Freddie Kissoon Saturday, June 3 2006

The whole of Trinidad was talking about these two American evangelists who held their enormous congregations spellbound with their breathtaking miracles. Night after night, endless curious crowds flocked the savannahs to witness the impossible. Every night they left poorer while the organisers left richer. Suddenly, it came like tsunamis — ultimatums from the prime minister ordering the faith-healers to leave the country within 24 hours.

That was in early 1975. The then prime minister of Trinidad and Tobago, Dr Eric Williams went for the jugular in declaring personae non grata Brother Max Solbrekken operating at Queen’s Park Savannah in Port-of-Spain and his partner Rev Tyrell strutting his stuff at the Tacarigua Savannah.

They were to leave only with what they came with and were forbidden to carry any money collected during their faith-healing crusades. They departed, never to return.

It was reported that every night, Rev Tyrell left the holy ground with his car trunk ram-crammed with large paper bags stuffed with money.

Apart from his magic touch that could heal every conceivable disease instantaneously, each night he brought with him thousands of tiny ladies’ handkerchiefs on which he had placed his hands and prayed.

When a handkerchief was put on any painful part of the body, immediately that pain would dissolve and disappear into thin air. Kerchiefs were sold for the giveaway price of only $20 each.

I did not have the pleasure of seeing Rev Tyrell in action but three times a week, Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays after workshops and rehearsals with The Strolling Players, I would park the “yellow submarine” by the savannah, and join the crowd to take in the theatrics of Brother Solbrekken curing the psychosomatic sufferers who could really cure themselves.

Thoughts of the deported Brother haunted me night and day until I had to purge it from my system. Aristotle might have called that the catharsis process. In my imagination, the ideas were wildfires.

Brother Max Solbrekken changed to “Rev Tex Soulmender” who had “the power to actually mend souls.” Tex was really a Trini salesman who lost his job and decided to go into the “faith-healing business” pretending to be an American preacher with the accent to boot. The name of the play — The Miracle Man came to me before the first line was even written and it was premiered at the City Hall in November 1975.

“I love you all. I love you all so very much... Yes... people one and all I love you. Can you feel my love coming across to you touching your souls? ...Can you feel my love? ...I love you real strong... Can you feel my love reaching out to you? Put your hands up and let me know... Yes, that’s better. Put your hands up if you can feel my love reaching out to you. Clap your hands... loud and clear... I love you all so very much. So very very very much... Thank you brothers and sisters in the Lord Jesus Christ.”

Those were the first words spoken by my character Rev Tex Soulmender. Actually, the similarity to the way Solbrekken started his sermons, is deliberate but what follows is completely different.

“This book I have in my hands is the Holy Bible. If it were not for this book, I would have been a dead man in an unnamed grave back in Texas in the United States. This Bible saved my life. (Kisses the book). I love this book. I will give my life for this book. Yes, I was hooked on drugs from the time I was going to High School in Dallas. I went through the whole list of drugs from marijuana, heroin, cocaine, speed, LSD, crack...You just name the drug I have taken it. There was a time when I had more holes in my arms than I had pores.

“My parents bailed me out of jail more times than they can count. I was only nineteen yet I had committed every sin in the book and even invented a few of my own. I thought of myself as a beast in human form. I was so fed up with my life and its emptiness...its purposelessness...that I decided to end it all. I decided to kill myself.

“I walked the lonely and desolate streets of Dallas in Texas looking up at the dark skies searching for the right skyscraper from which to take my death leap and bring an end to this sordid life. Then I saw the right one and as I moved from the sidewalk to enter the building I tripped and fell. Some object had hindered my movements. When I looked I saw this old battered Bible. I sat on the kerb and I opened the good book and the very first words I saw were, “Go into the world and preach to all nations.”

And so his speech goes on for 44 more lines. Then he made the blind see, a cripple walk and cast out devils from the possessed. Later on, it was revealed that all those who were cured were all paid to perform their acts.

“All those in need of healing, please come to the stage.” That was the invitation Soulmender threw out to the audience. The three actors who have played the title role over the years — Eddison Lopez, Vincent James and John Victor, have asked me what should they do if someone who is not in the play, should come up to the stage to be healed. My answer has always been, “Well, try your best to heal him.”

Once in a garage, a priest said, “I hope you don’t charge too much to fix my car. I’m a poor preacher.” The mechanic replied, “I know, I heard you last Sunday.”