by Jarod Powell
Shortly after that, The Redmonds stopped calling The Fausts as much. The dinner invites became less frequent, then stopped all together. “I didn’t really think anything of it,” Bobby recalls. “I figured I pissed Eric off, but there’s no way he told his parents why. I didn’t really pay attention, to be honest.” His parents brought it up a couple of times, seeming to be confused and a little hurt. The Redmonds starting having dinner with other families, though, and seemed to get on great with them. “The Redmond family—well, really Harold—was a cult of personality. I thought he tried way too hard to be liked. He was selling himself to the town.” Father Redmond also took a job as associate professor at Oak Tree Bluff Community College, where several Hawthorn residents took courses. “A lot of my friends’ older brothers and sisters took his Theology classes. They thought he was the coolest guy, and said they might start coming to church because they liked him as a teacher or wanted a better grade, or whatever,” Bobby said.
So Hawthorn Baptist Chruch’s congregation doubled in size in the first year. Seemingly overnight, Hawthorn was revitalized by the Holy Spirit. Church became the cool thing to do among many teens. The adults in town found a new interest in socializing and fellowship. “There’s less than 600 people in Hawthorn, but before church got big, nobody really knew anyone, unless they were related. That changed a bit.”
Even Bobby got caught up in Redmond-Mania, for a while. “Yeah, I enjoyed going. I became a social butterfly for a hot minute,” he says with a light chuckle. He chalked his first impression of the Redmond family up to his tendency to judge. “When I first meet someone,” Faust told me, “I size ‘em up real closely. I pay attention to what they say, I look for little white lies. Everybody tells ‘em. I know I do. I thought I’d give ‘em another chance.”
Mother’s Day 2010, when Bobby was 18, he was tilling the yard. When he turned toward the dirt road, Eric and his father drove by, caught Bobby’s eye, and stopped. “They pulled up in the drive,” Bobby said. “Eric was rubbing his face, and sweating.” Father Redmond said, “Eric wants to work. Do you think your parents have anything for him to do?” Bobby, of course, thought it was strange, and said no. Redmond then said, “Your parents’ tithe was a little light last month,” and peeled out.
“I don’t know, man,” Bobby said, shaking his head, “That’s just one example of them acting strange. I’ve got a million more for you, but trust me, you don’t have time.”
At school, several of Bobby’s classmates told a similar story of Redmond coming by, asking for money. “We came to the conclusion that he needed money bad, that he was desperate.
“He probably owed drug dealers, or was trying to cover what he lost at the casino before his wife found out,” Bobby says. “We came up with a bunch of stories, like he was in the mob or whatever…we laughed about it.”
He first heard about Father Redmond’s ties to the entertainment industry at a party in Oak Tree Bluff, from a girl who wanted to be a singer. “I told her where I was from, and her eyes lit up,” Bobby says. “She said, ‘oh, I’ve heard about him. Didn’t he discover Brandon Bennett? You should introduce us. I’ll sing gospel music, I don’t give a shit.’”
Bobby laughed at her. “The weird shit about Redmond, it just kept coming, and getting weirder.” When he told his parents what he had heard, they looked at him like he was from another planet. “I doubt Father Redmond has any part in Hollywood,” his father said. He let it go.
The protests started shortly thereafter. It is widely thought that Hawthorn Baptist Church takes part in these protests as a unified front. “Not true,” Bobby says. “At least not initially.”
Harold started corresponding with Shirley Phelps, the spokeswoman for Westboro Baptist Church in Topeka. The only thing is, no one in the church even knew about it. “Father Redmond became like, an honorary member, or something,” Bobby said. “If the congregation knew, they’d never go for it.”
Westboro Baptist Church is, in a way, like an exclusive, but anarchic club. They court media attention, but are often hostile to media outlets, using them to gain exposure but holding journalists and the establishment in contempt. “We are living in a damned world,” Shirley told Channel 4 documentarian Louis Theroux. “You people are all too willing to hurry the process. You’re talking to us because we are a sideshow to you. We’re talking to you because we want the truth to be told.” Westboro Baptist Church names homosexuality, and its increasing tolerance by mainstream society as the main cause for their scorched-earth philosophy.
