Almost one hundred people sat before him: women to the left, men to the right and children in the center. The People. Coron rarely shouted. His voice was soft, even gentle, like a calming stream. But when he did shout he was thunder and excitement. It wasn’t what Coron said that drew people in, nor even how he said it—it was Coron himself. He knew. He knew the past and the future; he read thoughts and understood emotions; he explained doubts and soothed fears; his approval inspired; his anger destroyed. To be alongside him was to share in glory and victory. Many had joined The People, especially in the early days, because they had heard Coron speak. He stood on corners and spoke to shoppers. He sidled up to lonely individuals in bus stations and tearooms. He also visited the meetings of extreme political groups, a pool which had spawned some important members. But, increasingly, recruits were children. Some were the sons and daughters of members. Others had been taken from the streets: young runaways, mistreated girls, neglected and beaten boys—those who wanted something new and safe.
