Hmmm. Not an auspicious name for a pleasure craft, Falwell allowed, considering where a boat called Monkey Business recently landed Gary Hart. That kind of thing could never happen to the founder of the Moral Majority. "I can't afford the potential downside," Falwell said, "so I won't stop [my car] and pick up a woman on the street, not even a member of our church."
There were others of his breed, alas, who had taken a walk on the downside, and Falwell's week had been a reckoning for that. Jim and Tammy Faye Bakker had appeared on Nightline to accuse Falwell of conspiring to steal their PTL empire while pretending to save it. Falwell had called a news conference to accuse Bakker of enough sins to shame Sodom, including rape, homosexuality and pillage of the PTL treasury. Earlier he had announced that the PTL needed a fast $7 million "miracle," which he later upped to $10 million, in order to survive. The appeal to PTL's already ravaged supporters had an eerie resonance: Would Oral Roberts live or die?
Though the deadline for raising the money is only a day away, those troubled waters seem distant as Falwell relaxes on the handsome boat, docking at his brother-in-law's lakeside retreat. Falwell climbs out, greets some neighborhood kids running around in swim-suits and heads for the family barbecue. "Oh, happy day," he says, piling hamburgers and hot dogs onto a plate. Someone mentions that the Boston Celtics/Detroit Pistons seventh playoff game is on TV in the living room, and Falwell bolts for a seat. "That's kind of spiritual," mumbles Falwell, once a college basketball player and still a fan.
Ironically there may be little in American life these days that isn't more spiritual than the sordid little messes spawned by big-time, big-bucks TV evangelism. The allegations have touched them all. "To speak publicly of things so dirty blemishes everyone nearby, including myself," admits Falwell of his role in bringing down Jim and Tammy Faye. "I've met people who've said, 'I wish you hadn't done that.' We've lost some pastors and friends who are so anti-charismatic [the PTL sect] that my association with PTL for just one hour was fatal in their eyes. They have suggested napalming the place [PTL's Heritage USA theme park in Fort Mill, S.C.]—with the people inside." Falwell shakes his head with regret. "There's nothing meaner than religion without Christ."
Equal parts pastor and politician, Falwell is all business, particularly about cleaning up PTL. He quotes the gospel according to Lee Iacocca right along with scripture. "Only a guy with a lot of guts who is willing to be oblivious to public opinion could have done it," he says of Iacocca's rescue of the Chrysler Corporation, drawing a clear parallel to his efforts with the endangered Bakker empire: "It is a tremendous gamble."
But also a good business bet for a man with much to lose if TV evangelism were to fail—and perhaps much more to gain from PTL should he save it. His Old Time Gospel Hour show, broadcast every Sunday from the Thomas Road Baptist Church in Lynchburg, Va., is watched by more than a million people and pulls in about $50 million a year in donations. The PTL empire has been estimated to have annual revenues of $192 million and a 13 million-home audience for its TV broadcasts. "Nobody in this country is going to let Citibank or Chase Manhattan go down, because if they did the domino effect could bring about [large-scale] bank failure," Falwell says, once again reverting to a business idiom. "That's exactly what would happen in this country if PTL or any other TV ministry completely defaulted. It would cripple us for many years."
Given the wealth of Falwell's Virginia-based ministry, that doesn't seem likely. Though innocent of the Bakkers' rank materialism, Falwell has taken no vow of poverty and is considered a rich man in hometown Lynchburg. He recently received a $1 million advance for his autobiography, tentatively titled Strength for the Journey, and his $100,000 salary from The Old Time Gospel Hour comes with such perks as paid utilities at his house, travel expenses and the ministry's Israeli-made jet. No millionaire would feel the need to apologize for Falwell's 12-room mansion, a walled, fortress-like compound amid a stand of tall oaks on 6½ acres a few minutes from his church. The home even boasts a fish pond, presently unstocked, in the first-floor family room.
By year end Falwell and Macel, his wife of 29 years, will live there alone. Son Jonathan, 20, a free-lance photographer, will soon leave home to study at Dallas Theological Seminary. Jerry Jr., 24, has just graduated from the University of Virginia Law School and lives in Charlottesville. Jeannie, 22, is a student at the Medical College of Virginia. Pointing to Jonathan's fashionable threads and jet-black BMW 635 CSi, his father cracks, "He'd rather have been Bakker's kid than mine." Jonathan says his dad is misunderstood. "People think he's a star," he says. "He thinks he's a local pastor from Lynchburg. When he gets home he grabs a soft drink, a hot dog and goes downstairs and watches a boxing match." Falwell prefers watching sports to playing them, eschews exercise and craves fat, greasy foods. "I guess I'll just wait to have my first heart attack," he says. Then maybe he'll slow down. Meanwhile he shrugs off any stress from handling the PTL crisis, which he says occupies only 25 percent of his time.
It is, however, much on his mind. At 9:15 this Sunday morning, the day after the family outing at Smith Mountain Lake, Falwell is having makeup applied in a small room behind the stage at his church. Soon he will be on nationwide live TV with his religious broadcast. At 9:45 he meets in his study with a TV producer to discuss the telecast. At 9:50 he picks up a phone and dials Jim Nichols of PTL's receipts department. "Just calling to get a little report," Falwell says to the man tallying the results of his plea for that $10 million. He listens for a moment, then says, "That means your weekend mail and tomorrow's mail will be significantly higher than your big day two weeks ago. The $6.8 million will be added to right up to Wednesday morning, won't it?" asks Falwell, wanting late-arriving mail to be included in the fund-raising campaign. "That's tremendous.
"I hope you'll have to work all day and all night," he tells his money counter on this, the last day of the appeal. "God bless you, buddy," Falwell says and hangs up the phone, looking satisfied.
Saved by the Bell Reunion
The hookups, the meltdowns, the memoires
The case reveals what was really going on what they think of each other now!
