"He needed killing." was, as the legend goes, a legal and effective defense in the Deep South for shooting a man.
The "hip pocket move" and the doctrine of "apparent danger," taken together, were the comparable defense in the Wild West Days of Fort Worth, Texas. Fort Worth, in the roaring twenties, was still considered in many ways to be enjoying the "wild west" ways of days gone by. It was certainly true of their legal system. To that synergistic mix, add Fort Worth's eleventh commandment, "Thou Shalt Not Mess With J. Frank Norris" and it's easy to see how a local pastor with the national celebrity similar to that enjoyed in later years by Michael Jackson or O.J. Simpson could be found guilty in the court of public opinion and acquitted by a jury of his peers.
An old adage in the newspaper business was "Never let the truth interfere with a good story." David Stokes, author of Apparent Danger: The Pastor of America's First Megachurch and the Texas Murder Trial of the Decade in the 1920s did not heed that advice, nor did he need to. Another served his needs even better: "The truth is stranger than fiction." With over 6,000 pages of notes and 20 years of research, Stokes needed only to assemble the facts and connect the dots. He did an admirable job and readers will be turning pages from one chapter to the next, often with an irresistible cliff-hanger to lead them on. Stokes also takes advantage of previously written articles, quotes, and notes from private conversations so that little speculation is left as to who said what and when they said it.
Written in a style that seems like fiction and in the voice of an all-knowing narrator, Stokes charms us with the story-telling skills of a Southern Baptist minister. The author's vocation as both a minister and a radio personality begs the comparison with his subject, "It takes one to know one." and he addresses that convincingly by injecting his own opinions about his subject. He sees Norris as an opportunistic showman who used the pulpit as his vehicle, just the opposite of how Norris's fans viewed him.
Suppose a stranger, a big and tall man, stepped into your office with no appointment, threatened you with your life and then walks out as quickly as he entered. You're settling back into your routine at your desk, when the same man bursts back in, moves quickly towards your desk, and makes a "hip pocket move." You produce a revolver and shoot him three times. Is there a better legal recourse than self defense?
Fort Worth's power elite, the "top dogs of the city" met daily at the opulent Fort Worth Club. In July 1926, Mayor H.C. Meacham chaired a "closed door off the record" meeting with more than 30 of the club's most influential members. The subject? What could or should they do about the city's J. Frank Norris problem. They felt the out-of-control preacher was doing great harm to their city. Norris would later refer to this as a deep laid conspiracy. One of the attendees was a big and tall man named D.E. Chipps, who, with Norris, had a mutual appointment with destiny.
The first half of Apparent Danger details the history and rise to power of J. Frank Norris and how he not only became the pastor of Fort Worth's First Baptist Church, but how he used newspaper and radio to become nationally known as "the pastor of America's first megachurch." Norris was an eloquent and persuasive speaker and used his talent to grow the church from several hundred to almost 8,000 loyal fanatics in just a few years. One source referred to Norris's flock as "Baptists on steroids." With contacts such as William Jennings Bryan, FDR, and leading pastors in major cities like New York, J. Frank was building a foundation for himself to become the national leader of the fundamentalist movement at a time when evolution and prohibition dominated the social and political news. And then, D.E. Chipps walked into Norris office and the remainder of the book deals with the Texas murder trial of the decade.