They are mostly known for carrying hateful signs at military funerals, which say things like “God Hates Fags”, and “Thank God for Dead Soldiers”. Recently, they’ve increased their focus on celebrities, showing up to gay-friendly pop artist Lady GaGa’s concerts in the Midwest, and publicly ridiculing the death of actor Heath Ledger, who starred in the iconic gay film Brokeback Mountain.
But they’re also a family of attorneys, suing anyone who gets in their way by blocking a protest, or harassing or assaulting them. They often win.
”And there’s your answer,” Bobby Faust says. “You want to know why Redmond took up with Westboro? It’s because of one thing. It’s why he does anything. Money.” It seems an odd scam for a man who shuns the spotlight. “Why else do it? He obviously didn’t want the church to know. I think as a con artist, he’s still finding his voice. He doesn’t think things through, but on the other hand, it’s worked out perfectly for him so far. So in a weird way, I think he gets into trouble only to pull himself out of it. Because everybody loves a good redemption story.” He reflects further. “But maybe he was trying to slowly recruit us for that fucked-up ideology. Maybe Hawthorn was supposed to be the next Westboro. I don’t know. Who knows.”
The church did eventually find out about Harold Redmond’s ties to Westboro Baptist Church. One of the ladies in the congregation who volunteered to clean found a form letter from the church, “signed” by Shirley Phelps. Concerned, she passed it around to other members of the church. “My dad was the one who finally called up and said, ‘explain this shit.’ No one else wanted to do it.”
It turned out that Harold was seen by the church as a hanger-on, a sort of groupie. In an official statement to the New Yorker, Shirley Phelps said: “Harold Redmond was allowed to participate in our protests in Springfield, and St. Louis, MO in 2010. We have come to understand that he is a heretic, a fag-enabler and a probable drug addict. He should repent now to get right with God, but he was not, nor will he ever be, a member of Westboro Baptist Church.” Accusations of Harold Redmond being, as Shirley says, a “fag enabler” were not elaborated on.
The Sunday after Bobby’s father confronted Redmond, he addressed it before the Sermon. Bobby remembers Redmond that morning. He was sweaty and jittery. “Hopped up on something,” he says.
“It is true that I have made contact, and participated in, protests with Westboro Baptist Church,” Redmond read from a piece of paper as soon as he got to the pulpit. The congregation was silent. “I do not agree with everything they do, but we—our congregation—and Westboro, have one thing in common: As God’s people, we are under attack by Satan’s Spell.”
“I couldn’t tell you what everyone else was thinking, but my eyes were rolling. Hard,” Bobby said. “He was doing a lot of talking without really saying anything. He kept going on and on about how he was God’s warrior, we all were warriors, and we were under attack. I was thinking, okay, that’s great, but what does that have to do with what you’re supposed to be addressing?” He did say something substantial that morning, however. He said he intended to keep protesting, but funerals of any kind were off-limits. Instead, they would protest the usual: Abortion clinics, picket lines. They would also protest events that came to nearby Springfield for concerts and conferences. “I expected him to come to church with his hat in his hand,” Bobby said. “He was caught, after all. But instead, he upped the ante.
“I think some people in church had a problem with it.
But, it’s such a tight-knit community, they didn’t say anything. Hawthorn Baptist lost a few members, but maybe some people felt they were outnumbered. I don’t know, but he was allowed to continue. If I had any say whatsoever, he would have been fired,” Bobby said.
That June, a list was pinned to the bulletin board in the foyer. “Join us for the protest at Black Oak Mountain Ampitheatre!” There was no description of what they were protesting, or a date. Still, there were almost twenty signatures. “I recognized some of them as Freshmen—kids in my class. Some younger,” Bobby said. “I wanted to ask them what they were thinking, protesting something they didn’t even know about. I didn’t, but I should have.” It turned out to be for a rap concert. “Just silly,” Bobby said.
