Seductive Poison (11 page)

As the Greyhound bus pulled out of Ukiah, I was happy that Larry had been able to leave work early, take me to the station and say good-bye. I thought about Karen’s good-bye kiss and how she said she loved me so much. I was in overload, brimming with information I had no way to filter through or figure out. I wondered if I really had the strength to tell my parents I wouldn’t go back to England. School had been their last resort, their only hope for me.

But listening to the Reverend Jones that day, I’d realized that I was repeating my same old patterns in England. I still lied, believed my own stories, cut classes, drank, and smoked dope. I remained the only person who truly interested me. Jim Jones was right, I had
done nothing in my life to help eliminate another human being’s suffering. It was my own sniveling self-pity that kept my life afloat. It was as he had said, it was the privilege of the white upper class to be self-indulgent.

I told Larry I was worried about Jim’s expectations for me. Would I be strong enough to fight Papa? But Larry calmed my fears.

“Don’t feel pressured, Bugs. You’ll do what’s right for you.”

I liked it when he called me that.

As I stared out the window at the broken white line on the road, the line that separated and protected me from the traffic in the next lane, I felt I was not ready yet to cross over the line and join the Temple. I didn’t want to disappoint my parents again. I needed to finish school. Ruth wanted me to stay with her in Surrey once my O-levels were completed, to study for my teaching credentials. And I couldn’t leave Mark behind. I needed to warn him of the holocaust and tell him about the Prophet.

As the dotted white lines began to blur, I opened the bag Larry had handed me as I boarded the bus. He had given me his three sand dollars. I smiled as I thought about Larry’s parting words:

“Cheer up, Bugs, Mom and Dad are doing the best they know how. They’re not bad folks. It’s probably best, for you and them, to return to England and finish your education.”

I leaned my head against the darkened bus window. The cold air from the conditioner blew on the side of my face and I was glad to be heading home. It’s not that big a deal, I thought, Jim won’t remember me anyway …

I was thousands of miles away, but Jim never forgot me. I began to receive weekly letters from him and from other members of the family and I proudly kept everything I received.

PEOPLES TEMPLE CHRISTIAN CHURCH
OF THE
DISCIPLES OF CHRIST

SEPTEMBER 18, 1970

Rev. James W. Jones, Pastor
PO Box 214
Redwood Valley, Calif., 95470

Dear Debbie:

I will be around for as long as you need to convince yourself of who I am and the character of what I stand for. Don’t feel guilty about what you’ve done. Your actions were no surprise to me; contrariwise, you were quite capable of standing up to your parents but you lacked the necessary background experience and the deep, heartfelt conviction about our principles and me as the principle bearer. Thus I can well empathize with your vacillation. Please don’t be so hard on yourself. Everyone I minister to at one point or another has the same ambivalence and also the same awareness of their own ego that is involved in service or giving to others. You must remember, although it is a trite phrase, that one must crawl before we can learn to walk, and mankind generally is in the crawling stage.

We all love you and are looking forward to seeing you when the time is right. We speak from the highest plane of truth and when you have time to test this affirmation thoroughly you will not be disappointed. Sincerely, Rev. James W. Jones

Addendum: The foregoing letter is dictated to me by our beloved pastor, Jim Jones, who is greatly concerned about you. What a friend to have, many who have been touched by this life and ministry gladly rise to call him blessed and to declare most emphatically that Jim is the most wonderful person alive today…. I am one of that number. Jim is a man of absolutely unimpeachable character, one who is continually involving himself in the practice of doing good for others, who gives and gives and gives of himself of his strength, and time, very often whole nights are spent in wrestling with some unfortunate’s problem, and seldom indeed is he fortunate enough to acquire two whole unbroken hours of untroubled rest a night. Far from doing spite to anyone or enriching himself at others’ expense, he is continually outgoing with deeds of kindness and love which very often necessitates a huge outlay of cash which is cheerfully given in any instance of need to friend or foe. He is a man whom to know is to love. That he has enemies is due primarily to his message of total equality for every race, creed or nation which premise is most scrupulously practiced himself. His love in which his devotees would love to bask, is just as real, tender and enduring for the smaller and weaker forms at his home, he takes in even poor deserted little things that come crying at his door for food or is left off at the edge of his property by hard, insensitive people. You should see his large foundling home. And, mark how sweetly they all get along together, big vicious dogs and feeble little kittens!

Our church, Peoples Temple, received coverage in some large newspapers, such as the San Francisco Chronicle which praised our position in our stand for social justice and as opposed to war. One of our projects is helping families of deceased policemen as well as peace workers who have been assassinated. Incidentally, we get hundreds of letters a week, all of which are faithfully answered. Jim wants you to know it is his pleasure to respond. In closing I wish to affirm that along with thousands of others I would not be alive today were it not for Jim who healed me of cancer, heart trouble and diabetes. Cancer which is the number one killer in the world today is Jim’s specialty. I can’t tell you how many I have seen that have come from pain-wracked bodies at his simple word of command. Sincerely, Jim Pugh, Sec.

I was seventeen years old and profoundly impressed by the importance the Reverend James W. Jones bestowed upon me. At last, what I had yearned for all my life happened, an important adult found me smart, worthwhile, and interesting.

