“Well ...” he hesitated.
“Just a couple.”
He left the room, without confessing what he had done. Moments later he had second thoughts. He told Tim Tupper Jones, a friend who recently had been adopted into the family, “You better tell Mom I just took an overdose of Quaaludes.”
Marceline charged into the room. Bringing him to his feet, she made him walk around and filled him with cold coffee. He woke up two days later in a hospital, still unhappy, still confused and in need of help and a resolution of his family problems.
Yet Jones, the model of compassion, either could not or would not recognize his own son’s dilemma. Rather than spend more time with him, Jones enlisted an older Temple member, Mike Touchette, as his playmate.
THIRTEEN
Golden Boy
By 1968, the Temple had been granted standing under the Disciples’ Northern California-Nevada region. And, as in Indiana, the Temple soon capitalized upon its denominational affiliation. In newsletters, letters to officials and dignitaries and in various applications, the Temple almost automatically identified itself as part of the “1.5-million-member” church. Sometimes the reference was so vague as to leave the impression that Jones himself headed the huge nationwide group, which had numbered J. Edgar Hoover and Lyndon Johnson among its members. Without permission the Temple had inserted laudatory statements from Disciples’ officials on leaflets and flyers announcing Jones’s miracle healing services across the land. A further advantage to affiliation, of course, involved taxes: federal and state tax exemptions and breaks on local property tax assessments.
The Disciples never impeded the Temple, even though Jones ignored even the minimal requirements of the mother church, such as regular holy communion and baptism. Jones, like Father Divine, administered holy communion in the form of church dinners. He baptized people in the Temple swimming pool “in the holy name of Socialism.”
Even if they had uncovered his sacrilegious practices, the Disciples could have done little, for the denomination lacked procedures for examining local congregations and the power to expel them. Moreover, ordination in Disciples’ churches historically had been left in the hands of the local congregation, and training requirements were minimal. Over the years, Jones manufactured ministers as the need arose, some with little or no ministerial expertise. There were exceptions, however; Tim Stoen and Guy Young, a Temple member who was also a probation officer in Contra Costa County, both had educations from church-related institutions. They applied for and got official ministerial standing within the denomination proper. And Stoen would go on to become a member of the Disciples of Christ’s regional board, practically assuring the Temple’s continued protection.
From the perspective of the Disciples, Peoples Temple, headed by a respected Ukiah figure, had become an important asset. It was one of the largest and most generous Disciples churches in the country. The church’s donations kept apace of its lengthening membership rolls. Additional infusions of funds arrived periodically, often coinciding with Temple crises. As Temple membership shot up from a reported 86 in 1966 to 300 in 1969 to 2,570 in 1973, donations to the Disciples went from zero to $13,775.
Tim Stoen handled most Temple liaison work with the Disciples. In addition to being church board chairman and church attorney, Stoen—religious and righteous-sounding-projected the correct image. Stoen played a similar role as secret agent, adviser and ambassador for Jones in the larger community. His primary task as church attorney was to keep the church on the safe side of the line between legality and illegality. Being attached to the district attorney’s office did not hurt. He could keep Jones briefed if a case arose involving a Temple member. And his very presence in the D.A.’s office would tend to discourage people, including Temple members, from filing complaints against Jones’s church.
Temple members were employed throughout the local and county government in Ukiah, but none, including Pastor Jones, was as highly visible and as widely respected as Tim Stoen. The lawyer came into almost daily contact with the most powerful people in the county; through his job, he knew the district attorney, the judges, the newspaper editor, county supervisors, police, school officials, state and county agency heads and others. Stoen provided a living example of the humane philosophy of Peoples Temple. People who knew little of Jim Jones thought well of the Temple because of Stoen and other hard-working, sincere members. The erudite and articulate attorney made the proper contacts, was active in the Rotary Club and Republican party. His effusive praise of his leader and organization could not simply be written off.
