Obama's Tucson Speech, and Memories of a Revival Tent Part 3

I had been on the base two months by that August, coming to terms with my new surroundings as military kids do.  The day was a typical bayou country scorcher, and the evening promised little relief.  In the distance, somewhere to the south of our on-base quarters, I sensed, more than heard, a din of activity over toward the banks of the Red River.  I rode my bike to the base perimeter gate, and looked across a field bordered by groves of pecan trees where a large white tent had been erected, and into which several lines of people were making their way.  A loose caravan of automobiles and pick-up trucks meandered from the highway to the field, bumping and jostling and dodging chuck holes and hummocks, as each driver sought a place to pull over and park and disgorge their families and friends.

As I watched from the edge of the field, the tent seemed to swell with the incoming stream of folks, mostly white, but also a small number who were black.  There were loudspeakers hung on the corners of the tent, and the scratchy sound of a record playing a hymn filled the evening air.  I don't remember the particular hymn, but I do recall that it evoked a "come-in-here" feeling, though I kept my distance, fascinated by the scene in front of me.