Waco

by David Thibodeau

  Like Paul Sparks, Sal Stabile, who was the executive producer and main script writer, told me that until he’d read my book, he believed what he had heard in the media—that there was an imminent danger from this heavily armed doomsday cult who were torturing children. “For the first time in my life, I was shocked that so little true information had been given out. What shocked me most, though, was that these people had negotiated a deal to come out of the compound but were never given the chance. I thought I lived in a country where you were presumed innocent until you were found guilty in a court of law. If this could happen to a group of Christians living in Texas, it could happen to a group of Muslims in a mosque or any group at all. We’re living in a time where it’s hard to find the truth and Waco serves as an example of how the truth isn’t always what we’re presented with. If we were really interested in the truth, we need to do our own due diligence. It’s twenty-five years too late, but I think all those families should be given a proper apology.” His sentiments were echoed again and again by both cast and crew. As Taylor Kitsch remarked, “Now that I’ve been exposed to countless events and personal accounts, I’ve changed my views on Waco entirely. It’s disappointing we haven’t learned from the tragedy that was Waco. Just maybe we’ll be able to open ourselves up to multiple viewpoints.”

  For John Dowdle, the experience of working on this film series had been like peeling the layers of an onion in order to uncover the truth about the events of 1993. “I found it shocking to discover the humanity of the people of Mt. Carmel. That alone changed a lot of what I thought I knew. When you know people better, it truly humanizes them. It becomes harder to write them off and it hurts to see their pain and suffering.”

  On my drive back from the set in New Mexico to my home in Maine, I stopped over to visit with some of the survivors of Mt. Carmel. Clive Doyle and Sheila Martin are still living in Waco. Both of them had been in the church even before David Koresh came on the scene. Clive told me that most of his life is devoted to serving God but he was reluctant to talk about the events in Waco. Even though he lived at the Mt. Carmel property for many years after the fire, so many people came to see where it had all happened and asked so many questions, he became overwhelmed. He now lives a quiet life in the town of Waco and has written a book about his experiences called A Journey to Waco.

  While visiting Clive, I asked him what had happened to Brad Branch since I had not been able to find a trace of him through my research. Brad was released from prison in 2006 with the remaining survivors. I found out that another survivor, British subject Renos Avraam, claimed to have received a message from God. He had a vision that revealed to him that America was going to be destroyed and that Central America was the only safe place. Brad Branch and Kevin Whitecliff ended up following him there and are all now awaiting the end. I have to admit I didn’t see this turn of events coming for my old friends.

  Another survivor, Kathy Schroeder, lives in Tampa, Florida. She turned state’s evidence after the siege, because she wanted to protect her children, and has spent the last twenty-five years rebuilding her life. Asked why Waco is important today, she said that part of David’s teachings involved people paying more attention to avoiding a herd mentality. “We follow in the steps of the person in front of us without really thinking about what we’re doing. We should love our parents but we should not live their lives. We must do what’s right for us.” She still talks about how important the Seventh Seal is to her. “When I first learned the Seventh Seal, it was utterly and totally amazing for me to be at that point. It taught me that I knew nothing, that everything we had learned is like an atom compared to God’s universe and what He has in store for us. My relationship with God is about me believing and following. I regret nothing and would do everything again exactly the same way.”

  I found that most of the survivors continue to serve God in some fashion, whether this includes leading a prayer group, working in a soup kitchen or food bank, or serving the poor and handicapped. Livingston Fagan, who now lives in the UK, works with the elderly and is still very involved in studying Scripture. He is probably the best biblical scholar of any of the survivors. I was particularly shocked when I found that my closest friend and ally at Mt. Carmel, Jaime Castillo, died at the age of forty of liver failure brought on by hepatitis C. He was sentenced to forty years in prison on a weapons and manslaughter charge. Later his sentence was reduced by the Supreme Court and he was released in 2006. I wish I’d had the opportunity to reunite with him before he died.

