Shocked at God’s vocabulary, the stunned follower asked, “Were those God’s exact words?”
Ervil replied, “Absolutely!”
Ervil gave strict orders to his followers to carry out God’s commands. He promised the group that he sent on a mission to kill that Verlan would be in Los Molinos and that he would fall into their hands.
“Just do your part by throwing fire bombs at his homes so they’ll burn,” he said solemnly. “Open fire with your shotguns. We’ll blast the son of a bitch right into hell.” Then he chuckled, stating unequivocally, “God has wondrous plans of retribution.” The plan was to strike all seven of Verlan’s homes, burning each one and shooting out every window. So he informed his commandos that they were to go to Los Molinos on a special mission and burn down the buildings, which Ervil claimed rightfully belonged to him.
The group Ervil chose to carry out this plan consisted of Don Sullivan and some of Ervil’s own children, stepchildren, sons-in-law, and even his future wife, Rena. His shocked followers listened intently as Ervil explained the orders from God, who promised that Ervil’s brother Verlan would be in the colony and that He would deliver Verlan over to the Lambs of God so that he could be blood atoned.
These soldiers left to carry out Ervil’s orders, believing they were doing the will of God.
THE DAY BEFORE THE RAID, when Steven had accompanied his half sister Laura and Doug Fessler to Los Molinos for the weekend, Charlotte graciously welcomed Steven and Doug, giving them a place to sleep for the night. The following morning, Doug was anxious to show off his new Toyota to Laura’s family and friends, so they made arrangements to drive around town to visit friends and then go to the beach.
Steven, who was cautious since Joel’s death, warned Charlotte. “I heard a rumor yesterday that your mother from Salt Lake City called someone in San Diego. They said to get word to those in Los Molinos because Ervil had ordered a raid.”
Charlotte considered Steven’s words, but since she saw no other indications of trouble, she overlooked the warning.
Steven noticed several cars gathered at Bud Chynoweth’s house, one of Ervil’s loyal followers. He recognized the vehicles belonging to other dissidents and felt uneasy. Even though he was only sixteen years old, Steven still felt vulnerable, not trusting Ervil’s bunch since Joel’s murder. Wanting comfort and protection, he chose to stay at Charlotte’s where he could be with family.
But he joined the group for the day’s activities. Their first stop was at the Castro home, where Laura delivered a letter, which Fernando Castro Sr. and Ossmen Jones sent to warn the people of possible danger from Ervil’s followers.
That evening, on December 26, 1974, Doug, Laura, Steven, and a couple other teenagers were occupied playing board games. Steven, feeling too worried to concentrate, wandered outside to see if there was any unusual activity. He wondered if Ervil’s flunkies were up to no good. He noted that it was about ten o’clock.
Moments later, he heard commotion and could see in the distance that the tower house, a three-story framed building not far from my now-vacant house I had abandoned a few days earlier, was on fire.
Steven rushed back into Charlotte’s house to warn them. Little did Steven know that as soon as the tower house was ablaze, Ray Dambacher had immediately taken charge. With the help of several dozen men, he had formed a “bucket brigade,” dipping water from a nearby well and passing the buckets down the line as the group rallied to douse the roaring flames.
Two young brothers, Fernando and Joel Castro, used shovels, flinging sand and dirt onto the structure, hoping to quench the fire. For a few minutes, they focused their efforts in hopes of saving the burning building.
Moroni Mendez, only sixteen years old, was up on the second level fighting the flames. Horrified, the onlookers below watched as Moroni slumped over and tumbled down the exterior flight of stairs, crying as he fell, “I’ve been shot in the legs!”
Because of the crackling fire, no one had heard the gunshots. But now bullets flew into the crowd from all directions.
Ray Dambacher tried to dodge the bullets by getting out of the light from the fire and into the shadows. However, the engulfing flames from the building lit up the night scene clearly, revealing the group of firefighters as brightly as if a spotlight had been directed on them. As Ray took his first quick steps to safety, he felt the stinging pain in his side and both legs. He had been blasted with a shotgun.