Whether chatting in the grocery store or among his employees, the Mendocino County Board of Supervisors, Stoen came across strongly as a true believer. Some, like county welfare chief Dennis Denny, thought it remarkable that such an analytical man could adopt such outlandish religious beliefs. Stoen dumbfounded Denny once by telling him Rev. Jones had healed himself instantly after being shot point-blank with a pistol. As an eyewitness, Stoen offered proof: “Jim took the bullet and held it up and dropped it, and it went ‘plink.’ ” And at that, Denny shot him a skeptical eye, and said sarcastically, “Tim... it went plink?”
Stoen could not check his zeal even in political settings, when talking to other active Republicans or attending receptions for statewide campaigners such as then-California Attorney General Evelle Younger. Local Republican Central Committee leader Marge Boynton, though fond of Stoen, once remarked at a planning seminar, “It sounds like you think Jim is God.” Stoen replied, “I guess I think he is.”
On at least one occasion, Stoen made it quite clear where his allegiance would fall if his two commitments came into conflict. During a session of the Board of Supervisors, Stoen’s secretary rushed in to hand him a note—welfare chief Dennis Denny and an investigator had gone to Jones’s house asking him questions about some apparently stolen agricultural commodities seen on a Temple-owned truck. Without any explanation, Stoen took off from the meeting, leaving them without their county counsel.
The next day, in explaining his disappearance to Supervisor Al Barbero, Stoen stated: “I took the job on the condition that if anything came up, I worked for the church first.”
Indeed, the cause consumed his day. He rose often at 4:00 A.M. to study history and other subjects he would need to know cold if his ambitions and the church’s were to be realized. Life was a string of appointments and phone calls, all tightly scheduled. He accounted for every minute of his day on paper—shaving and showering, eating, sleeping, exercising. He expected great things of himself, and he compartmentalized his life to maximize his efficiency.
Stoen’s accomplishments were astonishing. Yet with such demands upon him, even Stoen had to sacrifice something. He neglected his young bride. As commitment to the Temple hardened into obsession, he devoted less and less time and energy to the woman with whom he promised to share life. When she complained or became saddened by his absences and outside interests, Tim encouraged her to suppress her selfish feelings so as to become a good Temple member.
According to most external indicators, their marriage went well. They lived in a comfortable wood frame house in Ukiah. The home—with its furniture, television, stereo, art books and literature—was more important to Grace than Tim, because she could not take for granted the bourgeois trappings he had known all his life. Having heard Jones’s harangues, she realized that her personal desires conflicted with Temple teachings. But, after all, she herself never had volunteered for the people’s vanguard.
Though Jones personally conceded a nice home to the Stoens to keep them happy, other members resented their privileges, and the Stoens were accused of elitism. Grace—who wore tasteful clothes and kept her shoulder-length black hair long after Temple women clipped theirs short as an ego reducer—faced the charges of narcissism. Though she felt their disapproval, she did not want to surrender what she had wanted all her life. It was almost as bad as being white in a church where Jones harped about the evils inflicted upon blacks.
&nbs
p; The Stoen house was never turned into a Temple commune. It was never overrun with stray dogs, cats and people. The Stoens boarded no more than three outsiders at a time, and most were children of church members. Jones knew that Grace needed to play lady of the house, and adults would upset that. Most boarders were too young to provide her with any companionship during Tim’s frequent absences, until blond, pert Jeanette Kerns arrived from Florida in the summer of 1971....
Kerns, a spunky ex-surfer and daughter of a Temple member, had been coaxed into quitting her job and coming to California to live in what sounded like Christian church-run college dormitories. Jones did not want her to be hit too abruptly with cultural shock, so he sent her to the Stoens with orders to keep her contented. The arrangement worked well, because Jeanette and Grace genuinely enjoyed their companionship and soon found common interests. Neither was imbued with the Temple’s spirit of self-deprivation.
