Ray Werner is a playwright and former advertising writer and director living in Point Breeze.
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In the spring of 1993, Billy Graham and his spirit-driven soul-savers descended upon Pittsburgh. It would be Billy’s 286th Crusade. In more than 150 countries. On six continents. I hoped we hadn’t done something to deserve it. Some special sin. Or maybe he had just forgotten about us, as most of the world had, until then.
My ad agency was just 7 years old and, with the extraordinary help of wonderfully talented writers and art directors, we had earned a stellar reputation. So, when the phone rang that morning, I wasn’t really surprised. It was Tom Smith, my old boss at Ketchum and a good friend, who was on the Billy Graham Pittsburgh Crusade Committee. The committee needed creative marketing help.
“Ray,” he said, “how about being our volunteer ad agency for this Crusade?”
I was flattered but hesitated. We were just too busy to take it on, I said, to his regret. In truth, being a staunch Catholic, I couldn’t see putting some hefty creative resources into helping Billy lure borderline Catholics over to his side of the spiritual fence. I wanted to keep them on our side.
Tom was disappointed and put up a good argument, but it couldn’t penetrate my Catholic armor. Two weeks later, Tom called again and said, “C’mon, Ray. This is right up your alley. Your folks would do a great job for us. Just say yes.”
To be fair to Tom, I said I’d think about it and get back to him. As soon as I hung up, I called my friend Father Ron Lengwin, communications director for the Pittsburgh Catholic Diocese. He said, “Ray, I’m going to be there.”
“You are?”
“Sure. And I’ll have some other priests with me. When those people who are moved by Billy come out of the stands at Three Rivers Stadium to talk to someone, looking for some kind words, some reconciliation, I want to make sure there are some priests with all those ministers and rabbis.”
That was enough for me. So I asked my partner, John Chepelsky, one of God’s gifts to copywriters, if he wanted us to take this on.
“Ray. Billy Graham is one of my mother’s favorites. She loves him. Let’s do it.”
So we took it on and did our best. We handed the assignment to Cathy Bowen, one of the best copywriters Pittsburgh has ever seen, and Brian Bronaugh, a rising-star art director.
Billy Graham and his team loved the ads. They won several creative advertising awards and, for the next few years, we adapted them for the Billy Graham Crusades in Columbus, Cleveland and Minneapolis. Re-looking at the ads, they still work. In fact, they may have more meaning today than they did 25 years ago.
The Pittsburgh Crusade was held on a beautiful day in June, and we were invited to sit on the platform with about a hundred other people, just behind Billy Graham, as he addressed the 30,000-plus crowd. Half of Three Rivers was filled with all kinds, all colors, all shapes, all ages, all faiths. Even no faiths.
The choir, the music, the gospel songs revved us up and the anticipation was heart-pounding. Billy was introduced and, when the roar of the crowd dimmed and he began, you could hear your own breath. He may have talked for an hour or so, I don’t know, but it seemed like 10 or 15 minutes. He had us.
Billy was about 20 yards to my right, on the 50-yard line. At the end of his sermon, his trademark was that he asked anyone who wanted to come forward and give themselves to Jesus to do it now. He was waiting, along with a few hundred ministers, priests and rabbis.
People slowly began coming out of the crowd onto the field, toward Billy. No. Wait. Toward me. Oh, my goodness. They’re coming toward me. They are.
First a few dozen, then a few hundred, and then, four or five thousand. As they came forward, I was close enough to look right into their faces. Some were crying. Some were barely holding back tears. Each person had found something that was lost. Redemption? Glory? Spiritual renewal? Perhaps. To me, it was the look of forgiveness. To be forgiven for whatever it was that had brought them to Three Rivers Stadium that sunny afternoon.
The faces of the forgiven. I can see them now.
First Published: March 6, 2018, 5:00 a.m.