walking away feeling they had been in the presence of a

Renaissance man," extols David R. Igler, a hospital vice president. "It was

kind of like being with a Leonardo da Vinci. I don't think I've ever had an

encounter or experience like that in my life."

    Igler offered to recount his impressions of the visit at the request of

L.A. City Councilman Richard Alatorre, a close friend of Scott and a loyal

supporter. "Have you talked with him?" Igler inquired, the amazement in his

voice suggesting that I, too, would be in awe after meeting the Renaissance

man.

    For months, I had tried to interview Scott. I had called his church's

toll-free hot line to make a mandatory reservation for his Sunday service.

A volunteer, called a "Voice of Faith," answered, and she noted my name and

asked for my "King's House" number, which identifies all dues-paying

members. She also asked whether I had ever attended Scott's service. When I

told her I had no ID number and that I had never been before, she

apologized and said it was unlikely a visit could be arranged. (But others

have easily made reservations.)

    I drove to the University Cathedral anyway, parking in a vacant lot

across the street from the rear of the church. I couldn't help but notice

several middle-aged men in polyester suits with worried looks painted on

their faces and two-way radios plugged into their ears. They were members

of the church's vaunted security detail, which includes off-duty Los

Angeles cops paid to protect Scott, his congregation and their Downtown

property. The heavy security is necessary, Scott contends, because the

church "has a lot of valuables, including my life."

    Within minutes, one guard retrieved a pair of binoculars and began

looking my way. Another guard walked up to my car and jotted down the

license plate number. A third, with long red hair tied in a ponytail,

approached and stood within a few feet of the driver's side door, watching

over me.

    I left my car and walked around the block to the front entrance of the

cathedral, where I encountered the same ponytailed guard, arms crossed and

chest expanded. I kept walking. The church's lawyer had cautioned me

against sneaking into the cathedral if I wanted to land an interview with

Scott.

    On a subsequent Sunday, the security crew threatened a photographer who

showed up outside the church to take photographs for this article. Police

were called to the scene when one of the guards repeatedly shouted

obscenities.

    I never did get to meet Scott, shake his hand or pose a question in

person despite repeated attempts. "Gene Scott has no intention of

responding to any questions regarding church finances and Dr. Scott

personally," the pastor comments. All the quotations from Scott in this

article come either from taped broadcasts of his programs or written

responses passed through a church lawyer.

    At my request, Scott furnished five references for me to interview. All

were certifiable big shots who used superlatives to describe Scott while

glossing over his idiosyncrasies. A "brilliant fellow," raved Lodwrick

Cook, the ARCO chairman. "Extraordinarily bright," glowed Mark Pisano,

executive director of the Southern California Association of Governments.

"He is a very, very bright, intelligent man," lauded Los Angeles City

Councilman Joel Wachs. "He is caring. He is committed to the city. He is

honest," praised Alatorre.

    None could top the gushing of California Assembly Speaker Willie Brown:

"I think he is one of the most interesting public figures in California. He

is an extraordinarily brilliant person. His skills at communicating are

probably equal to anybody that we currently know and may ever know."

    Each of the five men had been exposed to Scott's charm and witnessed

his extreme generosity. When Cook helped lead the "Save the Books" campaign

after the Downtown Central Library fires, Scott organized a telethon that

raised $2 million in pledges. As a fellow director of the Rose Bowl

Aquatics Center in Pasadena, Pisano appreciated Scott for rescuing the

nonprofit swim facility with cash donations exceeding $430,000. When Wachs

wanted to rally support for his mayoral candidacy last year, Scott arranged

for him to address his congregation on television. Whenever Alatorre needs

a contribution to a worthy cause in his district, Scott is "always there"

to chip in. And when Brown's VIP friends visit Los Angeles, Scott gladly

furnishes a church limo.

    A relentless self-promoter, Scott adroitly uses his church's charitable

contributions and his association with personalities to boost his ministry.

Compliments from Cook and former L.A. Mayor Tom Bradley, among others, have

appeared in full-page newspaper ads touting the minister and his church.

When Scott wanted to establish his good character during a 1990 court

battle, he did not hesitate to drop the names of Bradley and others in

legal papers.

    Scott maintains that his church contributes only to charities that city

officials recommend for the community good. Asked whether he uses friends

in high places to help legitimize his church, Scott responds: "The question

is an insult to me, the (church) and my friends. We were never

illegitimate."

    Nonetheless the hard sell does not make a believer of everyone. The

Rev. Dale O. Wolery became acquainted with Scott in 1985 before the Church

of the Open Door, of which he was assistant pastor, sold its historic

Downtown cathedral to Scott's congregation for $23 million. Wolery had

spent a good deal of time in Scott's company. But after Scott reneged on

the deal, involving the church in protracted lawsuits, Wolery came to view

Scott as a manipulator and a showman.

    "I don't like what he stands for," concludes Wolery, currently senior

pastor at North Community Church in Yorba Linda. "A side of him is

engaging, warm. He knows how to make you feel good. He is dangerous

primarily because he really comes off as a straight shooter. He is the

ultimate hypocrite."

    AT AN EARLY AGE, SCOTT BECAME WELL VERSED IN THE HIGHER POWER OF

religion. The son of a traveling preacher and his teen-age wife, he was

born on Aug. 14, 1929, in Buhl, Ida. When Scott was 6, his mother gave

birth to premature twins, and the girl died within hours. The following

month, the baby boy was asleep and young Gene was suffering convulsions

when their mother had a vision of angels coming.

    "I saw a stairway begin to roll down from heaven and come right down to

the side of my bed," Inez Leona Graves Scott recalled in a 1980 interview.

"Two angels walked down and they stopped in front of Gene. I said, 'Oh no,

Lord, you can't take Gene!' and they just went around him and picked the

baby up."

    The infant died but Gene was spared. From then on, his parents knew

their surviving child was special. Shortly thereafter, the family moved to

the Northern California town of Gridley when W.T. Scott agreed to head an

Assemblies of God church. He succeeded a pastor who crucified himself on a

tree trying to imitate the marks of Christ. "At that time, the people like

my dad were the cults, the kooks and the nuts," Scott once told an

interviewer.

    In elementary school, Scott proved to be an exceptional student.

Accompanying a straight-A, seventh-grade report card was a teacher's note

to his parents: "Do you know you have a genius for a son?" He played on the

high school basketball team, though his father's congregation did not

approve of the boy exposing his legs in public. The caption under Scott's

photo in the 1947 Oroville Union High School yearbook read, "Always a

good-natured fellow."

    Scott married his high school sweetheart, Betty Ann Frazer, in the

early 1950s. They had no children and were divorced 23 years later. On his

program, Scott has portrayed her as the "devil's sister. I hate her. If I

go to heaven and she's there, I'm going to another planet." Scott's second

wife, Christine E. Shaw, a stunning woman 20 years his junior, can be seen

nightly on his program riding the church's champion show horses. Trained in

ballet for 16 years, Shaw shares Scott's passion for art, stamps, coins and

other collectibles.

