Word: gardens
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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...amiably to one audience that his wife Ruth-who teaches Sunday school to hippie-esque students near their Montreat, N.C., home-had tried unsuccessfully to get him to grow a beard. As an innovation, the crusade sponsored an auditorium-sized psychedelic "coffeehouse" in a building a block from the Garden. There, longhaired groups blared "spiritual" rock, minishifted girls sang on a platform, and listeners sipped soft drinks and talked with some of Graham's 1,000 counsellors about religion...
...open in his big left hand as he moves back from the lectern, then up to it again. The message is as sternly fundamental as ever: "God says I command you to repent." Still, something was missing last week as Graham crusaded in Manhattan's new Madison Square Garden. Time and repetition have mellowed the fervor and intensity with which America's most successful evangelist once virtually pried sinners out of their seats to come forward and give themselves to Christ...
Saturation TV. Wisely, the evangelist did not try to compete with his own grueling performance of 1957, when he preached for 16 weeks straight, lost 30 pounds, and set an all-time attendance record (2,397,400) for the old Madison Square Garden. Instead, convinced that "TV is the only way to reach the non-churched," Graham and his team settled for a far smaller in-person crowd (some 200,000) during a ten-day crusade and concentrated on saturation TV coverage: one-hour condensations of the proceedings each night on 17 eastern television stations. He even used closed-circuit...
Either way, audiences saw a man whose magic is perhaps beginning to recede into his method. Part of the trouble may be that he is rusty; Graham himself complained that the ten days in the Garden, however demanding, hardly gave him time to warm up. And part of the trouble may be that he is reaching too far for sophistication. One embarrassing slip suggested how scholarly allusions can misfire. When he mentioned "that great German philosopher, Goethe," Graham mispronounced his name to rhyme with growth...
...embittered horseplayer recently remarked, "If they raced rats and placed Tote machines in Madison Square Garden, they could fill the joint with suckers every night." He was getting at a basic truth about the fascination of gambling. But what clearly eluded him-and what Sam Toperoff conveys with love in this oddly winning novelistic memoir-is the peculiar delight, the exquisite angst that horses (and wagering on them) give a really dedicated race-goer...