Chapter Forty
God and I first really spoke to one another when I was 14 at military school. Actually, I did all the talking but He was right there listening.
And he never said shut up.
Taps had just sounded and I was lying awake in my bunk. We spoke about my not having a father, about how lonely I was, how I wanted things to be right in the world, how I hated military school with all its "kill the enemy" training, and God knows what else.
Literally.
Our talk lasted maybe 15 or 20 minutes and at the end of it I came away feeling soothed, assuaged, comforted and, of all things, spiritually adopted.
More like I adopted God...as my father.
There's no Jesus complex here. I just felt if I was going to have a Father, I wanted it to be God. No mysticism. No mumbo jumbo. No walking on water.
Just a kid and his dad.
It was also then that I felt I was now a minister, somehow ordained. And that my mission was to do good works.
Well, I didn't know what the feelings meant as far as being a minister and doing good works and I didn't have any desire to stand up in front of an audience and preach.
I didn't know how.
And, more importantly, I didn't know the bible. The basic stories, yes; but the whole thing, not a chance.
But the seed was planted.
And it grew.
Later, in 1970 San Francisco, I sent in $5 and my name and address and received "religion" in a plain brown wrapper.
I again became an ordained minister, this time of the Universal Life Church.
Hundreds of thousands of individuals have done the same thing and many have taken the ordination to heart and tried to live in accordance with the church's tenet of "doing what's right".
Simply do what's right.
Can't argue with that.
A year later I applied for a church charter and started the First Church of the Universal Prophet in Dallas in 1971.
I performed several marriages, including my own with Jeanette. I felt very comfortable with being a "man of God".
In my mind, however, I wouldn't abandon the original episode of prayer and ordination at Allen Academy.
I was already a minister. But, now, was I "legal" with it? There was a conflict there.
Where did the church/state legality thing come in?
Isn't God the higher authority?
I certainly thought so.
So, carry both credentials: one, of the Star of God Church (my church) and one with the Universal Life seal.The former is the result of my chat with God. And it reflects my belief there is yet to be another “Star” that will appear that will be the harbinger of a major change or event.
The “symbol” of the church is the eight pointed asterisk, The Asteriscus, as I call it.
I believe, now, that I am ordained to preach through the arts: the roles I portray are such as may touch and heal and encourage an audience. Through my character portrayals I can bring an audience to see new paths of enlightenment. Give them insight into their lives and help them.
This is the charge of all artists through their work.
I believe laughter to be God’s favorite prayer and strengthening for the soul.
Tears are the cleansing prayer. A soul that's cleansed is a freer and lighter soul.
That is part of my mission: to touch the souls of the people around me.
I do not claim the job of saving the soul.
Another part of my ministry came to light while publishing Claxon magazine in the early 70s. I was inspired to hold a free Thanksgiving dinner in Lee Park in Dallas to feed people who had nowhere else to go that day.
I talked the idea over with my staff, including my good friend George Toomer, and most thought it was a bad idea. We didn't have any money to produce the event and it wouldn't look good for the magazine to pull off something half heartedly, they thought.
The idea sort of died from lack of interest.
Nonetheless, I mailed out press releases to the Dallas Morning News and the Dallas Times Herald in October telling of the event, but nothing happened.
Until the week before Thanksgiving.
The Times Herald called and wanted to know how plans were coming along for the feed.
They wanted pictures and sent a reporter/photographer out to interview me.
The next day the headline above the picture read: "Good Dave Needs Bread" and the story asked interested individuals to contribute food and utensils to the first Giant Thanksgiving SuperFeast.
The Claxon staff suddenly kicked into overdrive. A Baptist minister donated $100 and local soda pop companies donated their drinks. Frito Lay came through with chips and a bakery made us a good deal on day old bread.
On Thanksgiving Day Toomer organized a sandwich-making contingent that was up bright and early assembling over 750 sandwiches from the turkey rolls and bread we bought with the minister's money.
The day was a huge success and made all the papers and newscasts. My nickname and an institution were born.
A few months later I ran for Mayor. I used the “Good Dave” tag in my campaign and it qualified to be on the official ballot.
When November rolled around again, Claxon had long been laid to rest after only four issues. Its last, the Christmas issue with the semi-nude Chastity Fox on the cover, had come out before the end of 1970.
People were asking me if we were going to do the SuperFeast again and I didn't know.
Two weeks before Thanksgiving I got "the call": Do it.
I knew it would come to pass and I alerted the media.
