Tammy: Telling It My Way
by
Tammy Faye Messner


This book is dedicated to my daughter, Tammy Sue, and my son, Jamie
Charles Bakker.  I love you, my precious children.  I am sorry you both
had to grow up so fast.

Copyright i) 1996 by T. F. Messner All rights reserved under
International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.  Published in the
United States by Villard Books, a division of Random House, Inc."  New
York, and simultaneously in Canada by Random House of Canada Limited,
Toronto.

VILLARD BOOKS is a registered trademark of Random House, Inc.

Grateful acknowledgment is given for permission to reprint portions of
Robert Gray Jr."s sermon that appear on pages 225-27.

Library of Con ess Cataloging-in-Publication Data Messner, Tammy Faye.
Tammy: telling it my way / Tammy Faye Messner p.

cm.

ISBN 0-679-44515-3

1. Messner, Tammy Faye, 1942- .  2. Christian biogaphy-United States.

3. Bakker, Jim, 1940- .  I. Title.

BR1725.M43A3 1996

269'.2'092--dc20

[B] 96-17274

Random House website address: http://www.random house.  com Printed in
the United States of America on acid-free paper 2 4 6 8 9 7 5 3 First
Edition I want to acknowledge above all the Lord Jesus Christ.  He has
been my everything, through the good times and the bad times.  Anything
I am or ever hope to be, I owe it all to Him.

I respectfully acknowledge three women in my life: my mother, who
brought me into the world, for her love and kindness to me; my
grandmother, who taught me that no matter what happens in life, "Pick
yourself up by your bootstraps and keep on going"; and my Aunt Gin
tVirginia), who taught me how to be a lady and the importance of making
my own decisions.

I want to acknowledge my many girlfriends who have been there for me
through thick and thin.  Thank you for believing in me.  I wish that I
could name each one of you, but I would feel terrible if I left out one
name.  You know who you are.  Thank you, from the bottom of my heart,
for being my support system.

I acknowledge my wonderful husband, Roe Messner, who gave me the
courage to live again.  He taught me that yesterday is gone, all we
have for certain is today, and tomorrow is in the hands of God.  He has
taught me the importance of stopping for a moment every day to smell
the roses.  Thank you, sweetheart!

I acknowledge Tammy Sue Bakker Chapman and Jay Charles Bakker.  You
make my life worth living.

The phone rang.  It was my friend Deb Keener, who is like a sister to
me.

"Tam, quick, turn on Channel 6. Jim just got out of prison.

Hurry!"  My heart was beating so fast I could hardly catch my breath as
I ran to the television and nervously tried to find the right
channel.

After five long years, the day I had prayed for had finally arrived.

Tears streamed down my face as I sat there watching the man I had been
married to for over thirty years being escorted by our children, Jamie
and Tammy Sue.  I was so happy for him, happy in knowing that when he
walked out those prison doors, he freed not only himself but our whole
family.  He looked good!

Jamie and Tammy Sue were so protective of him as the news media shouted
their never-ending questions.  But I felt guilty as I watched.  Mom
should be there, too.  I knew that that's what everyone was thinking.

This is the story of Jim Bakker and Tammy Faye L'Valley Bakker, better
known as Jim and Tammy.  It is the story of two people who set out to
win the world to Jesus.  You will follow them as they help to build
America's first Christian TV network.  You will go behind the scenes as
victories turn to despair.  You will share life with my two children,
whose only wish was to live normal lives.  But how can you be normal
when people are watching you, wanting your autograph, pinching your
cheeks, and wanting to take your picture when you are trying to play
with your friends?

You will see what love can accomplish, but you will also see friends
turn into enemies and enemies become friends.  You will witness power,
greed, and jealousy.

I did not want to write this book.  I felt I had to--for the sake of my
children and grandchildren and the millions of PTL partners who put
their faith in Jim and Tammy.  I have no axes to grind; I do not want
to destroy anyone.  I have no reason to lie.  However, the truth is the
truth.  And I do not sugarcoat it.

I take full responsibility for any part I played in the eventual
downfall and destruction of our beautiful Heritage USA and the PTzL
ministry that occupied it.

Millions of dollars have been made by people who write tell-all
books.

The news media told and retold the Jim and Tammy story over and over.

I have seen Jim Bakker marched across television screens time and time
again, handcuffed, his feet bound in shackles.  The rag magazines have
done their part in sensationalizing their "sources say" stories.  And
the American JustLce TV series has written history their way.  Now it's
my turn.

I hope that in writing this book I can somehow change people's
perceptions.  I was there.  I lived it every day.  I knew all the
participants.  I was married to Jim Bakker.  I've heard it said that
there are two sides to every story.  I want to tell my side.

And then allow you to be the judge.

I was born on March 7, 1942.  My mom almost didn't make it to the
hospital on time, as we were in the middle of a huge snowstorm.

Welcome to International Falls, Minnesota.  My name was supposed to be
Sandra Kay--if I was a girl, that is.  In those days you didn't know if
you were having a boy or a girl.  I think it was much more exciting
that way.  I don't know what name Mom had chosen if I had been a boy.

She told me I came out kicking and screaming.  And the thing she
remembered most about me was that I had such beautifully shaped
fingernails.  She said it looked like I had been to the manicurist.

I was the first grandchild, so of course everyone thought I was the
most wonderful baby that had ever been born.  In fact, my Grandma
Fairchild is the reason this book is not titled Sandra Kay: Telling It
My Way.  The day I was born she heard the name "Tamara" on a radio
broadcast.  It belonged to a Russian ballerina.  She loved the name and
convinced Mom to change Sandra Kay to Tamara Faye.  I often wonder if
my life would have been different as Sandra rather than Tammy.

Probably not.

Only a few months after World War II ended, my mother, Rachel, divorced
my father, Carl L'Valley.  I was only three years old at the time, and
I have no memory of what he looked like.  A few years later my mom
married Fred Grover, a wonderful man who had lost his wife to cancer,
after which she became Rachel Minnie Fairchild Grover.  But as far as I
was concerned my stepfather was my real daddy, accepting me without
question as his own daughter.

But out where we lived, in the tiny rural community of International
Falls, Minnesota, being divorced was a dreadful and unforgivable sin;

ours was a deeply religious township with a population of barely six
thousand.  Most of the people in my mother's church--the Assemblies of
God--were heartless to her because of her divorce, mean and
vindictive.

It was as if a big scarlet D had been branded across her forehead.

I remember one night, when I was still quite young, a group of them
came over to confront her.  As soon as they started knocking, Mom sent
all the kids upstairs and told us to shut our doors.  But I kept mine
open just a crack and listened.  But open or closed, it wouldn't have
made a difference.  You could have heard them through solid stone.

"Please, please, just allow me to play the piano in church when the
regular pianist can't be there," my mom was begging them.

"It's better than no music at all.  I just want to help.  It's foolish
to do without a pianist when I could so easily fill in for him.  At
least for Sunday service."

"Rachel, you will never play piano in our church.  You have sinned a
terrible sin."

"God gave me a gift.  Why shouldn't I be able to use it for Him?  All I
want to do is use the gift the Lord gave me."

"If you really believed in the Lord, you wouldn't have gotten a
divorce!  I don't see how you can hold your head up.  You are an
embarrassment to our church."

"You know I had to do what I did.  Another woman was having Carl's
baby.  What else could I do?  He said he was in love with her.  I
couldn't stay married to a man who doesn't love me."

"Rachel, there's only one explanation.  You must have driven Carl
away.

That's the real reason--face it!  Not one of our husbands would ever
dream of leaving us for another woman!"  And on and on it went.  I
heard my mother pleading with them, but the delegation offered her no
comfort, no compassion, no forgiveness; they said she deserved
everything she got.  Any hardship she was going through, any emotional
problems .. . well, that's too bad, because that's what happens when
you commit such a terrible crime against our faith.

"And your children, Rachel.  You've given them such a heavy burden in
the eyes of the Lord.

To know their mother is a sinner and that she's going straight to--"
"But that's not right!  God is love.  God is not cruel.  Please
don't--" I heard the door slam.  The house was completely still, except
for the forlorn sounds of my mother's sobs.  The intolerance of those
women made me so furious!  I knew how good my mother's heart was, that
she would never hurt a soul, and I swore I wasn't going to be ashamed
of her--no matter what anyone said about her or my real father.

I ran down the stairs and threw my arms around her.

"Mom, I love you, I love you, I think you're wonderful just the way you
are.  Don't let anyone say anything bad about you!"  And my mother just
hugged me, wiping away my tears as her own streamed down her weary
face.

What made it even more heartbreaking was that my mother was the finest
singer and piano player you ever heard, always right on key and so
pretty to listen to.  As the years passed I came to realize these women
were simply jealous of my mother's incredible talent.

Despite my mother's troubles with the church, we were still a very
religious family, mostly because my mother wasn't going to allow what
anyone said or did to interfere with her love of God.  Therefore the
church was really the focal point of our lives.  During special
gatherings or holidays you would find her in the church kitchen
preparing dishes.  She was always chock full of creative ideas and
resources--the ultimate organizer.  Our family was like the Brady Bunch
on TV, except there were four boys and four girls.  Two of us, Donny
and me, came from my mother's first marriage; the other six children,
Larry, Judy, Danny, Johnny, Debbie, and Ruth, belonged to my
stepfather.  I was the oldest of the bunch and, as such, had to work
extra hard in helping Mom raise the kids, consistently taking on loads
of additional responsibilities.

I always washed the dishes.  I was the one who took care of my brothers
and sisters when Mom was busy doing a hundred different things.  I took
them to the playground; I did anything I could to entertain them and
keep them out of Mom's hair for a little while.  I was really like
their second mother.

I used to try to help Mom with the washing.  Washing in those days was
quite a chore and took all day.  Two days a week Mom would heat up
water on the stove and then pour the hot water into an old wringer
washing machine she would push into the middle of the kitchen.  With
eight children, you can just imagine the mounds of dirty clothes there
were to be washed every week.  She would separate them into piles of
white and dark, washing the white things first.  I could help her do
that part.

But she would not allow me to get anywhere near the wringer that you
used to squeeze the water out of the clothes after they had been rinsed
in a big tub of cold water.  After the clothes were run through the
wringer, they were ready to be put in a big laundry basket and taken
outside.

The next step was the clothesline.  I can still see Mom in I.= i,
twenty-below weather hanging clothes on that line, her mouth full of
clothespins, her hands so cold she could hardly move them.  I was too
small to reach the clothesline, so I couldn't help her.  And I don't
know what good it did to even hang up those clothes in the middle of
those cold winter days.  They would freeze and be as stiff as boards.

When Mom finally brought them back into the house and they thawed out,
they still weren't dry, and we would have to hang them all over the
living room to finish drying.  Afterward, I would spend hours ironing
them for Mom.  I was good at ironing and enjoyed the task.  As hard as
winter was on our family it was also a time of immense pleasure.  For
this was the season Daddy would go out in the snowy backyard and clear
a big circle.  Then he would pile snow all around that circle, take out
the garden hose, and spray water to make us our own ice-skating rink'
Many times the weather was so freezing cold that you could go skating
in less than an hour.  So thanks to my dad, we were able to ice-skate
to our hearts' content all winter long.

Also in the backyard was the outhouse, the outdoor bathroom we had to
use rain or shine, year-round.  Take it from me: On those cold wintry
days in Minnesota when it used to hit twenty or thirty below zero, with
the wind howling around outside and shooting right through the wooden
slats, you didn't want to linger too long while doing whatever you were
doing.

Whenever Halloween would roll around, my brothers would roam the
neighborhood searching for outhouses that were occupied.  When they
found some poor, unsuspecting person relieving himself, they would push
the outhouse over.  Then they'd hightail it out of there at top speed,
laughing their heads off hysterically as they jumped over bushes and
fences.

In our house we also had an upstairs bathroom--of sorts.  Actually, it
was a pail with a cover that the younger kids used when the weather was
really awful.  Once I remember my mom shouting up the stairs, "I want
one of you boys to empty that potty this minute!

It's practically overflowing!"  It was my brothers' chore to empty the
pail regularly, but nobody would be the first to volunteer.  You can
imagine why!

Anyhow, the boys quickly huddled together to decide who was going to
lug that disgusting thing down.

"As the oldest," proclaimed my brother Donny, "I elect Larry."  But
Larry didn't exactly relish the opportunity.

"It makes me nauseous!  Since I'm older than Danny, I elect him."

"That's not fair!"  protested Danny.

"I did it last time."  Instantly all eyes focused on Johnny, the
youngest brother.

"No, not me," he said in his squeaky voice.

"I'm not strong enough."

"The decision's been made," announced Donny.

"The three of us elect you.  And majority rules!"

Well, I could hear the pail scraping along the floor, and I peeked out
of my room.  Johnny was making a valiant effort, but halfway down the
stairs he lost his footing and the pail went tumbling down the steps,
its contents splattering all over the place.  It landed at my mom's
feet.

"Johnny!"  she shouted.

"Who made you carry that all by yourself?"

"I was elected by the majority."

That's when my mother really hit the roof.

"This whole house is completely stunk up!"  In a panic she ran over to
the extra clothes closet under the stairs and threw open the door.  The
putrid mess had seeped in there as well.

"I'm going to have to wash out everything all over again!"

Then she slammed the door and marched up the stairs.  By this time the
boys were all cowering in the corner.

"Donny!  Larry!  Dannyl Get yourselves over here this instant Suffice
it to say, each one of my brothers got a good licking.

We never had trouble finding a volunteer to empty that bucket again!

Besides not having a gas range or appliances like a clothes washer and
dryer, we also didn't have a refrigerator.  Accordingly the iceman
would come calling on a regular basis, pulling out immense blocks of
ice from the back of his truck with these huge menacing pincers and
then carrying them straight into our icebox.  I can still picture us
kids during those scorching summer days of July and August, chasing
down the block after that broken-down truck, scooping up all the broken
chunks of ice that fell to the ground and greedily sucking on them to
cool off.

The night we most looked forward to was Saturday, because that was the
only time during the week when we got to take a real bath.  We soaked
ourselves in a great big galvanized tub that Daddy had gotten down at
the paper mill where he worked.  What a contraption!  That thing must
have weighed at least seventy-five pounds and was kept hanging outside
in the garage.  Daddy would hoist it up and then sling it over his
back.  Bent down under the load, he would struggle to haul it inside
without giving himself a hernia; meanwhile, Mom would be outside
pumping water from the well.  As I recall, it would take more than two
hours just to heat up enough water to fill that rusty old tub.

Naturally, the cleanest kid would go first; I have to admit that was
always me.  Everybody else would have to wait their turn.  But to make
the night really special, Mom would always set a large pot of fudge
boiling on the stove.  After our baths, each of us would receive a big
piece of that delicious fudge.  When we were all toweled dry and
tuckered out, she would take us upstairs and then sing us softly to
sleep.  I'll never forget her sweet voice.  It was like hearing a
lullaby from an angel.

In the early 1950s there were no shopping malls, no video games, no
cineplexes with sixteen different movies playing at the same time, so
you had to create your own form of happiness.

Back then owning a TV was beyond the means of most folks we knew.  And
even if someone did have one, they probably didn't get any kind of
reception, since I don't think there was a television station located
anywhere near us.  Due to this our entire home life was centered around
the radio, our link to what was happening in the outside world.  Many a
night we sat around and listened to the Grand Ole Opry.

I loved the Grand Ole Opry.  It made me fantasize about singing
professionally, maybe even on the radio someday, but I didn't believe
that I would ever make it.  For one thing, I never thought I was good
enough, and for another, I just assumed I'd never get the opportunity,
stuck all the way out in International Falls, right in the middle of
northern Minnesota.  After my mom divorced my real dad, he married the
woman he had gotten pregnant, and eventually they had eight more
children.  I found out when I was about eight that he was living only a
few blocks away from us.  I always used to hear about my brother Donny
going to see Carl, but I was afraid to visit him myself.  And deep
inside I was hurt that he never came over to see me.

As I grew older, people began telling me what a nice man Carl was.  My
Aunt Gin, Mom's sister, told me that I would have loved my real
daddy.

She said that because Carl was dyslexic, he could never learn to read
or write.  Carl drove a truck, one of those big rigs that carried
freight and crisscrossed the country.  He was often away for long
periods of time.  The more I heard about him, the more I thought he was
truly a remarkable man.  Unfortunately he just loved women too much.

My mother had gotten divorced once, and many times it seemed like she
might get divorced twice, because her second marriage was difficult as
well.  The truth was, Fred liked to drink and smoke, and my mother
couldn't stand that.  She couldn't tolerate alcohol and couldn't abide
cigarettes.  So Dad was always forced to smoke outside, even if it was
twenty degrees below zero.

All the kids used to peek through the window and laugh at Daddy
struggling to puff away while the winds whipped around something
fierce.  Dad smoked Camels or Lucky Strikes all his life.

Also, because Mom really believed in the church teachings, she didn't
want her kids to see their daddy drinking.  But my father's drinking
never affected me.  I never saw him what you would call drunk.

Probably because I just didn't recognize the signs at the time.  To me,
he was always just happy.

I remember one time Daddy came in a little tipsy, and I could see Mom
getting real red in the face.

"Fred, you've been drinking again.  I can tell it by your breath.  What
have I told you about drinking?"

"But, Rachel, I just had a couple of beers.  All the guys were just
having a couple of beers.  I didn't think it would hurt nothing."

"I've told you a thousand times, I don't want you coming home drunk
around these kids."

"Look, I got a headache.  I'm getting some aspirins."  And with that he
started straight up the stairs--but tripped and fell to one knee.

"Fred, you're falling-down drunk.  It's disgusting.  You can't even
make it up the stairs."

"What do you mean I can't make it up the stairs?  Who are you to tell
me I can't make it up the stairs?"

"I'm just trying to protect my children.  I don't want my children to
ever see--" "Well, they're my children too.  You think I don't protect
my children?"

"I've told you time and time again," my mother said, pointing an
accusing finger at him.

"Don't come home from the mill if you're going to come home drunk."

"Hey, when you start paying the bills around here, maybe that's when
you can start telling me what to do.  If you don't want me here, I'll
just leave!  You hear me, Rachel!  I'll just leave!!"

"Then just leave," she screamed.

"I'm not holding you here!"

Down at the mill--the paper mill down by the river--they constantly
gambled and smoked and drank, so Dad didn't see anything wrong with
it.

Those kind of activities went with the territory--and besides, none of
the other wives made a fuss over it, so what was the big deal?

Sometimes when they would start arguing I would run upstairs and shut
the bedroom door, burying myself beneath the sheets.  Then I would
press my hands over my ears.

But I could still hear my daddy's voice booming through the house.

"If you don't want me around, I'll just leave!"  And then I would hear
the door slam--that sound was like a knife through my heart.  And all I
could do was just cry and cry, drowning in a pool of tears.

I'd get way down on my knees, clasp my hands together, and pray.

"Oh please, God, oh please, dear Lord, please don't let my daddy leave
my mom."  Because if he left and she couldn't support us, then I didn't
know what might happen.  I was terrified that all my sisters and
brothers would somehow be separated from one another.  But I wasn't
going to let anybody take them away from me, not even one.

Small wonder I took on so many extra chores around the ho usc anything
to make it easier for my mother.  Maybe if I just did a few more
things, that would take the pressure off their marriage.  Small wonder
that early on I became a true caretaker, trained to fix things but
still too young to know there are some things that can't be repaired.

My mother's life turned out very different from the way she thought it
would.  When she was just a young girl, she had been called by God to
the mission field in Africa.  She wanted to go and help care for the
children in orphanagess_ and minister to the needs of the suffering.
And she probably would have, had she not met my real father and fallen
in love.  At first my mother practically worshiped him, so much so that
she married outside her religion, since my real daddy was Roman
Catholic and she was Pentecostal.  But in this case love didn't wind up
conquering all.  My mother didn't understand his religion, and he
probably didn't understand her beliefs either.  It's my theory that Mom
had so many disappointments in life that she decided to become a
perfectionist.  If she couldn't bring the word of God to the people in
Africa, then she--and everyone else around her-would lead a perfect
Christian life at home.

Therefore I don't think it was Fred she was screaming at as much as the
whole situation.  It was no doubt a cry for help.  How did I get into
this?  What happened?  What went wrong?  She probably felt that she was
digging a hole deeper and deeper and that she couldn't get out, that
there was no hope for her dreams to come true.  Here she was, so cute,
so intelligent, and so very charismatic, with so much love and beauty
to give the world.  I guess she ended up realizing that she was just
going to have to give it all to her children.

We were very poor, but I never considered us as being poor when I was
growing up.  I mean, that was just the way it was.  You accepted life
because you didn't know any other kind of existence.  None of us kids
could have our own rooms.  All the boys had to sleep together; all the
sisters shared a room.  Four kids were crammed into a single small bed,
something which most people today can't even begin to imagine.  Most
upsetting was when one of the young ones would wet the bed, because
then we'd all have to get up and change the sheets in the middle of the
night.

One day I came home from school and Mom was sitting in the rocking
chair holding one of the babies.

"Tammy Faye, I have something to show you.  Come upstairs with me."  As
she carried the infant with her, we walked up to the second floor.

Upstairs there were three rooms: two bedrooms and a storage room.

Therefore nothing looked unusual as we stepped into the bedroom where
the four boys slept.  But then Mom walked around the boys' bed and
opened the door to the storage room.

"Here's your new bedroom," she said.

"It's all yours, honey!"  Standing there I was just awestruck.

This had to be a dream.

I walked into the most beautiful room I have ever seen.  The walls were
all freshly painted white.  Over the open window were beautiful white
curtains softly blowing in the breeze.  From somewhere Mom had found an
extra bed and placed upon it a beautiful white bedspread.  A little
white rug lay on the floor, and against one wall was a small dresser
with a mirror.  And to my surprise I even had my own closet!

I couldn't believe my eyes!  I thought I had died and gone to heaven.

I nearly hugged my mom to death, I was so happy.  My very own room, my
very own bed, my very own closet--and a door I could shut.  From then
on, I sat in that room every hour of every day when I was not at school
or helping Mom.  Someone had given me a little plastic angel, and I
hung it on the wall over my bed.  It gathered the light during the day
and then glowed a pretty blue all night long.  I fell asleep every
night dreamily looking up at that darling little angel.

The older I got, the prettier my room got.  One day my dad brought home
from the mill rolls and rolls of paper, the kind you wrap gifts with.

As soon as I saw it, a wondrous idea struck me, wallpaper!  The entire
night I spent unrolling that paper and sticking it on the walls of my
bedroom with straight pins.  When I was finished, I had the loveliest
wallpaper in the world, pale white with little pink flowers.  I was so
proud of myself.

As you can see, even from my earliest years, I learned to make do with
very little because we never really had that much.

But no matter how tight the household budget, Mom was always a
wonderful cook.  She had the great knack of being able to make
something from nothing, knowing how to combine foods and season
vegetables so that they tasted positively scrumptious.  One of the
dishes all the kids simply loved was hamburger and onions fried
together; Mom would add whole-kernel corn and serve it with mashed
potatoes.  I still fix that today.  During the summer my father would
bring home these huge cylinders of canvas from which he'd construct a
giant Indian tepee in the backyard, usually towering over ten feet
tall.  When he finished, all eight of us would scamper inside and sit
there all afternoon long--even though many times it was over 100
degrees outside.  We would bang on paint cans, smear mud all over our
faces, and then go on the warpath, as long as that path didn't cut
through Mom's lilac bushes.

My mother's lilac bushes practically surrounded the house.  In fact
there were so many of them that in the early summer our whole place
virtually smelled of lilacs, as if we were living inside some giant
bottle of perfume.  Also blossoming in the backyard were crab apple
trees, which had been producing fresh fruit for generations.  In the
fall, Mom would gather those crab apples and can them to make her own
sweet jelly, placing the jars way up in the cupboard.  She canned all
the fruits and vegetables in the garden, but I especially loved when
she was busy canning tomatoes.  It was the most delicious aroma you
could possibly imagine.

There was a tremendous maple tree whose branches covered our entire
backyard.  From my window during the summer I could reach out and touch
the branches.  At night I would sit watching the leaves sway in the
breeze as the moon lit up the whole backyard, eerily casting shadows
this way and that.  In wintertime the snow was often piled over two
feet high.  Everything seemed like a dream captured in a magic crystal,
an enchanted fairyland ringed by icicles and created just for me.

Small wonder Christmas was the most special time of the year at our
house.  Mom would create for us an entire village on the dining-room
table, a marvelous collection of miniature houses with tiny lights
inside.  She used cotton for snow and mirrors for an ice-skating rink.
Then she had all kinds of little people dressed up in winter clothes
with tiny earmuffs and mittens.  Some had on ice skates, and she placed
them inside the rink, as if they were racing around doing figure
eights.  The finishing touches were a pocket-sized Christmas tree and
minuscule deer.  Mom would then switch off all the lights in the room
except for the ones in the tiny houses.  For hours we kids would just
sit and gaze at the little wonderland she created, fantasizing that we
were living there.

We had a big old Model A Ford.  Every year Daddy would paint it a
different color, each one worse than the one before.  One time it was
this deep army green.  The year after that he painted the Ford bright
red.  You'd swear that car belonged to the fire department.  Before
starting the car, he'd always say, "Giddyup there, Joe.  Come on, now,
let's go!"  We kids loved hearing Daddy talk to that old car.  He was
so funny, and kept us laughing.

I can still recall driving out to see Aunt Tooty and Uncle Oscar, who
lived on a farm about ten miles away.  Ten miles was usually the
farthest we ever ventured.  Outside the ten-mile limit existed another
world; there was Bemidji, Hibbing, and Virginia, and while I had
visited all three of those towns, the truth was I was terribly
sheltered.  I had never seen a mountain.  I had never seen an ocean.

But more than any mountain, more than any ocean, I wanted to see
Minneapolis.  Day and night I dreamed of that wondrous city.  From what
I had heard it seemed just like the Land of Oz, with wide avenues and
huge buildings rising over ten stories tall.  Ten stories!  It was more
than I could possibly imagine.  Anything that tall must be able to just
reach up and touch heaven itself!

from the one my parents and brothers and sisters went to.  On Sundays I
went with my Aunt Gin to Mission Covenant, which was a different
denomination from the Assemblies of God.  Everyone asked me why I went
to church with her instead of Mom and Dad, but I kept the secret to
myself-that was the only time I felt special, like an only child,
instead of merely being the oldest of eight.

But I thought about my mom's church a lot.  Naturally, I had visited
it, and I felt something different there, also something special.

Everyone seemed so friendly and joyful as they prayed.  At night I
would lie in bed and wonder what it would feel like to be as ecstatic
as they were.  I knew it had something to do with God, but I wasn't
sure exactly what.  Even so, I couldn't give up my special days with
Aunt Gin.

At Aunt Gin's church they talked about God as well, but it was on a
whole other level.  Somehow I never felt any different when I walked
out of that Sunday service.  I wasn't elated or overjoyed; it was just
a pleasant experience.

One day my girlfriend Marion Kasara asked me if I wanted to visit my
mom's church with her.  I found the suggestion really exciting.  Maybe
I could find out the secret of what those people did, what they had
that was so unique and inspiring.

Little did I know that my entire life would change that night.

The church service began, and my tiny ten-year-old heart was beating a
hundred times a minute.  The singing was exhilarating.  The worshipers
raised their hands up and told God they loved Him right out loud.

Since I was a shy little girl, I could not figure out for the life of
me why they did that, let alone how they had the nerve to carry on that
way in front of everybody else.  I had prayed to God many times, but it
was always alone, down on my knees before going to bed at night.

I was fascinated by everything that was going on around me.  But what I
remember most vividly was actually sensing something powerful stirring
deep inside me.  I wished the feeling would never go away.  There was
such joy and peace and love inside me.  I wanted to know what I could
do to make it last.

Then the preacher said, "Everyone who wants God to touch them, come
forward now.  Everyone who wants to feel the power and the peace and
the serenity that the Lord brings, come to the front.  Now is the time
to come forward.  Now is the time to accept Him into your heart!" Well,
I practically ran down the aisle, and I threw myself down on my knees
by the front pew.

Almost immediately I started crying my little heart out, begging and
pleading.

"God, if what these people have is real, then please give it to me too!
I want it more than anything in the whole wide world."

What happened next will be etched in my memory forever, as if it were
yesterday.

Speaking in tongues was something I had already heard of.  My
grandmother did it sometimes when she was praying.  I didn't know what
to think about it; in fact I was rather scared by the whole notion. But
I knew that if Grandma spoke in tongues, it couldn't be a bad thing,
like some people were convinced it was.  Still I didn't have a clue.

Now, no sooner had I said "God, please give it to me" than all of a
sudden I just fell flat on my back.  Raising my hands up in the air
toward the Lord, I heard myself speaking in a language I had never
heard before.  As that language flowed from my innermost being I
actually felt the presence of God within me.  I have never in my whole
life experienced such love.  Liquid love pouring over my entire
being!

I felt immeasurable joy.  I wanted to burst out and just laugh and
laugh, but I didn't.  I just kept on speaking in the language God was
giving me.  In the blink of an eye I wasn't scared anymore.  All the
fear inside was gone, vanished, simply evaporated from every part of
me.  I felt immersed in peace, a sense of serenity that I cannot
explain.  For over two hours I didn't open my eyes.  I just lay there
speaking to God.  It felt as if I were in heaven actually talking to
God in person.

When I finally opened my eyes, it was like coming to.  I sat up and
looked around.  Everyone in the congregation had gone, and the only
people left were the pastor and my mom.  Now, my mom had not gone to
church that night, but when the pastor saw what was happening to me, he
had called her immediately and said, "Rachel, there is something I want
you to see.  Tammy Faye found God tonight!"

Wherever my gaze fell, everything looked radiant.  I never wanted to
leave that spot--I wanted to stay there forever.  But the pastor
informed me that God would go with me, therefore I did not have to
remain in church to keep feeling that way.  From then on I could feel
God at home, in the car, everywhere I went.  I have never taken a drop
of alcohol, but as I got up to be driven home by Mom, it was as if I
were drunk.  I was so relaxed and joyous and peaceful.  The whole world
changed for me that night.  I would never be the same again.

My encounter with God would stay with me for the rest of my life.  And
from that moment onward I knew that God was with me, through whatever
adversity or difficulty life threw my way.  Beyond a shadow of a doubt
I knew that God was real.  For the next three weeks I felt that I was
walking three feet off the ground.  It felt as if a million pounds had
been lifted off my shoulders.  I wanted to tell everyone I met.  I
wanted to shout out loud and share my euphoria with the world!

Now I knew what I wanted to do with the rest of my life.  It came to me
as plain as day.  As we got home and went into the kitchen, I hugged my
mom with all the love in the world.

"Mama, I'm going to do something for the Lord," I declared with dire
urgency.

"I want to sing, I want to preach the Gospel.  I have to do something
for God!"  As I told her everything that had happened, she held me to
her breast and stroked my hair softly.  Lord, I must have prattled on
for at least ten minutes, but never once did she interrupt me.  After I
finally finished, she looked deeply into my eyes.

"Honey," she said, "God is going to use you someday if you will always
stay close to Him.  Maybe you will have the chance to do for the Lord
what I didn't."  Kissing me tenderly on the forehead, she patted my
rear and sent me on my way upstairs.

For years I had wondered how my mom could always be so kind to the
people who treated her so badly.  I had wondered how she could get up
every Sunday morning and ready seven children for services.  How could
she give up her last few pennies to place in the church offering?  And
how could she stand the cruel rejection of her marvelous talent as a
singer and piano player?  Now it hit me like a ton of bricks.

My mom had received the Lord's message as well; she had undergone the
same experience that I did.  With this one realization I knew we would
forever be joined spiritually--in a far closer way than even being
mother and daughter.  I always loved school even though I was a shy
little girl.  It wasn't until high school that I realized that I didn't
have as much as most of the other girls.  They all seemed so
well-dressed, so poised and confident all the time.  Even though I
worked at Woolworth's every night after school, I still could never
afford clothes like they wore.  So I stuck to straight black skirts and
blouses.  Because I was so tiny, everyone thought I was cute.  The kids
called me Shrimp or Squirt all the time, but I didn't mind.  They also
called me Sunshine.  I guess that was because I was always so happy.

I kept waiting to grow tall like the other kids, but it never
happened.

I stopped growing height wise in the seventh grade and never gained
another inch.  I have been 4 11 ever since.  And not only was I short,
but I was skinny.  No matter how much I ate, I could never gain a
pound.  At age sixteen I still wore children's clothes.  The smallest
adult apparel at that time was size 8. They didn't have size 1 and size
3 in those days.  So everything I wore had to be cut down to size by my
Aunt Gin.

My most embarrassing moments always happened in gym class.  The girls
all had to wear shorts, and my legs looked like two twigs hanging from
my body.  I would look at all the other girls and wish so bad that my
legs would touch in the middle like theirs did.

Then once a week we all had to be weighed, and I also dreaded that.

Everyone weighed at least 100 pounds, and they would laugh when Miss
Tripp, our teacher, weighed me in at 63 pounds.

Then came the time we had to take showers.  I would constantly try to
avoid taking a shower if I could, as the girls usually took showers
together to save time, and I didn't want anyone to see that I had no
breasts whatsoever.  But it was then I realized that some of them were
also stuffing their bras with Kleenex.  So I was not the only late
bloomer.

But at age seventeen I learned something wonderful.  What I lacked in
breasts I more than made up for in eyelashes.  And thanks to my
girlfriend Ada DeRaad, I discovered mascara.  One day she summoned me
into the bathroom, where she was putting some on her eyes from a little
black tube.

"Tammy," she said.

"You have really long eyelashes, but no one can see them.  You would
look just great if you put on some mascara."  I had never even heard
the word before, nor had I ever seen anything like that little black
tube.  Ada told me to hold still and open my eyes real wide.  Then with
a steady hand she began applying this black stuff to my eyes.  When she
finished I looked in the mirror.  I couldn't believe it!

Now I really had eyelashes--long, dark eyelashes!  I was completely
exhilarated--for the first time in my life I felt pretty.

"Wow!"  I screamed, as seventeen-year-old girls will do.

"I have eyes!  Big, blue eyes!"  But there was one problem.  In our
church, wearing makeup was strictly a sin.  If you wore makeup you
would go straight to hell, where you would burn forever and ever.

Making matters even worse, a woman would go straight to hell if she
wore pants or shorts or earrings.  Now, that is one I could never
figure out.  You could wear a bracelet, a watch, a ring, or a necklace,
but earrings were forbidden.  But that one day in the bathroom changed
my thinking for the rest of my life.

Ada had put makeup on me, and God had not struck me dead.  I did not
feel sinful, I only felt better about myself.  Then Ada pulled out of
her purse the biggest sin of all-lipstick!  Beautiful red lipstick!

Once again she told me to hold still, and she brushed that creamy,
brilliant red across my lips.  We hugged and laughed and screamed and
jumped up and down, two typical teenagers discovering what life was
about.

I felt absolutely beautiful.  And once again God did not strike me down
dead.  But I was petrified of walking out of the bathroom.  Afraid that
if God didn't strike me dead, then one of those Assemblies of God women
surely would!

The next day I couldn't wait to get down to my job at Woolworth's.

They had the most wonderful makeup counter in the whole world.  But how
was I going to buy some without anyone seeing me?  Ada said not to
worry, and she secretly got it for me.  By that afternoon I had a tube
of black mascara and fabulous red lipstick hidden deep inside my
purse.

I couldn't wait to get home and try it out.

Although I never dared wear lipstick anywhere outside of my bedroom, I
did start using the mascara.  And if my mom or anyone else noticed,
they never mentioned it.  I was quite careful not to use too much.  It
was after I was married and began to do television that I discovered
many other fantastic beauty aids such as eyelash curlers--and blush and
eye shadow and red nail polish.  Not to mention false eyelashes, which
gave thickness to my long but somewhat sparse real eyelashes.

What has always stunned me is why people even care what you do to your
face.  For me, what I choose to do to my face is a very personal
expression and should strictly be my own decision.  Magazines and
makeup artists all over the country have put me down.  TV talk shows
have made fun of me--thank you, Johnny Carson and Jay Leno.  My makeup
has been ridiculed on the Academy Awards and sung about by Bob Hope.
While sometimes I laugh along, other times it hurts.

Makeup artists all over the country have tried to get me to take off my
eyelashes or quit wearing so much mascara.  And every time they make
that suggestion, I just laugh and say, "That would be like Dolly Parton
having a breast reduction and becoming a thirty-two B!"

So if you don't like how I look, look the other way.  I plan on looking
this way till I'm a hundred!  I will be buried in my makeup and
eyelashes.

Back in high school, beyond the superficial trimmings of mascara and
lipstick, where I really made up for my insecurities was in speech
class.  I loved speech and anything to do with public speaking.  It was
a terrific confidence builder for me, and I had a real aptitude for
it.

I could get up and give a speech without even studying for it and get
straight A's.  I could just improvise.  I was a natural performer.

After graduating, one of the hardest decisions I ever had to make was
leaving home to attend North Central Bible College in Minneapolis.

Luckily, I had the complete support of my parents.  And even though my
mother knew she was going to be left raising those children all by
herself, she still encouraged me when I cried and wondered aloud
whether I should go.  My dad motivated me to go too.  Both my parents
loved God and really wanted me to continue along the path my heart had
set for me.

The thought of leaving home was bittersweet.  For down in my heart I
knew that once I left nothing would ever be the same again.  How I
would miss lying out on the grass with my brother Donny searching for
the Big Dipper.  How I would miss Dad's garden filled with corn,
potatoes, cucumbers, radishes, carrots, lettuce, tomatoes, peas, and
string beans.  How I would miss stealing a tomato and hiding behind the
lilac bushes to eat it.  How I would miss the smell of honeysuckle when
I walked out the front gate; and how I would miss sitting on the
branches of the huge weeping willow tree, swaying gently in the rustle
of the wind.

But these were small issues, for I was also hopelessly in love.  I was
wearing the engagement ring of a young man I had been going with for
over two years.  Stanley Kramer and I were the same age and had
graduated from high school together.  His father was the pastor of our
family's church, so naturally we had everything in common.  Stanley and
I were even going to be attending the same Bible college, after which
we had planned to get married--or so I thought!

For some reason Stanley didn't want me going away to college with
him.

We would argue day and night about that until I thought it was the end
of our relationship.  I racked my brain, but I just couldn't figure out
his reasoning.

"I don't understand," I would tell him.

"Should I wait for you here in International Falls until you come back
home?"

"Tammy, why is that such a bad idea?  Your mother really needs you."

"But my mother is the one who wants me to go.  It's you who don't."

"Look, if you really loved me, you'd wait for me."

"What has one thing got to do with the other?  Stan, why don't you want
me to go with you?  We could be together, we could study together."

"I said I don't think it's a great idea."

"Stan, you know I planned on attending Bible college since way before I
met you.  Please don't force me to make a choice between you and my
calling.  Please don't do that to us.  Because if you do, I will have
to choose God.  And, Stan, you know that!"

"I don't understand why you're being so stubborn."

It didn't make any sense whatsoever.  I pleaded and pleaded, but he
just wouldn't budge an inch.  At this point I decided to take the
chance of losing Stan and told him my final decision: I was going to
Bible college--with or without his blessings--and that was that.  I
pulled back, and we both decided to let things cool down a little
bit.

When it finally came time for me to leave, two weeks after Stanley had
gone, I gathered up my suitcases and hugged everyone, feeling like I
never wanted to let them go.  I was scared and excited all at once.  In
my home we never let anyone see us cry.  It was kind of an unwritten
rule our family had.  But as soon as the car drove out the driveway, I
burst into sobs, looking back at all the people I ever loved.  They
were wiping their eyes too.

Stanley continued to occupy my thoughts until the moment I saw
Minneapolis.  It was like a dream come true.  The minute I stepped off
the Greyhound bus I was already staring up at the huge
skyscrapers--well, at least to me they seemed like skyscrapers,
although probably most of them weren't over twelve stories tall.  Upon
arriving at North Central Bible College I thought I was in heaven.  It
was a stately campus, shaded by majestic elms and maples, with ivy
clinging to every building.

I opened the door to the dorm room that was to be my new home for the
next four years.  Although it was small and narrow, it was beautiful to
me.  There were two single beds, one on each side, two desks, two
lamps, a huge window that overlooked the park across the street, plus a
great closet.  Just as I began putting away my clothes I heard this
husky voice and in strutted the sexiest redhead I have ever seen--not
to mention the biggest boobs!

"Hi, I'm Aloha!"  she exclaimed.  She was not much taller than me and
was thin except for those wondrous boobs.

"Hey, looks like we'll be able to share clothes," she said.

The very thought of a double wardrobe was so exciting to me.

"I'd love that, Aloha."  With that we hugged and danced around the
room, deciding who got what bed and which desk, and whether we could
afford to get matching bedspreads--of course, down at Woolworth's.

Then I remembered I had to go job hunting.

"Don't worry, Tammy, I'll go with you.  Maybe someone will hire us
both!"  I ended up getting a job the next day at a boutique called the
Three Sisters.  I don't recall if Aloha ever did get a job.  I don't
think she really needed to work.

Every night Aloha would tell me things that made my hair curl.  For a
girl her age, she was awfully experienced with boys, and she related in
precise detail what went on during her dates.  I would sit there at her
feet, awestruck at her escapades.

As you might imagine, Aloha was not your typical Biblecollege
student.

At first I couldn't figure out why she was there, because obviously she
wasn't dedicated to studying the Holy Scripture like the rest of us.

Later I found out she was forced to attend against her will--no doubt
to change her ways.  Well, I sure didn't see any charYge.  In spite of
this, we got along famously, and she taught me a lot of stuff that I
might not have learned any other way.

I loved Aloha, I loved being part of a girl's dorm, and I loved taking
two baths every day, just because it was so astonishing to have a
private bathroom and be able to take two baths every day.  I would sit
in a real bathtub full of wonderful bubbles and think, "I'm the
luckiest girl in the whole world."  Still today, every time I get in a
bathtub full of bubbles I thank God for hot water, bathtubs, and
bubbles!

And also, to my amazement, down at the Three Sisters they carried sizes
1 and 2. I couldn't believe it.  For the first time in my life I had
clothes that actually fit me.  It was thrilling.  Finally I could look
in the mirror and admire my style.

My only sadness was that things were not going well with Stanley.  It
didn't take many brain cells to realize what was happening.  There were
so many beautiful girls attending North Central Bible College, and they
loved Stanley and he loved them--and he didn't try to hide it, even
though I was the one wearing the engagement ring he had given me just
weeks before we left for school.  My heart would break every time I saw
him flirting with yet another pretty face.

I knew that I was not as sexy as they were, nor as streetwise.

And I had absolutely no idea how to fight them.  One day I ran into
Stanley in the hall making time with a raven haired beauty, and I
whispered to him, "Stan, I need to see you tonight.  I have something I
need to talk to you about."

He put his arm around me.

"Sure, honey, I'll meet you after work, and we'll have a hamburger
together."

That evening he picked me up in his car.  I was waiting anxiously for
him in front of the Three Sisters.  My heart beat faster as I saw him
drive up.  He was dark-haired, with dark brown eyes that always had a
mischievous twinkle in them.  And like me, he was always ready for
laughter.  But there was to be no laughter that night.

We ate in silence--I think he knew what was coming-and then got into
the car.

"Let's drive somewhere."  I said.

"I have something I need to talk to you about."  He put his arm around
me, but I pulled away.

"Stan, I don't think you're ready for marriage.  I think you need to
date some more."  I don't even remember what he said as I took the
striking diamond engagement ring off my finger and placed it in his
hand.  Maybe he was glad to be free, maybe he wished it could be
different.  I don't know.  All I know was that at that moment, with
tears streaming down my face, I felt utterly alone.  My heart was
aching so bad I wanted to die.  Eventually the pain of losing Stanley
subsided, and then something amazing happened.  I became popular
practically overnight.  I dated everyone in sight.  Well, maybe I
should rephrase that.

There was a group of guys at the school that ran around together, and
they took a liking to me.  So whenever they decided to do something
special, they would come and get me and ask me to go with them.  I
never thought there was anything unusual about it--and certainly not
wrong--as I had so many brothers and was used to being with boys all
the time.

We'd go out bowling or just walk down to the candy store for a soda,
things like that.  I was simply the cute little girl who tagged along
with them.  I didn't go out with any one boy.  I was like a kid sister,
and not one of them ever made a pass at me.  It was all innocent fun.

Wherever that gang of boys went, I went too.  It was a great way to
forget Stanley.

One wintry evening as I was coming back to my dormitory just a few
minutes after curfew, Jim Bakker was standing at the entrance, poised
like a sentry.  He was our hall monitor.

"Tammy L'Valley," he said sharply, pointing a warning finger in my
direction and giving me a real stern look, "you are going to develop a
reputation if you keep up this kind of behavior."  I stared up at him
blankly.  I had no idea what kind of "behavior" he was referring to.

"Remember, you've always got to protect your reputation.

A girl's reputation is her most valuable asset."  Then he sent me up to
my room.

I was startled!  I had never even thought of my reputation.  We weren't
doing anything wrong, but I did get Jim's point about being seen with
so many boys at once and immediately decided not to do that anymore.

From then on I went out with just one boy at a time, usually spending
the entire evening dodging kisses and pushing away hands.

Later on I found out why Jim was overly concerned about my
reputation.

One evening he cornered a girlfriend of mine as she was getting back to
the dorm.

"Peg, I need to talk to you."

"What's up, Jim?"

"You know Tammy L'Valley, don't you?"

"Sure, Jim, she lives on the same floor that I do."

"Is it true that she's no longer engaged to Stanley?"

"Yes," Peg answered.

"And she's suffering real terribly from a broken heart.  But under the
circumstances I think she did the right thing."

"I want to ask her out," Jim said, shifting his weight nervously from
one foot to the other.

"Do you think she'll go?  Peg, do you think she will?  Ask her for me,
will you?  Please?"

"Sure, Jim, I'll talk to her about it and get back to you."

A few days later I walked into our room to hear Aloha's voice booming
out of the bathroom from the shower.

"Hey, Tammy, Peggy wants to talk to you.  She says it's real urgent!" I
always respected Peggy.  She was a tall, no nonsense type of gal.  So I
ran down to her room, which was just a few doors from mine.

"Hi, Peg, what d'ya want?"

"Sit down, Tammy.  I have something real exciting to tell you."  Her
glee was absolutely contagious.

"Tell me, tell me," I said, already jumping out of my skin with
anticipation.

"Tell me!"

"You know the guy who's the hall monitor at night, his name is Jim
Bakker.  Anyway, he came to me the other day and asked me about you. He
thinks you're really cute and would like to meet you."

"Me?"  I screamed like a typical eighteen-year-old girl.

"Jim Bakker wants to meet me?  And he thinks I'm cute!  Wow, Peg!  Are
you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure.  Can I have him call you?"

I was so nervous I almost bit a whole strand of fake pearls I was
wearing right in half.

"Okay.  Give him my number."

"I think he already has your number.  Now, go back to your room,
Tammy.

Otherwise you might be missing an important phone call."

Back to my room I went.  But my mind began to fill with doubts.  What
does this Jim really want?  How do I know I can trust him?  Maybe he's
just like Stanley.  After all, Jim was real good-looking, lean and
athletic.  He was a great dresser who had a relaxed, easy way about
him.  I knew lots of girls who had crushes on him.  How could Jim
possibly like a girl like me?  The phone was on my lap.  On the first
ring I picked it up.

"Tammy, this is Jim Bakker.  You know, the night monitor.  Remember I
talked to you the other night?"

"Yes, I--" "Would you like to go out with me tonight?"  he asked,
without even stopping to catch his breath.

"We can have dinner, and then I would like to take you to church with
me.  Now, we'll have to walk--as I don't have a car--but if you like,
we could take a taxi."  My heart was beating a hundred miles an hour.
After all, I-had just broken off with Stan.  Peggy said Jim really
liked me a lot, but could I trust another man?

"Tammy, are you still there?"

"Oh, yes, I'm still here."  Then I took a deep breath.

"Look, Jim, I don't think I should go out with you.  I've just broken
off an engagement, and I'm hurting really bad.  I just would not make
good company."  With that I said goodbye and hung up the phone.  I
heard later that Jim told Peggy he would never ask me out again.

But he did.  The very next day a dozen roses were lying on my bed when
I walked into my room to answer the phone.

"Tammy, at least go to church with me tonight," Jim said on the other
end.  I looked at the beautiful roses, and my heart melted.

"Yes, Jim, I will."

Frankly, I don't know where he got the money for those roses, since
students couldn't even afford to eat lunch in those days, let alone buy
roses.  Nevertheless, there they were: the largest, freshest, sweetest
roses I had ever seen, and they smelled like heaven.  When the other
girls saw them, they all just swooned.

Aloha gave me a few last-minute pointers before I left.

Jim and I talked a lot on that first date.  He told me he had not gone
out very much since he had been at college.  He had devoted almost all
his time to studying for the ministry and working to pay off his
college bills.  Then he told me about the deep calling he had to work
for God.  It was such a miracle to find a man who had the same fire in
his heart about serving the Lord as I did--something that Stanley never
had.

We shared our dreams as we walked home from church.  It was cold, but
we didn't even notice, we were holding each other so tightly.  The
frozen snow crunched under our feet and sparkled like a million
diamonds everywhere we looked.  All of a sudden Jim stopped.  We were
right in the middle of the sidewalk.  He put his arms around me and
kissed me hard on the mouth.

"Tammy L'Valley, I have loved you ever since the minute I saw you walk
into school.  But you cannot imagine my disappointment when I saw the
ring on your finger and realized you were engaged.  I love you, Tammy!
Will you marry me?"

With that he took off the bracelet he was wearing and handed it to
me.

I was overwhelmed.  I didn't know how or what to think.  Jim was well
liked at school, he was a gentleman, and he had the same calling I
had.

This must be the man God was sending for me.  Jim helped me put his
bracelet around my wrist, and we walked the rest of the way back to
school in silence.  After he kissed me good night I ran up the two
flights of stairs to my dorm room and threw myself on the bed,
screaming: "Aloha!  Aloha!  You will never believe what happened to me
tonight!"  Before I knew it our room was filled with envious girls all
shouting at once, admiring my gorgeous bracelet.  Suddenly a knock came
on the door.

"Girls!  Girls!"  It was the dorm mother.

"It's time for lights out; everyone get to bed right now!"  The girls
melted away into the hallway, giggling and whispering.

All night long I dreamed about Jim Bakker.  The next day I didn't do
too well in my classes.  It was like I was walking in a cloud.  Often
over the next few weeks I'd go back to my dorm and crawl into bed and
there would be a big heart filled with candy or a beautiful vase filled
to the brim with roses.  Maybe I'd find a poodle.  Jim would send these
little stuffed white poodles to my room all the time.  Aloha demanded
to know my secret.

I think Jim came across as if he had more money than anybody, which I
knew he didn't because we'd had to pool our resources to get a
hamburger and share it.  But Jim had a way of borrowing cash; it was
hard to turn him down.  Yet every time he'd always work hard and pay it
back.  As far back as I can remember he's been really great with
money.

I think that's the Jewish part of Jim.  His grandmother was a German
Jew, and I think he inherited this quality with her Jewish blood.  In
any event, he could always make it happen.

When Jim was growing up his family was very poor.  They lived in a
ramshackle old house that was painted this awful orange, which always
embarrassed him.  Because Jim was self-conscious about his modest
background, he never asked about my home life until just before we got
married.  He thought I was an only child.  And when I told him there
were eight of us, he almost died.  He couldn't believe it.  He thought
with my manners and breeding that I must be the only one.

Through the years of our marriage, I think what drove Jim was the
memory of that little orange house.  He wasn't going to be poor and
live in a house like that ever again; he was going to have all the
nicer things in life, no matter how hard he had to work to achieve
them.  And Jim was a hard worker.  He sold shoes, he did every job he
could do to make money.  But I believe no matter what he accomplished,
that little orange house was always haunting him in the back of his
mind.  There was just no getting rid of the image.

Two weeks after our first date, Jim gave me my engagement ring.  And he
did it in a most unusual way.  Before we went to church he told his
friends what he planned to do, so by the time we got inside practically
everybody knew except me.  We were sitting on the platform because Jim
was a youth leader at Minneapolis Evangelistic Auditorium, the huge,
gorgeous old theater where our congregation met.

Standing at the podium, Jim turned to one of his friends and asked him
to come up and pray.  While the friend was praying, Jim sat down next
to me, grabbed my hand, and immediately stuck an engagement ring on my
finger.  But because he was so nervous he grabbed the wrong hand.

Meanwhile his cohorts in the audience were watching the whole scene,
doing everything they could to stop themselves from laughing out
loud.

But the ring was nothing to laugh at.  It was quality.  Everything Jim
did was quality.  I couldn't take my eyes off the ring; it was the most
magnificent little diamond ring you ever saw.  I think Jim borrowed the
money to make the down payment; we made payments on it for a long time
after we got married.

The sudden engagement didn't make everyone happy.  Raleigh Bakker,
Jim's father, flat out didn't want his son to marry me.  He wanted Jim
to make something of himself and pursue a career.  He did everything he
could to sabotage our wedding.  Jim's parents lived in Muskegon,
Michigan, and we went out there to visit them.  Their home was a palace
compared to the place where I was brought up.  By then his family had
moved out of the orange house and were living in elegance, in a
magnificent two-story Victorian-style home with a full basement.

Downstairs was a gracious music room complete with a baby grand
electric player piano.  It stood in front of a sweeping bay window
framed by thick maroon drapery made of velvet.  Plush oriental rugs
covered the floor.  Then there was the most beautiful dining room I had
ever seen-the wallpaper alone was to die for!  It must have been at
least fifty years old.  Around the ceiling, above the wallpaper, were
hand-painted grapes and grape leaves.  The house also contained a
fascinating little library, all done in dark woods.

But what really knocked me out was the upstairs bathroom.

It was tremendous.  Black-and-white marble adorned the floor, and it
had a self-standing washbasin with a spectacular mirror overhead.  Off
to the side was one of those great old claw-foot tubs.  I kept sneaking
into that bathroom just to look at it.

When we first arrived, Jim's folks were very cordial to me.  However,
behind my back, Raleigh would say anything he could to discourage Jim
from marrying me.

"In my opinion, I don't think she's good enough for you.  I don't think
she comes from a good enough family."

"Dad, you don't even know her.  You don't know anything about her."

"I know what I see.  She's a poor nothing.  If you marry her, it'll be
like carrying a dead weight around."

"That's ridiculous, Dad.  I love her, I adore her.  She's the one I've
been looking for."

"You don't know anything.  You don't know what you're looking for.

What do you know?  You're just a kid."

"Tammy is going to be my wife."

"Listen to me.  Marriage is for life.  You make your bed, and then you
sleep in it."

"Well, Tammy is the woman I want in my bed, and I want to sleep with
her!"

"Look, if you're so all fired up to get yourself married, why don't you
marry Sally?  Now, there's a real woman, in my book!"  Jim had been
dating a young lady named Sally, the town beauty queen, who rode in the
floats at the parades.  After we were married, whenever Jim's dad knew
we were coming to visit, he'd call Sally up and ask her to drop by.

Thank the Lord Sally was woman enough to refuse.

So on and on went the barrage.  Raleigh would say anything he could to
change his son's mind, but all to no avail.  Jim firmly stood his
ground.  He wasn't backing down no matter how much his father yelled.

"I'm going to marry Tammy," he'd say.

"I'm in love with her."

"Then go ahead!"  his father screamed, all red in the face.

"Marry that scrawny little thing!  You don't know where she came from.
You don't know, she may have some disease!"

Raleigh was hard as nails, a human steamroller determined to flatten
anyone who disagreed with him.  He worked at a steel piston-ring
factory and never missed a day.  A brash, hot-tempered man, Raleigh was
always yelling at the top of his lungs--which is probably what made Jim
so quiet and composed.  Early on, Jim made up his mind that he wasn't
going to be anything like his dad.  Of course, Raleigh's constant
bellowing most likely made Jim a nervous wreck too, for he never
received the quiet comfort that you need from a parent once in a
while.

All through our marriage Jim worked hard at pleasing his father.  But
unless he did something exactly the way Raleigh thought it should be
done, Jim's endless quest to please his dad was futile.  Raleigh would
repeatedly criticize his efforts.  And unfortunately, Jim's mother was
a frail little lady who always did what Raleigh told her.