Because of the noise and pandemonium below, Fernando Castro Jr., from his position near the stairs, had no idea they were being attacked or what peril they were in until a bullet zinged into his leg. He yelled frantically to his brother Joel, begging him to jump off the balcony of the burning building. Joel obeyed his brother, leaped to the ground, and rushed toward a stack of adobe bricks where he intended to be safe. But before he reached cover, he too received a shot in his right leg. A second later, another bullet exploded into Fernando’s right hand. Bleeding, but too afraid to stop moving, he limped to safety behind an adobe wall.
Cries from women and children drowned out the blasts from the guns as bullets sprayed into the horrified crowd. But Mark and Duane Chynoweth, Don Sullivan, Eddie Marston, and the others relentlessly carried out their leader’s commands.
The Firstborners stumbled, grabbing their wounds as they fell to the ground. Moroni’s pitiful cries were soon silenced when one of Ervil’s commandos walked up to him, placed a gun near his chest, then pulled the trigger.
The Lambs of God yelled for retreat, running to two different vehicles. Several attackers piled into a GMC truck and others scooted into a Fiat. The vehicles left in different directions, making their way through town, throwing firebombs and shooting into the houses.
Edmundo Aguilar was caught completely off guard when the soldiers attacked. Groggy from partying the previous night, he slept so hard that he was oblivious to the shotgun blasts and screams from the frightened crowd. He was jolted out of a deep sleep, however, when a Molotov cocktail flew through his window, shattering the glass and landing beside him on his bed. Flailing his arms against the burning bomb, he leaped from his bed. He hurried toward the window, throwing the bomb outside, when a gun blast came through the window. The shot knocked him unconscious, wounding him terribly.
The killers raced through town, shooting and throwing firebombs, believing in Ervil’s vision that Verlan would be delivered into their hands.
The last house they attacked was Charlotte’s. The GMC stopped directly in front of her home, opening fire at both doors and blasting every front window. They completely emptied their shotguns Mafia style as they sprayed her house with bullets and threw their firebombs. The Lambs of God jeered, mocked, and laughed jubilantly. Their voices rose in shouts of victory as they drove away, hoping that Verlan had been killed as Ervil had promised.
They didn’t know Verlan had left Los Molinos two weeks before and was safe in Nicaragua.
In the aftermath, five of the wounded were helping others, but ten wounded people lay in the darkness, unable to stand or help themselves. Benjamin Zarate, while trying to aid his fallen comrades, had been shot in the neck. Before he could react, a second bullet grazed his head. His wife, seeing he was still alive, whispered to him urgently to pretend he was dead. Moroni, clinging to life with a bullet in his chest, began crying again. The confused and wounded group was immobilized—until they heard Ray Dambacher’s blue delivery van approaching.
Despite their severe injuries and blinding pain, Ray and others loaded in the worst of the despairing wounded. Benjamin took the driver’s seat. He had never driven a vehicle with a gear shift, so Ray, though in excruciating pain, shifted while Benjamin steered. The terrified group made their way down the main street, hoping to aid other wounded victims. When they ran into Steven and fifteen-year-old Humberto Rascon who knew how to drive a stick shift, Steven insisted that Humberto drive them to the clinic.
Later, Steven recounted the attack, telling how he and Doug had hurried out of Char
lotte’s house to investigate when they heard shots and surprised cries through the darkness. Steven knew it was Ervil’s people, so they ran back into Charlotte’s house, shouting warnings to her: “It’s the Ervilites! They’re here to destroy us!” Steven then told Doug to stay with Charlotte and her kids to help protect them while he ran swiftly through the dark to Don Juan’s house. There he grabbed a .22 rifle, shoved twelve bullets into the magazine, then ran outside accompanied by Don Juan’s son Humberto. Hearing screams and shouts, they threw themselves prostrate into a small trench in the orchard close to the street. They saw several homes ignite when the firebombs hit. They heard the glass shatter as the attackers shot out windows in several homes along the main street.
