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Jan. 28, 2005 Back in the 60's, in Chicago, on 63rd Street near Cottage Grove Avenue, stood a two-story red brick building with a store front and a large basement. The sign above the entrance read, "Temple of Divine and Ancient Wisdom". If you peered in through the plate glass window in front, you'd see a room set up like a typical little store, a big L-shaped showcase around the back and the left side and another smaller showcase on the right side placed so as to form an aisle to the curtained entrance to a back room. This was the domain of Reverend Decoy, who styled himself the Prophet. He conducted services in the back room, which was outfitted with a canopied platform something like a makeshift altar, a couple of tables and perhaps 50 card chairs. I had two acquaintances at the time, whose names were Jerry and Bernard. Jerry was a young black freelance writer and Bernard was a young Algerian French immigrant derelict. My connection with the Prophet, Jerry and Bernard was that in those days I did take a puff or two, and the Prophet was the contact. The Prophet was also black, very tall, erect and impressive- looking, always robed, with a commanding manner. In his basement, the Prophet dealt marijuana and perhaps other controlled substances, and there he maintained a workshop, which is where Jerry worked part-time. Jerry's job was to make amulets and charms for the Prophet. I recall watching him one evening as he cut up copper sheets into lozenges about two inches tall. On each lozenge, he would carve a sign of the Zodiac with an electrical engraver, punching a hole near the top and buffing the finished product to remove burrs. Threading a charm on a strip of rawhide, he'd produce a pendant. When he had a supply of pendants made, the Prophet would bless them, chanting some hocus- pocus that he found in some book or invented himself. Then they would go into one of the showcases on the first floor. He also had incense, religious and astrological tracts, and other mystical paraphernalia for sale. As for the marijuana, he boasted that he sold so much that he would walk down 63rd Street carrying his haul in a laundry bag, with a bottle of Linco as a decoy. He also told fortunes and gave consultations, with a clientele of mostly Black and Jewish ladies. He was always putting on histrionics. He told us he went into Sears and asked a saleslady for beeswax candles. She came out with paraffin candles without admitting it, whereupon he said, "Madam, those are paraffin candles." She was amazed, "How did you know that?" He replied curtly, "Madam, you are speaking to a mystic," as he turned on his heels and strode off, with his robes fluttering. One night I was there when services were about to begin. I sat in the audience in the back room on the first floor with a congregation of about 50, mostly elderly black women. After he delivered a sermon and said some prayers, he said he was going to perform a levitation by using some sort of breathing ritual from Yoga, as I recall. Looking around among the faithful, he saw me and asked me to come lie on the table before the altar. He and another large muscular black man were at my ankles, while skinny little Bernard and some feeble old black lady were at my shoulders. Each of the four of them would place two fingers under my body, and after they had breathed in rhythm for a few minutes and chanted some mantras, I was supposed to rise into the air. I was trying to be cooperative. I wasn't even scoffing. Still it was soon obvious that I wasn't going anywhere. The Prophet remarked that it would be necessary for them to circle around me once or twice. I noticed though, that when they finished circling, the two large men were at my shoulders, while Bernard and the old lady were at my ankles. The second time, I felt a good deal more pressure from the fingers, but still I didn't come up off the table. The Prophet rationalized to the assembly that there were evil spirits in the place, but that nevertheless, he had "felt a certain lightness". If I would return for several meetings they would undoubtedly be able to levitate me eventually. The elderly ladies all seemed to be nodding in approval as he spoke, almost as if he had actually made me rise. Before I had a chance to attend any more meetings though, the good Lord called the Prophet to California. Translation: The Prophet had finally made enough money to get the heck out of the frozen metropolis at the south end of Lake Michigan. ------------ About the author Thomas Keyes: I have written two books: A SOJOURN IN ASIA (non-fiction) and A TALE OF UNG (fiction), neither published so far. I have studied languages for years and traveled extensively on five continents. Email: udikeyes@yahoo.com Tell a friend about this site! ------------ All articles are EXCLUSIVE to Useless-Knowledge.com and are not allowed to be posted on other websites. ARTICLE THIEVES WILL BE PROSECUTED! |
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