The two young women took shopping jaunts to downtown Ukiah, or sneaked away to Lake Mendocino to sunbathe and swim. They exchanged gossip, chatted about Grace’s youth in San Francisco, Jeanette’s days as a Florida beach girl. The latest fashions did not escape them, though they sat for hours hearing Jones rave about the virtues of frugality, of buying secondhand garments. The women exchanged “good dirt” about church people; they talked about who was sleeping with whom and ridiculed the pompous members who flaunted their loyalty and bowed and scraped around Jones family members. They groused about going to choir lessons and made fun of the Pentecostal pantomime, mocking the way people shouted “Hallelujah” and “Thank the Lord.”
Yet when Jim Jones called or stopped by the Stoen household, it was a special event. Even Grace, unenthusiastic as she was, changed her tune. While Tim was at work and Jeanette was staying there, he phoned now and then and talked to Grace during the day. And he came by to have dinner a couple of times with the Stoens. Grace treated him with great respect, waiting on him hand and foot.
Though Grace had begun to admire this handsome and energetic young minister who did so much for others, she was put off by those who adored him. To her, Jim Jones was a human being, a good man no more above reproach than anyone else, at least not in private. She prided herself on her ability to maintain her dignity when talking with him, her readiness to correct him if he slipped or if she disagreed. Perhaps Jones sensed her need to be treated equally, as one human being to another. He accepted her criticism, but slowly he built her respect for him and his goals. He wanted her as a follower, in part because it would keep Tim in the fold. Someday he would claim that he had given her “special attention” to keep her loyal.
How Jones divided, conquered and bound the couple to the church provides a case study of his manipulative techniques:
During the first year or so of Stoen’s membership, Jones built him up tremendously, entrusting him with great responsibilities, singing his praises and encouraging other members to like him. And he gave Stoen, as he would with some other key members, a “reward.” Jones complained that too many women were demanding his love, attention and sexual favors. He asked Stoen to help relieve that drain upon him by becoming intimate with a woman of low self-esteem. For Stoen, whose taste always ran to the beauty-queen type, Jones selected rather homely Sharon Amos. After all, this was supposed to be a self-sacrifice.
Jones then let Stoen’s wife know in various ways about her husband’s philandering, never mentioning, of course, his own role in the liaison. Although Jones created friction between Grace and Tim, they loved each other and wanted to stay married at first.
Around this time, in summer of 1971, while Tim and Grace were living and sleeping together, she became pregnant. This only brought new conflicts. One Wednesday night meeting in July 1971, Grace got a preview of the criticism she might expect for carrying the baby to term. Already upset with her husband’s extramarital activity, she suffered a cutting remark from none other than Sharon Amos, who said pointedly that people who contribute to the overpopulation problem should pay all childbirth costs. Though her peers pressured her to get an abortion, Grace wanted to keep the baby.
The day following the meeting, she confronted her husband. She accused him of infidelity, of chasing other women in the church. Crying, she said her pride had been hurt, that people laughed at her. Stoen argued feebly that he merely wanted to help women who needed affection based on respect. The three women in whom he had shown an interest were not beauties, he pointed out. Tearfully accusing him of using her, of letting her cook, clean and wash, Grace criticized him for not making the time to take her to breakfast or to spend even a few minutes with her, though he made time for other women. She said she could not go on living with him.
That afternoon as Stoen drove Grace to her doctor in Santa Rosa, she proceeded to cross-examine Tim about Jones’s role in his contacts with other women. “Did Jim ask you to get involved with Linda [Sharon] Amos?” she asked at one point.
