THE OFFICE OF DR. JAMES David Bales, professor of Bible at Harding College, looks as if it has been hit by a gale, burglarized by a madman and pilfered by a child. It is a perfect picture of organized chaos. Scattered paper, strings of books snaking lazily across the musty room, filing cabinets fat with notes and quotations, stacks of old newspapers reaching unevenly toward the ceiling and pictures of Chiang Kai Shek and Chen Cheng, staring blankly from behind framed glass, dominate the scene. One might think, at first glance, that nothing sane could possible come from this room. Yet out of its cluttered atmosphere James Bales weaves high-minded, somber books on religion and communisin.
‘Yes, who is It?" "Dr. Bales?" one asks. "Come in," says the voice, muted by heaps of literature, piles of old newsprint and volume upon volume of books. Stepping hurriedly around three of 20 huge filing cabinets, the visitor discovers one of America's most prolific religious writers sitting in the midst of his cluttered workshop. He's a tall, slender man with a thin flanked face and unruly, brown hair.During the interview he answers a volley of questions with quiet matter-of-factness, never once quitting his work of reading, writing and filing references. THIS AMAZING MAN WITH AN impish sense of humor and a photo-sensitive mind has written 14 books on religion, one on communism, 20 religious pamphlets, hundreds of letters to harried editors and thousands of religious articles. He's planning several more books on communism. Reading rapidly, he consumes thousands of books on religion and communism, seldom forgetting a title, an author or a page number. In addition to these self-appointed duties, Dr. Bales teaches four courses at Harding, travels 25,000 miles a year preaching, holds four or five evangelistic meetings a year and takes part in some 15 yearly lectures. Still his life is filled with one humorous anecdote after another to the delight of friends and acquaintances. Friends never forget the day lanky James Bales arrived on the Harding campus at Morrilton 27 years ago. He strode ominously to the men's dormitory, pounded on the first door he came to and challenged a somewhat frightened boy inside to wrestle. "No thank you," came an emphatic reply. Door after door it was the same until he hit the room of Charles Pitner, now a math professor at Harding. Pitner let him in."I was busy unpacking w h e n he stormed in, long arms dangling at his sides," Pitner reflected. "Without fan-fare he announced, 'I'm J. D. Bales rom Atlanta, Ga., and I'm a wrestler. Want to wrestle?' Before I could say no, he tumbled me around the room. But that was just a preliminary bout. From this meager beginning Bales toured the state and returned 3 years later with second place in the Arkansas wrestling championships. Since that time the escapades of this modern-day Abe Lincoln who would save the nation from communism have become the talk of his many friends Bales himself, a bit mellowed at 44, refuses comment "on the grounds that it might incriminate me." Characteristic of the p 1 i a n t, be-spectacled Arkansan is the time he ambled into a Toronto, Canada, bookstore to browse around and ended up calling a clerk's half-hearted bluff by buying out the store's entire stock-6,500 books at 5 cents a copy. This provided the beginning of "Bales Book Store," first located east of the college campus about 5 years ago in a small block building. "After shipping the books to Searcy, my cost rose to 15 or 20 cents a book," Bales noted with a laugh. "I sold some, kept some and clipped others." At one time he owned more than 10,000 books, but a dwindling supply forced him to temporarily close the store. In 1938, while working on his master's degree at George Peabody College in Nashville, Tenn., Bales took a course under Professor Michael John Demiashkevich, a White Russian refugee. This course became the seed of his interest in communism - an interest that became so intense 10 years ago that Bales filled four filing cabinets with notes and references on the subject. Today many persons in high places consider the witty professor an authority on the subject. Bales says he fights the Red movement "because it represents the largest atheistic organization the world has known. "The communist objective," he avers, "aims at destroying religion. But since communism believes in adapting itself to immediate situations, its attack may vary according to circumstances." To alert America, Bales is writing his latest and most difficult book, "The Pattern of the Communist Attack on Religion." His opinion as to the final outcome? "Communist victory isn't inevitable," he emphasizes. "We can win if we realize the Reds are at war with us now. Peace is but another phase of war to them. If we react only to their moves instead of taking the initiative we could lose." Optimistically, Bales believes a hot war is the last thing the Communists want. He states three reasons: "They aren't sure of their own peoples' fidelity. They know they can't count on some of their satellites, Hungary for one. And they'd rather take the industrial power of America intact. "Unless the Communists are ready we couldn't force a shooting war upon them. But once they're ready and think they can win, we can do nothing to avoid it." Bales travels extensively, lecturing on Communist aims and techniques. Three years ago he went to Frankfurt, Germany, as an observer at the Possev Conference on Communism - substituting for a friend, Herbert Philbrick of "I Led Three Lives" fame.
