by Jeff Guinn
Others stationed at Lamaha Gardens went out each day “procuring,” going door-to-door in Georgetown and its suburbs asking for donations to Peoples Temple. It was a difficult task in a city where poverty was rampant. But the Temple required its Georgetown procurers to average $100 a day each in donations, and anyone who consistently failed to do so risked being sent to Jonestown and the hard daily farm labor there. Those with a knack for soliciting money, Sharon Amos’s daughter Liane among them, were never relieved of procurement duty. “The Guyanese people were so generous,” Laura Johnston Kohl recalls. “They were always kind to us even if they didn’t have any money to give.” When Johnston Kohl made the mistake of getting romantically involved with a man in Georgetown, she learned that Jones wouldn’t tolerate generosity of that nature. She was immediately transferred to Jonestown.
Those back in the settlement were in constant need of medical care. Sunstroke and dehydration were constant dangers, and there were always infected bug bites, joint sprains, and other assorted ailments brought on by constant heat and hard work. Jones found his mission doctor in Larry Schacht, a drug-addled dropout who found his way from Houston to the San Francisco temple and cleaned up thanks to its addiction program. Schacht wanted to be a doctor. Since his dubious background made admission to an American medical school unlikely, at Jones’s behest Dr. Carlton Goodlett used his international connections to get Schacht a place in a Mexican medical school. After graduating, Schacht pursued American certification at the University of California College of Medicine. All his tuition costs, there as in Mexico, were paid by Peoples Temple. Schacht understood what he owed to the church; his loyalty to Jim Jones was absolute. In 1977, fresh out of school, Schacht went to Jonestown, where even an experienced physician would have been hard-pressed to cope with the primitive conditions. Schacht had to learn everything on the job. Among the first textbooks he requested be sent to Jonestown from San Francisco were Finger Acupuncture, The New Childbirth, and How to Stay Alive in the Woods. Fortunately for the Jonestown settlers, their rookie doctor was assisted, and, sometimes, superseded, by several experienced nurses, including Joyce Beam and Annie Moore.
Tim Stoen was worrisome. Only a few weeks after he arrived in Guyana, Jones accused Stoen of being an undercover CIA agent. Jones probably just wanted to hear Stoen deny it and vow eternal allegiance; with Grace Stoen pursuing custody of John Victor, he wanted to be certain of Stoen’s ongoing loyalty. But Stoen, already disenchanted enough with Jones and Peoples Temple to plan leaving, resented the accusation. In March, he disappeared briefly, spending a few unapproved days in London after a trip to Barbados and Port-of-Spain in Trinidad on Temple business. When Stoen returned to Guyana on April 3, Jones was there on a visit. They talked about a non-Temple woman back in the Bay Area; Stoen loved her, and Jones said that he thought it might be possible for the two of them to marry and live together in Guyana. After Jones returned to San Francisco, Stoen felt frustrated, mostly because he’d spent so little time in Jonestown with John Victor.
On June 12, again without permission, Stoen flew to New York, and a few days later continued on to California. At an Oakland airport newsstand, Stoen noticed a headline in that day’s San Francisco Chronicle: “Strange SF Break-in at Magazine.” According to the story, an office of New West had been burglarized. A file containing material for an upcoming story to be cowritten by magazine staffer Phil Tracy and freelancer Marshall Kilduff seemed to have been moved, though nothing was taken. Tracy suspected that the file’s contents “could have been taken out . . . and photographed.” The material concerned Rev. Jim Jones and Peoples Temple.
The New West writers comprised an intimidating team. Kilduff was a smart, experienced journalist who’d previously reported on Jones as Housing Authority chairman, and Tracy had been an investigative reporter with New York City’s Village Voice. They worked fast and covered their tracks well—try as he might, Jones couldn’t ascertain whom they were talking to. Jones feared that his former personal attorney Tim Stoen might very well be a source.
