At that, the laughing only became louder. After a while it died down and I started to preach again, but it was no use. I couldn't say more than a half dozen words until the laughter started again, so I called for the invitation song, but we couldn't even sing it for laughing. We had all our stops planned so that we would be in Davenport, Iowa to worship on Sunday, but it soon became evident that we couldn't keep to our schedule. So, we decided as we were in Utah to get some grape juice and unleavened bread in case we couldn't find a church and had to have our own worship service.
Christians are scarce in parts of the west.
At Jackson's Hole, Wyoming, we found a motel, ate and my wife, Imogene, suggested that we find a bakery and get a pie shell to use for unleavened bread. The only bakery we could find was a little shop run by a hippie and his wife, who baked everything on an old wood stove. The hippie, bald except for a fringe of hair so long it hung to his waist, said they had no pies. His wife said they had one, but they intended to eat it themselves. He went into another room and came back with a tray full of little tart shells, which he held out toward us.