Boys in Gilded Cages (15 page)

Though he had no disciplinary problems, he
had extreme trouble concentrating. “I probably have ADD,” he says.
“Or a learning disability. I can’t read for longer than five
minutes without needing a beer.” His much older half-brother,
Jonathon, was a model student. “Jon was always cool to me. He was
in high school when I was in first grade, and he would help me with
my homework. But he was gone most of my life.” He came back to
Hawthorn to teach high school, but it wasn’t much of a reunion. “I
left almost as soon as he came back. I just heard he died, like
three weeks ago. Meth,” Bobby said, unemotional. “Thing is, I left
sophomore year, and he ended up teaching sophomores, in my worst
subject—math.”

Bobby might have had attention problems, but
he had a hyper-focus when it came to art. “Time would go by, man,”
he said, “hours. I’d start drawing at 3:30, and I’d look at the
clock and it’d be 3:30 again, and dark outside, and I wouldn’t
remember the Sun going down.” He’d sleep all day in class, sleeping
through every day for weeks at a time. Somehow, he managed to pass
every class, but barely.

His eighth grade final report card reflected
a 1.0 average. His parents decided to home-school him for a short
period. “Probably the dumbest thing my parents could have done,”
Bobby says. “I learned nothing. My dad worked weird, long shifts,
and my mom was passive. I just took advantage of her soft nature
like you wouldn’t believe.” The next quarter, he was back in public
school.

This was about the time Harold Redmond came
to town, and church became a bigger focus of the Faust household.
“Not just us, the whole town,” Bobby said. “I found it annoying,
because all of the sudden I was expected to show up twice a week,
no exceptions.”

Harold Redmond was new, young blood. He had
a politician’s charisma, a swirly Tennessee drawl, and the allure
of a big-city outsider. “He was kind of a…big topic of conversation
among the women, you could say,” Bobby said. “He took advantage of
that, I’m sure.”

Bobby was unimpressed. “I thought he was
full of shit from the beginning,” he said. “Hate to say I told ya’
so, Hawthorn. I called it.” He saw his town quickly following
Redmond’s lead. When Redmond preached about the evils of rock
music, all CD’s were closely monitored by parents. When Redmond
told horror stories about drugs, several parents removed the doors
off the hinges of their children’s rooms. “My parents didn’t care
enough to do that,” Bobby said. “I was the most boring kid
ever…kind of a screw up, but no delinquent.”

Bobby wasn’t keen on the Redmond family.
Harold Redmond struck Bobby as a charlatan. But the other two
members of the Redmond household had some strange idiosyncrasies.
Mary, Harold’s wife, was seen by some of Bobby’s classmates talking
to herself in her car when picking Eric up. “I never saw it, but I
believe it,” Bobby said. “She was a strange woman.” Mary wore
strange clothes, which were strangely patterned in day-glo colors,
and appeared to be hand-knitted. Then there was the son, Eric. “He
was a tweaker, plain and simple,” Bobby said. “I don’t know how his
parents didn’t know. Maybe they did and just ignored it.” What was
really strange about Eric’s drug use, is that he didn’t hang out
with the burn-outs at first, yet seemed to always be high. “I don’t
know where he got the shit. Eventually, he took up with Darrin, as
drug people always find other drug people. But as for where he got
the shit when they first came into town, I have no clue. He was a
complete hermit. I am sure he never left the house for the first
two months. But at school, he was always a mess.”

Being a couple years older than Eric, Bobby
had limited experience with him—that is, until the Redmond and
Faust family started mingling.

“
Our parents became
friends, so we were expected to hang out,” Bobby said. “And I don’t
want to bash Eric too much, because I feel bad for the kid and I
don’t want to embarrass him.”

“
One thing I can say about
him, is that he seemed to really hate his father. So his compass
wasn’t completely fucked.” Bobby says that almost every time Eric
and Bobby hung out, Eric dropped subtle hints about drug use. “I
eventually just told him, ‘Hey, dude, I’m not into that. What you
do is none of my business, but I don’t touch that shit.’ He wasn’t
as keen to be friends after that.”