It would have been typical of Jones to order a break-in of the New West offices, hoping to learn what Kilduff and Tracy were planning, but he and the Temple were innocent. The San Francisco police, called by the magazine to investigate, concluded there was no proof of any crime. It came out later that a New West staffer who’d left his keys at home climbed through an office window to let himself in, inadvertently displacing some files, including the one with material for the Peoples Temple story. But Tracy and Kilduff, increasingly familiar through their research with Temple subterfuge, assumed it was a break-in ordered by Jones. Afterward they were more determined to publish a hard-hitting exposé.
Jones wanted to be prepared for immediate legal retaliation when the story finally appeared. Stoen had left without permission, and Gene Chaikin was occupied with Jonestown issues, so the Temple hired perhaps the most controversial defense attorney in the Bay Area. Charles Garry, a white lawyer, had earned his reputation as chief counsel to the Black Panthers. He proudly proclaimed himself both a Christian and a communist, the perfect combination for Temple representation. Hiring Garry was a political risk for Jones—even liberal Democrats considered the lawyer part of a worrisome fringe element—but by summer 1977 Jones was no longer certain of full-spirited support from Mayor Moscone. The city recall election was scheduled for early August. Previously, Moscone would have desperately needed the support of Jones and Peoples Temple. But San Franciscans on the whole had decided they liked Moscone’s open, all-inclusive administration. It seemed obvious that in the August balloting, the mayor was going to win by a landslide whether Peoples Temple was active on his behalf or not.
Jones knew very well that politicians can profess undying friendship one day and turn into enemies the next. How might Governor Brown, Lieutenant Governor Dymally, Mayor Moscone, and State Assemblyman Willie Brown react if the New West article laid bare unsavory Temple secrets? Charles Garry, at least, never wavered in public support of his clients, even if he believed that they’d committed whatever crimes they were charged with. Jones knew this because, after being retained by the Temple, Garry told Terri Buford, “I’m just like [television’s] Perry Mason, except all of my clients are guilty.” That was the kind of lawyer Jim Jones needed. Garry didn’t come cheap. His initial monthly retainer was $5,000, and he billed many hours beyond that. In this, at least, Jones spared no expense.
In May, for a reason that became obvious a month later, Jones accelerated members’ migration to Jonestown. He’d initially planned for a total population there of five hundred or six hundred. The process was expected to take as long as ten years. Now, he hustled that many out of the country within weeks. Tim Carter and Karen Layton were dispatched to New York, tasked with meeting Temple members flying in from California and getting them onto the one daily flight to Georgetown. Many Temple members, especially Jones’s older followers, had never flown before and were confused. Other settlers flew from California to Florida and from there either flew or embarked by boat to Guyana. As much as possible, Jones didn’t want outsiders to know how many of his followers were going overseas.
Back in San Francisco, Jones preached a lot about reincarnation, comparing the moment of death and then immediate additional life to a flame passed from one candle to the next. Suicide continued to be a constant topic. Jones was against individuals killing themselves for any selfish reason. He warned his followers that “anyone [doing so] will go back 500 generations [and] 10,000 years” in the quest to achieve enlightenment and move to a higher spiritual plane. On Memorial Day, he took part in a citywide anti-suicide rally on the Golden Gate Bridge, which was traditionally frequented by despairing jumpers. His remarks took a prophetic turn: “Suicide is a symptom of an uncaring society. . . . The suicide is a victim of conditions which we cannot tolerate.” He added that, for the first time in his own life, he was in a suicidal mood.
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Jones tried to discover what the New West story would in
clude. Perhaps the writers might reveal federal investigations of Peoples Temple that Jones felt certain were under way. On Jones’s instructions, loyal follower Richard Tropp wrote to the IRS, FBI, and the Treasury Department’s Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms, demanding to know if any of these agencies were investigating the Temple. Spokesmen for each responded that there were none “at this time,” which was true—the ATF investigation into possible Temple arms smuggling had closed down. But Tracy and Kilduff must have had something.
