Billy Graham in Paris

As Billy Graham arrived in Paris to begin a five-day evangelical crusade, a phalanx of welcomers broke through a line of gendarmes at the railway station, shouting "Beelee! Beelee! Beelee!" "Bee-lee? Who is this Beelee?" asked a harassed official. Said a bystander in surprise: "Why, monsieur, do you not know Beelee Graham, the American clairvoyant?" Thanks to a wave of advance publicity and hundreds of portrait posters pasted throughout Paris and the provinces, most Frenchmen thought they knew who Billy was. The fact that few precisely understood his religious role or the meaning of his evangelistic crusade did not prevent them from according him a hysterical, slightly disoriented acclaim that surprised no ons more than the handsome evangelist.

Bearded Bear Hug. Billy said he would be content to draw 3,000 listeners in fun-loving, nominally Roman Catholic Paris. At his first public meeting, some 9,000 people flocked into the huge Velodrome d'Hiver (capacity: 20,000) to hear him. Standing beneath a giant Scoreboard, Billy exhorted them, in short, hard-hitting sentences, to "repent, receive Jesus Christ through faith, and surrender and commit everything to Jesus Christ." After each sentence, he waited while U.S.-educated French Baptist Minister Jacques Blocher translated his words into French at the same speed and with the same intonation and gestures.

A defect in the public-address system caused a buzzing that made it difficult to hear parts of Billy's sermon. But when he called for "decisions for Christ," 623 Frenchmen--young and old, shabby and well-dressed--shuffled down the aisle while a mixed choir of 500 sang softly and Billy waited with folded arms.

When it was all over, Billy was mobbed by well-wishers, many of them sobbing and chanting "Jesus, mon Dieu." A black-bearded Protestant preacher got him in a bear hug and kissed him on both cheeks. (Said Billy later: "His beard tickled. Anyhow, he hadn't eaten any garlic.") Billy hardly seemed to believe his senses. "This has been the most astounding night of my ministry," he said, mopping his brow. "I saw more sincerity in the eyes of those who came forward tonight than I have ever seen before." Leaky Roof. Most French newspapers praised Billy's sincerity but were unwilling to take him seriously. France-Soir termed him "Heaven's publicity man," roguishly claimed that the audience had "understood neither his sermon in English nor the translation . . . The messenger of Christ . . . has given himself five days to convert Paris. He has four left to fix his microphones." Paris Presse said Billy was "as well organized as a businessman, as diplomatic as a Jesuit and apparently as pacific as a field of wheat." Only the Communist daily L'Humanite threw a solid brickbat: it felt sure that Billy was a tool of millionaires "employed in the crusade against socialism."

During the second meeting, a thunderstorm broke out and some of Billy's listeners raised umbrellas as rain began leaking through the roof. "I was told today that you needed rain," said Billy without batting an eye. "I am happy it is raining."_Billy remained happy throughout his stay in Paris. Although he did not draw a single capacity audience, the turnout was greater than he had expected. On his last night (he later left for a brief rest in Zurich before starting a tour of other European countries), he drew a crowd of 11,000. "We have fallen in love with the French people," he told them. "We like everything about you, even your coffee." After the service, a Russian princess came backstage, knelt on the floor and begged Billy to visit the Soviet Union. Billy agreed to go if the opportunity arose.

No one was prepared to doubt that Billy could draw crowds in the U.S.S.R. In his five days in Paris, he had preached to more than 42,000 people, persuaded 2,254 to make "decisions for Christ."

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