by Jeff Guinn
As Leo Ryan stood in the pavilion chatting with Lane and Garry, an assailant charged him from behind. Everyone in Jonestown was fond of Don Sly, who’d adapted so well to jungle life that he’d taken to calling himself Ujara in an attempt to leave his old American identity behind. Sly was a gentle man and not aggressive in any way. But now he held a knife to the congressman’s throat and hissed, “Motherfucker, you’re going to die.” But he hesitated an instant, and that allowed Garry, Lane, and Tim Carter to pull him away before he could slash the blade across Ryan’s windpipe. In the struggle, Sly was cut with the knife and blood splashed on Ryan, who crouched frozen in place. Security guards dragged Sly away. Jones came over, and instead of inquiring whether Ryan was all right, he asked, “Does this change everything?” The shaken congressman replied, “It doesn’t change everything, but it changes [some] things.” The lawyers were concerned about what Ryan would tell police. Ryan said that if Sly were turned over to the authorities to answer for the assault in court, that would be sufficient.
Tim Carter, watching and listening, thought that Don Sly would never have attacked Ryan without being ordered to by Jones: “The plan, obviously, was to kill Ryan right there, but it didn’t happen.” Jones was improvising. To ensure that all his followers would do what he soon would ask, it was necessary to convince them that a final line had been crossed, and that everyone in Jonestown was doomed anyway. Jones’s original plan had Ryan dying at the Port Kaituma airstrip or aboard his flight back to Georgetown, but because of Al Simon’s unfortunate timing, Ryan wasn’t leaving Jonestown as Jones had anticipated. So Jones ordered loyal Don Sly to commit murder. But the lawyers and Carter intervened.
If Ryan had stayed in Jonestown after Sly’s attack, Jones could have ordered someone else to try again, but now the congressman wanted to leave. He stumbled up the muddy road to where the truck was finally being pried free of the mud, and told the others what had happened. It was decided that Ryan should fly out immediately. Consul Richard Dwyer would go with the rest to Port Kaituma, see them safely off in the two planes that hopefully were awaiting them, then return to Jonestown to sort out the Simons mess and see if anyone else wanted to leave. On Sunday, Dwyer, whoever among the defectors and media couldn’t get seats on the Saturday afternoon flights, and any other Jonestown defectors could fly back to Georgetown on another plane. Ryan was helped up onto the truck bed, and the vehicle rumbled off toward Port Kaituma. It was about three o’clock, and with the muddy roads, the six-mile trip would take at least an hour.
Jones watched as the truck drove away, standing with his arms folded, his mouth jerking with its nervous tic. Almost everyone had been instructed to return to their cottages. Jones muttered, “I’ve never seen Jonestown so peaceful.” A few minutes later he said, “I think Larry Layton is going to do something. He’s very loyal to me.” One of the lawyers told Jones that, except for Sly’s attack on Ryan, things had gone well. Very few people had asked to leave. Jones replied, “If they take 20 today, they’ll take 60 tomorrow.” He stalked back to his cabin.
A few dozen yards away, seven or eight armed men boarded a tractor-trailer and drove out of Jonestown.
* * *
The members of the Jonestown basketball squad knew they’d have to return to the jungle settlement soon, so they wanted to make the most of their remaining time in Georgetown. On Saturday afternoon, most of the team went to a movie. Jimmy Jones stayed behind at Lamaha Gardens, and he recalls that “about 3 or 4” that afternoon, Sharon Amos called him in to the radio room, saying that his father wanted to talk to him. “Dad said, ‘You’re going to meet Mr. Frazier,’ which was code for everybody dies. I say, ‘Can’t we do something different?’ and Dad says, ‘Avenging angels are going to take care of things,’ and then yells at me, ‘You’ve got to step up and lead on this.’ I wasn’t going to do that. My brothers and the other guys on the [basketball] team were at the movies, so I sent someone to get them.”
The players raced back to Lamaha Gardens. Sharon Amos was on the radio, taking a message from someone in Jonestown. It was a directive about how everyone was to die. Amos spelled the word out loud as code letters were transmitted to her: “K-N-I-V . . .”