A few weeks before the August edition of New West was published, Jim Jones ran away, probably on the advice of Charles Garry, who didn’t want his client on hand for questioning by the New West writers, or to face the media onslaught that was bound to follow after their article was published. Jones had already sent Stephan ahead to Guyana, and the other three boys—Lew, Jimmy, and Tim—soon followed. John Victor was already there. Kimo was coming with his mother, Carolyn. With the children he loved in Jonestown, under cover of night Jones made his way to the San Francisco airport and flew off to join them. Marceline was left in San Francisco to oversee the Temple in her husband’s absence. She assumed, as Jones may have, that his trip to Jonestown would be temporary. But when the magazine finally reached newsstands, the story was worse than even the paranoid Jones could have imagined.
In bold lettering, the story’s headline read “Inside Peoples Temple,” and the sub-headline ominously queried “Jim Jones is one of the state’s most politically potent leaders. But who is he? And what’s going on behind his church’s locked doors?” Then came a half dozen devastating pages. In every line, Kilduff and Tracy got things right: Jones’s maneuverings to ingratiate himself with Rosalyn Carter and California and San Francisco politicians; the Planning Commission and members being “called on the floor,” that is, beaten; the real estate skulduggery; and how Temple members who left the church were tormented by Jones followers afterward. There was a great deal about Jones’s personal background (he was credited with “courageous commitment” to Indianapolis integration) and the Temple’s locked-door policy when it wanted its services kept private. Early paragraphs detailed the Temple’s seemingly endless supply of money, and Jones’s appeal to a wide variety of followers. The writers asked how these things were possible—and then let disenchanted former Temple members provide the answers. Everyone was identified not only by name, but in accompanying photographs. That made them real to readers, rather than faceless, anonymous bellyachers, and immunized Tracy and Kilduff from potential charges by Jones and Charles Garry that they’d invented some or all of their sources.
Jones certainly must have expected the Mertles to be included, and Gang of Eight members Wayne Pietila, Mickey Touchette, and Jim and Terri Cobb could not have been a surprise. But Tracy and Kilduff had also found Ross Case, the former associate Temple minister who’d left the Temple in its early California iteration because he was uncomfortable with Jim Jones being worshipped as a god. There was old Birdie Marable, going into squirm-inducing detail about crammed Temple bus trips, and Laura Cornelious parroting Jones’s description of imminent concentration camps in America. Walter Jones offered specific details about how state money sent to guardians for the care of foster children was turned over instead to the Temple. Finally, crushingly, came the testimony of Grace Stoen, who didn’t speak at all of the struggle with Jones over custody of their son, but did recount insider information with the kind of small, telling details—the makeup of the private compartment on Jones’s Greyhound bus, how much money might be taken in at a single weekend service—that assured New West readers they were getting the real inside story.
On the last page, another headline in bold type led to the story’s conclusion: “Why Jim Jones Should Be Investigated.” The writers summarized their findings about Temple financial fraud, physical abuse of current members, and ongoing harassment of past ones. They noted that they’d wanted to give Jones an opportunity to respond: “[He] has been in Guyana for the last three weeks and was unavailable to us as this magazine article went to press . . . two spokesmen for the Temple, Mike Prokes and Gene Chaikin, denied all of the allegations made by the former Temple members we interviewed . . . [they] went on to deny that Jones’s closest followers are planning to relocate in Guyana any time soon.”
The article was the work of veteran investigative reporters who had confidence in their findings and certainty that there were more revelations to come: “The story of Jim Jones and his Peoples Temple is not over. In fact, it has only begun to be told. If there is any solace to be gained from the tale of exploitation and human foible told by the former Temple members in these pages, it is that even such a power as Jim Jones cannot always contain his followers.”
Mayor Moscone issued a terse statement that if Jones and Peoples Temple had broken any laws, “appropriate law enforcement officials” should investigate and act. A few days after the New West article was published, Moscone overwhelmingly prevailed in the recall election by a two-to-one margin. Voters also opened up Board of Supervisors elections from at-large to specific city districts, breaking the remaining conservative stranglehold on politics in the city. The support of Jim Jones and Peoples Temple no longer mattered to George Moscone. A statement from the governor’s office acknowledged that Jerry Brown had considered Jones for a position on the state prison board only because someone had suggested him as a candidate. Both San Francisco daily papers assigned reporters to begin their own investigations. It was embarrassing to be scooped on such a big story by a monthly magazine.