    A pivotal point in Scott's life came when he enrolled in a doctorate

program in philosophy of education at Stanford University. One professor

was a leading disciple of Reinhold Niebuhr, and Scott's dissertation on the

American philosopher left an indelible mark on him. Quoting Niebuhr, Scott

described his life's goal: to "descend from the anthill of scholastic

hair-splitting to help the world of men regulate its common life and

discipline, its ambitions and ideals." Like Niebuhr, Scott believed that

this could not be accomplished without religion.

    At Stanford, Scott stood out as a loner who was almost single-minded in

his quest to excel academically. After earning his doctorate in 1957, he

taught briefly at a Midwestern Bible college, helped Oral Roberts establish

a university in Tulsa, Okla., and joined the Assemblies of God movement, a

fundamentalist Christian denomination, where he quickly established himself

as a rising star. Scott traveled all over the world preaching salvation to

rapt audiences and designed a Sunday school curriculum that significantly

boosted church membership.

    "He had one of the sharpest, keenest minds of anyone I have ever

known," recalls the Rev. William Vickery, superintendent emeritus of the

Assemblies of God Northern California and Nevada District. But it was only

a matter of time before the restless Scott would "go free in order to be

creative and relevant to today's world."

    In 1970, Scott resigned his Assemblies of God credential in good

standing and returned to Oroville to launch his own ministry with his

father. Today, Assemblies of God officials are stunned by what they see and

hear on Scott's program. "I just can't imagine someone with his brilliance

and abilities allowing his energies to be diverted the way they have been

diverted," says a perplexed Vickery. "I don't understand it. I think it is

such a waste."

    It was while serving his Oroville ministry that Scott was approached

about taking over the 45-year-old Faith Center Church in Glendale along

with its four broadcast stations and $3.5-million debt. Scott, who also had

established himself as a shrewd entrepreneur, agreed to serve as Faith

Center pastor provided that church leaders resign and approve a

reorganization plan that gave him control. To Scott's amazement, the church

accepted.

    Faith Center since has expanded and prospered. A congregation that

numbered 500 when Scott took over in 1975 has mushroomed to more than

15,000 members in the Los Angeles area, according to church estimates that

are difficult to confirm. The church acquired the ultimate power address:

P.O. Box 1, Los Angeles. And in 1983, the University Network launched

24-hour-a-day broadcasts of Scott sermons via satellite to North America

and much of Mexico and the Caribbean.

    But soon after, Scott endured two financial disasters that would have

placed most pastors in peril of losing their jobs. In 1983, the Federal

Communications Commission stripped the church of three broadcast stations,

worth approximately $15 million, after Scott refused to turn over financial

records as part of an investigation. (The church sold the fourth station.)

In 1987, the church lost a $6.5-million deposit when Scott sought

unsuccessfully to renege on a deal to buy the historic Church of the Open

Door building in Downtown Los Angeles, which was later demolished after its

owners sold it to developers. The church then pumped more than $2 million

into renovating its current location, the United Artists Theater.

    The setbacks only made Scott more determined to succeed. After the

church lost its broadcast licenses, Scott continued to air his program by

buying time on local and cable TV stations locally and nationally. Scott's

church not only offered programming to an already-established network of

outlets, but continued to air its program on some of the same stations that

were taken away by the FCC. The church also beamed its programming

nationwide via satellite. By 1990, it reached 180 countries. Two years

later, his ministry could be picked up anywhere in the world in four

languages on medium- and short-wave radio. (His program is now seen nightly

in greater Los Angeles on cable.)

    Scott claims that he did not seek out an electronic ministry, but

happened to rescue the first church in the nation to own a Christian TV

station. In a three-piece suit, the clean-cut Scott looked the part of the

stereotypical televangelist when he first hit the airwaves. But it did not

take long for him to realize that he needed a shtick. Enter the long hair

and beard, crazy hats and cigars. "The cigar lets you know I ain't no Jimmy

Swaggart," he howls.

    He quickly earned a reputation as a colorful preacher whose blunt

tactics both attract and offend his audience. He bragged over the air that

he could "probably teach Hugh Hefner a thing or two" about sex and told

those who refused to send money to "vomit on yourself with your head up in

the air."

    This unconventional approach, while widely chastised in religious

broadcasting circles, impressed people like the Rev. Jess Moody, a Baptist

minister and pastor of Shepherd of the Hills church in Porter Ranch. Moody

is an unabashed Scott admirer who wishes he had such nerve.

    "The man is not a fool, but he acts like one from time to time," Moody

observes. "That, I think, is designed to get attention from people he wants

to reach. Apostle Paul said, 'I am all things to all men that I might win

some.' Gene is trying to win people to Christ, and he is not doing it in

the standard way."

    To attract new viewers, Scott later decided that his church needed a TV

sports franchise, something comparable to Ted Turner's Atlanta Braves.

Enter the equestrian team. "There are so many horses' asses on television

that I wanted to show the world what a whole horse looked like," Scott is

fond of saying.

    Using proceeds from the sale of his art prints, Dr. Gene Scott Inc.

acquired the Silver Oaks Ranch in Bradbury, valued at $11 million in 1989,

and a stable of more than 100 show horses that are now believed to be worth

millions.

    First-time viewers "stop to see the horses because they are a class

act," Scott told viewers in January. "And before they know it, this

cigar-smokin' preacher is talkin' about something a little different than a

rantin'-and-ravin', hellfire-and-brimstone hypocrite preacher. And they

stop to see the horses and end up hooked on the teachin'. That's it. All

you get on this network is me and the horses and the music. Clear?"

    "Clear!" his volunteers shouted obediently from behind studio phone

banks.

    "Just thought I'd say that. Get on the telephone!"

    In response, callers from around the globe phone in to applaud their

pastor. Scott delights in selectively reading the laudatory messages aloud.

    "From Manchester, Ohio: I love the teachin', the horses and the music.

It's the best on TV. Apple Valley, Calif.: Pastor, God's word, you and the

horses are all I need. Klamath Falls, Ore.: We got the No. 1 pastor smokin'

the No. 1 cigar on the No. 1 television program showin' the No. 1 horses."

    IN JANUARY, 1991, MEMBERS OF THE LOS ANGELES University Cathedral

received an urgent appeal in the mail. Their pastor needed them to dig deep

for a special fund-raising drive so critical to the church's future that it

could not be revealed how the money would be spent.

    It was not the first time. Scott has instructed his followers to give

generously to anonymous fund-raisers on at least six other occasions. This

one, called "Secret V," was the church's most ambitious fund-raising

mission yet. By Easter, Scott wrote, his ministry had to receive $10,000

apiece from 700 followers and a minimum $1,000 apiece from 3,000

supporters, for a total of $10 million.

