From God has given us every good thing by Roy Eugene Davis:

A Prankish Elf and a White Cadillac

“A few months before I left Los Angeles, I met Walter C. Lanyon, a delightful man who was, as he freely admitted, more than a little eccentric. Walter was born in England*** of American parents and claimed to have traveled the world over, missing very little of what it had to offer. Standing not more than five feet tall, and in his late seventies or early eighties when I met him, he seemed almost to be a prankish elf. His general appearance was that of an elderly man who could have used the help of someone to look after him, to make sure his shoes were shined and his necktie straight.

Despite his eccentric appearance, Walter was intellectually engaging. He had studied Christian Science, among other things, and could play the piano, and discuss art and literature knowledgeably. Now and then he went on a binge of impressionist oil painting. He called it ‘“‘messing around,”’ and the results were proof, but the paintings sold to his friends, who happened to love anything Walter did. When he was not writing and lecturing on truth principles, he would write novels and travel books under another name. This allowed him to withdraw from the public eye when he felt like it, yet still earn enough money to meet his needs.

“Go, Now! Everything Will Be Provided.”

I had written to him in care of his publisher, De Vorss & Company, a distributor of metaphysical books then based in Los Angeles. A few days later, while washing the breakfast dishes, I observed a white Cadillac coupe come to a stop across the street. Its occupant emerged, crossed the street, and soon the doorbell rang. When I opened the door, Walter said, “‘Are you Roy Eugene? I’m Walter Lanyon.”’ His unannounced arrival, I soon learned, was characteristic of Walter—he was a spontaneous person.

He was also wonderfully unpredictable. During our first meeting, he told me a story about driving to San Diego once a week to speak for a large Religious Science church, where about 800 persons gathered weekly. The previous week, fifteen minutes into his talk, he had discovered that he had nothing more to say. He simply announced to the audience, “‘That’s it! See you next week!” He then walked to his car and drove back to Los Angeles. The following week, the auditorium was full to overflowing, because everyone wanted to see this unpredictable speaker!

Our conversation took a serious turn one day after lunch. He looked at me and said, “‘When I look at you I see this inner light in your breast. I have the gift, you know. I can see things. You have this inner light and seem to be holding it in. Why don’t you let it out?”’ I knew exactly what he meant. I had always been a shy person, nervous about public speaking, even nearly failing a high school course because of it.

“You need experience,” Walter continued. “Just travel around the country and get some experience!” When I retorted, “‘Where should I go? I’m not known and I don’t have any money,”’ Walter fixed me with his eyes and became serious. “What would Jesus say to that? Go! Go, now! Everything will be provided. You will see. But you must go.” Pausing for a moment to reflect, he concluded, “Everything is waiting for you. Go, now.”

The Unexpected Calling and Miami Crusade

That very evening, I wrote a letter to Dr. Gilbert Holloway, then minister of the New Age Church of Truth in Miami, Florida, offering to speak for a two-week ‘“‘truth crusade”’ series. Gilbert promptly responded, and we entered into an agreement.

After arrangements were made, and before I left Los Angeles for Miami in the spring of 1958, Walter and I met by chance near a supermarket. He pretended surprise, assumed a pose reminiscent of gunfighters, and challenged, “‘What are you still doing here? I told you to get out of town!”’ After I explained my plans, he was happy for me and even attended my seminar the following weekend, “just to check me out,” as he later told me.

My time in Miami was a whirlwind. After an interview with the Miami Herald religion editor resulted in a front-page story, the modest church auditorium was filled on Sunday morning. The initial two-week series, with two talks on Sundays and four on weeknights, was so successful that when Dr. Holloway left on his annual lecture tour, he asked me to stay and continue for another month. Over six weeks, I gave almost forty lectures, counseled individuals, and gave radio interviews.