  Looking back, I can see that I learned a huge amount from my time in Mt. Carmel, but that now, unlike some of the other survivors, I feel “messaged out.” I’m happy to live my life in the best way I can and honor those who were cheated of theirs. Waco has left a stain on American history that will never be erased, and we ignore its lessons at our peril. John Dowdle’s reply to my question about why Waco is both relevant and important today sums it up perfectly. “I feel as if we have a very ‘us versus them’ mentality. Everything has grown so politicized that it’s hard to find common ground even on simple issues. There is a rush to judgment and condemnation that I feel is really hurting our ability to effect positive change. Waco, for me, is a story of force versus understanding. When attempts were made to listen to and understand one another, things got better. Conversely, attempts at force never brought positive results. At this moment in time, I feel as if that’s an important lesson to remember. When we listen to one another, we heal and learn. When we condemn and vilify one another, at best we lose the ability to grow; at worst, people get hurt.”

  It’s hard to believe that almost a quarter of a century has passed since I emerged from the hell of that final day. I’ll be forever a changed man, but I still believe life is a wonderful thing, even in dark times. Someone once told me that, after Waco, the rest of my life would be gravy. Well, it wasn’t quite gravy. There were times early on when being a survivor became too much to handle. I would pray to God to allow me to go nuts and lose touch with reality so I wouldn’t have to face all the negativity and hate. Fortunately, I kept my faculties intact, but the emotion of anger is always with me. It comes from living this long and seeing the utter lack of justice for the children and adults of Waco. These feelings linger and will never go away. Overall, though, I’m happy. I love to laugh and enjoy my family and bandmates. People on the film set kept telling me how normal and well adjusted I seem considering everything I’ve been through. I may not share their opinion, because I have to live with myself. I know the anger that comes from having been in a helpless situation, but I also have a lot of hope that this generation will do the right things for the right reasons.

  I have one last wish. I often think of the children who survived Waco, the ones who lost mothers, fathers, brothers, uncles, grandparents. I have not been in touch with any of them, except for Kevin Jones. He is a fine young man who would have made his father proud. To those I have not been in touch with, especially David’s children, I want to tell them I’m available whenever they want to reach out. They may not want to be reminded of the trauma of those days, but with so much demonization, I want to assure them that they were and are loved. Their parents were not evil and they were not robots. They had personalities and dreams like everyone else. To these children, I say:

  If you should ever feel alone, I promise that I and many others think of you fondly and hope that you can go on to show the world you are strong and unstoppable. Much love to you and to everyone I share this planet with.

  —David Thibodeau, September 2017

  David Thibodeau with his friend, Julie Martinez. Julie and her five children were the largest single family, aside from David Koresh’s own, that died in the fire which consumed Mount Carmel.

  David Koresh, leader of the Branch Davidian Community living at Mount Carmel. The community was destroyed by fire on April 19, 1993, after a fifty-one-day siege by federal agents, and a final assault that led to the deaths of seventy-four people living at Mount Car
mel, including twenty-one children.

  David Koresh (left) on a trip to Australia in the late 1980s, to meet with the local Davidians. Clive Doyle (right), an Australian, was one of the nine survivors of the April 1993 fire, and is currently the leader of a small group of Davidians still living in the Waco area.

  Jaime Castillo, one of the nine survivors of the fire at Mount Carmel, on April 19, 1993, playing music in the band room of the federal prison where he is incarcerated in Beaumont, Texas.

  Marc Breault (right) and Steve Schneider at Mount Carmel in the mid-1980s. Breault and his wife, Elizabeth Baranyai, left the community in 1987 in a dispute over Koresh’s New Light doctrine. Schneider, who replaced Breault as Koresh’s closest associate conducted most of the negotiations with federal agents during the siege.

  Michele Jones when David Thibodeau met her on his first visit to Mount Carmel in 1990.