Steven watched the truck approach. He could see the attackers from about forty yards away. He hugged the ground, keeping himself concealed from the headlights of the truck as it turned a corner coming toward him. He lay still with his gun cocked, holding his breath, praying no one would detect him. As soon as the truck left the town and headed up the road to the main highway, the boys scampered out of their hiding place and ran to Charlotte’s burning house. Humberto boosted Steven onto the roof, where the flames leaped higher and higher. Steven tore off his wool jacket and began beating out the fire. As he made his way across the roof, he threw to the ground numerous Molotov cocktails. When the fire was out, he jumped down and ran to Susan’s house (Verlan’s sixth wife) and extinguished the flames that threatened to consume her front door. Humberto hoisted Steven onto the roof, where he grabbed three burning bombs and threw them to the ground. With his coat, he then beat out the fire, which was burning the tar paper roof. By the time Steven and Humberto reached Lillie’s house (Verlan’s seventh wife), her front door and frame were burning. Her roof had also caught on fire above the door. Both boys scaled the wall onto the crackling roof and beat the dancing flames until they were extinguished.
By now, it was evident to Steven that every house of his father’s had been targeted. When he finally arrived at Beverly’s house (Verlan’s fourth wife) the fire had already been extinguished with water from the sink.
Steven ran down the road toward my evacuated house, hoping to save it from burning, but someone had already extinguished the blaze.
Just then, Ray and Benjamin drove up in Ray’s van, screaming for help. Inside were several wounded victims. Benjamin was in bad shape and Ray himself was badly wounded. Humberto got in the driver’s seat, put the truck into gear, and headed off to the Mexican clinic twenty minutes south of the colony to get medical aid.
The Buen Pastor Clinic overflowed with victims of the attack. The small hospital was unprepared and unequipped for so many wounded. Fearing more attacks, a staff member called the police to go to the colony. They worked frantically to save the wounded, but sixteen-year-old Moroni Mendez died shortly after he arrived.
Back in the raided town, Steven went to Esther’s house (Verlan’s fifth wife), where the Aguilar family was living. He ran to the blown-out six-foot picture window and found the glass in hundreds of pieces inside and out. Hearing an unusual noise, Steven turned and felt chills of fear racing through his body when he found nineteen-year-old Edmundo Aguilar, who had been shot in the head, his body jerking and convulsing. Steven could see Edmundo’s injuries were beyond his limited skills, so he left to get help.
Manuel Rascon, who had been in the small town of Guerrero, saw the flames in the distance from the highway as he was returning home. He met Steven running down the gravel road and insisted that Steven get into his vehicle. They drove back to Esther’s house, where Edmundo lay in agony. An older woman who had been shot in the shoulder came out of her hiding place in the closet when she realized the boys were there to help her. Manuel and Steven helped both of them into the car and Manuel rushed them to the clinic, but, sadly, Edmundo also died a short time later.
By now, Steven was beginning to grasp the magnitude of the raid. He scurried through the fields to Charlotte’s house, yelling several times. No one answered. He ran into her backyard to investigate, calling out into the darkness. Charlotte and Doug answered him from a small orchard thirty yards away. Steven briefly told them what had happened, informing them about the wounded. He learned that Doug had driven his car into the orchard when the commotion had first started. He offered to take Steven up to my abandoned house, two blocks away. It had been saved, but the tall tower house that sat just beyond my home was a smoldering ash heap.
Setura Castro stood by the road in a group of about fifty or sixty distraught women and children, weeping and moaning. They feared the attackers would return. When Steven told them about the wounded and how much of the town had been destroyed, they became more frightened. Not waiting to hear the rest of Steven’s report, the group—gripped with fear—ran weeping toward the ocean to the salt flats, hoping to save their lives.
At daybreak, Ossmen Jones, his son Larry, and Fernando Castro Sr. flew to Los Molinos after word had reached them of the raid. Their small plane circled the colony, buzzing overhead, taking note of the ashes of the three-story tower house and charred homes. The victims who survived the destruction from the night before were absolutely terrified, seeing the plane circle and then land. They hid in their homes screaming and praying that they’d be delivered from more violence. They all thought that Ervil’s henchmen had returned in the plane to finish them all off. The scene was pure pandemonium.