The allure of being part of something is powerful for small-town kids. In July, Redmond announced in Sunday Service that he was offering pro=life education courses for teenagers at Oak Tree Bluff Community College, one evening a week. The cost: $100 for 13 courses.
“My mom thought it was a good idea, but my dad didn’t really trust Redmond at that point,” Bobby said. In fact, Mary Faust seemed to be taken, if not smitten, by Father Redmond. “She really stuck up for him. When he came to town, until I left, I think she spoke to my father more than she had my entire life up to that point,” Bobby said. “Usually something in reference to Redmond.”
One of those kids, I’ll call him Jay, told me that it was much more than a pro-life course. It didn’t take long—the first class, in fact—for Redmond to enter into a discussion about sex. Jay was uncomfortable, but the town’s parents didn’t seem to mind. “I think they were relieved, in a way,” Jay said. “I don’t think many of us had ‘the talk’ with our parents. Our town is real conservative like that.” The course went on at full speed, but less and less was it about abortion, or even birth control. Jay says that the most frequent topic of conversation was masturbation.
His explanation was pretty simple, and seemingly sensible. When a student brought up the fact that Redmond’s pro-life course has spun into a course about masturbation, Redmond explained that unwanted pregnancies start with sexual thoughts, and that in order to prevent teen pregnancy, sometimes the sin is worth it. “It was one of those things, like when a parent says, ‘I don’t want you to drink, but if you’re going to do it, do it in the house’. It was a mixed crowd. I just kind of thought he was a dirty old man.” Some students felt the same way: According to Jay, half of the students dropped out by week two.
Despite Redmond’s odd behavior and philosophies, he seemed popular. For many weeks, his family dined with all of the families in Hawthorn. “He seemed to only have dinner and cookouts with families with kids,” Bobby Faust told me. “Eric didn’t really have any friends. I’m sure he just wanted him to socialize, because I think his weirdness embarrassed Father Redmond.” Eric did gain some friends, Bobby says. “Drug friends,” he says. “There’s no two ways about it—Eric Redmond probably got several kids in town hooked on meth. All the kids in town knew he was on it, but the parents seemed oblivious, for whatever reason.”
One person in town who grew increasingly weary of Redmond was Bobby’s father. “He always said that he thought Redmond could be a good salesman. That was his polite way of saying that he was full of shit,” Bobby said. “I picked up on his bad vibes right away. I was relieved my dad eventually did too.” He had a reason to distrust Redmond: That Summer, re=election was coming up. Up until that point, Faust ran unopposed. Redmond announced in church that he was running for the seat. “A few people gasped,” Bobby said, laughing. “My dad had no reaction. He even shook Redmond’s hand after church and wished him luck. I could tell he was fuming, though.”
Starting the next week, you couldn’t drive down the main street in Hawthorn without seeing a “Harold Redmond for Mayor” sign in someone’s yard. Bobby said that his father often drove past and said through a tense grin, “my reign is over.” Redmond started calling the Faust household once again. At first, Bobby’s father was incredulous and ignored the calls, but eventually they had them over for dinner. “He didn’t want any bad blood,” Bobby says. Over dinner, Redmond offered Mr. Faust a position in his “administration”. “I could tell it was all my dad could do to not fall over laughing,” Bobby told me. “Redmond acted like he was being elected president.” After a few seconds of silence, Mr. Faust inquired further. Redmond said, “We have an opportunity to make a difference in this town. We have more young people in this town than ever.” Faust’s response to this was, “what kind of salary are we talking about?” There was no salary, so Faust said he’d consider it, but never brought it up again.
