Free Banished: Surviving My Years in the Westboro Baptist Church by Lisa Pulitzer, Lauren Drain Page B

bedrooms, each one big enough for a bed that could be placed only in a certain direction. The tiny walk-through kitchen was connected to a dining room so cramped that it could barely fit our small table and four chairs. One small bathroom was going to have to serve all four of us.
    The church, at 3701 SW 12th Street, was the centerpiece of the block. It was a big and very pretty building, typical of church architecture in the Midwest, with a kind of a faux-Tudor look of wood beams in the white plaster siding.
    Way up on one side of the oversize roof was a banner prominently advertising the WBC's website, godhatesfags.com. An American flag hung on the flagpole in front of the church, but it was purposefully displayed upside down out of disrespect for a sinful, fag-enabling America.
    There were two entrances to the church, which was surrounded by a six-foot-tall, black wrought-iron security fence with spindles. Only visitors used the formal main entrance in the front, which was accessible from the street via a paved walkway. During Sunday services, two church members usually stood guard there to monitor the gate. There were times when members of the media who hadn't secured permission, or other suspicious people, had tried to get in, maybe even vandals, and the guards kept that from happening. Outsiders were welcome to attend Sunday services, but they had to have prior approval from Shirley. Church members entered through an entrance around the back, which actually took us through the pastor's kitchen into the sanctuary. Half the building was the church, and the other half was the pastor's residence. Above the kitchen was the master bedroom for the pastor and his wife, Marge. An inside kitchen door led to the sanctuary.
    The sanctuary was large and simple. The walls were covered with fake wood paneling, the kind installed from four-by-eight-foot prefab sheets.
    Lighting came from ceiling panels, and standard wal -to-wal carpeting covered the floor. There were two rows of twenty or so five-person pews for the congregation. The pastor delivered his sermons from the unadorned pulpit in the front of the room, with a map of the Holy Land pinned to the wall behind him and a poster elaborating the five points of Calvinism on a stand next to him. There were no pious statues or crucifixes on display anywhere, strictly following the policy against idolatry. Around the room, signs with messages such as Fags Are Worthy of Death and You're Going to Hell were displayed on easels. A few ceiling-to-floor drapes kept extra folding chairs or poster-size props out of sight. Above the sanctuary was the pastor's office and library, where many of the adult Bible study classes took place.
    Back in the 1950s, Fred Phelps and his wife had bought a house there, and then had started buying up every house on the 3700 block of SW 12th Street for their children when they came up for sale. The street had slowly become the Phelps family compound. All of the members except Bill and Mary Hockenbarger lived on or near the block. Our house was technically across the street, but most people could walk from their houses to the church without having to use the street. The compound was set up so that all the backyards of our various houses adjoined the church property, creating a communal park, a gathering place for everybody of any age. Kids were always out there running around, while the teenagers hung out and kept an eye on them. The church had all the facilities of a park just for our use. There was a full-size basketball court, a 200-meter running track that bordered the inside edges of all the yards, a volleyball area, and a great big swimming pool surrounded by patios with outdoor furniture and picnic tables. We played football on a grassy knoll. A couple of trampolines, a big jungle gym with swings for kids of all ages, a few slides, and monkey bars had been installed for the kids. The churchyard and the ten private yards backing up to it were immaculate,