At 82, He Spreads the Word on Wheels

Only two things seem certain about the Rev. Stan F. George.

The first is that he’s a bona fide character. The second is that he’s serious about putting his beliefs into action.

For most of his working life, George was a proper Presbyterian minister in Southern California. But now, at age 82, he crisscrosses North America on a motorcycle, taking trips that last more than three months and displaying a vitality that puts hard-core bikers far younger to shame.

George’s motorcycle trips are far more than mere joy rides. They constitute a ministry that is as offbeat as they come.

Drawing on his biker adventures, a bevy of magic tricks and a selection of corny jokes to attract crowds along his carefully planned routes, George has raised nearly $3 million for Christian aid organizations since he first hit the road in 1971.

Along the way, he also founded the Christian Motorcyclist Assn., a national organization that now has 15,000 members. The group’s motto, emblazoned on George’s belt buckle, is “Riding for the Son.”

“There’s no one else like him,” said the Rev. Larry Peel of Heifer Project International, an Arkansas-based, interdenominational agency that provides food-producing livestock to Third World nations and needy rural Americans.

George is a “theologically orthodox” evangelical preacher who back in the early 1950s in San Bernardino drew national attention for taking on what Time Magazine at the time called “the booming business of San Berdoo’s red-light district.” Yet despite his strait-laced views on personal morality, he is about as liberal as they come on social and political issues.

“The hell with the (National Rifle Assn.),” he snorted. “Get rid of guns and get rid of the military and use the money for something good.”

The son of a real estate salesman, George built up a small fortune by investing his minister’s salary in first trust deeds. He is frugal, bragging that his last pair of shoes cost him 69 cents at a thrift shop, and his biggest splurge is the monthly meal at McDonalds that he and his wife, Helen, enjoy.

“I got wealthy by saving my money, instead of spending it like you,” he likes to lecture. “I save everything you can imagine, even recycle envelopes by using the other side for writing notes.

“Besides, for $5 you can immunize a child against diphtheria. That’s all I need to know about how to spend money.”

Every penny George collects is donated to the Heifer Project or to Habitat for Humanity, a Georgia-based interdenominational group that provides low-cost housing to the poor (former President Jimmy Carter is Habitat’s best-known supporter). George, with the help of more than 100 wealthy backers he calls “George Partners,” matches donations dollar-for-dollar.

“I figure giving my own money is like eating in your own restaurant. What kind of recommendation is it if you go elsewhere?” George explained.

In all, he has contributed more than $300,000 of his own money, according to his accounting. Habitat and Heifer officials said his figure is probably a low estimate. The fact that he puts his money where his mouth is, they also noted, gives him a credibility that make his fund-raising appeals highly effective despite his unusual and outspoken style.

“Unfortunately, he’s looked upon by many as a beloved eccentric,” said the Rev. Donald Wright, pastor of Tustin Presbyterian Church and a former associate executive for the Presbyterian Church (USA) Synod of Southern California and Hawaii.

“But very few people are as deeply involved as he is. I think anybody who has done as much as he has has earned the right to say just what he thinks and act as he wants.”

Carol Pezzelli, director of development for Habitat for Humanity, said George’s outspokenness and penchant for shocking folks into paying attention occasionally “puts a few people off.” One of his gimmicks, for instance, is to wear a vial containing bull semen around his neck to prompt questions about Heifer Project.

“He never tones down his message no matter who he is speaking to,” Pezzelli said.

George would not have it any other way.

“There’s nothing more important to me than helping the needy. We Christians must not separate our works from our faith,” he said.

“People look upon me like I’m naive or that I’ve lost my marbles. Well, I’m certainly extreme. But I feel I’m living out the social Gospel. If you don’t live out your faith, what good is it?”

When George takes to the road from his San Clemente apartment, his trips are carefully plotted to ensure that he has at least one speaking engagement a day at a church or service club along the route.

Since that first trip 18 years ago, George figured, he has logged about 263,000 miles traversing the United States, Mexico and Canada. When not on a long trip, George often speaks around Southern California. But no matter how near or far the engagement, he always gets there by motorcycle.

In nearly two decades, George said, he has collected more than 16,200 individual donations ranging from a few dollars to a high of $25,000.

Typically, he spends as much time planning a trip as he takes to complete one. He also devotes several hours a day to correspondence from donors, working out of his modest two-bedroom apartment overlooking the beach at San Clemente. (In addition to his ministry, he also manages his apartment complex and two others, tasks that his wife takes over when he is on the road.)

In May, he will again take to the open road, heading this time toward Nova Scotia on his 1200cc Honda Goldwing plastered with bumper stickers that herald the Heifer Project and his other causes. As always, all expenses will be borne by the George Partners. Food and shelter during the four-month trip will be provided by the churches and clubs at which he will speak.

But should a bed be unavailable, George will camp out “with the boys”--bikers he meets along the way.

George’s life style before retiring from the pulpit in 1969 gave little hint of what was to come. He was pastor of Presbyterian congregations in Anaheim, La Crescenta, Canoga Park, Norwalk and La Puente, in addition to his six years at San Bernardino’s First Presbyterian Church. He also served as moderator of both the Los Angeles and Riverside presbyteries and was chosen five times to represent his home region at the Presbyterian Church’s national General Assembly.

Once cut loose from the day-to-day responsibilities of congregational life, however, George did an about-face.

“I decided I was tired of preaching to nice people,” he said, a toothy grin brightening his impish face. “So I went out there to preach to bikers and hippies who never came to church.”

His first bike trip was at the urging of a former associate who wanted to experience the open road. Ask him why he went along and he insists he still is unsure.

“That’s the one question I cannot answer,” he replied. “I would have thought I had better sense. After all, I spent years preaching to kids to stay off those things.”

But once tempted, George was easily hooked and the trip became a yearly undertaking. Before long, he realized that it was his new ministry.

“To me this has been the leading of the Lord,” he said. “It’s been so fantastic you wouldn’t believe it.”