    Estimates vary on the total amount of money Scott brings in. During a

recent sermon, he claimed that his members set "the world record in

per-capita giving" by donating $350 per person per month. He also has said

that his weekly budget of $300,000 does not come close to meeting the rent,

payroll, broadcasting and other operating expenses.

    Scott insists that he only accepts financial support from individuals

who respond to his sermons. "People are taught to give based on what they

think the teaching they receive is worth," he stresses.

    The price of membership is steep. For starters, Scott expects the usual

10% of his followers' income in weekly tithings. Since 1988, at the start

of each year, Scott has reminded his followers that he is collecting

"firstfruits" above and beyond weekly donations. Firstfruits, according to

Scott, is spelled out in Scripture as "the firstfruit of the new year

belongs to the Lord." The firstfruits check includes the first returns on

any form of income--an investment, a pay raise, a second job, a tax refund,

even Lotto winnings. What if you're out of work? "Well then, you give the

first week's unemployment check," Scott advises.

    For non-givers, Scott warns: "If you get too smart with God, He might

let you live this next year without Him so you can see the difference."

    While raking in uncounted millions, Scott refuses to open his church's

books to the scrutiny of independent auditors or follow accounting

safeguards required by the 700-member National Religious Broadcasters, a

group Scott derides as "Not Real Bright" for inviting as a speaker

televangelist Jimmy Swaggart, who was disgraced by a sex scandal in 1988.

Such devastating scandals had cast a pall over televangelists nationwide,

but the industry appears to be on the rebound. Former NRB chairman David

Clark says he is encouraged by recent trends in religious programming that

emphasize ministry and teaching in place of "glitz, glamour and hype."

    "This year marks the end of the televangelist scandals and the impact

from them is basically over," Clark says. A recent study of religious

programming found that on-air fund-raising and promotional activities have

fallen to the same levels as before the Swaggart scandal.

    Scott, like a number of other televangelists around the country, is not

rushing to join the NRB, which requires organizations to undergo

independent financial audits annually, publish a yearly report of income

and expenses and disclose total compensation packages of top church

officials. He is, says Clark, one of a fading breed. "I see a move away

from the entrepreneurial, Lone Ranger guy like him (Scott). I think the

next generation will be pastors of mega-churches with thousands of members

and budgets of $8 (million) to $10 million a year, minimum."

    Still Scott thrives, with a church he says is accountable to God, his

congregation, a board of directors he declines to identify and the Full

Gospel Fellowship of Churches and Ministries, of which he was president.

Such lax financial accountability--combined with Scott's lifestyle--has, in

the past, attracted the attention of state and federal investigators.

    The California Attorney General's Office in 1978 investigated

allegations of fraud at Scott's church and 11 other religious

organizations. The probe, launched after complaints by church members, was

dropped in 1980 when the state Legislature passed a law preventing the

attorney general from prosecuting cases of civil fraud against tax-exempt

religious organizations.

    In 1977, the Federal Communications Commission opened an exhaustive

investigation after former employees accused Scott of diverting donations

of cash, furs, jewelry, stock and other valuables for his own use and

concealing assets in Swiss bank accounts. The allegations were never

proved, and Scott adamantly denies any improprieties.

    He stymied repeated attempts by the federal government to scrutinize

his church's financial operation by directing contributors to sign pledge

slips that specifically stated Scott could spend the money however he

pleased. This arrangement did not appear to affect the church's flow of

funds.

    "He can do anything he wants with the contributions I send him," allows

Mike Parker, the former mayor of Tacoma, Wash., who has been watching Scott

for a decade and donates weekly.    It is virtually impossible to know how

financial resources are divided among Scott, the church and their many

corporations. The church's financial empire consists of a complex web of

dozens of interlocking companies, among them Bishop Dr. Gene Scott Corp.,

Dr. Gene Scott Inc., Dr. Gene Scott Consultants Inc., Gene Scott Travel

Inc., W. Eugene Scott, Ph.D., Inc., Gene Scott Evangelistic Assn. and

Wescott Christian Center.

    Scott's second wife, for example, received a $190,000 finder's fee when

Dr. Gene Scott Inc. purchased the Silver Oaks Ranch in Bradbury. At the

time, Christine Shaw's personal fortune included several million dollars

worth of horses, stamps, art and vintage cars--the same items accumulated

by Scott and his church.

    For his part, Scott maintains that he has no property, investments,

stocks or bonds and that everything he owns is in the name of the church.

His contract calls for a $1 annual salary, plus unlimited expenses.

    "God knows how much money he has raised over the years soliciting

funds," complains Chuck Dziedzic, the FCC administrator who spearheaded the

investigation of Scott's church. "We never came close to finding out. I

don't think anybody knows but him."

    RON CAREY REGULARLY ATTENDS CATHOLIC MASS AT CHRIST THE KING Church in

Hancock Park. But the 58-year-old actor, known best for his role as Levitt

in the television sitcom "Barney Miller," often attends services on

Saturday evenings. That's because Sundays belong to Gene Scott.

    "I have learned more from him than anybody," Carey says. "He is

probably the authority on St. Paul. We just read the Bible and look at it.

He will go right down to the word. This is interpretation. This is

knowledge."

    Like Carey, many of Scott's followers belong to other denominations.

They assert that no one on the religious scene today approaches Scott's

intellect and expertise when it comes to interpreting God's word. His

analysis of Scripture relies heavily on Greek, Hebrew and German studies to

clarify inaccuracies in the English translation. This is evident on Easter

Sundays, when Scott presents a defense of the Resurrection that is rich in

detail, well researched and supported by historical facts, followers say.

    Scott's quarrel with those who deny the Resurrection is that they don't

spend enough time looking at it. "If this is true, this is the central fact

of history!" he fumes. "You gotta be a fool among all fools of mankind to

not think it's worth at least 30 hours of study in your whole life. That's

why I'm doing this."

    During his Sunday sermons, Scott often admonishes his congregation not

to seek God's blessing from a priest, the Pope or a place of worship. "And

you're sure not going to get it from a motel with Jimmy Swaggart," he

cracks. Rather, these blessings flow through God's word as interpreted by

Gene Scott. His is a "word-based church" offering intelligent Christianity,

Scott emphasizes.

    In February, Times reporter Ralph Frammolino visited the University

Cathedral for a glimpse into Scott's appeal.

    No expense has been spared in restoring the historic theater. The

lobby, with gold-backed mirrors and a vaulted ceiling finished in fresco

murals, is half a block long. The massive auditorium, almost medieval in

appearance, features large murals depicting the motion picture industry.

Onstage, a huge curtain bears the letters "UA" in a coat of arms with the

words "The Picture's The Thing"--a fitting slogan for Scott's television

ministry.

    Reservations are required to enter the cathedral. "I ain't beggin'

converts," Scott scolds. "You don't get in here without a pass. I don't

want anybody in here that doesn't have an appreciation for that smallest

hunger in your heart to pursue the revelation of God's word."

