remain calm. She had gone over the report so many times that she knew every word by rote memory. She sung softly to herself and only listened to bits and pieces of the story.
Starting twelve years ago with only a few dozen members, the Reverend Ernest Sanders, former member of several white supremacy groups, built the Holy Crusade into a powerful movement encompassing thousands of members throughout the country. Combining what Sanders calls "deep, religious values" and "traditional American rights," the Holy Crusade has been blanketed in controversy from its inception... the IRS has confirmed that neither the Reverend Ernest Sanders nor his wife Dixie have filed income tax returns in twelve years... Reverend Sanders has spent as much as ten thousand dollars a day on himself and several young women during "missionary" trips to Caribbean islands without a single new member of the Holy Crusade to show for it... millions of dollars in Holy Crusade donations missing... the FBI is investigating corruption in the upper ranks of the Reverend Sanders... When the taped portion of the story was finished, the camera swung to pick up the familiar and comforting face of Donald Parker. Sara stopped singing all together.
"We have the Reverend Sanders here in our studio," Parker stated.
"Reverend Sanders, good evening."
Ernest Sanders appeared on a screen, rather than in person.
As on Ted Koppel's Nightline, guests rarely if ever sat in the same room as the interviewers. A toll-free number appeared below his image.
"Good evening, Donald." Sanders voice was pleasant, relaxed.
Sara felt the knot in her stomach tighten. The minister wore a light blue, three-piece suit, an obvious hairpiece, and a gold wedding band.
No watch. No other jewelry. Nothing ostentatious.
His face was gentle, trusting; the face of a dear uncle or friendly neighbor. His bright smile, one of his biggest assets, was firmly set.
"Thank you for joining us."
"Thank you, Mr. Parker." Donald Parker asked the first question.
"You saw the report, Reverend Sanders. Do you have any comments?"
Sanders' face was so damn calm that Sara wanted to scream.
"I am a man of the Lord," he said in a smooth, Southern drawl.
"I understand human desires."
"I'm not sure I follow you, sir."
"It's clear to me and the God-fearing people around the nation what is going on here. I do not think I need to lower myself to Miss. Lowell's level by answering her charges."
"No charges were leveled, Reverend Sanders," Sara broke in, putting her wire-rimmed glasses back on her face.
"Are there facts in the report you would care to dispute?"
"Do not be so sly, Miss. Lowell. I know what you are really after."
"What is that, Reverend Sanders?" He smiled.
"A name for yourself. A quick reputation. What better way than to try to drag the good name of a simple preacher through the mud? A man who preaches the Bible in all its glory, who helps those less fortunate "
"Reverend Sanders," Sara interrupted, "your personal income last year is estimated at over thirteen million dollars, yet you paid no income taxes. Can you explain this?"
The remark did not faze him.
"Unless I'm mistaken, Miss. Lowell, your family is not exactly economically strapped. I seem to recall that your father has a rather spacious mansion of his own. Should his finances be questioned, too?"
"My father declares his income every year," she replied.
"My father can explain where every penny comes from. Can you do the same?"
"Of course," he stated emphatically.
"Your lies and innuendos do not fool God's chosen people. Many have tried to distract the righteous from the path of the Lord, but the Holy Crusade will march on. The Holy Crusade will not allow Satan to succeed."
"Can you address these supposed lies?" Sara asked.
"Can you be more specific?"
Sanders looked up and shook his head.
"Satan uses words to twist goodness and righteousness and make it appear evil," he explained like a school teacher lecturing an
Starting twelve years ago with only a few dozen members, the Reverend Ernest Sanders, former member of several white supremacy groups, built the Holy Crusade into a powerful movement encompassing thousands of members throughout the country. Combining what Sanders calls "deep, religious values" and "traditional American rights," the Holy Crusade has been blanketed in controversy from its inception... the IRS has confirmed that neither the Reverend Ernest Sanders nor his wife Dixie have filed income tax returns in twelve years... Reverend Sanders has spent as much as ten thousand dollars a day on himself and several young women during "missionary" trips to Caribbean islands without a single new member of the Holy Crusade to show for it... millions of dollars in Holy Crusade donations missing... the FBI is investigating corruption in the upper ranks of the Reverend Sanders... When the taped portion of the story was finished, the camera swung to pick up the familiar and comforting face of Donald Parker. Sara stopped singing all together.
"We have the Reverend Sanders here in our studio," Parker stated.
"Reverend Sanders, good evening."
Ernest Sanders appeared on a screen, rather than in person.
As on Ted Koppel's Nightline, guests rarely if ever sat in the same room as the interviewers. A toll-free number appeared below his image.
"Good evening, Donald." Sanders voice was pleasant, relaxed.
Sara felt the knot in her stomach tighten. The minister wore a light blue, three-piece suit, an obvious hairpiece, and a gold wedding band.
No watch. No other jewelry. Nothing ostentatious.
His face was gentle, trusting; the face of a dear uncle or friendly neighbor. His bright smile, one of his biggest assets, was firmly set.
"Thank you for joining us."
"Thank you, Mr. Parker." Donald Parker asked the first question.
"You saw the report, Reverend Sanders. Do you have any comments?"
Sanders' face was so damn calm that Sara wanted to scream.
"I am a man of the Lord," he said in a smooth, Southern drawl.
"I understand human desires."
"I'm not sure I follow you, sir."
"It's clear to me and the God-fearing people around the nation what is going on here. I do not think I need to lower myself to Miss. Lowell's level by answering her charges."
"No charges were leveled, Reverend Sanders," Sara broke in, putting her wire-rimmed glasses back on her face.
"Are there facts in the report you would care to dispute?"
"Do not be so sly, Miss. Lowell. I know what you are really after."
"What is that, Reverend Sanders?" He smiled.
"A name for yourself. A quick reputation. What better way than to try to drag the good name of a simple preacher through the mud? A man who preaches the Bible in all its glory, who helps those less fortunate "
"Reverend Sanders," Sara interrupted, "your personal income last year is estimated at over thirteen million dollars, yet you paid no income taxes. Can you explain this?"
The remark did not faze him.
"Unless I'm mistaken, Miss. Lowell, your family is not exactly economically strapped. I seem to recall that your father has a rather spacious mansion of his own. Should his finances be questioned, too?"
"My father declares his income every year," she replied.
"My father can explain where every penny comes from. Can you do the same?"
"Of course," he stated emphatically.
"Your lies and innuendos do not fool God's chosen people. Many have tried to distract the righteous from the path of the Lord, but the Holy Crusade will march on. The Holy Crusade will not allow Satan to succeed."
"Can you address these supposed lies?" Sara asked.
"Can you be more specific?"
Sanders looked up and shook his head.
"Satan uses words to twist goodness and righteousness and make it appear evil," he explained like a school teacher lecturing an
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