Shortly after that, The Redmonds stopped
calling The Fausts as much. The dinner invites became less
frequent, then stopped all together. “I didn’t really think
anything of it,” Bobby recalls. “I figured I pissed Eric off, but
there’s no way he told his parents why. I didn’t really pay
attention, to be honest.” His parents brought it up a couple of
times, seeming to be confused and a little hurt. The Redmonds
starting having dinner with other families, though, and seemed to
get on great with them. “The Redmond family—well, really Harold—was
a cult of personality. I thought he tried way too hard to be liked.
He was selling himself to the town.” Father Redmond also took a job
as associate professor at Oak Tree Bluff Community College, where
several Hawthorn residents took courses. “A lot of my friends’
older brothers and sisters took his Theology classes. They thought
he was the coolest guy, and said they might start coming to church
because they liked him as a teacher or wanted a better grade, or
whatever,” Bobby said.

So Hawthorn Baptist Chruch’s congregation
doubled in size in the first year. Seemingly overnight, Hawthorn
was revitalized by the Holy Spirit. Church became the cool thing to
do among many teens. The adults in town found a new interest in
socializing and fellowship. “There’s less than 600 people in
Hawthorn, but before church got big, nobody really knew anyone,
unless they were related. That changed a bit.”

Even Bobby got caught up in Redmond-Mania,
for a while. “Yeah, I enjoyed going. I became a social butterfly
for a hot minute,” he says with a light chuckle. He chalked his
first impression of the Redmond family up to his tendency to judge.
“When I first meet someone,” Faust told me, “I size ‘em up real
closely. I pay attention to what they say, I look for little white
lies. Everybody tells ‘em. I know I do. I thought I’d give ‘em
another chance.”

Mother’s Day 2010, when Bobby was 18, he was
tilling the yard. When he turned toward the dirt road, Eric and his
father drove by, caught Bobby’s eye, and stopped. “They pulled up
in the drive,” Bobby said. “Eric was rubbing his face, and
sweating.” Father Redmond said, “Eric wants to work. Do you think
your parents have anything for him to do?” Bobby, of course,
thought it was strange, and said no. Redmond then said, “Your
parents’ tithe was a little light last month,” and peeled out.

“
I don’t know, man,” Bobby
said, shaking his head, “That’s just one example of them acting
strange. I’ve got a million more for you, but trust me, you don’t
have time.”

At school, several of Bobby’s classmates
told a similar story of Redmond coming by, asking for money. “We
came to the conclusion that he needed money bad, that he was
desperate.

“
He probably owed drug
dealers, or was trying to cover what he lost at the casino before
his wife found out,” Bobby says. “We came up with a bunch of
stories, like he was in the mob or whatever…we laughed about
it.”

He first heard about Father Redmond’s ties
to the entertainment industry at a party in Oak Tree Bluff, from a
girl who wanted to be a singer. “I told her where I was from, and
her eyes lit up,” Bobby says. “She said, ‘oh, I’ve heard about him.
Didn’t he discover Brandon Bennett? You should introduce us. I’ll
sing gospel music, I don’t give a shit.’”

Bobby laughed at her. “The weird shit about
Redmond, it just kept coming, and getting weirder.” When he told
his parents what he had heard, they looked at him like he was from
another planet. “I doubt Father Redmond has any part in Hollywood,”
his father said. He let it go.

The protests started shortly thereafter. It
is widely thought that Hawthorn Baptist Church takes part in these
protests as a unified front. “Not true,” Bobby says. “At least not
initially.”

Harold started corresponding with Shirley
Phelps, the spokeswoman for Westboro Baptist Church in Topeka. The
only thing is, no one in the church even knew about it. “Father
Redmond became like, an honorary member, or something,” Bobby said.
“If the congregation knew, they’d never go for it.”

Westboro Baptist Church is, in a way, like
an exclusive, but anarchic club. They court media attention, but
are often hostile to media outlets, using them to gain exposure but
holding journalists and the establishment in contempt. “We are
living in a damned world,” Shirley told Channel 4 documentarian
Louis Theroux. “You people are all too willing to hurry the
process. You’re talking to us because we are a sideshow to you.
We’re talking to you because we want the truth to be told.”
Westboro Baptist Church names homosexuality, and its increasing
tolerance by mainstream society as the main cause for their
scorched-earth philosophy.

