Where There Was Blood

Beyond the pale of theology and over the boundaries of sects lies Herrin, Ill.-- and is glad to be there. A man walked out of the town last week, and all Herrin shook hands with itself in delight--not that he had gone, but that he had come. For the man who went away was an evangelist, and Herrin had got religion.

He was a little ex-newspaperman from down Mississippi way. He himself was converted only two and one-half years ago by Gypsy Smith Jr. Said he:

"I have thought it right to go out in the world and sell Christ to others. I am a salesman of Christ and a salesman must know his goods. Here in Herrin, during the last few weeks, hundreds who have hated one another, dozens who have been drunkards and adulterers, scores who have been bootleggers and pistol-toters, crapshooters and booze hounds have hit the trail. . . .

"Humanly speaking, I would not dare to try to place the blame for Herrin on any individual or organization. It was simply that sin was here and had to be eradicated before the town could be cleaned up. There is only one antidote for sin. That is Christ."

What he said about the gun-toters was literally true. Many of the most notorious got up and "weeping like babes," foreswore their holsters. The sheriff's right-hand man was among the converts. The sheriff himself attended, but did not hit the trail. On the last day, the evangelist called on the 5,000 in the tabernacle to acknowledge the sheriff as the symbol of the Law. Several hundred including men who had a mortal feud with him rushed up and shook the sheriff's hand.

The most vivid account of the event was from one who saw it as Herrin saw it--the editor of The Herrin News.

His editorial:

When it comes to giving credit for the pioneer work of guiding us back to normal ushering in the era of good feeling which always follows a social and political upheaval such as has been ours, the name of Howard S. Williams, the little layman-editor-evangelist from Mississippi, will come in for big mention. . . . History will characterize him as the man who persuaded God back to Herrin. That's a mighty strong statement to utter, but not a bit sacrilegious. For if God was anywhere about when we were grabbing at one another's throats a few months ago we don't know where He was hiding.

Modern History does not reveal a community so completely Godforsaken as was Herrin and Williamson County before Williams came. This was a wilderness of hate, a veritable jungle of jealousy. God might have been in His Heaven all the time, but no one was pointing to Him there, and it was not at all well with the world we lived in here; neither was it safe, as 10 widows and some 20 orphans now bear witness. A man on the streets the other day put it well in his rough observation when he remarked, "That fellow Williams would go to Hell to save a soul." And we think that he would almost risk his life in the task.

Practically every business house in the city for the last six weeks has been closing up from 11:30 to 12 o'clock noon for the mid-day prayer meetings, many of which were held in the principal places of business. In the very room where S. Glenn Young and Deputy Sheriff Ora Thomas staged their final and fatal battle hangs from a coat rack on the spot where Young fell a big poster advertising the Williams meetings. And this historical little cigar store, which is known all over the land by the many pictures published of it, opened its doors at noon along with many other places for a noontime prayer meeting.

The preachers of Herrin cooperated splendidly, save just one, Rev. Story, pastor of the Christian Church. His excuse was that his people had concluded not to join in. However, most all of them attended the meetings regularly and his own family came often. Every other minister in the entire county was in the meeting giving assistance from time to time.

Williams has handed us an accurate compass, and, believing in the brotherhood of man, the fatherhood of God and with that compass pointed to the star of Bethlehem. . . .