    First-time visitors like Frammolino are escorted into the auditorium,

assigned a seat and closely observed by the church's security force. A

buddy system within Scott's congregation also keeps a watchful eye on

strangers. "We want to make sure our pastor stays alive," whispers one

follower from Orange County, who identifies himself only as Duane.

    The 2,000-seat theater is filled with people from a variety of ethnic

backgrounds. Dressed in casual attire, the churchgoers look as if they

could just as easily be going to Dodger Stadium or a Sunday matinee. No one

under age 12 is in attendance; children of churchgoers ride air-conditioned

buses every Sunday to one of 43 museums within a half-hour of the

cathedral. "We don't lock our kids in a little cubbyhole and teach them to

hate God until they get the first chance to leave the church," Scott says.

    When the curtain begins to rise, congregation members leap to their

feet and cheer wildly. Before them appears their master, clad in a priest's

collar, a teal-and-black windbreaker and gray slacks, seemingly unmoved by

the adulation. After several seconds of enthusiastic applause, a rock band

belts out praise to Jesus as Scott sits impassively on a blue-cushioned

stool until the singing ends. Among the tunes Scott occasionally orders up

is "Kill a Pissant for Jesus."

    Scott strives to conduct his service as if it was a postgraduate

lecture in religious studies. He is fond of boasting that his congregation

consists mostly of college graduates. Unlike most university courses,

though, there is no room for discussion of any kind in Dr. Scott's

classroom. With the exception of not-so-spontaneous laughter at Scott's

one-liners, not a peep is heard from members during the teaching, not even

an "Amen" or a "Hallelujah." Scott insists that his two-hour service goes

uninterrupted and gets angry if people seated in the front get up, even to

go to the restroom.

    As he delivers his message, Scott pauses every few seconds to allow an

interpreter to repeat his words for the benefit of dozens of

Spanish-speaking members in the audience and others listening worldwide. He

illustrates the day's lesson on a glass rectangle with the intensity of an

agitated football coach marking Xs and Os at halftime.

    While reading aloud scattered verses in Ephesians, Scott scribbles

Greek words on the glass. Hagyois is for sainthood, Dike for righteousness

and Logos for the word. He writes in red, blue, green and black felt pens,

using the different colors to strike previous markings instead of using an

eraser.

    Within an hour, the board is streaked with arrows, circles, lines and

indecipherable words that become nearly impossible to follow. The lecture

suddenly is reduced to a mind-numbing blur of Greek nuances that virtually

force the class to accept a relentless tightening of the instructor's

ecclesiastical monopoly.

    But the underlying message of "basic Christianity" is clear. While

other pastors denounce homosexuality, abortion, adultery, profanity and

drinking, Scott refuses to condemn such sinful behavior. He leaves

worshipers free to make their own choice without coercion.

    "I don't ask you to change when you come here," he instructs the

congregation. "I take you as you are, as God takes me as I am." Scott

preaches that, if people listen to him and start practicing faith, "God is

going to change you in spite of yourself."

    He finishes his sermon and vanishes offstage without shaking a single

hand or meeting his congregation. Herein lies a startling contradiction:

Scott promotes himself as a friend to sinners who have been shunned by

other churches, yet his cathedral doors are sealed off to the general

public. Even highly devoted followers are not permitted to approach him in

the name of security. Scott's retort: "I am more accessible and contactable

than the Pope."

    Most worshipers seem not to care that they are prohibited from seeing

their pastor in the flesh. They can tune him in 24 hours a day, seven days

a week, reveling in the rediscovery of their faith under the guidance of a

shepherd who acts like a rebel and still is elected by God.

    Frank Anderson, a middle-aged aircraft mechanic who sports an unkempt

gray beard, is a typical Scott devotee. He attended church as a child but

eventually strayed from religion. That was before he became hooked on

Scott's television program while working the night shift at Northrop. Now

he and his wife, Tracy, drive in every Sunday from Torrance to hear Scott.

    At first, Anderson found Scott "exasperating" because the minister

jumps from subject to subject during his lectures. But the teachings began

to fascinate him, especially the anti-religious-Establishment thread of

Scott's message. "He teaches that we're free," Anderson notes. "We've been

made free and people who are teaching that you are not supposed to do this

(and) not supposed to do that are voiding that freedom."

    Wes Parker, the former Dodger first baseman, recalls the day in 1980

that he first listened to Scott on television. Within 20 minutes, Parker

was on his feet, pointing at the screen and screaming, "He's right! My God,

this guy is right!" The next day, Parker plunked down $500 for Bible study

materials and has been a regular supporter since. "This man has saved my

life," Parker exclaims.

    He readily admits that some of his friends don't hold Scott in such

esteem. "They don't like a two-hour service. They don't like that he

occasionally uses a swear word. They don't like the fact that he gets

angry. They don't like that he spends a lot of time railing against people

on his staff that he doesn't think are doing a good job. Some of those

things I don't like either, but it is worth it to me to sit through to get

the message."

    GENE SCOTT WAS LIVID. AFTER successfully courting the vote of

flamboyant City Councilman Gilbert W. Lindsay to prevent the Church of the

Open Door from being demolished in 1987, Scott sensed that he was about to

be double-crossed.

    Lindsay, a religious man whose district included the church site, had

assured Scott's congregation one Sunday that "hell's gonna freeze over"

before the building, which Scott's church had moved into, would be torn

down. But when Lindsay began to waver about preserving the 72-year-old

church, Scott did not hesitate to remind viewers that Lindsay, then 86, was

in his "senior years" or "16 years past the biblically appointed

allotment"--three score and 10.

    "Now if you've had an illustrious career, and you're in your eighth

decade, do you want to meet your Maker saying, 'I decided to do one in for

you, God?' " Scott thundered. "Gilbert Lindsay ain't dumb enough to face

his Maker reneging on a sacred commitment in a platform of a church before

5,000 people and an onlooking nation."

    In the end, Lindsay got religion and supported the project. He died at

age 90, presumably at peace with the Lord for keeping his word to Scott's

church. But Scott could not keep the wrecking ball away. After he'd

unsuccessfully tried to renegotiate his deal for the property, its original

owner sold it to developers. Scott lost his $6.5-million down payment, but

acquired the church's "Jesus Saves" signs. He then moved his church to the

United Artists Theater.

    Scott's willingness to invoke the wrath of God against Lindsay

demonstrates the lengths he will go to intimidate an adversary. Friends say

Scott is a fierce street fighter who strives to obliterate an opponent, be

it Satan or a competitor. At horse shows, Scott is not content when his

equestrian team captures a medal. He wants a sweep of all the top places.

    Nowhere has Scott incurred more battle scars than in the courts. Since

coming to Southern California, his church's far-flung enterprises have been

tangled in more than 100 lawsuits. At times, Scott and his lawyers have

drawn criticism for their litigation tactics. A federal judge in 1987

called a desperate bid by Scott to retain the Church of the Open Door a

"reprehensible" abuse of the legal process. In 1990, in a lawsuit on behalf

of the American Horse Show Assn., attorneys for the O'Melveny & Myers law

firm accused Scott of hiding behind corporate fronts to overturn his

suspension by the association.