The presses rolled again and the story came out that Good Dave was sponsoring his SuperFeast again and if anyone wanted to donate turkeys, or canned veggies, or utensils or their services they would be greatly appreciated.
We never asked for money.
Things were going slowly the first few days after the newspaper stories. A few folks had called in to donate pies and cookies and cranberry sauce and peripheral items...but no main course: no turkey.
And then the miracle.
The phone rang. I answered and a woman identified herself. She said she had just made arrangements with Fisher’s Food Store to provide to me, at no charge, 50 frozen turkeys averaging 25 pounds each!
She wanted to know if I could I get them cooked.
I told her I'd cook them holding a match under them if need be and she said we could pick them up any time we wanted with the sole proviso that she remain anonymous.
I agreed.
Fisher's is an old Dallas grocery store. It's located at the edge of Highland Park, about a mile from Lee Park, and caters to the rich, and famous, living in the high rises and palatial mansions of the area.
I phoned them the next day and made arrangements to "borrow" 10 of the frozen birds for a news story.
Both print and electronic media came to Lee Park and photographed me, surrounded by frozen birds, for a story asking for help in cooking them for the SuperFeast.
It couldn't have come at a better time. The coverage gave new momentum to the SuperFeast and folks began calling with all sorts of donations.
Phil Miller, of Phil's Delicatessen, told me
he could cook 31 of the birds in his bread ovens. He said bring them by a few days before so they could thaw and then we could pick them up Thanksgiving morning.
I went before the Dallas City Council and asked that Thanksgiving Day be proclaimed "Dallas Family Togetherness Day" in honor of the Family of humankind.
It passed easily with only one council member voting against the designation saying he didn't believe Dallas needed a hippie to tell them the meaning of Thanksgiving.
A letter to the editor of the Times Herald supported the lone holdout: "This glorious love-feast in Lee Park is only a means to feed the pot-heads, long¬hair runaways, and teen-age parasites and give nourishment to those most contemptuous of America and least of all appreciative for Thanksgiving Day. I dare say this event was never intended for straights, rednecks or those poor clods who work and pay taxes, nor for the average Dallas family that might want to sup with the derelicts of Big D!"
Had the writer read the articles he'd most likely have seen this in the very same paper: "To dine on the turkey, dressing, cranberry sauce and pumpkin pie, 'You must need a place to spend Thanksgiving Day,' said Moeller. ‘SuperFeast is for those who can't afford to buy Thanksgiving dinner or would have no one to eat it with if they could afford it’."
We never checked bank accounts. Everyone was welcome.
The day started out chilly and we set the serving lines up inside the pavilion in Lee park to keep the hot food from cooling in the brisk breeze.
By the end of the day we had fed well over 1,500 people, doubling the number of the year before.
I had set out a notebook and asked our guests to add a little greeting to the woman who had provided the turkeys. It was filled at the end of the day.
I took the notebook and other memorabilia from the day to her residence hotel and asked to come up to her apartment to present the package to her. She kindly sent word that she would prefer to remain anonymous and asked that I leave the items with the concierge.
The cliché you can't see the forest for the trees is true. Years later I suddenly snapped as to who my anonymous donor had been. I'll take her name with me to the grave, but she was very instrumental and influential in my life. She had seen things in me no one else did and she believed in me.
An ironic side-bar: Toomer drew a humorous poster for the 2nd SuperFeast featuring a grandmotherly woman gaily strewing turkeys here and there as she danced along.
I’d never told anyone who our benfactor had been. But George had, unknowingly, drawn an uncanny likeness of her in his poster!
Travel and life came between me and the SuperFeasts until I landed at KOKE radio in Austin.
The Monday before Thanksgiving I was told by God, again, to "Do it!"
I was on the air and I just started talking about it. I neglected, as was my way, to ask management’s permission. I just did.
And it pissed them off, royally.
For three days the preparation of the SuperFeast unfolded live on the air. I asked for the donations to be phoned in. I made calls to find a location to have the event and I put it all on the air.
We didn't have a place to hold it until the day before Thanksgiving when I pressured the Austin Parks & Recreation Department into letting me use the outdoor Hillside Theater stage at Zilker Park as the serving area.
There was a slight glitch, though. It had been cold and drizzly all week. Rain is not a comforting atmosphere in which to hold a picnic, and the stage was not covered: it was, after all, an outdoor theatre.
