How often does it happen that we can be asked, rather like on the witness chair in a trial: "What exactly were you doing on the night of xx-xx-xxxx 30 years ago?" and actually be able to answer that question? I know exactly what I was doing during the evening of September 30, 1975: I was fervently praying to Jehovah that I would be found worthy, in spite of all my weaknesses and failures, to find His favor and live through the next day, the day that Armageddon was happening. Those words, and the fears I had, still ring in my head.
I had no doubt about this for many reasons, some of which I've mentioned, but for many other reasons as well. I'd been to several "special assembly days" where circuit overseers and district overseers gave talks about how close we were to the end--some of them even saying "Brothers and sisters, it's only xx months until 1975. What do you think about that?" And, of course, we all broke out in almost unrestrainable applause. Fred Franz Himself, the Oracle of God, gave a talk at one of these assemblies, and did everything but put His Imprimatur on that date.
And then there was the influx of tens of thousands...no, hundreds of thousands of people into the Organization. Bible studies were quick and simple: 6 months and baptized, or drop it. The congregations and assemblies were an absolute flurry of activity; everybody was pumped: What else could this unprecedented growth of the Org mean other than that Jehovah's Hand was guiding the last of deserving humankind into His Ark, for preservation through that last day of Satan's wicked world? We were placing the "literature of the truth" so fast that the people were almost ripping it out of our hands. It was electrifying, and I'd finally regained most of the enthusiasm that marked my early years.
And then, as that day wore on, October 1, 1975, as I looked outside several times, expecting to see storm clouds, feel earthquakes, watch lightning bolts strike down the unbelieving "worldly" people (just like in the Paradise book), my anticipation began to wane. I came home from work, saying to myself "Well, there are still a few more hours left in the day."
October 2 was a unique day in my life. Something snapped. A conflux of emotions presented itself: I had now, finally, lost all confidence in the WTS as the Spokesman of God--but, also, all my family and friends and wife were JWs...so I couldn't just up and leave. So I got mad. I got mad as holy hell. I was out for revenge against these "leaders" who had suckered me. And a lot of other JWs were equally mad. We started having round-robin discussions, usually groups of 10-20, including elders and ministerial servants. We'd go back over all the things we'd been told, and virtually promised, to see if there was any possible way that it had been (as the WTS was asserting) our fault for misinterpreting what they had said. We all came to the same conclusion.
Meanwhile, my folks carried on with the same pattern of denial: "We never understood the WTS to mean anything special about 1975."
It took a little while, but soon the disfellowshippings for apostasy became a rising tide, a loss of members to match the Rutherford-era blood-letting of 50 years before. Right and left, folks I'd known for years, even "prominent" JWs with a lifetime of service, were either disassociating or being kicked out. And my day was approaching.