Jim had been the youngest of four brothers and sisters, born as a
premature infant who would literally fit into a shoe box.  I'm fairly
positive that had some effect on his psyche.  Jim was also born late in
his parents' marriage, probably at a stage when they didn't want any
more children.  As a child he might have picked up on that, which would
have driven him even harder to be loved and accepted by his parents,
particularly his father.

It's my opinion that Jim was always looking for a father figure, a man
who would offer him acceptance and approval, maybe even protect him
from the world and make him feel secure.  Through the years I've seen a
number of men acting this paternal role in Jim's life, claiming they
could fix everything but more often than not.  just taking advantage. 
If they just played Jim's daddy, they could win with him.

On the other hand, Jim's sister, Donna, was a real angel.  After
hearing we were getting married, she gave me her wedding gown.  As we
were leaving to return to Minneapolis, we placed it in the back of
Jim's brother's car, since Norman was going to take us to the train.
But his car broke down on the way, and Jim's folks had to come and pick
us up.

Jim's dad knew that wedding gown was in the back of Norman's car, so he
put it in the trunk of his car.  However, when we got to the station,
he wouldn't give it back to me--and that was final!

Despite that incident and all the rest, Jim did everything he possibly
could to get his folks to the wedding.  He invited them several times,
but Raleigh said they weren't coming to any wedding, that they would
disown Jim if he got married.  We just went ahead with our plans.  Jim
sent his folks a letter telling them about it.  The stationery had
"Mr.

and Mrs.  Jim Bakker" printed up in the corner.  That's how they knew
we were married.

My parents couldn't come to the wedding either, but for a much
different reason.  Since they were so poor, it was simply impossible
for them to travel with seven children at home.  When I called asking
for my mother's permission, she said, "Tammy, that is your decision.  I
can't make it for you.  If you've found someone you love, you have my
blessing."  Then my father got on the phone and essentially said the
same thing.  Both my parents were very, very kind to me.

Jim and I were married on April Fool's Day, April I, 1967, down in the
basement of the Minneapolis Evangelistic Auditorium, which had been
renovated to make an absolutely gorgeous prayer room.  The walls were
hewn out of rock, carved with pictures of Jesus from different periods
of His life.  The floor was covered with plush carpeting, and in the
middle was a round bench surrounding a rock sculpture of Jesus and
Mary.

The wedding itself was a small, intimate affair--six people all
together.  I wore a mint-green dress, and my future husband wore a
black suit.  Bob Silky, Jim's roommate from Bible college, was the best
man, and my matron of honor was Donna, Jim's sister.  Pastor Olson and
his wife, Fern, married us.  They were very famous ministers, and we
felt privileged to have them there.  We were simply ecstatic, two young
kids determined to "win the world to Jesus."  And we meant it with all
our hearts!  Pastor Olson took pictures, but as it turned out, his
camera didn't work, and we never got even one shot of the most special
day in our lives.

I'll never forget that night after we came home, ready to be alone
together as man and wife.  I had just put on the sheer white negligee I
had bought for our wedding night and was sitting there combing my hair
when without warning there was a jarring knock at the door.  Jim went
to investigate.  He pulled the door open and there was Stanley.  For a
few long moments he just stared at me in sheer silence.  There was real
hurt in his eyes.

"I just wanted to check and see if you were all right," he finally
said.

"She's fine, she's just fine," Jim replied sharply, impatiently
shutting the door in Stanley's face.  But just before it closed, I saw
Stanley turning around and trudging down the corridor, looking totally
crestfallen.  Naturally I felt sorry for him, but my mind was occupied
with more romantic matters.

A few days after getting married, Jim and I were asked to leave
school.

That hit us like a ton of bricks.  No one had told us that you couldn't
get married while you were students, so it came as a complete shock.
Apparently the rule was that a man and a woman could enter college if
they were already married, or they could marry once they graduated but
not one moment before.

However, even if I had known about the rule, I was so crazy in love
that I would have married Jim anyway.  In facts I thought it was a
blessing in disguise.  Both of us thought going to college was okay,
but it sure wasn't doing the job that needed to be done.  At that point
we were pretty much convinced that we knew enough to go out and start a
ministry of our own.  Which is why getting asked to leave didn't really
make any difference--at least not to me.  I still believe Jim would
have preferred to make the choice himself, rather than having it made
for him.

We didn't have any money, but we were able to put together a darling
apartment with furniture and stuff from the Goodwill.  From day one I
have never seen anyone stretch money as far as Jim Bakker could.  He
could do everything around the house--wallpaper, paint, fix the
plumbing, you name it.  We put together a superb little place, complete
with wall-to-wall carpeting, which we sewed together from scraps.  Boy,
my fingers were sore for weeks after sewing together those pieces of
tough, cheap carpet!

Jim was very enterprising right from the start.  When he was just a
little boy he sold pots and pans door-to-door.  He would find all sorts
of things that people threw away, fix them up, and then sell them for a
few pennies on the street corner.  Whatever he could do, he did,
selling candy, newspapers, raffle tickets.  There's no doubt Jim was a
natural born salesman, but driven by insecurity.  About a month after
the ceremony we went to International Falls so that Jim could meet my
family.  I was kind of embarrassed about taking him home, since his
parents had such an impressive residence.  But he loved my family and
my family loved him, and we had a marvelous time together.  I couldn't
believe I was a married lady.  Here I was back home, all grown up and
married.  It was like a dream.

The first order of business was that Jim had to take a bath.

"Well, Jim," I said.

"We don't have a bathtub."  And without thinking about it, I went out
and got two big washbasins and filled both of them with warm water--one
to wash in and the other for rinsing off.  You should have seen what
happened next!  Jim sat with his butt in one and his feet in the other,
never realizing that wasn't the way you did it.  Well, that was some
sight.  Jim's butt stuck in the basin with all the steam rising up.

Just before leaving International Falls Jim said, "Tammy, your real
daddy lives here, doesn't he?"  I nodded.

"Well, it's time you met him.

Would you like that?"  I nodded again.  Actually, I was scared to death
to meet my real father.  I don't know why.  Maybe it was the fact that
Mom and I never talked about him, or that I thought he didn't love me.
Maybe it was because I didn't want my stepfather to be hurt if he heard
that I had gone visiting Carl.

But I was a married lady now.  It was time to get brave and meet the
man I simply called "my real daddy."  Would he like me?  Would he think
I was pretty enough?  Would he like my new husband?  Would he be glad
that I was his daughter?  The thoughts tumbled around in my mind. Would
I like him?  Did I look like him?  (I was told by Aunt Gin and Grandma
Fairchild that I did.) Would Mom get mad at me if she found out that I
went to see him?  Would she be hurt?

We pulled up in front of my dad's twin sister's house, the place where
we were supposed to meet.  My heart was pounding in my ears.  Getting
out of the car I nearly tripped over my own feet.  All of a sudden
these men started walking from the house toward us.  I didn't recognize
any of them, but it was my dad and his brothers.

I looked at them standing there, and they stared back at me.  One of
the men stepped forward, and I will never forget his words as long as I
live.

"Tammy, I'm your daddy."  Tears began streaming down my face as my
father hugged me for the first time in fifteen years.  Instantly I knew
why I was only 4 11 And I knew why my eyes were so blue.  And I knew
why I had a square face and a funny nose.  Yes, I did look like my
dad.

A lot of questions were answered for me that day except the one I
needed to know the most.

"Daddy, why did you leave me and Donny?

Didn't you love us?"  Many years later I was to learn that Carl did
indeed love us.  They said he would cry as he watched me every day on
TV.  But Fred will always be "my daddy."  He raised me, and I love him
with all my heart.  As for Carl, I never got to know him any better
than that.

;:

the @w Almost immediately after getting back to Minneapolis, Jim showed
me a side of himself that I would never in a million years have
expected to see.  Without reason he would suddenly become quiet and
withdrawn, wouldn't bother speaking to a soul.  At first I didn't know
how to handle it.  I had never been around such moody behavior before,
and it disturbed me.

"Jim, what's wrong?"  I would ask.

"Please tell me, what's wrong?"  Of course I never realized how many
thousands of times I would repeat those words during our thirty years
of marriage.

"Is everything all right?  Is there anything I can do?  Did I do
something?  Did I say something?  Jim, just talk to me please, talk to
me," I would cry out in anguish.

"At least say something, Jim!"  I just couldn't figure him out.  Maybe
he was unhappy that we had gotten married.  Who could know?

All I know is that inside I became absolutely frantic.

Eventually I came to accept that that was Jim's personality, simply the
way he was.  His method of coping was to shut the world out, and I was
part of that world.  I always felt deeply hurt by that.  I soon learned
that when Jim underwent one of his "quiet times," there was nothing I
could do or say to bring him out of it.  Sleep was his only solace.  He
would just take himself into the bedroom, remove his clothes, and pull
the covers over his head.

"Jim," I would say, "you have this forlorn look on your face.  You look
so despondent, so out of it.  It's driving me crazy.  Tell me what's
going on with you.  I can't stand being in this house another minute.

I'd have more conversation if I was in a mortuary.  I could get more
from a corpse!"  Sadly, all this disturbing moodiness was to recur
again and again.  Whenever Jim got discouraged, he would sink deep
within himself, into some dark, cold place, like a snail withdrawn
inside his shell; and each time he did this--I can't even count the
times--it was all I could do to pull him out of it.

"Come on," I'd say, trying to cheer Jim up, "everything's going to be
all right.  We can do it.  We can do it!"

Of course, part of me understood very clearly what was going on.  Jim
was an ambitious young man, filled with hopes and dreams.  But once we
were out of college a healthy dose of reality hit us like a cold slap
across the face.  No one was breaking down our door to offer us a
ministry.  Instead of delivering sermons, Jim was delivering meals for
a restaurant called Rothchild Young Quinlin, where he also worked as a
dishwasher, scouring all the pots and pans and anything else that was
greasy.

At seven the alarm would go off, but it was hard for him to get out of
bed.  Finally he would trudge out the door, wearing this miserable look
on his face.  His attitude would frustrate me, as I was working and
helping out too.  I felt that I was doing my part, and that we should
be the two happiest people in the world.

Here we were newlyweds, and we were supposed to be up and going and
being and doing, and he just didn't want to do it.  Jim's mood swings
made me tired, mentally and emotionally.  I'm positive that bottling
his emotions up, never expressing his real feelings,-is what caused his
physical problems.  Throughout the building of our ministry Jim was
plagued by really bad ulcers, and my heart would break every time he
had an attack.

Soon after our marriage Jim decided he didn't want to go to services
any longer, which was really unusual, because when we were dating
church is where we always went.  It didn't make a difference how hard I
tried.  There was simply no budging him.  I decided to stop beating my
head against the wall.  One Sunday I issued an ultimatum.

"Jim, if you won't go to church with me, then I'm going to start going
by myself!"

His answer was to curl up in bed, and I marched right out the door!

At church I was allowed to lead song service and minister to the
congregation.  But I was so lonely without Jim, and so confused.

Finally I spoke to Sister Fern Olson.  She had known Jim long before I
did.

"Tammy honey," she said, "let me make a call."

Promptly she picked up the telephone and dialed.

"Jim Bakker," she said sternly, "if you don't get out of bed this
minute and get back to church, your wife is going to be a better
preacher than you are!"

Well, that really turned the trick.  The very next Sunday Jim was back
in church and was reinstated as youth pastor.

Soon we both got the first of what would be several raises, and things
started looking up.  We began to comb the real estate section for a
larger apartment.  Maybe we could even find one with air
conditioning.

Now that he was preaching and involved in life again, Jim's dark moods
subsided.

With the benefit of hindsight, I believe that part of Jim's moodiness
was a way to control me.  When I thought he wasn't happy with
something, I'd work that much harder to make it right.  You always work
harder to try and please a moody person.  Several times the thought of
leaving him crossed my mind.  But there was simply no way I could have
chosen to get out of this marriage.  The memory of my mother being
shunned and persecuted for being divorced was all too fresh in my mind.
Well, that would never happen to me!  Through thick and thin I was
determined to stick with Jim.  I was convinced that things would settle
down and work out.  I loved him so much I knew our love would conquer
all.

Despite his moodiness, the first few years of our love life were
remarkably tender and sharing.  We always did lots of hugging and
kissing, cozy cuddling up together.  Jim didn't have a selfish bone in
his body.  He was always a very caring and concerned lover, gently
making sure that my pleasure was every bit as satisfying as his.  Our
lovemaking was definitely addictive.  There was a chemistry between us
that couldn't be denied, and in that respect we were truly blessed.

Early on though, I discovered Jim was a hypochondriac.  It was
something our family and friends laughed about for years and years.  If
we ever wanted to get really hysterical, all we had to do was bring up
Jim's hypochondria.  He has always been "Mr.  Clean," washing his hands
a lot and smelling the milk before he poured it on his cereal.

We always tried to keep him away from hospital shows on TV or medical
books of any kind.  Because no matter what Jim read, heard, or saw, he
always had a couple of symptoms.  Whenever he wasn't feeling well, he
would go get the doctor's dictionary, and before you knew it he had a
couple of diseases.  We would laugh until tears streamed down our
faces.  One thing he constantly cautioned us was to never, ever, sit on
a public toilet seat without first putting paper on it.  He had all of
us paranoid over that one.  In fact, the kids and I were almost afraid
to even walk into a public rest room, for fear that some disease would
jump on us.  As a result, the kids were always waiting too long before
they would finally tell us, "Mom, Dad, I have to go to the bathroom
quick!"

"Don't forget to put the paper on the seat!"  Jim would yell as they
were running toward some restaurant's rest room.  One time I remember
our daughter, Tammy Sue, didn't come back for a long time.  She was
about four years old and wanted to go by herself.  I got concerned and
went in to see what was taking her so long.  I heard her crying inside
one of the stalls.

"What's wrong?"  I asked.  She let me in, and there she stood, bathroom
tissue all over the place and her panties dripping wet.

"What happened?"  I said, knowing full well what her answer would be.

"Mommy, the paper kept falling off, and by the time I got some to stay
on it was too late."

"That's okay, honey," I said as I took some clean tissue and made a
barrier between her and her wet panties.  By the time I was finished,
we were both laughing and promising we would never tell that she had
wet her panties.

Hypochondriac or not, in front of church congregations Jim was always
incredibly enthusiastic, an impressive figure who could not only rise
to the occasion but dominate it.  But no matter how inspiring or
successful his sermons were, at home his moodiness would soon return
and he would pull back, depressed, into a shell.  I could never figure
it out.  Jim was the best preacher I've ever heard, a master showman
with a genius IQ who transfixed audiences with his message.  Whatever
demons were lurking inside he kept locked up tight.  I can't imagine
what sort of mental technique Jim used to radiate such a positive
public image while privately agonizing over such a negative view of
himself.

But even though Jim was a natural performer, just before going into
crowds he would hyperventilate, with his pulse racing a mile a minute
from fear.  Jim was fine once he was up in front of an audience, but as
soon as he came down off the platform, once they switched off the
microphones and shut off the stage lights, the anxiety returned.  Even
at parties he always had a hard time just mixing with folks.  Nothing
bothered him as long as he was in control.  But once you placed him on
the same level as everyone else, he became obsessed with finding ways
to escape.

Jim showed almost no willingness to control his moods.  It was a blind
spot that he just couldn't see--or if he did see it, he didn't see
anything wrong with it.  We'd invite some friends over for dinner or
coffee.  If Jim got tired, he would just suddenly get up and go to bed
and leave me alone with them--no explanations, no apologies, nothing.

I always wound up having to make up excuses for him, doing all the
talking, all the entertaining, all the everything.

That was really hard on me.  His insecurities came out in other ways.

Through the years we were married, Jim and I lived in many little
houses.  But they didn't stay little for long.  We would move into a
cute little house, and before we had even been there a month Jim was
already figuring out ways to add another room or two.  It became a
constant bone of contention between us.

"But, Tam, I'm doing it for you."

"Jim, you're not doing it for me," I would always reply.

"I liked it just the way it was."  And on and on we would go.  Jim and
I were always moving.  In the first years of our marriage, it was to
make money.  We would buy an old place, fix it up, and resell it for
twice as much money as we had originally paid.  That way we were able
to move into bigger and better houses.  I understood the common sense
behind those moves, and they didn't bother me, but I got to the point
where I wanted to settle down like other people and have a permanent
home to raise children in.  What really did bother me was when we
finally got into just the right house--the right price, the right size,
everything just the right way we always dreamed it would be Him would
say, once again, "Tam, let's go look at houses."

"But, Jim," I'd say, "I really like this house.  I love the den you
added on.  To me the house is cozy and just perfect for us."  But
still, the house would inevitably go on the market, a FOR SALE sign on
the front lawn, and once again we were packing our things.  The truth
is that I liked all of our homes and would have been totally satisfied
in any of them.  However, I did like the smaller, more intimate ones
the best.

Jim was a man of contradictions.  On the one hand, when he was moody,
he seemed indifferent to the feelings of others.  On the other, Jim
needed people's acceptance and their respect; he craved it like a
drug.

Jim had always gotten the leading roles in high school plays.  He was
very flamboyant and self-assured.  Now I realize that he was looking
for the love from his adherents that he couldn't give to himself.  Deep
down he never felt good enough.  He had to go out and prove himself
every single day.  No matter how much he succeeded, nothing was ever
enough.

You would have thought with all the years of overwhelming response from
the congregations that Jim would have been content with himself and
what he was doing.  That he could finally put his father's influence
behind him.  But it was not that way.  Jim never felt that he did well
enough or that he was good enough.  He was always convinced others did
it better.  And no amount of encouragement or praise from my mouth
would convince him otherwise.

Whenever Jim was speaking to anyone he could never quite look that
person in the eye.  At first I thought he was just shy, but the problem
turned out to be far more serious.  Jim Bakker was incapable of looking
at me--or at anybody--for any length of time.  You always felt like you
weren't there, as if there was something more important on his mind.
Even worse, Jim would sometimes leave people right in the middle of a
sentence--he would just walk away.

Years ago, during our marriage-counseling sessions, the therapist would
often turn to him and say, "Look at Tammy.  Look in her eyes.  She's
your wife.  Learn to look at her when you talk to her."  But either it
was a skill he couldn't learn or he just didn't want to because that
might have resulted in confrontation.

By avoiding all conflict, Jim lessened the chances of being
criticized--something he couldn't stand.  He interpreted all criticism
as a personal attack, a horrendous failure on his part, the voice of
his father belittling him.  The bottom line was that I could never
really communicate with Jim, or persuade him, and in the end that broke
my heart.  Couldn't he at least trust me?

About six months after Jim came back as a youth pastor, a preacher
named Aubrey Sarah came through to lead a revival meeting at our
church.  Originally from Canada, Sarah was a leading evangelist of the
time.  His church was located in Burlington, North Carolina.  He was a
gentle, gracious little man who looked like the world's kindest
grandfather behind his thick wire spectacles.  After Jim and I had
finished, Reverend Sarah came up onstage and started ministering.  But
out of the corner of his eye he kept glancing at us the entire time he
was up there.

Later he came over and spoke to us.

"Jim and Tammy, God has spoken to me.  The Lord has a divine plan for
the two of you.  And I am His messenger!"  Naturally, we were
completely taken aback.  But he spoke with such clarity and authority
that we were mesmerized by his words.

"I would like to invite you to come to my church in North Carolina and
hold a revival meeting for me!"  Jim and I looked at each other, then
turned back to gaze into Reverend Sarah's eyes.  This was the sign we
had been waiting for.

Within days we moved out of our place and gave our furniture away.

Without a penny in our pockets we began our journey to North
Carolina.

Aubrey's church was a white-framed building set on a rolling hillside,
with poplars and sturdy oaks providing shade and comfort.  Aubrey's
congregation welcomed us warmly into their hearts.  They were decent,
God-fearing folks who worked hard to put food on their tables, meals
they often shared with us.

Going out and meeting with folks invigorated Jim, and his
self-confidence and drive returned full force.  Much of our early joy
came back as well.  To me, our experience with Reverend Sarah
represented nothing less than a miracle.

After a couple of weeks, we finished our work.  Aubrey was so impressed
that he called other Assemblies of God churches to recommend us.

Before we knew it, our popularity mushroomed and we wound up being
booked for a year ahead of time, preaching from one church meeting to
the next without stopping.

At the end of our stays the local minister would take what he called a
"love offering" for us.  That would be our pay for the week.  For the
first two or three years, our average offering was about $50 to $ 100 a
week.  And we were so thankful for that.  One time we stayed at the
house of a very wealthy couple.  As we left their home they put some
extra money in Jim's hand.  We needed those funds so desperately.  But
Jim gave it to the pastor of the church, saying that we had already
received our love offering and he didn't want to be dishonest.

Every week or two we went to a different church and lived with the
pastor there.  Jim was doing all the preaching, and I sang.  To
accompany myself I had an instrument called a Cordavox.  It was this
huge accordion with an organ attached--bigger than me, almost--and it
produced the loveliest music you ever heard in your life.

We traveled everywhere in an old Cadillac, which I have to admit looked
pretty good, considering the thousands of miles on its odometer.  Now,
an old Cadillac costs about the same as a new Ford or a Chevrolet.  You
see, Jim was taught that if you're going to be a success, you have to
look like a success to begin with.  The Lord must have been watching
over us because that car always got us where we wanted to go.  In those
days we ventured throughout the Deep South, ministering in Virginia,
North Carolina, South Carolina, all through the years of 1962, 1963,
and 1964.

While we were driving along those dusty old back roads Jim was
continually writing new sermons, working hard on every word.  If a
sermon worked well at one church, then he'd go to another church and
preach the same sermon all over again, because it was a whole different
congregation.  You could do that because no one saw you on TV.  In
those days there was just no way to reach a mass audience-until we met
an interesting man named Pat Robertson.  In 1965, while we were
ministering in Portsmouth, Virginia, a man named Bill Garthwaite came
to our service.  He worked for someone called Pat Robertson, who was
then trying to start a television station called the Christian
Broadcasting Network.  Well, CBN was some "network"I  The station was
way up on the UHF dial, and hardly anybody could tune in.  And although
his father was the senator from Virginia, nobody knew Pat Robertson or
what his TV ministry was all about.

"I'm intrigued by your puppet ministry," said Garthwaite.

"And so is Pat.  Maybe we could do a children's show on TV."  What he
was referring to was a little program that we would put on for children
after our Sunday services.  I was the voice of Suzy Moppett and Allie
the Alligator, and Jim talked to them.  It was a Kukla, Fran & Ollie
type of show.

"Pat would really like you to drop by the station for a chat."

By this time Jim and I were ministering to the very largest Assemblies
of God churches, so we were not exactly bowled over by this offer.

However, we decided it could do no harm to meet this Pat Robertson and
hear what he had to say.

Bill brought us over to Robertson's tiny studio.  There was maybe one
camera, a canvas backdrop, a few chairs, a table, and something that
resembled a control booth.  But Pat was right there to greet us,
projecting amicability and warmth.

"I'm really impressed with the work that the two of you have been
doing.  It's amazing how prominent you've become in such a short time."
Robertson was very assured and well-spoken, obviously the product of
good schools and an upper-class background.

"Jim and Tammy, you may not realize this, but television is the future
of getting God's message to America."  He let his words sink in.  Pat
had grand visions of what CBN could ultimately become, but frankly,
sitting around in that dark, musty studio, it was hard for me to
imagine.

"Just try doing one live show to see how you like it.  That's all I
ask.  I know how busy your schedule is, but I would truly appreciate
your taking the time to grace our broadcast."

After the meeting Jim and I thought, why not?  So we put together a
special children's program for the station.  It was fun because I'd
always had a lot of child in me; I knew exactly what kids loved.

Making up cute little cartoon voices was one of my favorite pastimes.

To make Suzy Moppett we took a cartoon head off a Silky Bubble Bath
bottle--it was a pig--and melted the ears off.  Then we put a miniature
blond wig on the critter, dotted on some freckles, painted a little
mouth, and finally put the whole thing on a doll's body.  It was sort
of a cross between Miss Piggy and Barbie.  The show went off without a
hitch, with just one camera steadily on Jim talking to the puppets.

But packing up to leave that night, we got an urgent call from Pat.

"Look, please listen.  The station has been deluged with calls about
your show.  People said they just loved it!  Would you please come back
and do it .. ."  And here Pat paused just a moment for effect.

"Well, do it for good?"  Jim and I were speechless.  We never expected
an incredible response like that.

"Please, let me have your answer.  You don't know how important this
is!"  Finally, to get him off the line, we told Robertson that we would
speak to him in the morning, after we slept on it.

But there was no doubt Pat had touched a nerve especially in Jim.  This
man of breeding and culture seemed to be affording him genuine respect
and admiration.  I believe Robertson represented yet another father
figure to Jim, just like Aubrey had been.  Of course I have to admit I
was moved by Pat's pitch as well.

What we did then wasn't logical; in fact, it defied logic.  After all,
we were becoming a force in the Assemblies of God churches throughout
the South, and then suddenly-one day in 1965--we gave it all away.

Christian television was still something very new and experimental, and
there was no guarantee that it would ultimately work.  But we took the
risk, because faith is spelled R-I-S-K.  We canceled two years' worth
of services.  Following that, miraculous things started to happen.

At first when we started doing the children's show, we'd have to go
into town and round up kids for our audience.  Then more and more
people began picking up this little signal, and before we knew it, we
had hundreds of children streaming in every day to be part of our
audience.

It became a mob scene.  After a while we were forced to give out
tickets weeks in advance because otherwise the studio would have been
overrun.  The set was a barnyard, and all the kids would sit around on
logs or fences or haystacks.

Our children's program began to build a solid TV audience, bringing in
much needed finances so that Robertson could expand his operations.

However, when we first made the commitment, one of the conditions was
that someday Jim would be allowed to host a Tonight Show-type program
for Christians.  I remember the meeting we had.

"Pat, this idea will revolutionize what you're doing," Jim said.

"It will change the face of Christian broadcasting."

"Sounds interesting, Jim," Robertson said evenly.

"Let's build a Johnny Carson-style set, with a desk and chairs for the
guests.  It will be an opportunity to give Christian performers a
chance.  We have wonderful speakers and singers in the Christian world,
and they deserve a chance to be heard on TV.  Mark my word, if you will
allow me to do this, I guarantee you it will be a great success.  It
will change the face of Christian broadcasting.  It will, Pat."

"You might be right, Jim," Pat answered.

By the time Jim finished even Pat had to admit it was a great idea, and
eventually it went on the air with tremendous fanfare.  The program was
called The 700 Club because it needed seven hundred people to donate
$100 each month to keep it up and running.  Jim hosted the show.

The format was very much like The Tonight Show, except there wasn't
really a band.  An organ played background music.  Jim sat behind a
desk and interviewed guests on the couch.  I was never really featured
very much on The 700 Club.  Once in a while I sang, but that was about
it.

Anybody who was anybody in religious broadcasting, from Pat Boone to
Mahalia Jackson, was on the program.  Frequently appearing with Jim was
Henry Harrison, another member of the CBN family.  A heavyset, jolly
man, Henry always had a yarn to spin, and his heartfelt laughter always
made you smile.  Everyone loved him and affectionately called him Uncle
Henry.  He was Christian TV's Uncle Miltie.

The 700 Club virtually skyrocketed to fame overnight and quickly
brought in a fortune in donations to Robertson, who was immensely happy
to receive them.  The stacks of letters and accolades Jim and I
received became overwhelming.

It seemed as if we were working twenty-four hours a day, but we weren't
complaining.

However, as Jim started getting busier, I noticed a definite change in
our relationship.  For the first few years of our marriage lovemaking
had remained tender and wonderful, but now it was becoming just
sex--and that was really disturbing.  There was almost none of the
hugging and holding that I had treasured so deeply.

I was especially vulnerable because these were the only moments we had
a chance to be alone, the only time I could truly get close to Jim.

When it became just sex, I felt terribly left out of his life and
deeply lonely.  The connection between us seemed to be weakening, but
Jim never wanted to talk about it.  Of course I tried to be an
understanding wife.  I knew both of us were exhausted when we laid down
our weary heads at night; but it's hard to be understanding about times
like that, particularly when they happen over and over again.  There
was one thing that I wanted more than anything else, but Jim wouldn't
give it to me.  I wanted a child.  But whenever I tried to talk to him
about having a child, he would always say, "Tam, we don't need a baby.
We are too busy and we have each other; that is all we need."

"But, Jim, I'm so desperately lonely.  You're away doing The 700 Club
and everything else for Pat, and I'm just at home waiting for you half
the time."

"Tam, you always have your friends."

"What I want is a baby.  I need a child to love, to hold in my arms.

Someone to take care of."

"Be realistic.  Both of us are just too busy to pay attention to a
baby.  As long as it's just the two of us, the late hours don't matter
that much.  Look, it wouldn't be fair to have a baby now, not fair to
us, and certainly not fair to the child."

"Jim, I want a baby real bad.  You know how much I love children."  The
truth was I would have had ten kids if I could have.  But my words fell
on deaf ears.  I was perfectly able to bear children, but Jim didn't
want any.

Still, every day I would pray, "Please, God, please give me a baby."

And after all the long years I thought my prayers had finally been
answered.  We received an urgent call from a lady saying that her
granddaughter was pregnant out of wedlock.  They were looking for a
good home for the baby when it arrived--and they had chosen us.  I was
ecstatic!

"Please, Jim," I implored.

"Can we please take the baby when it gets here?"  Jim listened to me
calmly and claimed he understood.

But then he shot the whole idea down.

"Listen, Tam, because we're on TV the mother would be able to see us
and the baby all the time.

That's why I don't think it's such a good idea.  It would cause her too
much pain."  I naturally grasped the validity of what he was saying,
but when he then called the people and asked them if his brother could
take the baby instead of us, I was devastated.  After the infant was
born, a darling little girl, Jim and I went to the hospital and got
her.  We then drove to the airport where I had to place "my baby" into
the arms of his brother.

I cried for days.  My heart was broken.  Finally Jim realized what he
had done and said that we could finally have our own child.  By this
time I was twenty-eight years old and we had already been married nine
years.  We started trying, and I went from devastation to elation.

Within six months I was the happiest pregnant woman in the world.  The
day I had Tammy Sue, March 2, 1970, was the most joyful day in my
life.

And Jim was a changed man after she was born.  Tammy Sue became his
reason for living--at least for a while.  Jim was the model daddy,
doting on her, marveling at her every move.  All of a sudden we were a
family, a real family.  It was a marvelous time for us.  Until once
again Jim got "too busy."  But now that I had Tammy Sue, it didn't seem
so bad.  We had each other.

By the time of her birth we had been with Pat Robertson for nearly six
years.  Our programs were being syndicated across the country and were
literally supporting the network.  The people watching the programs
would then support our efforts by sending their contributions to CBN,
which in turn made it possible for Robertson to continue buying more
airtime.  It all worked out beautifully--up to a point.  The point
being that everyone thought it was really Jim who owned the station. As
a matter of fact, they thought he wac the station, even though Jim
always bent over backward to give Pat all the credit for everything he
achieved.  Jim had great respect for Robertson and sought his approval,
and Pat always dispensed his approval in a fatherly way, which was just
what Jim needed.

But in spite of Jim's generosity and the chummy scenes they played out
in front of the camera, a great deal of maneuvering and personal
politics were coming into play between Jim and Pat.  Pretty soon a
rivalry developed over power and influence--at least that's the way I
believe Robertson saw it.  I know Jim never saw it that way.

As Jim's charisma and rising popularity became more of a threat, Pat
concluded he was going to have to get in there and take firmer
control.

And obviously the best way to do this was to become more visible, to
get more time in front of the camera.  He started the ball rolling by
calling Jim into his office.

"I've decided to take over one night a week on The 700 Club," he
announced.

"I think it will give the partners a little more variety."

Just a little stunned, Jim replied, "Well, that's your privilege,
Pat.

It's certainly your station and not mine."

"I'm glad you realize that, Jim.  I wouldn't want any conflict."

But then Robertson would show up on the set and take over two nights,
then three nights, until it became apparent to us that Pat wanted to do
the show all by himself.  Well, the handwriting was on the wall.  It
was pretty apparent that Robertson didn't need us as much as he used
to.

Thanks to the contributions our shows had brought in, he was able to
build a new state-of-the-art TV facility for the network.

And to further broaden his financial base, Pat was also considering
bringing in secular programs such as I Love Lucy and Gunsmoke.  Now,
that notion really rattled Jim.

"Pat, you know I've promised our viewers this would never come about.
I've sworn time and time again that the network would always remain one
hundred percent Christian--without any commercials for deodorants or
cars or pine toilet cleaners or anything."

But Robertson wasn't fazed by Jim's pleas.

"Look, the decision has already been made.  This makes perfect sense.
Putting on these shows will give us a broader audience.  Isn't that
what we all want?"

"I want us to stay faithful to our principles," Jim shot back.

"I want us to stay faithful to the people who contribute to keep our
programs on the air.  If you go ahead with this, it's going to look
like I was lying to the partners."  The breach between the two men was
widening by the minute.  But Robertson wasn't budging an inch.  Finally
Jim said, "If you're going to put in secular programming, then I'm
going to have to leave because I made a promise to the people."

"Of course I don't want you to leave, Jim.  But you have to do what you
think is right."

During this time Pat displayed no actual animosity, and neither did
Jim; they were just two distinct people with different points of view,
preparing to go their own separate ways.  Indeed, just before we left
the network Robertson offered us a raise--and a very hefty raise at
that.  But by this time it was too late.  Jim felt that we just needed
to move ahead and get on with our lives, so we didn't accept.

Nevertheless, separating from Pat's organization after seven years was
very traumatic, like children leaving their parents' home for the first
time.  I felt disoriented.  Part of me still couldn't believe we were
saying farewell to Christian television.  It was the fall of 1972, and
we had no plan in mind.  Nothing at all.  On top of that we were
exhausted, so tired that for all intents and purposes we had just about
had it.

We had worked so horribly hard building Pat Robertson's empire.  Jim
had labored day and night for seven long years.  There were many times
when he would only get four hours of sleep.  To further complicate the
situation, Jim's health had been failing.  Robertson's hectic
production schedule wound up aggravating Jim's ulcers.  His nerves also
began to bother him, so the doctor prescribed Valium for him.  The
doctor told Jim that he was burning out, and that he needed desperately
to get away and rest.

Through the years we had come a long way.  The first three years we had
just done the children's show.  And over the next years came The 700
Club, too.  In the beginning our salaries were virtually nothing, since
almost all the donations were being plowed back into buying television
time.  But by the time we decided to leave, each of us was making $125
a week.  If we had stayed, Robertson had offered to increase our
salaries by another $25.  I know it doesn't sound like much, but it was
a lot in those days.  Over the years we had invested what little money
we had in old houses that we bought for practically nothing.  Then on
the weekends we fixed them up and sold them.  By the time we left CBN
we owned a breathtaking place on a lake, filled with beautiful Italian
provincial furniture.  We sold the house furnished--just the way it
was.

Now here we were, getting all ready to pull away from our dream home in
a brand new Airstream trailer.  Where we were going or how long we
would be gone we didn't know.  All we knew was that we were going to
head toward California, a place we had never been.  Luckily we had
received enough money when we sold our house to live without working
for a year.

Nobody could believe we had left Robertson's operation.  Our kids' show
was at the top of the ratings.  CBN was syndicating it all over the
country.  But completely unknown to us, the moment we took off, there
were people so jealous and wanting to take our place so bad that they
took all of those years of shows and immediately erased them,
destroying anything that had to do with Jim and Tammy Faye Bakker.

For instance, we had a giant Suzy Moppett doll that Coca-Cola had made
to be used as part of a big float in a parade.  That doll had been an
award-winning entry, but someone literally smashed Suzy Moppett's head
to bits.  One young man took over our children's show, but it never did
anything after we left.  He was one of the main instigators against
us.

I guess the children watching saw him for what he was--and turned him
off.  Children are smart like that.

Tearing down everything we had built meant no reruns, no way for the
public to be reminded of us, no way for us to come back.  Although I
thought we had parted on amicable terms, I was obviously wrong.  I now
believe Pat Robertson encouraged them to destroy our work because he
was furious at us for leaving his domain.  From what I've heard,
Robertson never even spoke our names once we left.  He was done with
us.  And when Pat is done with a person, he's done.  Finished, Jim and
I weren't gods--and neither was Pat Robertson, All of us were merely
messengers trying to do God's work as best we could.  We're only human,
and our greatest redeeming quality is our ability to forgive--maybe not
to forget, but to forgive.  Even religious leaders as astute and
educated as Pat Robertson can succumb to pent-up anger and jealousy.
There's simply no avoiding it.  You can't always reconcile what you're
preaching with what you're feeling.

In any event, while cruising along the highways in our luxury trailer
we tried as best we could to put the years at CBN behind us.  We were
journeying across the country toward a new life.  We made it to
California much sooner than we had expected.  After arriving in
Southern California Jim decided to visit an old acquaintance, Paul
Crouch, his former youth pastor from Muskegon.  Paul lived in the city
of Irvine and also worked for a Christian TV station that ran our
syndicated children's program.  After so many years Paul and Jim were
thrilled to see each other, and the first thing Paul did was to invite
us over to his house to meet his wife, Jan.  They said, "Why don't you
park the Airstream down on the beach?  There's a lovely park there
where you can stay for as long as you need to."  So that is what we
did.  We lived in the Airstream on the beach for about three months. It
was a fantastic time for me and Jim and Tammy Sue.

From the moment Jan and I met it was like we had known each other all
our lives.  Paul and Jan had two little boys, and Tammy Sue instantly
took to them.  Then during dinner it happened.

"You know, I've been thinking about launching a station," Paul
mentioned.

"My own Christian television station."

"Well, that's a lot of work," Jim said.

"But I really want to leave the station where I am.  There's no future
in working for anyone else."

Jim laughed.

"Tell me about it."

But at this point Paul got real serious and spoke plainly.

"You know how to do it.  You know how to do it better than anybody.
Help me build this station."  I looked at Jim.  His interest was
obviously piqued.  This was a man he had always loved and trusted.

"I've got a way to get the license and do all those things," Paul
continued.

"I

know all of the business part of starting a television station, and you
know the creative part.  Let's pool our resources and get this show on
the road!"  There was no doubt about it.  Jim got the bug again.

As the men continued their chat, Jan and I went off and explored her
home.  The views from the bedroom were breathtaking, since they were
high on a hill overlooking a rolling canyon.  Inside was all done with
gold candlesticks, gold pillows gold trim on everything.  And what
wasn't gold was red.  I had never seen anything like Paul and Jan's
house.  I thought it was beautiful.

About an hour later, when we returned from our little tour, Jim and
Paul were still talking a mile a minute.

"Jim, you have to admit that we would make a great team," Paul said.

"Come on, admit it!"

"I admit it, I admit it!"  Jim replied enthusiastically.  It felt good
to see him so animated, so excited about something once more.  Paul was
older than Jim, someone he looked up to.

"Don't worry about the details.  I'll take care of everything.  This
way you'll be insulated from all the day-to-day stuff.  How does that
sound?"

"So far, so good."  Jim was beaming.  After all, we were in a new place
and Paul knew all the ropes.  In a sense, he was playing a parental
role for Jim.  He would protect him, always be there for him.

"Okay, let's make this clear," Paul said.

"You'll be the president of the station, and I'll be the business
administrator.  You'll be the power on-camera, and I'll be the power
behind the camera."

Jim grinned broadly.

"Sounds fine to me."  With those words they shook hands.  Needless to
say, Jan and I were delighted.  Within days Paul and Jim were planning
their very own Christian TV station, setting up meetings with the right
people who could help launch TBN, the Trinity Broadcasting Network, a
nonprofit ministry.

Jim and Paul never signed any papers.  What existed between them was an
oral contract.  Everything Jim ever did was an oral contract.  Jim's
handshake was his word.  See, we were people of our word, and so we
always took people at their word.  Nevertheless, I take my share of the
responsibility for not putting anything down on paper.  In retrospect
I'm appalled by the fact that we didn't.  Jim and I weren't children.

We certainly had been around long enough to know how business was
conducted.  Not signing an agreement with Paul was one of the biggest
mistakes we ever made.

In any event, for three months we lived in our trailer on the scenic
beach nearby.  Then one day Jim announced we were going to sell the
Airstream and buy a house.  He felt it was a solid investment, money in
the bank, as we had made so much money in real estate back in
Virginia.

So we sold the trailer and used the money as a down payment on a
charming house that was being built.  Jan and Paul graciously asked us
to move into their guesthouse until our home was completed.  Not only
did Jan and I become as sisters during this time, but Jim and Paul were
as brothers.  We were as close as any family could be.

Before we knew it the guys had located the perfect building in an old
industrial complex.  Outside was an immaculate lawn dotted by
well-tended trees.  Naturally it had to be renovated to fit the needs
of a TV studio.  Along with friends, we got down to work.  We began
constructing soundproof control booths.  We took up the old tile
floorboards and got ankle deep in tar.

But once people found out what we were doing, miracles started to
happen.

A beautiful Hammond organ was donated to us.  And in six weeks the set
was ready, the cameras were ready, and we even had a volunteer staff
ready to go.  As planned, Jim was the host of the new PTL (for "Praise
the Lord") show, and I was the featured co host and singer.  We started
at KBSA-TV, channel 46, and for about four or five months things ran
smoothly.

Thanks to our teamwork the TV show began going great.  The studio began
to fill up every day until it virtually overflowed with people.  We
began to syndicate the show across the country, except this time it
looked like there would be no stopping us.  After we moved in, our home
was constantly filled with staff members and their children.  But
because we were putting everything back into the network, Jim and I
were living on practically nothing.  We were hardly making our house
payments.  People were giving us groceries, taking us out to eat,
donating things to us--that's how bad it was.  Even at the height of
our popularity, we were essentially living hand-to-mouth.

Just after getting our home somewhat together, Jim and I were really
rocked--by our first California earthquake.  The next few days there
were aftershocks, and each time my heart went straight into my mouth.

At the time we never realized that these would be the least of the
tremors to shake our lives.

The catastrophe started slowly.  Paul decided to expand our board of
directors, and because he was the business manager that was entirely
his province.  Since we knew nobody in the business world in
California, there was no way we could stop him--not that we even wanted
to at the time.  Paul was filling up the board with prestigious people
from the community.  The justification was that TBN was swiftly growing
by leaps and bounds and required the consultation of people with good
business sense.  Over time, I noticed a certain competitiveness
emerging between Paul and Jim.  Paul observed how well Jim was being
received.

Concluding that California was really his domain, Paul started thinking
he ought to be the man in front of the camera.  Nevertheless, I truly
believe that it was Jan calling the shots.  One time I overheard her
insisting in a very loud voice, "Paul, you ought to be the president.

Jim shouldn't be the president.  You ought to be on the air all the
time!"  It's my opinion that Jan goaded Paul--would not leave him alone
and stayed on him until she finally forced him to do something.

Looking back, I also now believe that Jan had a hidden agenda as
well.

She wanted to be featured on the air, but naturally she never said
anything to us face-to-face.

Then, suddenly, we were let go.  When we first got the news, we
couldn't believe it.  We had heard rumors that Paul was stacking the
board of directors against us, but we refused to believe that Paul
would do a thing like that.  When we learned of the reports, we should
have gone to Paul and demanded a written contract, but that just wasn't
Jim's way.  He never believed anything until it actually happened, and
by then it was too late.

I was angry.  I was hurt and felt terribly betrayed by Jan, my good
friend.  How could a friend do something like this to another friend,
especially as close as we had been?  We had lived together, raised our
children together, we had prayed and cried together.  We had shared the
innermost secrets of our hearts with each other.  This could not be
happening, but it was.  I begged Jim to fight.

"Jim, go to Paul and have a talk with him, work this thing out."  Jim
did make an attempt, but by this time Paul could see that his plan was
going to work--if he remained strong, he'd end up having it all.  So
Jim decided not to fight Paul anymore and to just walk away.  I didn't
agree.

"Jim," I pleaded, "God called us here.  You and Paul are partners.  You
have just as much power as he does."

"Not anymore, Tam.  Not since he put all his friends on the board of
directors.  I don't know those men, and they don't know me.  They'll be
on Paul's side no matter what.  And in reality, it's now them, and not
Paul Crouch, who decide whether we can or cannot stay.  And the board
will do whatever he asks.  That's why he chose them."

I knew Jim had a point, but I couldn't face the fact that we had worked
so hard, once again built up such a huge TV audience, and were going to
leave yet another ministry.  My heart was breaking.  Our entire staff
left with us.  Paul and Jan had to hire all new people to take their
places.  The staff knew that Paul was wrong in forcing Jim out of a
ministry that he had worked so hard to build.  But maybe it was Paul's
plan all along, to use Jim's expertise to build the TV ministry and
then to get rid of him.  I don't know.

I will never forget the tears and anguish I felt helping Jim pack up
the things in his office.  I was at my wit's end.  Where would we go?

What would we do?  Where was God?  Did He even care?  Then something
happened I shall never forget.  I looked up, and standing in the
doorway of Jim's office was a huge angel.  He was dressed in a
brilliant white robe that was covered halfway down by a glowing blue
cape.  On his head was a huge gold helmet, and in his hand he carried a
large sword.  He looked to be about eight feet tall.

I cannot remember seeing his face, but I do remember the words he spoke
to me.

"Fear not, for as of this moment I and my angels are going forward to
do battle for you."  With that, he disappeared.  I have never seen an
angel since, but I will never forget as long as I live seeing that one.
A deep peace filled my entire being, and I knew that despite what Paul
and Jan Crouch had done to us, everything was going to be all right.  I
told Jim and the staff about the angel, and it bought them peace
also.

We left the building for the last time and went home to put a FOR SALE
sign on our little house.  We had no idea where we were going or what
we were going to do, but we knew that God knew and that we could trust
Him.  Our staff had to make their preparations also, and I hurt for
them.  For a couple of weeks, we all got together every day at our
house for prayer meetings and to ask God what we should do.  Bills were
coming due, and here we all were without paychecks.

Many people who had been supporters of our ministry heard of our
plight, and they all came to our rescue.  One wonderful lady, Herta
Backlund, had a fantastic restaurant, and we all ate there free, our
entire staff, every day until we left California.  I shall never forget
Herta.  No one ever missed a meal or a payment on their house or
apartment.  I still don't know how that happened except that it was a
miracle from God.  There is a verse in the Bible that says, "I've never
seen the righteous forsaken, or His seed out begging bread."  That
scripture certainly came alive for us at that time.

We spent about a month more in California until one day, some friends
in Charlotte, North Carolina, called to say that they had decided to
start a Christian TV station, and they needed Jim's help.  I assume
word about our situation had gotten out.

"Jim, many of us have been praying for years that you and Tammy would
come down here.  This is where you belong.  We know in our hearts that
if you come, something wonderful will happen."

With that call, once more we uprooted ourselves, moving our whole staff
and all of our belongings.  A caravan of trucks brought everything to
North Carolina.  Jim flew ahead by plane, all fired up and raring to
go.  The staff soon followed, filled with Jim's contagious
enthusiasm.

With Tammy Sue bundled up in my arms, I gathered the last of our
belongings and closed up the house.  I didn't know if I was
tremendously at peace--or a little shell-shocked--as I said good-bye to
California.

Paul and Jan Crouch have now been on the air for many years.  They have
successfully written us out of their history.  But God knows the story,
and after all, that is what really counts.  I am glad that something we
helped to build so many years ago is still going strong for the glory
of God, and I really mean that with my whole heart.  I hold nothing
against Paul and Jan.  When all is said and done, it won't make any
difference who did anything in the kingdom of God, just that it got
done!

The year was 1972, and we were starting all over again--in a small
studio that only a few weeks before had been a store that sold
adjustable easy chairs.  It was a major job.  The set was structured
the same way as before, with Jim sitting behind a desk and his guests
on a couch.  Once again music was provided by a sole organist.

In spite of the modest surroundings, Jim always believed in making
everything elegant, at least as beautiful as our limited funds would
allow.  We combed the thrift shops, back alleys, and flea markets.

It was a small, intimate set, but as word spread our audience started
ballooning.  In just a few months we were able to syndicate the new PTL
program, called The PTL Club.  People started writing and pledges began
pouring in.  With this financial support we were able to expand
rapidly, buying more cameras and more equipment.  Soon we moved to a
brand-new facility.  Every penny was spent on first-class production
values and getting guests from every corner of the country.

Jim wasn't chintzy.  He didn't hoard money trying to save every red
cent.  He put up our guests at good hotels, reimbursed them for their
meals, and had them greeted at the airport and chauffeured over to the
studio.  We even offered them some modest compensation for their
appearance, what was called an honorarium.  To my knowledge, none of
our guests demanded compensation for appearing, no matter how big they
were.  One of the secrets Jim knew about producing a successful show
was making sure your guests are cheerful and relaxed.  But he probably
spent more money than he ever had to.

Thanks to Jim's savvy and marketing know-how, in just three months we
started mushrooming.  Virtually overnight The PTL Club became one of
the most popular shows in every market across the country.  Newspapers
and magazines started paying closer attention to us.  They wanted to
know how such a miracle could be happening all over again.  I'm not
sure anyone, including Jim, was ever prepared for such colossal
growth.

If we had been, had we really taken the time to analyze what we could
manage and what we could not, I'm certain that many of the problems we
encountered later on could have been avoided.  Jim offered the position
of co host for the PTL show to Henry Harrison.  And before you could
blink an eye, Uncle Henry left Pat Robertson and CBN and came to work
for Jim in Charlotte.  The chemistry was great between them, just as
before.  Uncle Henry was always on the set, a close friend of
everyone.

In less than two years Jim started laying the foundation for the
Williamsburg complex in Charlotte, which would soon become Heritage
Village.  A series of adjoining TV studios, this venture would greatly
broaden our production and audience capacity.  It was a giant step but
a much needed one.  The property we located consisted of four classic
buildings including a spacious home designed in eighteenth-century
style.  This building would provide not only ample office space but a
place where we could start constructing a set to match our needs.

Jim patterned the inspiring new studio after a celebrated old church in
Williamsburg, Virginia.  The construction went along quickly, and I
will never forget the dedication, complete with marching bands from the
local high school and a bagpipe brigade.  Heritage Village was the very
first achievement of its kind in Christian television, elevating the
entire field to a new level of professionalism and prestige.  It was
widely hailed as a stunning breakthrough.  I thought this was
absolutely the highest you could go, the most anyone could hope to
achieve in a lifetime.  I wanted to stay there forever.

But here and there people began to notice rising tension between Jim
and me.  You could feel it on the set, you could feel it when visiting
our home.  Jim became so preoccupied with the development of Heritage
Village that there was little energy left over for deepening our
relationship.  While I encouraged his efforts, I began feeling more
distant from him than ever.

I found myself reluctant to share moments of intimacy with him.  And
under the circumstances, it became increasingly unpleasant.  More and
more I found myself wanting to avoid relations altogether; but I didn't
want to tell Jim this.  I didn't want him to feel as if I was rejecting
him.  When you truly love someone, there are times when you have to put
your own feelings aside.

During this time Tammy Sue turned six, and I missed not having a little
baby to hug anymore.  And I didn't want my daughter to be an only
child.  Coming from a large family, I knew how wonderful it was to have
brothers and sisters.  Consequently, once more I begged Jim for a
child.  And as usual, he came up with the same reasons all over again,
but finally he gave in.  Without much enthusiasm, he said, "Tam, if you
want a baby, that's up to you."

In 1976 I was overjoyed: I was pregnant.  Tammy Sue was so excited
about having a new sister or brother coming to live with us.  It was
practically all she could talk about.

However, at the time I needed Jim most, he was never there.

During the entire nine months I was extremely ill.  I couldn't keep a
thing in my stomach and lost over thirty pounds, dropping down to under
a hundred.  Heritage Village required Jim's undivided attention.  He
would stay out until the wee hours of the morning with all the
cameramen, stagehands, or the engineers who were building the
complex.

By the time he got home I was so worried and upset that I couldn't even
speak to him.  I was so lonely I wanted to die--and so sick I thought I
was going to.

We had only one car, and of course Jim needed it.  That made me feel
very vulnerable.  Outside my window was nothing but a deserted road.

What if there was an emergency?  What would I do?  At that time I
hardly knew anyone in Charlotte.  I was never the type to ask for
help.

I never wanted to bother anyone, so I suffered by myself in silence.

I was nine months pregnant.  I was sick, worried, scared, and lonely.

One night I heard the door open.  It was 2:00 A'M."  and I was
frantic.

Jim walked in smiling.

"Why aren't you in bed, Tam?"

"Where have you been?"  I screamed at the top of my lungs.

"I have been trying to get ahold of you for hours.  I thought you were
dead along the road somewhere!"

But Jim just didn't seem to realize how upset I was.

"Oh, I got to talking with the guys, and time just got away from us.  "
"The guys!"  I couldn't believe he was saying this to me.

"Why are the guys always more important than me and Tammy Sue?  Why
couldn't you just one time come home before midnight, Jim?  Why
couldn't you just one time come home at a decent hour and have supper
with your family?

Why is everyone else always more important than us?"

Before Jim could even respond, I did something I had never done in all
our years of marriage.  I walked into the spare bedroom and shut the
door.  Shut the door to his apologies and excuses, and shut the door of
my heart as well.

"Tam, I'm sorry.  I promise to try and get home earlier."  But as far
as I was concerned, he didn't exist.

"Tam, I know the way you feel.

Please, honey, please come out of there!  Everything's going to be
different.  I swear it will!  Do you hear me?  I said I swear it
will!"

But I totally ignored his pleas.  My water broke, and I didn't even
bother to tell him.

However, in the middle of the night my pains forced me to call out, and
Jim took me to the hospital in the morning.  Jamie Charles--the
precious little boy I had wanted so badly--was born the next day by
C-section.

I delivered two minutes before the PTL show went off the air.  The
doctor immediately called the TV station and told them that we had a
beautiful baby boy, but Jim was the last to know.  He was in the car en
route to the hospital.

Why wasn't he at my side?  Because once again work had been put
first.

"The show must go on" was Jim's credo.  But it wasn't entirely his
fault that he wasn't there for the birth of his child.  After bringing
me to the hospital, Jim asked, "Tam, should I stay or do the show?"  Of
all the times to hear that question!

"Jim, why don't you just go and do the show," I said finally.

"Are you sure that's all right?"

"I'm sure," I replied, hoping all the while that he would choose to
stay with me instead.  But he didn't.  He kissed me good-bye and dashed
off to get to the studio.

I guess all of us women are alike.  We say one thing to our men and
mean another, hoping they'll "catch on."  If I could chart the time
when I gave up the illusion of being first in Jim's life, I guess that
would stand out as the straw that broke the camel's back.  I became
resigned to the fact that things were not going to change.  The mom in
me became more alive, while the wife in me began to die.

After my pregnancy I looked like a complete wreck.  Even four weeks
following delivering I was still having trouble getting down the
stairs.  My legs would buckle underneath me, and I felt faint all the
time.  Something was definitely wrong.  I drove myself about twenty
miles into town to see the doctor.  He took one look and said, "Oh my
God!"

It seemed the blood from the cesarean section had not dissolved back
into my system as it was supposed to and instead had become clotted
around the incision in my stomach.  The doctor called his nurse and
told her what to get.  She came back with a package of razor blades and
a pair of tiny surgical scissors and, much to my horror, started to
reopen the wound in my tummy.

With that done, the old coagulated blood began to pour out of me.

Towel after towel was needed to soak it up.  Yet suddenly I felt
tremendous relief for the first time in almost a year.  Tears were
streaming down my face.  I don't know if they were from pain or peace
of mind.  I crawled back into my car (Jim had bought me a car after
Jamie was born) and drove the twenty miles back home.

Wanting to raise my babies the right way, I just stopped performing on
television altogether.  I didn't care about doing the show anymore.

Circumstances continued to improve a day at a time.  I would hold Jamie
Charles in my arms and thank God from the bottom of my heart for my
precious daughter and son.

Jim continued to work long hours, but I was content now.  I had my two
children, a dog named Mandy, and my very own car.  I no longer felt
like a prisoner in my own home and even made a few TV appearances with
Jamie and Tammy Sue.  After years of being by Jim's side for hundreds
of programs, I was now a housewife.

I cleaned my own house, shopped for my own groceries, and washed my own
clothes.  And^ Jim was happy as well.

The new TV studio was almost finished and more beautiful than anyone
could have pictured.  Jim even decided to move our family into town
onto the grounds of the new Heritage Village.  This was exciting
because it meant we could now see more of one another and become a real
family again.

