Through the streets of Manhattan's dusky Harlem last week trundled a procession of black noise and magnificence, led by a sleek touring car on whose back perched a fattish, blinking, middle-aged Negro in a brown tweed suit whose peculiarity is that he recognizes himself as God. Behind Major J. ("Father") Divine rode a squadron of his women cultists straddling big brewery horses. Humbler worshipers followed in cars, trucks and afoot, in a line that stretched back through the hot streets almost a mile. "PEACE IS WONDERFUL!" shouted bright placards. "PEACE! PEACE!" Occasion...
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