As far back as I can remember, I’ve always admired the true believer. The nutcase willing to go all the way, damn the cost. And while I may not respect the position or (im)moral stand on display, I can very much embrace the desire to push forward with an unrelenting mindlessness, as if life itself depended not on the outcome, but the effort put forth. Few end up on top, of course, and even if they do, it is for but a brief moment in time. The list of such folks is long, the tragedies left in their wake innumerable, and the bodies, well, they too are piled high and deep. But true believers add a necessary spice; color and shading when all too many of us seem content to stand in line and passively wait for death. They almost always find their raison d’etre amidst pain and tragedy, quickly shift to an obsession, and ride out what remains with such devotion, it’s a wonder they remember to eat and sleep. As Bob Dylan once said, “You’re gonna have to serve somebody, yes indeed.” May as well do so in your bathrobe.
Which brings us to O’Daniel. His bathrobe, his belief. He resides in a hovel, as he must, for ostentation is not the way. Not his way, naturally, for he is a man of God. That goes without saying. While the path of the true believer is varied by race and creed, age and gender, it is almost always a road to religion. Righteousness incarnate. On your knees, so you may stand proudly before your maker. And while we know almost nothing of O’Daniel’s past, we can be sure that what brought him to this day – the day he encounters Joe Buck for the first and only time – was filled to the brim with the unspeakable. Abuse? Likely. Trauma? Book it. A deep, unshakable mental illness? As if you had to ask. For when prayer is the beginning, middle, and end of your day, it’s but a short journey from Sunday School to a flashing Jesus within smelling distance of your toilet. As he states with humorless conviction, “It don’t matter where, so long as He gets that prayer!”
How and why O’Daniel came to know a man like Ratso Rizzo is a movie all in itself, but it stands to reason that wherever there’s a con to be had, you’ll attract conmen. Not that O’Daniel believes he’s doing anything other than saving souls, mind you, but it’s telling that even Joe himself thought the old man was a pimp for a good 90% of their conversation. The words are pretty much the same, from the initial pitch and the final close. “I’m gonna work ya,” he roars, in the same breath he takes note of the lad’s “good, strong back.” Hell, maybe he is a flesh peddler at the end of the day. He’s not above a side hustle, after all. And he’d be the first to note how often one invokes the Lord during an orgasm. Based on what we hear, it’s obvious O’Daniel has an army of young men pounding the pavement, all in service of love and devotion. Always has, I’m guessing. Maybe Joe left before the second half of the bargain was revealed.
While O’Daniel is a sweaty, bug-eyed mess, surrounded by screaming neighbors and, just as likely, gunshots at all hours, he’s always locked in when the moment calls. He can block out the entire world for the cause, if necessary. It’s hard, thankless work, turning the lonely, the damned, and the lost into warriors for Christ, but his schedule is always open. In that way, perhaps Ratso is his pimp, sending new customers toward the only light left them. And all he’ll charge is a sawbuck. A bargain, now or in the hereafter. One can only imagine O’Daniel’s cut. Maybe there isn’t one. He’s just the type to find a way to survive, even without any visible means of support. Even the bathroom altar is likely a gift. Or something he nicked. New York City isn’t exactly wanting for clergy of the cold water flat variety.
As Joe flees the apartment, O’Daniel fully immersed, one can’t help but think how often that very scene played out before him. Dozens of times, in my estimation, with more than a few resulting in a throwing of hands. I mean, if you’re coming for sex and leaving with Jesus, there’s bound to be hurt feelings. Or maybe there are no “other boys” at all, and O’Daniel’s delusions, while heartfelt and worldly, never venture beyond the front door. Isolated and hunkered down for years and years, preparing for a war that was never waged. I can even see O’Daniel as a defrocked minister, thrown to the wolves after getting handsy with the parishioners one too many times, now reduced to bellowing before an empty room. Until Joe came, and the old fire was lit once again. Whatever the future holds, he’ll be in that bathrobe. How else to be at one with the people. His people.
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