All things considered, these times created some of my fondest memories,
moments of wonderful fellowship.  I did not have to entertain guests at
home anymore.  There was a beautiful old Colonial house on the property
at Heritage Village that everyone called "the Mansion."  That is where
we would entertain all the show guests.  From that immense kitchen all
sorts of appetizing smells would continually emanate, from soft-shell
crabs sauteed in butter to double-fudge chocolate brownies.

During the holiday season Heritage Village became a wonderland.

Wherever you looked Christmas trees dotted the grounds, festooned with
brightly shining lights and ornaments.  Nativity scenes decorated the
gardens.  From large speakers hidden away behind bushes Christmas music
permeated the air, gently echoing throughout the hillsides.  Visitors
would journey from thousands of miles away to see the spectacle.

About a year after Jamie was born, I started up my own program, called
Tammy's House Party.  I got permission from Art Linkletter to use the
title House Party, since he had done a show by the same name.  It was
fun doing Tammy's House Party after being off the air for such a long
time.  In one aspect, the show was a significant step forward for me;

but in another way it was just another symptom of the "going our
separate ways and doing our own thing" problem.

My staff was mostly women, which was tons of fun.  I had a fantastic
woman director, women produced the show, and we even had a couple of
women on the cameras.  The show was extremely well conceived, provided
lots of laughs, and quickly enjoyed prominent ratings.  It ran on the
same network as the PTL program.

When I went back in front of the cameras we hired a marvelous lady to
take care of the children.  Sometimes we had supper with them, when we
came home; sometimes they were in bed.  Jim would be planning more
attractions, and I'd be recording albums or even traveling by myself.

The tragedy was that a deep and profound separation of souls had begun
to take place.  We were two people living two different lives.

However, our personal difficulties had no effect on the growth of
Heritage Village.  Once again we were expanding so rapidly that we
needed more space--for more employees, for partners coming to visit,
for more parking, for more of everything.  We were so crowded that we
could hardly get the people inside.  Cars would be lined up and down
the street.  The only reason Jim wanted to expand was so that we could
accommodate more people.  It was never seen as a way to provide cash
flow, it was never a money issue.  Because to Jim Bakker, money was
always the means to an end, never the end itself.

Per his instructions, our people searched for land to build on.

Although I knew all the reasons why Jim wanted to do this, my heart
sank right down to my feet when I heard that they had found over two
thousand acres of land right on the border between the Carolinas.

Jim would build again.  And in my heart I already knew the price our
family would pay for this expansion.  Instead of being delighted, I
grieved.  I got this sickening feeling down in my stomach.

Soon plans went into rapid-fire development for an enormous new
expansion, a Disney-like theme park that would be called Heritage

USA.

Jim had to hire a builder and an architect, and he thought of Roe
Messner, who had earned a national reputation for his work on
churches.

Roe was a tall and athletic man, reserved in his manner but with the
confidence and can-do attitude that Jim needed to fulfill his dream.

"Roe, nothing like this has ever been done before."

"I know that."

"You know how big it could be."

"I know that too."

"But you know what my problem is."  The truth was everyone in the
financial community of North Carolina knew what Jim's problem was.  In
his incredible rush to get Heritage Village off the ground, the
ministry had developed a terrible credit rating.  There were always
cash shortfalls.

"Jim, I know that you can't get anyone to even bring a plank up here
unless they pay cash," said Roe jokingly, but Jim brushed the remark
aside.

"What I need is someone who sees the big picture.  Someone who
understands the potential of what this could mean."  Jim knew that at
this point Roe had millions of dollars.  As an extremely successful
designer and builder of churches across the country, Roe had immediate
access to huge lines of credit.

"Just what do you want, Jim?"

"I can't raise the money to get this off the ground, not until I can
first show people what it's going to be."

"I'm still listening."

"With your vision, Roe, with your talent and ability, you could make
the people see what I see.  Do you understand what I'm saying?"  Roe
knew exactly what Jim was saying.

"As I see it, you want me to help advertise what you're intending for
all that land you bought."  Even though he was playing it cool, Roe
knew this was the greatest opportunity he'd ever had.  The construction
of Heritage USA would be a tremendous shot in the arm for his church
building business.

"I need beautiful pictures and renderings," remarked Jim, "to give
people the idea.  But more than that I need your bulldozers and
machines and men working and digging on that land.  I need to put
cameras on all that activity and get the people excited.  Let them feel
that something is really happening down there."

"I'm following you, Jim.  Let me get this right.  What you want is for
me to carry you till the people start coming through.  You want me to
put up all the money."

"You're the only man who can do it, Roe.  And I trust you."

"Well, Jim, I'll be straight with you.  I think it's a great idea.  I
don't think it can miss."

That's all Jim needed to get it going.  The actual nuts and bolts of
erecting the gigantic theme park fell squarely upon the shoulders of
Roe Messner, chief architect and contractor.  Pretty soon the donations
started pouring in.  Excitement about Heritage USA spread like a
fever.

M GeW :d ; ) : f:

x U ut with all this dramatic new expansion, I was feeling increasingly
alienated from Jim's life, left out of what was going on in the
ministry.  My problems seemed like a snowball that had gotten away from
me, rolling down the mountain and picking up speed until I felt buried
under an avalanche.  In all my frustration, hurt, and anger with Jim, I
allowed something disastrous to happen.  I fell in love with another
man.

His name was Gary S. Paxton.  He had written "Monster Mash" and "Alley
Oop," plus many other famous funny songs of the sixties.  He was also a
very popular on-air personality on PTL, appearing many times.  What's
more, Gary had produced six or seven of my albums, so we had worked
very closely together for years.  But during all the sessions Gary and
I never even flirted once--until, I don't recall exactly when, one day
we just looked at each other and realized there was a lot there.

As the attraction grew, we began to say things like "Oh, we can't let
this happen, we've got to be careful, we're too good friends for this
to take place."  It began by talking on the phone much more than was
necessary.

Gary lived in Nashville.  But every time he came to be on television
with Jim, he and I would figure out a way to be together.  That was
easy, as Jim never seemed to know or care what I was doing during the
day.

Even though I don't think Jim believes it to this day, the relationship
between Gary and me never went any further than hugging and kissing.

Gary did not believe in sex outside of marriage and knew that I didn't
either.  It was Gary's feelings about sex that made me feel comfortable
with him.  He always told me that sex ruined friendship, and that he
valued our friendship.  He knew that I felt the same way.  And more
important to both of us was the fact that we were Christians and that
our walk with God meant more to us than anything in the world.  What I
needed was a feeling of closeness, of tenderness, and somebody who
would listen to me.  Gary talked to me, and he let me talk.  He treated
me like an intelligent person, not just some little giggly girl.  Gary
made me feel like a woman.

Our meetings had been going on for about a year before Jim found out.

Someone went to him and said, "Open your eyes, buddy.  Can't you see
what's happening between Paxton and your wife?"  But Jim was always so
preoccupied with his own doings that he never had any idea his wife
could be turning to another man.

"Well, if you don't believe it, why don't you just go home and ask
her?"  Which is exactly what he did.

"What's the thing with Paxton, Tammy?"  he asked, barely able to keep
his voice from cracking.

"I hear you've been seeing him.  Is that true?  Have you been slipping
around with someone behind my back?"

I didn't want to beat around the bush.  The time had come to tell Jim
just how I felt.

"What you've heard is right."

"I don't believe it!"  he said, trembling like a leaf.

"Have you lost your mind?  Do you want to ruin everything we have?"

"Only blame yourself, Jim.  Maybe if you had ever shown me some
kindness, some feeling, I wouldn't have to go to another man to get the
love and attention that I should be getting from you!"

"I'm not hearing this."  Jim was fighting back tears.

"I've given you everything, Tam.

Tell me one thing I haven't given you!"

"You haven't given me your respect.  You've shut me out of your life.

I've been out there by myself, raising two children by myself, and they
don't even know you.  They don't even know their own father."

"That's not true, Tammy.  You don't know what you're saying."

"Gary tells me how intelligent I am.  He listens to my opinions.  When
was the last time you paid attention to anything I had to say?"

"I always listen to you."

"That's the problem.  You listen but you never twitch an eyelash.  You
just don't hear me.  It all goes in one ear and out the other!"

At that point Jim calmed himself down.  He paused to collect his
thoughts and then pointed his finger straight at me.

"Tam, this thing with Paxton is over.  Do you understand me?  You're
never going to see him again!"  With those words Jim turned his back on
me and stormed out of the room.  I broke down sobbing on the couch.  I
didn't know which way to go or what to do.

First thing the next day Gary was called into Jim's office.  Right off
the bat Jim accused him of treachery, but Gary stood his ground.  Jim
wasn't buying into any of this and banished Gary on the spot.  Bluntly
Jim told him that he could never show his face around PTL anymore,
never sing on the air again.  That was so sad, because Gary wrote such
beautiful Christian music and everyone loved him.

Gary called me after meeting with Jim and told me that he would never
be back.  He said that he had been forbidden by Jim to ever set foot on
the grounds again.  We knew that the time had come for us to face
reality.  We had to quit living in a dream world  I had to stop trying
to escape.  I had to make my marriage work, for my children's sake and
for the sake of God's work.  I cried until there were no more tears to
cry.

I will always be grateful to Gary for not pushing our relationship over
the line.  I will always be grateful that he did not beg me to go with
him, and that he did not make me feel guilty about his losing his place
at PTL.  Many years later, long after he and his wife, Karen, divorced,
she went to the rag magazines and told them about Gary and me.  For
months, pictures of him and me were all over the supermarket racks.

Gary was offered thousands of dollars to "kiss and tell," but he
refused.  He refused even though he desperately needed the money they
wanted to pay him.  I respect Gary for that more than he will ever
know.  Gary did remarry, to a beautiful girl, and they have a son.

Was my relationship with Gary what eventually drove Jim into the arms
of Jessica Hahn?  Well, I'm sure it didn't help.  Although I swore that
Gary and I never slept together, never had sex, I'm certain that Jim
didn't believe me.  Was Jessica Hahn his idea of getting even?  No
doubt it contributed.  If I share some part of the responsibility in
the chain of circumstances that led to Jessica Hahn, the scandal that
eventually brought down PTL, then I am truly sorry.  Unfortunately, in
retrospect everything becomes clearer.

By 1979 the fact that we were having difficulties was no secret from
our audience.  They knew our marriage was in trouble.  But I don't
think they suspected another man as much as they figured we just
weren't getting along.  The situation had gotten so bad that I couldn't
even bear to look at Jim.  I was severely tempted to get back in touch
with Gary, but I never did.

It was then I decided to separate from Jim.  I needed time to be by
myself and think about where our lives were going.  I remember
informing Jim that I was leaving him.  We were just about to leave for
Honolulu to do a week of shows called "With Love to Hawaii."  How
ironic!

First Jim tried to talk me out of it.

"It won't look good if you desert me before this Hawaiian trip.  It's
crucial that you come along.

You know hundreds of PTL partners have bought tickets to join us for
the whole week."  But I was crying so hard that anything he said
sounded distant and faraway, as if echoing faintly through a dense
mist.

"Tam, you can't leave me now.  It will be a disaster!  Just come to
Hawaii with me just for this one week.  Then afterward if you still
want to leave, you can just leave."  As usual, Jim was very
persuasive.

Once more I capitulated.

It turned out to be a fantastic week--from the show's point of view,
certainly not mine.  Here we were in this tropical paradise, where
people should be romantic and in love, and we were totally miserable.

If you're a complete masochist, I suggest going to the most beautiful
place on the face of the earth with someone you're about to strangle.

Picture the closing shot of these shows: flickering torches reflected
in the dark waters of the Pacific, dissolving to Jim and Tammy meeting
the audience.  Trouble was, after shaking hands and signing autographs,
we couldn't wait to get away from each other.  The only joy was in
having my children along.  But not even Tammy Sue and Jamie could help
offset the sense of foreboding.  Though Jim and I were sharing the same
hotel room, I doubt if two people ever felt more lonely in their
lives.

When the last show was over, I told Jim I wasn't going home with him.

He didn't even try to talk me out of it.  He knew my mind was made
up.

As I was packing, Jim came over to me.

"Just do me one favor," he said.

"When you leave, move to Palmdale, California.  There's a nice
apartment complex next to the hospital.  That way you'll be near Vi in
case you need any advice."  Vi Azvedo, the leader of PTL's counseling
staff, knew about our troubles because we had consulted her on several
occasions.  Exhausted and emotionally shattered, I couldn't think of a
better place to go.  Jim took the children back to North Carolina, and
I went to Palmdale, carrying only my suitcases, to try and piece my
life together in the middle of the California desert.

Jim did not make me fly to Palmdale alone.  He sent my secretary, Joyce
Cordell, with me, and David Taggart, who was Jim's right-hand man and
handled much of our personal finances.  Only in his early twenties,
David went on all the trips, kept all the receipts, and made sure
everything was documented.  We had every faith in him; he always
appeared to be doing everything correctly.  When he was first hired,
David disclosed that he soon would be receiving an inheritance of over
a million dollars from his grandmother.  We had no reason to doubt
that.  David was a very well dressed young man, always wearing the
finest Armani suits and presenting a very classy demeanor.  He would
often mention that his father owned a Cadillac dealership, so we
naturally assumed that he had his own money.  Those suits certainly
didn't come from the salary we paid him!

With Joyce's and David's assistance, I moved into a pretty little place
next to the hospital where Vi Azvedo worked.  I felt safe there.  Joyce
and I were such close girlfriends.  I'll never forget the day she had
to leave me alone in that apartment.

"Tam, are you sure you're going to be all right?  Are you sure you want
to do this?"

"I'll be fine, Joyce," I said, with much more confidence than I felt.

But Joyce could see right through my brave front.  I could never fool
her.  We both started to cry as if our hearts would break.

"Joyce, please make sure that my babies are taken good care of. Please
tell them how much I love them and how much I miss them."  I was in
agony!

Across the country, the PI^L partners knew something was wrong because
they didn't see me on their television screens anymore.

But it's just as well they didn't.  I was a sight to behold, with the
pallor of a ghost and dark circles under my eyes.  Even though the
gorgeous sun was streaming down brightly every day, I just wanted to
lock my door and push the world away.  Outside of a few people at PTL
and the counselors in Palmdale, no one knew where I was.  Because if my
whereabouts had ever become known, the press would have come swarming
all over me.

I felt miserable and guilty, the lowest of the low.  I didn't know what
was going to happen to me.  I had run away and shut myself off from the
millions of viewers who had always been so generous and supportive.  My
marriage had failed.  How could I possibly reconcile that with who I
was or what I stood for?  I missed my children.  I had let down
everybody in the world and was on the brink of a nervous breakdown.

Soon they would be coming with a stretcher and carting me off in a
straitjacket.

I knew no one in Palmdale except Vi Azvedo and Dr.  Fred Gross, who was
also a part of the PTL counseling team and worked at the hospital with
Vi.  I was so lonely that often I would just walk to the hospital and
sit and talk with them.  One day Dr.  Gross came over to me with a
bunch of papers.

"Tammy," he said, "come into my office.  I have something I want you to
do.  I want you to fill out these papers for me."  After I finished, he
collected the papers, left me alone, and came back in about fifteen
minutes, looking at me with utter amazement.

"Tammy, you just completed an IQ test.  Do you know how intelligent you
are?"

"No.  I have no idea.  And I'm not sure I want to know."

"I didn't think so, otherwise you wouldn't be acting so nervous."  Dr.
Gross grinned and stated a number.  He was looking for a reaction, but
I stared at him blankly because I had no idea what the number meant. It
could have been my weight--or even my temperature, for all I knew.

"Tammy, I think it will help you to know this.  You are extremely
intelligent.  Which means no one can ever make you feel dumb or
inferior ever again."

"You mean I'm as smart as everyone else?"

To which he started laughing.

"Tammy, you're probably smarter than everyone else."

"Including Jim?"

"Don't push your luck!"

Well, I was really impressed with my IQ.  For the first time in months
my mood brightened.  I wasn't a genius, but I was way above average,
and that gave me a genuine dose of self-confidence.  Maybe I am
worthwhile; maybe all those people who are so talented and confident
aren't any better than me.  Maybe I'm as smart as they are--maybe even
smarter!  I wasn't just this giggly little thing running around with an
empty head.

Stepping outside, I felt glorious sunshine warm my shoulders.  Instead
of going back to sleep, I decided to take a stroll along a secluded
path I knew lined by desert cacti in bloom.  And with each breath I
filled my lungs with the fragrant scent blossoming all around me.  I
felt better about myself, stronger and more confident.  I was alive,
really alive, for the first time in years.  It was around this time
that Jim started making a powerful effort to get me back.

He would fly all night long and sleep on the plane so that he could
visit me.  Then one day he asked if I would like to come to the
inauguration of President Reagan.  And that was the beginning of our
cementing things back together again.  The swearing-in of the new chief
executive was truly an inspiring and momentous event.

Jim and I attended all sorts of Washington parties.  But he was always
careful never to get political.  Jim never publicly supported any
candidate.  Right after the inauguration I decided to travel back home
to my children.  I knew they were missing me.  I'd gotten myself
rested.  I had gotten my head back together again.  And I felt like I
needed to go home and be the woman of God that I had claimed to be.

Returning to PTL was one of the most incredibly joyous days of my
life.

Viewers by the thousands had written us, telling Jim and me that they
prayed for our reconciliation.  I was welcomed by our partners with
open arms of forgiveness.  Just before I came back Jim had sold our
house, and I agreed that that was the right move.  We were determined
to start our lives all over again.

"Tam," he said.

"I promise I won't be so moody.  I'll really try to control that.  I
don't want to hurt you anymore.  I don't want us to be apart ever
again!"  Then for the first time in months we made love.  It was tender
beyond belief.  One moment we laughed; the next moment we cried in each
other's arms.  Jim began to talk to me: "I was a fool, a complete
idiot.  The truth is I didn't know what I had until I didn't have it
anymore.  There's not one single thing I would change.  I love the
Tammy I married!  And I hope in her heart that she still loves me!"

The euphoria was shortlived.

The situation improved for a while.  Jim and I were determined to share
our experience, consequently we devoted hours of TV time to discussing
our problems.  The PTL partners knew about our misery, our frustration,
and our determination to recapture the magic between us.  We started
the marriage-workshop program as a result.  It was a sizable
undertaking.  But because people saw that we were hanging in, maybe
they could hang in there too.  Unfortunately, Jim's old patterns were
starting up again.

Throughout his life he was torn between the spiritual and the secular
part of himself.  Jim admired what the secular world did but knew he
could never be a part of it, therefore he wanted to bring the Christian
world up to that level.  Jim loved Disneyland and decided that the new
Heritage USA should be just as exciting and impressive.  He felt that
the Christian population deserved to have something with just as much
quality as Disney.

Jim wanted to forever do away with sawdust tabernacles and crude
dormitories, creating a safe haven for people of faith to vacation
without being afraid or intimidated.  But more than a site for family
recreation, it would serve as a spiritual mecca for millions of
visitors.  It would be unsurpassed, like nothing the world had ever
seen before--that was Jim's dream, his vision.

Heritage USA would be the size of a small city.  The huge facility
would contain a large TV studio, hotels and motels, shops and
restaurants, pools and tennis courts, and a subdivision of homes.  When
the main buildings were completed, Jim planned to add many features
that people would enjoy, such as a petting zoo, trams, a water park,
and man-made lakes.  He wanted Heritage USA to be the dream vacation
spot for families.

There was a tremendous amount of excitement within the Christian world
about Heritage USA.  Folks everywhere thought it was a remarkable
achievement.  In what seemed to be a genuine spirit of reconciliation,
Pat Robertson telegram med to congratulate us.  Hundreds of church
leaders called to lend us their support, including an enthusiastic
reverend named Jerry Falwell.

Falwell was the president of a small Christian college in Lynchburg,
Virginia.  A minor religious leader who had managed to rise rapidly to
national prominence after forming the Moral Majority, Jerry had
cleverly hitched his wagon to the rising star of conservatism and
Ronald Reagan.

In the midst of all the accolades, once again I was shunted aside.  It
was very frustrating.  To avoid the fiasco of publicly separating
again, and all the negative press that would bring, Jim and I
unofficially stopped living together as man and wife.  This time we
wanted to be discreet.  Who knows?  Along with everything else, maybe
deep down Jim never really forgave me for Gary.  Maybe he dreamed of
getting even--a fantasy that would soon become a reality, eventually
destroying everything he ever built.

It was telethon time for one of the affiliate stations down in
Clearwater, Florida.  Jim was asked to help them raise funds to stay on
the air.  Consequently he and the PTL staff went to help them.  Jim
brought Tammy Sue, and they stayed in a hotel on the ocean so that
Tammy Sue could play in the water with some of the staff children while
their dads worked.  I kept Jamie, then still a baby, at home.

One of Jim's friends, a reverend named John Wesley Fletcher, knew that
we were having a lot of problems.  I don't know why Fletcher decided to
act when he did, but at that telethon he told Jim, "I think it's time
you put Tammy in her place.  You need to show her, prove to her that
you're the boss and that you're a desirable man.  Jim, you can have
anyone you want.  You have power, money, and fame.  Any girl would be
glad to have you."  Fletcher looked around and bent a little closer
toward Jim.

"In fact I know one who is just dying to meet you.  I just talked to
her, and she says that she will fly in from New York and meet with you
while you're here.  Trust me, she's very discreet."

Jim mulled the proposition over.

"John, I don't know.  It would be wrong before God.  And I have my
daughter here.  And a telethon to worry about.  And I haven't been with
another woman in twenty years."

"Well, maybe it's about time you were."

"What would happen if Tam found out?  She would divorce me."

"Oh come on, Jim, she isn't going to find out.  And this girl is good,
really good.  I've had her myself.  She's like a steel trap--know what
I mean?  She hasn't had two kids."  By this time Fletcher had the
little wheels in Jim's mind spinning.

"Why don't you let me fly her down.

I'll pay for the trip myself.  She can be here by this evening.  In
fact, I've already talked to her.  She's packed and ready to go to the
airport at a moment's notice.  Come on, Jim, prove that you're a
man."

Fletcher continued to goad him and chide him until finally Jim said,
"John, I won't promise you anything, but I will meet her and at least
say hello."  That was all Fletcher needed to hear.  Instantly he was on
the phone, and in less than an hour Jessica Hahn was on her way.  When
she arrived Jim was strolling on the beach with Tammy Sue.  Fletcher's
voice rang out from the hotel balcony.

"Jim, come on in.  I have someone I want you to meet."  Jim's heart was
beating out of his chest as he ventured toward the hotel, knowing full
well who awaited him.  Would he like this girl?  What would she look
like?  What would he say to her?  Jim almost turned around and went
back to the beach when John's words came to him again, "Jim, prove that
you're a man!"  He continued to walk toward the hotel.

"Hey, Dad!"  It was Tammy Sue.

"Will you be coming right back?"  Jim's face paled.

"I'll be back in a little while, honey.  You have fun with your
friends."

Before he knew what was happening, Jim was standing there in the hotel
lobby in his swimming trunks, meeting the girl who would forever change
his life.

"Jim Bakker, meet Jessica Hahn," crowed Fletcher.  When the
introduction was completed, Hahn followed Jim back to his room.  Her
first words upon entering were "And what can I do for you?"

Hahn was wearing a short black dress, black nylons, a black garter
belt, and black panties.  Jim stood there frozen.

"Come on, let me rub your back," she said.  With that, Jim went over to
the bed and lay facedown as she began to rub him all over.

"I heard from John that you and Tammy are having marriage problems.  I
bet I can make you forget her.... Oh, Jim, I have always wanted to meet
you.  I have always thought you were so fantastic..  .. I couldn't wait
to get here.  You have such a wonderful body, Jim.  You are such a sexy
man..  .. I know how to do things to your body that you will never
forget.... Tammy doesn't satisfy you, does she, Jim?  She has never
satisfied you, has she?  When I am finished with you, you will never
want her again!"  But even with all her expert kneading, Jim was very
tense.  His body wasn't responding the way she wanted, at least not
yet.

"Come on, Jim, loosen up.  I came all the way from New York to see you.
You aren't going to disappoint me now, are you?"

Years later Jim told me that nothing would have happened between him
and Jessica had she not been so skillful.  He said that he was not
drawn to her physically in any way, nor did he remember her to be even
good-looking.  What took place that day was only sex.  And not very
satisfying sex at that.  Jim confessed that he didn't even know how he
was able to have relations at all, he was in such a troubled state of
mind.  But Jessica was a professional.  She knew what she was doing.

She knew what to wear, what to say, and all the right moves.  She was
no virgin.  Jim can attest to that.

After they finished, Jim said, "Jessica, I have to go.  I have a
telethon to do, and Tammy Sue is waiting for me to go eat with her."

"Well, Jim, just remember," Jessica cooed, "I will always be here for
you.  If you ever need me, all you have to do is call me in New York
and I'll fly anywhere to meet you."  Jim told me that afterward he felt
filthy and couldn't wait to take a shower.  Determined to wash this
experience away from his body and mind forever, Jim got beneath the
hot, steady stream of water.  He scrubbed himself over and over, not
missing a single inch, until his flesh was raw.  Jim never saw Hahn
again.

However, he did hear from her again.  About a week after arriving back
home he was back at his office.

"Jim, there is a woman on the phone for you," announced Shirley
Fulbright, his secretary.

"Her name is Jessica Hahn, and she absolutely insists on talking to
you.  She says you know her and that you had better take her call."  Of
course he took the call.

"Jim, I loved our time together, and I want to see you again.  When can
we see each other again, Jim?"

The lump in Jim's throat swelled to the size of a grapefruit.

"Jessica, I want to apologize to you for what happened in Florida.  It
was so wrong and I feel terrible about it.  I have dishonored God and
my wife.  I never want to see you again.  Please don't call me
again."

With that he hung up the phone and spoke emphatically to his
secretary.

"Shirley, if that girl ever calls here again, I will not take it.  I
simply will not take it!"  But Shirley was going to have to deal with
Jessica many more times before it was all said and done.  To my
knowledge Jim never spoke personally to Hahn again.

The news media proclaimed time and time again that Jim had a tryst with
a secretary in his church.  That's simply not true.  In reality Hahn
was a secretary for a church in Massapequa, Long Island, pa stored by a
Reverend Eugene Profeta.  John Wesley Fletcher was a friend of
Profeta's and had ministered in his church many times.  That is where
Fletcher met Jessica Hahn.

Years later, when the scandal broke, at least two ministers came
forward and told us that Hahn had also come on to them while they were
preaching at Profeta's church.  Both claimed she blatantly offered
herself to them but that they had turned her down.  Then they informed
Jim that Hahn had a strange fixation for preachers; in fact she was
known for it.

Following his one-night stand, Jim was inconsolable.  Within days of
the episode he went to see Dr.  Fred Gross.  The doctor reported that
Jim was severely agitated, drenched in his own sweat, trembling like a
leaf from the moment he walked into the office.  Jim sat for hours and
poured out the agony of his soul.  Dr.  Gross prayed with him and
counseled him.

"Jim, you can't possibly undo what has happened.  You have to get on
with your life."

"But what do I tell Tammy?"

"In my professional opinion, don't ever tell her.  I don't think she
would be able to take it."  It was just the kind of doctor's advice
that Jim found easy to take.  It was not until nine years later that I
found out, together with the rest of the world, about Jessica Hahn.

" ::

C; t ,; .;; .  '..  .

- /w After our second separation, I returned to Jim and we tried
again.

With the Hahn affair dead and buried, Jim returned with new passion to
building Heritage USA.  Often I said to myself out of sheer
frustration, "Oh no, here comes Roe Messner again.  That means
something else is going up."  And with each new building there was less
and less time for our marriage.  It was as if a sharp wedge was being
driven between us.  The rift soon became wider and wider, the size of
the Grand Canyon.

Plans were constantly sprawled across our bed, and Jim spent hour after
hour poring over them.  He would move a wall here, change a door there,
add more square feet in another place.  It never ended.  As the
construction progressed, other materials would take their place on our
blankets: piles of wallpaper samples, carpet swatches, drapery fabrics,
furniture catalogs, and on and on it would go.

Every day Jim would make checklists, some as long as twelve pages.  He
had an eye like a microscope.  No detail could escape his scrutiny.

The smallest things had to be attended to immediately.  A burned-out
light in the sign over the campgrounds would catch his eye.  If there
was a single candy wrapper caught against the front gate, the head of
grounds keeping would immediately be informed.  Should there be a small
crack in a sidewalk or grass uncut along the parking lot, Jim would
make a special note of it.

Rest rooms had to be kept spotless; Jim could spot a tiny fray in a
carpet, chipped paint on a building, brass railings that required
polishing, minute stains on furniture.  And the landscapers were always
trying to figure out where he'd want the next bush or tree to go.

It was as if Jim were ten people rolled into one.  Whether it was
discussing crowd control for the Fourth of July, adjusting the angles
of the water slides, selecting the kinds of Hawaiian music being played
at Heritage Island, designing new exhibits, laying out an
organizational chart, or merely deciding where people could park their
cars, Jim was a stream of creative energy.  At times he almost seemed
superhuman, accomplishing more in one week than most people do in a
lifetime.

But Jim was never satisfied.  He could never finish Heritage USA, just
like he could never finish Heritage Village.  From the beginning Jim
seemed incapable of experiencing any sense of completeness, nor would
he allow himself to just sit back and enjoy his achievements.  Nothing
was ever enough.  There was always something else to be built, a new
goal to reach, a new mountain to climb, something more impressive on
the horizon.

Whatever the case, the reality was that the ministry was growing so
rapidly that Jim badly needed help running it-an older, seasoned, wise
man--so that he could fully concentrate on doing television and raising
the money needed to support such an immense organization.  With my
encouragement, he hired the Reverend Richard Dortch in April 1983.

Reverend Dortch's position was general manager, making him second in
command.

From the very first, Jim and I loved Reverend Dortch.  As a legendary
force in the Assemblies of God, he was very visible and much admired. A
man of impeccable credentials, he was well known for his wise counsel
to hurting ministers.  And he enjoyed a considerable reputation as a
church problem solver.  Reverend Dortch impressed me as a father
figure.  Whenever I would see him and Mrs.  Dortch at church
conventions, I would always feel so proud that such quality people were
part of our leadership.  A smallish man with beautiful gray hair,
Reverend Dortch always seemed to manage the kindest expression, exuding
warmth and sincerity.  Without his even uttering a word, his demeanor
put you completely at ease.

Reverend Dortch seemed the kind of person to whom you could reveal your
deepest secrets--which is exactly what Jim did.  Even before Dortch was
hired, Jim confided in him about the one-night stand with Jessica
Hahn.

And true to his word, Dortch kept the entire matter strictly
confidential--at least from me.  After the celebration party
commemorating Dortch's arrival, it felt as if a million pounds had been
lifted off my back.  Jim was finally going to have someone to shoulder
part of the load, and maybe--just maybe--he would have the opportunity
to spend a little more time at home with me and the children.  Maybe
now we could all have supper together around the table next to the
fireplace in our cozy kitchen.  Maybe now he could tuck Jamie in bed
some nights.  Maybe now we wouldn't have to attend all those nightly
functions held for the PTL partners.

And in the beginning, Dortch was precisely what we hoped he would be.

He and his wife began to make some appearances in our place.  I was
ecstatic.  Because Dortch was there to occasionally host the daily TV
show for us, our family was finally able to take a vacation together.

Dortch proved to be a solid on-the-air personality, and the people
responded to him.

A few weeks after his arrival, Dortch summoned Roe Messner up to his
office.

"Roe, I just wanted to let you know that I'm in charge.

Everything that gets done around here now has to be run through me.

I'm the one responsible for making all the decisions."  Roe listened
respectfully to every word Dortch was saying.

"Where Jim is concerned, it is acceptable for you to meet privately
with him and discuss any building projects, but I want one thing made
clear.  You have to keep me advised and send me copies of all your
correspondence."

At that point Dortch turned around and gazed out the window, surveying
the grounds beneath him.

"Roe, I just wanted to tell you that I'm bringing in my own people.
There are going to be lots of changes around here--lots of changes."
Assuming he was finished, Roe was about to leave.

"Oh, yes, just one more thing," Reverend Dortch added, smiling ever so
slightly.

"I can't be fired."

: ::

Once operations moved to Heritage USA, Jim's remarkable foresight
engineered an unprecedented broadcasting coup.  We acquired the
satellite network.  Jim leased an entire communications satellite, and
this provided a space-age link to hundreds of cable systems around the
country and around the world, twenty-four hours a day.  Virtually
overnight the total number of stations carrying Ptl mushroomed.  The
show could now be carried live, seen simultaneously all across the
nation, just like the news on ABC or CNN.  Jim had negotiated an
exclusive multlyear contract.  It couldn't be broken.  That was the
valuable thing that PTL possessed.

The satellite network meant the RL show no longer needed to be
distributed separately on videotape to hundreds of stations.  This
saved considerable money as well.  Because it was a live telecast, we
suddenly had much more freedom.  Without the constraints that naturally
come from being prerecorded, our shows could now be instantly updated
and we could go over our allotted time, staying on as long as we
wanted.

The satellite network opened up our programs to more than fourteen
million homes, domestically representing a potential audience of more
than thirty-five million people.  And with media outlets across six
continents, PTL instantly became a major international force, a
broadcast of great power and influence.

Anytime someone is on the airwaves as much as we were, there's always
an issue of power.  With tens of millions of people watching Jim every
day, of course he was bound to be influential.

Jim wasn't sexist.  He didn't believe that a woman's place was just in
the home.  Jim was absolutely committed to women being in the
workplace, particularly in the higher paying technical end of the
business such as working the cameras or doing lighting design.  He
offered many women their first prominent positions, and all this at the
same time women's liberation was just beginning to break down the
barriers of "The Boys Club" at the three major TV networks.

Our whole production was built around the home, featuring one of the
most breathtaking sets you've ever seen.  It had a working kitchen, a
spacious living room with a fireplace, and an imposing dining room.

Outside the house there was a tremendous patio with fresh flowers and
bushes all around.  All the different parts of the set were cleverly
connected so that we could easily glide from one to the other without
jarring the viewers or the audience.

Off to one side was our incredible band, as talented as you would see
on The Tonight Show or anywhere else.  There were ten musicians,
including a piano player and organist, two guitarists, a drummer, and a
horn section, in addition to eight singers.

The studio itself was completely air-conditioned and state-of-the-art,
with enormous seating room.  Every day of the year more than a thousand
people would line up to get in to see the program.  Sometimes the crowd
was so overwhelming that it would spill over into the other studios.

Whenever that happened we'd entertain them by having the PTL broadcast
fed live onto oversized television monitors.

All over America Jim reached out to the forgotten people, those who had
practically given up on life, people in pain, those without a reason to
go on.  Jim understood their hurt, their years of suffering, their
disillusionment with life, and he offered them hope, a way out of the
quicksand sucking them down.  Whatever the tragedy, whatever the source
of conflict, Jim Bakker was always there for them.

The whole world of PTL centered around our live broadcasts.  They were
the glue that held the network together.  When it came to mixing the
key ingredients of a serious spiritual message and lighthearted
Christian entertainment, Jim was a master.  No one could touch him. Jim
made all the complexities of TV seem so effortless.  Every element of
the format flowed seamlessly.

Jim could take a TV director aside and tell him shot-by shot exactly
how a program should be produced, how long each segment should be, and
what should follow what.  He devised fund-raising campaigns that were
second to none.  He was truly a Renaissance man, with the incredible
ability to work on many areas at once.  The PTL show attracted actors
and singers, pastors and politicians.  Familiar faces included Billy
Graham, Oral Roberts, Robert Schuller, and countless others.

Jim was equally comfortable with Hollywood stars and powerful
evangelists.  Through the portals of our show came a glittering array
of entertainers.  Living legends such as Pearl Bailey and Mickey Rooney
graced our stage on several occasions, as well as stars such as Carol
Lawrence, Gavin MacLeod, and Colonel Sanders.  Those who tuned in also
got to witness the miraculous testimonies of timeless personalities
like Roy Rogers, Dale Evans, and of course Pat Boone.

More than anything we loved to discover fresh talent.

The ever popular Mike Murdock, a minister as well as a gifted gospel
singer and songwriter, was a regular on the program.  Thanks to his
appearances the membership of his own ministry shot up.  Other
discoveries included Dr.  Evelyn Carter Spencer as well as BeBe and
CeCe Winans.  It didn't make a difference who it was: An outing on the
PTL show would instantly cause a performer's or preacher's career to
blast off like a skyrocket.  Of course, this included Dortch too.
Thanks to RL, the reverend got a taste of fame, and soon he hungered
for more.

All of a sudden he wanted to be on the show every day with Jim.  As a
result he started spending less time in his office and more time in
front of the camera every single opportunity he could.  We would inform
the producers that Dortch wasn't needed on the set that day, and they
would come back and tell us that he insisted on being there.  With that
a warning signal went off in my head, a feeling of deja vu, just like
when Pat Robertson had wanted more airtime on The 700 Club.  I began
speaking to Jim about it.

"Why isn't Dortch in his office doing what we hired him to do
anymore?

Why is he always in front of the cameras with you?  Why are you paying
him a quarter of a million dollars every year?"  But Jim would always
defend Dortch, and our conversations would turn into arguments.

"Tam, he's doing exactly the job he's supposed to do."

But I wasn't convinced that Jim was being truthful with me.  Down deep
I could tell that he was having second thoughts as well.

"You know that's not true.  All he wants to do is be on television.
Jim, can't you control him?  You didn't hire him to be on the show, you
hired him to manage the ministry.  You hired him to keep a cap on
spending, to guard the finances, to make sure that everything was done
right."

"Well, he's doing that, isn't he?"

"No, Jim, he is not doing that.  Take a look.  He is busy with his own
agenda.  There must be something you can do, anything."

"I

can't interfere with what Dortch is doing.  We have an agreement.  I
have to stick by that agreement."

"But he's not sticking by it.  Open your eyes, Jim.

"Look, Tam, I already told you.  I can't do anything.  I have to allow
Dortch to continue with his operations."

"What do you mean, you 'have to'?  You're the president of PTL!  If you
want Dortch spending more time working in his office, then it's your
call.  Your decision.  Because you're the boss."

"Can we just drop it?"  Jim said.

"I have a show to do."

And he would just walk away from me, the man in charge seemingly
powerless.  Had I known about Jessica Hahn at the time, I could have
easily understood how Dortch might be using Jim's infidelity as a club
over his head.  I can't see how he could have wielded so much influence
otherwise.

As best I could even beyond the matter of Dortch--I would always try to
assist Jim.  I would take him aside and say that person doesn't belong
here.  There's something wrong.  But Jim wouldn't listen to me.  He
would listen to camera people.  He would listen to directors.  He would
listen to anybody.  But he wouldn't listen to me.

Of course I always realized that PTL was "Jim's program," not mine.

Even though I was his wife, I always felt like one of the guests on the
show.  And what's more, if I never came back, I felt I wouldn't be
missed.  Jim never quite treated me the way he treated others.  True,
he would pay me lip service and thank me for my opinions.  But at the
time I suspected there was a part of him that just didn't want me to
grow up.  Nonetheless, there may have been altogether another reason
for Jim's attitude toward me.

A friend of mine named Bob, who knows both of us quite well, recently
revealed something that fascinated me but made me sad.  He mentioned
that Jim always felt that I was in competition with him.  I looked at
Bob in shock and dismay and said, "I would have never dreamed that in a
million years.  How in the world can a husband and wife be in
competition with each other when they're a team?  The only thing I ever
competed with Jim for was his time.  I wanted part of him.  I certainly
never competed for the ministry or anything else because I didn't think
I had to.  I thought we were a team and automatically we did everything
together.  What he had I had, and what I had he had."

But as I thought about what Bob said, it gave me an insight into why
Jim treated me the way he did, shunting me off all along.  Maybe he
felt that I was getting too big for my britches.  But I sure wasn't
aware of that.  I recall people always told Jim how much they loved it
when Tammy did The PTL Club, how they never knew what I was going to
say or do next.

Jim would always laugh when he told me about it, and I thought he was
glad that the people liked me.  It sure made things easier for him when
he knew that I could do the show by myself.  Though I didn't realize it
at the time, however, maybe this threatened him.  Who knows?  But even
today it hurts to find out Jim thought that way.

Despite all his confidence on camera, Jim never seemed to have enough
faith in himself.  I have always felt that if he had just trusted his
gut instincts, everything at PTL would have turned out differently.

Jim is an exceptionally intelligent man but has never felt that way
about himself.  I think the fact that he never finished college always
made him feel a "little less than."  Jim always believed that everyone
else was more capable than he was and somehow knew better how things
should be.

In spite of this, it is my opinion that Jim was smarter than any of
them, and I always told him that.  But in times of crisis he always
wound up listening to the wrong people, trusting them because they were
college graduates or had a "Dr."  in front of their name or boasted
PhDs.  If only Jim Bakker would have trusted Jim Bakker instead of the
people with their own agendas at heart.

Because of its phenomenal growth, PTL was a magnet for all sorts of
individuals, an umbrella that provided spiritual shelter for those
trying to discover the path God had set for them.  But it also
attracted people who did not have the calling.  To many of our two
thousand employees this was just another job.  And I understood that.
PTL was not just a ministry, it was also a major business enterprise.
Which meant that professional managers and administrators had to be
brought in for various positions.

This resulted in two factions: the people devoted to working for God,
and those who viewed it strictly as a professional career.

Locked away from public view, behind the cameras, the spotlights, and
the impressive sets, there were frequent conilicts.  Clashes over
attitudes, goals, rules, and procedures often clouded the bigger
picture.  In other instances long-standing jealousies among particular
individuals would explode to the surface.  But this was only natural.

We were only human beings with human frailties.

It showed up more when we had to hire performers.  The policy was that
they were hired because of their expertise.  If the music department
needed an extremely high voice, for instance, to complete a singing
group, of course they hired the best that applied.  Sometimes, though,
the best person who applied was not always in agreement with our way of
worship.  But because of the possibility of national exposure, however,
that singer would try his or her best to act the part.  And for a while
it would work.  But only for a while.  Eventually you'd sense the
feelings and hear the disapproval.

This would cause great dissension among the ones who really believed
the way we believed; consequently, our on the-air performers changed
frequently.  That was hard for me to get used to.  And it was also hard
on the TV audience, who would get used to seeing a person and then
demand to know why that person was no longer there.  But we could not
allow anyone to remain who was simply looking at a PTL job as a way of
being discovered or as a way of becoming a star.  We all had to be in
one accord, and that meant everyone--the band, the singers, and the
guests.  And getting that many people together with the same vision and
keeping them together was not an easy task.

What was disturbing was that PTL was at risk of becoming just a highly
polished show rather than a true place for spiritual guidance and
comfort.  And I always knew that if we allowed this to happen we would
lose the whole reason of why we were there, which was to win souls.

But sometimes this was hard for Jim to see.  He had a constant fight
within his soul.  He wanted everything to look and sound
professional.

He wanted the world to watch and be impressed enough to continue
watching.  He didn't want audiences to be turned off.  And people did
watch, by the millions.  I am still hearing today of people from all
walks of life, both Christian and non-Christian, who watched the show
every day.

Over the years, Jim and I had many disagreements about the content of
the PTL program.  I loved worship and praise.  I always wanted the show
to be more like a church program.  Jim favored the talk-show format,
which I'll admit was certainly more professional.

Still, I would warn Jim when people were something less than he thought
he had hired--but to no avail.  His favorite words to me were "Tam,
don't come to me with hearsay.  I want proof.  If you don't have a
solution for the problem, I don't want to hear about it."  Therefore I
felt my hands were tied.  I didn't want to be a nagging wife or get in
a big fight.  So I would just forget it.

Jim would be polite and listen to people who disagreed with him or
warned him about something that might be going wrong, but in the end he
always ended up going with what his buddies said.  People invariably
convinced Jim they had his best interests at heart, but usually "his
best interests" coincided with the interests of their pocketbooks.

Rather than listening to the one woman who really cared about him and
cared about the ministry, he got taken in time and time again.

Jim tried to stay above petty disagreements.  He avoided conflict at
all costs.  Jim always got his people to handle anything that would be
even the least confrontational.  As a matter of fact, his favorite song
was "Don't Nobody Bring Me No Bad News."

Richard Dortch, bolstered by his ever-increasing presence on the PTL
show and Jim's unwillingness to check his authority, started bringing
in his own people by the droves and putting them in key management
positions.  I wasn't the only one disturbed by this; many people shared
my concerns.

Once again, the only real time I ever got to speak to my husband was in
the privacy of our bedroom, and he was usually exhausted by then.

"Jim, there's a lot of resentment going around.  Dortch is hiring his
friends and paying them better salaries than people who have worked at
PTL for years."

"Tam, Dortch is the head of business operations.  That's his decision
to make.  I can't second-guess him."

"We don't need all his friends.  We're way overstaffed now.  He should
be cutting down on staff, not putting new ones on the payroll."

"I can't see what you're worried about.  PTL is going stronger than
ever.  And if Dortch needs a few people around him, I don't see what
the problem is.  We've had this discussion before."

"And we're going to keep on having it!  I don't care for these people
he's bringing in, Jim.  I think they're up to something.  They're all
devoted to Dortch--not to you or the PTL ministry.  And that's not
good.  You know that's not good."

"Well, if you think he's up to something, prove it.  Bring me proof."

"Jim, it's just a feeling I have.  Call it my woman's intuition.  I get
a cold feeling around Dortch.  Something is just not right with the
man.  Something that you know that you know, even if you don't know how
you know."  "Look, I can't run PTL on your intuition.  You can't
condemn Dortch on just a feeling.  You need facts."

"How much more do I have to tell you?  Simply check out the people he's
bringing in.  That's all I'm asking you to do."

"Tam, let's talk about this tomorrow.  Can't you see I'm bushed?"

The light would be switched off, and I would be left in the dark.  Of
course, as it turned out, it was Jim who was really in the dark.

Rumors began circulating among the staff.  The people Dortch hired were
being called "Dortchites."  A crack was beginning to appear on the
smooth surface of PTL.  I saw everything that was happening, but I
honestly don't believe that Jim did.  Jim had a way of blocking out
anything unpleasant or unhappy, so he refused to believe it.

As I've said, Jim avoided conflict at any cost.  I have actually
watched him stare down at the floor rather than risk a confrontation.

Under the circumstances it was easier for him to trust Dortch and not
attempt to look any further.  For the life of me, I still couldn't
fathom why Jim couldn't see what was happening all around him.  It was
plain as day.  I thought my skin would crawl off my body every time he
mentioned how much he trusted Dortch.

Morale grew worse and worse.  And before we knew it the staff that had
loved us and worked with us for years were beginning to take sides.  It
was the Bakkerites versus the Dortchites.  This was well known to
everyone.  You were lined up either on one side or on the other.  A red
flag of danger waved constantly across my mind.  Again and again I
begged Jim to do something.

Every day I could see Dortch building his own kingdom, securing a loyal
following among his employees.  Adding insult to injury, he began
insisting that the producers of the PTL show use the guests he
wanted.

Naturally these guests were all his friends and he paid them much
higher honorariums than our regular guests were getting.  And believe
me, we paid our guests well!  Dortch lured his guests into the
organization this way, then before you knew it they would be working in
one of the top management positions of the company.

By this time Jim was finally beginning to see that something was not
right, but he still refused to admit--or didn't dare to admit--that
Dortch was doing anything wrong.

Dortch ran the board meetings of the corporation, and since Jim
proclaimed his trust in him all the board members were motivated to
comply with Dortch's suggestions and vote them in without much
debate.

I could see repeating all over again the same familiar pattern: Jim
giving his power away to another man.  Was this Jim's way of escaping
responsibility, his need to seek the approval of a father figure, or
the seeds of a selfdestructive compulsion rooted in his feelings of
unworthiness?  I can't say for sure.  Maybe it was a combination of all
three.

?

Jim and I were the trailblazers in Christian television, and we did a
lot of things wrong.  We regret those mistakes, but we learned from
them.  However, there's no other way we could have learned, because
nobody had been there before us.  Nobody had ever tried to mix the
business of a TV ministry with a Christian theme park.  To this day,
every other televangelist has learned from Jim's mistakes.

Nevertheless, as I've said before, both of us were adults.  Whatever
character flaws and weaknesses we had were no excuse for poor judgment,
and I don't offer them as such.  Plenty of mistakes were made at PTL,
and I am ashamed and appalled by them.  But they were honest mistakes
of judgment.  They were not crimina ll Today I'm convinced Jim suffered
from a terrible inferiority complex, only he overcompensated for it.
Maybe Heritage USA was his ultimate vindication, proof that he was as
good as everyone else, that he could be loved.  I wish that I had
somehow found the strength or the way to have more influence over Jim.
If I had, he would not have let matters get so out of hand.  But now
that's wishful thinking.

"So where did the money go?"  Over and over I'm asked that question.

To those of you who have already condemned me, I'm afraid no answer
will suffice.  I can't account for every single dime that went in and
out of PTL, nor would I ever attempt to.  All I can recount is what we
achieved, what we delivered, and where we fell short.  I hope you will
judge me on my words, not on any preconceptions.

From 1983 through 1986 PTL underwent its greatest period of expansion,
often referred to as "The Glory Years."  During Christmas, tens of
thousands of visitors would make their pilgrimage to Heritage USA, and
they would never be disappointed.  Ringing the grounds was a dazzling
spectacle of lights, a breathtaking extravaganza of more than a million
colored bulbs.  It took almost a year to plan and execute this display,
the grandest celebration of the year.  Long lines of cars trying to
enter the grounds would stretch for more than twelve miles.

Every Fourth of July, Jim would organize an immense pageant to
commemorate our country's day of independence.  A colorful parade of
marching bands and patriotic floats was the central highlight of the
festivities.  In 1985 more than sixty thousand people streamed into
Heritage USA for that single occasion.  With over six million visitors
in 1986, the theme park was the third-biggest tourist destination in
America, second only to Disneyland and Disney World.

During this three-year period the number of employees swelled from just
under seven hundred to over two thousand.  Contributions quadrupled,
rising from $40 million to $160 million annually.

Jim Bakker was a human locomotive barreling down the rails at breakneck
speed; there was no way to keep up with him.  He wasn't slowing down
for anybody.  Because of this Jim frequently appeared impulsive,
sometimes bordering on obsessive.

The urgency of his vision seemed to transcend all rhyme and reason.

Once he got a plan into his mind, there was no talking him out of it,
or slowing him down.  Many people thought he should slow down, even Roe
Messner.

"What's your rush, Jim?"  Roe used to ask him.  I too begged Jim to
please slow down, but it was no use.

Jim had to have everything finished yesterday.  He wanted to give the
partners everything they deserved as quickly as possible.  As a result,
construction costs often doubled and occasionally tripled.  There
seemed to be no end in sight.  As the erection of more buildings got
under way, we had to hire more people.

Add in the hotels and restaurants, entertainment such as water parks,
and colossal productions such as the Passion Play and other
extravaganzas, and you can just imagine the number of men and women
needed to bring it off.  And all these people needed to make a living,
they needed to be paid.  Therefore salaries siphoned off a huge chunk
of our income.  But the more salaries we paid out, the more airtime we
had to buy to keep contributions coming in.  It became a vicious
circle.

Nevertheless, Jim was very good to his employees, and PTL was a great
place to work.  He gave them benefits comparable to what any large
corporation offered, and salaries matched anything they could earn in
the secular world.  Jim had no intention of having his best staff
members snatched away from him.

Unfortunately, he also was incapable of firing his worst staff
members.

There were some individuals whose hearts may have been in the right
place but whose heads simply weren't up to the task.  Some of these
people simply fell apart under the pressure of Jim's full-steam-ahead
attitude.

I tried to remind Jim of this problem many times.

"Honey," I'd say, "I know that we are working for God, but when you
have two thousand people working with you, that's a business!  We're in
business for God, but we're still in business.  You really need to let
the people go who are not doing their jobs.  In business you don't keep
people working for you just because you feel sorry for them, Jim."

Jim had such a big heart that sometimes it got in the way of him using
his head.  This is one of the things I loved about him, yet one of the
things that frustrated me constantly.  I would name a few of the people
I felt he ought to let go, and he'd have great excuses for each one of
them.

"Then cut the salaries of some of the executives," I'd suggest.

"That will help to make up for those that you feel you need to keep.

Maybe we could balance it all out that way."

I was desperate to help Jim find answers to our ever growing staff
problem.  I felt that we could have done twice as much work with half
the staff.  I mean, even secretaries had secretaries.  There had to be
a better way of controlling things.  Sometimes I felt as if we were on
a merry-go-round spinning faster and faster and faster and no one knew
how to stop it.

One day Jim told me he wanted to bring his parents to PTL and that he
was going to hire his sister and his brother and his sister-in-law.  I
was happy that Jim wanted his parents close by, but I hated for him to
uproot them from their home in Michigan, plus uproot the rest of his
family from their jobs in Chicago and Portsmouth, Virginia.  I felt
that once we hired one family member we would be duty bound to hire
more family and more family, and I didn't think that was a good idea. 
I was afraid it would cause friction and jealousy.  I could just
imagine what might happen: "You gave his side of the family a better
job than you gave our side of the family."

But Jim went ahead and hired his family members anyway.  Many people
resented Jim doing that, and it caused much friction.  Even though
Jim's relatives were well-qualified and hard workers, people always
accused Jim of giving family members preferential treatment.

Eventually, Jim also hired my mom and my dad and several of my brothers
and sisters.  My mom had wanted a job outside the home all of her life,
but couldn't do that and raise eight children too.  So when Jim gave
her a position in the mailroom, he made Mom the happiest lady in the
whole USA.  She was so proud of her job, and everyone adored Rachel.

My dad worked in the kitchen of one of the restaurants.  He worked hard
and loved it so much.  Dad was retired from the mill by this time, and
the kitchen filled the many hours that would have otherwise been empty
for him.

We bought our parents small houses on the grounds.  My mom lived in her
house until she died two years ago.  Jim's folks still live in their
place.  I was always so happy that we could do that for our parents.  I
think it is something most kids dream about doing but are never able
to.  (By the way, Jim did not get any special deals on the homes.  We
paid the same price as anyone else buying property at Heritage.) There
were other practices that, over the course of time, I've had deep
regrets about, areas where we could have simply cut back and not gone
overboard.  For instance, when coming to work for the ministry, some
people in key positions were provided with PTL-owned homes as part of
their salary.  In other words, PTL paid the mortgage.  If they stayed
with us a certain number of years, usually about fifteen or twenty,
then the home became theirs.  But if they left the ministry beforehand,
the home just reverted to PTL ownership.  The homes were obviously a
perk by which we could draw the best people--a perk that I felt then
and still feel we could have done without.

The ministry provided us a parsonage; it also provided Reverend Dortch
and his wife with one.  Now, this is not unusual.  There are many
thousands of congregations across the country that freely provide their
ministers a place to live.  But considering that we were earning more
than your typical minister, today I'm remorseful about this as well. In
view of the fact that the vast majority of people don't get houses
along with their jobs, I think this practice with our employees became
excessive and unnecessary.  While the ministry surely wasn't giving the
homes away, in retrospect I regret how this all must appear.

Such was the case with two of our dearest friends, Doug and Laura Lee
Oldham.  Doug was a very famous gospel singer who had formerly been
working for Jerry Falwell.  But due to poor health Doug hadn't been
singing anymore.  When he showed up at PTL, Jim had mercy on him,
compassion for his well-being, viewing him as a good man.  He realized
Doug needed to get back on his feet, so Jim decided to give him a
break.  Doug was hired at a very good salary to be a regular on the
show.

Jim provided Doug and his family with a beautiful home on the same hill
as ours.  Their house was on the top, and ours was at the bottom.  We
instantly became great friends.  They were lots of fun, and our
personalities just clicked.  Almost every day thereafter we were either
at their house or they were at ours.  We ate together, went to the
movies together, our kids were the best of friends.  All of us loved
the great relationship we had.

We also hired Laura Lee to be my personal secretary.  She and I became
virtually inseparable.  We couldn't have been closer if we were
sisters.  After Jim put Doug on the air, he made a miraculous
comeback.

Hiring couples was nothing unusual at PTL.To maintain that special
feeling of family, Jim tried to bring onto the payroll both husbands
and wives whenever feasible.  However, since we were already
overstaffed, it's my feeling there were quite a few instances where
just one spouse working for PTL would have been enough.  But Jim's
generosity often exceeded rhyme or reason.

