It is difficult and almost impossible to describe the dire conditions, the utter poverty, that existed during the great depression of the 1930’s!
During these years of joblessness the evangelical movement prevalent within the protestant churches throughout this nation were changed forevermore. It is surprising as to how many able bodied men were struck down on their road to Damascus and were then and there called to preach the gospel!
These new converts quickly spread throughout the land with a Bible in one hand and a collection hat in the other. They carried a message of condemnation and began telling a frightened people that the wrath of God would surely bring more pestilence and plague unless they repented and followed their brand of religion.
The fiery sermons of these hellfire and damnation preachers were heard in tents, churches and on street corners.
This movement is still alive and well today. Every Sunday morning you can watch and hear the message, finely tuned and honed to an art form by men building glass cathedrals and monuments to themselves!
This leaves us with uncertainty and doubt and causes us to wonder. Do their followers come to an understanding of a true faith and does God also use the false prophets for his own purposes? After all, He did take one of the most heinous of crimes, the crucifying of an innocent man and turned the deeds of evil men into a thing of utter beauty, the salvation of mankind!
The Reverend Claude came riding up,
Bumming oats for his old mare,
Claiming he’d had word direct from God
And the reason he was there
Was to save us from a burning hell
Of brimstone, fire and ash!
First he’d like a bite to eat
But, he was short of cash!
My Daddy laid his ax aside,
Looked the Reverend in the eye.
"Bread and meat is all we have
And a piece of apple pie."
The Reverend went with Dad to eat
And I fed his aged nag.
Curiosity got the best of me
So, I searched his saddlebags!
Several bottles were stashed away
And all marked "Rock and Rye!"
A nickel plated thirty-eight
Did not escape my eye.
I closed the bag and went to watch
The Reverend, eat his bread and meat.
As I walked in he’d just said "Amen"
As he shuffled both his feet.
The Reverend wore a black serge suit
And a big, red string bow tie.
A flat brimmed, hat with a peacock tail,
And a patch on his left eye!
He carried a limp-backed scripture book
Attached to his left hand.
He had a jock itch springy stride,
Like a wound up rubber band!
He polished off the pie and cream
And said he’d had a call
To hold a revival meeting time
At the Ripshin Meeting Hall!
He brothered this and sistered that
Thee and thou’d with every breath.
Said the sermon he liked best to preach
Was on the midnight hand of death!
My Daddy went with Reverend Claude
To saddle up his mare;
My Mother sighed and then sat down
And I tilted back my chair.
You should have seen her expression change
When I reached for some apple pie.
I merely asked a simple line,
"Mom, what is Rock and Rye?"
"Now those two birds are in for it
If what I’m thinking‘s right.
It’s hard liquor son, old demon rum
And if your Daddy comes back tight,
That bootleg preaching hypocrite
Just may draw his last breath.
He’s about to see, in reality,
The noon day hand of death!
Events were moving right along
When Dad came back from the stall.
Mom was mad as an old wet hen
And he was about to fall.
It was plain as broad daylight,
Dad had got some Rock and Rye,
But that bootleg preacher man was gone
When she threw that apple pie!
It hit my Daddy ‘twixt the eyes
As he came through the door.
He up-chucked a pint of Rock and Rye
And fell upon the floor.
I helped my Mama clean him up
And laid him on the bed.
Later on he moaned and yelled
"Oh God, I wish that I was dead!"
Things calmed down in a day or two
And Dad felt like a louse.
The Reverend Claude was going strong
At the Ripshin Meeting House!
The mourner’s bench was filled each night
‘Til he ran plumb out of breath.
The last night there, he preached his ace
On the midnight hand of death!
I never knew from whence he came
Or where he finally lit.
I only know that he could throw
An emotional gospel fit.
Deliver it in old time style
And with a liquored sin-sin breath
Scare the hell right out of you
With his midnight hand of death!
Now, I can’t say if it was true,
But the rumor spread, no less,
That the Reverend Claude had a love affair,
With the Deacon’s daughter, Bess!
But this I know, for I was there,
When it came love offering time,
That flat brimmed hat was chocked plumb full
And he didn’t miss one dime!
I’ve often thought ‘bout Reverend Claude
With a patch on his left eye.
His nickel plated thirty-eight
And his stash of Rock and Rye!
I thought about the things he said,
No conclusion did I reach,
But a nagging question still remains,
Did God call him to preach?