  Jennifer Andrade, aged twenty, died in the fire, suffocated by toxic fumes from lethal tear gas injected into Mount Carmel by federal agents.

  Jennifer’s sister, Katherine, aged twenty-four, died in the fire, along with fourteen-month-old Chanel, her daughter by Koresh.

  The layout of Mount Carmel, showing the areas, such as the cafeteria, the concrete vault, and the chapel, where most people died in the ATF attack on February 28 and the final assault on April 19. David Thibodeau and several other surivors escaped the fire through the right-hand wall of the chapel.

  The second floor of Mount Carmel was occupied by women and children. David Koresh and some members of his family lived in the second and third floors of the residential tower, which was strafed by agents in helicopters on February 28.

  ATF agents attacking the second story room above the chapel, where they believed the community stored its guns. The room was empty, but two agents were killed and another was wounded in the assault. Scott Sonobe and David Koresh were subsequently wounded by ATF agents who penetrated this area.

  The ATF retrieves its wounded agents during a lull in the February 28 assault. The holes made by incoming bullet rounds are plainly seen in the right-hand metal skin panel of the front door and the adjacent wall, clear evidence that the agents fired the first shots into the building. The right-hand panel mysteriously vanished after the fire, through the left-hand panel intact.

  Six hours after federal tanks ripped huge holes in Mount Carmel’s walls and filled the building with tear gas, a brisk wind fanned the flammable chemical residue, mixed with spilled fluid from the occupant’s heaters, into a violent blaze that finally exploded in a fireball of smoke and flame.

  Memorial quilts displayed during marches in Washington, D.C. in 1997 and 1998 to remind the public about the Waco tragedy, and to call for the release of the five Davidians still held in federal prisons. The upper quilt is dedicated to Michele and her three children, four-year-old Serenity and the twenty-two-month-old twins, Chica and Little One, all of whom died in the fire.

  SPECIAL THANKS AND ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  First I wish to thank the Father and Mother of all creation for the experience and guidance that has been given to me throughout my life, especially during the stubborn times when I felt I had no guidance at all. Thanks to David for giving me the knowledge of the Scripture, showing me the importance of the Book in this generation and for showing me the depths of the eternity it represents. I wish to thank my wife and daughter for their patience and support during the course of creating this book and for warming my heart during the coldest of times. Thanks to my mother, Balenda, for always believing in me and being behind me, no matter what. Thanks to my father for giving me a love of history, as well as words of wisdom. I would like to thank my uncle, Bob, for all his help and support, and my grandmothers, Gloria and Flo (Mim), for teaching me values that are rarely found in this generation.

  This book would not have been possible if it weren’t for my literary agent Charlotte Gusay, who had the courage, belief, and tenacity to take on and promote such a controversial story, and Leon Whiteson, who helped me to reach deep within and open up the darkest chapters of my life, spending countless hours putting it all into written form. Leon’s charming wife, Aviva, was an expert editor and friend. A very, very special thanks to Geoff Shandler and the team at PublicAffairs for taking on this book and many other books that are of paramount importance to this nation.

  Thanks to my friends in Maine: Leonard Smith III, for being my best friend and always being there for me; James Brown; Sherry, for being there for me when no one else was. Thanks to my dear friend Stacy Hanna, who excelled in my high school drama class, danced like an angel, and was destined to become a shining star on the world stage, R.I.P. Your memory gave me much hope and confidence, and you are greatly missed. Thank you so much, Mr. Pike, for bringing out the best in me.

  I would like to thank my early roommates and dear friends Brian (thanks for calling the studio) Paris and Ryan Azevedo. Who could forget Bam Bam? Thanks to Ryan Martin, Scott Gephart, Tobias Kroon, and Torbjorn Anderson for the ymi! years. Thanks to the guys in Stirling Brig. My hat’s off to John McKane for his part in the story you’ve just read and for letting me crash on his couch (the house-guest turned roommate, again!) and to his bandmates. Best of luck, guys—see you at the Rainbow!

