"Hear the word of the Lord, ye rulers of New York; give ear unto the law of our God, ye people of New York." The words were the prophet Isaiah's—about Sodom and Gomorrah—but the voice was the Southern smoothness of Billy Graham coming over the 18 loudspeakers in Manhattan's Madison Square Garden. The voice beat upon more than 18,000 people —seekers and servers of the Lord as well as the merely curious—and it etched itself upon the sliding ribbons of the tape recorders set up by radiomen. The evangelist of the mid-century set out last week on his toughest "crusade"—to bring salvation to New York's 8,000,000 sinners.
Campaign's Head. If the heart of the crusade is Madison Square Garden, its head is a seven-room suite in Times Square where 35 permanent staff members, 30 temporary employees and more than 200 volunteer clerical workers control a hectically complex organism. Automatic typewriters clack out letters appealing for prayer; duplicating machines roll out instructions and memorandums. On wall maps of New York, the U.S. and the world, red, blue and green pins and tapes spot churches (1,510 in Greater New York) and prayer groups supporting the campaign. Staff members: 1) channel the activities of 108,415 "prayer partners" in the U.S.; 2) keep tab on 158,817 prayer partners in 48 other countries; 3) ride herd on the "active" cooperating ministers, the "partial-supporting" ministers and the "undecided" ministers; 4) process applications for blocks of seats ("Lancaster, Pa. wants 2,000").
Long before the crusade began, the personal counseling staff signed up 4,000 applicants in eleven centers throughout the city for a nine-week course in Scripture, how to apply Bible lessons, how to handle people's problems. (Among the carefully drawn-up list of traits that disqualify applicants for counseling posts: "inability to communicate," argumentative or surly attitude, unkempt appearance, halitosis.) Of the applicants, 3,800 stuck the course to the end. 2,143 qualified as counselors, 350 were held in reserve. The counselors are Evangelist Graham's shock troops.
Campaign's Heart. New Yorkers who came to the Garden for the beginning of the crusade last week—many in buses chartered by their own church organizations—had several surprises. First was the strange sensation of walking into the Garden without a ticket and, even stranger, being directed to a seat by a polite, quiet-voiced usher who seemed to know the difference between a shepherd and a sheepherder. Second was the clear air of the Garden's interior without its usual blue haze of cigarette smoke; hot-dog stands throughout the building were cigaretteless for the duration, and strips of cardboard covered the signs that normally announce "BEER" (a checkroom was converted to a Bible shop). Third surprise was the crowd itself: quiet, well-dressed, all ages—there was nothing to distinguish it from the audience at the Radio City Music Hall.