When the plane landed on the salt flats, Steven and a group of men drove down to investigate. They wanted to help protect the women and children who were hiding near the ocean sand dunes. Steven was surprised when he realized it was Ossmen Jones and Fernando Castro Sr., the two men who had sent a warning to them the night before, a warning that had not been circulated. Therefore no one knew of the impending threat. The uninformed colony was completely unprepared for the surprise attack. They were absolutely caught off guard.
Several government soldiers arrived in trucks. Some went to calm and protect the emotionally distraught group who had taken refuge near the ocean. The soldiers convinced the crowd to return to their homes, following them with a promise of protection.
Later that morning, news reporters from the United States and Mexico swarmed the colony. Cameras flashed for hours as women and children willingly shared their stories, pointing out the burned spots on their homes, and the gunshot holes. They wept as they recounted the screams and agony of the wounded.
With the level of destruction created by the Lambs of God, it was a miracle that only two people died and only thirteen others were wounded. My son Steven was a true hero. Had it not been for him, five of Verlan’s homes would have burned to the ground. I was so proud and I loved him for his courage and strength to act under pressure.
When Verlan returned from Nicaragua to attend the funerals, he looked tired and haggard. Verlan had believed wholeheartedly that his brother Joel was a prophet of God. Now he was dead and Ervil had clearly lost his grip on reality. Verlan wondered how his brother could be so insane as to want to wipe out some of his own family. He was sickened that his dear mother had to endure so much pain. I sensed Verlan’s disappointment. His brothers, Ben, Ross, and Alma, had shamed the family, but Verlan had tried for years to redeem the LeBaron name. Now Ervil was infamous—a black-hearted brother who was out to destroy the last shards of the LeBaron legacy.
Verlan’s responsibilities to his wives and children also weighed heavily on his mind. I sensed sadness and disappointment that he couldn’t spend more time with us. Mostly it pained me to see him so jittery, always having to look over his shoulder, always wondering if he’d be cut down by Ervil’s henchmen. My heart ached for Verlan. He kissed me sadly and told me how appalled he was by his brother’s behavior. “I’m so sorry that I can’t stay with you. I feel so bad that you’re in such a perilous situation and I can’t be here to protect you and the children.”
We hugged warmly, wondering if it would be the last time we would see each other. Life was so uncertain.
After he left to attend the funerals and comfort his flock of believers, I felt so abandoned and alone, especially during the holidays when we should have been celebrating as a family. I’ll forever be grateful that I listened to my prompting and fled ten days earlier with my children to Ensenada. I was grateful that my children and I were safe with my friend Juna in San Diego.
I was especially saddened to hear of Moroni Mendez’s death. He had helped load my belongings into a pickup in preparation for my departure from Los Molinos. In gratitude I had given him a Spanish Bible and also a dresser. He’d warmly expressed his thanks, and that was the last time I saw him alive.
Had we still been living in our house in the colony that night, I’m sure my children would have been standing out front watching the three-story house burn. I myself would have been out trying to fight the flames in the bucket brigade. I learned that my adobe home had been riddled by shotgun blasts and Molotov bombs had charred my front door and burned part of my roof. I knew our lives had been saved by my being obedient to the voice that had warned me to leave ten days earlier.
VERLAN WAS OVERWHELMED WITH FEAR and concern for his families. Since all his homes had been targeted in Los Molinos with firearms and riddled with shotgun pellets, I remained in hiding in San Diego with my ten younger children at my friend Juna’s home while Verlan attended the funerals in Los Molinos of the two young men who were killed during the raid.
It was chaos with so many children and nowhere to run for safety, but we had to take action. Verlan returned after the funeral and took me back to Ensenada, where we quickly spent thirty minutes grabbing bedding, dishes, utensils and clothing. We took only the bare necessities, knowing I had to leave space in the camper for the children. Our main concern was that some of Ervil’s soldiers would be lying in wait. Nevertheless, we repacked the truck again in San Diego, making sure he left room for the children, then we left at five in the morning for Colonia LeBaron.
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