Stoen covered for Jones, apparently not sensing his pastor’s manipulation, and still mystified as to how Grace had gleaned her information. Instead of exchanging confidences with her, he played spy on his own marriage. The following day he sent a four-page handwritten letter to Jones, detailing the above and warning him: “Be careful. My wife is about to ask you some loaded questions.” What was most important, Tim said, was that Grace not leave either him or the church. With that, Stoen-closed the circle for Jones. An even greater measure of his loyalty would soon be tapped.27
It was 3:30 A.M. on January 25,1972. Grace Stoen’s water broke. She and Tim climbed into the car and drove through a heavy rain south on U.S. Highway 101 to Santa Rosa Memorial Hospital. While Grace measured contractions in a labor room, Tim went to provide information for the admission forms. Grace signed the forms and checked her wedding ring for safekeeping at 5:10 A.M. She was twenty-one, her husband thirty-four. It was a great comfort to have him at her side during the hours of waiting in the labor room. The time crept past, the day dawned, and late in the morning, she finally had dilated enough to go to the delivery room. At first the nurse evicted Tim, but the doctor asked, “Where’s the father? Get him in here. He’s the best person to have here. She needs him.” At 11:25 A.M., Tim signed a release form absolving the hospital of responsibility if he passed out or injured himself during the birth. The delivery was difficult. Almost three hours later, at 2:16 P.M., a tiny head with matted black hair squeezed out of Grace’s body. Tim was electrified. He later would describe the birth of John Victor Stoen as the greatest moment of his life.
This squirming little being would, through no fault of his own, become a critical factor in determining the fate of a thousand people. One of these people, the Reverend Jim Jones, was at that moment bemoaning to one of his lovers that he could not claim John Stoen as his own.
Owing to her rough labor, Grace was confined to bed. Visits were restricted to relatives. When Jones came to visit a few days later, nurses stopped him, but he bulled ahead, saying, “I’ve come all the way from Ukiah. I’m her minister.” Grace vouched for him, and the nurses made an exception. It was his only visit; he had stopped off en route to San Francisco.
When the hospital released Grace, Tim signed a promissory note for $325. When the infant came home, Stoen acted like an obnoxiously proud father, doting over the baby, helping with the bottles and diapers.
On February 1, 1972, a week after the birth, the Stoens received a copy of the birth certificate from the health department. It listed the mother as Grace, the father as Tim Stoen. Grace had provided the information and signed the legal document.
On February 6, 1972, a week after filing of the birth certificate, Mendocino County Assistant District Attorney Timothy Oliver Stoen signed a contradictory piece of paper which, whether a truthful statement or not, exhibited phenomenal trust in Jim Jones:
“I, Timothy Oliver Stoen, hereby acknowledge that in April 1971, I entreated my beloved pastor, James W. Jones, to sire a child by my wife, Grace Lucy (Grech) Stoen, who had previously, at my ins
istence, reluctantly but graciously consented thereto. James W. Jones agreed to do so, reluctantly, after I explained that I very much wished to raise a child, but was unable after extensive attempts, to sire one myself. My reason for requesting James W. Jones to do this is that I wanted my child to be fathered, if not by me, by the most compassionate, honest, and courageous human being the world contains. ”
“The child, John Victor Stoen, was born on January 25, 1972. I am privileged beyond words to have the responsibility for caring for him, and I undertake this task humbly with the steadfast hope that said child will become a devoted follower of Jesus Christ, and be instrumental in bringing God’s kingdom here on earth, as has been his wonderful natural father. ”
“I declare under penalty of perjury that the foregoing is true and correct.”
The document also bore the signature of Marceline Jones as witness. Marceline believed that Jones was the father, that Grace was one of the women making sexual demands on her husband. Later, she would cover for him further, saying she had granted Jim permission in advance to impregnate Grace.
Stoen later would say he assumed the document was going into a safe. He did not tell Grace he signed it, although the statement, in effect, bound the child to Jones and the church for life. The circle was drawn, with the entire Stoen family inside its boundaries.
FOURTEEN
On the Road
The Temple spread like ivy, through families in Ukiah and beyond, putting down roots wherever it touched ground. In the space of just a couple of years in the early 1970s, Temple membership and assets multiplied several times over as the church combined its old recruiting patterns among poor, blacks and the uneducated with assistance from an elite of college-educated, middle-class whites. In collecting people and money coast to coast, Jones dictated the formula with the master’s touch of a traveling evangelist. His past experience—from the religious convention shared with William Branham to the door-to-door recruiting of blacks in Indiana —had taught him essential steps in the recruitment process. Follow-up was as important as an impressive initial contact; then it was necessary to get potential recruits involved at once.
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