The NEW Rest of the Story: The General of the Forgotten (Video)

He was born into poverty.

The kind that doesn’t just shape a childhood—it shapes a mission.

His father was a struggling builder, his mother stretched pennies to cover meals. And when his father died, the boy was just 13. Any dream of school was gone. He took an apprenticeship—repairing shoes—not because he liked leather and laces, but because it meant he could eat.

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And yet, from a young age, he burned with purpose. Even as he cobbled boots in the backroom of a Nottingham shop, he believed there had to be more than just fixing soles—he wanted to reach souls.

By 15, he was preaching in the streets.

He wasn’t trained, polished, or particularly welcome. His audience? The poor. The drunk. The hungry. Those the Church had long ignored. He carried not a collection plate, but a message of hope. And in his twenties, he became a full-time Methodist minister—until he realized that preaching to the converted wasn’t enough.

He saw what others refused to see: the teeming slums of East London, overrun with poverty, vice, and despair. He began open-air services among the outcasts—prostitutes, gamblers, thieves. He preached on street corners, under gas lamps, in marketplaces—anywhere ears might hear.

Not all ears were eager.

He and his ragtag band of followers were pelted with bricks and rotten vegetables. Street gangs hired to disrupt their gatherings. Police sometimes turned a blind eye. Still, he marched on.

You see, this wasn’t just about sermons—it was about salvation with shoes on. He believed you couldn’t preach to empty stomachs, so soup came before scripture. He opened shelters for the homeless, offered job training, and created programs for alcohol rehabilitation. He even offered “poor man’s bank accounts” to help people save without being swindled.

But something was still missing.

This wasn’t just a ministry—it was a movement. And so, in 1878, he gave it a name. Inspired by the military-like discipline of his growing mission, he declared it a Salvation Army, and he would be its General.

Out went the black suits and hymnals. In came uniforms, marching bands, flags, and ranks. Soldiers of faith. Battling poverty and sin with tambourines, trumpets, and tenacity.

Critics laughed.

But the streets of London didn’t laugh. They listened. And followed. Within a few decades, his Army had grown beyond Britain—to America, India, Australia, and beyond. Always going where the need was greatest. Always preaching that no one was too broken, too drunk, too poor, or too far gone to be redeemed.

But this General didn’t stay in the war room.

He marched with his soldiers. Visited the sick. Held hands with the dying. In his final years, nearly blind, he still addressed crowds of thousands. When he died in 1912, over 40,000 people attended his funeral. The Queen sent condolences. Even opponents paused to acknowledge the impact of a man who dared to love the least and the lost.

He once said, “While women weep, as they do now, I’ll fight. While children go hungry… while men go to prison… while there is a drunkard left… I’ll fight.”

And fight, he did.

Today, his Army spans over 130 countries, offering aid in disasters, shelter for the homeless, addiction recovery, and spiritual hope—all without discrimination.

His name was William Booth

And now you know the rest of the story.

William Booth.

Article posted with permission from Sons of Liberty Media