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We told Doug and his friends that we had an appointment with an admissions officer, which again was true. Doug offered to walk us to the admissions office, but we told him that first we had to pick up something at a pharmacy, which while not true, was a necessary lie. We had to ditch Doug. Otherwise, our cover would be blown.

On the way to the “pharmacy,” I was recognized by several students, some of whom yelled out, “Al Franken!” I waved. And gave out some autographs. The kids were very nice.

There was still thirty minutes until our appointment, so we did the only thing that made sense. We hid.

At 1 P.M. sharp, we slipped into the Administration Building for our appointment with Gerald Fortenberry. We were praying that Gerald hadn’t been alerted to the presence of a liberal satirist on campus. It was our only hope.

We were unbelievably lucky. Gerald had no idea who I was. Clearly a recent graduate of the university, he was a sweet, almost innocent young man. A perfect patsy. He bought our elaborate ruse hook, line, and sinker.

Moved by the story of young Andrew’s father’s death (boating accident), he understood totally Mom’s depression and subsequent salvation. “It sounds like your mother’s life has been transformed.”

“Yes,” Andrew said. “And now she wants me to come here.”

“Well, you’re the one who really should want this.”

Hadn’t anyone read “The Three Shipwrecks”?! Even in the Admissions Department?

“Well,” Andrew replied, “I’m not into the whole religion thing as much as my mother.”

“That would be impossible,” I offered. “She’s very beautiful. She looks like Naomi Judd.”

Gerald nodded.

“But I’m okay with it,” Andrew continued. “I haven’t really developed my own personal relationship with Christ, but I think it would be good to work on that. Plus, I’m really pumped about going off to college. I have a friend at Syracuse, and he’s having a blast.”

Gerald moved past the blast at Syracuse and came back to Mom. “She sounds like she’s happier than she’s ever been.”

“Yeah,” Andrew nodded. “Well, at least since Dad died.”

I had a couple questions. Andrew was interested in premed. “I know you teach creationism as opposed to evolution. How does that work out with medical schools?”

“Oh, it’s no problem,” Gerald reassured. “In fact, we have a higher percentage of students accepted to medical school than the national average.”

“Really? And what would that percentage be?” I wanted to know.

“I don’t have that offhand,” Gerald replied. “Perhaps I can get it for you.”

Then Andrew pounced. At the airport in New York, we had picked up a U.S. News & World Report Guide to the 1400 Top Colleges and Universities. “Maybe it’s in here,” Andrew suggested innocently, pulling it out of his backpack.

Gerald blanched, knowing, as we did, that Bob Jones was not listed among the one thousand, four hundred top colleges and universities in the United States. Andrew flipped to South Carolina. “Hmmm . . . maybe it’s under J.”

“Give me that.” I took the book and examined it thoroughly, as Gerald looked on uncomfortably. “It’s . . . it’s not here.”

“No,” said Gerald. “A lot of colleges pay to get in that thing.”

“Really?” I asked.

“Yes.” He nodded authoritatively.

Andrew understood. “So it’s like an advertisement?”

“Yeah.”

That was quite a relief for me. Until that moment, I had been feeling more and more guilty. But now that Gerald was lying about the college guide, I felt a lot better. Putting the book aside, I smiled at Gerald. “Well, at least we know Bob Jones is an accredited university.”

“Uh . . . no.”

“No?”

“No. Actually, we choose not to be accredited. I can give you a pamphlet on that.”

Assured that the pamphlet would explain everything, we moved on. Andrew expressed an interest in theater. Gerald got very excited. Every year Bob Jones’s theater department presents what Gerald called a “Shakespeare-play.” Gerald told us that before he came to BJU, “I wasn’t much for operas and Shakespeare-plays.”