4
Indoctrination

During the year that I was back at school in England, Peoples Temple members continued to demonstrate their concern for me through a concerted letter-writing campaign. I was told in glowing terms about the two radio shows Jim was doing in San Francisco and the wonderful Oregon vacation Jim took with 200 young people, many of whom were from inner-city ghettos and had never seen the ocean before. There were stories about near-death accidents that Jim had prevented, youth group outings, and summer craft fairs.

Although Carolyn had sworn me to secrecy about Jim’s past lives, I confided in Mark about having met the reincarnation of Jesus, who was now living in Ukiah as a revolutionary. Mark was impressed by my stories. On the morning of my written exams he wrote me a note.

Debbie,
Read the examination over first,
then go back and answer the questions
and remember, Jim loves you.
Love, Brutus

When my O-levels were completed and I’d finished school, I had already been successfully recruited into the fold. Ruth tried to convince me to stay with her, attend a trade school, and become a children’s schoolteacher. But the Temple’s pull was too strong. Flying home didn’t seem as scary any longer. I had a known destination
and direction. I would be a member of a respectable group, an established organization that was helping the needy, the poor, and the underprivileged. I would move to Ukiah and begin a new life.

Joining was so easy, and I wanted to believe. I was searching for something meaningful and all-consuming. People had jobs that they were wed to, church duties they performed, children to care for, relationships that gave them strength. Perhaps I, too, would be able to feel that my existence was not in vain, that I had a purpose when I rose each day.

Mark came with me. He was only visiting for summer break and was scheduled to return to England to complete his Advanced Level studies before entering university. Once in Ukiah, however, he, too, was quickly seduced by massive amounts of adulation, flattery, and attention. Regularly, at the end of a long meeting Jim would call out in his contrived British accent:

“Where is Mark, my son?”

“Ova harr …” Mark would reply.

Everyone would chuckle as the six-foot-three-inch bloke stood to converse with Jim. Mark lent some comic relief to the long and dreary days that Jim had to push through. For all the suffering our leader had to endure trying to educate imbeciles, fight against racism, and worry about our futures, Mark Blakey, my Brutus, became Jim’s muse. When summer was over, Mark found it hard to leave. Jim told him he was desperately needed and hinted at new responsibilities. With so much love surrounding him, Mark stayed. Jim quickly arranged for me to marry Mark so that he would not be deported once his three-month visa ran out.

“But he’s supposed to go back and finish his A-levels,” I objected.

“Darling, don’t be jealous, I need him here. He has skills and charm and abilities this organization needs,” Jim explained patiently.

“But his parents expect him. His brothers and sister will be upset. And the school is expecting him to return as Head Boy.”

“Honestly, darling, you have much to learn.” Jim looked at me curiously, his voice calm and assuring. “What is more important, helping the poor or finishing school? He’ll learn more with us. He is leadership material. His experiences on his family’s farm, his agricultural expertise, may come in handy in our future.”

When Mark’s mother came to America, furious and determined to take the eldest of her four children home, she found herself the center of Jim’s and Carolyn Layton’s attention. By now, Carolyn
had become quite powerful in the church and was Jim’s only true confidante. Mrs. Blakey was catered to and indulged, perhaps even made to believe her son was being groomed for some important role in the organization, which in fact he was. A new Temple member, Tim Stoen, who was also a respected San Francisco assistant district attorney, invited her to stay at his home. His beautiful wife, Grace, chauffeured Mrs. Blakey everywhere through San Francisco and the wine country of Sonoma County. Finally, convinced that the Temple was the best place for her son, she returned to Northumberland alone.

Jim continued to pull both Mark and me into his universe. He gave us a sense of importance, and in return, we handed our will over to him. His presence filled my inner emptiness and gradually his life’s work became my own. It was easy to be part of Jim’s world; it was already created, furnished, had friendly inhabitants, instant friends, established rules, and boundaries. Jim was kind and attentive. He told me that I could accomplish anything I set my heart on. I flourished. I became a part of the “skits” troupe, an elite group of individuals whose task was to put on performances explaining why capitalism was bad and socialism good. We made our points by spoofing the political system. Father explained that this was the “common man’s way” to educate the misinformed and ignorant. After each Family Teach-in performance, Jim came and applauded my ability to grasp the Cause’s doctrine and to communicate it to the congregation. Although I missed my parents, I knew I had to succeed at something, and this was my last chance. My new father was strict, believed in “tough love,” and didn’t let me sneak around the rules. He challenged me, inflated my self-esteem with praise, and made me feel safe.

My parents had hoped I would attend the University of California at Davis as had my siblings, but the SAT exams my parents arranged that I sit for in Liverpool, England, indicated I needed a jump start at junior college. They were a little apprehensive about my going to the Temple’s college dormitory, but they knew I needed structure for my first year. One of my American high school friends had been murdered eighteen months earlier, and Mama and Papa were afraid of my returning to my hoodlum crowd.

Now, as I calmed down, became more confident and determined to succeed, they were amazed and relieved. I was actually maturing. Some concern remained, however, as I, like Larry, visited them less
and less frequently. Even Christmas and Thanksgiving now had to be spent with my new family.

Mama began to reevaluate her own life, I imagine, while she marveled at my transformation. She surmised that this church, which appeared to espouse socialistic beliefs (she read about them in the newspaper), might be a safe place to make her own flight away from a life of frustration and sorrow. I was proof that people could change and that there was a better life. She later told me that she felt her life had been built upon sand. She believed she had taken more from America than she had given back. She wanted to be a part of something meaningful at last.