I kept telling people who asked; and I made it quite clear over the airwaves that, come Thanksgiving Day, the clouds would open up and it’d be the most beautiful, sunny, warm and perfect day anyone could imagine.
I didn’t convince too many.
We used the radio station’s parking lot as a staging area and it was still drizzly when we met early in the morning the day of the SuperFeast. I told everyone not to worry. The clouds would part and it would be lovely.
They grumbled pessimistically.
We got to the park, unloaded and started setting up. Almost from the instant we arrived the drizzle stopped.
By the time the crowds started arriving a couple of hours later, the skies had begun to clear and by the time we were serving the sun was out and its warmth had dried the grass and made for a perfect afternoon in the park.
We served around 500 people that day and considered it a huge success.
When we were through serving and had finished cleaning up the park the skies slammed shut again and it rained cats and dogs for at least two solid hours.
The radio station, its attitude toward me notwithstanding, continued the tradition the year after firing me but called it "Turkey Fest II". They only did it again that once. It's not as easy as it appears.
Lesson: Trust the quiet, little voice inside.
A letter to the editor of the Austin American-Statesman after the event said "I was so glad to hear of the success of the Superfeast. I attended those fun free feasts in Lee Park in Dallas back in 1970 and 1971 with several hundred strangers. The camaraderie was something I'll never forget. I am truly thankful for those memories and the free food when I needed it. May they continue."
While living in New York I thought to do it there. What a deal! Thanksgiving Dinner in Central Park! Free to all who came.
I called the N.Y.Times, and the local outlets for ABC, CBS, and NBC. Only NBC followed up and sounded interested in the idea. In talking with their reporter I realized what an undertaking it would be to organize such an event in New York in three days. She (I've lost her name) explained that the permits alone would cost thousands of dollars to acquire, not to mention the logistics of toilet facilities, security, medical back-up, etc.
I said we'd never needed any of that in the past and she reminded me that when something like this takes place in New York the numbers weren't in the hundreds or even thousands; they were in the hundreds of thousands!
I spent Thanksgiving Day watching a bit of the Macy's Parade and eating lunch at Sam’s Bar in Hell’s Kitchen. I had a turkey leg. It was marvelously delicious!
Back in Dallas I got the call again in 1982. By this time I knew what the format was. It would take 11 days from the time the article appeared in the papers to acquire everything necessary to provide for the occasion.
But it had to appear on a Sunday.
I called the press and explained the situation and they agreed to help.
The first article asking for donations and reminding readers of the previous SuperFeasts appeared two Sundays before Thanksgiving, as planned. They listed my home phone for donations.
Then all I had to do was sit back and wait for the phone to ring. And ring it did.
Once in awhile someone would call and say they wanted to give us a turkey but they were going to be out of town and couldn't cook it.
No problem. Whenever that happened I answered the next caller’s question of "What do you need?" with "Can you cook a turkey?" If they didn't want to cook we'd go on to finding whatever they wanted to do for the SuperFeast.
When someone said they could cook the bird I took their number, told them the donor would call them and they could work out the logistics between themselves.
I kept a running total of everything and made sure I didn't have any uncooked birds hanging around out there.
Nothing was overlooked.
Some people wanted to give money. I knew from the three previous events that cash wasn't a major necessity.
Of course sometimes we might have to pay for something out of pocket like ice or more condiments or coffee or something, but almost everything down to the napkins and plates were donated buy individuals and businesses.
I told those people that, if they just had to give money, to not give a lot and that we would spend it on
needed items or distribute any unspent funds to the neediest of folks that came.
The SuperFeast was not an organization. It wasn't a business. It wasn't tax exempt. It wasn't sponsored by any government or commercial organization. It was just my mission to provide a meal, donated by the community, for anyone who needed a place to go that day, regardless of their ability to pay for it. I made that crystal clear to everyone who was involved.
It was overcast and cool when the day arrived in 1982, but the air was dry and stayed that way.
Instead of holding the SuperFeast in Dallas' Lee Park as the original two had been, I decided to move it to the symbolic "heart" of the city: City Hall.
The internationally acclaimed architect I.M. Pei had built a marvelously futuristic structure for the city with a giant outward sloping facade that seemed to defy gravity in its immensity. The courtyard in front of it was cold grey concrete and was the only "negative" aspect of the place.
I made a mental note that if I ever did it in Dallas again it would be back at Lee Park with its warm lush green grass, surrounding shrubbery and welcoming trees.