    In that case, Scott was banned from competition for calling a judge a

"prejudicial, incompetent nincompoop" on his television program after one

of his horses lost a competition. Scott argued in legal papers that his

suspension should be overturned because the horses were owned by Gene Scott

Inc., which he contended was not run by Gene Scott.

    While the suits do not always succeed in court, apparently they are

effective in helping to intimidate Scott's adversaries. Dozens of people

refused to speak about Scott for this article because they expressed fear

of being sued.

    Over the years, Scott's followers occasionally have resorted to verbal

threats and physical violence to defend their minister. In 1985, a musician

in Scott's band who criticized the preacher reported to officials that he

was jumped, punched and tossed through a plate glass window by two church

followers. The musician, Donald Vladimir Nicoloff, was treated for facial

and leg cuts.

    In the months leading up to a trial on assault charges against his

alleged attackers, Nicoloff claimed he received harassing, late-night phone

calls from Scott's disciples, some threatening bodily harm. The trial

against the two church followers ended in a hung jury when the key witness,

the church's former head musician, fled to Tennessee because he feared

reprisals from Scott's disciples, prosecutors maintained.

    Glendale police were so concerned about a potential outbreak of

violence by Scott's devotees that the prosecutor assigned to the case, Los

Angeles County Deputy Dist. Atty. Herb Lapin, was issued a gun permit and

assigned a police officer for protection during the trial.

    "I'm not going to call his followers fanatics or lunatics," Lapin says.

"But whenever you have a group that has strong followers, I find they are

easily led by their leaders, whether they are good or bad."

    ADMIRE HIM OR DESPISE him, Gene Scott has attained the kind of fame,

lifestyle and influence that most people only dream about.

    "Only in America," sighs Clark of the National Religious Broadcasters,

"can people like this get on television, attract an audience and collect

enough money to stay on television."

    And only in Southern California, it seems, can a long-haired,

loud-mouthed preacher pack a cavernous movie house each Sunday with

followers eager to hear the word of God from him. In a city that attracts

people seeking the good life, a pastor with a free spirit, a stable of

horses, a chauffeured limo and an answer for everything can be an

attractive role model.

    "Gene Scott offers you all the advantages of Christianity with none of

the inconveniences except tithing," says Rabbi William Kramer, a religious

studies professor emeritus at Cal State Northridge and an admirer of Scott.

"You don't have to put that in cellophane to sell it."

    Yet others feel strongly that Scott has no business preaching in a

church. The Christian Research Institute, an international religious center

based in Irvine that monitors controversial religious movements, goes so

far as to advise Christians not to attend Scott's services.

    "During the last few years, Scott has become more and more outrageous

and offensive," a CRI analysis concludes. "His language is crude, abusive

and profane, clearly violating God's standards for Christians."

    Such condemnation drives Scott up a wall. At a recent service, Scott

groused that he is fed up with outsiders who have the nerve to question his

conduct.

    "They never stop!" Scott protested to loud applause. "These judgmental

asses!"

CAPTION:

Photo: The eccentric preacher and his projects.

Photo: (Gene Scott)

Photo: Scott's Universal Cathedral

Photo: Scott makes his points with different pens, crossing out

markings instead of erasing them.

Photo: Guards protect the church's valuables, including Scott

RETURN TO MEMORIAM
 

(OC WEEKLY cover story, reprinted on the occasion of Gene Scott’s death, February 24, 2005)

One night a few months ago, I was flipping the TV dial when I came across an unforgettable scene unfolding in the sprawling back yard of a Pasadena mansion. Three flawless, buxom young lovelies were doing some very professional-looking bumping and grinding to the accompaniment of the Eagles’ “Heartache Tonight” while a well-groomed old man watched impassively from a chair. There was a phone number at the bottom of the screen, and every now and then, an announcer’s voice drifted in, urging me to call. The camera stayed locked on the women for several long, head-spinning minutes, and the more I watched, the more disconcerted I became.

What the hell was this?

Finally, the song ended and the show cut away to a studio, where the old man was sitting in extreme closeup before an out-of-focus, pale-blue backdrop. “Now that you’ve seen what I got waitin’ for me at home,” he said, sparking up a fat stogy with a pistol-shaped lighter, “you should all be extra nice to me for comin’ down here to talk to ya.”

I finally recognized the old man, sort of. He’s Dr. Gene Scott, the TV preacher who owns that red neon sign in downtown L.A. that says JESUS SAVES in letters so big you could probably read it from outer space. For as long as I can remember, he’s been on TV, seemingly 24 hours a day, talking about Jesus in a surly Southern drawl while wearing two pairs of glasses at once and various eye-catching hats–a sombrero, for instance, or a collegiate mortarboard, or a king’s crown. The few times I had actually tried to listen to what he had to say, I’d quickly gotten bored and given up. I certainly wasn’t bored now. Instead of offering an explanation for what a squad of dirty-dancing bimbos was doing in the middle of a religious broadcast, the uncharacteristically hatless Scott plunged right into berating his flock for not sending enough cash. Soon he was so furious that he couldn’t continue, and, with a mighty puff on his cigar, he vanished in a cloud of smoke.

We were then treated to footage of Scott’s girlies riding some beautiful, high-class show horses around a track at a place an onscreen caption identified as the Silver Oaks Ranch. This was just too much, so I called the show’s 800 number and demanded to know what was going on. The operator just laughed good-naturedly, like I was a child asking why the sky is blue. “Dr. Scott owns a lot of beautiful horses,” he told me, “so why shouldn’t he have some beautiful ladies around to ride them?”

I got very little out of him (he even dodged my question of what happened to Scott’s trademark hats). But before I hung up, the operator offered me some advice: “Just keep watching the show, and sooner or later, everything will become clear.”

I followed his suggestion, but what I saw in the following weeks only raised new questions. The bimbo boogie sessions turned out to be a regular feature; night after night, I’d tune in just in time to catch a few minutes of his women jiggling themselves sore to tunes like “Addicted to Love,” “Raspberry Beret” and, perhaps most memorably, a Dixieland version of “When the Saints Go Marching in.” The good doc also escorted his lady friends to the Kentucky Derby and the International Stamp Collectors’ expo, took endless bike rides with them, and, on at least one occasion, snuggled up in bed with them while he went through his mail on the air. There’s none of that humble-barefoot-shepherd malarkey for Scott; this is one preacher man who likes livin’ large. The amazing thing was that, for all the quality time he spent with such lovely ladies, he still seemed to be in a perpetually rotten mood.

