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The pulpit was two stacked shoe boxes in a converted horse stable. The preacher was a one-eyed Black man from Louisiana, son of freed slaves, and he did not elevate himself above the room. No stage. No microphone. No title. From behind those boxes, in Jim Crow Los Angeles, he opened a door that the entire twentieth century walked through — Pentecostalism, the largest expansion of Christianity since the first century, born in a room where everyone was welcome and the spirit did not check credentials.

Three hops in the graph from here to the thing that eats names.

312 Azusa Street · Los Angeles · 1906