I will never forget the time he gave away our car.  It was the only car
I ever fell in love with, a brand-new red Cadillac, fully equipped,
with a luscious white leather interior.  I cried when Jim gave it away
even though I loved the people he gave it to, a visiting country pastor
and his family who were driving a beat-up old wreck.

Jim knew they needed it more than we did.  There was no stopping him.

Whenever he got an impulse he immediately gave in to it--not exactly
the best trait for a chief executive of a large organization.

Consequently the financial pressure on us was enormous.  Day to day it
seemed as if we lived in a constant cash-flow crisis.  Jim had a hard
time seeing the forest for the trees.  He was blowing up a balloon that
was getting too big for us.  As PTL grew, the national news
organizations were having a field day, trying to exploit the myth that
we never paid any taxes or that we profited from our tax exempt
status.

The truth is, PTL did pay taxes!  Only four small pieces of property
attached to the ministry actually qualified for a tax exemption, and
these counted for less than thirty acres out of a total of more than
twenty-three hundred.  The separate commercial areas such as the
restaurants, the gift shops, and the various amusements comprised a
for-profit corporation.  Millions of dollars were paid out over the
years in property, sales, state, and federal taxes.  By the way, the
ministry even paid income taxes.  Twice a year we were audited at our
own request.  The IRS even maintained an office at PTL.

I understood where Jim was coming from.  Our Bible speaks many times of
the word faith.  It speaks of great men of faith who trusted God for
everything.  It speaks of moving mountains by faith, of the sick being
healed by faith, of God's great provision for people because of their
faith in him.  Jim was taught faith all of his life and he believed
that anything could be accomplished by faith.  Jim was a man of great
faith, and his faith worked.  He saw miracle after miracle happen at

PTL.

He believed that if the money was not there to do the job, then God
would provide.  And God did.  He spoke to the hearts of millions of His
people to give to the building of Heritage USA.  The people were not
coerced into giving; they gave because they wanted to.  They gave
because they wanted to be a part of what was happening at Heritage

USA.

Therefore I felt our first and foremost obligation was to do quality
programs every day, since our primary focus should be on the millions
of viewers watching from their homes rather than the thousands who were
able to come and visit Heritage.  I repeatedly told Jim that our entire
television production was in danger of becoming the sacrificial lamb
for financing the construction of the theme park.  We had the same
argument over and over.

"Jim, we've got to slow down, we're moving too fast," I pleaded.

"Honey, the show is suffering.  You are losing sight of your first
calling.  That calling was to preach the gospel, not build.  I don't
care if you build, just slow down and take your time.  All we do
anymore is raise finances to pay for more and more buildings.  You are
trying too much too fast.  Please, Jim!  I'm afraid this is all going
to come crashing down on us."

But as usual my words fell on deaf ears.

"Tam, I have to build."

"Jim, the strain on you is beginning to show.  You are wearing yourself
down to nothing.  Just stop for a little while.  Stop and smell the
roses and enjoy what you have already done.  Stop building, just for a
year.  Then let's see where we are.  The people will understand.

Millions are watching you on TV who will never be able to come to
Heritage USA.  You need to think about them, Jim."

Naturally the phone would then ring or there would be some other
distraction, and once again we'd be left at an impasse, with nothing
ever resolved.  I would be upset, and he would be more determined than
ever to steer the course he had laid out for himself.  Then a few days
or a few weeks later we'd pick up the argument all over again.

"Tam, don't you see?  We need more room for the thousands of people who
are coming every month.  If we don't have the space for them, they
won't come."

"But, Jim, they can just stay in hotels over in Charlotte.  There are
hundreds of hotels, really good hotels in town."

"That's not the same.  You know that's not the same."

I tried reasoning with him every way I could.

"Jim, I understand how much you love people.  What I don't understand
is your willingness to sacrifice everything for them.  I love them as
much as you do.  But I know they do not expect as much of you as you
expect of yourself.  If you could just ask them, I think they would
tell you the same thing:

Jim, take your time, slow down a little."

The partners were always first, always number one in Jim's eyes.  He
couldn't do enough for them.  His desperate need to please them, to
make everything perfect for them, ended up destroying his life and
everything dear to him.

As time wore on, my worst fears materialized.  Because the building was
draining so much emotional energy, effort, and time, the programming
was getting dragged down.  I didn't feel we were giving the best
because Jim was tired all the time.  It got to the point where he had
to spend more and more air time on each show raising money to pay for
the building he was busy building at the time.  I felt sorry for him,
as he was constantly under the gun.  But I felt that he had put himself
in that position.

Then, one bright and sunny day, Richard Dortch came to Jim and
proclaimed, "What PTL needs is our own airplane.  We would save
thousands of dollars in valuable time if we just had our own
airplane."

Well, that seemed feasible to Jim, a reasonable suggestion, since we
all had to travel a lot for PTL.  Accordingly Jim took it to the board
of directors for a vote, and the motion passed without a single
dissent.  Before we knew it, PTL had its own little jet.  Most of the
large ministries had a plane, therefore it was nothing new for a
ministry to own one.  I recall using the plane maybe four times
altogether in the years PTL owned it.

But it was in constant use by Dortch, not to mention the legions of
people he had hired.  I wondered about that.  But like a broken record
Jim defended Dortch, until one day he began to study the flight
schedules and the air miles and the gas bills for the plane.  Suddenly
he realized that something wasn't right.

Dortch had been using the plane to go everywhere.  When Jim found that
out he stormed into the board of directors and--in one of the only
moments I can ever remember where he defied Dortch--demanded they sell
the plane.  Dortch was livid.  Yet despite his protests the plane was
finally sold and we all went back to flying commercial.  Dortch's trips
were cut in half.  Well, at least that problem was solved.

But in another instance, clearly exorbitant spending by Dortch was
not.

At the time the Dortches were living in a spacious retreat provided for
them by PTL.  It was located on the same lake we lived on.  Since we
had a houseboat, they wound up purchasing one as well.

One morning we were out in our boat and decided to cruise by the
Dortches' and see if they were home.  To our utter amazement, there,
right in front of their house, was the biggest boat dock I had ever
seen.  It had a covered roof and resembled a house.  We were
flabbergasted.  Our boat just sat out in the open.

Jim went to Roe Messner.

"Roe, what in the world is going on over at Dortch's house?  Who gave
him permission to build that huge boathouse?"

"Well, Jim," Roe replied, "I just did what he ordered me to do.  He
told me to bill it as part of the house renovation.  I thought that was
strange--but, Jim, I don't have any business questioning Dortch.  After
all, he is the general man ager, and I'm expected to do what he says.
He made that clear to me the day after he was hired."

Jim was terribly upset, but what was done was done.  I don't know if
Jim ever confronted Dortch about the dock or not, but I do know that it
really made him furious.  He simply could not believe that Dortch would
mishandle PTL funds like that.  He felt that Dortch was taking
advantage of the position with which he had entrusted him.

For the last several pages I've focused on the downside; but there's an
also incredible upside, one that I believe far exceeds the excesses and
errors that were made along the way.  Jim Bakker was a visionary; and
even during the brief period of time that Heritage USA existed, he left
a lasting legacy.  I'd like to share that legacy with you, because
that's truly where the vast majority of the money went.

Despite his problems, the majority of partners I've encountered still
believe in Jim and still stand up for PTL.  Ask them and they will tell
you that they gave because they wanted to.  People gave because they
enjoyed the huge hotels, the water park for their children.  They gave
because they enjoyed the church services and the plays and the all
night singing.  They gave because they enjoyed taking their kids to the
swimming pools and tennis courts and to the beautiful petting zoo
filled with wonderful animals that people had donated.

I feel the people who contributed to PTL loved the programs and sent in
checks just as people who give to public television do.  Every day, 365
days a year, we featured twenty-four-hour Christian programming for the
family-and it wasn't junk.  There were no violence, swear words, or
pornographic rock videos.  We always gave our viewers the cream of the
crop.  So they weren't paying for Jim or Tammy.  They were paying for
the programming they wanted, the programming they weren't getting
anyplace else.  It was that plain and simple.  By the way, the average
donation to PTL was about ten dollars a month, less than half your
average cable TV bill.

The partners loved Heritage USA.  They shared Jim's extraordinary
dream.  They loved to ride the little trains that circled the park.

They rejoiced in being able to attend live TV shows every day.  This is
what donations were for.  Our ministry was an unlimited partnership.

Everyone loved the feeling of being part of this extended family.

Millions of people were drawn together by a common denominator.  Of
course now and then, for whatever reason, someone would want his money
back.  And Jim would always give it back--no questions asked.  If
someone called and said, "My husband got angry because I sent a hundred
dollars to you and we really need it back," Jim's staff would
immediately have a check written out and mailed directly.  He gave back
every bit of money that anyone ever asked for.  I think that's very
important to realize.  There were literally thousands of checks written
out to people who gave and then had second thoughts.  We understood
that, and that was perfectly fine.  PTL always came with a money-back
guarantee.

Today what many people forget is that Jim Bakker donated millions of
dollars to charitable causes both here and overseas.  Those whose
bodies and minds were ravaged by addictions came to Heritage USA.  The
New Wine Fellowship provided rehabilitation for drug abusers and
addicts, in addition to treating chronic alcoholics.  The program
combined medical treatment with spiritual counseling, producing a
success rate surpassing many more secular approaches.

Jim constructed a beautiful home for unwed mothers called the Heritage
House.  He built it so that women who were planning to have abortions
would go ahead and have their babies instead.  Counseling was provided
for those who wanted to keep their babies, and adoption services for
those who chose not to.  The women lived there throughout their
pregnancy and were given jobs at Heritage USA that provided them with
spending money.  I thought it was a remarkable plan.  Many, many babies
were saved from death as a result of Heritage House.

Jim also built a wonderful place called Fort Hope.  It was a
self-contained village where homeless men could come and live if they
were serious about getting their lives back together.  Men who had been
living under bridges in Charlotte and sleeping on the streets in front
of doorways now had a place to stay and receive counseling and learn a
trade.  Men who had no hope began to live again.  Many got jobs,
returned to their families, and became responsible citizens again.  I
will never forget something that happened one day on our TV show: Jim
announced that we were going to have a group of special singers on the
program that day.  Out walked about thirty men.  Some of them were
dressed in ill-fitting suits, some of them in slacks and shirts.  They
walked straight and tall, and all of them were smiling from ear to
ear.

It was then that Jim said, "Meet the men who are graduating from Fort
Hope."

The studio audience of over a thousand people rose to their feet, and
as those men sang there was not a dry eye in the place.  After the men
finished singing, one by one they stepped out and told their stories,
with tears of gratitude streaming down their faces.  I don't think
anyone who saw that show will ever forget it.

Besides Fort Hope, Jim constructed more than six hundred "People That
Love" centers around the country.  These were places where the
destitute and downtrodden could find work, hot meals, and warm
garments.  Jim founded and supported Kevin's House, a home for
physically challenged children so that they wouldn't have to lie around
in institutions.  He made large donations to the Boys Ranch in North
Carolina, where troubled teenagers could get away from their broken
homes and learn the values of teamwork.

I believe that PTL gave away more money to charities than any ministry
I know of.  Millions went to the Salvation Army and the Red Cross and
the Goodwill organization in Charlotte.  Within Heritage USA there was
a round-the clock telephone counseling center called the Upper Room,
where staff members ministered to thousands of hurting people
twenty-four hours a day.  Many called in on the verge of suicide and
were helped by our faithful counselors

Marriage workshops were created.  Each year thousands of husbands and
wives enrolled in these workshops to learn how to save their
relationships.  They were offered spiritual guidance as well as
psychological techniques to aid in their communication and their
commitment to each other.  The program had a phenomenal rate of
success, and as a result hundreds of marriages were saved from
divorce.

I still meet couples today who tell me they would not be together if it
had not been for the marriage workshops at

PTL.

PTL offered the finest conference facilities so that famous pastors and
nationally acclaimed Christian authors could conduct seminars there.

Participants in these events often numbered in the thousands.

Generally overlooked by the media was the fact that Jim was a fighter
against injustice.  I remember once sitting at the breakfast table
while he was browsing through the morning paper.  All of a sudden his
face flushed red with outrage and he practically choked on what he was
eating.  Jim was reading about a lovely old church in South Carolina, a
historic wooden-frame building with a mostly black congregation, that
had been bombed by racists and burned to the ground.  Before even
catching his breath Jim raced to the phone and called the office.

Within a week PTL wired money, and just six months later that marvelous
church was rebuilt.

Jim never hoarded funds.  He donated millions of dollars to other
ministries that were in financial difficulty.  In fact I've seen
preacher after preacher leave PTL with large checks in their hands. Jim
contributed to Oral Roberts and his special school.  To Mark Buntane,
an Assemblies of God missionary, Jim gave millions of dollars for
equipment and supplies for his hospital in India.  He gave generously
to Franklin Graham, the son of Billy Graham.  He gave $ 100,000 to Tom
Trask for his church, and today Trask is the head of the Assemblies of
God ministries.  Another $100,000 went to pastor Don George, a member
of our board of directors, for his new church, since he ministered to
one of the largest congregations.  This is just to name a few.  The
partners loved the fact that their money was going to help keep these
ministries alive.

No area was off-limits when it came to expanding the message of hope.

Hundreds of penitentiaries across all fifty states were given free
satellite dishes, allowing inmates immediate access to the PTL network
whenever they wanted.  Thousands of prisoners and ex-convicts called to
tell us of the profound effect our programming had on their lives.

Bible-study courses were provided to thousands of inmates, and we sent
people across the nation to sing and minister to them.  To provide help
for their families, PTL gave out Christmas trees and toys for the
children, clothing for the adults, and meals during Thanksgiving and
Easter.

Jim believed in education and in training young people for the future
in Christian television.  That's why he organized a grade school as
well as a college for broadcasting.  Through this program students got
hands-on training, working right alongside our TV crew and learning the
trade from the ground up.  Today there are young people in stations all
over the world who graduated from the Heritage USA college.  This too
was very costly, but again the PTL partners were kept well informed
about where their money was going.

Unlike many other family amusement centers, Heritage USA has not seen a
single person mugged on its grounds.  No one was ever attacked or
beaten there, nor was there ever a fistfight.  When you consider all
the years we were in operation and the fact that more than thirty
million people came to visit us, that's an amazing statistic.  I take
that back--that's a miraculous statistic!

Jim Bakker embraced the entire human race; I never heard him utter one
prejudicial word against any group or religion.  Never once did he
portray the Pentecostal movement as being the sole avenue for achieving
divine grace.  Since Jim was a strong proponent of spreading the faith
as far and wide as he could, he invited people from different countries
to produce programming at our facilities in their native tongues.

Until Jim came along, religious broadcasters had merely used
voice-overs in their overseas markets.

But Jim also realized that religious leaders, especially those in the
Third World, couldn't afford the tremendous expense of producing their
programs at home.  Consequently he decided that as part of Heritage
Village's missionary effort he would produce and pay for those
programs.  He flew in the hosts, built sets for them, and paid for the
airtime in several different countries.

Just as important, we traveled across the globe to spread the Word.  We
did a special program called "With Love to Israel" from the Holy
Land.

Israel was the only place I'd ever been--and I've been all over the
world--that I never wanted to leave.  I remember feeling its
spirituality.  I visited the Western Wall, where in every corner there
were people reciting their prayers and praising God in their different
languages.  And it moved my heart to think that the world could be
united despite all these diverse cultures, all these distinct types of
human beings.

But of all the places we saw, none moved me as much as Yad Vashem, the
Holocaust memorial to the six million Jews who were murdered in Nazi
concentration camps.

Shivers went up and down my spine when I went inside and witnessed what
people are capable of doing--the most unspeakable atrocities.  I think
if every man, woman, and child went to Yad Vashem, maybe this type of
thing could never happen again to anybody anywhere.  They have a
powerful saying in Israel: "Never aga int I will never forget the day I
stood outside that memorial and sang "I Wonder If God Cries."  Israel
is dear to me and always will be.  Another part of the "Where did the
money go?"  controversy revolves around our lifestyle.  I would be
lying to you if I said that Jim and I didn't live well.  We did have a
very comfortable standard of living.  Over the years this has fueled an
extraordinary amount of criticism.  In the tabloids, stories circulated
about us having gold-plated faucets and air-conditioned doghouses,
about the big cars and mansions we lived in.  The media constantly
accused us of taking money from "little old ladies" so that we could
live in extravagant luxury.

Later on I will deal with where many of these exaggerations came
from.

But the funny thing is that our partners knew exactly how we lived,
where we lived, what kind of cars we drove.  They knew everything about
us because we shared our lives with them on television.  On many
occasions we did programs directly from our homes in Charlotte and
California.  We took them for rides via special mobile cameras in our
cars.  If there was going to be outrage over our "extravagant"
lifestyle, it would seem apparent to me that it would have arisen at
the grass-roots level.  But it never did.

Another issue brought up by our detractors was that they thought we
were being paid too much money for the work we did at PTL.  Yes, Jim
and I were paid salaries totaling well into six figures.  This is a
matter of public record.  But if I could do it all over again, I know
that we could have gotten along on much less.  I don't need a lot of
extras anymore, because I'm older and I realize it's not mere things
that bring happiness.

Looking back, I think that one of the most devastating errors in
judgment we made was to accept the bonuses originally engineered by
Richard Dortch and voted on by our board of directors.  Dortch himself
presented me with my first bonus, and I have to admit I was thrilled.

I hugged him and thanked him.  I was so naive!

The board of directors also voted Jim a bonus, saying how much they
appreciated his tireless work.  Neither of us thought a thing about the
fact that Dortch himself had also arranged to receive a bonus, the same
amount as Jim.  One of the reasons no red flags went up was because the
board of directors were not being paid any salaries, so they had no
financial stake in these bonuses at all.  There was no financial
pressure anyone could put on them.  As successful business people and
pastors, they could quit anytime they wanted to.

As the years have gone by, I've come to realize that these bonuses were
clearly excessive and unnecessary.  But at the time we thought it was
merely a show of appreciation, rewarding the corporate side of what we
were doing.  We never dreamed that anyone could think of it as greed.

For example, Jim paid income taxes on more than he had to; he didn't
take anywhere near all the deductions to which he was entitled--and
that's a fact.  If Jim were really greedy, he would have looked to
protect every cent he could from the government.  And let me remind
you, he was never once accused of income tax evasion.

Anyway, after that first one, the bonuses started coming more
frequently, about twice a year, usually after a period of particularly
hard work.  Dortch assured us that since the bonuses were always
approved according to corporate standards, they were fully proper and
within the scope of the law.  The bonuses were legal.  It was just a
poor decision on our part to accept them when we were.  receiving
sufficient salary to live well on.  But no matter how much money you
receive in your paycheck, it's always exciting to get something
unexpected.  And Jim and I were just like anyone else.  There is always
something you can do with extra money.

Later on, the government did consider the bonuses, and although they
found them perfectly legal, I believe that the appearance of
impropriety became one of the major reasons Jim was indicted.

I wish so much that we had not accepted those bonuses.  In fact, I wish
that we hadn't taken a salary from PTL and that we'd taken as our
salary just the royalties from the books we'd written and the albums I
recorded.  That is what the government said we should have done.  But
we gave all our royalties to the ministry.  They amounted to much more
than we ever received in salary, but still, it would have looked better
to forgo a salary.  And looking back--hindsight is always 20/20, they
say--it would have been a more acceptable way to pay us.

The Assemblies of God church has always preached prosperity.  They
based it upon the scripture in the Bible that says, "Give and it shall
be given unto you, pressed down, shaken together, and running over."

There are so many scriptures in the Bible that speak about
prosperity.

That is the essence of our faith.

Much of the criticism directed at us strikes me as somewhat
hypocritical.  Jim and I certainly lived no differently from Pat
Robertson, Oral Roberts, Robert Schuller, Paul Crouch, or other popular
ministers of our time.  And I also guarantee that no religious leaders
have been as open with their lifestyle as we have.  Has anyone ever
seen Jerry Falwell's home?

It all boils down to this: How much is too much when it comes to paying
spiritual leaders?  I suppose this all depends on your point of view.

I have never once heard complaints about the millions of dollars paid
each year to Oprah Winfrey or Paul McCartney or Kareem AbdulJabbar for
the work they do.  What is the difference?  It seems to be one word.

We were ministers.  And in people's minds ministers are not supposed to
live well--no matter how hard they work.

People have this romantic image of how a preacher should live, but
that's all it is--a romantic image.  It has nothing to do with
reality.

I have often wondered where this came from.  People say Jesus was born
in a manger, that he had no place to lay his head.  They give me
scripture after scripture about how Christians are supposed to not care
about possessions or money.

But for every scripture they quote I can find just as many or more that
say the opposite.  That God wants us to prosper.  That God wants us to
have life and have it more abundantly.  That if we give to Him, He will
give back to us pressed down, shaken together, and running over.  To me
that does not speak of living meagerly.  And it certainly does not say
"except for ministers."

I think this theory got started in the Catholic church when their
priests were commanded to take the vow of poverty.  And I must say, I
admire them for that.  I think it is noble to be able to live on the
barest subsistence, without earthly possessions.  It takes special
people with a special calling to be able to do that.  And I believe
that God is pleased with such sacrifice.  But I don't think the fact
that you have money and possessions has any bearing on how much you
love God.

After all, I loved God with all my heart when I was very poor and had
no money or possessions to speak of.  And my Yes, we were situated on a
beautiful lake, we had a boat and a swimming pool.  And after we lost
PTL the media vilified us for that.  From these times I know exactly
how Elvis felt.  He was a prisoner of his own fame, as indeed were we.
And although you still love people with all your heart, there is only
so much of yourself you can give back.

If we had decided to pursue more private lives, I think that Jim and I
would still be married today.  But living in front of the cameras put
pressures on our marriage that were impossible to surmount.

Unfortunately, fame sometimes brings out the worst in other people.

There are those who don't agree with what you're doing and become
extremely vehement in their outbursts.

Threats came in to PTL all the time, via mail and the telephone.  And
you never knew if you should take them seriously or not.  But our
security force did.  They would always make sure that the proper
authorities were notified and that the threats were checked out as
thoroughly as possible.

If we had paid too much attention to some of the terrible threats we
used to get, we'd never have left the house.  We'd have bought a
castle, ringed it with barbed wire, filled the moat with piranhas, and
raised the drawbridge.  We'd be safe that way.

The trouble is, you can never really be safe, if that's your view of
being safe.  To me, safety is in knowing God is always with you, no
matter what happens.  Therefore I was never really afraid, because I
knew that God loved me and my family.  When all is said and done, if
God can't take care of you, then nobody can.  Both Jim and I felt that
way.

However, the insurance company didn't.  Jim's life was insured by PTLi
for millions of dollars, which is not unusual for presidents of large
corporations.  Therefore the insurance company demanded a lot of
security for us.

They insisted that we be well guarded twenty-four hours a day.

Our guards went everywhere we did.  There was a small guardhouse in our
backyard, which was manned day and night by expertly trained
watchmen.

Surrounding our house was the most advanced alarm system money could
buy.  Of course, even with all the faith in the world, this tended to
make you more paranoid.  Because when you've got all that security,
you're afraid that you really have something to be afraid of.

Looking back, I believe we would have been better off without it.  I
feel we wouldn't have lived in such fear.  And when you live as if you
are inside a prison, you can't possibly have a normal marriage, no
matter how hard you try.  That is what I remember most about our
"extravagant" lifestyle!  -. Wesley Fletcher, the man who arranged for
Jim to meet Jessica Hahn, was a regular guest on the PTL program.  He
was very charismatic and was well liked by our audience.  But John had
a problem that we did not at first know about.  We began hearing rumors
that he was being seen in nearby bars.  Jim approached John about these
allegations, but John denied them vehemently.  And with Jim's always
wanting to believe the best of everyone, time and time again he would
let the issue drop.

But one day he couldn't deny it any longer.  One of our limousine
drivers, who regularly drove our show's guests while they were in town,
came to Jim and said, "I don't want to bother you, but I'm having to
take John Wesley Fletcher to places you would not approve of."

Jim questioned him.

"Where exactly?"

"To bars in downtown Charlotte.

He has me park the car a couple of blocks away and tells me to wait for
him.  Jim, he comes back to the car very drunk and hardly able to
function.  I'm afraid that the partners are going to find out, and that
it will hurt the ministry."

The next day, Jim called John into his office.

"John, I have something to talk to you about," he began.  With that, he
informed John that he could no longer minister at Heritage USA.

John was livid!

"Just what are you saying?"

"I'm taking you off the air.  Your drinking is an embarrassment to the
network.  John, you need help.  Serious help.  You've got major
problems.  I can't allow you to be a detriment to the ministry
anymore.

My hands are tied."  And with that, Jim cut him off from PTL.  Fletcher
was absolutely stunned.

Just before leaving, he turned to Jim.

"Don't worry," he said.

"You'll be hearing from me."

"Good-bye, John."

I never saw Fletcher again.  Little did I know that he would eventually
be responsible for nearly destroying our family.

Only a few months after Fletcher was forced out, a series of bizarre
phone calls started burning up the switchboards at PTL.  The woman on
the other end of the line sounded distressed as she ranted and raved
about a supposed encounter she once had with Jim Bakker.

I can't say for certain why after all that time Jessica Hahn decided to
threaten Jim.  But I've reached the conclusion that someone put the
idea into her head.  Someone suggested there was a blackmail gold mine
out there in the form of Jim Bakker and UL, and that she could get
hundreds of thousands of dollars--if she played her cards right.

"I haven't been able to eat or sleep!"  Hahn screamed into the phone.

"I've lost over thirty pounds, and I look like I'm dying.  I take that
back.  I am dying.  I'm dying of a broken heart!  I'm dying of
disappointment!  I'm dying because Jim Bakker went back on his promise
to me!  He swore that he loved me!  Do you hear me?"

Our phone counselors were all too familiar with crank calls, sick
people who had delusions or even fantasies about us or our guests.  But
this woman called so frequently and her voice was so shrill and
panicked that it was particularly disturbing.

"I can't take it anymore!  I can't go on living like this!  Jim Bakker
ruined my life.  Jim Bakker is forcing me to kill myself.  Jim Bakker
is going to have my blood on his hands.  I'm going to slash my wrists,
do you hear me?  I'm going to swallow a bottle of sleeping pills.  And
when they find my body, they're going to find the note that Jim Bakker
drove me to suicide!  He's the one putting the knife through my
heart.

They'll read all about it right in that note next to my body.  Get what
I'm telling you?"  Jessica was becoming so convincing that she was
finally put through to the executive offices, where Richard Dortch
fielded the call.  It didn't take him long to put two and two
together.

This Hahn was the same woman Jim had told him about, the same woman he
confessed to having sex with.

"I've been humiliated, I've been scorned by the man I love.  How am I
supposed to endure the mental suffering?  How can I possibly go on?"

Weeping pathetically over the phone, Hahn confided to Dortch, "I need
help.  Lots and lots of professional help.  All kinds of treatment.

Medical and psychological.  I'm all screwed up!"

As Jessica continued her tirade, perhaps a plan was being hatched in
Dortch's mind.  Maybe he could make greater use of a secret that he had
carried for years and, have even more ammunition to work with, a way to
further tighten his grip on PTL.  One afternoon Dortch brought the
entire matter to Jim.

"Hahn wants a payoff to keep her mouth shut."

"Why is she calling again after all these years?"

"Who knows?  Maybe because you're worth a lot more now.  Maybe she was
just biding her time.  Look, it's your call."  Jim got up and circled
the office, deep in thought.

"It's still your call," Dortch added.

"What are you going to do?"  Jim took a big breath and exhaled.

"Anyone who understands human nature knows that you can never pay off a
blackmailer, because they'll always be coming back for more.  There has
to be another way."

"Well, did you have one in mind?"

"I don't care what kind of threats she's making.  Never, ever pay her
blackmail," Jim declared.

"There must be another way to handle it.

You know I respect your judgment."

"Don't worry," Dortch said, projecting his most fatherly expression of
trustworthiness.

"Everything is going to be okay.  I'll protect you."

Now, I was not in the room when that conversation took place, and I
also know that Dortch tells a different story of what was said that
day.  But what I do know is that Jim had a rule that was strictly
enforced at OL: No matter what, never, ever pay blackmail.  With my own
ears, I heard him say that time and time again.  So I cannot imagine
how all of a sudden that rule would change.  He had been blackmailed
before and never given in to the threats.  So in this instance, it's
Jim's word against Dortch's word.  I believe Jim.  However, I feel sure
that he did leave the final decision of what to do in Dortch's hands.

I have no reason to lie for Jim, not even for my children's sake.  We
are no longer married or even in touch, so I have no vested interest in
perpetrating a fraud.  Knowing how much Jim avoided confrontation, I
can well imagine him leaving the entire matter in Dortch's hands.

Clearly, he should have dealt with Jessica Hahn himself.  Not doing so
was a huge mistake.

In my heart I know that if Jim would have faced it, told the PTL
audience everything and been honest with them, none of what happened
would have happened.  Side by side we could have appeared on TV, told
the partners what had happened so many years ago, and asked their
forgiveness.  They had so willingly forgiven me when I left Jim, and I
knew in my heart they would have forgiven him as well.  But that didn't
happen.

Following his meeting with Jim, Dortch took it upon himself to fly to
New York City to meet with Hahn.  The meeting was held at the Holiday
Inn across the highway from La Guardia Airport.  Also in attendance
were another pastor Dortch had brought along and a woman who referred
to herself as Jessica Hahn's "paralegal."  Dortch gave $2,000 to this
second pastor and instructed that it be dispensed to Jessica to cover
her needs.  I suppose by not forking the money over directly, Dortch
kept his hands clean.

Hahn's phone calls stopped for a while but soon started up again, this
time with a vengeance.  Now the ante was upped.  Jessica required
$10,000 for her "medical condition."  Obviously this was more than
pocket money, so Dortch enlisted the aid of Pastor Sam Johnson.  After
years of service in Spain and Portugal, Sam headed up the missionary
division of PTL.

Dortch cut a deal with Johnson to borrow the $10,000, assuring him that
he would be reimbursed from PTL funds.  So again through an
intermediary the money was given over to Hahn.

For a while it seemed Jessica was finally satisfied.  There was a
definite lull, and then it started all over again.  Hahn harassed the
phone counselors day and night with the same threats and allegations.

It is my opinion that this was a brilliantly orchestrated tactic, an
ever-escalating performance designed to wear the ministry down.  Dortch
fielded many of these calls himself.

Finally Richard Dortch received a certified correspondence from Hahn's
"paralegal."  The entire letter is much too long to reprint here, but I
would like to share some excerpts.  I think you'll get the gist of
it:

I represent Jessica Hahn..  . We have to discuss a matter of mutual
importance and I'm afraid we cannot put it off any longer.  To be more
to the point, this conversation is in reference to the events of the
afternoon of December 6th, 1980, in Clearwater Beach, Florida....
Numerous effects and ramifications this has caused this young lady .. .
who has never been married, who lives with her parents .. . and her
father is a police officer for the County of Nassau in the State of New
York.... I contend that he [Jim Bakker] enticed her and coerced her
into making a wrong decision to act against her better judgment.... I
charge this because he helped arrange and finance her flight to
Clearwater Beach.... She was led to believe that she would join him
socially in the company of others for a luncheon and to observe a
television show being taped on location from the hotel or nearby
studio.  I must discuss with you the damages and suffering incurred by
Miss Hahn.

She's been through a tremendous shock.... She has to be compensated for
her injuries of being socially disgraced..  .. You must also know she
has suffered spiritual damages as well.... She has sustained permanent
psychological and emotional damage.  Her job may be at stake..  .. It
has cost her in her womanhood.  She is unable to respond to and sustain
any romantic attachments.  This all has the potential of ruining her
chances to enjoy a full and normal life..  .. She was left
broken-hearted.  It is unrealistic, unjust, and unwise of him to
presume she will walk away empty handed as well.... You all seemingly
have survived most of this.  You all appear to be managing quite well
down there.... You are fortunate this never did blow up sky high....
You're blessed that you are building up instead of tearing down.  In
view of all these facts, it is my belief Miss Hahn has the right to be
duly compensated for this series of emotional setbacks.... We're giving
you the opportunity to settle this matter justly and privately.  .
$100,000 is not excessive in view of what happened here.... You may as
well know she is despondent.... Nothing else matters to her anymore....
You people have a lot more to lose than she has.... The very last thing
Miss Hahn wants is a scandal, but if Mr.  Bakker chooses to ignore her
requests, she will have no recourse.... Dortch claims that he tossed
this document into a desk drawer, forgetting all about it.  He never
informed Jim of its contents or the seriousness of the implied threats.
Again, we have to wonder how his mind was working at the time.  Did he
actually believe that Jessica Hahn and her socalled paralegal would
simply go away?  Or did he intend to provoke some kind of greater legal
action?  If Jim had been kept informed, could this tempest have been
kept in the teapot?  We'll never know.  That letter stayed locked in
Dortch's drawer, a bomb all set to go off.

After the letter arrived, Jessica's calls stopped coming for a time.

The phone counselors were very relieved they didn't have to handle her
hysterical shrieking anymore.  But this was only the quiet before the
storm.  In the middle of January 1985, PTL was hit with a lawsuit
brought by Hahn.  Named as defendants were James Bakker, Richard
Dortch, the Assemblies of God, Inc."  and the Sheraton Key Hotel in
Clearwater.  The plaintiff was requesting damages of over $12
million.

Apparently this legal maneuvering wasn't conceived by Jessica alone.

Certain evidence points to the fact that some parts of the scenario may
have been suggested by Hahn's former pastor, Eugene Profeta.  Profeta
and John Wesley Fletcher were acquaintances, and perhaps even good
friends, given the fact that Fletcher had ministered several times at
Profeta's church.  When Profeta started calling PTL on Jessica's
behalf, Dortch felt the situation was serious enough to warrant a call
to Hahn's lawyer.

But the man who referred to himself as Jessica Hahn's
"attorney-in-fact" was not a lawyer, Paul Roper, a self serving
guardian of the public trust operating out of California, was a
muckraker, and his passion was raking religious leaders over the coals.
After appointing himself a one-man vigilante group, he had gained
considerable clout within the media.  Roper passed judgment on pastors
and preachers alike, and his power was widely feared, since he had the
ability to ruin reputations overnight, much like a latter-day Joe
McCarthy.

According to Dortch's memory, Roper demanded that an attorney
representing PTL come out to California on the double.  Heeding his
request, Dortch flew out a few days later, accompanied by his wife and
Dr.  Fred Gross.  But first they met with the lawyer who had been hired
to handle the case for PTL, none other than the famous Howard
Weitsman.

It was determined that an out-of-court settlement would be the best
bet.  Soon afterward Paul Roper and Weitsman sat down, and in a couple
of hours they came up with a figure to buy the silence of Jessica
Hahn--a figure that exceeded a quarter of a million dollars.  Jim
claims the terms of the negotiations and the transfer of funds were
done without his knowledge or his express consent.

In any event, after the settlement was reached, $265,000 was approved
by Dortch as payment to Hahn.  To avoid any internal scrutiny at PTL or
setting off any other fiscal alarms, Dortch concluded that the logical
choice to front the money would be the person who had the most to lose
if Heritage USA was shut down--someone who was already owed a huge
amount of money by PTL, but most of all, someone who knew how to keep
his mouth shut.

That someone turned out to be Roe Messner.  As primary contractor on
many projects including the Heritage Grand Hotel, he already had over
$45 million in building construction under way when the deal with
Jessica Hahn was concluded.

Dortch called and asked Roe to lunch.  At Bentley's restaurant in the
Heritage Grand Hotel Dortch proceeded to tell Roe about a woman in New
York who was going to blackmail Jim and PTL.

"What's her name?"  Roe asked.

"Cynthia Jobour," responded Dortch, not wanting to reveal her true
identity.

"But that's not important.  What is important is that we've got the
best attorney to handle the details."

"Which are?"

"She'll get a hundred thousand cash up front, and the other hundred
sixty-five thousand will be put away in a trust fund.  From this she
can collect interest for twenty years, but she can't withdraw the
principal.  After twenty years is up, she can close the account and get
the rest of her money."

"So you're buying her silence?"

"Let's simply say we're giving her impetus to be discreet."

"I don't like the way this sounds."

"Take it from me.  The deal is solid.  If she breathes a word, the
money instantly reverts to the PTL attorney back in California, who
makes arrangements to give it back to us."  Roe mused over this.

"Well, what's this all got to do with me?"  Dortch looked around
cautiously and bent closer toward Roe.

"I want you to loan us the money."

"Come again?"

"I've got the whole thing worked out," Dortch said confidently.

"You'll get paid back next month.  No problem."

"I don't think paying off anybody is a good idea, no matter where the
money is coming from," Roe replied sharply.  But Dortch brushed aside
whatever considerations Roe had.

"It's simple.  Just add it to next month's billing on the amphitheater
project."  Roe listened and shook his head.

"Why do you need me?  Why don't you just write the check?"

"You know why, Roe.  It would be impossible to cover up that much."

Then Dortch's eyes turned dark and deadly serious.

"Listen, we're already paying you large sums of money every month.
You're doing a lot of work for us, and we're very happy with that work.
I would like that relationship to continue."

"Which means what?"

At that point Dortch turned on his grandfatherly smile again.

"It simply means no one will notice if you add that amount to the
construction draws we're already paying.  Look, just view it as
insurance."  Roe was still dubious about the entire proposition.

"Does Jim know what's going on here?"

"I'm authorized to act on my own.  You know my position.  I don't have
to answer to anybody.  Listen, my friend, give me either a yes or
no."

His back against the wall, Roe finally agreed, and they shook hands.

"Does Tammy know about this?"  Roe asked, just before leaving.

"Don't worry.  She doesn't know a thing."  So reluctantly the money was
wired to Weitsman, who presumably sent it along to Paul Roper and
Jessica Hahn.  And right on schedule Roe was repaid on the next month's
billing, and that was the end of it--or so he thought.  Later, when
word got out that Jessica Hahn had been paid off, Dortch pleaded with
Roe to make up a phony invoice for some so-called extra work that was
never billed, such as lumber, brick, or labor.

But Roe refused.

"You asked me to bill it to the amphitheater back in 1985, and that's
the way it's going to stay."

How Roper and Hahn actually split the money I can't say for certain,
although I've heard Roper made out a lot better than Jessica did.  But
we do know that Jessica Hahn eventually broke her agreement, probably
because there was much more cash to be made from the scandal.
Consequently over $ 150,000 of the hush money paid to her was returned
to PTL.

Months later, Jim and I were taping shows in Hawaii.  He looked wearier
and more ragged than I had ever seen him, and he was mentally run-down
too.  Just before leaving, he had promised the partners that $6 million
had been banked with which he was going to pay off the Heritage Grand
Hotel.  Jim was so proud of being able to put that $6 million into
savings.  He felt as if at last we would be able to get a little
ahead.

He had worked so hard to save that money.  But while Jim was gone,
completely unbeknown to him, Dortch took all the money out of savings
and spent it as he saw fit, paying off other outstanding debts, trying
once more to look like the Big Man in Town.  I don't really know if
there was anything improper in the way Dortch distributed those
funds.

I feel this was the real turning point for Jim.  I think that for the
first time he realized he could not control Dortch.  I will never
forget Jim coming to me with tears streaming down his face.

"You will never believe what Dortch has done.  You know the six million
dollars I promised the partners I would pay off the hotel with?  Well,
Tam, he took it out of savings and spent it."

"What in the world did he spend it on?"  I asked in disbelief.

"I don't know.  We didn't have anything that far behind that I know of
which needed immediate payment.  What am I going to tell the
partners?

Tam, I just can't do it anymore."

"Do what?"  I asked.

"I just can't continue to raise money anymore.  I'm totally worn out.

I won't make promises to the partners that I can't keep.  And I can't
continue to raise millions of dollarsL for Dortch to do with as he
pleases.  Tam, I don't know what to do anymore."

"Jim, you're just tired.  Once we get back home, you'll feel better.

But you have to talk to Dortch.  You cannot allow him to do things like
this time and time again.  You are the president, not Dortchl When are
you going to get that fact through your head?"  But I saw something go
out of Jim that day that never returned.  I don't know if it was
confidence, enthusiasm, or that old "we have to do whatever it takes"
spirit.  Something happened, and he just was never the same.  A few
weeks after that, we lost PTL.  I think he just couldn't face the fight
anymore.  The last year PTL was still going strong, Jerry Falwell
entered the picture.  His children had been coming to Heritage USA, and
we welcomed them with open arms, especially Jerry's son.  He was freely
allowed to roam our offices and other sensitive areas that the general
public did not see.  After all, he was Jerry Falwell's son.  We
extended him the courtesy because his family was also in the ministry,
and besides, we had nothing to hide from anyone.

Neither Jim nor I knew Falwell closely.  The only times we had ever met
him were at the White House and political functions.  In general, we
assumed that Jerry, as leader of the Moral Majority and a close
confidant of President Reagan, was one of us, and we were flattered
when he made a move toward friendship and closer ties with us.

I remember well our first real conversation.

"I am a real fan of the PTL program and all the great work you've been
doing," Falwell said.

"This is important work, the type of work America truly needs, and I
just want to let you know that I'm one hundred percent behind you."
Falwell could really lay it on thick.

"It's really kind of you to be so supportive, Jerry," Jim said.

"You're an inspiration to us as well."

"I know what you two are trying to accomplish.  We're all trying to
accomplish the same thing.  That's why we've got to work together.  You
know in unity there is strength."

Falwell just sort of crept in, and Jim began to trust him more and more
until he trusted him totally.  Neither of us in our wildest dreams
imagined that someone like Jerry had a dark side of jealousy and
destruction.

Naturally Reverend Dortch was also beginning to buddy up to Falwell.

Jim never thought anything about it, since he had no reason to fear
Falwell in any way.  In fact, he looked up to Falwell as a respected
and nationally known leader.  Time after time, Jerry did everything he
possibly could to ingratiate himself with us.

We thought it would be so wonderful if our two ministries could be
friends.  This had never happened before, but it certainly was not
impossible.  Most of all we believed that creating a strong bond with
Falwell would be pleasing in the eyes of God.

In 1987, PTL was gearing up to erect its greatest building ever.  We
needed a bigger meeting place to hold the thousands of people who came
to Heritage USA every week, so Jim decided to construct a replica of
England's Crystal Palace.  Jim read everything he could and also had
Roe Messner research the project.  With a capacity for more than thirty
thousand people, it would be the size of a football field and the
largest structure of its kind in modern church history.  The Palace was
envisioned as an all-glass building rising up to the sky for the glory
of God.

And it was the first building about which I ever fully agreed with Jim,
which is really ironic, considering it never got built.  I will never
as long as I live forget the day we dedicated the land.  It was in the
middle of December.  The winds were blustery, and no one was prepared
for the weather.  By the time we arrived it had been raining very hard,
and the field was nothing but soft, oozing mud.  But I have to admit,
our staff were troupers.  Hundreds of our personnel plus the mayor and
other dignitaries stood out in that freezing cold to attend the
ground-breaking ceremony.  And it turned out to be a beautiful
dedication, despite the miserable conditions.

In the midst of all this, I was called upon to sing.  But by the time I
took the microphone, my fingers and my face were already numb because
the temperature had dropped so rapidly and I wasn't properly dressed.

Anyway, following the dedication we all went home with a warm feeling
in our hearts--in spite of the bone-chilling cold.

The next day Jim decided we should go to the little house we had
purchased in Gatlinburg, Tennessee.  It was almost Christmas, and we
all needed a break.  Jamie and Tammy Sue were exuberant, but I told Jim
I wasn't feeling at all well.  Still, I didn't want to spoil our plans,
so thinking it was just a terrible sore throat, we decided to go
anyway.

Feeling weak and feverish, I swallowed some aspirin and then an Ativan,
a tranquilizer that originally had been prescribed to ease my fear of
flying.  But it seemed to quell so many of my other anxieties that I
had begun to rely on it more and more, much more than I should have.

We had desperately needed someplace close where our whole family could
get away; the children resented all the people who were constantly
around us and loved the times that the four of us spent alone
together.

The trip to Gatlinburg was only an hour and a half, which made the
house we'd bought quite convenient as a getaway.

At this point, just let me clarify our housing situation.  Jim and I
had three houses altogether.  The home in Gatlinburg, our main
residence on the lake in Charlotte, plus a small place out in Palm
Desert, California, which we hardly ever got to use at that time.

Anyhow, our house in Gatlinburg was far up a mountain and tucked way
back, a secluded cave where we didn't have to dress up and the children
could be free to roam without being accompanied by guards all the time.
We would go on picnics and sit for hours by the sparkling brooks hidden
in the nooks and crannies of that beautiful mountain.  We would hike
the steep paths and listen to the birds and observe all the forest
animals.  It was as close to heaven as our family ever got.

When we finally arrived, I was weary to the bone and still feeling very
ill.  Jim immediately got the fireplace going in the living room, and
we all huddled around the flames to get warm.  Jim and the kids were
able to get heat going through their bodies, but no matter how many
layers of sweaters I put on, I just couldn't stop shivering.  I took
some more aspirin, sprayed my throat, and then crawled into bed.

We had only been there a couple of days when Jim received an urgent
call from PTL.  They needed him immediately.  I don't remember exactly
why, but it was important enough for him to leave me and the kids.

Considering that I was not feeling well, before he left he called Vi
Azvedo and asked her if she would come up and be with us.  She said
yes, arriving before Jim drove back to Charlotte.

I don't think anyone realized how sick I was, including me.  Not being
a complainer, I had begun treating my symptoms as best I could with
aspirin.  But aspirin wasn't doing anything.  So I swallowed some cough
medicine.  But the cough medicine wasn't doing much of anything
either.

I couldn't stop coughing.  My breathing became strained and shallow.

Each inhalation hurt, as if I had broken ribs.

I even tried more Ativan, assuming that if my nerves could get calmed
down, I would feel better.  Early one afternoon Vi walked into my
bedroom and asked, "Tammy, why do you have the TV on so loud?"

"Huh?"

"Why do you have the TV on so loud?"

What?  I can't hear you."

"WHY DO YOU HAVE THE TV ON SO LOUD?"  Then she went over and shut it
off.

"Oh, Vi.  My ears are ringing so loud that I can't even hear what's on
the TV."  She looked very concerned and left the room.  Coming back a
few moments later, she took a thermometer and put it in my mouth.  She
waited a few minutes, then pulled it out.

"Tammy, do you know what your temperature is?"

"I don't think I want to know."

"You're a very sick girl.  Your temperature is too high, Tammy.  We
need to get you into a cold tub of water fast and see if we can't get
it down a little."  The thought of getting into a tub of cold water was
not a pleasant thought, but I did as I was asked.  Vi filled the tub,
and I got in.  I stayed in that cold tub until Vi told me I could get
out.  Then she put me back into bed under the nice, warm covers.  I
could see in her eyes that she was really worried about me.

"I'll be okay, Vi," I managed to say.

"Don't worry."  With that, I closed my eyes.

A little while later Jamie came in and quietly sat down on my bed
beside me.  He kept asking me over and over again, "Mom, are you all
right?"

Even though my head was spinning, I told him, "Yes, honey, I'm fine.

Don't worry."  But then something frightening happened.  All of a
sudden I began to hallucinate.  I started seeing huge, Disney-type
elephants falling out of the sky onto my bed.

"Watch out, Jamie!"  I screamed.

"They're going to hit you!  They're going to crush your head in!" Well,
that was enough to send my son dashing out of the room to get Vi. The
next minute I saw horrible black demons coming at me with huge
pitchforks.  I thought I was going stark raving mad!  I became
hysterical, doubled up in terror.

"Please, oh my God!  Don't let them kill me!  Please, someone save me!
Hurry, they're going to kill me!  Can't anyone please hear me?  Oh, my
God!

Oh, my dear God!"

Vi called PTL and told Jim he better get to Gatlinsburg as quickly as
possible.  He instructed her to call Dr.  Nichols our close doctor
friend in California, who subsequently dropped everything and took the
first flight out.  Following his examination he looked gravely
concerned, saying that if I didn't get to a hospital immediately, I
probably wouldn't make it.

Upon checking my lungs Dr.  Nichols diagnosed severe pneumonia.  Vi
contacted Jim, and he ordered her to get me to the Eisenhower Hospital
in Palm Springs.  Without a moment's hesitation, a private airplane was
chartered and I was off, accompanied by Vi, Dr.  Nichols, and the
children.  Jim decided to send me all the way to California because he
felt there was much better medical care there.  In fact, I had been
there before for tests when they thought I had heart problems.  Not to
mention that in Charlotte we were so well known that if I had been put
in a hospital there, I wouldn't have had a moment's peace.

I hallucinated during the entire six-hour trip to Palm Springs.  I can
still remember Dr.  Nichols holding me tightly as I tried time and time
again to get off the plane, telling me that everything was going to be
all right if I would just sit still.

Upon landing, we rented a car and drove to Eisenhower Hospital.  Our
entire party was met at the registration desk by another friend of
ours, Dr.  Marvin Brooks, who immediately checked me in to intensive
care.  Within minutes I was put on a respirator.

Instantly the staff started pumping me full of antibiotics, trying to
draw the fluids out of my lungs.  My condition was touch and go for a
week, with the doctors giving me about a fifty-fifty chance of pulling
through.  To further complicate conditions, my blood pressure was
through the roof.

The only time my pulse wasn't racing was when I was taking Ativan.  So
they thought in addition to the pneumonia that I had a heart problem.

Subsequently, the doctors put me through a whole series of cardiac
tests.  I even wore a heart monitor for a long time, but it turned out
my heart was perfect.  Their final diagnosis was that severe stress was
causing the high blood pressure.  Thanks to those dedicated medical
professionals and the grace of God, my condition improved.

Following my arrival in Palm Springs, Jim had grabbed the first flight
out to the Coast, leaving Reverend Dortch to run PTL in his absence.

Jim stayed night and day at my bedside and was an absolute angel during
my recovery.  Together we'd watch the PTL show from my hospital bed.  I
could see how much he really cared for me, and that helped alleviate my
distress.

During my recuperation I received hundreds of bouquets of flowers.

There were so many that the hospital filled gurneys up and down the
hallways with them.  Every patient got bunches of flowers, thanks to
the kindness of the PTL partners.  I still cry when thinking about
those people's love today.

I can't possibly describe the feeling of knowing that thousands of
people are pulling for you, praying for your recovery.  We had been
looking into their faces via TV cameras for almost twenty-five years;

we had been in their living rooms, bedrooms, and dens.  We loved them
and they loved us.

Meanwhile, back in North Carolina, Reverend Dortch appeared to be very
concerned about my condition and even spoke to me once or twice on the
telephone.

"Tammy, I just want you to know that I've been praying for your
recovery.  And I can't wait to see you and Jim back here;" "Thank you,
Reverend Dortch."

"I'm just trying to fill in as best I can.  Do the program as best I
can.  But you know no one could ever take your places.  Who in the
world could take the place of Jim and Tammy Faye Bakker?"

But even though his voice was warm and comforting, something in his
tone didn't ring true.  However, I was too weak to concern myself over
that.  I couldn't even walk a straight line from my hospital bed to the
door.  All I wanted to do was go home--to our little house in Palm
Desert-and try to get my life back to normal.

On the day I supposed I was being released, a lady came to my hospital
room.  I couldn't figure out who she was or what she was doing there.

Without even introducing herself, she asked abrasively, "How long have
you been taking Ativan?"  My mind was still swimming.

"Uh, ever since .  let me see.  It was " "How many of them do you take
a day?"

"Oh, I'd say no more than two or--" "What other medications are you
using?"  All I wished was that she would go away and leave me in peace.
But since she seemed to be part of the hospital staff, I answered her
questions as politely as I could, trying not to reveal my increasing
agitation.

When she finally left, Jim and David Taggart and some other staff
members came into the room, informing me that I was well enough to
leave the hospital.  I was so excited!  They helped me pack.  I said my
good-byes to all the wonderful nurses and devoted doctors who had
helped me get well.  They put me in a wheelchair, and I was taken out
to the car.  Finally I was going home.

I was so happy.  In a few minutes I would be in our own little house,
all safe and sound.  I would be with Jim and Jamie and Tammy Sue.

There I could get my strength back and continue getting well.  But to
my surprise, we drove up instead to the Betty Ford Clinic, which was
located right there close to the hospital.  Jim began to talk to me:

"Tam, the lady who came to see you this afternoon was from the Betty
Ford Clinic.  She feels that because of the Ativan j_ _you've been
taking so long, you need to be admitted.  Here they will help you so
that you don't have to take it anymore."

"Jim, what are you talking about?  I don't need to go to Betty Ford!  I
am not a drug addict!  I can stop taking Ativan!  I promise you I'll
never take any more of it."

"Tam, she feels like you can't do it by yourself, that you need help."
I was flabbergasted!

"She is afraid that someday you might overdose on it, honey, and none
of us want that to happen."

"I would never do that!  Please take me home.  Please!"  I begged him
over and over.

"Jim, she only talked to me a few minutes.  How could she make that
diagnosis in such a short time?"

By this time, tears were streaming down my face and my weakened body
could hardly move.  I was numb!  All of a sudden I hated my husband.

Why hadn't he at least asked me before he made such an important
decision.  Why?  Why couldn't we at least have talked it over?  I felt
like a prisoner being taken away to jail.  And I didn't know what I'd
done.  And I was still so sick and so weak.  I begged Jim, but it was
no use.  His mind was made up.  Jim was supposed to protect me, and
here he was conspiring with all these people.  I felt betrayed,
horribly betrayed, and an utter hopelessness flooded over me.  I
continued to implore him, but I was too weak, too exhausted, and as the
door swung open, I was led inside.

In any event, the first thing I noticed was that the clinic was not a
hospital.  In fact, it looked more like a hotel than a clinic.  The
registration desk looked straight out of any Hilton or Sheraton.

Following my check-in, a counselor led me to a small office.  He was
courteous but professional and to the point.  He told me exactly why I
was there and what my prognosis would be if I left.

Very politely, he told me to send all the things in my suitcase home
with my husband, including my pillbox.

The only items I could keep were my makeup, my hot rollers, my pajamas
and bathrobe, my underwear, and a couple of pants outfits.  After all
this he assigned me a room.  And while I was sitting there, still in a
state of shock, he left to tell Jim and the people with him that they
could go home.  I was devastated.

Why had I not been consulted beforehand?  And why had they chosen to do
this while I was still so sick?  Even as I write this after all these
years, I am amazed at how much anger I still feel toward Jim for this
decision.

The Betty Ford Clinic is truly a no-frills building.  All the rooms
have two beds, two dressers, two nightstands, two lamps, and two
closets.  The carpet was plain, the walls a neutral beige.  My first
instinct upon being led into my room was to curl up and die.  I didn't
belong here!  By the time my roommate walked in I looked like a wreck
from all my crying.  She was a considerably older lady and a chain
smoker

They handed me a list of rules and chores that I was expected to do
every day.  They also gave me a list of classes I was to attend.  It
literally overwhelmed me.  I was still so sick that I could hardly
stand up.  I was so distraught that my roommate insisted I come down to
the cafeteria with her.  Upon entering, I was instantly surrounded by a
group of fellow women patients.  They were phenomenal!

"Come on, Tammy," one woman said, "sit down and we'll get you some iced
tea and a cookie.  It's going to be okay.  Don't cry.  We all felt this
way when we first got here, but it isn't a bad place."  I could not eat
the cookie, but I drank some of the iced tea.  It felt good on my
parched throat.  And all the hugs just made me cry harder.

My roommate and I went back to our room, and I lay down on the bed,
fully clothe , sobbing my heart out.

"Somehow I have to get out of here.  I don't belong here!  Please, God,
help me!"  I begged silently.

Despite the fact that my body was totally exhausted, I could not sleep.
So quietly, I walked out into the hallway.

I went over to the front desk and asked, "Please, sir, may I use the
phone?  I need to call my husband."

"As a new patient," he said in a detached voice, "you are not allowed
to use the phone."  Then he went back to reading his paper.  I could
not believe that I could not even call home.  It was then I spotted
something called the Meditation Room.  I walked inside and was awed by
its beauty.  It was really more like a lovely garden.  There was no
furniture, just a series of carpeted steps arranged in a semicircle.

There you could meditate in an enchanting setting, filled with plants
and trees of all kinds and a small pond surrounded by flowers.  I began
to feel more calm.