They are mostly known for
carrying hateful signs at military funerals, which say things like
“God Hates Fags”, and “Thank God for Dead Soldiers”. Recently,
they’ve increased their focus on celebrities, showing up to
gay-friendly pop artist Lady GaGa’s concerts in the Midwest, and
publicly ridiculing the death of actor Heath Ledger, who starred in
the iconic gay film
Brokeback
Mountain
.

But they’re also a family of attorneys,
suing anyone who gets in their way by blocking a protest, or
harassing or assaulting them. They often win.

”
And there’s your answer,”
Bobby Faust says. “You want to know why Redmond took up with
Westboro? It’s because of one thing. It’s why he does anything.
Money.” It seems an odd scam for a man who shuns the spotlight.
“Why else do it? He obviously didn’t want the church to know. I
think as a con artist, he’s still finding his voice. He doesn’t
think things through, but on the other hand, it’s worked out
perfectly for him so far. So in a weird way, I think he gets into
trouble only to pull himself out of it. Because everybody loves a
good redemption story.” He reflects further. “But maybe he was
trying to slowly recruit us for that fucked-up ideology. Maybe
Hawthorn was supposed to be the next Westboro. I don’t know. Who
knows.”

The church did eventually find out about
Harold Redmond’s ties to Westboro Baptist Church. One of the ladies
in the congregation who volunteered to clean found a form letter
from the church, “signed” by Shirley Phelps. Concerned, she passed
it around to other members of the church. “My dad was the one who
finally called up and said, ‘explain this shit.’ No one else wanted
to do it.”

It turned out that Harold was seen by the
church as a hanger-on, a sort of groupie. In an official statement
to the New Yorker, Shirley Phelps said: “Harold Redmond was allowed
to participate in our protests in Springfield, and St. Louis, MO in
2010. We have come to understand that he is a heretic, a
fag-enabler and a probable drug addict. He should repent now to get
right with God, but he was not, nor will he ever be, a member of
Westboro Baptist Church.” Accusations of Harold Redmond being, as
Shirley says, a “fag enabler” were not elaborated on.

The Sunday after Bobby’s father confronted
Redmond, he addressed it before the Sermon. Bobby remembers Redmond
that morning. He was sweaty and jittery. “Hopped up on something,”
he says.

“
It is true that I have
made contact, and participated in, protests with Westboro Baptist
Church,” Redmond read from a piece of paper as soon as he got to
the pulpit. The congregation was silent. “I do not agree with
everything they do, but we—our congregation—and Westboro, have one
thing in common: As God’s people, we are under attack by Satan’s
Spell.”

“
I couldn’t tell you what
everyone else was thinking, but my eyes were rolling. Hard,” Bobby
said. “He was doing a lot of talking without really saying
anything. He kept going on and on about how he was God’s warrior,
we all were warriors, and we were under attack. I was thinking,
okay, that’s great, but what does that have to do with what you’re
supposed to be addressing?” He did say something substantial that
morning, however. He said he intended to keep protesting, but
funerals of any kind were off-limits. Instead, they would protest
the usual: Abortion clinics, picket lines. They would also protest
events that came to nearby Springfield for concerts and
conferences. “I expected him to come to church with his hat in his
hand,” Bobby said. “He was caught, after all. But instead, he upped
the ante.

“
I think some people in
church had a problem with it. But, it’s such a tight-knit
community, they didn’t say anything. Hawthorn Baptist lost a few
members, but maybe some people felt they were outnumbered. I don’t
know, but he was allowed to continue. If I had any say whatsoever,
he would have been fired,” Bobby said.

That June, a list was pinned to the bulletin
board in the foyer. “Join us for the protest at Black Oak Mountain
Ampitheatre!” There was no description of what they were
protesting, or a date. Still, there were almost twenty signatures.
“I recognized some of them as Freshmen—kids in my class. Some
younger,” Bobby said. “I wanted to ask them what they were
thinking, protesting something they didn’t even know about. I
didn’t, but I should have.” It turned out to be for a rap concert.
“Just silly,” Bobby said.

The allure of being part of something is
powerful for small-town kids. In July, Redmond announced in Sunday
Service that he was offering pro=life education courses for
teenagers at Oak Tree Bluff Community College, one evening a week.
The cost: $100 for 13 courses.