Preaching to the Grand Old Choir

Looking Backward: Pepperdine University 1995

 
One of the least memorable things (and one that I still remember) that I did in high school was to meet with the recruiter from Pepperdine University. I could have treated him like the recruiter from the United Fruit Company we met at the University of Washington in 1969. Since the revolution was just around the corner at the time, we felt he’d be safer off the campus, where we therefore escorted him, en masse. Instead I took the collegian seriously as a representative of a legitimate institution. Why did I meet him? Because he was there. And I was a dumb slacker. Anyway, I finally did make it to Pepperdine, last Monday morning at 10, as I’d been accidentally hired as the convocation speaker for the week. Convocation, for those who went to non (or un) Christian colleges, means mandatory attendance for the whole student body and faculty to share a prayer and an inspirational speaker, or a folksinger, inspirational or not.

The student body and faculty add up to about 2500 – 80% Republican, 20% Church of Christ, a variety of other Christians, and a smattering of Jews who are there “because it’s Malibu.” And so it is, perched on a hill right over the ocean, which is almost enough to make you accept Christ. If I’m lyin’, throw me to the Christians. Which they did. Right after “Each day is a day to do good works and worship You [not me], and today we should take the opportunity to take to heart the words of our guest speaker.”

I immediately advised them that maybe they shouldn’t take my words too close to heart because I had been brought there (in fact) to lighten their load after a series of serious speakers, and that I would try to keep it light by confining my remarks and ditties to politics, religion, and sex, which seemed to please them in some peculiar non-denominational way.

At this point I was reminded of the time I opened for the Princeton Chamber Orchestra on New Year’s Eve, for about a thousand Princetonians, and threw them a test line, something about South Africa which I was sure they would all applaud, and they didn’t, so I macro’d out the rest of the politics from the set with the search-and-replace God gave me. This time, though, they bit. I proceeded through a number of remarks on Unitarians, political correctness, Clinton, International Women’s Day, technology, rap music, and the Church of Christ, being careful to balance potentially educational (frightening) remarks with omnidirectional (harmless) humor. I relieved the tedium with a few songs, including one on recycling with several possible interpretations, and laboriously selected medley of parodies from my singing CIA agent friend, a less labored medley of my favorite songs (those that have been sold for commercials), and finally a token serious tune, about unemployment.

Having requisitioned and actually read several issues of the school paper, I knew that the most popular group on campus was the Greeks (frats/sorors), and that the main thing everyone agreed on was that gays are uncool. In fact every time I mentioned gays there was sudden and complete silence. But I learned something from this: when tension has been introduced in a gathering, almost any subsequent remark will cause laughter. (I know: why didn’t I know that from the previous 15 years of touring?) Or possibly all my gay jokes are brilliant. Anyway, they really seemed to like the idea that it’s harder to be gay than black because if you’re black you don’t have to tell your mother. I could swear I saw several white students lean over and ask their black friends if that was true. And that someone really ought to introduce John Schlafly and Candace Gingrich because they had so much in common. Whenever a line didn’t work so well or made them too nervous for nervous laughter, I backtracked, saying “OK, let’s go back to religion.” That always seemed to reassure them.

I had been advised in writing that I should present a family show, and I complied by telling about my grandpa who, I had them half-convinced, tried to convert from Judaism to Catholicism on his deathbed, saying “If somebody’s gotta die, it might as well be one of them,” and adding “It is in that spirit of interdenominational unity that I come to you this morning.” Talk about taking the (grand)father’s name in vain. After explaining to them that Jesus was only Jewish on his mother’s side, I beat a strategic retreat, asserting that I only watch the Playboy channel for the articles.

The president of the school shook my hand and thanked me warmly, hoping to see me again. One student offered to set me up at a similar school in Alaska. Maybe the ringer is broken on my phone. I’m still here, folks. With the patience of Job.