The show freely mixed Scott’s live performances with taped bits 5 or 10 (or more) years old, and it became apparent that, over the decades, the man has changed his look more often (and more drastically) than David Bowie. On one viewing, he was clean-cut, wearing the dark, conservative business suit of an insurance salesman; the next time, he sported the look of a decadent ’70s rock star, with long blond hair, a floppy hat and a yellowish fur coat; other times, he’d wear a leather jacket and dark glasses or a tuxedo and a pith helmet. In the early days, he often paused midsermon to look at his studio audience and ask, “I’m not boring you, am I?” as if he actually cared. Today’s Scott, by contrast, often barks, “Am I borin’ ya?”–his tone making it clear that if anybody said yes, he would kick their ass. He was a moody, often fire-breathing tyrant on the air, taking a near-fiendish delight in abusing his cringing staff for even the smallest slip-up. Once, a cameraman accidentally jiggled the camera while Scott was giving us a tour of some of his fascinating oil paintings, and Scott became furious. “Don’t move the camera until I TELL you to!” he barked. “I’m the director here. I’ll show you what I WANT to show you, and then you can play with the camera all you want!”

The doctor went no easier on his flock. Once, when they weren’t ponying up the dough to his satisfaction, Scott referred to them as “dumb, Christian quote-unquote assholes!” Another time, he warned them that unless they shaped up quick, God “might let you live this next year without Him so you can see the difference.”

I couldn’t imagine why people followed the man. His sermons were certainly far from compelling. He could, and often did, spend hours explaining how the King James Bible botched the translation of a particular word from the original Hebrew. He was also big on the sort of dodgy mystical material you used to see a lot on In Search Of, often reading aloud from highly questionable volumes on the legendary lost continent of Atlantis or expounding at length on his pet theory that angels built the pyramid at Giza (Jeez-uh, as he pronounced it). When he was in one of his rare jocular moods, he treated his followers to readings from joke books. Mostly, however, he just roared at people to send him money. And they did.

If I could have dismissed Scott as a charlatan, the whole thing might have ended there. But the man spoke of the Resurrection with such passion and at such length, day after day, that it seemed impossible for the whole thing to be just an act. Occasionally, the doctor would address some of the mysteries that plagued me: one time, he read a note from a viewer asking why he always had pretty women around him. His answer: “To keep the ugly ones off me.” But it didn’t take long for me to realize that watching the show most definitely would not answer all of my questions.

Eugene Scott was born Aug. 14, 1929, in Buhl, Idaho, to W.T. and Inez Leona Graves Scott, a traveling preacher and his teenage bride. In many ways, it was a childhood straight out of a Southern gothic novel. When Gene was still a child, his mother gave birth to premature twins, one of whom died within hours. A month later, Gene began to suffer from strange convulsions in the middle of the night, and his mother had a vision: she saw a stairway roll down from heaven and come right down beside her bed; then two angels descended and stopped in front of Gene. “Oh no, Lord,” Leona cried out. “You can’t take Gene.” The angels heard her and picked up the remaining twin instead. Gene survived the night, but his brother didn’t. The incident convinced Scott’s parents that their son was bound for glory.

Soon after, the family moved to Gridley, California, where Gene’s father agreed to head a church whose previous pastor had crucified himself on a tree. Young Gene was well-liked in town, and he excelled in school; in the seventh grade, he brought home a straight-A report card with a note from his teacher that read, “Do you know you have a genius for a son?” He played on his high school basketball team, although he took some guff from his dad’s congregation for showing his legs in public.

When he came of age, he enrolled in the philosophy of education doctorate program at Stanford University, still somehow finding time in his hectic collegiate schedule to wed his high school sweetheart, Betty Ann Frazer, and work alongside his father at the Assemblies of God church on weekends. Soon, however, the pervasive secular skepticism of his Stanford peers rubbed off on him, and he suffered a paralyzing spiritual crisis, although he re-discovered his faith before graduation. For his dissertation, he summed up his life’s goal with a quote from the American Christian philosopher Reinhold Niebuhr: to “descend from the anthill of scholastic hairsplitting to help the world of men regulate its common life and discipline, its ambitions and ideals.”

After earning his doctorate in 1957, Scott taught at a Bible college in the Midwest and helped Oral Roberts establish a university in Tulsa, Oklahoma. Although Scott speaks with a certain grudging admiration for Roberts today (“I believe that Oral believes he saw a 900-foot-tall Jesus . . .”), the tension that eventually caused them to part ways is also clear (“. . . I guess it takes 900 feet to convince him”). On his TV show, Scott often tells the story of the days he spent golfing with Roberts. Roberts was a sore winner, and every time he trounced young Scott on the green, he walked away, leaving the golf bags behind for Scott to carry. Finally, the day came when Scott won. He still cherishes the memory of strolling off and leaving his golf bag for a chastened Roberts.

Post-Roberts, Scott rose steadily through the ranks of the fundamentalist Christian Assemblies of God movement, resigning as a member in good standing in 1970 to found his own Oroville ministry with his father. In the early ’70s, he was asked to take over the 45-year-old Faith Center Church in Glendale, a position that came with four broadcast stations and a $3.5 million debt. Scott agreed to sign on as pastor, provided the church leaders resigned and he got complete control. He never seriously imagined the church would go for it, but they did. Scott went on the air in 1975, and although his show was a hit virtually from the start, his early years of broadcasting were personally trying. His 23-year marriage, perhaps unsurprisingly, crumbled almost immediately after he became a star (he calls his ex-wife “the Devil’s Sister” and adds that if he goes to heaven and she’s there, he’ll move to another planet). In the ’80s, Scott was hit by two financial disasters. His 1983 refusal to turn over his financial records for an FCC investigation cost the church three broadcast stations; four years later, the church lost a $6.5 million deposit when Scott tried to renege on a deal to buy a historic Los Angeles church.

These blows could have destroyed Scott, but they only strengthened his resolve. After he lost the broadcast stations, he kept his show on the air by buying time on national TV and cable outlets. He also devised an ingenious system to keep the government out of his financial affairs by demanding that his followers “give without strings”–i.e., donate their cash without having any idea what it’s going to be spent on. “The spirit of life goes to work for you . . . only if you give materially to me,” Scott says. “You should give to me if I wanted to go out and buy a rock band or the Mustang Ranch.”

He has survived his trials and prospered beyond belief. Today his program is available, by radio or television, all over the world, 24 hours a day. He lives in a mansion, consorts with beautiful women and owns classics of impressionist art. (He hangs his own paintings beside them, feeling that their beauty upgrades him; he claimed he keeps the women around for the same reason.) He races horses, hunts, smokes and swears a blue streak, and his followers love him for it. He’s even taken a dazzling bride 20 years his junior (and damn pretty on horseback), Christine F. Shaw. Many famous people have sung his praises, from Tom Bradley to Buffy Saint Marie. Years ago, he achieved the ultimate pop-culture milestone when he was parodied (by Robin Williams, no less) on Saturday Night Live.