The former Temple members who cooperated with Tracy and Kilduff continued publicly opposing Jones and Peoples Temple. Potential retaliation no longer seemed inevitable. If Jones or any of his followers threatened them, the media would have material for perfect follow-up stories. The Mertles, the Gang of Eight members, and Grace Stoen were determined to keep doing something, although they weren’t yet certain what.
Not everyone abandoned Jones. Willie Brown issued a strong statement of support, and on July 31 he spoke at a rally organized by the Temple on behalf of their absent leader. Back in Richmond, Indiana, Jones’s mother-in-law, Charlotte Baldwin, told the local paper that “I’m sure Jim has made his mistakes, but nothing to warrant this. I feel he’s been unjustly accused.” Ten days after the New West article was published, Marceline Jones released a “To Whom It May Concern” letter through the Temple. She wrote, “If I were not married to Jim, I would still be a member of his congregation. His totally selfless life has been an inspiration to me.”
Privately, Marceline told her friend Bonnie Burnham that “Jim’s gone to Guyana until things blow over.” But Jones never returned.
PART THREE
GUYANA
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
JONESTOWN
Until mid-June 1977, Jonestown was a relatively happy place. Only about five dozen people lived there, and they labored in the jungle from dawn until dark and sometimes through most of the night, when the flames of the fires they used to burn off undergrowth seemed to flicker as high as the stars. If the labor was exhausting, it was also rewarding—every day the settlement was a little more defined. The camaraderie among the Temple Pioneers was exceptional. Without being under constant supervision by others eager to spot some misdeed and report it to the Planning Commission, without enduring interminable services where Jim Jones ranted for hours, their lives were relatively relaxed and uncomplicated. And as they grew more familiar with the jungle, they were able to observe and appreciate its wonders as well as its dangers. Monkeys announced sunrise with their morning cries. Birds supplied unique music with their squawks and calls. Even snakes could be enjoyed for their serpentine grace and subtle markings, once the Pioneers sorted out which were poisonous. Amerindians wandered in and out of the camp. They were treated as guests, and many were astounded by wonders that the Pioneers took for granted—canned food, generator-powered lights, and, most of all, shoes. The Americans soon learned to keep their footgear out of sight. Otherwi
se, the shoes disappeared overnight.
A few additional settlers arrived every so often, usually teens from Peoples Temple who’d found too many ways to get in trouble back in California, but had no option in Jonestown other than obediently working in the jungle. Then, in May 1977, newcomers began arriving in much greater numbers, sometimes dozens at once, and housing became a problem. The cottages were constructed to comfortably fit perhaps a half dozen at most, and building these smallish residences hadn’t been a priority since the Pioneers had expected a more gradual influx. Cottage construction had to be stepped up, which meant other crucial tasks, including clearing more jungle, were negatively affected. Previously, all newcomers pitched in. But now there were elderly arrivals and small children who needed constant supervision. That meant that the able-bodied had to work even harder. Food wasn’t yet a problem. If the Jonestown fields weren’t yielding bountiful daily harvests yet, sufficient supplies could still be shipped in from Georgetown on the Cudjoe. A hundred settlers, two hundred—adjustments were made. Unlike the Pioneers, some of the newcomers were unpleasantly surprised by their jungle surroundings. In his sermons, Jones had promised a tropical paradise, and instead they found a rough-and-tumble camp. But almost everyone accepted the conditions with good grace. At night, even with so many worn out from hours of physical labor, the Jonestown settlers gathered together and laughed and sang. Almost all of them were there because they wanted to be—the waiting list back in California was long enough so that there was competition for the privilege of being among the first to go. Those who came and didn’t find jungle life to their liking felt little need to despair—at some point, surely they’d be allowed to return to the United States.