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Backstage with "Bob"; is the Church of the SubGenius the ultimate cult? - J.R. 'Bob' Dobbs

Whole Earth Review,  Autumn, 1986  by Jay Kinney

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Drummond, who had prior experience in the public relations field and was a graduate of est, apparently saw much potential in the tiny Church and rapidly worked his way to a position of power second only to Dobbs himself. In league with Stang, who was now No. 3 in the cult, Drummond introduced the use of "BOB"'s face on Church flyers and instituted a policy of heavy new-member recruitment. Public meetings in Dallas were publicized and began to draw sizeable crowds. Branches of the Church (called "clenches" in SubGenius parlance) spread to Little Rock and Austin. And perhaps most innovative of all, Drummond and Stang pushed for a policy of clench autonomy, both theologically and organizationally. As SubGenii proliferated, so did the gods and demons in the SubGenii pantheon. What had started as a monotheistic neo-UFO cult in the 1950s had transmogrified into a polytheistic grab-bag in the 1980s.

One indication of the new regime instituted by Drummond was the extensive use of false Church names in place of members' real names. Though Stang and Drummond's names were authentic enough, most post-1979 Sub Genii took assumed names as part of their initiation into the cult. Janor Hypercleats and Sterno Keckhaver (both from Little Rock), Tentatively A. Convenience (of Baltimore), Pastor Buck Naked (of Dallas), Puzzling Evidence (of Oakland), Lies (of San Francisco), St. Byron Werner (of L.A.) -- all sported transparently ridiculous monickers. This, in combination with the policy of making every cult-member a de facto minister, brought a surreal air of unreality to Church proceedings with Popes, Saints, and Reverends all competing for positions of power over each other. It also brought the Church to the attention of the FBI and IRS who were concerned that a new outbreak of mail-order ordinations, all claiming tax-exempt status, might lend further momentum to the growing ranks of the tax-revolt.

The SubGenius Devival is still going strong as the clock at the Stone hits midnight. Pastor Buck Naked has come and gone with his auto-harp songs about electrical devices embedded in his brain. Rev. Ivan Stang has stirred up the crowd with a ritual demonstration of Time Control consisting of sledge-hammering to smithereens the wristwatch of a trusting volunteer from the audience. Janor and Sterno have "Launched the Head." The Band That Dare Not Speak Its Name, a local aggregation of anti-musicians, has gotten the faithful to their feet with stinging anti-songs about "BOB." And now the evening is reaching a frenzied climax with the arrival of Rev. Meyer, "the Pope of All New York."

As a dry-ice mist rises from the stage, Meyer, accompanied by two armed bodyguards, stalks out to the podium and delievers a bellowing tirade against "pinks," MTV, Yuppies, personalized license plates, and "the Conspiracy." Meyer possesses an uncanny and disquieting charisma that local commentators have likened to that of the late Rev. Jim JoneS. Back on his own ground in New York he has filled the trendy Danceteria to overflowing with several public SubGenius rallies. But here in San Francisco, a few doors down from Carol Doda's topless act at the Condor and across the street from the fourth generation mohawks at the Mabuhay Gardens, Meyer is just another late night act. Or so it seems to Meyer, who cuts his speech back to a mere twenty minutes and stalks off stage abruptly to a final explosion of applause, cheers, and weary table-thumping. The Devival is devolving and will shortly taper off into canned DEVO music and dancing.