Nineteen-year-old Stephan Jones knew that Sharon Amos would do anything that his father ordered. Unsure whether she had already transmitted instructions to the Temple office in San Francisco to also commit suicide, wanting to stall any immediate action in Lamaha Gardens, Stephan suggested that “Everyone wait a minute. . . . We need a plan or we won’t accomplish anything. What are we going to use, butter knives?”
Aside from Amos and the basketball players, no one else at Lamaha Gardens knew what was going on, only that Amos and the Jones brothers had closed themselves in the radio room. After a few minutes, Stephan emerged, saying that he and a few others were going to the Pegasus Hotel to find the members of Concerned Relatives who were staying there. Before he left, Stephan told Lee Ingram, the basketball coach, to radio the San Francisco temple office and tell them not to do anything until Stephan spoke to them. Stephan also asked Ingram not to let Sharon Amos out of his sight. Despite the messages received by his brother Jimmy and Sharon Amos, Stephan believed all was not yet lost. In an essay written decades later he recalled, “I thought I had time to stop Dad.”
* * *
The truck carrying Ryan and all the rest reached the Port Kaituma airstrip around four fifteen. To their consternation, there was no sign of any airplanes other than the damaged Guyanese military craft guarded by several soldiers. While the others waited by the airstrip, Dwyer and Annibourne asked the Temple truck driver to take them to the government district office in town so they could use the radio to ask what had happened to their planes. As they met the North West District officer, whom Dwyer afterward identified as Mr. Thomas, two planes buzzed overhead toward the airstrip. The Temple driver hustled back to the truck and drove in the same direction. Dwyer and Annibourne had to ask Mr. Thomas for a lift. He complied. When they reached the airstrip, they saw that the planes—the nineteen-passenger Otter and a five-seat Cessna—had landed. Their prospective passengers were lined up between them, and a discussion was taking place. Ryan and Speier assumed responsibility for deciding who would go immediately and who must stay in Port Kaituma overnight. With thirty-three people and only twenty-four seats, nine people would have to wait. Dwyer, who intended to return to Jonestown, would be one, and Ryan and Speier felt that the rest should come from among the Concerned Relatives and the newsmen. But the NBC crew wanted to leave immediately and as a unit—they had film to edit and a broadcast to make. The print journalists argued that they had stories to file, too. The defectors wanted to get out of Port Kaituma as soon as possible. They warned that Jones might change his mind anytime, and continued complaining that Larry Layton couldn’t be trusted.
As the bickering continued, the Temple truck driver parked his vehicle about two hundred yards away, just to the side of the runway. He was joined there by the men on the newly arrived tractor-trailer, who watched as the discussion on the runway concluded. After the defectors, Ryan and Speier decided that the media with the most urgent deadlines would have next claim on available seats. The smaller Cessna was farther up the airstrip, not far from the disabled Guyanese military aircraft and about thirty yards from the Otter. The NBC crew asked to film a quick interview with Ryan before he boarded, and the congressman agreed. Meanwhile, Larry Layton began arguing with Jackie Speier as she indicated to five people that they should board the Cessna. Layton insisted that he be placed on that plane, which apparently would take off first. When Speier refused, Layton appealed to Ryan, who told his aide to go ahead and let Layton on the Cessna. Then, before he participated in the NBC interview, Ryan said that he would frisk all passengers for weapons before they boarded—a gesture to the defectors, who were still insisting that Layton was up to something. A few of the men who’d arrived on the tractor-trailer wandered over, and one shook Layton’s hand. Then they returned to their parked
vehicle. Ryan frisked Layton, said that he hadn’t found anything, and allowed Layton to board the Cessna behind Vern Gosney, Monica Bagby, and Dale and Tracy Parks. Most of the other defectors shuffled into line by the Otter. At the side of the plane, Ryan began taping his interview with the NBC crew. Then Don Harris looked past the congressman. The tractor-trailer was moving down the runway toward them. “I think we’ve got trouble,” Harris said.
Jones’s original plan was simple. He would have a loyal follower join the other defectors, who with them would board an airplane along with Leo Ryan in Port Kaituma and fly off to Georgetown. After the plane was aloft, Layton would take the pistol hidden under his poncho, shoot the pilot, and die with everyone else as the aircraft crashed in the near-impenetrable jungle. Layton was the obvious choice for assassin. He worshipped Jones, and was always eager to demonstrate his devotion. Layton must have felt honored when his beloved leader called him in late Friday night or sometime Saturday to give him such a critical assignment. That he would die completing it would mean less than the thrill of knowing Jones placed so much trust in him.
