Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: MONDAY, August 15, 1994 TAG: 9408150068
SECTION: VIRGINIA PAGE: C1 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: WARREN FISKE
DATELINE: LENGTH: Medium
But people flock to these churches on Sunday. When the doors open, hymns fill the air - voices rising to the heavens from the red clay and pines.
It is a pristine setting where people come to forget about workday worries and rejoice in fellowship and prayer. Douglas Wilder was aware of that two Sundays ago when he visited seven black churches to ask for votes in this fall's U.S. Senate race.
Wilder, who acknowledges that he is not a regular at his own African Baptist church in Richmond, was almost apologetic about entering these chapels in midservice. He assured the tiny congregations that his presence was not politically inspired.
"We never campaign on Sundays," he said. "We only go to church. I'll do my politicking tomorrow on and on."
No one was buying that line, not that it really mattered. The pastor at New Bethel Baptist Church in Prince Edward County gave Wilder a good-natured scolding. "You came here a few years ago when you were running for governor," he said, "but you never came back after you were elected."
Wilder grinned like an errant altar boy. "Let me say something, and you can write it down," he told the congregation. "As U.S. senator, I will come back here and visit you."
On this fine day, Wilder silenced his biting campaign rhetoric. He didn't need it; he was preaching to the choir. "I'm not going to ask you for your vote," he said from each pulpit. "You know what to do."
Heads turned as Wilder entered each chapel, and eyes followed his every step to the pulpit. The pastors introduced him as living proof that black children can become anything they dream.
"His story stands in our midst," said the Rev. James H. Taylor of Race Street Baptist Church in Farmville. "I thank God for him, for his integrity, for his shining example, for the great things he has done and the great things he has yet to do."
Sometimes Wilder left after speaking to the congregation, explaining he had another church to visit. Sometimes he stayed to the end of the service and was swarmed by the congregations. Wilder signed scores of autographs, posed for snapshots and made a special point of telling wide-eyed children that they're smart.
Never is Wilder as gracious, as energized, as completely confident, as he is in black churches. His favorite campaign story comes from one such visit in 1991. A young boy stared at him and exclaimed, "Doug Wilder? I thought you were dead!"
"Why?" asked Wilder.
"Because they taught us about you in school."
As the afternoon sun beat down two Sundays ago, Wilder's pulpit talks grew longer and more impassioned and took on a decidedly evangelical tone.
"It's an amazing thing today, when we worry more about killing each other than we do about the Ku Klux Klan," he told the brethren at Merry Seat Baptist Church in Prince William County.
"That's right," murmured a lady in the second pew.
"Something is wrong in our society when young people feel they have no recourse from harm."
"Yes, indeed."
"Young people don't pilot the planes that fly drugs into this country. Young people don't make the television shows that show people getting killed or even the cartoons with people getting their heads cut off."
"I hear you."
"Something is wrong when Oliver North campaigns with bodyguards and asks a judge if he can carry a concealed weapon."
"Yes."
"I don't carry bodyguards with me. There's only one guard that I need."
"Amen."
These are, indeed, friendly environs for Doug Wilder.
Keywords:
POLITICS
by CNB