Expert Advice Is Sought—and Ignored

Obviously, the plan could not work. Even Popoff knew it was impossible. He had consulted Jamie Ali, a local expert on the subject of balloons, and was told that he was out of his mind even to dream of such a scheme. Regardless of the absurdity of the idea, Popoff purchased 300 ordinary party balloons and two small tanks of helium. All of those balloons together would barely have lifted one legitimate Bible.

High-Powered Mail

That woman in Chicago will never recover her money, nor will Mrs. A in Canada or the tens of thousands like her who gave all they had—and more. Perhaps they should be grateful that Popoff didn’t ask for their lives, too. But they had been bombarded with ardent pleas for money, and we should examine that fact. On the following pages you will find one of Popoff’s begging letters addressed to one of my colleagues. The original was printed on what appeared to be pages torn out of a notebook. The same letter was addressed to all the people on the mailing list, but each person’s first and last name was dropped in by computer. The top part of the first page was computer-typed, the only way this “drop-in” process can be done. You will see part of the first page of a second letter addressed to another of my colleagues, placed behind the first letter. As you may notice, the computer-generated names are different, in the salutation and in the fifth line. (With a female correspondent, the term “Sister” would be inserted by the computer at appropriate spots.) Popoff gave the impression that he was overcome with emotion and had to cease typing two lines into the second paragraph, changing over to handwriting. From that point on, both letters are identical, being offset-printed in blue ink to simulate handwriting. That portion of the letter could not have been personalized because it was not typed. Read the letter through to know on what a low level the evangelists attack their subjects.

10

Oral Roberts and the City of Faith

Granville Oral Roberts is a 69-year-old evangelist/healer who never studied theology, though he attended a few college courses. He started with the Pentecostal Holiness church and is now affiliated with the Methodists, has been in the preacher business for more than 40 years, and is the guiding power behind the Oral Roberts Evangelistic Association, headquartered in Tulsa, Oklahoma. It is a $500-million conglomerate that has become a major part of that city’s economy. It consists of Oral Roberts University, the City of Faith Hospital, and the City of Faith Medical and Research Center, a 60-story clinic, a 30-story hospital, and a 20-story research center at the corner of 81st Street and Lewis Avenue, augmented by several advertising, insurance, recording, and real-estate companies, a nursing home, a retirement center, a day-care center, some office condominiums, and considerable shares in several banks. The association employs more than 2,800 people. Citizens of Tulsa are understandably quite happy about the city’s biggest single tourist attraction, the City of Faith complex, with its collection of Disneyesque buildings. It has proved to be a powerful money magnet that attracts more than 200,000 visitors a year. They usually stay overnight and spend an average of $125 each for food, lodging, and entertainment before they depart. Few locals would want to see the Roberts operation fold, because many of their jobs depend upon its success. The university was opened in 1965. An expensive experiment, the dental school, was forced to close in 1986; the law school, which also failed, was literally given to fellow evangelist/healer Pat Robertson. Oral’s son, another evangelist healer named Richard Roberts, has repeatedly denied that financial problems had anything to do with the dental school’s closing, the law school give-away, or his father’s constant begging for money. Insiders know otherwise. In fact, Oral himself has made that fact clear in his sermons. Richard should have paid better attention.