But then, during the storm that struck Jonestown, there were more defectors and now there would be two planes leaving Port Kaituma. Layton couldn’t bring down both. Jones’s solution was to send additional assassins to kill Ryan and the others at the airstrip. In frisking Layton, Ryan missed the pistol, but it would have made no difference if he’d found and tried to take it away from him. From the moment the tractor-trailer reached the airstrip while the congressman and Speier were still sorting passengers for the Otter and Cessna, Leo Ryan was a dead man.
Almost immediately after Harris blurted his warning, someone else shouted, “Hit the dirt,” but it was too late for that. Aboard the Cessna, Layton yanked out his pistol and began shooting, wounding Vern Gosney and Monica Bagby before Dale Parks wrestled the gun away from him. Parks tried to shoot Layton, but the gun misfired. On the runway, the Jonestown assassins fired volleys of shots from their mixed armaments of rifles and shotguns. Patricia Parks, on the steps of the portable gangplank rigged up to the door of the Otter, was struck in the back of the head, died instantly, and tumbled down onto the cracked tarmac. Ryan, Speier, Harris, Examiner photographer Greg Robinson, Anthony Katsaris, and NBC cameraman Bob Brown and soundman Steve Sung all fell, either dead or grievously wounded. Krause, slightly wounded, played dead beside them. Reiterman, Dwyer, and Beverly Oliver of Concerned Relatives were also hit; they managed to scramble into the brush beside the airstrip. Some of the defectors who’d already boarded the Otter yanked the door shut.
The gunmen moved forward and fired more shots into their fallen victims. There was nothing to prevent them from storming the Otter and Cessna and killing everyone left alive there, or charging into the brush to hunt down those who’d run. Instead, they returned to the truck and tractor-trailer and drove away. The four Guyanese soldiers who’d been standing guard by the disabled army plane watched from a distance. They said later that they’d been prepared to intervene, but decided against it because it was Americans shooting Americans, and they might somehow be blamed if they became involved.
Cautiously, the survivors emerged from the brush and the Otter. They examined the fallen on the tarmac and determined that Ryan, Bob Brown, Harris, Greg Robinson, and Patricia Parks were dead. Anthony Katsaris, Steve Sung, and Jackie Speier were still alive, but badly hurt, perhaps mortally. At that moment there was movement away from the runway, and when someone shouted, “They’re coming back,” Jim Bogue told his son, Tommy, and daughter Teena to run into the jungle. They did, along with Tracy and Brenda Parks and Chris O’Neal, Brenda’s boyfriend. The five of them ran so far and so long that they became lost. But the assassins hadn’t returned—it was assumed later that, having killed Ryan and, for good measure, some of the media, they felt they’d accomplished their purpose. The shooting of Patricia Parks was accidental.
The landing gear and fuselage of the Otter had been torn apart by the gunfire; the craft was clearly inoperable. But the Cessna was fine, and, as some of the survivors couched on the runway with their dead and badly wounded and others cautiously emerged from the brush, its pilot proved it by flying off, taking the Otter’s pilot with him, leaving all their passengers but Monica Bagby behind as they fled back to Georgetown, frantically radioing ahead near-incoherent reports of bloody carnage.
Some residents of Port Kaituma appeared at the edge of the airstrip. Dwyer and Dale Parks had Larry Layton between them. Dwyer had Layton’s gun. Some of the locals offered to take Layton to the town jail and led him off. Layton didn’t resist. Eventually Mr. Thomas, the same North West District officer who’d earlier given Dwyer and Neville Annibourne a lift from his office to the airstrip, emerged from the brush where he’d been hiding. He promised that a plane would be summoned from Georgetown to evacuate the wounded, but it was already dusk. Landing in Port Kaituma was tricky enough in full daylight. Mr. Thomas said he would light oil pots set along the runway, but Dwyer guessed from his tone that there would be no aircraft arriving until morning. There was nothing to do but cover the five corpses, then get the badly wounded into shelter and hope that they could survive until help arrived.
