My favorite was an international convention at Yankee Stadium in the early 1950s. Witnesses from other lands wore their native garb. I still have the very colorful photographs.
All the others would compete for the worst. Two stand out for revealing how bad the Witnesses are. My family travelled to Halifax, Nova Scotia for a convention. We were escaping the predominantly black and poor crowd. My father refused to feed us. We slept on the floor of some rental. Since we arrived at the site early, we sat close to the platform. I was eleven. Altho he had to know I was menstruating, my father refused to let me have my handbag. I was too ashamed at being female to demand it back. The back of my special dress was nothing but blood. My 3 year old sister was brushing the chair in front of her out of sheer bordeom. Mr. Bethelite in his 20s with total arrogance was overly friendly and had his hands all over a sister. Oh, she bagged a Bethelite. The only group I was forbidden to marry. He took his belt off and handed it to my mom so she could beat the living daylights out of a three year old. My mom was born-in when the org was very small. I was expectinga volcanic explosion. Finally, a Bethelite brother was going to get it. Deservedly so. She handed the belt back to him with a ton of assertiveness. He did not realize it but she had access to Knorr, Franz, Schroeder, etc more than he did.
The other worst one happened when I was fourteen. It was my last convention at Yankee Stadium. Freddie Franz spoke forever. On and on about very obscure scriptures. He failed to mention even one highlight of Christianity. The Beatles, school, and escaping to Manhattan had changed me in fundamental ways. Long before Kotex and tampon ads, he announced 1975. A key point was when Eve first menstruated. I sunk down into my chair. It was bad enough to have a "talk" with my mom. Freddie Franz is mentioning menstruation. I was totally appalled. In the past, I viewed him with great respect b/c he was such a towering intellectual, according to the Witnesses. His entire 1975 remarks opened my eyes to what an utter fool he was. Furthermore, anyone botheriing to listen to him voluntarily was a fool. Nevertheless, I was terrified of 1975. Despite college graduation, it was an awful year of a self-fulfilling prophecy. My mom said not to worry at all because she survived three dates certain in the past. My siblings and I were scared stiff. It was not good news. I could not return to Manhattan to get a bus home soon enough.
1975 reminded me of the Cold War, living a few miles from NYC. We had to practice air raid drills. There was intense propaganda against Russians when it was the Soviet Union. My body reacted with somatic symptoms. As we grew, however, we realized there was no need to worry. NYC was our salvation. All of us would die immediately. Hiding under a desk or an air raid shelter would not matter. I would die at Armageddon but so would almost everyone I respected.
These two worst ones are illustrative of different aspects of the Witnesses. One is cultural and the other is theological.
