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On a beautiful Sunday afternoon on Sheep Meadow in Central Park, George F. Mallon offered 43,900 of his most active supporters (a police count) free hot dogs, free beer, an appearance by the governor of California, a rising star, and three nationally televised electronic clergymen, plus a massing of 219 tubas for a concert of patriotic airs. The massed tubas had been brought in from “the first planned Christian family resort in America,” the $150-million-dollar complex at My Birthright, USA, a religiously motivated real estate development George Mallon’s vision had fostered. What a vision it had been! It had 2,760 employees and a payroll of $30 million in testament to the Power of the Word of the Lord.

The happy crowd had been assembled mainly through the cooperation of participating television ministries in Greater New York, in New Jersey, Connecticut, and Long Island, and by busing in members of Identity, the Posse Comitatus, the Klan, and the Christian Defense League from the Midwest and the South. All were strong adherents of George F. Mallon’s for devout religious reasons—and because he had pointed out to them that if they donated their possessions to any Electronic Church they could avoid taxes and that, in that event, the church would own their weapons so they could not be prosecuted on any charges of illegal possession of firearms. They were all as white as Wayne, the John Wayne who had done so much to build the American fortress-mentality—and who had watered the desert for Christian television worship and the assorted crazies who supported it.

The candidate told the sea of Christian faces before him, and the audience of 138 people who were watching at home on television, “The city is rotten to its core. Gambling, prostitution, narcotics, labor racketeering, extortion, and massive corruption are rampant in our daily lives, conducted in an evil partnership with the Jewish administration of this city—by its elected black officers and the Catholic hoodlum chiefs of organized crime.”

He paused dramatically. He spoke slowly and clearly and his voice roared out over the speakers, which had been placed in trees or on poles throughout the crowd and, most particularly, in the seated media section beside the dais. “Tomorrow evening at seven o’clock I will have in my hands the name of the Mafia hit man hired by the mayor of this city to eliminate Vito Daspisa, the gangster who was murdered five weeks ago in a police stakeout in the borough of Brooklyn. This man, whose name I will announce tomorrow evening from the pulpit of the three local television network outlets in this city, is now a fugitive who broke and ran because my investigation had reached the point of bringing him to justice. Brutal killer though he was, this man was only a tool of the mayor of this city and its police department. The mayor of the City of New York ordered the killing of Vito Daspisa. I repeat—the mayor of the City of New York, protecting his narcotics empire, ordered the death of this man. I shall make specific and formal charges on the airwaves tomorrow night, when justice will be done and the voters of this city can make their choice. Until then, God save you from the Commies, the Jews, the blacks, and the Catholics—and God bless you.”

He dropped his head to his chest and his arms to his sides. The enormous crowd cheered wildly, and slowly, across the vast meadow, thousands of voices, backed by the massed tubas, began to take up the hymn “Onward Christian Hustlers.” Thousands of people looked around nervously, waiting for the collection to start, but no collection was made. The handouts had explained this anomaly: those who wished points toward their eternal salvation could send their checks directly to My Birthright, USA, the George F. Mallon Meaning.