All told, we served dinners to over 2,500 folks ranging from the down and out to a young enlisted man in the army who'd been hitchhiking on his way home in another state and heard about the event on the radio. The driver dropped him off at City Hall so he could join us.
Unlike many large "picnic" events, the volunteers that worked on the SuperFeasts prided themselves in always cleaning up the area after the last person had been served.
We never left anything that would in any way create a negative feeling toward the SuperFeast.
We always got good coverage in the press but I didn't expect one article that appeared two weeks later in The Dallas Morning News.
The headline read: "Tass 'exposes' poverty in Texas, land of wealth".
The dateline was Moscow!
Quoting the article "...it is claimed that one can bump into a millionaire in the streets of town in Texas. But, alas, Jeane Hurtley (sic) from Dallas cannot believe that."
It went on: "She had reason for hope when a local TV station aired a brief segment on her when she went to City Hall to get a free Thanksgiving meal. She thought maybe if someone knew about her, they would help her. She got help - most of it in the form of dog food. 'If I could learn to like dog food, I guess I'd be alright', she said."
Tass, Russia’s official news agency, was reporting on a homeless woman who had, indeed, come to the SuperFeast but she was reluctant to eat anything. She had a little dog with her and the two of them looked to be on their last legs.
The facts of the matter are that she was pointed out to me several times and it was obvious from her demeanor she had suffered greatly in her life -both physically and, obviously, mentally.
I asked one of our volunteers to make up a plate of food for her. She took the heaping plate to Ms. Heartley (her actual name) who vigorously refused it several times but, with gentle encouragement, finally accepted and ate heartily.
I then pointed her out to the news people covering the SuperFeast and they in turn did the story on her plight.
She was living in a cardboard box, it was learned, and had painful circulation problems in her legs that prevented her from walking any great distances. All her worldly belongings were in the shopping basket she slowly pushed ahead of her.
As a result of the publicity, the office workers of the City’s Human Resources office took up a collection amongst themselves, as individuals, and rented her a comfortable and warm motel room for a month. They had enough left over for a case of dog food for her pup, Squirt.
In what may have been an attempt to chide Texas and Texans, Tass picked up the story and, inadvertently, told Russia about The SuperFeast and the kindness that lies in the hearts of people everywhere.
"D" MAGAZINE, in its annual "Best Of" awards cited the "Wednesday noon self-serve frankfurter feed at Willies Lounge" as the best "Free Lunch".
The editors then also cited The Thanksgiving SuperFeast with an "Even Better” designation, adding: "Dallasites donate turkeys and all the trimmings. J.David Moeller has organized this feast for any and all interested parties..."
This event took place while I was going with Linda, before I moved to Houston.
Things were a little different there. The first year I organized the SuperFeast I had to cut the Parks & Recreation Department in on the co¬-sponsorship of it.
I wasn't crazy about linking with a government agency but since I was the new kid on the block I opted to comply.
It was held in Houston’s beautiful Herman Park and we fed over 3,000.
The second year I moved it to City Hall. Parks and Rec, although not co-sponsors anymore, allowed their offices to be used as a drop off for donations.
We doubled our service count that year.
In all the years we never had any trouble at any SuperFeast.
We never wasted any food and we never ran out with people still in line.
We always had a back-up in case there were left-overs: a mission kitchen or the like would receive the bones and carcasses for soup stock and food banks received any unopened canned goods and bread, or it was distributed to those needy at the event.
By the time the third Houston SuperFeast came around there was some opposition to using the city hall as the location. I argued high and low about how perfect it was for just such an event.
It was, of course, the symbolic “heart of the city".
But it took going before the city commission for final approval.
Thanks to the support of Commissioner Ben Reyes we were allowed back.
During the SuperFeast some servers would come up to me and "complain" that people were coming through the line twice.
"So?" I'd ask.
"Well, what if there isn't enough?" they'd say.
"There will be. We've never run out of food. We might run out of creamed spinach or sticky buns, but we always have something to serve them", I reassured.
Sometimes a volunteer would come and "complain" that someone wanted extra helpings of something.
"So? Give it to them. Give them whatever they want," I'd tell them. "If you were at your Grandmother's house and you wanted an extra helping of pie or potatoes, she'd give it to you wouldn't she? It's no different here. Everybody gets whatever they want. Don't worry. There's plenty to go around."
And there always was.
As I said we always had a back-up. Her name was Beulah Sledge and she was an assistant to Houston’s State Representative Ron Wilson, in Austin.