Month after month, while strength and weight waned, doctors failed to diagnose the disease. Finally amoebas, microscopic one-celled animals, were discovered in his intestines. Bales went on a small, measured diet of arsenic and bismuth, one of the prescribed remedies. One day, while explaining the ailment to his family, the hone-thin professor mentioned that another remedy - light, would kill the amoebas. "Daddy," spoke up his 4-year-old son, "why don't you swallow a flashlight?" His now-thin shoulders slumped, Bales delights in telling the story, even though it may be at his expense. The physical discomfort disturbs him least. "It's slowed down my work-everything," he says disgustedly. "I haven't done a normal day's work In a year and a half." Usually 16 hours comprise a normal day's work for J. D. Bales. Each day comes with challenges, things to read, a fresh book off the press. "Some days I scan Human Events, U.S. News & World Report, the Democrat, the Memphis Commercial Appeal and a few Communist newspapers. In addition, I may read or scan 10 bulletins and check through 15 or 20 books for references. "Authors write many books for scanning," he explained. "When one becomes familiar with a field he glances down the page for new concepts. I may thumb half a book before finding the passage I want." Bales' search for references often bears fruit. He has 16 filing cabinets on religion. Dissected books, several pages from journals and newspaper clips are filed away for future use - a never- ending process. Several years ago, while gathering material, Bales got the idea for "Hub of the Bible,"his 14th book, which came out in May. Intensifying his research, he compiled a file of carefully selected quotations - one to a sheet of paper for easy arrangement. "After grouping quotations for chapters, writing comes easily, usually before breakfast or after dinner depending more on time than urge," Bales said, One night, perhaps tired after a hard day at the office, Bales grew weary waiting for company to leave. "If you're sitting up with me," he said with a good-natured smile, "I'm feeling better." His friends soon departed. When 18 he wrote his first religious article. His first published book, "You Are a Christian Now," came in 1940. Although he's since turned out books with disciplined punctuality, he says, "I only regret I can't afford more time for writing." Bales met tragedy at an early age. When he was 11 fate snatched him from a family of nine and placed him 200 miles from home in 4 days. Living in Atlanta with four brothers and three sisters, James saw his parents for the last time as they left for Bible study one January night in 1927. Mr. and Mrs. B. F. Bales died in a car-train collision. JAMES WENT TO LIVE WITH HIS grandparents in Fitzgerald, Ga. There he developed an insatiable urge to prove himself-an urge he carried right to the doorstep of Harding College. That's when he roared into the men's dormitory seeking a wrestling match. Bales quickly established himself at school. Between impromptu boxcar rides and the wooing of one of the prettiest girls on the campus, J. D. managed the track team, became Arkansas' champion collegiate debater and was elected best all-around boy at Harding. He left school with as much commotion as when he arrived. Needing more money and less luggage, he gathered five or six boys into his room at the end of his senior year and auctioned all his clothes. "Everything went except the clothes he was wearing," Pitner recalled with a chuckle. "I bought a raincoat for 50 cents and wore it a good 10 years." After graduation Bales went to Toronto to preach. There he achieved his greatest victory. "I got married," he grinned. "Made up my mind and did it." Mr. and Mrs. Bales have three boys and three girls. Bales collects items-from foreign coins and Indian relics to idols more than 200 years old. Once while preaching in Texas the Bible professor collected five goats from a member of the congregation to keep his yard clean. No less colorful than Dr. Bales is the office in which he works. Yellow newspapers and ragged books gather beneath autographed pictures of Chiang Kai Shek and Chen Cheng. On one shelf are autographed books by A. Kerensky, leader of Russia's provisional government when it fell in 1917, and Miss Alexandra Tolstoy, daughter of Leo Tolstoy. Each is the basis of a particular yarn about the professor. Taped interviews with Ben Gittlow and Joe Komfeder, founders of the Communist Party in America and Sen. Clayton R. Lusk, who in 1920 conducted the first full-scale investigation of communism in the U. S., tell of Bales' unending fight against the materialistic ideology.
Also in his office is the idea, tucked away in a filing cabinet, for a new book, "Twenty-Seven Years on the Firing Line." Somewhere in this personal account Bales should mention he has received little monetary reward for his intellectual endeavors. "I write about subjects of limited appeal," he said. "I suppose that's why they don't sell in great numbers. But my reward lies in reaching people, maybe in centuries to come. Who knows, in some fields my books may survive." One can't help, upon leaving the musty office of Dr. James David Bales, that he has sat in the presence of a great American. Time will tell how great. |
Upon first entering the cramped, untidy office Dr. Bales is
nowhere in sight. Suddenly, out of a deep recess of filing cabinets, a voice springs up. 
After making the Formosa circuit 2 years ago - at the invitation of Chaing
Kai Shek's government - Bales returned home via Hong Kong, Korea, Thailand and
Europe. Somewhere in those hinterlands lie fell victim to contaminated drinking
water and became ill. 
A
copy of the Bales versus Woolsey Teller debate recalls the stinging oratory with which the
professor jabbed a knowledgeable finger into the arguments of the avowed atheist. A New
Yorker, Teller came south prepared to dismantle the "Arkansas hillbilly." He
soon discovered he was up against a PhD from the University of California -and a walking
library. Teller's armload of books did him little good. In am amazing display of mental
dexterity, Bales pulled passage after passage from his memory with machine-gun rapidity.
The founder of the American Association for the Advancement of Atheism went back to New
York soundly whipped. 
