Newspaper Article

Financial problems Stalk Pastor's Life From Calif. to Missouri to Concordville Pa
By Arthur Howe (Pulitzer Prize winning journalist)
The News Journal 1/23/79

The News-Journal Co. series was compiled from more than 60 interviews with state, federal and local authorities, businessmen, clergy and associates of Frederick Drummond across the country.

Drummond denied the charges as "a lot of nonsense." Then he issued an eight-point "proclamation" denouncing his accusers. He has refused to say more.
Yet, over the years, Drummond has left an indelible stamp on the minds of 'businessmen and creditors who came to the aid of the smooth-talking preacher.

For instance, executives at the Bank of Springfield (Mo.), where Drummond headed a small Baptist church are still wondering how in 1975 Drummond talked them into a $50,000 loan -- and left them with no assurance of ever getting it back.

"I'm sure a lot of people thought we were dumb to make the loan," said Henry Chalfant, a former senior vice president and cashier. "We were sold by this guy and it took us a while to realize what we were into."

Drummond told the bankers the $50,000 was needed to pay back dozens of local contractors and building supply houses who helped him build a "school" next to his former Galilean Baptist Church.

Originally, Drummond had requested, a construction loan of $600,000. But despite his prayers, cajoling, intimidation-and eventual threats -the bank refused.

"He started by telling me that his congregation was going on a 24-hour prayer vigil so I would make the loan," recalls Charles Lear, a former lean officer. "Then he told me he was going to fast until we made the loan. In the end, he inferred that the church had begun praying that something bad would happen to me personally if I didn't make the loan."

Former church members recall their feisty pastor instructed them from the pulpit to "pray for the loan officer's death."

Strapped for cash, Drummond turned to the local business community which extended the small church hundreds of thousands in credit for materials. Later that spring, the men of the Galilean church donated their spare time and built a modern, two-story building complete with wood paneling, air conditioning and wall-to-wall carpeting. The building was intended to serve as a training ground for ministers, missionaries and students of Drummond's self-styled, cult-like religion.

There were also sufficient 'materials for the congregation to completely renovate the interior of Drummond's home, former church members say.

A year later, though, most of the creditors were still waiting for their money.

The 250 members of the Galilean Baptist Church were also struggling to make payments on a $75,000 mortgage held by the Bank of Springfield for the construction of a sanctuary. Eventually the church could not even meet the monthly interest payments on its huge debt.

Drummond appealed to his disciples for more money. Former church members say they surrendered their property, savings accounts and logic.

"People gave their life savings," said a farmer church accountant. "They came in and put $2,000 or $3,000 on my desk. But with monthly payments of $12,000 to $15,000 soon we couldn't pay any more because everyone had given all they could."

But some resorted to more drastic means to ward off bankruptcy. An electrical contractor in the church took out a personal loan and gathered his life savings of $19,000 to give. Some surrendered their life and health insurance policies. Others sold their cars and remortgaged their homes.

Drummond, meanwhile, began referring to the increasingly irate creditors as "slobs" and "creeps" and refused to deal with them.

But by now the church was being hounded by the Internal Revenue Service for a back payment of $18,000 in payroll taxes on the salaries of staff and teachers.

Once again, Drummond turned to his parishioners. He exhorted them to donate their possessions for a giant church auction.

"It was incredible" recalls Mike Blackerby, a former church member and close associate of Drummond's. "People brought out their life-long possessions, their silver, crystal and china. They literally sold their kitchen dinettes. Some families sold all the furniture they owned. I sold a brand-new television, typewriter, tools and all my theology books."

Then came the $50,000 loan.

The bank was convinced to make the loan after Drummond said he would obtain promissory notes from the congregation for the full amount.

But the loan, bank officers say, was essentially unsecured. "What we were doing was counting on the moral credit of the congregation," said Chalfant.

Almost everyone signed, Chalfant said, and began making payments, "Most of them pledged about $1,000 over three or four years. Drummond kind of scared people into doing it. We found some of the notes signed by children in the congregation."

For those who didn't sign, Drummond simply forged their signatures, several former church members say.
"But, the problem was, he [Drummond] was doing the collection and we [the bank] were not getting paid," Chalfant said. "We did get some money but then we had to foreclose on the property."