We'd always save her some turkey and trimmings to take to the "hard core" needy: the severely poor and the disabled who couldn't make it to the SuperFeasts. She'd be out till late at night delivering food to these forgotten citizens and deserves a major credit for her efforts.
The third year in Houston (1986) it rained, very lightly, off and on but it didn't keep the crowds away. We set up under the massive shelter provided by the overhanging structure of the new Houston Library directly across the street from the City Hall.
A volunteer came up to me and asked what to do if someone wanted a "doggie bag"?
I told him we regularly make up plates for people to take back to their friends who are often too shy or embarrassed to come down themselves.
We knew some of it was for the persons requesting it, but it didn't matter. We knew the food wasn't going to be wasted. I told him to go through the line with the person and give as much of everything they wanted.
It's really easy to lapse into an institutional frame of mind: an us/them point of view.
With the SuperFeasts its all "us". There is no "them".
It's exactly the same as if we were at our own homes. You ask for something. You get it. There are no rules, other than common courtesy. Everyone's equal from Uncle Al to the triplets from Des Moines...or whomever. Treat everyone as a favorite member of the family and you've got the Thanksgiving SuperFeast philosophy down pat.
People were amazed at how simple it is, and I could see the immediate relaxation that overcame their demeanor with the realization that this wasn't like anything they'd ever seen before in their lives.
A reporter for one of the network news teams wanted to shoot some tape of me "working".
"Don't you do anything out here?" she asked a bit superciliously.
I laughed, looked around and said “Well, I did this”.
But they wanted footage, so I donned a chef's hat, grabbed a carving knife and sliced turkey with the pros.
The intermittent drizzle stopped around 1 pm and the day turned out pretty nicely, after all.
One of the marching bands in the Foley’s Thanksgiving Parade marched through the square and gave a musical salute to our diners.
We offered them food and drink but they declined. We thanked them for the respect they showed our guests and for the gift of their talent in entertaining them.
After everything was packed up and the area was cleaned I was driving home down the holiday-quiet freeway.
The sky was completely over cast and I was enjoying looking at the textures the clouds were busy making when all of a sudden they winked at me!
I was looking at one particular spot in front of me when the clouds, literally, opened and closed quickly allowing the sun to peek out from behind them: a wink!
I smiled and said "Thanks, God."
Lesson: He always has a way of telling you you've done well.
The fourth year in Houston was very difficult, politically. Ben Reyes had to come to our aid again and got official approval from the city commission to hold the event at City Hall.
The trouble this year was that Shell Oil had just donated the new lawn in front of the building and they didn't want anyone trampling the new growth.
We promised we'd rope the area off and make sure no one got on the grass.
But we didn't bother to rope the area off. I didn't feel we needed to. We just asked folks to stay off the grass and they did. No problem.
It was our biggest year, too. We fed well over 15,000 people.
There's one story that illustrates the magic of the SuperFeast and the hand that God played in them.
Thanksgiving Eve, that third year in Houston, I received a call from a woman who said she wanted to come down but couldn't. Could she send her niece to get some food to bring back for both of them?
I told her I'd make up a couple of big plates for them personally. I explained that her niece should come to City Hall and just ask anyone to point me out and I'd be honored to oblige.
I kept my eye out for the youngster the whole day; but she either never found me, or was served by someone else.
When I got home from the SuperFeast that night, I was exhausted. It wasn't three minutes before the phone rang.
I answered.
"I'm hunnnnggry", came the most plaintive cry I'd ever heard. It was the woman from the night before.
"My niece couldn't find you. She came down, but she got lost and didn't get any food", she explained.
I apologized to her and said not to worry. I got her address and told her to sit tight. Food was on the way!
I called Beulah Sledge at home. She was still out serving her constituents but her husband said he'd relay the message to her.
I hung up hoping she'd get it in time.
A soak in a tub full of hot water eased the aching muscles the day always brought.
I never eat at the SuperFeasts so I made myself a ham sandwich and settled down for some lazy TV watching.
Around 8pm the phone rang again.
"I want you to know I've just had the best sweet potato pie I've ever had in my life, Mr. Moeller. Beaulah just brought me and my niece Thanksgiving Dinner and we haven't had anything this nice in a long time. God Bless you sir."
"God Bless you, too. I'm glad we could help. Have a Happy Thanksgiving!" I wished her.
"Thanks to you, Mr. Moeller, we did."
Lesson: Do what you believe in and believe in what you do.
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