Play with Fire

chapter Twenty

GO TO YOUTUBE. Type “church burnings” in the search box, then click on the little magnifying glass icon.

On the first page (of the more than thirteen thousand results), scroll down. About halfway along the page, you’ll find a clip labeled “Decatur, AL Church Burning.” Click on it, and this is what you’ll see:

A high-tech graphic reading “News Alert” appears on the screen, then disappears in a flurry of animated motion to reveal a pretty blonde with long, straight hair seated at a news desk. In the same shot, to the left of her face, is a graphic reading “Developing Story.”

The blonde points her good looks at the camera and says, with no trace whatsoever of a Southern accent, “Good Evening. At this hour, a fire is raging at the Sacred Word Baptist Church in Decatur. Randall Carlson, from News Channel 43’s Decatur Newsroom is at the scene. Randall?”

Cut to a well-dressed black man in his late twenties, who is looking squarely at the camera, a grim expression on his round face. He holds a microphone with a clearly visible “WAFE News 43” logo on it and he is standing just in front of a line of yellow police tape. Behind him is a scene of chaos – flames, flashing lights of several colors, and men, some in yellow slickers and others in uniforms, running about and shouting. As the young man begins to speak, a graphic reading “Randall Carlson – Decatur Bureau” briefly appears at the bottom of the screen.

“Sharon, I’m here at the scene of the immense fire which seems destined to destroy the Sacred Word Baptist Church, which has been a popular center of worship in Decatur for over forty years.” Unlike the anchor, his accent suggests that he has lived in the south at some point in his past.

Pre-recorded video now fills the screen with images of the fire, which is about to engulf the church steeple, and the cross atop it, in hungry flames. The reporter’s voice can be heard off-screen.

“Witnesses say the fire broke out somewhere between eleven thirty and midnight, and that the fire spread so quickly, much of the building was aflame when the first fire trucks arrived, although they, of course, responded very quickly.

The video of the burning steeple fades out and is replaced by another prerecorded segment, which shows the reporter interviewing a local resident.

“Can I have your name, please?” He pushes the microphone toward the face of a woman in her sixties, stopping about an inch from her ample chin. She wears tightly-permed white hair, a print dress, and horn-rimmed glasses.

“Mary Rose Carteret,” she says, clearly nervous to be on television.

“And you were a member of the congregation here at Sacred Word Baptist?”

“Oh, yes. For over thirty years. I never missed a Sunday service, except for that time when I had the flu.”

With the tact and sensitivity of journalists everywhere, the reporter asks her, “And how did you feel when you saw the church in flames?”

The woman seems at a loss for words at first, but then manages to get out, “Terrible, just terrible. How could God allow something like this to happen?”

Cut to the reporter, live again in front of the yellow tape. He says, “I’m here with Captain Travis McNeal, head of the Decatur Department of Public Safety.” The camera operator adjusts for a two-shot that includes a tall heavy man with a red face and a blue uniform. Unlike the men and women under his command, it is clear from his clean face and clothing that Captain McNeal has been nowhere near the fire tonight. When he answers questions, he looks at the camera, not the reporter. Captain McNeal has done this before.

“Captain,” the reporter says, “What kind of progress is your department making in controlling this immense blaze?”

“We have evacuated all houses in this block, and the block behind it, for the safety of the residents.” The Captain’s accent shows that he, at least, is a local boy, born and bred. “The roof of one house briefly caught fire, but an alert hose team extinguished it quickly. Unfortunately, there isn’t much we can do for the church building itself.”

“So you would say that the church itself is a total loss,” the reporter suggests.

“Unfortunately, yes. Fire response units arrived very quickly, once the fire was called in. But, as you said, the building was fully engulfed by the time they arrived.”

“Do you suspect arson as a cause of this blaze, Captain?”

McNeal thinks about this for a moment before responding, his voice careful and deliberate. “The fact that the blaze spread so quickly is suspicious to my way of thinking, but that’s just an opinion. The State Fire Bureau’s people will investigate, once it is safe for them to enter the scene. They will make a determination as to cause.”

“One last question, Captain. Have you spoken to–” the reporter consults his note “–Reverend Puddy, the pastor of Sacred Word?”

“I haven’t seen him so far. I assume he is among the... onlookers.” The chief says the last word the way Sitting Bull probably said, “Custer.” “I expect I’ll be speaking with him before the night is over.”

“Thank you, Captain McNeal.” The camera moves to center the reporter in the shot again. “There you have it, Gail. A beautiful church, beloved by many in Decatur’s Baptist community, has been destroyed by this blaze, its exact cause unknown. From Decatur, this is Randall Carlson reporting.”

The blonde at the anchor desk reappears on the screen. “A terrible fire, down there in Decatur. News Channel 43 will of course, continue to bring you details as they emerge. I’m Gail Chandler, coming to you from Huntsville. Now back to ‘Pee Wee’s Big Adventure.’”