Perhaps most intriguingly, he was even the subject of a documentary by Werner Herzog, the mad-genius director most famous in this country for his epic tale of obsession, Fitzcarraldo. When I discovered that the film existed, I had to see it. But the tale of the months that I spent looking for a copy could easily make another article. Suffice it to say that, in the end, I tracked down God’s Angry Man at a wonderful place in L.A. called Mondo Video A-Go-Go. The fellow behind the counter explained that Scott was so incensed by the film that he threatened to sue, and it was pulled from circulation. The tape I got at Mondo was actually a grainy video of the film being projected on a screen. The sound was terrible, but because this was one of the few surviving copies, how could I complain? According to the guy at Mondo, the person in the tape who’s watching the film being projected is none other than Dr. Scott himself. I’m not sure if that’s true, but I like to pretend it is.

ME WATCHING DR. SCOTT WATCHING GOD’S ANGRY MAN

The film begins with Scott midtantrum, screaming himself purple at an unlucky studio engineer: “Give me the volume! When I yell, I wanna be heard! ‘Cause I only yell when there’s an occasion for yelling! [He turns, speaking to us.] God’s honor is at stake every night. This is not a show; it’s a feast! A feast of the faithing experience.”

Later, we catch up with him in the back of a moving limo; he’s beardless, blond and dressed like an undertaker. He reminds me of Dennis Hopper. He seems almost like a different man from the grizzled prophet I see on TV every night, but his eyes have the same chilly blue glow. He offers a few choice words for nosy reporters like me. “I kid the media,” he says, “and say they worship the Great God Two-Sides, because if they went down on the beach to report on the sun comin’ up, they’d add a line that there are some on the beach that say the sun didn’t come up. . . . I have a conviction: if you know your subject, you cannot avoid coming to a conclusion.”

As he speaks, I realize that despite the reams of material I’ve gathered on the man, I’m still nowhere near coming to a conclusion about him. Is he a fake? Is he a true believer? After all this time, how can I still not know? While I’m puzzling over that one, we’re treated to a brief interview with Scott’s parents (two sweet old folks who clearly think the world of their son) and a television segment where Scott counts the pledges as they roll in. It comes to a quarter of a million dollars in 16 minutes, a total Scott is content with. For now.

At this point, I’m pretty convinced he’s a shyster, but the next segment finds him matter-of-factly outlining his schedule: three to 10 hours of live television daily, two separate two-hour services on Sunday, board meetings, conventions, pastoring another church in northern California, visiting sick church members, writing and publishing religious texts, leading tours of the Holy Land, visiting an orphanage he supports, and more. It’s a dizzying lineup, far more than any man could do purely to keep up appearances. I’m as confused as ever.

Then the film strikes an unexpectedly poignant note. Scott sits silently in his study for a long while, his face unreadable. “Let me tell ya what makes me happy,” he begins. “Get me on a jet, [and fly me] 8,000 miles to a city where nobody knows me. I’d like to . . . just not have some life-or-death struggle.”

For the first time in all the time I’ve been studying him, Scott looks lost. “I am too good to be really bad and too bad to be really good,” he says. “I don’t enjoy being the good guy, ’cause I’d rather do some hellish things. . . . My dream is to go somewhere where I can lay on the beach and read books and do my thing. . . . I dream of [going] to Australia and getting a college-professor job where nobody knows me, teach about Plato and go out back and hunt rocks. Now, that probably exaggerates it, but that’s what I’d like, just to get away from this mess.”

The film really comes to life in its final minutes, beginning with a scene taken from Scott’s show. He is in closeup, his face a mask. “I will not be defeated tonight,” he whispers. “Five phones are available, and one person has the key.”

There’s a nearly 30-second pause–it feels longer–until at last Scott speaks. “Not one more word tonight,” he vows, “till that thousand comes in.”

Then there are two minutes of some of the most agonizing silence I’ve ever experienced. At first, Scott just sits there, his eyes boring a hole into the viewer. After a long while, he oh-so-casually shuffles some note cards, but the tension is building by the second. Eventually, we cut to a big-haired operator in the studio, who is weeping beside her silent telephone. After a moment, the operator next to her begins to cry as well. They’re tears of fear; the women know what’s about to happen. Scott looks like he’s going to explode at any second. Finally, he does.

“Do you understand that GOD’s work hangs on 600 MISERABLE dollars?!” he roars. “And you SIT there, GLUED to your chair! How long must I teach you the principles of spiritual warfare?! Thirty thousand means nothing now; GOD is being held up to an open shame! . . . It has NOTHING to do with money . . . [and then aside] at this point.”

He savors each word like William Shatner playing King Lear. “People who [sings] ‘I Surrender All’ will let GOD, for an HOUR, hang over PEANUTS!”

Overcome with disgust, he can scarcely continue. “The network oughta be SHUT DOWN,” he spits, “as Sodom and Gomorrah were destroyed, if God can’t find four people. What IS Christianity?! Games?! Gimmicks?! Words?! Massage?! [I must have rewound the tape five times for that one.] Or life and death?!”

Finally, his rage is so over-the-top that even he can barely keep a straight face. “Husbands and wives, if I was married to either one of you I’d get up and kick both of you. If you got somebody sleepin’, go jump in the middle of their gut. This is WAR. God’s honor is at stake!”

The money comes in at last, even more than Scott asked for, but by now, it’s too late to please God’s Angry Man. “We’re well over,” Scott screams, “after I YELLED at you. Why didn’t you do it ’cause you love GOD?”

With a growl, he throws a wad of paper at the camera and storms off, whether to go fume in his dressing room or laugh himself sore, I honestly can’t guess.

The next scene features Scott in his study, quietly and candidly discussing his utter lack of privacy. He says that for security reasons, he’s never, ever alone, and the only thing he owns that nobody else has access to is a zippered black bag he carries with him at all times. “I hope somebody thinks $10 million in gold bars is there, for the simple dignity that there is something I don’t have to go naked about,” he says. “Maybe there’s dirty socks [in there]. I hope when I die . . . the government bureaucrats salivate themselves sick getting into this bag. [It] may be my memoirs. My simple dignity of privacy is restricted to that bag. That’s all I got.”

Forget the government bureaucrats; I’m salivating over that damn bag. What treasures does it contain? Perhaps the key to the man’s whole life–his Rosebud–is in there! My mind is reeling with the possibilities when I suddenly realize that Scott has just answered one of the interviewer’s questions with a line I have to scribble down: “No man should be boss who wants to be a boss. He’ll abuse his authority.” The astonishing thing is that he sounds like he means it. Is this the same Gene Scott who shrieks at his staff every night on the air?

At the scene’s end, Scott talks about the pains of the life he’s created for himself driving him to tears on a weekly basis. The interviewer suggests that Scott must be a lonely man, which Scott almost simultaneously affirms and denies: “Oh yeah, sure. Who could I have as a friend? Every friend is a potential enemy until this job is finished . . . I guess I’m lonesome sometimes, but I’m more of a loner than lonesome. I don’t have any close friends, no. Yeah, I’m lonesome.”