From Counseling to Intuitive Insight

An interesting challenge arose immediately upon my arrival in Miami. Dr. Holloway asked, “‘You give readings, don’t you? I hope so, because we’ve already announced that you would.”’ I explained my reservations about offering such services, but he was persuasive. “I’m sure you can do it,” he insisted. “‘A lady is coming in this afternoon to talk with me and I know she won’t mind if you sit in and observe. Just watch how I do it and you’ll pick it up.”’

During the appointment, I observed that impressions would float to the surface of my mind, and a moment later, Dr. Holloway would verbalize them. He was right; I could do it.

During my stay in Miami and the subsequent summer months lecturing in Washington, D.C., Philadelphia, and New York City, I offered what I called “intuitive counseling sessions.” I would sit with a total stranger, instruct them not to speak, and then talk for about fifteen minutes, sharing mental insights into their past, present conditions, and possible future. I would sometimes even pick up trivial details like the color of their car or the names of their pets. However, I didn’t like being thought of as a psychic, and I cared less for the fact that the majority of people treated me like merely another fortune teller. I soon discontinued the practice, preferring to focus on encouraging people to find solutions and teaching them to meditate.

A Visit with Father Divine

While speaking in several cities during the summer of 1958, I accepted invitations from various groups: psychology forums, New Age churches, spiritualist churches, and even a flying saucer club. I considered myself a missionary and would go wherever I was asked, but my message was never diluted.

One morning in Philadelphia, I decided to visit Father Divine. His organization, the Peace Mission Movement, was located only a few blocks from my hotel. When I rang the doorbell, an elderly gentleman welcomed me, and I could see the large main room filled with people sitting at long banquet tables. At the head table sat Father Divine. He smiled and welcomed me, and I was seated nearby. The force of his spiritual power was overwhelming, literally pulling me to my feet to express my appreciation and convey Walter Lanyon’s regards.

Walter had corresponded with Father Divine years before, even quoting him extensively in his book The Eyes of the Blind. Father Divine’s teachings stressed the spiritual essence of every person and encouraged honest, purposeful lives. During the Great Depression, he famously fed thousands of people free daily meals and encouraged followers of all races and nationalities to band together in cooperative communities.

Father Divine’s influence was profound. Even a year after his transition, a pair of Miami police officers told me of a hotel theft investigation: one suspect was a follower of Father Divine. The officer in charge immediately said, “‘Let him go. If he is a follower of Father Divine he couldn’t have done it. Father Divine’s followers are honest!”’ His legacy continues to nourish his many followers around the world under the guidance of Mother Divine.

The Power of the Airwaves

My travels and lectures increasingly intersected with the media. One evening in Philadelphia, a woman approached me and asked, “‘Would you like to be on television tonight?”’ She represented a local station and arranged for me to be a guest on the late-night talk show hosted by Joe Pyne, a controversial interviewer who was just beginning to build his “tough” reputation. Though Joe debated with me to keep his audience happy, he was friendly during breaks and generously announced my lecture engagement. The next night, the chapel was overflowing, showing me the immense influence of television.

A few years later, when Joe Pyne was nationally known and broadcasting over more than seventy radio stations, I was on his show again, recording two programs. This, and other opportunities—including over a hundred radio talk shows between 1958 and 1964—provided useful experience and an easy way to reach thousands of people.

I had several interesting interviews with Long John Nebel, whose program aired from midnight until 5 A.M. from WOR Radio in New York City. He hosted guests with unusual claims, including psychics, New Thought teachers, and a yogi now and then. The afternoon following my first appearance on his show—during a two-week lecture series in Manhattan—my audience at the Steinway Concert Hall was standing-room-only. The power of the airwaves was undeniable.

“The Harvest is Ripe”

During this period, I made a collection of class notes titled Come Ye Out available at my lectures. When the mimeographed edition sold out, I decided to publish it as a hardbound book. The cost for typesetting, printing, and binding was quoted at $1,200. I had only a third of that amount, but I could pay in three installments.

While pondering the decision, I happened to be reading Walter Lanyon’s book, Thrust in the Sickle, inspired by the Old Testament line: “‘Put ye in the sickle, for the harvest is ripe.”’ I was suddenly struck with the thought: “What am I waiting for? The fact that I had the idea to publish means that, in God’s mind, it is already published!”