I finally went back to my room and collapsed on the mattress, begging
God to get me out of this place.  More exeruciating minutes rolled
by.

It was 11:00 P.M."  and I still could not sleep a wink, so I got up and
went out toward the front desk again.  There was a different guard
sitting there, with a benevolent, sympathetic face.

"Sir," I asked, "do I have to stay here?"  I must have been a pathetic
sight, standing before him with my eyes nearly swollen shut from
sobbing so hard.

"No, Tammy," he responded, "this is not prison.  You don't have to stay
here against your will.  Now, why don't you pretend this is a nice
motel and stay just tonight?  I promise you that when morning comes,
you can call your husband."  His smile was reassuring, and suddenly I
knew everything was going to be all right.  I will never forget the
kindness of that precious man.  He was like an angel to me.  Thanks to
his compassion the terrible panic I felt began to ease.  I told him I
would do what he said, and I walked back to my room and lay down on top
of the covers, still dressed.  I was up at 5:00 A.M. I went into the
bathroom and put cold washcloths on my swollen face, then redid my
makeup.  At i. L i!

about 6:30 I called Jim.

"Please come and get me.  I want to come home."

I don't think Jim could believe what he was hearing.

"Tam," he said, "you really need to give it a chance, honey.  We are
all so worried about you.  But if you insist, I'll come and get you.  I
have a meeting planned for this morning, but I will be there as soon as
I can get away."  I started to cry again, but this time out of pure
gratitude.

In the meantime I'm positive Jim called the clinic, because almost on
cue a counselor showed up and tried to convince me to stay.  She stated
that I really did require professional help in getting off Ativan,
adding that my panic attacks were symptomatic of someone whose body had
become overdependent on the drug.  I answered by saying that if they
allowed me to go home, then I would join the outpatient clinic and do
whatever was required to complete the course of treatment.  She wasn't
enthusiastic about the idea, but eventually she agreed.

By noon I gathered my things and Jim reluctantly checked me out of the
Betty Ford Clinic.  But as I was leaving, a very elegant, statuesque
woman was just coming in.  Placing her hand on my shoulder with great
sympathy, she said, "Tammy, if you don't get help here, please try to
get help somewhere else."  I nodded my head weakly, only to realize a
few moments later that this lady was Betty Ford herself.

I arrived home to hugs and kisses from my children as well as presents
and flowers from well-wishers.  I finally got undressed, got into my
robe, and cuddled up in my own bed.  As promised, I had Jim sign me up
for the outpatient clinic.  He signed up as well, something that
marriage partners are encouraged to do.  Later that afternoon, Jim
placed a call to Reverend Dortch.

"I'm going to be staying at Tammy's side."

"For how long, Jim?"  Dortch asked.

"For as long as she needs me.  Could be several weeks."

"That long?"

"Whatever it takes."

"Well, I'll mind the store in the meanwhile.  Everybody misses the two
of you.  And listen, Jim, we expect you back soon."

Jim and I went through the entire six-week Betty Ford program
together.

Vi stayed with us to help our family through that time.  She was such a
comfort, and since she was so familiar with the Betty Ford approach,
she made it easier for me to face each day of classes.  I think that
Jim benefited every bit as much as I did from the program, and even
Jamie and Tammy Sue learned a lot from the times they visited.  (Every
so often, children were encouraged to attend with their parents.) The
Betty Ford experience turned out to be a real blessing.  I learned that
I didn't want Ativan or any other drug controlling my life anymore.  I
was sick of crying day and night.  I wanted to live!  I wanted to
laughE I wanted to feel!  Finally I wanted to be at peace with myself.
From the program I discovered that I was in control of my life and that
God was in control of me and everything else.  I discovered you had to
face the pain head on--in the raw, if you will.  And it worked.

I couldn't wait to get home to Charlotte, back to our house on the
lake, back to our friends, and back to Heritage USA.  Little did I know
that Jim and Tammy Bakker would never return to PTL again.  they say,
when the cat's away, the mice will play.  And that's exactly what
happened in Jim's absence from PTL.  No one had a better understanding
of our situation and how vulnerable we were than Reverend Dortch.  He
knew it was only a matter of time before Jim Bakker would be tarnished
by accusations of marital infidelity, since there were already powerful
people lurking in the shadows waiting to twist the entire Jessica Hahn
affair to their own advantage.

Inside sources at The Charlotte Observer reported that the paper was
preparing to break the story wide open.  Ever since 1976, when we first
moved to North Carolina, that newspaper had run hundreds of features
smearing PTL.  They had sustained a vicious vendetta against us for
being tel evangelists and charismatic Christians.

Soon the cat would be out of the bag.  I believe Jim knew as well as
anyone else that this was coming, but he still couldn't accept it.  He
was exhausted.  And I had just gotten out of the hospital.  For anyone
who knew the dire truth, it would be an ideal time to play on Jim's
deepest fears and thereby extract the maximum amount of concessions.

Had I known the seriousness of the situation, I would have insisted
that Jim return to PTL to fight the usurpers and subversive forces
within our midst.  But Jim's absence only served to further undermine
his influence.  When proclaiming his message of salvation, Jim was
unassailable, impervious to attack from either within or without.  But
once he was gone, no longer appearing daily on TV stations across the
country, the entire can of worms could be opened.

I kept telling Jim that we should go back to Charlotte.  We had been
gone for over a month, and the children wanted to go home.  I felt that
Jim needed to get back to the ministry.  But he couldn't seem to face
going back.  He kept putting it off.  I really think that Jim was in a
state of burnout--in fact, that?s what they told him at Betty Ford:

that he needed a year's rest from television.  Which is why he felt
justified in not going back, and justified in doing TV spots from
California, and totally comfortable with the idea of Richard Dortch
doing the daily show.  In fact, contributions actually rose by over 15
percent during the months we were in Palm Desert.

It was people's way of saying they had faith in us, praying for me to
regain my health as fast as possible.  The partners were always
angels.

The treachery came from within PTL itself, as certain opportunists saw
their chance to take the ministry for themselves.  All they needed was
a little outside help.  And they got it--in the form of Jerry
Falwell.

But first John Ankerberg and Jimmy Swaggart would have to be dealt
with, since it appeared that they also knew about the tryst with
Jessica Hahn.

That these two men despised Jim Bakker is no secret.  John Ankerberg
hosted a show on the PTL network called Talk Back, featuring highly
controversial subjects concerning the state of Christianity.  The
circus atmosphere was more like Family Feud than an intelligent forum
to discuss the spiritual issues of the day.  Ankerberg's inflammatory
rhetoric infuriated millions of viewers.  It was designed to incite the
passions of his guests, often of different denominations, so that they
would start raising their voices and pointing fingers at one another.

Jimmy Swaggart also came after us, which was ironic because his show
had appeared on the PTL network for many years.  Not exactly a stranger
to infidelity, Swaggart had been caught red-handed with a high-price
call girl down in Louisiana, which he tearfully confessed to a massive
TV audience during a special broadcast.

His constant attacks on PTL mushroomed into a fullfledged assault.

There was no letup in Swaggart's vicious statements.  He labeled PTL "a
cancer eating away at the heart of the church."  Loyal readers of
Swaggart's magazine The Evangelist were treated to condemnations of Jim
and me for more than fifteen months.

But that's not the reason Jimmy was eventually taken off the air.  We
were forced to act because for months Swaggart had been saying awful
things about the Catholic church.  It raised a furor evewwhere the PTL
satellite network was broadcast, more than fifty countries.  The
Catholics had always been our friends and partners, and we could not
let him continue to do this.  After Swaggart's show was canceled, he
became enraged and called Jim.

"I'll get even for this.  You can't push me off the air!"

"You pushed yourself, Jimmy.  You went too far--much too far."

"You are denying me access to my people.  You are denying me my right
to communicate."

"I'm denying you the right to spread hate.

"Cause that's all you're doing, Jimmy.  You're spreading hate, and I
won't have you spreading it from the pulpit of PTL!"

"You're making a big mistake pulling the plug on me, Jim," Swaggart
asserted.

"A real big mistake."

"Jimmy, you're putting this all on me, when you've only got yourself to
blame."

"This is not going to end here, Jim.  You know that--you know what I
mean!  No matter what it takes, this is not going to end here!"  After
that incident, Jim was genuinely concerned about Swaggart "coming to
get him."

In my opinion, Jimmy was trying to bring PTL down out of sheer envy.

Swaggart had been "the biggest" until Jim came along.  And preachers
seem to have a real problem with that.  So when he somehow found out
about Jim's affair with Jessica Hahn, he jumped at a chance because he
now had a weapon.

Religious politics, just like the more secular kind, make for strange
bedfellows, and you probably couldn't get a stranger combination than
Ankerberg and Swaggart.  I don't know who they hated more: Jim Bakker
or each other.  I think it was a toss-up.  But I suppose the deciding
factor was that Jim had what both of them wanted.  I believe each of
them would have loved his own satellite network, to be the person in
charge of one of the nation's greatest media enterprises.  Small wonder
they would have cut off their right arms to be in Jim's position, to
have the prestige and worldwide power he wielded.  Therefore even
though they were polar opposites on the theological front, they decided
to join forces.

But why was PTL host to all these strange intrigues?  In my experience
television has a peculiar effect on people.  That little red light
comes on, you look straight into the lens, and a unique metamorphosis
takes place, sometimes good, sometimes bad.  As people become enveloped
by their own stardom, personal qualities are amplified.  For instance,
I believe the camera brought out the best in Jim.

But for others the fame becomes a drug, an addiction that has to be
constantly fed and can never be satisfied.  Is that what happened to
Dortch?  Was the kind, gentle man we originally employed somehow
transformed by the seductive power of fame?  We can only speculate.

By his own admission on The Larry King Show of February I, 1988, we
know that Dortch arranged a furtive meeting with Jerry Falwell.  He was
approached at a ball game down in Florida by two men.  One turned out
to be Mark De Moss son of the wealthy De Moss insurance family and a
Falwell operative.  The other man was Jerry Nims, another member of
Falwell's inner circle.  In any event, the particulars were set up.

The meeting was to be held down at the Tampa airport at eleven o'clock
in the evening.

Dortch was to wait for them on the secluded part of the airfield
reserved for corporate jets.  But the plane was extremely late,
arriving well after midnight.  Making no apologies for his tardiness,
Falwell quickly exited, and the four men adjourned to a private
conference room upstairs.  They dispensed with the usual pleasantries,
and then Nims got right down to brass tacks.

He told Dortch that John Ankerberg and Jimmy Swaggart were fully aware
of the entire Jessica Hahn scandal and that they wanted to enlist
Falwell as their powerful ally in order to intimidate Jim Bakker into
submission.  But there was only one small fly in the ointment.  Jerry
Falwell did not trust Jimmy Swaggart; in fact he despised him.

To this day, Dortch insists that whatever his subsequent actions, they
were taken only to save the ministry and Jim Bakker.  He claims that he
never said anything to Jerry Falwell about the Jessica Hahn affair
until it was brought up at this meeting.  His defense is that he took
Falwell at face value, believing him a fellow man of God unselfishly
offering his services in time of distress in order to thwart Swaggart
and prevent a great injustice to PTL.

However, unless there is some tape recording floating around that we
don't know about, there is no accurate way of telling exactly what was
said in that famous meeting-what was promised, what was offered, what
was planned, and whose plan it was.

Is it possible that Dortch was playing both ends against the middle?

Believing that no matter who brought Jim Bakker down, he would be the
winner?  Or was this meeting merely the culmination of earlier
discussions with Falwell in order to topple Jim Bakker, a strategy
session to dot the i's and cross the t's?  On the other hand, it's
possible Dortch was convinced he was acting in the best interests of
PTL, as he perceived them to be.  It's hard to say.  All we can do is
look at the far-reaching consequences of that meeting, then draw our
own conclusions.

To solidify the arrangement, Falwell's people suggested that Dortch
employ an attorney named Norman Roy Grutman as counsel for PTL.

Grutman was a heavyweight who had defended Penthouse magazine in a
major lawsuit, and won.  The plaintiff was none other than Jerry
Falwell himself.  Apparently Falwell believed that if you can't beat
your enemies, let them join you.  I have every reason to believe that
Grutman--at the time he was hired as PTL's attorney--was also Falwell's
attorney, which presented a clear conflict of interest, to say the
least.

If you accept Dortch's version of the story, he was duped into
believing that Grutman was fully independent of Falwell's influence and
therefore could be trusted with confidential information.  But if you
don't have faith in Dortch's recollection, then you might assume that
Grutman was expertly used as another nail in Jim Bakker's coffin.

Jerry Falwell had cleverly seized upon this time, one of the lowest
points in our lives, to do his dirty work.  I don't know how long he
had been planning it.  I have been told that he had been working out
the details for well over a year.  A short time after his powwow with
Falwell, Dortch placed an emergency call to Jim to apprise him of the
grim facts.

"Jim, everything is coming to a head.  Soon it will all boil over.
Swaggart and Ankerberg are right on our tail.  The Charlotte Observer
is about to run the Hahn story.  A decision has to be made."

i L

] _M

Out in Palm Desert, Jim was absolutely panicked.

"What can we do?  If the Hahn story comes out, I'm sunk, through.  You
know that."

"It's going to come out, Jim.  There's nothing we can do about that.

It's how it's going to come out that's the question."

"What do you mean?"

"I think we can do a lot of damage control if we go with Falwell.  He
wants to help us.  You know how much he's always liked you and Tammy.

He's a friend--a powerful friend with powerful friends--and I know we
can trust him."

"I'm not sure.  There's got to be another way."

"Look, Jim, let me lay it on the line.  You have no choice.  No choice
whatsoever.  Your neck is way out there, and this whole thing could
break any minute now."

"Maybe there's something we haven't thought of."

"Face reality, Jim.  This is it.  Time's up.  There's only one man in
the whole world who can possibly save you, and that man is Jerry
Falwell."

Jim did everything he could to get a grip on himself.  Finally he was
able to put his thoughts together.  Dortch was right.  There was no
turning back.  It was now or never.

"What does Jerry want to do?"

"I

don't think we should discuss that on the phone," Dortch quickly
responded.

"Here's what we'll do.  Tomorrow I'll fly on Falwell's jet with him out
to where you are."

"So we're going to meet in Palm Desert?"

"Exactly.  But don't worry.  Everything is going to be all right.  I
think Falwell has a terrific plan that's going to fix everything,"
Dortch proclaimed, finishing on an upbeat note.

While the situation was definitely critical, Jim felt comforted.

Dortch's soothing voice had brought a sense of peace, some hope into
his heart.  Jim had confidence in Dortch's ability to defuse this
emergency.  Their previous clashes were petty compared to a crisis of
this magnitude.  Jim was absolutely convinced that Dortch would rise to
the occasion, using his considerable skills to save PTL. In other
words, whatever it was, Daddy Dortch would make it all right. He would
never let anything hurt Jim.  He would have the answer to Jimmy
Swaggart's threats, and the answer was Jerry Falwell--yes, Jerry
Falwell would be Jim's savior!

There was no avoiding it now.  Jim knew that in twenty-four hours Jerry
Falwell would be arriving and I would find out everything.  For as long
as I live, I will never forget the moment I found out about Jessica
Hahn.  Vi Azvedo was at our house.  Jim said that he and Vi needed to
talk to me, and he asked me to go with them into the bedroom.  I don't
know why, but as I went with them I shuddered with utter dread.

"Why can't we talk out here, you guys?"

"Tam, we can't talk in front of the kids," Jim answered.  In our
bedroom was a cozy little sitting room that I loved.  It was my special
spot.

We ended up in there on the plush white couch and matching chair.  The
next words I heard were to change my life forever.  Vi started the
conversation.

"Tammy Faye, Jim has something he needs to tell you."

I immediately became defensive.  With both of them there, I felt like a
trapped animal.

"Well, Vi, if he has something to say to me, why can't he say it by
himself?  Jim's a big boy.  Why does he need you here?"

Vi had been a part of the marriage-workshop team that had counseled us
many times, and she knew our problems well.

"Well, Jim, what do you want to tell me?  Just say it."

I already sensed that he was incredibly uncomfortable, but nothing in
the world could have prepared me for what came next.

"Tam, I need to tell you about something that happened seven years ago.
I have never told you because everyone told me not to.  I wanted to
tell you many times."

"Jim, just tell me!"  I begged.  My heart was pounding.  I was
literally shaking with fear.  What could he possibly tell me that I
didn't already know?

"Tam, seven years ago I met a girl.  I had sex with her one time, and I
have never seen her since that day.  The reason I am telling you this
now is that she is blackmailing me, which is why Jerry Falwell is
coming in tomorrow.  Jimmy Swaggart has found out and is threatening to
go to the news media with it.  Falwell says that he wants to help me.

Reverend Dortch is flying in with him on his private plane.  We'll meet
with him tonight and with Falwell tomorrow.  I'm sorry, Tam.  Please
forgive me."

With that he came over to me and tried to kiss me and put his arms
around me.  But I was frozen with grief, anger, and a sense of betrayal
I had never felt in my entire life.

"Don't you ever touch me again!"

I screamed at the top of my lungs.  I wanted to escape, to run away,
but there was no place to go.  Tears were streaming down my face.

"Why, Jim, why?"  I sobbed in pure agony.

"I don't know, Tam.  I'm so terribly sorry, so sorry."

By this time Vi had discreetly left the room and we were alone.  I went
from feeling sorry for Jim one moment to wanting to kill him the
next.

Dortch knew, Falwell knew, Swaggart knew, Ankerberg knew, Vi knew,
Dr.

Gross knew, even The Charlotte Observer knew.  Everybody knew except
me!

I felt like a fool.  How could so many know, and I had never once even
suspected?

"Jim," I screamed in agony, "how could you have been so stupid?  What
if she'd gotten pregnant?

What if you'd caught some disease?  Did you use any protection?"

"I wasn't thinking," Jim said, almost to himself.

"You sure weren't.  You weren't thinking about the kids, about me, or
about your ministry.  You weren't thinking about anybody but
yourself.

Jim, how could you have done a thing like that!  One thing you didn't
need more of was sex!  You know I never denied you anything you
wanted.

Never!  What did she look like?"  I screamed in his face.

"Was she beautiful, Jim?  Was that the reason?  You couldn't resist her
beauty?

What was it, Jim?  Tell me, what was it?"

"Tam, I don't even remember what she looked like.  I don't think I ever
really saw her face.  I was so nervous.  I don't think we even spoke
ten words.  Tam, you've got to believe me."

"That makes me feel better."

"It meant nothing.  Absolutely nothing!  You satisfy me more than that
Jessica Hahn ever could.  Being with her made me realize how wonderful
you were."

I looked at him.  I didn't know whether to laugh or scream my head
off.

I felt as though I were falling and falling and there was no one to
catch me.

"How could you, Jim, how could you?"  I kept repeating, but by then he
wasn't answering.  He just withdrew and became quiet, deathly still.
Finally all I could say was, "Jim, please leave.  Just get out of my
sight."  He shuffled out of the room, leaving me weeping.

I don't think there were two more wretched human beings on the face of
the planet that day.

I never denied Jim anything, not ever.  I never denied him what he
needed.  I never said that I wasn't in the mood.  I was always a good
wife, both inside the bedroom and out.  Now I sat in that room feeling
like less than nothing!  I blamed myself over and over.  I must not
have been enough for him.  I wasn't pretty enough, talented enough, a
good enough mother, a good-enough lover.  I was a total failure as a
woman.

I just wanted to die.

On and on, these thoughts were spinning through my head.  My emotions
were a jumble.  I wanted to wring Jim Bakker's neck.  This was as low
as we had ever sunk.  This was the bottom of the pit.  I felt I was
being crushed by the weight of the world, as if all the life was being
squeezed out of me.

To this day, people ask me why I didn't file for divorce right then.

Believe me, I thought about it.  Trouble was, I hated the word
divorce.

My mother and father had gotten divorced--over another woman.  I had
always vowed that I would never get a divorce.

My religious beliefs told me that God hates divorce, and that a man and
woman are supposed to live together "till death do us part."  I felt
the reason God hates divorce is because He loves the family, and
divorce forever destroys at least one part of the family.  One parent
is always missing, and that is truly sad.  At Christmas and
Thanksgiving, it would be so hard on our children if we got divorced.

I don't know if it was these thoughts, but then something happened
inside me.  My maternal instinct somehow came out and took control.  I
dragged myself off the couch and walked out into the living room.  Jim
was curled up in a tight little ball on the couch.  I could see that he
too was in pure agony.  I put my arms around him.

"It's going to be all right, honey.  Somehow we will get through this,
get through this together.  We have to."  Jim buried his face in my
bosom.

"We just have to."  A few minutes passed, and we heard a knock on the
door.  It was Reverend Dortch.  I was never so glad to see anyone in my
whole life.  Now everything was going to be fine.  It had to be.  In
order to succeed with his ambitious scheme to acquire PTL, the PTL
mailing list, and the PTL satellite network, as well as become the
undisputed leader of the Christian world, Falwell needed friends in
high places.  Well, it just so happened that Jerry's plans coincided
with campaign strategies being formulated within the White House.  For
as George Bush made plans to run for the Oval Office in 1988, there was
great concern over Pat Robertson's entry into the race.

The Bush people were apprehensive that Robertson could siphon off
enough conservative votes to throw the election to Dukakis and the
Democrats, and perhaps even more terrified that Jim Bakker would throw
the full weight of the PTL network behind him.  As the outspoken head
of the Moral Majority, Jerry Falwell was a powerful and influential
force, a frequent guest of the Reagan White House, a close confidant of
George Bush, and a familiar face on Capitol Hill.

Early in their campaigns, candidates George Bush and Pat Robertson got
in touch with Jim in hope of gaining his support, fully realizing that
the far-flung PTL communications empire and its millions of loyal
viewers could be a critical factor in their success.  Even though Jim
always honored Pat, crediting him as the man who allowed him to learn
television, Robertson had barely if ever spoken our names since we left
his ministry.  I recall long after we left his organization that Pat
had a Founder's Day and both Jim and I were invited to it.

I do not know why Pat even invited us.  He did not even acknowledge
that Jim was there.  The celebration was held in a huge white tent
filled with tables all decorated in white and gold.  At the front of
that huge tent was the head table, reserved for the people who had had
a part in building the CBN television network.  There were people
sitting at that table that I know were not part of building that
network.

And here was Jim, the man who worked so hard for Pat, the man who
almost singlehandedly had built the network so many years before, the
man who started the 700 Club here was Jim Bakker sitting at a table in
the back of the tent.  Pat never mentioned his name once.  I ached for
Jim that day.  Jim never said much to me about it, but I knew that
inside he must be hurting bad.

As we left the tent, Pat and his wife, Dede, were standing in a
receiving line.  Pat shook Jim's hand and thanked him for coming.  Pat
could be so cold.  Of course, this was long before he decided to run
for the presidency.  But that moment said a lot to me about the type of
man Pat was.

But when Robertson realized that the PTL network could be of enormous
help to him, he swallowed his pride and came down to Heritage USA.  In
fact we still have footage of him there, enthusiastically talking about
his run for the presidency and treating Jim like his best friend
again.

But from the moment of his arrival, I sensed that Pat couldn't believe
what had been achieved.

"You know, Jim, who would have thought that you could have gone on to
build your own television ministry."

"Uh, thank you, Pat," Jim said tentatively, not really knowing which
way to take the remark.

"No, Jim, trust me.  I mean that in a good way," Pat said, attempting
to clear up any confusion.  However, I think what particularly irked
him was the fact that Jim wasn't even a college graduate.  Robertson
was into education, so finding someone who could accomplish all this
without higher schooling just rubbed him the wrong way.

"Just look how you've grown."

"We're getting there."

"Look, Jim, I know we've had our ups and downs.  But I've always
believed in you.  I believed in you from the very first.  I had a
powerful belief in what you could do, didn't I?"

"I've always said that," replied Jim, thinking back to the days when
Robertson was running CBN on a shoestring budget.

"I've always said that without you I wouldn't be where I am today."

"I appreciate your words, Jim.  I truly do," said Robertson, turning up
the wattage in his smile.

"With all my heart."

"It's good to be speaking to you again, Pat."

"Too long--it's been much too long, Jim.  Much too much water under the
bridge.  But we're going to fix all that.  We won't let that happen
again, will we?"

"Of course we won't."

Not to be outdone, George Bush contacted Jim and waxed effusive about
the great admiration he had for PTL, Heritage USA, and everything else
Jim had accomplished.

"Barbara and I are great fans of yours, Jim.

Just great fans of the show."

"Thank you, Mr.  Vice President.  Those are very kind words."

"You and Tammy are terrific.  PTL is certainly a huge undertaking."

"A lot of work."

"You said it.  Anything that's worthwhile takes a lot of work.  That's
why it took real leadership to get all this off the ground."

"Thank you."

"Jim, you know how much the president and Nancy admire what you've
done.  How you've stayed the course for decency."

"I've always felt the president was on my side."

"He certainly is, Jim, certainly is.  We're both on your side.  That's
why it's important to keep that ball rolling.  To make sure that what
Ronald Reagan started doesn't get swept under the rug."

"That's true."

"We're all going to have to stick together in this thing.  We can't
divide up into little groups, no matter how well intentioned those
groups might be.  Because that's what the Democrats want us to do.

They would like to see us divided--you know, divide and conquer.  Now,
listen to me, Jim.  We have to keep the conservative vote under one
roof."

"I see what you mean."

And so the conversation continued, until Bush had to leave.  But no
political group would enjoy the support of PTL, because Jim's firm
policy in all such matters was to stay totally neutral, although
privately we were Republicans.  Nevertheless, and this is strictly my
opinion, the Bush people knew of Jim's previous affiliation with
Robertson and the similarity of their religious stances, so they may
have assumed Jim's silence was merely a prelude to an announcement of
support--but unfortunately not for them.  Jim Bakker was a wild card, a
bomb that could explode in their faces at any moment, and they just
weren't willing to take the risk.  This is where I believe Jerry
Falwell saw his chance.  Falwell would show the government how to get
Jim Bakker, and as compensation he would get all of PTI no questions
asked.  It is hard for me to believe that without outright complicity
from the highest levels Jerry Falwell could have gone to the extremes
he did without incurring the wrath of somebody in government.

Looking back, I realize how incredibly naive Jim was.  He just didn't
realize that you had to make friends in high places, that one hand
washes the other.  Richard Dortch constantly urged Jim to pursue
friendships with rich and powerful individuals.

"Jim," he would say.

"You always need to have people in your corner who are heavy hitters,
people who know how to get things done with one phone call.  That's the
way of the world, Jim, the law of the jungle.

You've got to start making some friends high up in politics, in
industry, in the financial and business world, and in the media.

Because you never know when you might need them.  Now, don't get me
wrong.  You and Tammy have really nice friends now, but they're not
influential.  They're not going to be able to help you out of any
jams."

It was a blind spot Jim had.  He didn't really feel comfortable around
movers and shakers, those who wielded real authority, maybe because he
didn't feel good enough about himself.

Looking back, I've often speculated about what would have happened if
Jim Bakker had indeed supported George Bush for the presidency.  What
if he had ingratiated himself, say, as Jerry Falwell often did, with
the most authoritative men and women behind the scenes?  Tell me, would
the subsequent prosecution ever have taken place?  Would Jim have
remained a free man?  Would he still be heading up PTL?  Or wouldn't it
have made a difference?  Your guess is as good as mine.

To return to the day that changed my life: While there had been serious
problems with Dortch, we believed this present crisis far transcended
anything that had happened between us previously, and it was therefore
in our mutual interest to solve it together.  So upon his arrival at
our home in California, there were hugs and kisses; then the three of
us sat down on the couch.

"We're so glad you're finally here," I said.

"First of all, Jim and Tammy," Dortch announced cheerfully, "don't
worry, everything is going to be fine.  I just left Falwell and his men
at the hotel."  Of course, the very fact that Reverend Dortch had flown
in with Falwell on his private jet should have raised a red flag, but
somehow it didn't.

"Are you sure that we can trust Falwell?"  Jim asked Dortch.

"Is he a man of his word?"

"I have complete confidence in him," Dortch responded.

"I wouldn't be here if I didn't."

Jim mulled this over.

"I don't understand.  Why would he want to help a charismatic ministry
when he himself is Baptist?"

"Because if they can tarnish you, they can tarnish him, and all the
other religious leaders in the country.  Jim, let's face it.  In unity
there is strength.  Falwell realizes that."

But Jim was still wavering.

"How did he find out about the Jessica Hahn problem?"  he asked.

Dortch leaned back a little and took a deep breath.

"Just as I told you on the phone," he replied, shifting his weight.

"Swaggart spilled the beans."

"But who told Swaggart?"

"Beats me.  Could have been anybody.  Maybe Fletcher.  Even Profeta.

Roper.  Weitsman--or Hahn herself."  I noticed at this point that
Dortch left himself off the list.

"But that's not really the issue now.  The issue is how do we best
handle the situation and make absolutely sure that PTL is preserved."

As Jim continued questioning him, I observed Dortch getting more and
more uncomfortable.  And I grew more and more suspicious.  But Dortch's
honey-tongued voice gave all the right answers, and I could see that
Jim was believing everything he said.

"The idea can't miss.  It's practically a sure thing."

"Okay, how will it work?"  Jim inquired anxiously.

"Well, this is the plan Falwell and I have worked out," Dortch replied,
taking time to emphasize every word.

"Falwell will take over the ministry for you for three or four
weeks."

Instantly Jim became alarmed.

"What do you mean, take over?"  But Dortch quickly settled him down.

"Well, at least that's what it will look like."

"I'm not sure I'm following."

"The bottom line is that nothing will change as far as the public is
concerned.  I will be in charge as usual--doing the TV show as
usual."

"I'm still not--" "It's real simple, Jim.  You'll videotape an apology
about the Jessica Hahn thing, and we'll play it on PTL and tell the
partners that you've decided to take a leave of absence.  Falwell will
go on the air and explain that he's temporarily taking charge in order
to help you and encourage you.  Then in four weeks you can come back to
Charlotte and everything will be fine.  All the partners will see that
you're genuinely remorseful."

"So you're saying four weeks and that's it?"

"At the most, at the very most."  Then Dortch started really pounding
away.

"Look, Jim, you've got to do this.  You need to do this!  And then
we'll let you come back in four weeks.  Four weeks is nothing.  In four
weeks we'll put you right back where you belong."

I listened in ever-increasing horror until finally I had to say
something.

"Are you sure there isn't some other way of doing this?  I have to tell
you, this doesn't seem right to me."

"Tammy, there is no other way," Dortch pronounced, abruptly standing up
to leave.

"Just trust me."  Those were the last three words Dortch ever spoke
directly to me.

"Now it's getting late and I need to get back to the hotel.  Falwell
wants to meet at nine o'clock tomorrow morning.  We'll see you then."
Jim looked relieved; I was panic stricken  Something was terribly
wrong, but I just couldn't put my finger on it.

Jim and I tossed it back and forth half the night.

"Listen, could Swaggart have found out from Dortch?"  I asked Jim, not
actually expecting an answer.

"I know they've been friends for years."

"I don't think so.  Even Dortch wouldn't betray the confidence of a
hurting man."

"Are you a hundred percent sure?"

"I'm not a hundred percent sure of anything," came the reply.

"Could it be that Dortch told Falwell too, so that when Swaggart called
him, Jerry already knew and was playing it cool?"

"Look, Tam, I'm getting a migraine from trying to figure this all
out.

It doesn't matter who told what to who or when."

"Somebody is being disloyal to you, Jim, and you better find out who
before it's too late."

"Can't we just wait till tomorrow?  Let's just see what happens.  I'm
sure it will all be resolved when we get to the hotel."

"That's just the point, Jim.  Why are we going to the hotel?  Why are
we meeting them on their turf?  Why don't they come over to our
place?

Why is everyone being so secretive?"  But Jim just withdrew.  As we
finally got into bed around 3:00 A.M."  I whispered softly to him,
"There's something wrong here, Jim.  Be careful.  Be very careful."

After a couple of restless hours' sleep, Jim and I drove to the Palm
Springs Hotel at around eight-thirty in the morning and went up to
Dortch's room.  After chatting for a few minutes, the three of us went
down to the lobby.  There we met Jerry Falwell and his operatives.
Falwell embraced us with open arms.  I can still picture the scene:
Falwell in his immaculately tailored, conservative gray business suit
surrounded by four or five of his associates, also wearing gray suits.
The only person wearing something flashy was Grutman, whose sports
jacket was just a little too tight around the middle.  For the meeting
a large suite had been reserved, and after everybody made their
introductions, we all adjourned upstairs.  Falwell suggested the three
of us go into the bedroom in order to ensure privacy.

In the bedroom Falwell shut the door and put his huge arms around me
and Jim.  Tears came to his eyes as he spoke.

"Jim and Tammy, you know how much I have always loved your ministry. My
children love it too.

My son was just at Heritage USA, and he had a wonderful time.  In fact
he couldn't quit talking about how much fun he had on the water slide
and just what an amazing place it was.  He said it was the best
vacation he had ever had."

Then Jerry projected a look of deep concern; his voice became lower.

"Now, Jim and Tammy, I've been getting calls from Jimmy Swaggart
recently, and he knows all about the Jessica Hahn situation.  He was
asking me for my help in having you removed as the head of PTL.

Swaggart thinks that you are no longer worthy of running such a large
ministry, and he feels you should be forced to give PTL up."

Once again his arm went around Jim's shoulder, a comforting arm, the
same arm of forgiveness that a father might offer a son who just broke
a neighbor's window.  Jerry was very convincing; even I was taken in
for a moment.

"I think Jimmy Swaggart is wrong," Falwell continued.

"We all make mistakes, and he should know that better than anybody.  In
any event, I wouldn't want anyone going through my dirty laundry.  We
are just human, and sometimes we fail.  But God forgives us, therefore
we must forgive ourselves too."

Falwell drew my husband even closer to him.

"Jim, someone tried to destroy another minister friend of mine a few
years ago; but I went in and helped him.  They tried to disgrace him,
but the man renounced his sins and his ministry was saved.  I want to
do the same thing for you and Tammy," he declared, flashing us his most
benevolent smile.

"After all, we are all brothers and sisters in the Lord, and it's time
we all start working together as one instead of being divided."

Bingo!  I could see that really struck a responsive chord in Jim.

Jerry was tossing out the bait, and Jim was buying it, hook, line, and
sinker.  It had always been a goal of Jim's to see all denominations
working in accord.  Falwell sure knew what he was doing.

"Now, Jim, I've talked this over with Dortch on the plane on the way
here, and I feel like we've come up with a workable solution."

Then he proceeded to outline the same scenario Dortch had offered.  He
would take over the ministry for three or four weeks to give the
partners a chance to hear Jim's apology for the Jessica Hahn problem.

"But I won't be staying in Charlotte," Jerry added.

"I've got my own ministry to tend to."  Falwell concluded by saying
that he would videotape a message to the partners that he was standing
behind Jim, supporting him 100 percent; also he would urge the people
to forgive Jim.  He would encourage them to stand with Jim in every way
to continue the great work that PTL was doing.

Then he put his arms around us again and prayed for us both.  Tears
welled in his eyes again.  We left that bedroom and went back out into
the suite to meet Grutman and the other men Falwell had just happened
to bring along.  My mind started going wild again.  Why would he bring
a lawyer if all he wanted was to help Jim out with some moral
support?

Suddenly I felt claustrophobic, a little nauseated.  All I wanted was
to get out of there.  Telling Jim I'd meet him back at the house, I
left--but not without warning him to be careful.  Upon arriving home, I
immediately went out and sat at a little table by the pool.  Everything
was happening so fast.  How much more could I take?  I had only learned
about Jessica Hahn the day before, and here she had become the focal
point of the most important decision Jim would ever make in his
life--in our lives.  It was too much to bear.

The sun was getting hot as I sat there thinking, hurting inside and
scared, so I went to the kitchen and got a pitcher of lemonade.  Just
as I sat down again I heard a car drive up.  It was Jim and Grutman.

Jim looked miserable as they came out and sat down next to me at the
table.  My heart ached for him.

"Tam, we need to talk to you," Jim began.

"I told them I wouldn't make any decisions until I talked to you first.
They're all waiting for me back at the hotel."  I couldn't figure out
for the life of me why he had Falwell's lawyer with him.

"Honey, here's the plan Falwell and Grutman have worked out."  And as
he spoke, I couldn't believe my ears!  They wanted Jim to resign from
the board of directors with a letter, which they would write for him
Grutman told Jim that in reality he would still be running the ministry
through Dortch.  When the four weeks were up, the board of directors
would reinstate him--and he would automatically take back the TV
show.

"Think of it like you would a play," Grutman said.

"And, Jim, you are the lead character.  It's only a play, and you are
just playacting.

People will recognize how remorseful you are by the fact that you've
given up your ministry because you are no longer worthy of running
it."

Those were his precise words.  I couldn't believe he was comparing this
tragedy to a play and playacting.

"Wait a minute!"  I interrupted.

"Does it mention anywhere in this agreement about Jim returning?  Is
that part written down?"  Grutman was glaring at me.  Sweat dampened
his brow, as if he was scared to death that I was going to mess up
their plan.

"Now, Tammy, you know putting that in writing would only appear to
invalidate the sincerity of Jim's noble gesture," said Grutman
smoothly.

"I believe it's better to keep that part of the arrangement on a
handshake basis."  That's when I knew the whole scheme stunk.  We had
already been destroyed by people who insisted on working on a handshake
basis.

I looked at Jim in desperation.

"Jim, please don't do this!"  I begged.

"Please don't give up your place on the board of directors.

You will never get it back if you do.  It will rob you of your power!

That is what they want, Jim.  Please don't do it!"  I was practically
down on my knees at this point, pleading with him, but Jim just sat
there like a zombie, as if he were paralyzed.

"This is not just your ministry, this is something I've worked hard for
too.  Don't give it away.  Don't give PTL away.  Don't give away your
birthright!"

Finally Jim said, "Tam, I have to get back."

"If you feel you need a few weeks off while this all blows over,
fine!

Just don't resign from the board.  Tell the partners what's
happening.

Talk to them.  They'll understand.  They really will understand.  I
don't care what Dortch is telling you--something isn't right here.

Please don't sign anything!  Please, Jim!  Just listen to me this
once!"  Well, if looks could kill, Grutman would have had me dead on
the spot.

j L "Tam, I have to get back," Jim repeated.

"Jim, please .. ."

"They're waiting for me."  As they left, I could see that Jim was
petrified by fear and anguish.  I don't know what he thought or
believed at that moment.  All I know is that nothing I said had taken
hold in his mind.

I think everyone felt betrayed by what Jim allowed to happen that
day.

Why didn't he stop and think about what this was going to do to his
family?  Why didn't he stop and think what it was going to do to the
faithful partners of PTL?  Why didn't he stop and think about the
effect it was going to have on the thousands of people who worked at

PTL?

I believe he was so scared of screaming headlines in The Charlotte
Observer--JIM BAKKER RAPES CHURCH SECRETARY-that he couldn't think
straight.  Time and time again, Falwell, Dortch, and Grutman had told
him those headlines would be running all over the United States if Jim
didn't do what they said.  They stampeded him into making a foolhardy
decision.  It's a mystery to me.  Jim is such an intelligent man.  I
will never know why he couldn't see through their ploy.  And why he
couldn't see that Dortch, by going along with the plan, was serving as
the catalyst for the destruction of Jim Bakker.

Without first asking the people who loved PTL, I believe Jim had no
right to sign it away.  Before saying another word to Falwell, he
should have gotten on a plane and flown back to Charlotte.  He should
have gone to the board of directors and told them what was happening.

He should have talked to Roe Messner and the other men he trusted.  And
he should have gone on TV and talked to the partners about the
situation.

Had he performed this one act of courage, I know that everything would
have turned out differently.  Jim should have stood up and said out
loud, "I made a mistake seven years ago, a terrible mistake that has
haunted me every single day of my life.  Do you want me to give it up,
do you want me to leave PTL--or will you forgive me?"

And the people would have forgiven him.  They would have rallied by the
millions.  In every state, in every town across America, they would
have condemned the blackmail by Jessica Hahn.  If only Jim would have
gone on the offensive, summoning the courage within himself, instead of
caving in.  If only Jim had .. . if only .. .

If there is one thing I've learned, it's never do anything important
quickly, and never do anything out of fear.  Jim acted without
thinking.  He didn't speak to the people who really cared about him and
the ministry.  Therefore, as they agreed, the next day Grutman wrote
out Jim's letter of resignation from the board of directors, and Jim
numbly signed it.  With a single stroke of that pen, I knew it was all
over.

Jerry Falwell had found the key to Jim's soul and shrewdly turned it,
unlocking the golden doors to PTL.  Jim BAKKER RESIGNS FROM PTL, JERRY
FALWELL ASSUMES LEADERSHIP, blared the huge black-and-white headline of
The Charlotte Observer on March 20, 1987, a date that will forever make
me cringe, the day my worst fears came true.  Jessica Hahn became a
household name, and overnight we became the vortex of a national storm,
with news coverage equaling that given to the O. J. Simpson trial years
later.

We were still out in Palm Desert when everything blew up, still
shell-shocked by the rapid-fire barrage.  About a week after we lost
PTL, Roe Messner got an interesting surprise.  It was a direct call
from Jerry Falwell.

"Roe, I was wondering if you could fly to Lynchburg and meet with me. I
have something I would like you to do for Jim and Tammy."

"Sure, Jerry," Roe responded, somewhat taken aback.

"I'll be more than pleased to do anything I can."  On the very next day
Roe flew to Lynchburg and was picked up at the airport by one of
Falwell's men.  He was driven to the Hilton Inn.

"Hello, Roe, thank you for coming," Falwell said warmly.

"Brother, I have a message I would like you to personally deliver to
Jim and Tammy in California.  I have made out a list of things here
that I would like you to give them.  It shows some of the extras
they've been getting at PTL.  I know that they're having a hard time of
it, and I'd like to help them out until they can get back on their feet
again."  Roe was moved by Falwell's act of kindness.

"Sure, Jerry, I'll be happy to fly out and personally deliver your
message to Jim and Tammy."  With that Falwell handed Roe a piece of
paper.  And this is what was written down on it: "I want to provide Jim
and Tammy with a $300,000 salary this year, plus pay for a year's worth
of health insurance and telephone expenses.  I want them to be able to
keep their maid, a secretary, and a guard for a year."

"Well, Jerry, that sure is kind of you.  I know that they will
appreciate your thoughtfulness.  They are hurting so bad."

"Now, Roe, there is one condition," Falwell added.

"I want you to have them copy this statement on their personal
stationery exactly as I have written it and then send it back with
you."

"Well, thank you, Jerry.  I will, and I'm sure your kindness will help
ease some of the terrible pressure they're under.  God bless you,
brother."  Roe was shortly off to the airport with the list Falwell had
given him, and the next day there was a knock on our door.

"Roe, what are you doing here?  It's so good to see you again."  Jim
welcomed him in, and after a few minutes of general conversation Roe
got down to the reason for his visit.

"Jim, I've come at the request of Falwell," Roe said with a gleam in
his eye.

"I have some good news that he's asked me to bring you."

Both of us instantly brightened.  Maybe Jerry was already planning to
have Jim return and videotape his apology, just as we had agreed.  But
instead Roe took out Falwell's note and gave it to us.

"Wait a minute," I interrupted.

"This doesn't sound like we'll be back anytime soon.  It doesn't sound
like the four weeks we talked about."

Jim mulled over my concerns.

"Look, Tam, I think this reflects Jerry's compassion for us.  Just in
case things take a little longer than planned.  In my opinion, it
actually makes everything look more legitimate.  It gives me faith that
Jerry is honoring his commitment to us."

"Could this be only to make Jerry look good?"  I asked.

"Some kind of public relations ploy?"

"Even if it is," Jim responded.

"I think we're too desperate not to accept."

"Well, that's certainly the truth!"  At least we were all in agreement
on that.  Jim looked over the statement one more time.

"Roe, are you sure of all this?"

"Yes, Jim, I just came from Lynchburg, where I met with Jerry
personally, and he wrote these things down in his own handwriting.  All
he wants you to do is copy it as he wrote it on your own letterhead in
your own handwriting.  Then he wants me to deliver it back to him."

"Tam, go find a piece of stationery," Jim said.  I found a piece of my
stationery, which had a little picture of me on it.

"Will this do, Roe?"  I asked.

"It's just what he asked for.  It will be fine."  I took the list and
copied Falwell's words.  We signed our names at the bottom.

"Roe," Jim said.

"I want you to write something down on Tammy's stationery for me."

"Sure, Jim, what do you want me to write?"

"Write that Tammy and I are not making any demands on PTL at all."  So
Roe wrote that down at the bottom.

"Please tell Jerry we both say thank you.  And, Roe, thanks for coming
all this way."

"I was more than glad to do it, Jim.  I'm praying for you."  With that
Roe left to go back to the airport.  What happened next was beyond
belief.

Practically the next day Falwell marched into the TV studio.  Looking
indignantly right into the television camera, he announced, "I just
received this letter from Jim and Tammy making the following
demands."

He then read out the list: $300,000 salary, health insurance, phone,
maid, secretary, and security guard!

This doesn't look like someone who is repentant but like a greedy
person, Jerry proclaimed.  His outrage intensified, and he started
calling this, notoriously, the "wish list."  Falwell sure knew how to
hit a man while he's down, when he can't defend himself.  But the "wish
list" was merely used as the first bullet fired against Jim Bakker in a
veritable holy war of words.

It was now apparent that Falwell was determined to make Jim look so
repugnant that he could never return to PTL.  He said Jim was a
homosexual.  He said Jim had stolen money.  He said we had Swiss bank
accounts.  Jerry Falwell even made a big deal out of our old
houseboat.

Falwell took everything that was precious to us and our family and
trashed it before the world.  All the trumped-up lies came straight
from Falwell's mouth.  He knew the Christian world, so he knew what
buttons you push to destroy someone.  He also knew human nature.  He
knew the key words that incite and infuriate and enrage--he was no dumb
man!  Words like "sex,"

"stealing,"

"greedy,"

"homosexual," "wealthy"--he used these words as his keys to Jim's
destruction.

He had just used Roe to make it look like Jim was greedily demanding
everything on that list.  He was standing in front of the CNN cameras,
a minister of the gospel, looking into the faces of the people and
telling terrible, destructive lies that would end up wrecking not only
our family but an entire ministry.  A true born-again Christian could
never do that to his brother in Christ.  It was at that moment that I
wondered if Jerry Falwell had ever really had a real bornagain
experience.  A true born-again experience changes a wicked heart and
replaces wickedness with love.  There was certainly no evidence that
change had happened within Jerry Falwell's heart.

Roe was in shock.  He could not believe what he was hearing.  He called
Jim on the phone so shaken he could hardly talk.

"Jim," he managed to say, "I am so sorry that I was part of what Jerry
Falwell did to you and Tammy.  I only wanted to help you.  I never
dreamed he could be using me as part of a scheme to destroy you. Please
forgive me, Jim."

The networks were like sharks at a feeding frenzy.  They went crazy
with the story.  ABC, NBC, and CBS dispatched immense trucks with
direct satellite uplinks to Heritage USA and parked them right outside
the gate.  The story was going live around the world.  The BBC picked
it up; Parisians drooled over the sordid details; even in Taiwan the
press was having a field day.  Swarming over Heritage USA were more
than two hundred reporters, interviewing anyone in sight, and when
there was no one in sight, they interviewed one another.  They roamed
the grounds as if they owned the place.  Their appetites were
insatiable.

The most powerful and prestigious news organizations sent in their top
correspondents, many even having the audacity to take up residence at
our hotel.  You couldn't miss them.  Seasoned staff representing The
New York Times, The Washington Post, the Los Angeles Times, Newsweek,
Time, USA Today, U.S. News & World Report, and dozens of others feasted
at our restaurants, exchanging rumors and gossip that instantly got
transmitted as facts.

Within only one week our pictures were blasted all over the covers of
Time, U.S. News & World Report, and News week.  The broadcast of the
PTL program went on every day as planned, but under tremendous stress.
Hundreds of reporters climbed over one another to get into the studio,
snapping shots of whatever and whomever they could, sticking
microphones in the partners' faces as if they were criminals.

The shock and confusion hit PTL like a sudden death in the family.  The
vast majority of the staff and partners couldn't believe their eyes and
ears.  Jim's sudden departure was unfathomable.  It had to be a bad
dream.  Even more incredible was the fact that complete control had
been seized by Jerry Falwell, a man who didn't even share the same
faith that we did, a complete outsider.

The whole situation was outlandish, a farce beyond belief.  Employees
walked around in a daze, too stunned to accept what was going on.  Over
and over they asked one another questions.

"Oh God, how could this be happening to our beloved PTL?"

"Who could possibly do this to us?"

"Where are Jim and Tammy?  Why don't they come back and explain to us
what's happening?"  But there were no answers.

Far beyond the idyllic gates of Heritage USA, the entire Christian
community seemed to be reeling from the charges and counter charges

Our management team was equally in the dark, without a clue as to what
to do.  No one knew if they would even have a job tomorrow.  In spite
of that, to demonstrate their support for us, thousands of yellow
ribbons were tied around acres of trees at Heritage USA; but Dortch
made the staff take them down.  Dortch was in all his glory.  He was
now in charge of PTL Falwell's right-hand man!

Meanwhile our home was under siege by the media.  Under their constant
surveillance we were virtually held hostage.  They'd stand up on top of
their trucks and try to get a clear shot into our home with their
cameras, so we had to hang sheets over the windows, since we didn't
have curtains.  Helicopters passed back and forth, sounding as though
they were going to land on the roof.  I knew then exactly how poor
souls dying of thirst felt out on the prairie, watching the vultures
circling overhead, waiting to pick their dying carcasses clean.

There wasn't any way to get groceries without being followed.  There
wasn't any way to do anything without being stalked by members of the
press.  I remember Jamie wanted to go out and play basketball in the
little courtyard, and they would keep the cameras on him playing till
it would make him so nervous he'd have to come back in side.

We were like exhibits at a zoo.  I felt so sorry for our children.

They couldn't comprehend what was happening to them and to their mom
and dad.  We were painfully honest with them, and yet they looked up at
us with eyes that still did not understand.  Outside our house the road
was three and four deep with reporters, TV trucks, and cameras.  Lights
like you'd see in a baseball stadium were erected for when it got
dark.

They had satellite dishes sticking up in the air.  Rows of Porta-Johns
were moved in to accommodate the hundreds of reporters.

In order for our family to escape the house without detection, we would
have to lie down on the floors of cars; and then friends would cover us
with blankets.  For if the media ever found out we were in a car, they
would follow us day and night with their vans and cameras.

Every so often we would appear at our front door and instantly be
barraged with one question after another.

"Hey, Jim, Jerry Falwell says that you're a homosexual.  Is that
true?"

"Absolutely not.  I am not a--" "Then why would Jerry Falwell say
that?"

"You'll have to ask him."

"So you're calling Jerry Falwell a liar?  Why would he lie?"

"All I can say is that I'm not--" "In other words, you categorically
deny that you're a homosexual."

"I'm denying it because it's not true."

I have to admit Jerry Falwell was smart.  He knew that the partners
would probably forgive Jim for an indiscretion with a woman.  There
were certainly other preachers--like Jimmy Swaggart--who had fallen
from grace and come back.  But Falwell knew that many people could
never forgive Jim if he were homosexual.

"Is Jessica Hahn the only woman you've had an affair with?  Weren't
there others?"

To which my reply would be "If there were others, they would be coming
out of the woodwork.  They'd be all over the TV, wouldn't they?"

"Jim, what about little old ladies eating cat food because they sent
their money to PTL?"  On and on it went.  The same questions all the
time.  Jerry Falwell said this, Jerry Falwell said that, and then we
had to defend ourselves.  I couldn't even watch TV.  No matter what the
station, every few minutes there would be a flashing "update" on what
the media was heralding as "the Holy War" between Jim Bakker and Jerry
Falwell.

Even then, if Jim would have taken Falwell to court, challenged him in
public, I'm convinced our partners would have stood by him.  In the
first month after the story broke, thousands and thousands of letters
and phone calls were received at PTL, begging us to come back, telling
us that all had been forgiven.  But Jim just didn't have what it takes
to go back.

My children suffered the most through the ordeal.  They were not
allowed back on the grounds of PTL, which they loved so much; they were
not allowed back in the school they'd been attending there; they lost
their friends, even their home in Charlotte and most of what was
inside.  Since the ministry leased our car, that had been taken as
well.

We were forced to come back from Palm Desert to claim our furniture and
whatever other personal items we still had.  I will never forget that
day as long as I live.  The terror of it still haunts me.  They came in
like you see Nazis do in the movies.  They walked through the rooms of
our house like we were not even there--through the.  bedrooms into my
closets, even into the bathrooms.  I don't know what they were looking
for.  We certainly didn't have anything of much value.  We had no
paintings or great works of art.  It was just an old house filled with
what was left of our family and our memories.  I remember we had taken
the kids and left town for a few weeks to get away from the press.  But
all the time we were away, Falwell's men were trying to get into our
house and empty it before we could get back.  In our absence, Jim's
sister, Donna, had been staying at our place.  I can still recall her
frantically calling us as they were trying to break in even with her
there.  It was such a horrible time.  I have tried so hard to forget,
but still, so many years later, I sometimes have nightmares about what
they did to our family.

People who remained loyal to us helped us pack.  I will never forget
those unselfish men and women as they got all the boxes ready.  Having
twenty-five years of living crated up was painful.  I can still see
Jamie and Tammy Sue trying to help by being strong.  Jim was almost
catatonic.  I was sobbing so hard that I could hardly stand.  I begged
the movers sent by Falwell, "Please let us keep our bed!  Please just
let us keep our bed!"  I didn't want to see them auction it off.  I
didn't want the news media to come in and take pictures and make fun of
the bed we had slept in.

We packed boxes of dishes, knickknacks, books, toys, and pictures, then
Falwell's men would deliberately unpack them to make sure we weren't
stealing anything that belonged to PTL.  I don't know how they decided
what belonged to PTL and what didn't.  It was our home, and we didn't
have anything that I knew of that belonged to the ministry.  It was
just our stuff.  The memories that families are made of--personal
mementos, things that are treasures only to us.  To see them handle our
belongings and rummage through those boxes that our friends were
working so hard to pack made me physically sick.  I wanted to vomit!

I was so worried for Jamie and Tammy Sue.  How would it affect them to
see people who once worked for Jim and me doing this to us?  Jamie was
only a little boy, ten years old.  He ran outside and climbed up in the
tree house his daddy had built for him a couple of years before.  While
he was out there he saw about twelve men carrying the doghouse up the
hill.  What a pitiful sight, those hefty men and four little dogs
looking at them taking away their house too.

We ended up leaving most of our furniture.  We were just too weak to
fight for it, and at that point I didn't care about furniture or
anything else except my precious children, who were suffering so
awfully.  By the time we were supposed to leave, the whole place was
empty.  I don't know why, but I stayed in the house all by myself that
night.  For some reason I slept on the floor in the closet of our
bedroom with Tuppins, my little five-pound Yorkie.

Everything I loved was gone, everyone I loved was gone, and it was just
me and Tuppins and that big old house.  All night long I didn't
sleep.

I just lay there in the dark remembering the wonderful times we'd had
there.  I could still picture Tammy Sue deciding that Jamie Charles had
slept in her room long enough and it was time to kick him out.  So we
decided to build him his own room.  Jamie was so thrilled.

"Just make sure it doesn't look like a girl's room, Mom!"  was his only
command.

I recalled when we built Jim an office in the basement.  He wanted to
try and spend a little more time at home; but Jim didn't use the office
as much as anticipated.  It was just too hard getting away from PTL
once he got there.  Too many people needing to talk with him about too
many things, always one thing after another.

Then there was our dining room.  I remember making it just like a
little restaurant with five small tables instead of just one big one.

I put tiny white lights in the ficus trees that filled the room.  They
were live, not silk, and I loved that!  I loved anything that was
alive.  It was such a charming room, with a distinct warmth and
personality all its own.  Our dining room was always filled with loved
and trusted friends.

At almost every gathering were the Dortches, as well as Doug and Laura
Lee Oldham.  I thought of Blair and Judy Byoura and their two children,
who were about the age of our two kids.  There wasn't a day that went
by without us getting together at some time.  Judy and I spent hundreds
of hours together in those years while the guys were off doing their
things.  Her husband was a podiatrist.  Judy looked just like Sandy
Duncan, the actress.