Instead, he appointed Bobby’s mother Mary as a “youth ethics commissioner.” Since most children in Hawthorn filtered through the Baptist church, this basically meant she was a youth pastor, teaching Wednesday night class, and reporting to Redmond. “She took it way too seriously,” Bobby says. “We often asked her what was in her little ‘reports’ but she’d never tell us. The bottom line she would have done anything [Redmond] asked of her.” Her husband didn’t mind. In fact, he was glad she had something to occupy her time. “This was a real job,” Bobby says. “It’s not something she ever had before. I mean, she got paid and everything. That seemed a little off—he wasn’t prepared to pay my father for a similar job, but it gave her self-worth. So [my father and I] saw it as a good thing.” She and Redmond spent a lot of time together, and her behavior changed. She started injecting her opinions into the household conversations, something she never did. She started getting her hair done, and wore makeup for the first time since before Bobby was born. “Even I knew they were having an affair,” Bobby said. “It was so obvious that it was comical.” However, his father ignored it. “He was being cuckolded. I think he just didn’t know what to do. This was a city-folks problem, so it went under the rug.”
Darrin’s mother died Winter 2010. Not many women showed up to the funeral. “She had an affair with Redmond, and she had an affair with the pastor before him,” Bobby says. Half of the women in Hawthorn were probably sleeping with Redmond, he claimed. Many families were tense because of this, though to his knowledge, none of the affairs were ever brought to light.
Bobby and I took the Amtrak from New York to St. Louis, Missouri to do interviews with local media. Bobby said he doesn’t like to fly, and only does when necessary. “I don’t know why I don’t,” he says. “Flying’s not any more dangerous than driving, and I fucking love that.” He is logical to a fault. How could one not be obsessed with reason after escaping Hawthorn Baptist Church? But Bobby’s fear of flying tells us more about him than he realizes. He maybe be fearless, but it’s his caution that might actually allow him to succeed in single-handedly dismantling a church that is built on a foundation of fear mongering, emotional abuse, and psychological terrorism.
MR. BLACK MASSACRES THE PLANET
In the Springtime several years ago, Daryl McAdams did a bad thing. He had enjoyed a record of hung juries and wrist-slaps until that point, riding high on a masterfully hidden petty crime spree. He did a lot of bad things under the influence of frantically pinging hormones.
He sold bad shit, and sold himself in the city. He did vandalism biz, like spray-painting dicks on mailbox lids. He couldn’t drive due to epilepsy or whatever, and so out of anger he’d pass the time on school bus rides by throwing pebbles out of his window, onto passing cars' windshields.
He didn’t know what it felt like to be exposed. He never had to deal with guilt. He thought sometimes that he’d want to get caught so he’d stop doing all that shit. It was fun but he couldn’t keep it up forever. Selling cock to old lonely women (and the occasional man, if he felt sorry for him or if he was harmless, or if he was willing to pay more) expired at around age 21, probably. Supply and demand, you know.
So anyway, he had been so careful in covering his tracks, and no one talked about it outside their homes, because who exactly in Hawthorn wanted to be known as the cunt who buys d
rugs, or cock, from a kid? Many did, and many knew who did, but that doesn’t matter because no one brought it to anyone else’s attention.
Most of all, church members knew. Daddy Redmond was a customer, the old decepticon fart, I know he was for a fact. He was before Daryl squirted out, and he was after Daryl blasted off. Some people in town said Daddy got Daryl on the shit and showed him what to do. I got mine for free.
Sometimes it seemed the entire town was into the 417. People you wouldn’t expect, though if you lived in Hawthorn long enough you’d just expect everyone to be. It was in the water, and in the trees. Night owls pollinated; spread it around. A town of zombies, like that was in the script all along. We should be quarantined like The Krazies.
Daryl’s brother Kenneth was a bagwhore for sure. He’d get spun out and go all Frankenstein on your house. And he’d kill somebody over it.
I don’t think Daryl ever was a true tweaker. He seemed to be on a mission to destroy the town and get everybody on dope, or maybe I just justify it because he’s my friend. Sometimes you’d run him at Cue n’ Brew, trolling around for newbs and notice that his eyes patterned a furious squint-and-release, in rhythm with his voice inflections and that he couldn’t keep still. Then other times you’d see him there and he’d be real angry and agitated and sweaty, like he was coming off of it, but at school and everywhere else he was chill.