I guess the reverend’s urgent hollering had gotten his message across, as had the signs he’d posted all over town that proclaimed he would be “wrestling with the devil on Wednesday night—our children are worth the fight.” A record player and speakers had been set up at the front of the church, and at long last Reverend Blessett—flush-faced and sweating in a white suit and a rose-colored shirt—strode out onto the podium with the offending 45 rpm disc of black vinyl in one hand? I don't know, debonair but menacing.