Our kids had played together constantly.  Darin, Ryan, Tammy Sue, and
Jamie--what a team they were!  I was so glad that Judy and I had each
other as neighbors.  I could share anything with Judy and know it would
go no further.

Now the house was quiet and still.  Here and there I could hear a
familiar creak.  There was no laughter, no sound of little feet running
up the stairs, no dogs barking joyfully as I came through the door, no
phones ringing, no warmth, no love, just an emptiness that overwhelmed
my heart.  But the memories continued to pour through me.  It was like
my mind was on fast forward, all the images coming and going in a
blur.

Stepping out of the closet, I walked through that house for the last
time, saying good-bye to what would never be again.  In each room I
stopped a moment, paused and reflected.  But I couldn't linger much
longer.  It was already morning.  Time to look forward, not back.

There were far more urgent matters at hand.  So I fought back the sobs
and asked myself, "Where are we going to go?  What are we going to do?"
I don't think we ever formally said good-bye to Blair and Judy.  It
just hurt too bad.

With just a few suitcases in the trunk, we drove up the hill and tried
not to look back.  Today our family home is just a black hole in the
ground.  It burned down a couple of years after we left it.  Soon
afterward someone placed a single red rose where the front door had
once been.  I think it was one of the staff members who still loved
us.

That gesture, that simple act of remembrance, meant so much to me.

I felt that God allowed that house to burn down.  It was a closure for
our family.  All that was left was burned wood and the cement under the
garage where we had all put our names while it was still wet, Jim,
Tammy, Tammy Sue, Jamie, Blair, Judy, Darin, and Ryan.  Beside the
names it read: "We are going to eat fish tonight at the fish camp!"

Simple words that mean nothing to you but everything to me.  blly
Falwell's steamroller flattened our lives and everything else in sight,
but nobody had the cour age to stop his plunder of PTL.  Falwell
ordered his workers to dig a huge pit and then buried thousands of my
recordings, and books we had written, and Bibles with our pictures on
them.  They dumped all the inventory at midnight, thinking no one would
see them, but their actions were secretly filmed by a camera crew as
they covered the landfill with cement.

The pillage continued unabated.  From the Heritage Grand Hotel,
witnesses saw truckloads of furniture being hauled away, presumably to
Lynchburg.  It was beautiful, expensive furniture, bought and paid for
by the partners of PTL.  Falwell forced all the employees into signing
loyalty statements and warned them they could no longer correspond with
us--or even say our names--or they would be fired.  My secretary was
among the first to leave.  Claiming that he was just reducing costs,
Falwell let hundreds of staff members go, only to bring in replacements
from Lynchburg for every single one he fired.

One of the first people Falwell let go was my mom.  She needed her job,
and she pleaded with him to no avail.  Losing her position broke my
mom's heart.  Something went out of her after that.

She was never quite the same.  After she had raised eight children,
that job had given her a new lease on life, and a new self-confidence
and independence.  With those two words--"you're fired' Jerry Falwell
destroyed Mom's dream and her security.  She would never have hurt him
in any way.

But that was Jerry's standard way of operating.  In a decision billed
as an economy move, Falwell transferred all mail operations over to his
brother in Lynchburg.  Heavy sacks brimming with mail would arrive
every day, and Falwell's people would just take the money out and throw
the letters away.  Personal letters addressed to us were trashed,
despite Falwell's pledge that they would be forwarded.  Even checks
with our names on them were pilfered.

But this was just the beginning of Falwell's heavyhanded tactics.  One
day Pinkerton armed guards showed up with no warning like invading
storm troopers.  They surrounded the administration building in a
massive show of sheer force.  In complete bewilderment, staff members
peered out their windows as megaphone-wielding guards in the atrium
below blared out that the whole place was now fully secured; no one
dared leave the premises without first being searched.  And they meant
business!

Anyone entering or leaving the building was harassed.  Handbags were
opened and examined.  Contents of briefcases were rifled.  Packages
were unwrapped.  Even Roe Messner wasn't allowed entrance.  Jerry had
clenched his iron fist.  This was no longer a democracy, it was a
dictatorship.  Apparently Falwell felt nothing but contempt for the
people working at PTL.  They weren't his followers, they owed no
loyalty to him, so therefore they were his enemies, a hostile force to
be demoralized.

One of the most valuable items Falwell was able to wrest from PTL was
our mailing list, a veritable gold mine worth millions of dollars.  By
invading our computer records, Jerry was able to obtain the names and
addresses of every person who ever sent in a contribution.  This gave
him a powerful weapon against us, plus a tool for raising millions of
dollars.

Shortly after his takeover the partners were fairly besieged by mail
from Falwell, asking them to donate as much as they could.  These good
people couldn't figure out what was happening, since they had had
nothing to do with him beforehand.  With the mailing list Falwell held
the heart and soul of PTL in the palm of his hand, and he had every
intention of putting the squeeze on.

But perhaps the most sought-after possession of PTL-the satellite
network, the space-age communications link to virtually hundreds of
stations around the world-Falwell was never able to get his hands on.

It eventually fell into the hands of Ted Turner, who was busy building
his own media empire.  That international link would have made Falwell
the premier force in tel evangelism with enough media clout to dominate
the airwaves.  Luckily, no matter how he schemed, begged, and borrowed,
he just couldn't pull it off.  I guess the good Lord decided to draw
the line somewhere.

Acting as official "spokesperson" for PTL during this time was the
lawyer Norman Roy Grutman.  Finally, after being paid hundreds of
thousands of dollars as PTL's attorney, he saw his chance to have his
moment in the sun, and he wasn't particularly intent on letting it
go.

But although Grutman's behavior was predictable, Doug Oldham's was
not.

One of the saddest things that happened, and which hurt us the most,
was when Doug and Laura Lee walked out on us and went back to Jerry
Falwell.  I was in shock.  Doug was Jim's best friend in the
ministry.

These were people to whom we had bared our souls.  Our children saw the
Oldhams as a surrogate aunt and uncle, and here they were going back to
work for the man who had wrecked our lives.  Remember that before he
came to PTL, Doug had worked for many years as a gospel singer on
Falwell's television show, The Old Time Gospel Hour.  But when Doug
became ill and was no longer able to work, Falwell kicked him out--at
least that was the story Doug told Jim.

Through the years I have heard rumors that while Doug was with PTL he
was secretly feeding Jerry Falwell information.  Many have accused him
of being a spy planted within the ministry.  We knew from time to time
that Doug called Falwell, but we thought nothing of it, knowing they
were former coworkers.

Doug knew whenever Jim and I were having problems, so if he did inform
Falwell, then Jerry had at least one reliable source to confirm our
situation.  What Doug did or said is between him and God.  All that I
know, as of this writing, is that he and his wife are still working for
Jerry Falwell and live in Lynchburg.

As I said before, the senior staff and employees were ridden with
anxiety when Falwell arrived--and with good reason.  Within a few days
of seizing power Jerry showed up with a group of bodyguards, each one
solidly built with a perpetual scowl.  They were an intimidating
presence, and the people at PTL quickly labeled them "Jerry's Goon
Squad."

In the first few weeks of his reign, Falwell double-crossed Reverend
Dortch.  Since Dortch had served his purpose, Jerry didn't need him
anymore, and consequently he was fired at the very first board
meeting.

After his entire plan backfired, I heard Dortch was completely
distraught.  Staff members had to virtually hold him up as he left the
administration building.  I think Dortch learned a powerful lesson that
day.  When you go swimming with the sharks, you better have the
sharpest teeth.  Obviously, Dortch was no match for the fangs of
Falwell.

Through all these upheavals, Uncle Henry continued to be seen on the
PTL program.  He lived on the Heritage grounds in a beautiful home he
had bought with some inheritance money.  But Uncle Henry was in ill
health, and I think it was very important to him that he keep his job
at PTL.  So when Falwell came, he decided to play it smart and just
keep his mouth shut.  Uncle Henry confided to us that he never believed
a word of what Falwell was saying.  In fact, privately he defended
Jim;

unfortunately, he never did so on the air.

Meanwhile, Falwell's media strategy was simple: The more charges
against Jim Bakker, the more the press would eat it up.  One of the
most shocking allegations Jerry made was that $80 million was missing
from PTL's account.  Cleverly, Falwell called this "the Black Hole,"
and the media instantly picked up on it.  USA Today immediately
headlined Falwell's preposterous assertions.  Every wire service and TV
network ran the story, and within hours "the Black Hole" and the
"vanished" $80 million became the latest fuel for the PTL fire.

Of course, just a couple of days later, "corrections" appeared in small
print, buried in the back pages of newspapers across the country.  It
turned out there was no such thing as "the Black Hole."  It never
existed.  It was so outrageously bogus that neither the IRS nor the
federal prosecutors ever made it an issue.  Lies were disseminated all
the time; but when they were found to be lies, just one sentence was
printed, and just once, to "correct the mistake."

Few people saw or heard those retractions.

But Falwell had a history of telling incredible lies.  On one occasion
he claimed to have been wined and dined by President Jimmy Carter at a
lavish White House reception in his honor.  But Carter quickly set the
record straight by saying that Jerry had never been entertained at the
White House during his administration, nor had he even been invited. In
typical Falwell fashion, when confronted with his false statements, he
merely laughed them off.

Recently a lady came up to me who had seen me on A Current Affair.

With tears filling her eyes, she said, "You were not guilty of what
they said about you, were you?  I'm sorry for believing them."  Then
she turned and walked away.  I couldn't even speak.  At last someone
else could see what had happened.  And if she realized that she had
been had by the press, then there were others out there who felt the
same way.

Of all the hundreds of media invitations we received, Jim and I finally
elected to do Nightline.  We felt it would be the best forum to tell
our side of the story.  The program had a prestigious reputation, and
while we knew Ted Koppel was a hard-nosed interviewer, we also knew
that he had a reputation for fairness and would keep the questions out
of the gutter.

The Nightline interview was one of the bright spots in our media
nightmare.  Ted Koppel treated us professionally and courteously, a
true journalist.  I believe they even extended the length of the show
by about fifteen to twenty minutes, and the show was the highest-rated
in Nightline history.  Ted Koppel let us say what we wanted to say, and
we felt it was a very successful interview.

Nonetheless, there was little solace anyplace, not one word of defense,
even from our brethren, the other ministers we had so faithfully
supported.  Where were all the pastors and religious leaders Jim had
shared his TV program with for all those years?  Why did they refuse to
lift a finger in Jim's defense?  There were literally hundreds of them
whom Jim had helped by giving them thousands of hours of free airtime
and contributing huge amounts to their churches when they were in
need.

I could count on the fingers of two hands the number of preachers who
even told us they were sorry for what happened.

The ones we called and asked for help (and believe me, these were all
the biggest names at the time) either wouldn't take our calls or were
out of their offices or away on trips or any other excuse you can think
of.  None of them wanted to be associated with us now that we had no
more TV time to give them--or big checks to write out in their names.

In fact, many of them even helped further destroy us from their pulpits
and in private.

The things people told me they heard from ministers we thought were our
friends made me never want to trust another human being as long as I
live.  I couldn't believe that when the chips were down, these men did
not in any way practice what they were preaching.  But I have my own
theory as to why these preachers acted as they did.  Especially those
who were on the air with their own shows.  If they could destroy Jim
Bakker to the point where he could never again appear on television,
then the millions of PTL partners would have to turn somewhere else
with their donations.  And that is exactly what happened.

The king of the mountain had been knocked off his throne.  That's the
reason they all deserted us in droves, shunning Jim and making him look
bad.  The only one who stood up for Jim was Billy Graham.  He was the
single televangelist who remained silent during that time.  Billy
Graham, godly man that he is, said nothing.  What a wonderful thing it
would have been if others had only followed his example.  But everybody
wanted to get in on the act.  Greed and jealousy overwhelmed love and
forgiveness.

And lest anyone believe I'm overstating the case against Jerry Falwell
or misrepresenting his true intentions, I'm going to reprint here
excerpts from a transcript of a sermon given by Dr.  Bob Gray, a
Baptist pastor and a very close friend of Falwell's, before his
congregation on March 15, 1987.  It was taped with his full knowledge
and consent:

While I was in Germany for the month of March doing missionary work,
the news broke on the immorality of the sponsor and MC of the PTL
television club.... And of course the thing that perhaps shocked you
and shocked me the most was that Dr.  Jerry Falwell, who's a very dear
personal friend .. . took over this ministry and became the chairman of
its board.  When I learned that he had taken over, I was frankly
shocked.  I could not comprehend what was going on.  . And so I got one
of the letters that he sent out to everybody on his mailing list asking
for money to save The PTL Club.  Several of you had told me that you
had seen a televised news conference where he was answering questions
from the press.... You said that on that news conference he said that
there would be no change in the format of The PTL Club, which meant
that the charismatic influence and program would go right on.  Well,
that shocked me also.  So I flew to Lynchburg on Thursday.  Dr. 
Falwell gave me an appointment and I met with him and I'll give you the
essence of our conversation.... I said, "I'm not trying to tell you how
to conduct your ministry, but as your friend, I think you've made the
biggest mistake you've ever made in your life and your ministry by
identifying favorably with the PTL format.... Unless you've changed
since the last time we talked in your doctrine, I know that you
certainly have not changed to embrace the charismatic position."

And he said, "You're absolutely right.  I haven't changed one iota.

I've always been against it and I still am.  Let me explain to you what
my motive is and where I'm going.  When I received word that this was
about to happen, I was determined that if at all possible, I would try
to get the PTL network for The Old Time Gospel Hour, and this is the
only way that I felt like I could do it."

And I said, "Well, I personally don't agree with your methods and I
don't agree with your philosophy, but that's between you and the Lord.
But I do feel that it was wrong for you to identify with this
movement."

"Well," he said.  "..  . I don't care what happens to the country club
down at Charlotte and all the jamboree stuff that goes on there.  I'm
only interested in the PTL cable network.  It's the largest Christian
cable network in the nation and I'd like to get that .. ."

And I said, "Well, I feel that you have placed your ffiends in an
indefensible position and I'm one of them.  I am one hundred percent
opposed to PTL and when I got your letter asking for money to save it,
my first reaction was why not go ahead and bury it and everybody would
be a lot better off ?  I've never felt that God was in it from the
beginning.... I think it's been the biggest religious charade that's
ever been telecast .. ."

And then he went on to say this.

"I think you'd also like to know that this coming Tuesday I'm having a
press conference and at that time we plan to expose Jim Bakker not only
for immorality with a woman, but homosexual immorality-and not only
him, but Dortch and all of those in a leadership position on PTL.  I
plan to fire sixteen hundred workers on Tuesday and probably it'll be
in bankruptcy before too long and the sooner the better.  All I want
out of it is the cable network for the Lord."

And I said, "..  . but again, I do not agree with what you had to do to
get it, because millions of people across this nation are confused and
wonder what in the world is going on and why would you suddenly
identify with a movement that you've always been in opposition to ..
"

He also said that he thinks the sooner the organization goes bankrupt,
the better off it will be because the assets will then be auctioned and
disposed and the network will then be free for purchase and they hope
to purchase it and go on from there .. .

I want to close by saying this.  I love Dr.  Falwell.  He's still my
dear friend.... But until this issue is clear, I hope you'll not send
money.  I mean that.  Until this issue is clear, I believe you'll
answer to God if you put a dime in PTL or any other chafismatic
ministry.... That's a stand I've always taken.  But I felt that you
needed to know.... So I wanted you to know the full scope of what's
happening there.  Don't be shocked by what happens in the next few
days.  It's going to get worse.  It's not going to get better.

Quite obviously, Dr.  Gray was no fan of our ministry.  Yet despite
this he had the strength and conviction to speak out against lies and
injustice.  I shall always admire the man's integrity, the courage it
required to reveal Jerry Falwell's true motives for wanting control
of

PTL.

After losing our home in Charlotte, Jim and I truly felt like nomads.

We were like people without a country.  We were either loved or hated
by every person we met, treated with either disdain or profound
sympathy.  There was no in-between.  We never knew whether the person
approaching us was for or against us.  Would they shake our hands or
curse our faces?

We couldn't go anywhere in the country, what with Jerry Falwell
accusing us hour after hour on CNN of being thieves and ruining
Christian television for everyone.  Reporters were still hot on our
trail, bombarding us with questions whenever they could.

"Tammy!

Tammy!  Is it true that you had an air-conditioned doghouse!?"

"For the millionth time, we don't have an air-conditioned doghouse!"

During the winter our dogs were kept in the garage so they could stay
warm.  But the odor was nauseating, and our constant spraying with
water was ruining the wooden floor and walls.  So Jim simply built a
doghouse.  He found an old heating air-conditioning unit no one was
using and placed it inside the doghouse as a source of heat.  That
doghouse was never air-conditioned, only heated.

"Tammy, we hear you've got gold faucets.  How can you possibly justify
having gold faucets?"

"I don't have to, because we don't."

"Are you saying you don't have gold faucets in your bathroom?"

"They're made of chrome, just like your faucets.  All we had were
gold-colored swans instead of silver-colored knobs.  They cost only
pennies more per unit, and I liked the gold color better than the
silver color.  That's all there is to it!"  Yet the news media declared
we had fourteen-karat gold fixtures.  The fiction became a fact.  So
many lies became "facts" in people's minds as a result of Falwell's
untruthfulness, concocted to make Jim look bad in the eyes of the
public.

When we lost PTL, Jim and I ended up with virtually nothing.  In
actuality, we'd lived just like everyone else.  Our charge accounts
were maxed out to the limit, we had house payments and other bills to
be paid, and we didn't even have a savings account.  Yes, we had a
wonderful income, but like most people we spent what we made.  Losing
PTL, we had to sell the house in Gatlinburg and the house in Palm
Desert.  We had to sell the two cars that we owned.  There were no
Swiss bank accounts--as Falwell stood before the cameras and declared
there were.  There were no huge savings accounts of any kind.  We did
not have expensive collections of art treasures--the government came
and checked on things like that when Jim was indicted.  They would have
confiscated anything valuable we had.  There was nothing to
confiscate!

To this day, people still believe the Falwell lies propagated by the
press.  I guess that's human nature.  The Communists have a theory:

They say that if you say something loud enough and long enough, people
will believe it.  And they're right!

I don't try to defend myself anymore against those people.  The older I
get, the less it makes any difference to me what other people think.

All I can do is to tell the truth and allow people to believe what they
want to believe.

We didn't know where to go, what to say, what to do.  People were not
only cruel to us, but they were cruel to our children.  That I did not
understand.  I guess that people just weren't thinking.  The media had
stirred everyone up into such a frenzy that people probably would have
kicked our dog had she been walking with us.  The popular thing to do
was to hate Jim and Tammy.  Even little children who I know were not
capable of understanding our situation parroted what their parents were
saying.  It was horrible even to try to go anywhere.  I didn't care
what people said about me or Jim, but I did not want my children to be
hurt by crude, cruel remarks.  The media took lies and made them the
truth, and they took the truth and turned it into lies--lies that
people believed.

My heart felt like a piece of liver that had been beaten until it was
nothing but a bloody pulp.  I felt like it was hanging outside my
chest.  I constantly found myself walking around with my arms folded
over my heart, as if I were attempting to shield it from more blows.

Where were all the thousands and thousands of people we loved so
much?

I felt totally alone, forsaken by both God and man.

"God, please let me die.  Please let our whole family die!"  How could
people possibly believe the hideous lies being told by Falwell and his
cohorts in the press?  We had stood in front of those people every day
for over twenty years and bared our very souls.  They had been with us
through the good times and the bad times.

They had seen me through two tough pregnancies and through marriage
problems; we had hidden nothing from them.  They had watched our
children grow up and shared every area of our lives.  How could they
accept the falsehoods Jerry Falwell was telling about us?  I just
didn't understand.  I believe everything would have turned around if we
could have gotten to our PTL partners and let them know what really
happened.  But from the day he took over, Falwell would not let us
anywhere near Heritage USA.  It was as if we had just disappeared off
the face of the earth.  The people we loved so much didn't understand
what was happening, and we had no way of telling them.  So I don't
blame them.  I just feel sad.  We were hurting too bad to know there
were actually thousands of our partners fighting for us, but their
hands were tied.  Thousands and thousands of letters were written on
our behalf to Falwell, but they were simply thrown unanswered into a
Dumpster and burned.  No personal mail was ever sent to us, so no
wonder people thought we didn't care!

Despite the ceaseless attacks, we knew that we had to get Jamie back in
school and get some semblance of normality back into his little life.

So we found another tiny two-bedroom house in Palm Desert, California,
and started over again.  We had lost everything except a couple of
storage rooms full of mementos, furniture, and knickknacks.  We didn't
even own a car.

Reverend Mike Murdock, a frequent guest on PTL and a dear friend, found
out that we didn't have a car and promptly sent us one.  God bless you,
Mike!  It was like God dropped it right out of Heaven.  We registered
Jamie in a wonderful Christian school, and for a little while we tried
to live a somewhat normal life, although it was constantly shrouded in
sadness.

Eventually one day Tammy Sue couldn't take it anymore.  She told us
that she was going out to dinner with friends.  We didn't think
anything of this, as she did this often.  When it started getting late,
we got worried.  We called the friends she was supposed to be with, and
they told us to go outside and look on our car windshield, that Tammy
had left a note for us.  Her message said that she was leaving for
Dallas to stay with friends.

Tammy Sue disliked being famous.  She always used to say, "Mom, I just
want to be a normal person.  I want to live a normal life.  I just wish
we were a regular family."  Consequently I do not blame Tammy Sue for
what she did.  She was hurting so bad, unable to face living in a
fishbowl anymore.  Tammy Sue was running away to try and find "home."

And she made that wish come true.  Soon after leaving she eloped with
Doug Chapman, one of the bellboys at the Heritage Grand.  Initially we
had discouraged their relationship, since she was only seventeen and he
was about six years older, but eventually we accepted him warmly into
our family.  The two of them moved into a darling mobile home on a
piece of land that Doug's grandmother owned in North Carolina.

Without Tammy Sue the house felt colder, emptier.  We had lost one of
our family.  But this was just one of the many blows we would have to
endure.  Not long after our daughter left, Playboy magazine came out
with nude photos of Jessica Hahn plus an interview with her.  I don't
know how many thousands of dollars she got for doing that spread, but
it showed me what kind of a girl she was.  And it showed other people
too.  I mean, she didn't even have boobs.  She was just this skinny
little nothing girl.  In one way I was relieved because she was not
even pretty.  She was not who I thought Jim would ever be turned on
to.

Still, I was so embarrassed for Jim.  But even more embarrassed for
myself.  In the article, Hahn said horrible things about me.  She
alleged that Jim revealed to her I had never satisfied him.  Jim cried
like a baby and swore over and over on a Bible that he never said any
of those things, that he never once mentioned me or anything about our
relationship.

Often Jim woke up sick to his stomach, his ulcers burning like fire.

It was almost more than our minds could handle at times.  We survived
through the sheer will to live and by reading the Bible.  Thank God we
had Jamie to take care of and his well-being to worry about.  We had to
go on for him.  Luckily we had friends who stuck with us.  We had known
Don and Emma Howard for a long time, and they loved us and believed in
us.  They were a source of-great strength and inspiration to us and
worked hard to help us cope with the tragedy.  They forced us to
socialize.

We were frantic, as we had no health insurance.  What if one of us
should get sick?  We had a friend who was a doctor and who had been on
television with us many times.  Dr.  Marvin Brooks and his wife, Sally,
told us that if we had any medical problems, they would help us.  I
cannot tell you the dreadful weight that was lifted off our minds by
their kindness.  I wish there was a way to personally mention every
person who helped us through those traumatic times.

After a while people began to find our address in Palm Desert.  The
word spread like wildfire, and within a few weeks we were receiving
huge boxes full of mail, heartfelt correspondence begging for Jim and
me to come back.

"We forgive you, we forgive you," they wrote by the thousands.  We had
to bring people in just to read all the letters, actually setting up a
mini-mailroom.  The response we were getting from our partners
imploring us to come back was overwhelming.

Some of my women friends worked day and night in 118 degree heat to get
that correspondence answered.  Fran Moore and Sally Wall will never
forget one particular day that they had answered boxes of mail.  They
got the huge boxes ready and took them to the post office, only to find
out that they had not zip-coded them properly.  In the stifling heat,
their clothes soaked with perspiration, they had to stand there and
sort zip codes for an hour.  They told me afterward that the only way
they were even able to complete the task was by laughing so hard that
they were done before they knew it.  They still talk about it to this
day.

We lived day to day.  I will never know how we bought groceries and
made house payments except that when we were at the end of our rope,
someone would always send us a check.  Every day we spent hour after
hour answering mail.  At times we had to wait to mail our letters, as
we could not afford the postage.

Fortunately I had my constant companion, my dog Tuppins.  I would just
sit there telling her everything.  And Tuppins was there to jump up on
me and lick my tears.  They call a dog man's best friend, and Tuppins
was mine, a little bit of life cuddling up to me and kissing my face.

She was something I could reach out and hold on to, something cozy and
soft and warm and furry--someone who loved me no matter what.

Meanwhile Jim became so wrapped up in his own grief that it was almost
impossible for me to be around him.  He stayed all curled up in a fetal
position on the couch, underneath the blankets, listening to "praise
tapes," recordings of classic gospel songs.  He wouldn't utter a word,
just listen to them hour after hour.  I would say anything I could to
motivate him: "Jim, you've got to get up and fight for yourself.  Fight
for the partners.  Tell the people what really happened.  They will
believe you.  Don't just lay there and let Falwell and the news media
trample on you.  Stop the pity party, Jim.  You have as much power to
command the news media as Falwell.  Get out there and give them the
truth.  Please, Jim."

But soon I just couldn't handle it anymore.  I felt he never listened
to me, that there was no hope for our marriage.  We were caught in a
net of hurt and suffering from which I could see no way out.  I could
no longer carry Jim's pain.  I could no longer carry his heavy burden
of guilt over Jessica Hahn or his regrets over losing PTL.

We were hurting each other more by staying together.  My sorrow was
feeding off his sorrow, my pain off his pain.  It was just more than my
mind could possibly bear.  I felt that if I didn't leave Jim, I was
going to die.

People ask me why I didn't take Jamie and leave at that time.  But I
could not leave Jim when he was suffering so.  He needed somebody so
bad.  And I was so afraid that he was going to go through with the
threats he was making.

"Tam," he'd say, "I'm thinking about committing suicide.  I just can't
live like this anymore.  I cannot live with people thinking that I
would do the horrible things Falwell has accused me of.  And I can't
live with the fact that people are actually believing him."

"Jim, you can't do that!  You know that suicide is wrong.  Besides,
it's the selfish way out.  What about poor little Jamie, what about
Tammy Sue, what about the thousands and thousands of people who still
love you and believe in you?  What about me, Jim?"

But it continued to get worse and worse.  Every day I was petrified to
leave him, for fear that when I got back home I would find him dead
somewhere.  I felt as if I were losing my mind.  Finally, after days of
these threats, I finally screamed in desperation, "Jim, please quit
threatening me.  If you're going to commit suicide, just go ahead and
do it!  Get it over with!  I can't take it anymore!"  Tears were
streaming down my face.  Suddenly we heard a knock at the door.

I didn't want to see anyone.  I decided not to answer, but the knocking
continued.  I was screaming, "Please go away!  Whoever you are,
whatever you want, please just go away!"

"Mom, someone's at the door," Jamie called out from his room.

"Can't you hear them?"

"Yes, Jamie, I hear," I responded wearily.  But still I didn't move.
Jim didn't either.  It was as if we were paralyzed.

Eventually Jamie went to the door and opened it.  In walked our friends
pastor Ty Beason and his wife, Jeanette.  They had driven nearly a
hundred miles.

"We were praying, and God told us that you needed us," said Ty.

"We want you to pack a few things and come stay at our house for a
while.  We want to love you and take care of you until you both feel
better."

"Jim can go with you," I answered, "but I'm not going anywhere."  Then
I did something I normally would never do.  I went into my bedroom and
shut the door.  I could hear Ty and Jeanette talking to Jim and
Jamie.

"Jim, we know God spoke to us, and we are not going to leave this house
without you and Tammy."

Through the door I could hear Jim talking to them.

"We don't want to go anywhere.  Thank you so much for coming, but we'll
be all right."

Then there was a knock on my bedroom door; it was Jeanette.

"It's open," I said.

Jeanette marched into the room and started toward my closet.

"Tammy, if you don't put some things together yourself, then I am going
to do it for you.  We are not leaving here without you and Jim!"  And I
knew that she meant business.  With tears streaming down my face,
protesting all the way, I got out my suitcase for the trip that I did
not want to take.  Jim and I wearily walked out to their car.

We were in such an agonized state of mind that we didn't even know
where we were going.  We didn't know what we were doing.  We couldn't
talk.  We couldn't think.  There was nothing we could do.  Jim and I
could not communicate.  We were on totally different wavelengths.  Two
people in a state of shock, complete basket cases.

But the Beasons stood right there with us.  They were determined to get
us back on our feet.  Over the next several weeks they counseled us,
prayed with us, loved us, and cared for us, and by the time we left
their home, I felt like Jim had gotten himself more level, past the
flirtation with suicide.

After Jim and I returned home, we both concentrated on poor little
Jamie.  We were trying to make life as normal as possible for him,
which wasn't easy.  Here's this little ten year-old boy all bewildered,
his world turned upside down.  I couldn't even send him to school
anymore, because kids made fun of him.  To make sure he got an
education, we wound up trying to home-school him.  One evening some of
my girlfriends came over determined to get me out of the house for a
couple of hours.

"Tam, we want you to dress up and let us take you to Sonny Bono's
restaurant for dinner."  I needed desperately to get away from Jim's
grief for just a little while, so even though I felt guilty for leaving
him, I told the girls that I would go.  I got dressed up for the first
time since doing the PTL program.  I told Jim we'd be right back, and
we left to go eat.

Sonny Bono's restaurant was so pretty and romantic.  It was dark, the
tables lit by candles.  Live music was wafting through the place, and
for just a little while I forgot my suffering.  No one would recognize
me here because of the darkness, which meant I was safe to enjoy the
evening.  We sat down and ordered our meals, and just as mine arrived I
heard Jim's name mentioned.  It was at the table right next to us; they
obviously didn't know that I was there.

I didn't want to listen, but I couldn't help but overhear what they
were saying.  And it was not nice.  I thought, what am I going to do?

Any minute now they're going to see me sitting there, and it will be
terribly embarrassing for everyone.  So I made a decision.  I turned
around and tapped one of the men on the shoulder.

"Sir, my name is Tammy Faye Bakker, and I just heard you talking about
my husband and me."  But before I could go on, horror of all horrors, I
started sobbing.  But fighting back more tears I told the man, "Don't
believe everything you hear.  There are two sides to every story.  At
least give us a fighting chance."

Well, I have never seen a table of people so flustered in my life.

They were obviously very nice men and women.  They weren't naturally
mean.  They were considerate, upper-class couples.  Almost instantly,
one of them apologized profusely by saying, "We're sorry, Tammy.  All
we know is what the newspapers and the television have been telling us.
We're very sorry.

Please forgive us for behaving like this."  Then they instantly got up
from the table, leaving their dessert behind.  I felt bad about that.

I wasn't trying to humiliate them.

As the days passed, Jim was trying his best to live normally.  But how
do you live normally when you are used to doing programs every day and
running a huge corporation with hundreds of people around you, then all
of a sudden there you are living in this tiny two-bedroom house doing
nothing, your reputation destroyed?  It was an impossible situation for
him to deal with.

About six months passed, and Jim was beginning to feel almost normal
again.  I could see him coming back to life.

"Tam," he said to me one day, "I want to go back to Charlotte and do
some television again."

Dale Hill, our former director of television at PTL, had called and
told Jim that the old gang was ready and willing to start over again.

Dale felt that there were enough partners wanting us back on
television, and that we really had a chance.  He and Jim had worked
together since the Pat Robertson days, and Jim valued Dale's opinions
and advice.

However, as bad as I wanted Jim back on TV, I felt that the worst place
in the world we could go was Charlotte.

"Jim," I said, "I believe it's a good idea to start over again, but why
go back to Charlotte?  We're settled here in California.  Why don't we
just find a studio here?"

I knew if we went back to Charlotte and they thought we were trying to
get PTL back, all hell would break loose.  But once again, regardless
of what I said, we packed up our things and moved back to North
Carolina.  Which, as I predicted, turned out to be the biggest mistake
we ever made--and we had made some beauties!

After our departure, events at PTL continued to unfold at a dizzying
pace.  Positions of power and influence revolved like musical chairs.

Trustees and board members came and went.  Money that was raised
disappeared.  Friends turned into enemies.  Order became chaos as
everybody tried to slice off their piece of the pie.  Now, while I
wasn't directly involved with any of this, I know people who were.

These reliable sources told me everything that went on.  All the fraud
and chicanery could fill up a book.  So even though the situation was
crazy, I'll try to make sense of it for you.

It is my belief that from day one Falwell intended to wipe out PTL's
cash flow.  This way he could throw PTL into bankruptcy and try to buy
it back for pennies on the dollar, coming in the back door and getting
control.  Consequently PTL would have been transformed from a
charismatic to a Baptist ministry.  Naturally it was a complicated
legal scheme, but Jerry thought he could pull it off.  With friends
high up in the Reagan White House, he had every reason to think they
wouldn't be overly concerned with his financial maneuvering.  And he
was right.

Jerry Falwell raped the ministry over and over again.  From the day he
took it over it began to crumble into ruins.  Millions of dollars
destined for PTL programs mysteriously went unaccounted for and remain
so to this day.

On his very first day at PTL, Falwell invited Roe Messner to fly back
to Lynchburg with him on his private jet.  He said he wanted Roe to be
on the PTL show the next day when he made a direct appeal to the PTL
partners to continue sending in their support.  So Roe went to
Lynchburg to be with Falwell on TV the next day.

Falwell told the TV audience that PTL owed Roe millions of dollars on
construction projects, plus it was also way behind in paying the
television stations for airtime.  Falwell declared that if the money
didn't come in, PTL would soon go bankrupt and that all the building
would stop, including the much anticipated Heritage Towers, which Roe
was in the process of completing.  Heritage Towers would provide 513
more rooms for the partners.  Jerry virtually begged Roe to keep
working and promised to give him a large payment on his past-due
invoices.  Roe had more than three hundred people employed on various
projects at PTL.

In May of 1987 the pressure increased dramatically, with Falwell
issuing an urgent message to the TV audience.  Immediately he needed to
raise $8 million for Roe Messner or PTL would go under.  Jerry labeled
his sacred crusade the "May Emergency to May Victory" and duped
everybody, including Roe Messner--PTL's biggest creditor, who was owed
over fifteen million dollars.

His voice trembling with emotion, his eyes watery, Jerry gave an
impassioned performance, richly deserving of an Oscar.  Falwell even
sent out letters to the partners begging them for money.  I don't know
exactly how much money came in as a result of his pleas, but reliable
sources place it at over $16 million.  Nevertheless, I do know for a
fact that Roe never received a dime of this money (though he eventually
did get $600,000 as part of the later bankruptcy settlement).  He wound
up having to lay off all his employees

In the meanwhile Falwell got rid of all the animals in the petting zoo
Jim had so lovingly planned for the children; he gave away the
beautiful thoroughbred horses that the partners had donated to the
ministry; he sold the charming carousel that the children and older
folks alike had loved so much; he auctioned off the little trains that
went through the park filled with moms and dads and kids; he sold the
buses and the trams; he closed the home for unwed mothers; and he
turned Kevin's House, the home for crippled children, into a bed and
breakfast.

Then on June 12, 1987, in an effort to gain complete control for
himself, Jerry Falwell plunged the ministry into bankruptcy.  Soon
afterward he filed his bankruptcy reorganization plan, which would have
granted him virtual ownership of PTL.  This was a deliberate act of
deceit, as PTL was in no way ever bankrupt.  But with Falwell at the
helm, bills suddenly went into arrears and became way overdue.

At the bankruptcy hearing this was all confirmed.  One creditor after
another testified that they had always been paid until Jerry Falwell
came in.  Falwell's plans to totally control the remaining assets of
PTL went sour.  The judge in charge of the bankruptcy proceedings
allowed the PTL creditors to collectively file a competing plan.  On
the day that ruling came down, Jerry Falwell knew he was beaten.

Because each creditor would now get the chance to vote in the
reorganization, with every dollar they were owed equaling one vote.

Since the largest creditor by far was Roe Messner, he could easily
swing the outcome.  Falwell knew that Messner wouldn't support him, not
in a million years.  So Jerry just resigned in October of 1987.  But he
had al ready accomplished what he set out to do--which was to grab as
much as he could, destroying Jim Bakker and the entire PTL television
ministry in the process.

And Jerry Falwell calls himself a man of God!  And has a college that
trains young minds!

When we returned to Charlotte, some good friends of ours, Dexter and
Birdie Yeager, notified us that we could move into a big log cabin they
owned.  And that if we began doing TV again, we could rent the office
building that was also on their property.  But it was simply horrendous
being so near Heritage USA and not being a part of it anymore.  It
seemed impossible!  My heart would break every time we had to drive
past the place.

Still living in a subdivision on the grounds was my mom, as well as
Jim's mom and dad.  But it was a battle just to go visit them.  The
guards--some of them the same ones who had loved us and taken care of
our family--now watched us as if we were criminals.  It was beyond
belief !  So terribly, terribly sad.

To get the ball rolling, Jim called together some members of our old
team.  They were mostly people who had either quit or been fired by
Falwell.  After a few months we were back on television once more with
church services every Sunday.  Jim's hope was that he could build the
dream again.

At least we were busy doing something.  In all honesty, I felt the
circumstances were more discouraging than beneficial to us.

Jim held on as best he could, bravely filling his days and nights with
the only thing he knew--television.  Despite my initial reservations I
feel that in those few months we did some of the best shows we've ever
done.  TV guests flew in at their own expense to show their continued
support of Jim and me.

Our house was always filled with PTL partners who refused to give up on
us and who were elated that we were back.  Jim's days were once again
filled with doing television and pa storing a growing church.  But
since Falwell had confiscated our partner list, we had no way of
soliciting contributions through the mail.  Hence we could not afford
good television time, and we were forced to broadcast on low-power
stations, which reached hardly anybody.

And then insult was added to injury.

Jim received word that we could no longer do TV from the Yeager
estate.

It was not zoned for commercial production or church services.  We
tried to fight the order but to no avail.  So once more we had to pack
up and leave our home.  Yet despite this bad news, a miracle
occurred;

Tammy Sue presented us with our first grandchild, a beautiful baby boy
named James.  It was truly the only bright spot in our lives since we
lost PTL.  How we thanked God for that precious baby.  He gave us the
first hope we had in a long time--the feeling that no matter what, life
goes on.

From then on, our situation started to improve.  A sympathetic Florida
minister who heard that we were going to have to close down our TV
production facilities offered us his place to continue.  Before I knew
it our TV crew and several volunteers were headed down to Florida along
with us.  We arrived to find one of the most breathtaking spots I had
ever seen.

Located on the water was a beautiful two-story home.  It was very
large, with a huge living room, a large dining room, a very large
restaurant-type kitchen, many bedrooms, and many baths.  Also located
on the property were a couple of small cottages.  The house and
cottages were virtually hidden by the huge trees surrounding them.  Our
entire crew moved in, and although we were crowded beyond belief we
enjoyed one another's company and did more great television programs.

Again, people flew in from all over the country at their own expense to
be with us.  I don't know how, but somehow the partners found us again
and came to view the TV shows we were doing.  But after a couple of
months of septic tanks overflowing and everything else that goes along
with overcrowded conditions, we knew we were going to have to look for
larger facilities.

That's how we ended up in Orlando.  We rented an abandoned shopping
center and began preparing it for TV.  Our whole staff painted and
fixed and cleaned, and before long we had it looking very nice.  It was
plenty big enough.  We had enough room for a large TV studio, TV
control rooms, and offices.  We even had a couple of stores open up
while we were there.  The shopping center already had a bar.  It was
the only thing that had survived, until we got there.

But a local preacher decided that he didn't want us around and took it
upon himself to make his feelings known.  One day during our broadcast
we heard some commotion, and when we went outside to investigate we saw
him and some members of his congregation unloading a casket.  They
dragged it in front of the TV studio with a sign hanging from it:

BURY

JIM AND TAM MY

Jamie Charles was so scared.  What a cruel thing to do when they knew
we had a little boy who would see it.  I cannot figure out what was
going on in the mind of that cruel pastor, who claimed to be a man of
God.  I thought at the time, "No wonder people don't want to be
Christians, when they see so-called Christians being so mean to one
another."  I also began to wonder, "How many Jerry Falwells are out
there?"  I don't blame people for not wanting that kind of religion.  I
think it upset all of us more than we would admit.

The pastor's tirade didn't stop there.  He handed out posters
condemning us, he took out anti-Bakker ads in the newspaper, he
lambasted us on TV and radio.  I guess he was trying to pull a Falwell,
but he didn't have what it takes to generate any real support.  Soon
the media ignored him.

Another time we heard that a local radio station was bringing Jessica
Hahn to town and that she was going to appear scantily clad at the bar
located in our shopping center.  What's more, she dared Jim Bakker to
show up and talk to her!

Well, thank God we got wind of that before it happened.  Canceling our
TV shows, we left town with Jamie for a week.  Later we heard that Hahn
was lying almost naked on a waterbed challenging Jim to come and see
her.  It was all thought up by a local deejay and broadcast live on the
radio.  I guess they were all disappointed when no one showed up to
watch the circus they had prepared for us.

My nerves were frayed in those days.  Nevertheless, I wanted to support
Jim in any way I could.  I felt so sorry for him.  But it was like
living in a dream.  My body was always there, but I had shut off my
mind.  I did television, I co hosted with Jim like always, I sang, I
went to church, I ran our home--but I was numb.

It was then that Jim made a catastrophic move--the move that I believe
set the forces of the criminal justice system against him, intent on
removing him from the picture once and for all.  Jim attempted to buy
back PTL and Heritage USA.  This was not a matter of money.  Jim was
getting thousands and thousands of letters imploring him to head the
ministry once more.  Jim wanted to go back and make everything right
with the partners, to vindicate his name and undo what Falwell had
done.  All along I had strongly encouraged him to do exactly this and
claim what was rightfully his.

But I felt he had waited too long, that it was too late by this time.

However, Jim went ahead with the plan anyway.

Some of the PTL partners with a lot of money contacted Jim and urged
him to make a bid on the Heritage USA property.  Before he knew it,
checks were coming in from all over the country toward the purchase of
PTL.  With promises from some of the large donors for much more, should
his bid be considered, Jim contacted a man named Red Benton, who was
the trustee of the property at that time.  Jim said that he would have
the money together within days.

Benton said that if he were to accept Jim's bid, then he must have $3
million within forty-eight hours.  These forty eight hours just
happened to be over a weekend, when it is virtually impossible to
transfer funds.  Of course Benton knew that, so even though the funds
were arriving at lightning speed, Benton held fast to his position.  He
was never going to allow Jim to buy anything.  The $3 million was
raised but had to be returned to the donors.

It wasn't long afterward that Jerry Falwell began calling for an
investigation; maybe even the government put him up to it.  Again, the
presidential election was shortly coming up, and if Jim ever regained
his prominence, you can be sure he wouldn't have been too grateful to
Falwell or his friends in the Reagan or Bush administrations.

I believe this is the reason the government started in on him.  And
again I feel that Jerry Falwell was the man who spearheaded this
attack.  He said that if people wrote and insisted there be an
investigation against us, then the government would have to conduct
one.  I believe that Jerry was panic-stricken at the thought of Jim
somehow regaining Heritage USA.  If that had happened, then Jerry's
lies would have been uncovered, and he could have possibly ended up in
prison.  And I feel that Jerry Falwell is the one who should have gone
to prison, not Jim Bakker.

Was there a plot hatched by Falwell and the Justice Department?  You be
the judge.  Edwin Meese, then attorney general of the United States,
was asked by Jerry Falwell to give the commencement address at Liberty
University in Lynchburg, which Falwell had founded and where he now
served as chancellor.  Also in attendance was Mrs.  Meese.  After the
ceremony Falwell invited the Meeses to spend time with him and his
wife.  A few weeks later it was proclaimed that a grand jury was being
convened to investigate Jim.  I don't think this was any coincidence.

Even so, I wasn't paying any attention to Falwell by this point.  I
figured the worst that could happen had already happened.  And then Jim
walked in one day with the news.

"Tam," he said, his voice dry and hoarse, "they've notified me I'm
being investigated."

"Who's investigating what?"

"The Justice Department.  They are going to get a grand jury together
and they are going to try and indict me, Tam."

I was not too concerned, and I told him I didn't think he need be
worried.

"Jim, the PTL records have nothing to hide.  Everything was in order
when we left."

"That's just the point.  The records were in order when we left.  But
Falwell and his men have been in there since then.  They could do
anything they wanted to the records.  And they probably have, in order
to validate their lies."

I could see what he meant, and I too began to panic.

"Jim, I just wish that you'd tried to get PTL back sooner or just left
it alone.  By the time you did try, it was just too late.  You must
have known that trying to buy back PTL would scare Falwell to death.

Him and everyone who was working with him."

"Tam, I did what I felt I had to do."

"Jim, if they do get a grand jury together and if you are indicted,
what will we do with the shopping center and our television program?"

"We'll just have to shut it down, honey."

I could see once more our world coming to an end.I've lately compared
the treatment given Jim Bakker with that afforded O. J. Simpson.  Jim
was accused of taking too big a salary and over booking a hotel. 
O.J.

was accused of the brutal murder of two people, including the mother of
his two small children.  But never once was O.J. paraded around in
shackles and handcuffs.  Since the day he arrived in prison he was
granted great respect and given preferential treatment over all the
other inmates.  He was allowed visitors every day, unlimited phone
calls, special food, the list goes on.  But Jim Bakker was paraded
around in shackles and handcuffs like a circus animal; he was allowed
only one phone call a day and visitors only once a week, and even they
had to give their entire life history before being allowed to see
him.

One defendant was a famous sports hero, the other a famous television
minister.  One jury was sequestered for nine months; the other jury was
allowed to live freely and do what they pleased, to be prejudiced day
and night by TV reporters and newspaper columnists.  And we call this
American justice!

Not to mention that the O.J. trial was presided over by Lance Ito, who
bent over backward to give the defense every benefit of the doubt and
remain impartial.  No such luck at Jim's trial.  Judge Potter, who
conducted the proceedings, was inflammatory, arrogant, and openly
contemptuous of Jim Bakker in court, at one point calling him "a
sawed-off little runt" right in front of the jury.  If you don't
believe me, look at the videotape.

O.J. had millions of dollars to hire the very best defense lawyers in
America.  We had no money.  In fact, as of this writing, Jim still owes
lawyers money for that trial.  The lawyers he had to use were certainly
no match for the government prosecution.  In my estimation, Jim never
had a chance.

To begin with, I'm not a legal expert.  All I can offer is my view on
these events as they unfolded.  During the course of the investigation,
I pleaded with Jim to talk to the grand jury himself.

"Defend who we were and what we did.  Tell them we aren't thieves.
You're the best speaker I've ever heard.  Go tell these men and women
the truth.  They will understand.  Storm in there if you have to!"

But he refused, listening instead to what his lawyers advised.

"Tam, the grand jury is being led around by the nose by the
prosecutors.  I wouldn't stand a chance in there.  The government could
arraign Mickey Mouse if they wanted to."

Then the decision came down.  About six months after the Justice
Department started its probe, Jim was indicted on the fact of
"overselling" the Heritage Grand Hotel and for using the airwaves, the
phone lines, and letters to do it.  They indicted him on twenty-four
counts.

Charged along with him was Reverend Dortch.  After the reverend had
been cut loose from PTL, he was set adrift without Falwell's
protection.  By adding Dortch to the list, the prosecutors could bring
into play the conspiracy statutes.  For anytime two or more people
allegedly enter into an illegal arrangement, you can label it a
conspiracy.  The idea of conspiracy allows greater punishment and more
prison time if convicted.  And that's exactly what the government
did.

Of course the federal prosecutors also knew that by indicting Dortch
they could bring even more heat against Jim.  To them Dortch was just
the little fish.  They wanted the big fry.  I remember when we got the
word.

"Well, Tam, they have indicted me.  The United States versus Jim
Bakker.  Can you believe that?  The whole United States against one
person, Jim Bakker."

I started to sob.  I was horrified!

"Jim, what can we do, what can we do?"

"I don't know, Tam, I don't think we can do anything.  Once a grand
jury is assembled, I don't think you have any recourse.  All we can do
is pray, be prepared for anything, and tell the truth.  But I feel sure
that once we are actually in the courtroom in front of the jury,
they'll be able to see the truth of what really happened."

I felt that way too.

Jim and I were both convinced that he was fully capable of answering
any questions under cross-examination and believed he could gather
enough evidence to prove his innocence.

"Tam," he said, his mood upbeat, "this whole thing could just be a
blessing in disguise.  Get everything out in the open.  I welcome my
day in court."

Then we heard that something unbelievable had happened.  We were
stunned!  Richard Dortch submitted to a plea bargain.  When I was
informed by our lawyers what a plea bargain is, I felt that it was all
over for us.  In a plea bargain, you make a deal with the
prosecutors.

You agree that if they'll save your neck, you'll do anything you have
to do, say anything you have to say, to convict another person.  That
way you'll receive a lighter sentence, or, in some cases, no sentence
at all.

I feel that government plea bargaining should not be constitutionally
allowed.  I feel it is criminal!  It encourages people to lie about
other people--and get away with it--in order to save their own necks.

I feel that many people have been punished for crimes they weren't
guilty of as a result of being forced, with fear tactics, to
plea-bargain.  I don't understand how the government can get away with
this!  I always thought our Constitution was built on truth, not
lies.

How could we, as a nation, fall so low?

It is my understanding that Dortch said that he would lie and say that
he and Jim were co-conspirators.  By doing that he became a key
government witness against Jim.  Now they could charge Jim with fraud
and they would have him.  In other words, Dortch sold Jim down the
river to save his own neck.  I will always believe that if Dortch had
stood behind Jim and stuck to the truth, they could have won the
case.

Yes, terrible mistakes were made at PTL: mistakes of judgment, mistakes
of ego, and mismanagement of large sums of money--but these mistakes
were not criminal.  If the leadership of PTL had not become intimidated
by the government, they might have brought out volumes of proof--which
still exist--that there were no criminal acts committed at PTL.

Let me try to explain the government's accusations.  When Jim was
running PTL, even though contributions were coming in at record
amounts, he still needed additional funds to erect the Heritage Grand
Hotel, which was slated to be our largest and most impressive hotel,
equivalent to the most luxurious Sheraton or Holiday Inn resort.  To
accommodate the ever mushrooming number of visitors, the Heritage Grand
Hotel would have offered partners first-class amenities second to
none.

In order to finance the ambitious project, Jim created an innovative
plan, which seemed quite feasible at the time.  It was a basic
vacation-resort time-share concept, the very model upon which many such
similar programs are built today.  His idea was simple.  He started a
special lifetime partnership club.  Everyone who donated $1,000 to help
the ministry got a special gift: Once a year they could stay four days
and three nights at the hotel.  But the government accused Jim of
"overselling" these partnerships.  In other words, if everyone decided
to come at the same time, there wouldn't be enough rooms for all of
them.  In my opinion, this was exaggerated.

The times people visited were to be managed just as in any other
time-share facility.  In a condo in Maui, for example, you wouldn't
schedule fifty-two members the same week.  That's common sense, and Jim
was aware of that.  The Heritage Grand Hotel had 504 rooms.  The
Heritage Towers had 513 rooms.  Plus there were other motels on the
property, with hundreds more rooms available.  With that much visitor
capacity, Jim was positive he had enough rooms to accommodate
everybody.

When we were there, no one had ever been turned away from the existing
hotels at Heritage USA.  They might have had to accept alternate dates,
as everyone could not come for Christmas, but we did have more than
enough openings for them to visit another time of the year.  And to
most of the partners this was perfectly acceptable.  The partners were
told time and time again that if they wanted a special time, such as
Christmas, they must make their reservations months in advance.  So all
partners were aware of this.  They would arrange their vacations
accordingly.  We never dreamed it was a problem.

Curiously enough, Jerry Falwell was never indicted, despite the fact
that he continued to sell lifetime memberships after Jim was gone.  The
government was trying to put Jim in prison for one thing and one thing
only: overselling lifetime memberships.  Falwell was then guilty of the
same crime.  Why wasn't Falwell indicted and given a prison sentence
too?  Wasn't he as guilty as Jim was?  I can only speculate on how he
escaped being charged as well.

We were forced to close down the television show in Orlando.  Jim had
just received word from his lawyers in Charlotte that he was going to
have to spend the next few weeks preparing for his trial.  We were
living in a beautiful little house then, and we were both frantic,
trying to figure out how we were going to make the rent payments
without any income coming in.

The night before Jim had to leave we went for a walk with our dog
Tuppins.  The sunset was so beautiful as we walked through our
neighborhood.  We spoke of many things, to keep our mood light and
upbeat.

Then Jim said something strange to me: "Tam, it just can't end this
way."

At first I couldn't figure out what he was talking about.  When it
finally dawned on me, I said, "Why are you talking, like this?  What do
you mean, "It can't end this way'?"

But he never answered me.

Jim must have had some kind of premonition that night.  Anyway, it was
getting dark and we went back into the house, fixed ourselves and Jamie
something to eat, and then went to bed.  We just lay there, talking
about the day it would all be over and we could go back to living a
normal life.

Jim felt that he could win, but on the other hand he was nervous about
the lawyers he had hired.  He knew that they had never fought a case
with such national scrutiny.  He also knew that we had no money, and he
was worried about how we were going to pay them.  The government had
millions at their disposal, and prosecutors who were experts at winning
cases such as this.  Jim was also worried about leaving me and Jamie
for so many weeks.  But I assured him that he needn't be concerned
about us.  We would be just fine.  I told Jim that he needed to put his
every waking moment into getting the needed material and documents
together to fight his case.

The next morning came all too soon.  I helped Jim pack.  He would need
clothes to last him several weeks.  We worked in silence, not trusting
ourselves to even talk to each other.  Tears were running down both our
faces.  It wasn't long before we heard a car horn blow.  We both nearly
jumped out of our skins.  It was Shirley Fulbright, Jim's longtime
secretary.  She had come all the way from Charlotte to drive Jim back
there.  She informed him that his dear friend Herb Moore, who had
worked with Jim for years, had rented an apartment for him so that he
would have a place to stay and work on the case.

I will never forget the moment Jim and Shirley drove out of our
driveway, leaving Jamie and me with tears streaming down our faces,
waving good-bye.  I never dreamed that this would be the last time we
would ever be together as a family.  And thank God I did not know the
heartache that was ahead.  I don't know if my heart could have taken
it.  I'm so glad that God in his mercy prevents us from knowing what
the future holds.

Jamie and I did not see Jim much those next few weeks.  Jamie had just
started at a new school, so we could not take any trips.  Plus we had
just enough money to pay the next month's rent, and I had no idea what
we were going to live on when that was gone.  Jim called every night.

He told me that he and Herb Moore and the lawyers were making great
progress, gathering all the boxes of paperwork, videotapes, and
financial records they needed to prove their case.  They were busy
lining up people to testify in Jim's defense.  They were working day
and night.

The time finally arrived for the trial to start.  Jim's nerves were
worn to a frazzle.  His ulcers were acting up again, he was having
terrible bouts of depression, and he was feeling tired all the time.

Jim spoke to a doctor friend of ours, who felt that Jim needed to take
something to calm his nerves.  He also felt that Jim was in need of an
antidepressant.  So , Jim had these prescriptions filled and began
taking the medications.

But as the trial began, Jim began to experience horrible side
effects.

One day when court was supposed to start, Jim's lawyers told the judge,
Robert Potter, that Jim was sick and needed a couple of days off to get
well.  Potter went ballistic and ordered his deputies to go get Jim; he
didn't care if Jim was sick.  When the deputies got to the lawyer's
office where Jim was, they found Jim curled up in the fetal position
under the couch, shaking like a leaf.  They pulled him out and jerked
him to his feet.  Then they handcuffed him.

They walked him out of that office like they were leading an animal,
and paraded him in front of the news media.  That footage has been
played around the nation hundreds of times: Jim in handcuffs and
shackles, so sick he could hardly walk, tears streaming down his
face.

