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Closely watching the religious battle are dozens of other splinter churches and unaffiliated Armstrong believers, some of whom have posted "Mystery of the Ages" and other Armstrong works on the Internet. Following the fight, too, is Garner Ted Armstrong, once the church's radio voice and heir apparent, who now leads his own church in Texas -- preaching many doctrines of a father who publicly "disfellowshipped" him 23 years ago. Says Garner Ted: "Whenever there's an earthquake in Pasadena these days, that's my father rolling over in his grave." Herbert W. Armstrong began life modestly as a Quaker in Des Moines, Iowa, although he later traced his ancestry to "Edward I of England and a line extending back to King David of ancient Israel." His 1,305-page autobiography details his boyhood and shares bits of practical wisdom, including a system he used to "coldly analyze" which girls were worth dating. He settled on the advertising trade and went on, he said, to pioneer the use of opinion polls and other marketing methods. Then God intervened. "He began to deal with me in no uncertain terms, and from that time every business or money-making venture I attempted was turned into utter defeat," he wrote. In 1931, after wrapping up a sales assignment for Wearever aluminum pots, Mr. Armstrong obtained his ordination from a small Oregon church. Three years later, paying $2.50 for 30 minutes of radio time, he began his media ministry, preaching that the Bible had prophesied the Depression, "the hoarding of gold [and] the topsy-turvy political conditions throughout the world." His commanding oratory brought in acolytes. Picking up on an obscure theory concerning the Lost Tribes, Mr. Armstrong said these ancient Hebrews had found their way to Britain after Israel fell to the Assyrian army in 721 B.C. (Sample proof: "Is it mere coincidence that the true covenant people today are called the 'British,' " since the Hebrew words for covenant and man are "b'rith" and "eish"?) He said the Assyrians had migrated to Germany and the Nazis were their descendants. After World War II, he prophesied nuclear devastation of London and New York. His followers would escape to a "place of safety," probably the Jordanian city of Petra. He endorsed Old Testament laws such as avoiding pork and keeping the Saturday Sabbath, but not Christian holidays such as Easter. He prohibited makeup and interracial marriage, and discouraged birthday celebrations. In the 1940s he moved the church from Oregon to Southern California but avoided Los Angeles, Mr. Armstrong wrote, because it was "the spawning ground of crackpot religions." Instead he built an elegant complex in Pasadena, whose Ambassador Auditorium was the setting for concerts by renowned musicians. He traveled the globe to tell foreign leaders such as Ferdinand Marcos of the coming "End-Time." The church and its prophecies were a comfort to some who were distressed by social change. Nancy Stonick, as an Ohio teenager in the 1960s, was repelled by "the long hair and everything," she says, and "felt at the time that the world was going to be coming to an end." She is still a member today. But by the 1970s, divisions and scandals were brewing. The church had foretold a mid-1970s apocalypse, in a booklet full of horrifying drawings by Basil Wolverton, a church elder who was also a Mad magazine illustrator. The failure of doom to arrive as predicted exacerbated a power struggle, involving allegations of moral lapses, that ultimately drove out the founder's high-profile son, Garner Ted. Then in 1979, after dissidents alleged that Herbert Armstrong and a top aide were misappropriating church property, the California attorney general seized control of the organization. The founder, who denied wrongdoing, won that battle. He gained the support of other churches fearful of the legal precedent, and soon lawmakers stripped the state attorney general of authority over religious groups. Closed Book The real shock, though, came after Mr. Armstrong died. His successor, Mr. Tkach, a former machinist from Chicago, stopped publishing some dated Armstrong works, such as one assailing hippies. He renounced the makeup ban and a policy of discouraging voting. And then, after the church had given away 1.25 million copies of Mr. Armstrong's "Mystery of the Ages," Mr. Tkach suspended publication of the book, citing "editorial and budget questions." The move, supported by his son Joseph Tkach Jr., provoked a battle that pitted the Tkaches against a Worldwide Church minister in Oklahoma named Gerald Flurry. Mr. Flurry had turned to the church after a youth in which, he says, he "did the sinful things that every normal young person does, drinking and messing around." Feeling insecure as he tried to make his way in an advertising career, he came upon an article in Plain Truth magazine explaining that "the way to real confidence is through unquestioning obedience!" Mr. Flurry enrolled at Ambassador College and was soon a Worldwide Church minister. To Mr. Flurry, the Tkaches had worked "a Judas-type betrayal." He began preaching from an essay of his own that he said was revealed by "a mighty angel directly from God." Summoned to Pasadena in 1989, he had a showdown with Mr. Tkach Jr. According to Mr. Tkach, Mr. Flurry "leapt up and pointed his finger and said he was being used by God in a unique way, that no one had ever been used like him before. I suggested that he seek some professional counseling." Mr. Flurry calls that account "a diabolical lie" but says the meeting was traumatic. The next day, he was dismissed for heresy. Back in Oklahoma, Mr. Flurry established his own church, calling it the Philadelphia Church of God, after a sect mentioned in the Book of Revelation. He set about reproducing the Armstrong empire. From a suburban office park in the town of Edmond, he pumps out publications and broadcasts modeled after the founder's. His church, now claiming 7,000 members, is building a campus envisioned as a replica of now-closed Ambassador College. His staff interprets current events as signs of the coming Tribulation. Mr. Flurry targeted Worldwide Church of God members for proselytising, an urgent task because, he wrote, "most of the WCG members are going to die in the Tribulation. Only those who come to the [Philadelphia Church of God] shall escape." Early joiners already had copies of Mr. Armstrong's masterwork, "Mystery of the Ages." Since newcomers didn't, Mr. Flurry says he had no choice but to publish it and give it to them, ultimately printing 118,000 copies. He ranks the work right behind the Bible in importance. Still, he observes, "anybody that hears about this religion, they are going to think it's somewhat peculiar." Mr. Tkach Jr., who took over the Worldwide Church upon his father's death in 1995, says the founder's book is "extremely faulty," and it is his "Christian duty" to keep it out of print. Fair Use Claiming copyright violation was a challenge, though, because copyright protects an author's commercial interests and Worldwide hadn't been selling the book. The church identified its commercial interest as the money donated to its adversary. But U.S. District Judge J. Spencer Letts said that was trumped by the Philadelphia Church's speech and religious-freedom rights. Copyright law permits "fair use" of a protected work -- an elastic concept that weighs the work's nature, how much of it is used, whether the use is commercial or educational, and whether the use affects the work's market value. This use met all of the tests, Judge Letts said. For instance, he said printing the entire book, not just an excerpt, wasn't a problem because the defendants considered the work divinely inspired and thus not to be altered. Wrong, said the Ninth Circuit Court of Appeals in September. An owner's rights to control publication of a copyrighted work aren't erased just because others have beliefs attached to it, wrote Judge William Schwarzer, in a 2-1 ruling. With the case sent back, the lower court late last month ordered the Philadelphia Church to stop distributing "Mystery of the Ages." Lawyers expect the Supreme Court to decide this spring whether to hear an appeal. Write to Jess Bravin at jess.bravin@wsj.com
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