* * *
About 4 p.m. in Jonestown, the camp loudspeaker system clicked on, and Jim Jones’s son Lew announced a meeting in the pavilion. Nothing in his tone indicated any sense of emergency—it was just friendly Lew, same as always—and no one was surprised by the summons. It had been a tense, hectic day. Of course Dad wanted to get everyone together and talk about what had occurred. The chief concern among the settlers was that he’d ramble on well into the night. No one hurried to the pavilion. Gloria Rodriguez sent Tim Carter on ahead with their fifteen-month-old son, Malcolm, saying it was probably going to be a long meeting, so she needed to fetch extra diapers.
Carter didn’t immediately take a seat in the pavilion. Instead, carrying Malcolm in his arms, he walked around the side and saw Jones talking with Marceline, Lane, Garry, Johnny Brown, and Jim McElvane. Richard Tropp was standing nearby. Jones glanced at Tropp and Carter and snarled, “What is this, a fucking convention?” Gloria Rodriguez, diapers in hand, found Carter and took their baby into the pavilion. Carter watched as Jones finished his conversation with the others. Moments later Jones turned to Tropp and the two men began arguing. Harriet Tropp joined them. Tropp, raising his voice, said to Jones, “There must be another way,” and Jones replied, “Tell me what it is.” Harriet Tropp snapped at her brother, “Oh, Dick, stop being such a pain in the ass. You’re just afraid to die.”
Off to the side of the pavilion, Lane and Garry were being led by armed guards to a cabin. Jones had issued orders for the two lawyers to be held there. Other guards, all of them carrying rifles or shotguns, began prowling all four sides of the pavilion and the perimeters of camp. That was different. Many in the pavilion noticed, and expected Jones to momentarily take the stage and explain. But their leader was now in hushed conversation with Maria Katsaris, who whispered in Jones’s ear. Carter eavesdropped as Jones winced and asked her, “Is there a way to make it taste less bitter?” and Katsaris shook her head. Somewhere in Jonestown, human guinea pigs had sampled the deadly potion. Jones asked Katsaris, “Is it quick?” She replied, “Yeah, it’s really quick, and it’s not supposed to be painful at all.” Jones nodded and told her, “Okay, do what you can to make it taste better.” Larry Schacht had spent months perfecting the perfect blend of Flavor Aid, tranquilizers, and potassium cyanide. Even at this last moment, Jones expected his faithful physician-chemist to tinker with the mix just a little more.
The delay in Jones’s appearance onstage worried the crowd. First the guards, and then this—what was going on? The mounting tension got to settler Shirley Smith, who leaped on stage and began yowling, “Whooo, I’m gonna be a freedom fighter,” bounding about and endlessly repeating the phrase at high volume. Occasionally, during meetings when Jones whipped the crowd into a frenzy, someone would be overcome with emotion, jump u
p, and begin screaming. He or she would always immediately be led away and calmed down. Not this time.
Carter understood what was about to happen. Thinking only of rescuing his wife and child, he approached Jones offstage and said, “Let me take Gloria and Malcolm, and then I’ll go out and get [kill] Tim Stoen. That’ll be revenge for what we’re doing now.” Jones glanced at Carter, then asked, “Will you take care of [kill] Malcolm first? Let me think about it.” With that, he turned and finally went out onstage. Carter, stunned, began walking into the pavilion, looking for his family, but he’d taken just a step or two when Maria Katsaris tapped him on the shoulder and said, “Come with me, I have something for you to do.” Carter’s brother, Mike, came to the pavilion from the radio shack, and Katsaris told him to come along, too. As she led the Carters away from the pavilion, Jones walked to the center of the stage and began speaking.
Peoples Temple tape-recorded almost all of Jones’s sermons and addresses at meetings, including this one, his last. He began, “How very much I’ve tried to give you the good life.” Jones’s voice was clear, his tone resigned. There was about to be a catastrophe involving Congressman Leo Ryan’s plane, he explained. “One of those people on the plane” was “gonna shoot the pilot, and down comes that plane into the jungle.” It wouldn’t be the fault of anyone in Jonestown, Jones said—“I didn’t plan it, but I know it’s gonna happen.” But they still would be blamed. Soon, their enemies would “parachute in here on us.”