And people laughed and poked fun at one of our nation's leading
ministers of the gospel--not knowing, not caring, that he was so ill
and confused from the medication that he didn't even know where he was,
or why they were doing this to him.  I have this question for readers
of this book: What if Jim had been one of your sons or your dad?  How
would you have felt then?

Jim was brought before Judge Potter, who ordered that Jim be put away
in a prison for the mentally ill.  He then ordered that the trial
resume in a week.  The deputies took Jim away.

The lawyers called and told me what had happened, that the doctor had
put Jim on a combination of drugs.  I became absolutely furious!  I
called the doctor and screamed until my throat hurt me.  Tears drenched
my blouse.

"Why did you give him that stuff?"  You know that Jim's system cannot
take those kinds of pills!  Then to mix two kinds together, how could
you?"

The doctor listened as long as he could stand to and then told me he
was going to hang up and call back later, when I had calmed down.  I
walked through the house crying out to the God I so loved.

"God, how could you let them do this to Jim?  He does not deserve to be
treated this way."  But I felt that God was a million miles away and
wasn't even hearing my cries.  Where was God?  Why didn't He do
something for Jim?  For the first time my faith began to waver, and a
cold fear came over my very soul.  If the government could do this to
Jim, what else were they capable of doing?

Jim was not even allowed to call me until the second day he was
incarcerated in that dreadful place.  He told me horror stories about
the way they were treating him.

"They never turn off the lights--day or night.  A guard sits outside my
cell constantly, talking and yelling and rattling his keys.  They feed
me through a hole in the door, and there's no pillow for the cot I'm
sleeping on.  Tam, the toilet next to me is always full of excrement.
Every time the prisoner next door to me flushes, it comes up on my
side.  The first day they didn't even give me bathroom tissue."  I
listened in pure horror.

"Tam, the nurses come and take blood samples twenty-four hours a day.
They test me for hours at a time.  I'm terrified that they're trying to
drive me crazy--or that they're trying to kill me!  Then they could say
I died from something else."

I don't know how Jim withstood all that.  When the week was up, they
took him directly from the prison to the courthouse floor.  Then Judge
Potter had the prison doctors testify about the results of all the
tests Jim had taken.  I was appalled as I sat there and listened to all
those doctors or psychiatrists or whatever they were reveal Jim's most
private self to the world.  But I was so grateful that in spite of
those inhuman circumstances, God gave Jim presence of mind, and he
tested above-average to the genius level of intelligence.  I wanted to
stand up and cheer!

I cannot recount each and every moment of the trial.  I have tried to
shut it out of my mind.  Having to sit there and listen to them accuse
your husband--and a minister of the gospel--of everything short of
murdering his mother was more than my heart could take.  I wanted to
die as I watched the government prosecutor, Debra Smith, march back and
forth in front of the judge and jury proclaiming that the Heritage
Towers had never been built.  That was a bold-faced lie!  It was
sitting right there on the property for all to see and walk through.

In fact, it was just weeks away from occupancy.  The carpet had already
been laid on ten floors, and thirteen floors were wallpapered.  The
centerpiece of the government's case was that there weren't enough
rooms for all the lifetime members.  But with the opening of the
Towers, there would have been.  Is it a coincidence that Jim was
indicted a short time before its completion?

Debra Smith told one lie after another and got away with it because the
judge would not allow the jury to check on any of her stories.  And our
lawyers were so unprepared that they could not repair the damage she
was doing.  I don't know why they didn't jump to their feet and say
that she was lying.  So I tried hard to just shut her out of my mind.

For weeks I lived in a state of pure agony, anger, and despair.  I felt
that our lawyers were enjoying the publicity and the TV cameras more
than they were researching the pertinent facts, and that they cared
very little about the actual outcome.  I can still hear Jim after a
grueling day in court asking them, "Why didn't you tell the jury that
wasn't true?  Why didn't you bring out the charts?"  Over and over he
would try to help his lawyers get the facts straight, but all to no
avail.  I think that near the end even Jim gave up in desperation,
seeing that the cards were all stacked against him.

The Honorable Robert Potter, Chief Judge of the United States District
Court of Western North Carolina, was known far and wide as a hanging
judge.  They called him "Maximum Bob."  He was very cruel in subtle
ways.  Potter called Jim a "little sawed-off runt."  During the trial
he would close his eyes and lean back in his chair, as if he were
asleep.  Several times he was seen acting like a little child who
doesn't want to hear something, sticking his fingers in his ears.  He
would yawn and belch and wink at the jury.  I saw him do those things
with my own eyes.

How they could allow a man like this to be a judge in the first place
is beyond me.  In my opinion, and in the opinions of many others, he
was biased against Jim when the case first came his way.  Potter did
not like television evangelists, and he made no secret of it.

Therefore, the jury was not even allowed to go see Heritage USA or our
"mansion of a home," as one prosecutor put it.  Potter forbade the jury
to see any evidence that could have kept Jim from going to prison.

Again, that is my opinion.

"Tam," Jim would say to me, "Judge Potter is really out to get me.

Anything that shows me in a sympathetic light he's ruling
inadmissible.

He will not allow the jury to know about the millions of dollars PTL
has contributed to foreign mission projects and to charities, or about
the thousands of hours of free airtime we have given to pastors who
could not afford to buy it.  I don't know what to do.  I've talked to
my lawyers about it, but they just act like they don't even hear me."

To further prejudice matters, proof that Jim and I donated to PTL over
$8 million in royalties on records, tapes, books, and other items, such
as the retailing of Suzy Moppett dolls, was never allowed to be heard
by the jury.  When you examine the figures, the bottom line is that Jim
and I were the largest contributors to PTL.  Period.

One of my good friends asked me the other day, "Tammy, do you still
receive royalties from all the albums you made and the books you
wrote?"  I was upset by her assumption.  Then I realized that if she
thought that way, many others did too.  And rightfully so, since this
would be the way such deals are normally done.  Let me explain exactly
how these items were handled: Neither Jim nor I ever received one penny
for any of the albums I made or the books we wrote.  All the royalties
from the albums and books went directly to the PTL ministry.  We never
even saw the royalty checks.  For example: For a gift of $25 we would
send our partners an album, or perhaps a book or a Bible especially
designed by us.  Thousands upon thousands of records, books, and Bibles
were sent out over the years.  My albums alone earned up to $2 million
a year for the ministry.

Had we taken royalties, we would have received much more than we were
ever paid by the ministry, which we felt would have been wrong, because
I sang on the show every day and we constantly spoke about the books we
were writing, offering them to our audience as love gifts and
thank-yous for contributions.  Consequently, we felt that every cent of
that money belonged to PTL.

The jury that convicted Jim was not even permitted to come visit
Heritage USA and see for themselves where the money went--the money
that Jim was accused of spending frivolously.  To me this was unfair.

Small wonder they didn't have a clue what Heritage was even like, what
was finished and what was not finished, what was built and what
wasn't.

The government prosecutors didn't want the jury to see where the
millions of dollars they were accusing Jim Bakker of misusing had
gone.

They didn't want the jury to see for themselves the acres and acres of
beautiful buildings costing millions of dollars.  To this day, I don't
know why our lawyers didn't insist that the jury be allowed to see
Heritage USA for themselves, to see for themselves that the Heritage
Towers were just three weeks away from completion, three weeks away
from being able to accommodate the partners.  What a terrible
injustice!  I remember Jim calling me after this decision was handed
down.

"It's too bad, Tam.  I wish so much they could have taken a tour of our
'mansion."  They would have been so disappointed!  They would have seen
it was just a big old house.  I guess the prosecutors don't want them
to know that we lived just like regular, normal people."

This is what I believe happened.  One of the factors in the verdict was
simply that the jury was overwhelmed.  These were good, hardworking,
decent people.  They owned homes and made car payments every month.

But I don't think they could even comprehend what a million dollars
was.  I can't even comprehend how much a million dollars is.  I think
that I could live like a queen for the rest of my life if I had a
million dollars.  I think that is how the jury felt.

I really do not understand the jury selection process.  Because in most
cases, anyone who would make a good prospective juror is automatically
eliminated by the prosecution.  Say you are being tried for bankruptcy
fraud.  Forty people have been called in as prospective jurors.  The
judge asks, "How many of you have ever had to file for bankruptcy?"

Ten people raise their hands.  They are automatically eliminated.
Why?

Would they not be the ones best be able to understand that situation?

This is what happened in Jim's case.

It is my understanding that if you had ever watched the PTL show, you
were not allowed to be a juror.  If you had ever visited Heritage USA,
you were not allowed to be a juror.  If you professed to be a
born-again Christian, you were not allowed to be a juror.  So what are
you left with?  People who have no understanding of the situation. Then
when it comes to the actual trial, all they are allowed to hear is what
the judge allows them to hear.

In Jim's case, Judge Potter disallowed important facts that could have
made Jim a free man.  The prosecutor said that buildings Jim promised
to build had not been built yet, when in fact they were sitting right
there, weeks away from being finished.  I still believe and always will
that if Jim had had a judge who was not prejudiced and lawyers who were
more thorough, the outcome of his case would have been much
different.

As a consequence of the government going through our books, there was
one startling--and I'm afraid very disheartening--revelation.  We found
out that they were going to investigate David Taggart, who had worked
for Jim for many years.  David, as I mentioned before, was Jim's right
hand man, keeping track of expenses and receipts and traveling
everywhere with Jim; he had occupied an office right next door to
Jim's.  We loved David, and he made a great impression on everyone he
met; he was intelligent, sophisticated, and had a quiet yet cultured
manner.  He was also more than capable of doing anything Jim asked him
to do.  He was a hard worker, extremely organized, and he put in long
hours for PTL.

You'll also recall that David was from a very wealthy family, and that
he and his brother, James, were eventually to receive an enormous
inheritance from their grandmother's estate--at least that's the story
David told us when he was hired.  We had no reason not to believe
David.

Never did David give us any reason to suspect that he was anything
other than what he told us.  So when we heard that he too had been
indicted, we were shocked!  We came to learn that his entire story had
been a falsehood.  Auditors found that David had been embezzling money
from PTL for a long time, and that his extravagant living style had
been paid for with PTL money.  Jim and I nearly died when we heard the
news.  When Jim asked the auditors why this hadn't been looked into
months before, they said that when they'd asked David for receipts or
proof of money spent that he would always have an excuse why he didn't
have the information ready, and that he'd say he'd get everything they
needed as soon as he could.  The auditors said that they had no reason
to doubt David, but that he never seemed to get the stuff together.

Now, that is the story as I heard it.  What I cannot figure is why the
auditors allowed David to get away with that.  I thought that an audit
couldn't be completed if everything wasn't in order.  And why wasn't
Jim or Richard Dortch told that David was not providing necessary
receipts and other information?

David and his brother, James, were found guilty by a jury--I believe
the charges were tax evasion, not embezzlement--and sent to jail, where
they both served about five years.  I didn't pay too much attention to
their case, as I was so crushed about what was happening to Jim, so I'm
still not clear about all the particulars.  From the bottom of my heart
I apologize for David Taggart's actions.  it was PTL's responsibility
to root out corruption, and in tg case we failed.  I can't offer any
excuse for that.  * iA .

Y.-?

Through the tortured weeks of the trial, the major force sustaining me
was my mother.  She was the only source of comfort I had.  She would
pray for me by the hour.  She would call me and say, "Tam, it's going
to be okay, honey.  It's going to be okay.  You just keep your faith in
God.  He will take care of you."  Luckily, Jim's parents were very good
support for him.  So we had a group of people that stood with us as we
were being purged of the last shred of our dignity.

As the trial approached its last days, Alan Dershowitz appeared on the
scene.  I don't know who called him in.  All I know is that he arrived
with much fanfare.  I don't even know what he did.  He was only there
for one day.  He was supposed to stay for longer than that, but he had
to leave for some reason.  He claims that he is the reason Jim's
sentence was eventually reduced.  I don't know.  All I remember about
Alan is his frequent calls to me in Orlando and the threatening letters
he wrote telling me that he had to have the thousands of dollars we
owed him for that one day he was there.  I would get so scared whenever
I got one of those letters or received one of those calls.  I was
desperately trying to raise money to pay him, but I was alone, pa
storing a tiny church, trying to get enough money together to take care
of my son and pay the rent and the electric bill plus the huge
telephone bills--the only way Jim and I could even talk to each other
was if he called collect.  I called everyone I knew to see if they
could or would help pay off Dershowitz's bill.  A man finally gave me
$25,000; I gave this directly to Alan.  Even though that did not pay
the whole amount we owed him, it was enough to satisfy him for a
while.

I know that Alan Dershowitz had every right to attempt to collect his
fee, and I'm not faulting him for that.  But it was one of the straws
that helped break the camel's back for me.

By this point our reputation was destroyed, our ability to work and
make a living was also destroyed, and any lingering doubts were gone.

Everybody thought we were crooks.  And there was no way left to prove
that we weren't.  We were in a no-win situation.  All we had left was
God.  I cried out, "God, where are You?  Oh, God, where are You?"  I'd
pray and pray, but it felt like my prayers didn't even reach the
ceiling.

The verdict came as no surprise.  I had been prepared for it from the
first day of the trial.  Maximum Bob gave Jim forty-five
years--basically a life sentence, when you consider that Jim was fifty
years old when convicted.  There was no money for an appeal.

Even so, just seconds after the sentence was pronounced, the lawyers
were whispering to him, "Don't worry, Jim.  We'll have you out in less
than a month.  This is just a temporary setback."

Jim was put into handcuffs and led away from the courtroom off to
jail.

They didn't even give me the chance to put my arms around him or give
him one last kiss.  What was the big hurry, anyway?  From the moment
Jim was convicted, I became locked in a terrible prison as well--the
darkest prison you could possibly imagine.

A good friend of mine once wrote a song that says, "There are times
when you think you've hit your highest low yet, and there's just
nothing left to go wrong."  Every time I hear those words I think of
Jim in prison.  Of everything I have ever gone through, it was always
my "highest low yet."  Only those who have been there can possibly know
the effect it has on the rest of your life, no matter how hard you try
to forget, to put it in the past.

All through the trial, the long jury deliberations, right up to the
last moment, my mind would not, could not, believe that something like
this could happen to our family.  There must be something protecting
the mind during severe trauma--so that you don't go insane.

I felt that the thousands and thousands of people we'd loved so much
and served for the last twenty years on television had all turned
against us.  They had let us down by believing the negative press that
was continually bombarding them every hour on the hour.  How could they
believe we would steal from them?

By the time Jim was finally tried and put in prison, I was numb--numb
with fear, anger, discouragement, and disbelief.  I had seen my husband
led around like a serial killer in shackles and handcuffs, paraded
across the television sets of America.  Our family had been accused of
everything but murder.  In fact, Jim would have received less time if
he had murdered someone.  I had no more faith in the judicial system,
and I still don't to this day.

After the sentence was issued, they led Jim away, not even letting us
know where they were taking him.  I thought that was appalling.

I placed a call to Jim's lawyers.

"Where have they taken him?"  I screamed between sobs.

"You are supposed to know.  Where is he?"  I was frantic.

Jamie was crying too.

"What are they saying, Mom?  Where is Dad?"  The lawyers did not know,
but they told me that Jim would call me as soon as he got where he was
going and that I wasn't to worry.

"I don't know, Jamie.  I don't know, honey," I said.

"But they say that Daddy is okay and will call us tomorrow."  Jamie and
I held on to each other as we cried.

We did not find out where Jim was until two days later, when he was
finally allowed a collect call from the federal prison in Rochester,
Minnesota, sixteen hundred miles away from us in Orlando, Florida.  Why
had they put him in a prison so far from his family?  I feel that it
was just to be cruel.  Why couldn't they have put him in a prison in
Florida?  How would Jamie and I ever be able to afford to go visit
him?

I about jumped out of my skin when the phone rang.  Waiting for that
call, I had not left the house in two days.

"Hello, Jim, honey.  Where are you?  Are you all right?"  I realized I
was screaming.

"I'm all right, Tam," he answered in a voice so weary I could hardly
understand what he was saying.

"You don't sound fine.  What are they doing to you?"

"I'm sorry I didn't get to say good-bye, Tam.  They wouldn't let me.  I
begged them, but they shackled my hands and feet and put me in a police
car.  We drove all the way from Charlotte to Minnesota.  I didn't bring
a coat with me, and it's cold up here.  I can't seem to get warm."

"Tell me what happened once you got there," I said, suddenly filled
with curiosity about what prison was like.  But I wish I hadn't asked,
because what I heard make me sick to my stomach.

"Well, when we finally got here, it was late at night.  I was so tired
and so cold I wanted to die, Tam.  And I had to go to the bathroom so
bad I was getting sick."

"Didn't they allow you to stop and use the rest room on the trip?"

"Yes, they would stop if I asked them, but we had to use gas stations
and restaurant bathrooms, and they had to go in there with me because
of the shackles and handcuffs.  I was too embarrassed to go unless it
just got to be an emergency.  When we finally got here, they took me
into this big empty room.  They took off my handcuffs and shackles and
then told me to take all my clothes off.

"There were a lot of men standing around and I said, "In front of all
these people?"

"

"Just do as we told you," the officer barked at me.  Tam, I was so
exhausted, so nervous and embarrassed, I didn't know what to do.  I was
shaking all over.  They let me stand there naked in front of all those
men who kept poking each other and making snide, crude remarks as they
watched me being strip-searched.

"Tam, they felt all my private parts, went into every opening in my
body, even made me stick my tongue out so they could look in my
mouth.

I don't know what they were looking for.  I had been with them in
handcuffs and leg irons for two days.  It was so humiliating.

"I heard one guy say to his fellow officer, "I was wondering what Jim
Bakker had between his legs."

" I was livid as I listened to Jim talk.

"I'm going to call and complain to the prison warden," I screamed.

"Don't do that, Tam," he warned.

"If you do, they'll just take it out on me."

My mind went back to Jim dressed in his beautiful suits, in front of
millions of people on TV preaching the gospel, one of America's
best-known ministers.  Now he was being treated worse than an animal.

I sobbed as I hung up the phone.

"God, where are You?  Where are You?

Can You hear me, do You even care?"  I cried myself to sleep and woke
up the next morning still crying.  I could not understand.

When I think of it, I think of the little poem about Humpty Dumpty we
learned as children.  And just as all the king's horses and all the
king's men couldn't put Humpty together again, I will never be the same
again.  Tammy Sue and Jamie will never be the same again; and I know
that Jim will never be the same again.  Prison steals something from a
human being that you never get back again.  It takes a part of you
away.

You realize your vulnerability, that it is indeed possible to lose
control of your own life, that you are powerless over certain
situations, that you can be destroyed.  It humiliates and degrades you
beyond belief.  Let me tell you what it is like for the families of
prisoners when they go to see their loved one.

I remember the first Christmas Jim was in jail.  The small room where
we were checked in was filled to overflowing with women and children
waiting to visit their husbands and daddies.  The guards at the desk
were never in a hurry and as usual were taking their time.  Families
were kept waiting outside in the twenty-below weather for sometimes
half an hour because the guards wouldn't open the doors one minute
early--even for the mothers with tiny, freezing babies.

Standing outside hearing those babies crying from the cold made me
almost hate for the first time in my life.  What had happened to simple
human decency?  But there is no kindness in prison, only rules, and you
had better follow them to the letter.

Everyone must sign in, giving your name and address and the number of
the inmate you are visiting.  The guard calls you one at a time, and
the first thing he does is to take your coat, any bags you may be
carrying, baby blankets and whatever else, and run them through an
X-ray machine.  Then he asks you to walk through a metal detector.

Since it was so cold, everyone was dressed warmly with heavy coats,
boots, and scarves.  If you buzzed going through the machine, you had
to take things off until you didn't buzz anymore.  Nearly everyone had
to take off their shoes or boots, all their jewelry, and their belts;

the system was so touchy.  Some people would wind up standing there
almost naked.  I will never forget one time standing there in my
stocking feet begging them not to make me take off my jacket as I
didn't have much on under it.  I was so embarrassed.

After finally making it through the X-ray machine, you stand in a line
to get your hand stamped with a mark that glows.  Then you are marched
about fifteen at a time into this little room, and the heavy metal
doors close with a thud.  In there you put your marked hand under a
machine that reads it.  When everyone has done that, the bolted door on
the other side opens and you walk outside in the freezing cold again.

You walk several feet to another building.  Where once again you stand
outside and wait for a lethargic guard to come along with his keys to
open the door.

You file into a huge room filled with plastic chairs and short wooden
tables, much lower even than your average coffee table.  Two guards sit
in the front of the room.  You go immediately up to one of them and
once again check in, signing your name and the number of the inmate you
are visiting.

Over on one side of the room are vending machines filled with
sandwiches, popcorn, drinks, and candy bars.  This is what you will be
eating all day long, providing there aren't too many people visiting
and they don't run out of food.  You bring rolls of quarters to
purchase the food with.  The inmates are not allowed to carry any
money, so you must remember to bring enough for them, too.  You wait
and wait until at last the door by the guard opens and your loved one
walks out.

You are allowed one hug and a quick kiss, but you are not permitted to
touch after that.  The inmate must sit facing the guards at all
times.

If you have to use the bathroom, you check out a key from the guard.

The guard goes right into the bathroom with the inmate.  I recall Jim
would not use the bathroom from 8:00 A.M. until we had to leave at 3:00
P.M. because he didn't want to have to do so in front of a guard.

My heart ached for him.  What a terrible, degrading, inhuman place
prison is.  I felt so sorry for the little children.  From eight
o'clock until three in the afternoon is such a long time for children
to be confined.  The prison would allow no toys inside.  The only thing
the children could play with was a big box of dirty wooden blocks and a
few torn up children's books.

When it's time to leave, the guards yell out, "Visiting hours are
over!

Visitors step to the back, inmates to the front!"  I can hardly write
about what takes place at that time.  Little children hold on to their
daddies crying, "I don't want to go!"  Tears are streaming down
everyone's faces.  Some join hands and pray, others turn and literally
run out the back so that husbands will not see them weeping.  I was one
of those.  You keep waving and waving until the guards let you walk out
the door, it hurts so bad!

I will never forget one time when Tammy Sue was there with her
babies.

Jim took off his glasses so that he could play with little James and
Jonothan.  And Tammy Sue, not thinking, put them in her diaper bag for
him.  When it came time to leave she remembered her daddy's glasses,
but she was already outside the first building.

"Could you please give these to Jim Bakker," she asked the guard
politely, taking the glasses out of her bag.

"Prisoners aren't allowed to receive anything."

"But these are his.  I accidentally took them."

"I told you.  Prisoners aren't allowed to receive anything."

"It'll just take a minute."

"Move on."

"I can't believe you won't--" "Move on, or you'll never be allowed back
in here!"

Tammy Sue started to cry, and with tears running down her cold little
face put her dad's glasses back in her bag.  Which meant that Jim was
without his glasses until he could get another appointment with the
prison eye doctor and get another pair.  And that took weeks!  That was
unnecessary cruelty.

Jim's hypochondria made being in prison very difficult for him.  Of
course the officials gave him the dirtiest job in the prison.  All the
five years he was incarcerated, he had to clean the prison toilets.

They were filthy places, with urine, exerement, spit, and vomit
everywhere.  And when there were fights, they would generally take
place in the toilet, so add blood to the list of disgusting messes Jim
would have to clean up.

Nevertheless, Jim informed me that his floor had the cleanest rest
rooms in the whole prison.  He double-gloved to clean the toilets, and
got on his hands and knees to clean the floors with disinfectant.  Jim
said that in one way he was glad he had been assigned that job--because
in doing it himself, he knew it was really clean.

Jim has never been afraid of hard work.  I have seen him, hundreds of
times, doing the same tasks that his employees were doing.  He'd join
them with a shovel, a hammer, a paint brush, cleaning tools; no job was
too hard or too dirty for Jim to help out with.  He always said that he
would never ask a man to do a job he wouldn't do himself.  And I saw
him prove that time and time again.  So if the prison officials thought
they were further punishing Jim Bakker by making him do manual labor,
they were very much mistaken.  Jim told me that hard work is what kept
him from going crazy while he was there.

Even in prison, Jim never stopped giving.  He's terrific at doing
ceramics, as he's so creative, and he was constantly sending me
beautiful vases that he had designed.  Knowing that I love fake food,
he fashioned a ceramic pizza for me and a cup of hot chocolate complete
with a marshmallow floating on top.  Jim made me jewelry and darling
little ceramic animals, even a miniature version of my dog Tuppins.

Even though I loved the things he made for me, it was always so sad to
see them sitting around my house and knowing the pain and suffering
they represented.  I could hardly look at them without crying.

Despite all the obvious hardships, Rochester was still a white-collar
prison and was probably one of the best facilities Jim could have been
in.  The medical care was good.  If the prisoners got sick, they were
sent over to the Mayo Clinic, which was close by.  Rochester was very
clean, very neat, and very well kept.  But even at its best, it was
still a horrible place.

While Jim was in prison, my major concern was just trying to keep my
mind together.  I was also attempting to make a living for Jamie and
me.  Jim called collect, the only way he could call, every day; he was
hurting so bad and needed to talk.  We would spend an hour at a time on
the phone.  I was trying so hard to help him with his depression.  I
would have been terribly despondent in his situation too, so I totally
understood.  We would cry together, and once in a while I could even
make him laugh a little.  That is when I learned how expensive long
distance can be.

Whew!  Every month I was paying anywhere from $400 to $800 in phone
bills.

That was a very hard time for me, trying to keep him up, because at the
same time I was so lonely and hurting so bad and feeling so betrayed by
everyone.  I felt God had left me alone.

"Tam, I'm in a cell with four other prisoners.  And everybody's got a
different idea of what time to go to bed."

"Don't let them bother you, Jim.  Just try to get some rest."

"You don't know what it's like!  All the noise, the guards just
strutting around all day and night, clanging those thick iron key
rings, until you can hear those keys clanging in your head even when
they're not there."

"Then put something in your ears.  Honey, just try to tune them out.

You know you used to be pretty good at that."

'Then they're always slamming the doors.  These thick metal doors.  It
sounds like they're closing the doors on a tomb."

"Hang in there, Jim.  You are stronger than you think.  Thousands of
people still love you and are praying for you.  The lawyers told me
they're doing everything in their power to get you out of that
place."

"I can't sleep, Tam.  I am so tired.  And I can't eat.  The food is
good, but it's not good for me.  It is so greasy.  And with my ulcer,
you know what that does to my stomach."

Jim had to be careful what he said because they monitored his phone
calls.  He had to be careful what he wrote in letters because they read
all his outgoing mail.  So we would try to have a conversation, but
really it was just surface talk, talking without actually saying
anything really important.  It was the same when we wrote letters.

Prison was a living hell for Jim, a man who only wanted to lead people
to heaven.  But to his credit, even though he was suffering miserably,
Jim tried to make the best of it.  He had exceedingly good
relationships with the other inmates.  They all respected him.  There
were many professional men in there, including a group of corporate
lawyers.  One man that Jim got friendly with was a skydiver who had
organized the largest skydiving events in the world.  I don't know why
he was there in prison.

Of course, the professional people tended to draw together for
protection, because in every prison there are many dangerous people,
violent men who could hurt you real bad.  Tempers flare, things get out
of hand.  You walk a fine line in prison.  Nothing serious ever
happened to Jim.  Of course, I believe that God protected him.  For the
most part, Jim got along very well and participated in many areas, such
as all those community men's groups they had in prison.  He would have
taken on more of a leadership role except that the guards wouldn't
allow it.  Jim was completely forbidden from ministering inside the
prison walls, but I'm sure he talked to many men privately about Jesus
and God.

Roe Messner also visited Jim on several occasions.  By this time Roe
was having severe difficulties of his own.  Because of PTL's
bankruptcy, he was owed millions of dollars, which plunged him into
debt.  Further complicating matters was a bad marriage.  But Roe never
dwelled on his own dismal situation.  Instead he tried to be supportive
and cheer Jim up as best he could, and he listened to Jim's ideas about
the future.

I was glad to hear that Jim was talking about the future again.  It
gave him something to get excited about.  It gave his mind something to
fix on besides prison.  He and Roe would talk for hours about the
possibility of building again.  Once again Jim was drawing buildings on
napkins, and once again Roe was telling Jim what he thought the cost
would be.  I don't know if Jim really thought he could ever again build
anything the size of Heritage USA, but I think talking about it to
someone like Roe, who understood, at least gave him a sense of
self-worth again.

During one of Roe's visits, Jim was really excited.  He had heard from
one of the other inmates that there was a beautiful place--much like
Heritage USA but smaller--that was for sale in French Lick, Indiana.

It was a famous hotel, built in the 1920s, and it was said to be in
great condition.  The place would be a perfect spot to start over, as
it was already a well-known tourist attraction.

Jim asked Roe if he would fly to French Lick and check it out, and Roe
did.  He came back with a good report and with the news that the owners
had decided to auction off the hotel instead of putting it on the real
estate market.  The bidding would start at $1 million.  Roe felt that
he could find private investors who were sympathetic to Jim's dream of
building another ministry, and he did.  They told Roe that they were
willing to invest up to $3 million.

Jim informed me that he wanted me to move the ministry I was building
in Orlando and work at getting back on television again.  I was excited
but overwhelmed at the thought of doing it all by myself.

"Jim, you're asking too much of me," I said.

"The TV stations are never going to sell time to a woman, especially to
Tammy Bakker.  And even though I have a mailing list of thousands of
people, I've never raised money before, Jim.  I wouldn't have the first
clue of where to start."

"I'll teach you, Tam--everything you need to know."

I still was not convinced, but at least I was willing to try.  Jim
begged me to at least go see the property for myself, which I did.  It
was beautiful, but it would be a huge responsibility for a lady with a
ruined reputation and a husband in prison.  I was nearly sick with fear
that the sale might actually happen.  And it almost did!

Roe went to the bidding.  He and one other man were the only bidders.

Roe bid up to the $3,000,000 he had, and the other man bid
$3,050,000.

In one way I was relieved that we did not get the property, in another
way I was sad.  It would have been such a morale booster for Jim.  But
it was not to be.  Jim gave up after that, I think.  I never again
heard him talk about rebuilding.

After Jim had been in prison a couple of years, it was time for his
lawyers to try to get his sentence reduced.  So Jim had to be flown
from Rochester back to Charlotte.  When he arrived he was put in the
county jail to await his court appearance.

It was the same jail we had visited so many times before, ministered
in, where we had taken the band and singers to entertain during
Christmas, where we had brought hundreds of wrapped holiday gifts each
year to hand out to the inmates.  In fact, the warden himself had
visited PTL many times and had even been on television with us, along
with his deputies.

But all that seemed like a million years ago.  Now I was visiting Jim
there, and it was suddenly the dirtiest place I had ever seen.  It made
me sick to walk through that place.  I remember thinking, They could at
least paint the walls and make an attempt to keep things clean.

The guards led me to a small unkempt room.  I sat there on a rusty
chair waiting for Jim to come from his cell.  I was horrified when I
saw him.  He had on a filthy, wrinkled bright orange jumpsuit.  He was
haggard, and his hair was long and shaggy.  He looked sick and
feeble.

He wouldn't even let me touch him.  Tears started running down my face
as the agony in my heart overflowed.

"Jim, what have they done to you?"

He just shrugged weakly.

"Tam, this place is terrible.  The food smells bad, the cells are
filthy.  I can't eat, I can't sleep, and I have to be in court
tomorrow."

I had bought Jim a suit to change into the next morning.

But he told me the next day they had made him dress in the hall and
that they would not even allow him to have a mirror so that he could
shave and comb his hair.  After putting on his suit, they locked him in
shackles and handcuffs and took him to the court.  My stomach is sick
as I write this, even after so many years have passed.  Nothing was
worse than seeing my husband treated like a dog.  I take that back.

You would be locked up for treating a dog like they treated him!

Out of the hundreds of preachers Jim had helped financially, given free
airtime to, I think maybe five or six of them actually visited him
while he was in prison.  They didn't even bother to write him.  Where
were these men of God when Jim needed them so desperately?

Even more devastating was the way in which Pat Robertson conducted
himself.  When Jim was put away, Robertson basically said that he
deserved it--that Jim deserved to serve every last day of his
sentence.

I thought this was an extremely cruel and cold-blooded thing to say.

It wasn't enough that Jim was buried; Robertson had to shovel more dirt
on his grave.  It's incredible!  Only a short time before, when Pat had
been running for the presidency, he had been praising Jim left and
right.

Nonetheless, I will forever be grateful to a minister named Phil
Shaw.

When he heard they were sending Jim to Rochester, he applied to be
Jim's pastor, since he ministered a local church in the area.  Phil and
his wife, Faith, visited Jim every week he was in prison.

When our family flew in to visit Jim, Phil would be there at the
airport in below-zero weather to pick us up and take us to the local
hotel.  Beyond that, that precious man and his church paid our hotel
bill many times.  They cared for me, Tammy Sue, and Jamie as if we were
their family.  They brought us to their home, and Faith fixed wonderful
meals for us.  They loved our family and comforted us in our time of
greatest need.

Another one of the few bright moments was when Billy Graham, who proved
himself to be a real man of faith, twice visited Jim in prison and was
very comforting to him.  He was very kind and thanked Jim for giving
hundreds of thousands of dollars to Billy's son, Franklin, for his
ministry.  Billy Graham was just what you would expect him to be,
completely neutral, unconcerned about public opinion.  Unlike many
lesser preachers, he refused to score points by taking cheap shots at
Jim or me.  He made it a point not to talk to the press or anybody
about us.  But he did call us at our home and speak to us at length.

Billy Graham was very supportive through the most difficult years of my
life, and I'll always treasure him dearly for that.

Reverend Mike Murdock and Reverend Robert Gass also made several trips
to see Jim in prison.  Mike wrote most of the music that I sang on PTL,
and Robert was a frequent guest on the program.  These men did not
forget us, and I will always respect the fact that they were not afraid
to practice what they preached.  That took guts!

On November 4, 1991, Judge Thurmond Bishop handed down a decision.

This is part of what he said:

It was not contemplated that lifetime partners would be entitled to a
specific hotel room, condominium, or unit on the premises .. . nor were
partners promised availability of rooms or any other benefits for the
use of their partnerships.  Moreover, no trust relationship is alleged
to have been created.... In essence, the rights and responsibilities of
the individual lifetime partners and the debtor were both fully
operative and were being delivered and provided prior to the filing of
the bankruptcy petition.

These payments, solicited as gifts, and made by the plaintiffs to the
debtor, do not fall under the definition of deposit.  Additionally, it
is important to note that at the time of payment by the lifetime
partners, no deposit arrangement could have been contemplated by the
parties.

In other words, the ruling of Judge Bishop clearly stated that the
lifetime partnerships were really gifts to the ministry.  They weren't
deposits, say, of the sort you'd make on a condominium as a down
payment.  They were contributions.  And as such they would entitle
partners to four days and three nights at the Heritage Grand Hotel, no
more, no less.  Partners didn't have to take out a mortgage or a
loan.

For their gift they received our gift, a guaranteed free vacation for
the rest of their lives.  This decision by itself should have
immediately overturned Jim's conviction.  Right then and there he
should have walked out of a prison a free man, but they kept him in no
matter how much we appealed.  The courts and the Bush administration
didn't even pretend they were listening.

Life in Orlando was very hard on me.  I was alone for the first time in
my life.  My husband was in prison.  I had a young son to raise by
myself.  I was forced to make the living for our family.  I had gone
right from working at Woolworth's to getting married to television, so
I had no experience in the modern working world.  My name, my
reputation, everything that I held dear had been destroyed by the news
media.  I was a national laughingstock.  Everything about me was being
ridiculed.  I could not watch television without my eyelashes, my
makeup, and even my tears being made fun of.  I was the butt of
comedians' crude jokes and snide remarks.  My heart ached constantly.

My pillow would be wet with tears every night.  But during the day, for
the sake of Jamie, I put on a happy face.  I had lost all my
self-confidence, I was scared to death.  The only thing that held me
together was that I knew I was not the first woman who was suddenly
alone with no money and a child to take care of.  If they had made it,
then I could too.

I had a house payment that had to be made, a fast-growing child who
constantly needed new clothes and shoes, doctor bills, dentist bills,
phone bills, electric bills.  It seemed there was no end to the
expenses of just living.  I was terrified!  I knew I had to do
something, but what?  Who in their right mind would ever hire Tammy
Faye Bakker?  They too would become a laughingstock.

All I knew how to do was television.  And no one in television would
give me a job.  They wouldn't touch me with a ten-foot pole, or even a
hundred-foot pole!  I was desperate.  I wanted to run away, to hide,
but I had Jamie there.  I had to live for him.  If I fell apart, he
would have no one.  At just thirteen years old he needed his mom.

The first few days after Jim went off to prison, I was inconsolable.  I
would drive Jamie to school and come home, put on my old pink bathrobe,
and cry until I could cry no more.

"God, please help me, I don't know what to do."  My cries would ring
out through that empty house.  I felt forsaken by God.  The phone would
ring, and I was afraid to answer it.

When I did, it would be Jim, suffering dreadfully, or it would be the
school.

"Mrs.  Bakker, you need to come and get Jamie; he's having a
problem."

Every day he would go to school, and every day I would get a call from
one of his teachers asking me to pick Jamie up.  His stomach was always
upset.  He was continually getting into fights with kids who teased him
mercilessly about his dad being locked up.  Jamie was having a dreadful
time.  I didn't know how to help him.

In truth I just wanted to die.  For the first time in my life I
understood the thoughts going through the mind of a person who is
thinking about suicide.  I knew I had to get a hold on myself and my
emotions if I was going to survive.  I needed a quiet place where I
could go and talk to God.  Once again, I found comfort inside my
closet.

It was there that I poured out my misery to the God I had served for so
many years.  Almighty God--who I had always proclaimed could help you
through any situation.

I was filled with so much anger.  Anger at preachers whom we had helped
and who now acted as if we had died, anger at Jerry Falwell, anger at
Jim for not standing up, for forcing me to be in this position.  I was
living in horrid grief, grief over losing a husband and so many people
we thought were our friends, grief over losing the only job I knew how
to do, grief for my children, grief for the PTL partners who were
suffering too.

In that closet I cried out to God for deliverance, for peace, and for
restoration of my joy.  And He did not fail me.  In my darkest moment,
at the very bottom of my despair, He allowed me once again to feel His
presence.  He flooded my poor body with warmth, peace, joy, and faith
for the future that had seemed so bleak and hopeless.  My life was so
filled with darkness, and He dispelled that darkness with the light of
His love.  He gave me the will to live again, not just to exist.

There is a great difference between just existing and living.  And
suddenly I wanted to live again.  When I left that closet, the sky
looked brighter, the flowers more radiant, the very air I breathe more
refreshing.  For the first time in a long time I decided that I was
going to make it.  That nothing was too hard if I had God on my side.

I decided to start practicing what I had preached all these years.

To start with, I knew that I had to work on my anger.  It was only
destroying me.  It didn't hurt the people I was angry at, but it was
eating me alive.  They say that anger does more damage to the vessel in
which it is stored than it does to the object on which it is poured.  I
believe that.  I remembered hearing once that in some ancient cultures,
if you murdered someone, the person you killed would be strapped to
your back.  Can you imagine carrying a corpse around on your back?  You
couldn't eat, you couldn't sleep, the stench alone would be
nauseating.

Other people wouldn't come anywhere near you.  That decaying corpse
would eventually kill you.  That is what anger and hate do to you.

It's like carrying around a decaying dead body on your back all the
time.

When anger and hate are all you can think about, they color everything
you do, everything you say.  And if you don't rid yourself of them,
they will eventually kill you, emotionally if not physically.  It's not
worth the price!  You need to drop all that negativity and move on.

And that is what I made a decision to do in my life.  I often think
about the words bitter and better.  The only difference in those two
words is one letter, the letter "i."  I decided in that closet of
suffering that I was not going to allow the hurts in my life to make me
bitter, but I was going to use them to make me better.  I have found
that everything in life is about attitude.  It is not the circumstances
that destroy you; it is your attitude toward the circumstances that
destroys you.  I knew that I desperately needed an attitude
adjustment.

I asked God to help me make that adjustment, and He did.  You are not a
victim unless you allow yourself to be.  I decided I was no longer
going to be a victim but that I was going to be a victor.  And that
decision changed my life.

I began feeling better--about myself, about my situation, about life in
general.  Over the years on TV I had often sung, "You can make it."

But I was learning that it's much easier to sing about it than it was
to live it.  Nevertheless, I was determined to live it.

I started right where I was--inside my closet.  I had a huge TV
wardrobe that I wouldn't be wearing anymore.  So one of the first
things I did was to box up all the stylish remnants of my former
life.

I took my blouses off the rack, my skirts, my shoes and belts, purses
and jackets, and just started packing them away.  I piled up the boxes
one on top of another.  You could hardly even get through.  There were
stacks and stacks of them all over the bed room.

Then I decided to take these clothes down to a resale shop I had seen
in Orlando.  I filled the trunk of my car several times in the next few
weeks with television clothes.  And to my surprise, they sold like
wildfire.  The lady who ran the shop kept asking me if I had any more
things I could bring in, and I did.  I made $2,000 the first month from
my initial trunk load of clothes.  The next month I made even more.  I
couldn't believe it.  Selling my clothes is what saved me and Jamie
financially.

But I knew this was just a temporary solution.  Therefore I decided to
do the only thing I knew how to do, and something Jim had asked me to
do right after he was imprisoned: start a church for the partners who
still loved us and our ministry.  I was scared to death of the
prospect, but with Jim's consistent encouragement and the help of many
friends, I got the nerve to begin.

We conducted our first services in hotels, in homes, wherever we
could.

But hardly anyone was coming because it was difficult to find us.  So
we distributed maps, pasted flyers inside rest rooms, and put up signs
along the road, anything to let people know where the Tammy Faye
Ministries were.

As word got out, our congregation started growing rapidly and I
realized that I had to find a permanent home pretty soon.  We located a
building that fitted our needs perfectly.  It had sufficient office
space, a large room in which to hold services, and a suitable hall for
expansion.  Volunteers got together, and we cleaned and painted and
laid new carpet.  But just when we were getting our heads above water,
in came the zoning commission--and closed us down, claiming it was
because there was a paint factory next door that could blow up.

I had to go to court, but since there was hardly any money for lawyers,
I didn't think I stood a chance--until a small miracle took place.

When the American Civil Liberties Union heard of our plight, they went
in and fought for us--filing motions left and right--and sure enough,
we won.  I will always be grateful to the ACLU for going to bat for me.
After weeks of fighting city hall, we finally got our church back. What
a relief !

It wasn't long until our new little church was making ends meet.  We
were able to pay the rent and all the other expenses connected with
running a ministry.  We were able to put nine employees on salary, and
we were even able to purchase a beautiful baby grand piano for the
church.  Mike Murdock and Robert Gass had been kind enough to share
their mailing lists with me so that once again I was able to contact
the old partners and let them know where we were and what we were
doing.

Our mailing list continued to grow.  In fact, it got so big that we
could not afford to write back to the thousands of people who began to
write us.  OL partners were giving our address to one another.  It was
a real miracle, and I will always be grateful to those precious people
who helped me survive while Jim was away.

Then, to my surprise, the media started showing up.  I could not figure
out why they would still be interested in me.  After all, I had not
been on TV in three years.  But they were still talking about my
makeup, my eyelashes, and my tears.  And they were still calling me a
controversial woman.  That always makes me laugh.  I cannot for the
life of me figure out why they think I am controversial.

But the new publicity also started bringing in former EyrL partners
from all over the country.  Some Sundays we would have people from as
many as twenty states in our congregation.  I would always have a show
of hands and ask people where they were from.  It meant so much to me
that people still cared enough to find me.

For two years I worked hard pa storing that church.  I spent all day
Saturday preparing the message I would preach to the people on
Sunday.

I spent every day of the week answering mail and working in the office
with our staff.  But trying to be perfect, giving everything I had and
even more, made my life very hard.  It got to where I would rather take
a beating than go to church on Sunday and face those people who were
expecting something from me.  In short, I was burned out.

I felt I couldn't preach one more sermon or sing one more song, that I
was not really doing anyone any good, including myself.  These same
people could go to another church and be ministered to just as easily
as they could at my church.  I wrestled with the idea of closing New
Covenant Ministries.

There wasn't even a spare moment to take a vacation, which further
compounded my exhaustion.  I visited Jim in prison every time I could
get enough money together to buy airline tickets for Jamie and me.  We
continued to speak every day on the phone, but as time passed, his
dreadful suffering began to take a heavy toll on me.

Naturally, I would always try to encourage him without getting
discouraged myself.  But try as I might, I just could not help him.  He
was hurting too bad.  He felt that I couldn't possibly understand how
horrible it was to be in prison.  On each visit to prison, less and
less was said between us.  We just sat and ate popcorn or whatever
other junk they had in the machine.  Even though we hardly spoke a
word, our mutual misery was deafening.  I was busy making chili in my
kitchen when the phone rang.  My first thought was, "It must be Jim, he
hasn't called yet today."  Indeed it was Jim, and as usual he sounded
serious and discouraged.  I was getting ready to give him my standard
"You can make it" speech when he interrupted me.

"Tam, I know that you don't love me anymore."

I was shocked.  My mouth just fell open.  We had barely been able to
communicate since the day he went to prison, we were both hurting so
bad.  And I think the guilt Jim felt over what had happened to our
family as a result of the decisions he made was nearly killing him.  I
did not want to injure him any further by talking about all my
frustration toward him.  The horrors of prison were more than enough;

he didn't need me venting my feelings.  I just couldn't inflict any
more pain on him.

Therefore I lived with my hurt and anger tucked safely inside me.

Naturally I was always kind whenever I went to visit Jim, but inside I
could feel nothing but hopelessness, as if I didn't even know him
anymore.  I was numb to any feeling.  He would come out of the prison
holding cell into the visitors' area, and all I wanted to do was to
cry.  When I kissed him I felt nothing, just profound sadness.  We
would sit down and not even look at each other.

I would see other couples trying to cuddle without being caught.

Walking hand in hand in the courtyard and doing things that would get
the wife kicked out if they were caught by the guard.  I envied them,
wishing so much that there was still something left in my heart for the
man I was visiting--the man who had been my husband for nearly thirty
years.  But that something in my heart had died a slow, painful
death.

I don't know just how it died--from neglect, from words spoken that
could be forgiven but never forgotten.  I don't know if it was Jessica
Hahn that killed my heart, or maybe the fact that Jim allowed such a
dreadful thing to happen to our family.  Death is always so sad, and
all I could feel was just this terrible sadness, so deep I could not
bring myself to talk about it, or even think about it.

It was destroying not only my spirit but my health as well.  I had such
high blood pressure they were going to put me on pills.  I had trouble
with my heart beating fast-fibrillating, the doctors called it.  I was
anemic and I had asthma.  I felt bad all the time.

Ironically, I have always been the type of person who wants to make
everything all right for everyone.  My favorite words have always been,
"Oh, don't worry, everything's going to be all right."  But somehow I
knew that it was not ever again going to be all right between Jim and
me, that there was no way to fix it.  I was not willing to go through
any more marriage seminars.  We had been through that ordeal twice
before, and it was so hard on me.  Besides, things always went back to
the way they were.  I don't blame that all on Jim.  We both tried, but
he had a huge ministry to run, and maybe I was just too needy.  I don't
know.

Now, as I stirred the chili that was bubbling away on the M stove, Jim
said, "Tam, when you come and see me here at the prison, you look
sadder every time I see you.  You have nothing to say to me anymore.  I
don't know how much longer I'm going to have to be in here, Tam, so I
am going to do you a favor.  I am going to call our lawyer, Jim Toms,
and tell him to start divorce proceedings.  I want you to get on with
your life, Tam.  I really do."

At first I couldn't breathe.  My heart filled with panic.  My first
thought was to say, "I love you, Jim.  Don't file for divorce.  It's
going to be all right, you'll see."  But for the first time in thirty
years I couldn't bring myself to utter those words.  As if I were
paralyzed, I just sat there and listened to him.

"I know that you're living without sex, and I know how difficult that
must be for you.  I know how difficult it is for me."

"Yes, Jim," I responded, suddenly choking on the words.

"Who knows if I'll ever get out of here.  The way things stand now,
I'll probably die in prison.  Look, Tam, the thought of you waiting for
me all through the next years, all by yourself and alone at night,
really crushes my heart.  It's the straw that's breaking the camel's
back.  I can't let them put you in prison just because I am."  I tried
to find something to say, something consoling, but nothing came to my
lips.

"Tam, I've hurt you so terribly much that I just want to set you free.
It's the one nice thing left that I can do for you."

Numbly, I heard my voice saying, "Jim, do what you have to do."  A long
silence came between us, and I knew right then and there that there was
nothing left to say, except for "Good-bye, Jim.  May God protect you.

May He always protect you."  There was another long silence, a darkness
that seemed to fall over everything in the world.  Then finally,
without saying another word, we both hung up.

I turned off the stove and went into my bedroom and locked the door.  I
cried until I could cry no more.  Divorce!  I had never even allowed
that word into my vocabulary.  Marriage was supposed to be forever.

What would my children think?  I couldn't hurt them even more than they
were already hurting.  Especially Jamie.  What would it do to his life
if his parents got a divorce?  I called my mom and poured my heart out
to her.

Jim didn't call again for several days, and when at last he did he told
me, "Tam, the divorce papers have been filed, and you'll receive a copy
of them in a few days.  Believe me, Tam.  This is all for the best."  I
was dumbfounded.  He was really serious.  Later that day I got a call
from our lawyer confirming what Jim had said.  In fact, Jim had already
signed the papers, Mr.  Toms told me.  My heart was beating so hard in
my chest I thought I was having a heart attack.

A few more days went by.  I didn't breathe a word to anyone, but it was
the only thing on my mind day and night.  I couldn't eat, couldn't
sleep.  People began to notice that I was losing weight.

"Is everything all right, Tammy?"

"Oh, yes, I'm fine," I would answer.  But they knew different, looking
at my constantly tearstained face.  I decided I had to talk to someone,
and I didn't want to worry my mom any further.  But who does Tammy
Bakker talk to?  Who could I trust to keep quiet?  Jamie also needed
some counseling desperately.  Then someone told me of an experienced
Christian psychologist in California.  Her specialty was looking beyond
the obvious and beyond what you said, discerning what your real hurts
were and what you really wanted and needed in your life.

I decided to make an appointment with her for Jamie and me.  In a few
days we were on our way to California.  Jamie talked with her first.  I
have never seen a young man cry so hard in my whole life.  He still
didn't know about our impending divorce.  Jamie was inconsolable as he
voiced his feelings about his dad in prison and his disappointments in
Christians, particularly the preachers.

When Jamie left the room, it was my turn.  I couldn't control myself
any longer.  My whole body shook with sobs and pent-up emotion as I
poured out my heart to that doctor.

"Please help me, please help me!  I have to have some sound advice from
someone who is impartial."

By the time we had finished, she said, "Tammy, I have spoken to a lot
of women in my many years of counseling, but I have never seen anyone
as filled with pain as you are.  You will never be happy until you do
what you know you need to do.  You have put off the inevitable for
years, and you must make a decision.  Everything is not going to be all
right, and you know that.  You need to stop pretending.  Stop being
Jim's mother and face reality.  You really need to sign those divorce
papers as soon as possible and get on with your life."

As I walked out of her office, I realized that I didn't have to carry
Jim's heavy burdens anymore.  I didn't have to be his caretaker.  I
didn't have to make everything all right for him anymore.  I don't
remember how I got on the airplane, when it left the ground, or when it
landed.  But all of a sudden I was back in Orlando again and the phone
was ringing.

"Hello .. . oh, hi, Jim."

"Where have you been?  I've been calling the house."

"Jamie and I were in California.  We just got home.  Listen, we went to
see a Christian psychologist.  Jamie and I both had a session with
her.

In fact, we had several sessions with her in the week we were there."

Then Jim hit me again with surprising news.

"Tam, I have been praying, and I feel it was wrong of me to file for
divorce.  So I have asked Mr.  Toms to just stop the proceedings."  I
was completely taken aback.  Then I uttered the hardest words I have
ever spoken in my life.

"Jim, I'm going to call him and tell him to continue the proceedings.

I think we should get that divorce."  I couldn't believe those words
had come out of my mouth, but as I spoke them, I felt like a million
pounds fell off my tired shoulders.  Jim was flabbergasted.

"Well, if that's what you want, but you are going to have to say that
you divorced me, not that I divorced you.  I don't want the divorce,
Tam."

"I'll take the blame then," I said.  I hung up the phone and called
Mr.

Toms immediately.  He was very kind to me and promised that he would
move forward, that he would do anything he could to help either one of
us.

But what was I going to do?  Where was I going to go?  How was I going
to tell my children?  What would the PTL partners say?  How was I going
to make a living?  What would Jim do without me there for him?  My mind
was spinning.

A couple of weeks later I received a call from Mr.  Toms.

"Tammy, I know two judges who have loved you and Jim for years.  They
want to help you.  They're trS ring a case down in Tallahassee.  If you
will meet them March thirteenth, they'll grant your divorce in between
cases."

So I got up at 4:00 A.M. on March 13 because we had to leave by five to
get to the court on time.  It was cold outside, and it was a long
drive.  Shirley Fulbright, Jim's former secretary, who lived with me
and Jamie, usually talked a hundred miles an hour, but both of us were
quiet and reflective as we watched the palm trees and billboards pass
by.  I will never forget walking into that building.  A great sadness
overwhelmed me.  This was not supposed to happen.  It was supposed to
go, "And they lived happily ever after."

I can hardly remember what came next, it happened so fast.  The judges
were there waiting for me, as was Mr.  Toms.  Within about ten minutes
it was all over and I was being asked to sign the final papers.  With a
sweep of my pen I simply became Tammy Faye.  No more Jim.  No more
Bakker.  I walked out of that room with conflicting feelings--sadness,
relief, but most of all, loneliness.  A loneliness such as I had never
felt in my entire life.

I was silent all the way home.  My voice wouldn't work.  I entered the
house, and it was not my house anymore.  It seemed like I had divorced
everything and everybody.  I didn't know where I belonged.  I went to
the typewriter and began to type the last letter I would ever write to
our ministry partners.  I wanted to tell them before it was released in
the news media.  I wanted them to hear the truth from me and not from
some tabloid account of what had happened between Jim and me.  It
worked!  My letter arrived in their homes just in time.  I was so
grateful for that.

People often put me down for leaving Jim while he was still in
prison.

But I feel that leaving at the time I did was the kindest thing I could
do for Jim.  How cruel it would have been for me to have waited until
he walked through those prison doors, happy and filled with great
dreams and plans for Jim and Tammy.  How cold it would have been for me
to kill him with the words "Jim, I'm not going home with you.  I want a
divorce."  How cruel it would have been for me to resist his hugs and
kisses and his need to be loved.  I could not do that to Jim.  The way
I did it, he had time to get used to being alone, time to adjust to the
fact that when he got out of prison I would not be there.  I know that
was hard for him, too, but I feel that it was less painful than waiting
until he got out.

Everyone who worked in my ministry was angry at me, and they felt I had
made the wrong decision.  So when it came time for me to pack the
household belongings, only two people wanted to help me.  I will always
be grateful to Doc and Mary Ann Phillips.  They worked night and day to
help me pack all my things and enough furniture to outfit an
apartment.

I left more than half of our possessions for Jim.  I wanted him to have
enough to put together a home for himself when he got out.  I left him
the special things I knew he loved and would hate to part with.

I will never forget walking into Jim's closet for the last time.  The
day before, I had been to a store where they had a sale on garment
bags.  I bought as many as I could afford, and went home and hung all
of Jim's clothes in them.  He had such beautiful suits, and I didn't
want anything to happen to them.  With tears streaming down my face, I
put them one at a time in the garment bags and then transferred them to
a huge box.  I marked the box JIM'S TELEVISION CLOTHES.  It was the end
of an era in my life, and the last thing I could do for Jim.  I sat
down on the floor and wept for what might have been.

Thereupon I found myself on the way to Palm Springs.  It was a small
town with a small-town atmosphere.  Don and Emma Howard, our dear
friends, still lived out there.  Years earlier the Howards had just
walked up to us in a restaurant and introduced themselves.  They asked
us if we wanted to go out and eat sometime, and before you know it, we
all became the best of friends.  Emma was a successful real estate
agent, and to this day she remains my closest confidante.  The Howards
stood by us after we lost PTL.

