Cultic Studies Journal, Vol. 11, No. 1, 1994, Page 32
JIM: I don‟t think it should be public knowledge what we earn. It‟s not that we have anything
to hide in that area.
BERNADEANE: We have nothing to hide.
JIM: People think we have a lot more money than we do. We walk with high self-esteem, we
dress well it‟s how the person displays themselves.
They went on about how much money they didn‟t make and about how I shouldn‟t be so
interested in money anyway. Finally, they said they did not know, precisely, how much money
they make, but they could certainly get those figures for me.
I did some math in my head. It costs $845 to go to the annual CBJ convergence in Scottsdale.
If the expected 1,000 people show up, that‟s close to a million tax-free dollars for
Chuckbernieandjim. (CBJ, or “Flame Foundation Inc.,” is listed with the IRS as a church.)
Anyway, the event I attended in Tel Aviv costs $175. About 300 people showed up, so that‟s
another $52,500. The three-day event I attended in Scottsdale cost $175, times 400 people,
so that‟s another $70,000. They have about twelve of these events a year. They also have
parties it costs $15 to get in. It costs $25 to subscribe to the CBJ magazine, Forever Alive. It
costs $6 for each of the twice-weekly CBJ meetings. It costs $1 for a pitiful sheet of paper
listing fellow Immortals. It costs $20 for a CBJ “DEATH SUCKS” T-shirt, $5 for the “FRIENDS
DON‟T LET FRIENDS DIE” license plate holder and $99.95 to subscribe to the CBJ cassette
series, so you can enjoy a cellular intercourse in the privacy of your own home.
All those dollars could add up to something like $2 million a year, but it‟s the “heart money”
that makes up, perhaps, the biggest chunk of cash. I talked to people who give the
organization $5,000 a year, and I talked to people who give so much more than that that
they were too embarrassed to tell me how much. And it was odd the way so many of the
Immortals said the same thing, almost word for word, about money: “I wish I could give
more to CBJ, and I don‟t care what they do with the money.”
I asked Chuckbernieandjim how they respond to people who accuse them of being a cult.
“Oh, nobody says that anymore,” BernaDeane said.
Chuck said it was stupid, pointing out that people can, after all, leave CBJ at any time. He
said that Scottsdale is no Waco. There is no compound. There are no gates. You are free to
come to the meetings whenever you want, and you are free to leave whenever you want.
It‟s entirely your choice, they said. And it‟s not a very complicated choice. You can stay or you
can leave. You can live or you can die.
***
I wondered what it must feel like to be immortal and then to suddenly be asked to be mortal
instead.
I found a couple I‟ll call Albert and Marie. When they realized eighteen months ago that their
then-23-year-old son had gotten involved with a group of people who claim to be physically
immortal, they tried to reason with him.
He blew up, according to his parents. “He will just get up and scream and beat his chest,” said
Albert, a Washington, D.C., attorney. Marie, a writer and community activist, recalled two of
the more intense incidents: “He basically had a psychotic fit, which I don‟t mind if I never see
again. He gets up and his pupils dilate and he‟s shaking and he‟s yelling things like “You want
me dead! That‟s why you‟re saying things like that! You‟re trying to kill me!” Or he‟s saying
“You‟re dead! You‟re dead!”
This from their handsome, athletic, creative, cum laude son.
JIM: I don‟t think it should be public knowledge what we earn. It‟s not that we have anything
to hide in that area.
BERNADEANE: We have nothing to hide.
JIM: People think we have a lot more money than we do. We walk with high self-esteem, we
dress well it‟s how the person displays themselves.
They went on about how much money they didn‟t make and about how I shouldn‟t be so
interested in money anyway. Finally, they said they did not know, precisely, how much money
they make, but they could certainly get those figures for me.
I did some math in my head. It costs $845 to go to the annual CBJ convergence in Scottsdale.
If the expected 1,000 people show up, that‟s close to a million tax-free dollars for
Chuckbernieandjim. (CBJ, or “Flame Foundation Inc.,” is listed with the IRS as a church.)
Anyway, the event I attended in Tel Aviv costs $175. About 300 people showed up, so that‟s
another $52,500. The three-day event I attended in Scottsdale cost $175, times 400 people,
so that‟s another $70,000. They have about twelve of these events a year. They also have
parties it costs $15 to get in. It costs $25 to subscribe to the CBJ magazine, Forever Alive. It
costs $6 for each of the twice-weekly CBJ meetings. It costs $1 for a pitiful sheet of paper
listing fellow Immortals. It costs $20 for a CBJ “DEATH SUCKS” T-shirt, $5 for the “FRIENDS
DON‟T LET FRIENDS DIE” license plate holder and $99.95 to subscribe to the CBJ cassette
series, so you can enjoy a cellular intercourse in the privacy of your own home.
All those dollars could add up to something like $2 million a year, but it‟s the “heart money”
that makes up, perhaps, the biggest chunk of cash. I talked to people who give the
organization $5,000 a year, and I talked to people who give so much more than that that
they were too embarrassed to tell me how much. And it was odd the way so many of the
Immortals said the same thing, almost word for word, about money: “I wish I could give
more to CBJ, and I don‟t care what they do with the money.”
I asked Chuckbernieandjim how they respond to people who accuse them of being a cult.
“Oh, nobody says that anymore,” BernaDeane said.
Chuck said it was stupid, pointing out that people can, after all, leave CBJ at any time. He
said that Scottsdale is no Waco. There is no compound. There are no gates. You are free to
come to the meetings whenever you want, and you are free to leave whenever you want.
It‟s entirely your choice, they said. And it‟s not a very complicated choice. You can stay or you
can leave. You can live or you can die.
***
I wondered what it must feel like to be immortal and then to suddenly be asked to be mortal
instead.
I found a couple I‟ll call Albert and Marie. When they realized eighteen months ago that their
then-23-year-old son had gotten involved with a group of people who claim to be physically
immortal, they tried to reason with him.
He blew up, according to his parents. “He will just get up and scream and beat his chest,” said
Albert, a Washington, D.C., attorney. Marie, a writer and community activist, recalled two of
the more intense incidents: “He basically had a psychotic fit, which I don‟t mind if I never see
again. He gets up and his pupils dilate and he‟s shaking and he‟s yelling things like “You want
me dead! That‟s why you‟re saying things like that! You‟re trying to kill me!” Or he‟s saying
“You‟re dead! You‟re dead!”
This from their handsome, athletic, creative, cum laude son.