There’s a long pause as Scott looks off camera at the interviewer. The shot holds for just a bit too long, and Scott starts to break into a sly grin. The shot holds, and the grin gets wider.

The film concludes with a bizarre scene from the era of Scott’s FCC troubles, the time of the FCC monkey band. In those days, when Scott was feeling particularly hassled by the government, he’d holler, “Bring me that monkey band!” and one of his helpers would hurriedly wind up a gang of piano-playing, cymbal-crashing toy monkeys, a bizarre toy-shop caricature of our government at work. The concerto usually ended with Scott taking up a bat and whacking the gears out of one of the band members. The scene is almost frighteningly odd, but Scott’s delight is infectious.

“You hit ‘em on the head, and all they do is squawk!” he cries. “Look at ‘em! There’s your bureaucrats! Wouldn’t you like to grow up and be a bureaucrat, if you’re a kid watchin’ this?! That’s our government for you! Haw haw haw!”

THE BLOB

Shortly after I saw God’s Angry Man, Scott’s nightly shows took an ugly turn. I watched for weeks, but I never managed to figure out exactly what happened; apparently, Scott discovered that one of the women in his employ had been saying unflattering things about him on the telephone. It never got any clearer than that, but for the next few weeks, Scott raged endlessly, hideously, against this woman in particular (“She was like a blob, expecting me to stuff food into her opening. Well, I don’t touch an opening like that!”) and all women in general (“God is the ultimate chauvinist . . . I’ve never met a woman who didn’t need a man to lead her around”). The incident brought out the beast in him, and soon Scott was enacting his own words about bosses who want to be bosses. “Hell, this ain’t a democracy” became his new favorite phrase. He began to spend his Sunday sermons screaming at his congregation that he is literally a chosen one, selected by God before he was born to lead a select handful of followers, a “master race” in the fight against the forces of Satan. These followers absolutely will not ever talk back to the boss.

“I don’t care what I do,” he told them more than once. “If you think it’s wrong, I don’t wanna hear about it. I do what I do because God wills it, and if you don’t like it, you can get the funk out.”

His flock sat silently through every rant, only piping up when he barked a question at them: “Am I boring you?” Of course, there could be only one answer.

SIT UP STRAIGHT AND NARROW

At 11 a.m. on a Sunday morning, I was outside the imposing University Cathedral in the heart of downtown Los Angeles. After repeated, unsuccessful calls to arrange an interview with Scott, I had given up and made a reservation to attend one of his services. I was greeted (intercepted, really) at the door by a doughy, smiling fellow who checked my name on the reservation list and then proceeded to brief me on the rules for the two-hour service: absolutely no talking, no wiggling in my seat, no getting up to go the bathroom. “We wouldn’t want to get Dr. Scott mad, now would we?” he said with a laugh.

I’m a shaggy creature, clearly out of my element, and I could tell my appearance made the man nervous. As he escorted me to my seat, I noted with a chuckle that I was in the next-to-last row, far away from the cameras.

The cathedral interior is a gorgeous, brassy, kitschy mess, a mix of the UA theater the place once was and the pulpit to the world it is now. They’ve hardly tried to hide the past; the drop curtain still says THE PICTURE’S THE THING and UA in giant, ornate letters. The crowd was an odd mix of blue and white collars, with a couple of girls floating around dressed like they were at a Cramps show.

It was well past the scheduled starting time when the curtain went up; but when it did, there was Scott on a stool, sharing the stage with a few musicians and a sports-bar-style big-screen TV. The crowd applauded thunderously for what must have been a full minute until Scott finally snapped at them to stop it already. The band immediately struck up and performed a few numbers, although I was disappointed that they didn’t do “Kill a Pissant for Jesus,” a song Scott’s been known to call for on occasion. The musical interlude gave me a chance to inspect the enormous mural behind Scott. At first, I took it to be a religious scene of some kind, but it turned out to be a ’30s-style painting of a bunch of cowpokes heading for the last roundup.

After the third song, Scott came forward to speak. He wasn’t far in, though, when he broke off to look ominously in my direction.

“I’m about to embarrass somebody in a minute, if they don’t sit up.”

There was dead silence all around me. I was slouching in my seat a little, but I was 25 rows back and in the dark. Could he possibly mean me?

“You sit up now, or I’ll putcha in a wheelchair. I’m serious. I’d make no exceptions if my own mother was sitting here.”

Everyone around me was now sitting up so straight I could practically hear their spines cracking. I briefly considered slouching over even further (getting thrown bodily out of the cathedral sure would have made a dramatic closing for this story, wouldn’t it?), but I decided to play along. I sat up, and Scott launched into a bitter rant against reporters. I’m sure he wasn’t talking about me, but it was one hell of a spooky coincidence.

From there, Scott mounted a fresh attack on the mysterious woman who had wronged him, pledging that, in the future, he would be more intolerant of dissent and more generally unlovable than ever. The crowd laughed and applauded wildly at that one, and while they were still recovering, Scott announced that it was “offering time.” The words left me momentarily dumbfounded, until a bunch of men bearing red cloth sacks came bounding down the aisles and all of the churchgoers gave them cash. When the men got to me, I waved them away, and I could immediately sense waves of hostility emanating from the churchgoers around me. I stopped myself from slouching guiltily down in my seat just in the nick of time.

When Scott preaches at the cathedral, he works before a large, white board, writing in red and blue and green and black pens. He never erases; he simply writes over old words with darker pens. By morning’s end, they make some interesting, Kandinsky-like patterns (for a time, the ever-entrepreneurial Scott sold the boards when he was done with them). The one drawback to the system is that, after a while, the messages are virtually indecipherable; detail upon detail piles up until it becomes such a jumble that your brain starts to hurt. Eventually, my eyes glazed over, and with the scant reasoning power I had left, I started trying to organize this article in my mind. It seemed impossible; I’d gathered enough material for a book about Scott, and more details kept coming in, but I still had no clue about what makes him tick.

When I came out of my reverie, Scott was winding up a speech: “God doesn’t like failure, and mankind, as it stands, is God’s great failure. . . . I want the world to know its hate is returned.”

HEAVEN CAN WAIT

When the service was over, I went upstairs and looked at Scott’s world-renowned collection of Bibles. Some were on metal pages; some had pages as big as a car door. There were a few of Scott’s books for sale, most of them transcripts from his TV sermons. His flock was all around me, looking at the merchandise with wide eyes. What did they see there? What was in it for them?

I didn’t care anymore. I went downstairs and stepped outside. It had rained the day before, and all of a sudden, L.A. was beautiful. It felt good to get away from that dark room and free from God’s Angry Man. I crossed the street to my car and drove through crowded downtown streets, glad as I rarely am to be alive in my own godless world.

 

RETURN TO MEMORIAM

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