Using her connections, Emma had found me a little place to live that I
could afford.  I loved Palm Springs.  The sun always shone there.

Maybe it would help heal my emotional wounds.  I begged Jamie to come
with me to Palm Springs, but he was sixteen years old, and I had to
allow him to make his own decision.

"Well, there's not a whole lot I can do if you refuse to come," I said
wearily.

"I can't make you."

Jamie felt that if he came to live with me he would be taking sides
against his dad.  I understood.  The divorce was devastating for our
son.  He was absolutely furious with me.  He couldn't believe that we
were really breaking up.  It shattered the last remnants of his
security.  Nothing could ever go back to the way it had been.

I remember the way I felt when my mom and dad were yelling at each
other.  I know I somehow blamed myself.  How many times--I can't even
count--did I hide under my bed, scared to death that my parents would
separate?  So I knew something of what Jamie was going through, but he
was experiencing something far worse than I could have imagined.  After
Jim's imprisonment, Jamie fell to pieces.  Jamie could handle life as
long as his dad was with him.  But when they took his dad off to jail,
I think something snapped inside.  With the loss of Heritage USA and
now this, it was like the whole world had turned against him.  Jamie
desperately needed a male figure to confide in; but because he never
wanted to worry his dad even the slightest, Jamie always told Jim that
everything was fine, everything was just fine at school and in his
life.  The pressure on him became enormous.

All I could do was love him, feed him, clothe him, keep his room clean
for him, and pray for him.  Jamie didn't know how to deal with his pain
and his fury.  Therefore he turned to alcohol and drugs.  Every time
Jamie came back from a visit to prison he would have a terrible time
for weeks.  He would cry and cry.

"Mom, I don't want to be like this, I don't mean to make you feel sad,
but I just hurt so bad inside."

Jamie blamed everything on Jerry Falwell.

"Mom, I'm going to take a gun and kill that man!"

But I would tell him over and over, "Honey, you let God take care of
Jerry Falwell.  You have to forgive him, Jamie."  But that was hard for
a boy his age to understand.  My heart ached for my precious son.

Jamie was smoking several cigarettes a day.  I will never forget him
telling me, "Mom, I feel like my cigarette is my friend.  It gives me
courage."

I would tell him, "I know, honey, but it is a friend that will turn on
you and destroy you."  However, I never harassed Jamie about his
smoking.  I felt that he needed something to comfort him.  And at that
time he did not understand that his comfort could come from God.  Jamie
also started to drink during this time.  It started with beer.  That
seemed innocent enough.  But the beer soon turned to hard alcohol, and
before he knew it Jamie had a serious drinking problem.

"Mom, it numbs my mind.  It makes me happy even if it is just for a
little while."  Every night when he was getting ready to leave the
house for an evening with his friends, we would talk.

"I'll be fine, Mom.  I won't drink tonight, I promise."  But I knew
that he was unable to keep that promise, even though I know he tried
desperately.

"I'll be home by midnight," he would tell me as he waved good-bye.

"If I'm going to be late, I'll call you."  Jamie was always very
thoughtful and he didn't want me to worry, so I knew that he made a
special effort to phone.  I spent night after night after night praying
that God would keep Jamie safe.  I can still hear him knocking on my
bedroom door.

"I'm home, Mom," he would say.  I could finally close my eyes.

Then I found out that Jamie was having a problem that I knew nothing
about.  He was experimenting with drugs.  All his gang was doing it,
and he got caught up in the peer pressure.  I didn't know how to tell
if a child was using drugs.  I saw people on TV talking about it, but I
never thought that could happen to my son.  I never noticed anything
different about Jamie, except that he slept a lot during the day.  I
thought that was normal for a teenage boy.

I don't remember how I discovered that Jamie was having a problem.  I
think he told me.  He talked about putting a little piece of paper on
his tongue, and how it would cause you to sit for hours
hallucinating.

Then something happened during one of those times that really scared
Jamie: He could not stop hallucinating.  It would not go away.  Then he
started to have flashbacks even when he wasn't using.  He started
getting panic attacks.  He lived in constant fear of these
flashbacks.

He said to me, "I'm so scared.  I would commit suicide if I wasn't
afraid of going to hell.  Mom, I'm afraid that hell would be flashbacks
that never go away.  I need help, Mom, I need help so bad.  I want to
get my life straightened out.  I don't want to smoke anymore, I don't
want to drink anymore, and, Mom, I don't want to ever touch any kind of
drug again."

And I knew that he meant it.  But he knew he could not do it by
himself.

Then a miracle happened.  A PTL partner heard about the problems Jamie
was having.  He was a professional therapist, and his heart went out to
our family.  The phone rang one day, and the voice at the other end
said, "Tammy, this is Dr.  Jackson.  I want to help your son, Jamie.  I
have a hospital where we treat patients with alcohol and drug
addictions, but my wife, Lila, and I would like to take Jamie into our
home, free of charge, and keep him there until he is able to handle
life again."  I started to weep with gratitude.

And true to his word, he and Lila went beyond the scope of ordinary
medicine and actually took Jamie into their home.  This wonderful,
caring healer let Jamie live with him for weeks.  He gave him
medication to stop the flashbacks once and for all.  The medication
purified his body; the Lord cleansed his soul.  From that day forward,
Jamie never again went back to alcohol or drugs.  He quit smoking
altogether, totally beat the habit cold turkey.  I shall be grateful to
Dr.  Jackson and his wife for the rest of my life.

When I moved to Palm Springs, Jamie decided to live with Shirley, Jim's
secretary.  As far as I was concerned, Shirley was family.  She also
had a son, about Jamie's age, who was off in school.  Anyway, the two
of them wound up living together in a spectacular place.  One of the
partners had graciously donated it to Jim for as long as he needed.  It
was a high-rise apartment right on the beach in St.  Petersburg,
Florida.  Jamie and Shirley lived there.  God bless Shirley.  She
became Jamie's second mother, and I will always love her for that.

When Jim was released from prison, Jamie went to live with his
father.

However, it was also during this time that a despicable article came
out in one of the rag magazines.  The headlines screamed: TAM MY FAYE
DESERTS SON!  The article said that I had left Jamie to wander from
house to house like a bum with no place to go.  I almost died!  I still
cannot believe that those magazines can get by printing such atrocious
lies.  And worse yet, making people believe them.  Yes, such were the
headlines haunting me as I tried to make a new life for myself in Palm
Springs.

After my divorce, I was racked with guilt.  I felt like I could never
get married again.  What man would ever want me, given the horrible
publicity associated with my name?  But moreover, I didn't think I
could ever trust a man again.  Therefore I planned to live by myself
and give my time to my kids and be a grandma and--well, that's what it
would be.  Love and romance seemed as far away as Mars.  Then something
truly extraordinary occurred.

Roe Messner walked into my life.  Now, that was not unusual, as Roe had
been so kind to me and Jamie while Jim was in prison.  He had visited
us and taken me and Jamie and Shirley out to dinner many times.  His
wife, Ruth Ann, had even come with him on one occasion when he came to
the house in Orlando.  So seeing Roe again was no big deal.  I liked
Roe.  What I liked about him was his consistency.  He never changed.

He was always calm, always in charge, and I never once heard him raise
his voice to anyone.  He was an athletic man, and you could not help
but notice that he kept himself in great shape.  He always looked like
a man you would see in a magazine, well dressed and very handsome.  But
all we ever were was friends.

When we were at PTL, I remember, I hated to see Roe coming because it
meant that Jim was building another building.  I don't think I ever
really even spoke to Roe in all the years he was at PTL, except to say
hello when he occasionally appeared on the TV show to be interviewed by
Jim.  We never did anything socially with Roe.  In my mind, he was
simply "the man who built Heritage USA."

One day I read in a magazine that Roe was Jim's best friend and that
Jim, before he went to prison, said, "Roe, please take care of my
family."  I couldn't believe what I was reading.  I asked Jim if he had
said that, and he said no, he had never said anything like that.  I
still cannot believe how the news media can constantly get by
fabricating lies and printing them as truth.

You would have thought that Roe would be awfully upset with Jim for
what happened, but all I ever heard Roe do was defend Jim.  He never
once put Jim down for what happened to PTL or Heritage USA.  Roe stood
in Jim's defense in front of the grand jury, the news media, and
everyone he talked with.  I remember being truly impressed with Roe for
that.  To me he was a man of honor and principle.

I began to know Roe a little better during the trial, as he was a part
of everything that was happening in the courtroom.  Roe was very kind
to me and Jim and the children at that time.  I remember him writing
out a check for $25,000 to Jim's defense fund.  That touched me
deeply.

Roe also visited Jim in prison, something very few of our so-called
friends did.

Shortly after my divorce came through, my phone rang and I was
surprised to hear a familiar voice at the other end.

"Hello, Tammy, this is Roe Messner.  Would you mind if I came to see
you?"

"Sure, Roe," I replied, not really thinking too much about it.

"I

would like that."  Of course I never dreamed that one call would change
my life forever.  At the time Roe was building a church over in
Jacksonville, and he flew to Orlando see me.

When he got to the house, he asked Shirley and me if he could take us
out to dinner.

After we ate, and Roe was getting ready to go back to Jacksonville, he
shook my hand and said good-bye and gave Shirley a hug.  He didn't even
hug me!  I think he was playing it cool.

He never once gave me any hint that he was interested in me.  Of course
I thought that Roe was a happily married man, so I would have been
shocked if he'd acted any differently.  I never dreamed that for
fifteen years Roe had lived in an unhappy marriage.

I was grateful when Roe asked me if I needed any help moving to
California.  Up until that time, I'd had no idea how I was going to get
my furniture there.  Roe said that he had an extra truck and would get
a friend of his to load it and drive it to Palm Springs for me.

Roe came to visit me in Palm Springs.  It was then he told me that he
was getting a divorce, that he and his wife had been living separate
lives for years.  I was stunned!

Roe and I began to date, and he was extremely polite.  I loved that
about him.  But one night after taking me to dinner, he just grabbed me
and kissed me.  I nearly had a heart attack.  Roe could not possibly be
interested in me, I'd thought.  What man would take a chance and get
involved with Tammy Bakker?  The publicity would be more than most men
could take.  I talked to Roe about that, but from the moment we first
kissed, magic happened--and it was too late!

We realized that what was happening between us was very special,
something that only happens to most people once in a lifetime (and
that's if they're lucky!).  I don't think a man and a woman should ever
marry if that magic isn't there.  Because magic between two people is
not something you can make happen.  It's either there or it isn't.  And
it was there for Roe and me.  I could not believe that something so
wonderful could happen to me.

There was something else that meant a lot to me: I knew that I could
trust Roe.  At PTL, it was well known that he was an honest, true, good
man.  Roe never went back on his word.  He was the good earth!

Another thing I loved about Roe was his gentle, quiet nature.  He was
not a driven man.  And he believed in stopping to smell the roses every
day.

About the time we started getting serious, Roe thought it would be the
right thing to go see Jim and tell him face-to face what was going
on.

On the way he picked up Jamie, and the two of them flew to Rochester.

Roe said to him, "I want to tell Jim that I want to start dating your
mother."  But Jamie went absolutely ballistic.

"I don't want you to tell Dad that!  There's no way you're going to
tell him anything!"

"Jamie, I think it's--" "I don't care what you think!  I'm not going to
let you do that to him!"

"Jamie, I wish you'd--" But Roe could see that Jamie was really hot
under the collar.  But it wasn't him in particular Jamie objected to.

Jamie would have been furious with any man who was going out with his
mother.

"No way!  Do you hear me?  No way!"

Finally Roe said, "Okay, Jamie, I'll respect your wishes if you don't
want me to."  Although they wound up staying for two or three days,
Jamie wouldn't let Roe go over to the prison see Jim.  So Roe just
wound up camping out at the hotel, and Jamie himself told his dad about
Roe and me.

One day Roe sat down and talked to me about what had happened in his
marriage.  He cried as he told me.  My heart ached as he spoke, tears
running down his face.  I have only seen him cry one other time, and
that was when his mom died.

I have agonized about whether or not to share what Roe told me with
you.  I don't think it's nice to talk about ex husbands or ex-wives.

But Roe and I have been misjudged so much since our marriage that I
feel people need to know what really happened, and why we felt free
before God to remarry.  I have been called a home wrecker, and Roe has
been called a wife stealer.  I have talked to many of our friends about
writing this story, and every one of them has said that I should take
this opportunity to squelch the rumors once and for all--with the
truth.

I would still refuse to write about this except that Roe himself has
asked me to do so.  I would never write this without his permission.

So whether you think it's right or proper or not, at least you are
hearing the truth from us and not from some rag magazine.  I am not in
any way trying to put down Ruth Ann Messner or to hurt her in any
way.

Ruth Ann had originally filed for divorce back in January 1975.  Roe
said they had been getting ready to go out to a New Year's Eve party
when she handed him the papers.

"Roe," she said, "I want a divorce."

Roe said it was as if someone had knocked him over the head with a
two-by-four.  He couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"Ruth Ann, what in the world have I done?  What is wrong?  I don't want
a divorce.

Let's try to work this out-for the children's sake, if for nothing
else."  With that, Roe told Ruth Ann that he would move out for six
months and give it some time.

"But before I leave," he added, "we have to tell the children first."

Roe called the kids (he and Ruth Ann had four children; the oldest was
sixteen, the youngest six) to come upstairs.  He told them that he and
their mother wanted to talk to them.

"Kids," he said, "Mom wants a divorce, and Dad will be moving out
tomorrow."  That was the saddest moment of his life.  Roe didn't want
the family broken apart.

"I won't be far away," Roe said.

"And you can come and see me anytime you want to.  You stay here and
take care of Mom."

The next day, he moved into a one-bedroom apartment.

Roe and Ruth Ann did get back together, but their life was misery.

They were living under the same roof, but that was all.  Roe worked
hard, and over time he became a multimillionaire.  Ruth Ann decided
that she wanted something to do.  She loved journalism, so Roe bought
her The Wichitan magazine and KS magazine.  Ruth Ann became a very
powerful woman in Kansas.

Because of the fall of PTL, Roe had to file both personal and corporate
bankruptcy.  He lost $31 million.  Ruth Ann also signed the bankruptcy
papers.  At that time, Roe also filed for divorce.  He felt he could no
longer live with someone who didn't love him.  His heart was
breaking.

He told me that if Ruth Ann would have told him just one time that she
loved him, he would not have filed for divorce.

When Roe asked Ruth Ann for a divorce, she hired herself a lawyer named
Sheila Floodman.  Between the two of them they took everything Roe
had.

Roe was left with a bedroom suite and a few other pieces of used
furniture, and they had the very best of everything.  Ruth Ann had a
sale and sold many of the things Roe had asked for.

Ruth Ann and Sheila Floodman did some terrible things to Roe during the
two years it took to finalize the divorce.  One of the cruelest was
that they went to Kansas U.S. attorney Randy Rathbun and told him that
Roe had lied on the bankruptcy papers, and that if Ruth Ann were
granted immunity she would tell whatever the government wanted to
hear.

The next thing we knew, Roe got a call from Randy Rathbun, asking him
if he would come and appear before a grand jury to answer questions
concerning his bankruptcy.  Roe didn't even bother to contact an
attorney, as he said he had nothing to hide.

Roe was not worried as he boarded the airplane to fly to Wichita.
Kissing me good-bye, he said, "Tammy, don't worry, I'm glad to go and
get this cleared up.  I'll be home tomorrow, honey."  But I was
worried, having been through the horrible crisis of Jim going to
prison.  I knew that most of the time, truth has nothing to do with
this kind of situation.  I have absolutely no faith in our justice
system.  I know that you can have proof right in front of you, and if
they are out to get you, your proof does absolutely no good.  I was
more than worried. However, the next evening Roe got home and did not
seem at all upset; he said he had answered everything to their
satisfaction.

So I relaxed.

Then, to my horror, we were informed that Roe had been indicted.  It
was almost more than my heart could take.  Roe was stunned.  But once
again, when the time came for him to go to Wichita and have his day in
court, Roe was peaceful and full of optimism.

To make a long story short, however, he was found guilty by a panel of
jurors.

Roe's lawyer, Steve Joseph, had not allowed Roe to testify at his trial
because he was sure that Roe had already won.  To their astonishment,
they found out that Roe had lost.  Roe was sentenced to twenty-seven
months in jail.  At the time of this writing, he is free on bond.  He
and Steve Joseph are appealing the case.

If those judges do put Roe in jail, I wonder what criminal element they
will have to set free to make room for him.  Murderers?  Rapists?  They
told Roe that the prisons were so overcrowded he would have to wait
until they could find room for him in one of them.  How awful to
release men who are dangerous to society so that they can make room for
someone who has never hurt anyone, who has been a pillar of his
community for forty years!  It does not make any sense to me.

The week after Roe was convicted, Randy Rathbun resigned from his post
to run for Congress.  He had just landed the biggest fish of his
career: Tammy Faye's husband.  It seems he needed the publicity that
Roe's highprofile case provided, and he got it.  I watched him on TV,
grinning from ear to ear over Roe's conviction.  It made me sick to my
stomach.  I feel like Rathbun used Roe to climb the ladder.  I would
never vote for a man like that to be a dogcatcher, much less to help
run our country.

In any event, I don't think Roe ever officially proposed to me.  I just
remember that one day the phone rang.  It was Roe, and he was in
Wichita.

"Honey," he said, "my divorce is final.  You need to set a wedding
date."

I don't know if I was in shock or what but I told him, "Roe, I don't
know how to set a wedding date.  How do you do that?"

Roe laughed and said, "Well, honey, I think setting a wedding date has
something to do with your time of the month."  We both laughed and
decided on October 3, 1993.  I will always be thankful to God for a new
beginning and a second chance.

Our wedding was a small affair held at the clubhouse at our
subdivision.  The children weren't there.  We purposely didn't invite
them.  We didn't want his kids hurting their mom, or my kids hurting
their dad.  Jamie took my marriage pretty hard, although Tammy Sue,
being older and married herself, understood.  She handled my divorce
and remarriage wonderfully well.  Roe and I went to Hawaii on our
honeymoon.

So here we were: two hurt and lonely people starting over again, both
of us over fifty and still suffering over what we had been through,
both of us having survived some very traumatic experiences.  We were
two lucky people who had arrived at the same point in life and found
each other.  The news media crowed over and over that I had married Roe
for his money, that he was a multimillionaire.  Well, we would both
laugh so hard whenever we read that or saw it on TV.

, :: :

::: J

After I went away to Bible college and married Jim, many years passed
before I was close to Mom again.  Although I always promptly remembered
all the special times with presents and cards, I was never to be home
again on a regular basis.  For as soon as we got married, Jim and I
were constantly on the road, and the years just went by so fast.

After Jerry Falwell fired Mom from PTL, my sister Debbie Ball and her
two little boys moved in with her.  Debbie worked at the 7-Eleven, and
Mom took care of her two children.  Those darling little boys filled
some of the void in Mom's life.  My dad had stayed on with her for a
while, but their problems became worse and worse.  Eventually they
separated and he went back to International Falls.

She had some girlfriends who lived close by, and once in a while Mom
would go out to supper with them.  But most of all she loved to play
the piano and sing with her grandchildren.  I have a tape of her
teaching the little boys a song, and it is my dearest treasure.  Mom's
once neat house was now filled with toys and playpens, while the
couches and chairs were covered with throws so they would not get
soiled.  Mom was back to where she had started all over again.  She had
come full circle.

The thing I loved the most in the whole world was cuddling up on Mom's
couch and just talking and laughing with her.  We became very close
after the loss of PTL and even more so after my divorce.  Mom
understood the divorce and was very supportive of me.

Mom had high blood pressure but was keeping it under control with
medication.  In addition, she gave herself daily shots of insulin to
control her diabetes.  But you would never have known she suffered with
any of these ailments.  She never complained.  Everyone loved visiting
Rachel.  They would come away rejuvenated and encouraged.  I never
dreamed she could die.

But she did, all alone in her cute little house, sitting in her
favorite chair.  That will haunt me as long as I live-Mom dying
alone.

But it would have been far worse had the two boys she so adored been
there when it happened.  One of Mom's close friends told me that she
had been out to supper with a couple of her friends.  They said that
for a week she had been concerned about her chest fluttering.  Mom had
even gone to the doctor saying that her medicine must not be working
right.

The doctor assured her all was well, but I think Mom knew by then that
it wasn't.

Mom and her friends had had a good meal and had been laughing and
talking.  As Mom got out of the car, she said she had an upset stomach
and was going to have a glass of 7UP to see if that would settle it.

She hugged her girlfriends and said goodbye.  The next morning the
neighbors noticed that Rachel's front door was still open and it was a
chilly morning.  They called to her, but she didn't answer.  Looking in
through the locked screen door they saw Mom lying perfectly still in
her chair.  Immediately they called security, who then came and got the
door open.  But it was too late.  Mom had already gone to be with the
Lord sometime that night.  She had suffered a massive heart attack.

It was early in the morning in Palm Springs.  I had taken a friend to
the airport early and come home and climbed back into bed.  The phone
rang, waking me from a deep sleep.  I glanced over at the clock.  It
was 8:00 A.M. Wearily I picked up the phone, never realizing I was
about to receive the worst message of my life.

"Is this Tammy Faye?"

"Yes," I answered, still groggy.

"This is the county morgue.  We have some bad news for you."  I went
numb.  I started to panic.  Was it Tammy Sue?  Was it Jamie Charles?

Was it my grandsons James or Jonothan?

"Your mother is lying here in a chair dead.  What do you want us to do
with her?"

The words slowly sunk in, and I started to sob.

"I don't know, sir, what do they do with people who die?"  I couldn't
think.  I couldn't remember anything.  I couldn't even remember that
Mom lived at Heritage!  I didn't know what to do.  I was paralyzed by
grief.

"Look, we're going to take care of it," said the voice at other end,
probably realizing that I was in a state of shock.

"We're going to take her down to the local hospital.  When you're able
to focus, call us about the final arrangements.  Sorry for the news.
Bye."

I put down the phone and started to scream, "Oh God, why?  Why?  I'm
the oldest, I should know what to do--but I can't even think of
anyone's name!"

For an hour I paced the house crying, asking God to help me.  Finally
my Aunt Gin's name sprang into my head.  My mom's sister lived in
International Falls.  With trembling hands I picked up the phone and
dialed her number.  My voice was so choked up that she had a hard time
understanding what I was saying.  But in her matter-of-fact way, she
calmed me down with her presence of mind.

"First of all," she told me, "check and make sure it wasn't a trick,
some kind of a crank call."

Then she instructed me to phone Tammy Sue and have her go to the
hospital and check to make sure that it was Mom.  In my grief I had
totally forgotten that Tammy Sue lived only a couple of miles from her
grandmother.  So I did as Aunt Gin said.  Like a little child, I
followed her orders.

"Sissy, this is Mom," I sobbed into the phone.  I told Tammy Sue what
had happened and asked her to go to the hospital.  Then I sat by the
phone begging God that it was a prank call.  In a few minutes, the
phone rang.  It was Tammy Sue.  She was crying.

"Yes, Mom, it's Grandma.  But she looks good, Mom."  And then through
her tears, she added, "Mom, they put bright pink lipstick on Grandma
before they would let me in to see her."

With that we both started to laugh hysterically.  We had never seen Mom
in any kind of makeup.  I bet you anything Mom would have been laughing
too.

That bit of frivolity brought me back to life.  I was able to call my
brother, and together we made the funeral arrangements.  I would have
loved to have had Mom buried at Heritage USA, but they would not even
consider permitting that.  Not knowing what else to do, we had her body
taken by plane back to International Falls.  Mom had always been afraid
of flying.  In death she had her first trip in an airplane.

I called Roe in Wichita, and he immediately got on a plane and headed
to California to be with me.  I wandered around the house all day,
tears streaming down my face, remembering my precious little mom;

trying to hear her voice in my mind, trying to picture what had
happened.  I prayed till there were no more prayers to pray and cried
until there were no more tears to cry.

I had to get out of the house.  I was suffocating.  I got in my car and
drove to the mall and began to walk.  I walked and walked, not seeing
anything, wanting to shout at the top of my lungs, "Doesn't anybody
care?  I don't have a mom anymore!  What does a girl do without her
mom?  I want my mom!"  But finally I tired out and went back home to
find my friend Emma Howard waiting for me.

She had moved in bag and baggage to stay with me until I left for the
funeral.  Emma held me and rocked me as I sobbed and shook.  She had
lost her mom and knew what it was like.  As if I were a small child
again, she cradled me in her kindness, helping me pack and encouraging
me to at least try to eat something.  Emma was an angel.  She let me
talk and cry and cry and talk, even though I was hardly making sense.

It was the only time since I was a young girl that I didn't put any
makeup on--and I didn't care.  I didn't even try to put any on.  For
the first time in my life I didn't care how I looked or who saw me that
way.  I was a little girl again without a mother.  This was the first
time I actually felt my own mortality.  I wanted to die too.  I wanted
to go to heaven where Mom was.  I wanted to see her one last time.  I
wanted to hear her voice just once more.  God, please let me die, I
prayed.  I guess it's a good thing God does not choose to answer all of
our prayers.

Roe finally arrived, and we boarded a plane for International Falls.  I
had on a dress I had bought a few days before.  I never knew I would be
wearing it to my mother's funeral.  We drove to the funeral home that
was located right next to the church I had attended every Sunday and
every Tuesday night while growing up.  We had known Mr.  Cudmore, the
owner of the funeral home, all of our lives.  The second I got out of
the car I dashed inside.

"Mr.  Cudmore, where's my mom?"

He put his arm gently around me and said softly, "In here, honey."

Then with tears running down his face he walked away.

I tiptoed up to that casket and looked down at the woman who had
brought me into the world.  She had carried me inside her for nine
months.  She had diapered me, bathe me, fed me, comforted me, made me
laugh.  She looked as if she were just sleeping.  She was so beautiful
and looked so peaceful in her lavender turtleneck sweater.

I was glad she had on that sweater.  It was cold and rainy outside, and
she would be cozy and warm.  That reassured me.  Isn't it funny, the
things that go through your mind when you are hurting so bad?

I touched her hair, I touched her beautiful hands.  Mom had the most
beautiful hands and fingernails.  I looked at my own hands and realized
they were hers.  I have my mom's hands!  I kissed her and told her how
much I loved her and how much I was going to miss her.  My brothers and
sisters had lined her casket with little notes and pictures.  A banner
on the casket read "Going Home!"  I asked for a lock of her hair and
for her glasses.  Mr.  Cudmore saw to it that I had both before the
casket was closed.  I brought a camera and was standing there debating
whether to take pictures of her.

I needed to be able to look at her when I got home.  I felt a tap on my
shoulder, and there stood one of my former classmates, a man named
Larry.  He said, "Do what you have to do, Tammy."  So I snapped the
photos, and I am so glad I did.  For when I take them out, whether it's
in the quiet of the afternoon or late at night, they bring me peace and
contentment.  She gave me so much of what I am today.  It's
unbelievable.  I look in the mirror, and there's my mom.

On the day of the funeral everybody was there, with our family
occupying the two front pews of the church.  I sat next to Dad.  My
sister Debbie, along with her two little boys, sat directly behind
me.

All of a sudden I heard one of them, little Jakie, say, "Mom, where's
Grandma?  You said she would be here."  I lost it when I heard their
little voices.

"Please, Mom, we want to sit with Grandma."  They didn't understand
death.  I wept unashamed.

The casket was closed, and we walked down the aisle holding on to
Dad.

It was the first time in many years that all eight of us kids had been
together.  Why did we have to wait until a funeral?  We hugged one
another and cried and vowed we would get together more often and share
memories of Mom.  Then came the part I dreaded the most.  It was time
to go to the cemetery.

Outside it was cold and raining hard.  The cemetery looked so bare and
lonely.  I looked over and saw the graves of Grandma and Grandpa
Fairchild and my Uncle Rod, and then I focused my eyes on the fresh
mound of earth that would be my mother's grave.

I wanted to run screaming and throw myself on Mom's casket.  I couldn't
leave her there alone.  I wanted to join her in that cozy-looking box
lined in cream-colored satin.  I wanted to say to her all the things I
had not had a chance to say.  Then I felt a tug.  It was Roe urging me
back to the car.  I walked away not looking back.

"Good-bye, Mom.

I'll see you in heaven!"  I was clutching Mom's glasses and a lock of
her beautiful hair.

A photographer, sent by one of the tabloids, was hiding in the bushes
trying to get pictures of me in my grief.  A couple of wonderful
policemen, who were so kind to help out at the funeral, went into the
bushes and came out with a roll of film.  I will forever be grateful to
them for that.  I have not been back to International Falls since
then.

After my mom died, Debbie sent me Mom's pajamas--I told her not to wash
them.  As soon as they arrived, I held them up to my nose and hugged
them to me, trying to somehow get a smell of my mom.  I needed that
closeness with her, and I could smell her Estee Lauder perfume just
faintly on her pajamas.

I hung her pajamas on the back of my bedroom door, like I knew she used
to do.  And every time I'd go by I would reach for them, grab rolls of
the fabric in my fists, and then just clutch them to me.  The tears
would stream down my face as I would try to get another smell of Mom.

But after a few short weeks the smell was almost gone.

I remember when I first told my mom about Roe.  She was delighted.  She
said, "Honey, I always loved that Roe Messner."  She even thought we
looked "cute" together.

That's my only true regret.  Mom never lived long enough to see us
married.  But I know she wished us every happiness.

One day the Jerry Springer show called and asked me to be on.  But
Springer said they wanted to do something different than I had done on
other shows, and he asked if I had any suggestions.  I had a wonderful
suggestion.  I had always thought I would love to meet my natural
dad's-Carl L'Valley's--other kids, as they were really my brothers and
sisters too.  But I could never figure out how to do it.  There were
eight of them.

So I told them of my dream, and they loved it.  They immediately
arranged to fly as many of them who could manage it to Chicago, where
they would meet me for the very first time on TV.  Everyone came except
two of the girls and Carl himself, who was suffering from kidney
failure and had to be on a dialysis machine.  Still, it turned out to
be one of the most exciting moments of my entire life.  Since the first
moment I met them, it was as if we had always been together.  We still
keep in touch.

It was my sister Penny who called one day and said, "Tammy, if you want
to see Daddy alive, you need to fly to Minnesota as soon as you can.

He is very sick."  Part of me wanted to leave that day on the next
plane, but another part of me wished that they had not called me with
that sad news.

After a week of sleepless nights, I finally made my decision.  I chose
not to go--not even to his funeral.  Not because I didn't want to, but
because I wanted to more than anything else.  I didn't want to get to
know my real daddy, fall in love with him, and then see him die.  I
couldn't stand another loss in my life.  And I knew if I saw him, I
would love him like any girl would love her father, and I couldn't be
put through that torture.  After my mom's death, I couldn't open up
another raw spot in my heart.

Life is strange.  Sometimes you don't realize you miss somebody until
they die.  And then it's too late.  I believe so much petty bickering
could be overcome if people only realized how mortal they are.  When
someone dies, it's too late.  Following the death of Carl L'Valley, I
called to order some flowers on 1-800-FLOWERS.  And when I did, the
woman at the other end said, "Well, where did you find out about us?"
With this I started sobbing.

"Lady, listen, I'm ordering flowers for my father who just died, and
you're wanting to know where I found out about you.  I don't think
that's important, you know!"  I found myself out of control, jumping
all over the poor woman.  I was crying so hard I couldn't even order
the flowers.  When I finally was able to stop my tears, they were able
to process my order with a card that read: "Daddy, I always loved
you.

Your daughter, Tammy Faye."

Strangely enough, death is not frightening to me.  Like the Bible says,
"Death, where is your sting?"  Death is a part of life, and I'm not
afraid.  I'm probably more afraid of the way I might die.  I don't want
to suffer.  But I'm not afraid of dying itself.  After all, I want to
see my mother again real bad, so I will be excited about seeing her and
about seeing God and about seeing my Grandma Fairchild and the people I
know are waiting for me.  Today Roe and I are deeply in love and have a
wonderful marriage.  Roe understands my need to speak about the old
days once in a while.  After all, he was there too.  But he also gently
reminds me that what's past is past and that we must move on beyond the
grief of yesterday.  Roe lost over $15 million when Heritage USA went
down.

"That's over, that's done, there's nothing you can do about it," he
says.  And we move on.  That's the kind of person he is.

Roe has helped me to heal.  For the first time in so many years, under
his gentle, constant prodding, my heart has become willing to trust
again.  Things are totally different with him.  Roe is nurturing, and I
needed nurturing so bad.  He believes that you must smell the roses
every day.  Before I almost never stopped to smell the roses.  I rarely
had the chance to even notice they were there!  Every day Roe makes
sure that we take the time to stop and enjoy what the Lord has provided
for us.

"Honey," he says, "out of every day, we're going to take time to stop
and enjoy today as a day."  And that's what we do, whether it's as
simple as watching a sunset over the mountains or as complex as the two
of us trying to figure out how to make the perfect spaghetti sauce.

Every morning Roe goes out to the golf course and hits balls.  The man
is as thin as a rail, with the muscular body of a superbly conditioned
athlete, so you can see I'm fortunate in many respects.  Thanks to my
husband, today I am a lot more playful, I kid around a lot more, I take
a lot more chances.

I let myself fail, because I realize failure is no big deal.  You've
got to allow yourself to fail, because without failure there's never
any success.  Nine times out of ten, what you think is wrong with you
nobody else notices; or if they do, it's not that important to them,
because they've got their own insecurities.  You're your own worst
critic.  Even God isn't as hard on you as you are on yourself.  So let
yourself be real, let yourself be vulnerable, let yourself fall flat on
your face.

Roe is inquisitive, interested in everything and anything.  Being with
him makes me feel like a child again, picking up every single rock to
examine what's underneath.  With Roe I discovered that my creativity
was still alive.  The feeling and the sensitivity I was born with, and
which was repressed for so many years, has blossomed once more.

My husband should have been a psychologist.  He has taught me how to
shatter those self-defeating myths about myself, how to cast them
forever out of my life.  Love is the greatest healer of all.  It can
overcome any traumas.  I know that now for a fact.  Years ago I lost
everything.  But I've learned you can always regain anything you
lost.

It's just stuff.  Everywhere you look there's more stuff.  You can
replace jewelry.  You can replace cars.  You can replace houses.  The
only thing you can't replace is each other.

When Roe and I got married, he told me that if I ever wanted to go back
into television, he would be there to support me 100 percent.  And when
I said that I did want to do TV again, it came as no surprise to him.

I felt that I had something valuable to share with hurting people.  I
had been to the depths of despair and made it back.  I wanted to share
this message:

"God is who He says He is, and He will not and does not fail."

I knew TV forward and backward, and I felt as comfortable on TV as I
did in my own living room.  I loved Christian television and felt there
must be a place for me in it.  After all, we knew the entire Christian
TV world, we had helped almost all of them at one time or another with
large financial gifts, or by doing telethons, or by having them on our
TV network.  Surely someone would help me find a place to minister
again.

But I didn't know where to start, so I started by writing a long letter
to Paul and Jan Crouch of Trinity Broadcasting.  As you remember, we
helped them start Trinity many years ago.  I begged them for help.  I
have never begged anyone for anything in my whole life.

I received a call from Jan's secretary saying that she had personally
handed Jan the letter from me and had also hand-delivered a copy to
Paul.  When I did not hear back from them, I followed up with phone
calls both to their home and office.  Neither Jan nor Paul ever
answered my letter or returned my calls.  I finally gave up.

Next I called Richard Roberts, Oral's son.  I got his wife, Lindsey, on
the phone.  I will never forget Lindsey's kindness to me.  She told me
that she would talk to Oral and Richard but she was positive they
wouldn't do anything for us.  I thought of the thousands of dollars Jim
had given to their ministry when they were in financial difficulties.

I thought of how Jim had taken Richard in and had him on television
when no one else would have him, after his much publicized divorce from
his wife, Patty Roberts.

Jim built up people's trust in Richard again by supporting him on our
TV program.  The show that Richard has today is a direct result of
Jim's constant urging back then, plus the free airtime he gave Richard
to get started.  Richard show was on our network for years because Jim
bothered to care.

But Lindsey was right.  I never heard from Richard or Oral, ever!

Then I was going to try Pat Robertson.  I even went as far as to call
Pat's secretary, who was a friend of ours.  She let me know very
quickly that I was on the wrong track thinking that Pat would ever help
us in any way.  In Robertson's caste system, I was not intellectually,
socially, or financially up to the minimum standards of
acceptability.

Pat always felt that way about Jim and me and made no secret about
it.

By the way, soon after that call I found out the government was
planning to give Jim an early parole and that it was Robertson, who had
a lot of clout in Washington, who appealed to them not to release
Jim.

Pat told them he felt Jim should be made to serve out his full
sentence.

I kept trying, but to no avail.  Every ministry I called claimed they
could not help me in any way.  I felt totally discouraged.  I didn't
know what I was going to do with my life.  I knew I had so much to
share with hurting people, but no way to do it.  I didn't know where to
turn except to the Christians, and they wouldn't help me.  But Roe gave
me courage.  He told me that neither Paul Crouch, Pat Robertson, Oral
Roberts, nor Richard Roberts was my source.  He said, "Tammy, God is
your source.  You have preached that for years, honey.  Now believe
it."

"I'm trying, Roe," I said, "I really am.  But my heart is so full of
misery I don't know what to do.  Why won't somebody help me?"

A few days later I was sitting on my bed crying my heart out.

"God, what am I going to do?  No one will help me!"  Tears of dejection
streamed down my face.

Then suddenly I heard a voice in my heart say to me, "Tammy, you don't
need their help.  I can do it for you all by Myself.  Just give it to
Me and let Me do it."

Beyond a shadow of a doubt, I knew that it was God talking to my heart.
I never worried about my situation again after that day.  I just simply
put my trust in God, not people.  Because people will fail you. God
never will.  That's a fact of life.  Sure enough, two weeks later,
something unbelievable started happening for me.

Out of the clear blue the Sally Jessy Raphael show was calling, Good
Morning America was calling, and so were Tom Snyder, A Current Affair,
and John and Leeza.  I was scared to death.  Secular television!

A new world was beginning to open up for me.  As a result I met a young
man by the name of John Redman.  He was convinced that I needed my own
show and decided to go to bat for me.  He began to introduce me to
producers, one of them being Dan Weaver.

Unknown to me, Dan had watched me on PTL for years and had been a fan
of my daily show, Tammy's House Party.  Dan liked the format of that
program and discussed doing something similar.  He began to speak to
the executives at the Fox network about me and just wouldn't give up.

One day he called very excited and said, "Tammy, one of our executives
in charge of new programming would like to speak to you.  Can you come
in?"

Before I knew it, Roe and I were in Los Angeles getting ready to drive
over to the Fox studios to meet with Dan Weaver.  We were going to
discuss producing a new talk variety show.  My heart was about to
explode.  God really could do it by Himself.  Roe's words came back to
me: "Tammy, God is your source."

Dan Weaver was waiting for us at the building entrance and ushered us
up to the office of Brian Graden, who was in charge of new show
contracts.  The moment I walked into his office was the first time I
could really admit to myself that something might actually happen.  And
it did!  As I signed my name to a seven-year contract with the Fox
Television Network, a prayer of thanksgiving went from my heart to God:
"Thank you, God, for taking such good care of me."  A dream had just
come true.

Originally, Dan wanted me to do the show by myself.  But I was gun-shy,
not having been on television for so many years.  The thought of doing
it all by myself was more than my mind could comprehend.  So I asked
Dan if he could get together a group of potential co hosts for me.  He
did, and it was during those interviews that I met Jim J. Bullock. Now,
the other nine interviews I conducted were calm, and I had actually
made up my mind, even before I met Jim, on a young black man I had felt
comfortable with and with whom I felt I could work well.  But the
minute Jim J. and I met, it was like an explosion of magic. Everyone
felt it!

I guess "explosion" is the key word in describing him.  Jim J. seemed
to be everywhere at once.  He was funny and crazy and full of boundless
energy.  We were in the middle of talking about something and he jumped
up and ran-no, I should say bounded--off the set.  I was worn out by
the time the interview was over.  Later, when I talked to Dan Weaver
about it, I said, "I really like Jim J."  but I don't know if I can
work with all that energy day after day.  He wore me out."  But Dan,
too, had felt the magic between us, and felt that magic would be
contagious to a TV audience.

One of the first things Jim J. said to me when we met was "Tammy, I'm
gay.  Do you find that offensive?  I know that you're a Christian."

This was my answer: "Jim J."  when I look at people, I do not see gay
or straight; all I see is the person.  And I see a person that God
loves, and that His son Jesus died on the cross for.  So who am I to
judge?  I do not judge anyone anymore.  I have been misjudged so many
times--by people who either didn't understand or didn't want to
understand the things that happened in my life.  I know how it hurts to
be judged.  I don't want to be a courtroom.  I want to be a
hospital."

Jim J. Bullock was hired, and we were on our way.  Dan decided that the
program would be called The Jim J. and Tammy Faye Show.  He laughed and
proclaimed that now Jim and Tammy were back together again.  They even
used that phrase in some of the subsequent advertising.  I didn't
mind.

We began to do test shows practice shows, as we called them.  We worked
for many months perfecting them.  But early on we all realized that we
saw the show a little differently.  I saw it as a clean, all-American
show.  Jim J. saw it more like Saturday Night Live, with lots of comedy
and energy, and a bit risque.  I think that Dan saw it somewhere in the
middle.  However, I told Dan that I would not do anything to compromise
my Christian testimony.  I was first a Christian and only second a
talk-show host.  He agreed.

Finally, we started our on-the-air programming.  The fan mail was
pouring in, and Jim and I were on top of the world.  We had a great
staff of people working with us.  We became family and really cared
about each other.

Then something exciting happened.  We heard that we were going to
NATPE, the annual convention of producers and distributors of TV shows,
where new shows are bought and sold.  The time came to go.  Our
wardrobe lady handed us our clothes (all color-coordinated, so that we
wouldn't clash).  Off we went to Las Vegas, where we were given a
beautiful suite at Caesars Palace.

The convention proved to be a great success for our show.  Hundreds of
people came by our beautiful booth.  One of them was Rosie O'Donnell,
whom I'd always wanted to meet.  She told us that she loved our show
and thought it had great potential and that she wanted to be a guest
sometime.  We were thrilled!  Rosie's name and picture were pasted all
over Vegas, and we couldn't believe that she would take the time to
come and see us.  In fact, she surprised me by saying that she watched
the PTL show.  She knew the entire theme song and then sang it to me.
Even I had forgotten the words, but Rosie remembered.

It was one exciting thing after another.  Good Morning America asked
Jim and me to do a chat with them concerning the convention.  When it
was time to leave, we were exhausted, but we were certainly happy that
things had gone so great.

When we got back to L.A."  there were numerous messages on our
answering machine.  One of them was from David Letterman's show, asking
me to be a guest.  I accepted, even though I was scared to death.
However, David was very kind to me and it turned out well.  Then the
Phil Donahue show asked Jim J. and me to appear.  We were receiving
unbelievable publicity, and our show was getting an excellent response
everywhere they were showing it.

I will never forget that wonderful time in my life.  Jim J. and I did
sixty fun-filled shows together.

Then, terribly, I found out that I had cancer of the colon and would
have to leave the show.  I had been bleeding for a year.  When I
started doing the TV show, the bleeding got worse.  I would not go to a
man doctor and waited until I could find a woman.  By then it was too
late.  That day I received the medical news will always be clear in my
memory.  Our house has three bedrooms: one for us, one for guests, and
one that my husband has made into a special closet for me.  I was
nervously working in that closet, waiting for the phone to ring.  When
it did, I nearly jumped out of my skin.  Roe, in the other room,
answered it with his usual soft hello.  Then there was complete
silence.  I ran out of the closet to him.  Roe was sitting at his desk,
quietly listening.

"Honey," I said, "is it the doctor?"

He nodded his head yes.

"I don't have cancer, do I?"

With that, a look of sadness passed over my husband's face.  I knew the
answer before he even answered me.

"Yes, you have cancer, Tammy.  Here, honey, take the phone.  The doctor
wants to talk to you."

I put the phone to my ear and heard her say, "Tammy, I have some bad
news for you.  Your tests came back positive.  You have a large tumor,
and it is cancerous."  I talked with her calmly, making arrangements
for the next steps I had to take.  Roe sat there, listening to our
conversation.  I knew he was preparing himself for the storm that must
surely be coming when I hung up the phone: the crying, the denial, the
"Why me?"

I hung up the phone as he threw his arms around me, tears in his
eyes.

"Oh, honey," he said.

"I am so sorry.  It's going to be all right, Tammy, it's going to be
all right."

My very first words to him were "Well, God is the God of cancer too.

He was the God of cancer yesterday when I thought things were fine.  He
is still the God of cancer today.  He hasn't changed just because I
have it."  There were no tears, no saying "Why me?"  There was only a
deep peace that I felt going all over me.  I never felt even the first
tinge of fear.

Roe and I sat and quietly discussed what we must do next.

"Do you think I should call Jamie and Tammy Sue?"  I wondered.

"I don't want to worry them.  I don't think I'll let them know until
it's all over."

With that, Roe handed me the phone.

"You must call them, honey.  It wouldn't be fair to them if you
didn't."  For the first time, fear struck my heart.  How would my kids
react?  Hadn't they been through enough?  How much more could they
take?  Would Jamie freak out?  I was most worried about him.  I knew
that Tammy Sue was tough like me, but Jamie was a worrier.  He takes
everything so hard.  He was in Atlanta, at school, and I just didn't
want to upset him.  But Roe insisted and took the phone and dialed the
number.

"Hi, Jay," he said, "this is Roe.  Your mom wants to talk to you."  He
handed me the phone.

"Mom, what's wrong" Jamie asked.  I could hear the fear in his voice.

"Now, honey," I said, "it's nothing to worry about.  I'm not worried
and I am not afraid."

"Okay, Mom, but what is it?"

"Jamie, I went to the doctor, and I have colon cancer.  They're going
to operate on me.  They said that if I was going to get cancer, colon
cancer is the easiest to cure."  I could hear Jamie breathing hard.

"Jamie," I added, "now is the time we have to put our trust in God."

"Yes, Mom, I know," he said.

Then, to my horror, I started to cry.

"Please, Mom, don't cry.  I'll get all the people here to pray for you,
Mom."

I quickly regained my control and made a joke of some kind and we said
good-bye and hung up.  Jamie handled it much better than I ever thought
possible.  I was grateful to God.  Jamie and I are real pals.  We were
together by ourselves for such a long time while Jim was in prison and
Jamie was the man of the house, taking care of Mom.

Next it was time to call Tammy Sue.  She took the news calmly, but she
firmly stated that she was going to come to California and spend a
couple of weeks with me.  She arrived March fifth, and my operation was
March sixth.  The night before the operation, we stayed up talking and
laughing, and by the time we got to bed it was nearly 5:00 A.M. and
time to get up.

My best girlfriend, Debra Keener, came all the way from Los Angeles
with a limousine and a driver so that I could be driven to the hospital
in style.  She has always been there for me.  Roe, Tammy Sue, Debra, my
next-door neighbor Sigrid, Vi Azvedo, Emma, and many of the people from
our church gathered in the hospital waiting room to pray for me during
my surgery.  I was never afraid.  As they put the IV tube in my arm,
the nurse and I were laughing and talking, and I don't even remember
going to sleep.

I do recall waking up and seeing the dear faces of my husband, my
daughter, and my best friends, all smiling at me and telling me that
everything went fine and that they had gotten all the cancer and that
Doctor Michael Last had been able to reattach my colon.  I did not need
a colostomy, thanks to the skill of that wonderful surgeon.  That is
what the fear is with colon cancer, that you will have to be attached
to a bag the rest of your life.  I will always be grateful to God for
that, as that would have been very hard for me to face.

Thanks to Dr.  Marvin Brooks, I was given a beautiful two-room suite at
the Eisenhower Hospital.  That made it possible for Tammy Sue, Roe, or
Sigrid to stay with me at night.  I don't know who was responsible for
allowing me to leave my makeup and eyelashes on during surgery.

Whoever it was probably felt it wouldn't matter, that my head and my
you-know-what were a long ways away from each other.

The next few days were pain-filled as I recovered and the nine-inch
incision in my tummy began to heal.  But it was a time filled with
love, flowers, and lots of presents.  Both of my hospital rooms were
filled with flowers.  Everyone said it was like walking into a huge
flower garden.  Two life-size teddy bears and dozens of other gifts
filled every corner of the room, and get-well cards were arriving from
people all over the country.  I will always be grateful to the
marvelous people who stood with me and showed me they cared about me.

My daughter stayed with me for three weeks.  It was a very special time
for us.  We became not only mother and daughter but best friends.  It
was worth getting cancer to be able to spend three weeks with my
daughter.

As of this writing I am still debating on whether or not to go through
chemotherapy and radiation.  My doctors have strongly advised me to do
both.  It is a very difficult decision to make.  Half the people you
talk to and half the books you read say that chemo is a killer to the
immune system, that you should never do it.  The other half say exactly
the opposite: that you must do it if you want to be a cancer
survivor.

I am praying that I will make the decision that is right for my body.

I never dreamed I would have cancer.  I always thought cancer is
something that happens to someone else.  I have always been so healthy
and so full of energy.  Cancer showed me that I am not invincible, that
I need to take better care of myself, and that the things that happen
to other people can happen to me.  It makes you feel very vulnerable.

But with all the pain and disappointment, other positive things began
to happen as well.  I was contacted to do an infomercial, and guess
what they wanted me to talk about?  How I made it through all the
things that had happened in my life.  I was going to get a chance to
help hurting people.  And to put the frosting on the cake, they paid
for me to make a new singing album to be sold as part of the
infomercial.

But God did not stop there.  Villard Books has made it possible for me
to write this book.  And recently I signed a contract with a wig
company called Hair Art  The Tammy Faye Wig Collection will be out by
the time you read this.  Plus, I have also been offered a part in a
sitcom that I am thinking about.

The other day I was sitting in a restaurant and I saw a young man with
a T-shirt that read DON'T

EVER, EVER, EVER,

EVER GIVE UP.  I'm so glad that I didn't.

Roe and I have a wonderful marriage.  Even with the troubles we have
had to face, our relationship is filled with love, peace, and much
joy.

We allow each other room to be who we are.  We are two separate people,
not appendages of each other.  We respect each other in every way.  We
have been married now for three years, and Roe still opens the car door
for me.  He never forgets to be a gentleman.  That is rare among men in
this day and age.  He makes me feel special, every day.  We always make
time for each other.  And when I forget, he gently reminds me to slow
down and smell the roses.

We laugh a lot.

He was raised to always turn the lights out when you leave a room.  I
love light, so I turn all the lights on, and he follows me around
turning them all off.

He loves quiet.  I love noise, and I always have a TV blaring away in
one or maybe two rooms of the house.

He loves health food and vitamins.  I am a junk-food junkie!

Roe loves to golf; I think golf is a little slow.  I love to shop.  So
he golfs while I shop.  Now, that works!

He thinks a man can live the rest of his life if he owns one good suit,
four or five pairs of slacks, a few golf shirts, and a pair of shoes.

I'm always sneaking something into his wardrobe.  He has two small
hanging rods full of clothes.  I have an entire small bedroom full of
clothes, plus all the spare closets in the house.  He just looks at all
my stuff and laughs.  One of his favorite lines when he walks into my
closet is "Honey, aren't you running short on shoes?"

The secret to our happy marriage is, first of all, that we love each
other, that we have magic, and that we both love God.  He is first in
our lives.  Second, we don't take life too seriously.  We have learned
to laugh at our problems.  Third, we are always there for each other,
no matter what.  We hug and kiss all the time, and it doesn't always
have to lead to sex.  I think that is important in a marriage.  A wife
doesn't want to feel pressured every time she gets a hug or a kiss from
her husband.  That has ruined many marriages.  We accept each other
just the way we are, and we don't try to change each other.

We still flirt with each other and say "I love you" several times a
day.  We share housework and cooking.  And we both give.  I found out
that when you give, you get back much more than you have given to your
mate.  We have a marvelous marriage.  I thank God for second chances.

People ask me what my feelings are when I see people who have
disappointed or hurt me.  Am I still angry at them?  The answer is
no.

Being angry is a choice.  I have chosen to forgive and move on with my
life.  People ask me if I ever still think about the past.  Of course I
do!  Life would be so much easier if God had provided our brains with
an ERASE button.  Whenever thoughts of yesterday come, I think of the
story about the bird.

"You cannot stop a bird from flying over your head, but you need not
let it build a nest in your hair."

Then what do I think about Jerry Falwell today, you may ask.  God
demands that we forgive, and for many years now I have been working on
forgiving Jerry.  I feel in my heart that I have.  You may say, Well,
if you've forgiven him, then why are you writing those things about him
in this book?  That is a good question, and I will answer it for you. I
believe that truth is truth.  What happened happened and is now
history.  I just want history to be told correctly for my children's
sake and for the sake of my grandchildren and generations to come.

They may read many different accounts of what happened, but they will
know that Mom, or Grandma, did not lie.  You believe what you want to
believe.  For some people I could write my heart out all day, and they
still wouldn't believe what I say.

One thing I have learned in life is that some questions have no
answers.  I have learned to quit looking for those answers and get on
with my life.  Remember that yesterday is gone.  There is nothing we
can do to change yesterday.  We must live today fully, as today is all
we have.  It is called the "present" because it is a gift from God to
us.  Of course we must plan for tomorrow, but we must not worry about
tomorrow because it may not come.  Not one of us has a guarantee that
tomorrow will come.  I have learned to live for today, and I trust God
with all my tomorrows.

Recently, Blair Byoura, our next-door neighbor in Charlotte, died in a
plane crash.  It was a terribly sad time for all of us.  Jim Bakker was
asked to preach Blair's funeral, and Jamie was asked to be one of the
pallbearers.  After the funeral service, caught in the throes of
reminiscing, Jim decided that all the old gang, he and Blair's wife,
Judy, and her two boys, Darin and Ryan, plus Jamie and Tammy Sue,
should all go back to Tega Cay, where our houses were in the PTL days,
for one last look at the past.

Blair and Judy's place was still sitting there, but our former house
had burned down and was just a huge black hole in the ground surrounded
by the beautiful trees and the lake.  Tammy Sue and Jamie could still
see the outline of where their bedrooms used to be.  They saw where the
kitchen was and remembered all the wonderful times we had there, Mom
making fudge and Dad doing his beer battered shrimp.  It was a time for
memories.  The tree house was still there, but seemed much smaller to
the kids than it had been so many years before.  How did four of us
ever sleep in there?

Then they all walked back to where the garage used to be.  There in the
cement you could still see the outlines of several pairs of hands.  The
words written in the cement next to those handprints said "We are all
going out to eat at the fish camp tonight."  Everyone started to cry.

After getting back to Judy Byoura's house, Jim told her, "I would like
to buy the property and rebuild the house."

But Judy's response was quick and to the point.  She looked him
straight in the eye.

"No, Jim.  You can't bring back what's all over now."

Jim, if you're reading this, here's my advice: Get on with your life,
and don't worry what people think.  Hold your head up high.  Both Roe
and I want to see you make it again.  Continue to preach the gospel of
Jesus Christ, and let the chips fall where they may.  Those who know
know, and those who don't know we're never going to convince anyway. So
don't waste your time trying to prove your innocence.  You're the
father of my children, the man who changed my life, and more than
anything I want you to succeed.

I hope everything you touch prospers and that you can finally find the
happiness you deserve.

Today Tammy Sue is preaching around the country.  She's singing, and
she's with her dad as of this writing.  Jim recently preached and Tammy
Sue sang at the big Azusa Street conference in front of thousands of
people there.  And so they're doing that together, which I just think
is so wonderful--like mother, like daughter!  I feel God has been good
to me.  Tammy Sue's two little boys, James and Jonothan, are
delightful.  James looks just like his grandpa.

My son, Jamie Charles, now better known as Jay, is busy learning how to
be a youth minister and is doing quite well.  He is totally free of
cigarettes, alcohol, and drugs.  There's not very much any young person
could tell Jamie that he doesn't already know.  As a result of that, he
can really be an incredible help to teenagers trying to straighten out
their lives.  Jay is strong and tall, a very good-looking boy indeed.

Yes, thanks to my children, my grandchildren, my wonderful marriage,
and all the people who have shown me their support through the years, I
truly believe in miracles.  Of course, if you had led my life and were
still around to write about it, you'd believe in miracles too.