October 1975. At the conclusion of a seven-day workshop at Rush River Lodge near Luray, VA, and with a push from my spiritual mother I approached the center director to ask if I could join the Church and move into the Center. I was a little scared because I wasn’t sure if there was enough room, and perhaps he would think me too bold. When I asked his permission, a sort of blank look descended on his face. At that point, John had been a member for about three years, but later he told me that no one had ever asked to move into a center. He was cool about it and said he had to speak with the IW (Mrs. Fumiko Seino). I figured maybe he had to check the registration book and make sure there were enough beds.
When I joined, I felt like I had answered a U.S. Army recruiting poster: "See the world. Be challenged. Make the world safer for (fill in the blank)." But what I found were a lot of idealistic young people. The brothers all seemed to wear mismatched socks, and the sisters seemed to be strictly interested in things non-physical. I remember at the workshop we stood in a circle and were told to hold hands, but the sister next to me wouldn’t let me hold her hand. I had a beard and was scruffy so I figured I wasn’t too attractive.
I had been in the Peace Corps and knew the value and meaning of idealism and volunteerism. I thought that if I did a tour of service with this "religious peace corps," then I would’ve done my share for humankind and could get on with life.
About two months later, a sister asked how I was. I told her that things were OK but that I was thinking of getting an apartment and perhaps just visiting the Center a few times a week. I explained to her that being a member was very important, but that in my case, I could do far more for humanity on my own then being part of an organized movement.
I didn’t realize how Heavenly Father was working behind the scenes, because by 7 p.m. I was on a train to New York for a 21-day workshop! Louise had called Fumiko Seino and told her what I’d said. Fumiko-san went into emergency mode and set everything in motion. However, she had no details about the workshop. She just gave me some money and said, "Bill-san, very important, go to 4 West 43rd street in New York and ask for Keiko." (Anybody know how many Japanese sisters there are named Keiko?)
At about 10 p.m. that same day, I rang the doorbell at headquarters in New York and said I wanted to attend the 21-day workshop. They looked at me like I was crazy. No one believed my story. They all thought I was a nut case or, perhaps worse, a journalist. I called Fumiko-san and explained my predicament. She made some more calls and found out the workshop was not in New York but in Connecticut.
They wouldn’t let me stay at headquarters, so I spent the night trying to sleep behind a trash bin in an alley and wandering around midtown Manhattan. The next morning, I took a bus to New Haven. Again the same reaction. No one just happens to come to a workshop. It was unheard of and suspicious. Finally, they checked out my story and let me attend.
I have many wonderful memories of those next 21 days -- teaching, street preaching, fundraising, witnessing -- but my best memory was one Sunday evening when Jim returned from Belvedere. While we gathered around, he surprised us all by turning on a tape recorder. It was True Mother singing. Until that point, I had not seen or heard the True Parents speak. That night, hearing her sing on a little one-inch speaker, I felt like I did when Neil Armstrong walked on the moon. I had goose bumps. I had to cry. I couldn’t believe how beautiful her voice sounded.
But I’ll never forget those sisters, especially Fumiko-san. They saved me. I would have left the movement on a mere whim. I would have lost out on everything, eternal life, my wife, our daughter. I would be dead. God bless them for caring enough for me and taking action.
From 40 Years in America, pp. 180-81.