I called the printer, entered into an agreement, and sent a check for the first installment. Two weeks later, I paid for the second installment when the proofs were delivered. Two weeks after that, the bound books arrived, and I had enough money in hand to pay the final bill. The first edition of one thousand copies sold rapidly. I added chapters, changed the title to Time, Space and Circumstance, and arranged a printing of three thousand more.

Finding the Right Publisher

Overseeing a modest publishing venture while traveling and lecturing proved challenging. One morning, while staying at the Great Northern Hotel in New York City, I verbalized a statement with conviction: “Before I leave this city I will find the right publisher, one who is right for me, and my books right for him!” I then released the matter from my mind.

Moments later, at a newsstand, I casually leafed through a magazine and saw a full-page advertisement for a self-help book. I had never heard of the publisher, but on impulse, I purchased the magazine and called their office. I was immediately put through to the president of the company, Mr. Frederick Fell, of Frederick Fell, Inc.

Fred and I talked for a while. He told me he had only recently started publishing self-help and motivational books. I left copies of Time, Space and Circumstance and a recently completed manuscript with him. Later that afternoon, Fred telephoned me with the news: “‘Roy, I’ll take them both!”’ My traveling ministry was about to enter a new, exciting phase.

…….

From archive.org

A few months before I left Los Angeles I met Walter C. Lanyon, a delightful man and, as he himself freely admitted, more than a little eccentric. Walter was born in England of American parents. He had traveled the world over, missing very little of what it had to offer, so he said. Standing not more than five feet tall, and in his late seventies or early eighties when I met him, he seemed almost to be a prankish elf. His general appearance was that of an elderly man who could have used the help of someone to look after him, to make sure his shoes were shined and his necktie straight.

Walter had studied Christian Science, among other things, and could play the piano, and discuss art and literature knowledgeably. Now and then he went on a binge of impressionist oil painting. He called it “messing around” and the results were proof, but the paintings sold to his friends, who happened to love anything Walter did. When he was not writing and lecturing on truth principles, he would write novels and travel books under another name. In that way, when he felt like withdrawing from the public eye, he could still earn enough money to meet his needs.

I had written to him in the care of his publisher, De Vorss & Company, a distributor of metaphysical books then based in Los Angeles. A few days later, while washing the breakfast dishes, I looked out the window and observed a white Cadillac coupe come to a stop across the street. Its occupant emerged, crossed the street, and soon the doorbell rang. When I opened the door Walter said, “Are you Roy Eugene? I’m Walter Lanyon.” His unannounced arrival was, I came to learn, characteristic of Walter. He was a spontaneous person.

He told me a story during our first meeting. He had been, he said, driving to San Diego once a week to speak for a large Religious Science church, where about 800 persons gathered weekly to hear him. The previous week he had driven to the church and, fifteen minutes into his talk, had discovered that he had nothing more to say on that occasion. He simply said to the audience, “That’s it! See you next week!” He then walked to his car and drove back to Los Angeles. The following week the auditorium was full to overflowing, because everyone wanted to see this unpredictable speaker!

One day, after we had lunched together, he looked at me and said, “When I look at you I see this inner light in your breast. I have the gift, you know. I can see things. You have this inner light and seem to be holding it in. Why don’t you let it out?”

[snip]

After arrangements had been made, and before I left Los Angeles for Miami, Walter and I met by chance near a supermarket where I had gone to shop for food. He pretended surprise, assumed a pose reminiscent of gunfighters about to “shoot it out,” and challenged, “What are you still doing here? I told you to get out of town!”

We talked for a few minutes while I explained my plans. He was happy for me, and even attended my seminar on the following weekend, “just to check me out,” he later told me.

Note: The above narrative, which paints an interesting picture of Walter Lanyon, contains two factual errors. Walter was born in the United States, and he was 71 years old at the time described in the narrative (1958).

Source: A personal account of meeting Walter in Los Angeles — 1958