That's good! That's bad!

For fun with your toddler read Margery Cuyler’s picture book, That’s Good! That’s Bad! in which a little boy is snatched by a wind from his parents. Bad, right? No, good: He lands safely on a hippo’s back. Good, right? Not so fast: Ten noisy baboons chase him up a tree. Bad, right? Nope, the baboons turn out to be friendly. Good, right? … Well, you get the idea.

For the same kind of adventure in adult nonfiction, I give you David Wilkerson’s 1962 The Cross and the Switchblade about the founding of Teen Challenge. Here is the story at warp speed:

Young Pastor Wilkerson of a country parish in Philipsburg, Pa., had a Late Show TV watching habit, but started wondering what would happen if he spent from 12 to 2 a.m. in prayer instead of before the tube. One night while praying, he was drawn to a Life magazine sketch of seven boys on trial for murder in New York City. He wept. He told the congregation he wanted to go, but had no money. They sat stone-faced but gave him gas fare.

Wilkerson found himself driving down the Pennsylvania Turnpike but feeling a bit foolish. (That’s bad.) He opened the Bible at random and found Psalm 125:5-6, and was encouraged. (That’s good.) He phoned the prosecutor’s office, but they didn’t give him the time of day. (That’s bad.) Once in New York he made his way to the D.A.’s office and learned of the trial’s location. (That’s good.) At the trial he cried out to the judge, and two guards grabbed him and newspaper photographers snapped pictures of him holding his Bible. The chided crusader drove home wondering how he would live this down. (That’s bad.)

The chided crusader drove home wondering how he would live this down.

The Philipsburg church forgave Wilkerson. But a preposterous idea entered his head: “Go back to New York.” The stony-faced farmers took up another collection, and Wilkerson drove back to New York and just parked and walked. He heard, “Hey, Davie! Preacher!” from six teens who recognized his picture from the papers; they brought him to their gang. (That’s good.) He was still determined to meet the boys on trial, but he would need signatures from each parent. The crumpled Life article in his pocket had one name on it, gang leader Luis Alvarez, so he broke a $5 bill at a candy store and started dialing every Alvarez in the phone directory. People hung up. (That’s bad.)

Wilkerson drove aimlessly, got lost in Central Park, and ended up accidentally parking in front of Alvarez’s house in Spanish Harlem, where an old man upstairs was praying the rosary and provided Wilkerson’s first signed permission. (That’s good.) But the man knew none of the other addresses. (That’s bad.) Dejectedly descending the stairs, Wilkerson encountered Angelo Morales, who did have the other addresses. In two hours they copped every other signature. (That’s good.)

But then a pastor, of all people, sabotaged success by crossing out the jailed boys’ own consent forms agreeing to talk to Wilkerson. Stymied, Wilkerson headed back over the George Washington Bridge. An impulse to detour to Scranton to see Granddad put new wind in his sails, and the older pastor spoke of the heart of the gospel as transformation and suggested God might have a bigger vision than the trial defendants.

Revived, Wilkerson spent days pounding the pavement of Brooklyn’s Bedford-Stuyvesant, and decided to preach on a street corner. He drew a crowd but got hauled off to the police station. (That’s bad.) When he later returned to the spot, he had street cred with the gangs, and the “Chaplain” leaders knelt and asked Jesus into their lives. (That’s very good.)

Music wafting from a tenement window led Wilkerson to a Spanish house congregation where they had been praying for him since they read about him in the papers. They dreamed of a big teen rally at the St. Nicholas Arena. A lawyer put up money and they advertised. The first four nights bombed: a hundred souls in a 7,000-capacity hall. (That’s bad.)

The fifth night the Mau Maus came loaded for bear. Wilkerson got the idea to let them take up the collection. They could have grabbed the money and run. They were stunned as Wilkerson preached about the new life. The kingdom of Satan began collapsing.

And that was very, very good.

Email aseupeterson@wng.org