  At the end of this book there is a list of all those who have died, those who are in prison, and those who are free to tell the tale. I would like to thank some of those who have been directly involved and some who have been like family to me throughout the last five years: Clive and Edna Doyle, Sheila Martin, Jaime Castillo, Misty Ferguson, Derek Lovelock, Ruth Riddle, Rita Riddle, Catherine Matteson, the Haldeman family, Mary Belle Jones, Ofelia Santoyo, Livingston Fagan, Brad Branch, Paul Fatta, Kalani Fatta, Kevin Whitecliff, Ruth Mosher, and the two theologians Philip Arnold and James Tabor. I have seen the best and the worst in people throughout my ordeal, and one of the best is Dr. Rodney Crow. I would like to thank three people who uncovered vital information: James Pate, for investigating and finding the truth; Mike McNulty for digging deep and finding the facts to prove the impossible, and who made the unbelievable believable; and Ron Engelman (last, but certainly not least), for standing up for our rights when many others wouldn’t.

  I would also like to thank Dan and Amy Summer Gifford for having the courage to produce the documentary Waco: The Rules of Engagement. You have both helped to increase awareness of what happened to my community and to the world at large. Thanks to William Gazecki for all the hard work and long hours he spent editing The Rules of Engagement, and also for allowing me to come and view it while it was being put together. William’s efforts have made the documentary a world-class film. Special thanks to Dan Chittock and the entire team at Preparedness Expos. Thanks to Richard Mosely.

  My thanks to all the individuals that I may have forgotten to mention personally in the acknowledgments. All of the people who sponsored me and let me into their homes while I gave talks about my experience, and the hundreds of people who asked me to write this book—you have all shown me by example that an open mind and a charitable outlook are truly the road to the divine. You have demonstrated the best of humanity.

  Many thanks to Dick Reavis for writing the book Ashes of Waco and for all of his extensive research and effort to get to the truth. And a special thanks to James Tabor for the book Why Waco? and for attempting to research and explain the spiritual dimension of our community. And to Phil Arnold of the Reunion Institute, thanks for being one of the first to listen to us.

  In closing I would like to thank the people of the press, especially the editors who have helped to create history to fit their own agenda. These people have helped to make me stronger and more determined to overcome obstacles, reveal the truth, and set the record straight.

  APPENDIX

  The Mount Carmel Community: The Living and the Dead

  In February, 1993, before the ATF assault, the community had around 130 members, including 45 women and 43 children.

  During the ATF assault, and in the f
inal conflagration, 80 community members died: 33 women, 26 men, and 21 children.

  5 men and 1 woman died on February 28.

  35 exited during the siege: 9 women, 5 men, and 21 children;

  83 people remained inside to the end: 35 women, 21 children, and 27 men.

  32 women, 21 men, and 21 children—a total of 74—died on April 19 (plus two stillborn fetuses).

  9 people survived the April 19 fire: 6 men and 3 women.

  9 others were outside Mount Carmel itself on February 28, including Michael Schroeder, who was killed that day.

  DIED FEBRUARY 28, 1993:

  Winston Blake, British, 28, black.

  Peter Gent, Australian, 24, white.

  Peter Hipsman, 28, American, white.

  Perry Jones, 64, American, white.

  Michael Schroeder, 29, American, white.

  Jaydean Wendell, 34, American, Hawaiian.

  DIED APRIL 19, 1993:

  Adults:

  Katherine Andrade, 24, American, white.

  Jennifer Andrade, 20, American, white.

  Alrick George Bennett, 35, British, black.

  Susan Benta, 31, British, black.

  Mary Jean Borst, 49, American, white.

  Pablo Cohen, 28, Israeli, white.

  Abedowalo Davis, 30, British, black.

  Shari Doyle, 18, American, white.

  Beverly Elliot, 31, British, black.

  Doris Fagan, 60, British, black.