I'm proud to say he took against me from the moment we met. I asked him how many children he had. He disliked this question – I think he found me trivial. The interview was cut short. Over subsequent days, we continued filming but I hardly saw him. I had the feeling he was hiding from me. We eventually crossed paths again, in church one Sunday after his sermon on the subject of America's coming tribulations, in which he bellowed: "You're going to eat your babies!" One-to-one, Gramps still had the remnants of a folksy, plainspoken charm, but underneath was a bitter contempt for humanity in general and me specifically. I asked him how he could possibly know that the WBC members were the only people bound for heaven. "I can't talk to you – you're just too dumb," he said. It seemed that I was a hellbound sinner. Well, at least I was in good company...
Louis Theroux writes a fascinating, revealing piece about Fred Phelps and the Westboro Baptist Church
for The Guardian.
As opposed to the clichéd 'I won't celebrate Fred's death'/'But hey, maybe WBC actually helped the gay cause' crapola we've seen rather a lot of these past few days.
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