Stolen Innocence (41 page)
Authors: Elissa Wall
Always strive to be a better parent to your children than your parents were to you.
—
DALEEN BATEMAN BARLOW
A
s my friendship with Lamont strengthened, my family life continued to take unpredictable turns, only this time it was not my marriage that caused upheaval, it was my mom’s. One night in late December, Uncle Fred mysteriously vanished. Under the cover of darkness, an ambulance arrived at the Jessop house to collect the bishop. I would later hear that a few of Fred’s daughters actually saw several men enter the house and load Fred onto a stretcher. Beyond those eyewitness accounts, no one knew anything else; Warren did not say a word about it to anyone in public.
It wasn’t until two days after Fred’s sudden removal that I learned additional details from Mom. She and the other members of the Jessop family were shocked when church elder William T. Jessop gave them the fateful news. William was the son of one of Uncle Fred’s wives, and like mine, his mother had been reassigned to Uncle Fred. Though technically by priesthood standards his last name was Jessop, I always thought of him as William Timpson, just as I thought of myself as Elissa Wall.
“Uncle Fred is gone,” William Timpson told members of the Jessop family that morning. “I have been assigned to be your new caretaker.”
He did not elaborate. In fact he offered little consolation to the group of anxious wives and children who had no choice but to watch in stunned silence as William Timpson and members of his family moved into Fred’s house over the next few days and assumed control. With no concrete information as to the whereabouts of Uncle Fred, rumors began to circulate throughout the household. Some of the wives speculated that Uncle Fred was so worthy that he’d been taken to Zion. It was unclear how many of his wives had gone with him the night he was taken away, which heightened the concern among those who remained. Over the weeks, a consensus set in that the wives who’d been left behind were not worthy enough to move on and would remain in Hildale for now.
I could sense mom was terrified at the prospect of never reaching Zion, and she quietly fretted over her uncertain future. Once again, she was losing a husband due to the prophet’s decision. And as a believer, she didn’t want to have sacrificed so much just to lose it all.
It would be more than two weeks before the prophet publicly addressed us about Fred’s disappearance, and his words did little to assuage Mom’s heightened anxiety. “I have released Uncle Fred from his duties as bishop,” Warren told us during a meeting in early January. “I assure all of you that Uncle Fred is in full agreement with this decision.”
Memories of Winston Blackmore surfaced in our heads, and Warren’s declaration immediately raised suspicions for some of us. Fred’s leaving was too sudden and mysterious to be explained with such a simple statement. The fact that his wives didn’t know what was going on created an even greater air of secrecy. Without Uncle Fred there to confirm Warren’s statement, there was no way to know what had really happened to him, but no one dared to question Warren’s vague account. In the days that followed, some quietly claimed that Warren had sent Fred to an FLDS compound in Colorado or Texas.
During this same meeting, Warren announced that William Timpson Jessop would replace Fred as bishop of Short Creek. To see such a youthful man in such a highly regarded position was strange. William was in his mid-forties, and there were many other men in our community who were more prepared for this key role. But his appointment had come from the prophet, and that was all that mattered.
Again, another New Year had come and gone and the Great Destructions had not covered the lands. The pressure on the people was even greater now to be perfect and pure, as we were told the end would be coming any day. The following week saw another shake-up. It was early in the morning of January 10, 2004, and we were all assembled in the meetinghouse for the Saturday work project. Uncle Warren had stopped Sunday church meetings but not the Saturday work meetings. He wanted the men to work and the people to continue to turn their money over to the priesthood.
“I seek unto the Lord that only his will and purpose be done this day,” Warren began in his persuasive monotone. “The Lord has placed upon me the mission to search for the pure in heart. Whom the Lord loves he chastises and grooms. I come with a message of correction and an invitation of repentance.”
Whereas in past meetings Warren had delivered his sermons in strong, self-assured fashion, this day his voice was shaky and he continuously cleared his throat. It seemed he was not entirely comfortable with what he was about to do, but he forged ahead. He praised the “good work” of church elders and prophets John Y. Barlow and his own father, Rulon. Then he made a startling announcement. He read eight names from a list—four were sons of Barlow, four were sons of Rulon, Warren’s own blood brothers. He denounced each of these individuals as “master deceivers” and ordered them out of the community.
Just as he had eliminated the threat of Winston Blackmore in the months before his father’s death, now it seemed he had purposely removed Uncle Fred in the weeks before executing this very public expulsion of respected and beloved church members. He knew that Uncle Fred was the only person who could and would protest such an outrageous decree.
“Verily, verily, thus sayeth the Lord to this people, all those who join with these deceivers and hypocrites will be darkened and will have to be cast out,” Warren affirmed.
Too fearful to utter a word, congregants sat like drones listening to these unbelievable declarations, too afraid to look over at those men who were seated among us. Many of them were longtime friends of these men, and a good number were their relatives and descendants. One of the names mentioned was George, the respected patriarch and Lamont’s grandfather, but not a word was spoken in his or anyone else’s defense.
Addressing the four Barlow men directly, Warren offered these vague reasons. “You judged and criticized legitimate authority,” he said, before turning his focus to their wives. “All you ladies married to these men are released from them and will remove yourselves immediately from their presence. If you don’t, I will have to let you go.”
In that moment Mom and I swapped disbelieving glances, but before any whispers could be exchanged, Uncle Warren delivered yet another blow. Thirteen additional men were to be exiled, including nine who had wives and families and four who were the sons of upstanding church members.
Nothing like this had ever occurred in the church. A banishment on this scale, and in this public manner, was unprecedented. What had begun with Jethro Barlow’s exile the previous year came to fruition that day. It was a slippery slope that Warren was bringing us down, and few of us had the courage to say anything about it.
“The work of God is a benevolent dictatorship. It is not a democracy.” We all sat frozen as he addressed those now standing and elicited votes on their own fates. “If you go along with this, raise your hand,” he said, watching as twenty-one hands went up in unison.
Uncle Warren next called upon the people of the congregation to raise their hands in favor of the will of God. He watched carefully to see if there were any dissenters among the hundreds of raised hands. I felt horrible as fear forced me to lift my own hand in the air to be counted.
“Does anyone oppose?” Warren asked. “Raise your hand and stand up if you do.”
Looking back, I wish that I and the other members had shown the courage to stand to defend these men. But as we exchanged terrified glances, everyone cowered; no one wanted to be the only one.
“I am calling for a fast for the next two days,” Warren instructed. “All of the families are to keep to themselves.”
Warren brought the meeting to a close, asking the entire congregation to kneel as he gave a lengthy prayer. As we recited “Amen” in unison, a sudden movement on the pulpit caught my attention, and I looked up to see Uncle Warren literally racing from the stage. It was not clear why he was in such a hurry, but in retrospect I have wondered whether it was fear of an uprising. Whatever dissent there may have been in the hearts of the people, they bit their tongues and said nothing.
I
hadn’t been out of the meeting for more than an hour when a text message popped up on my phone. It was Lamont asking that I call him. When I reached him later that day, it was the first time I’d ever heard him sound so angry. “What the hell is going on?” he asked me. “If my grandfather is screwed, then I’m screwed.” Lamont hadn’t been at the meeting that day, but one of his relatives was and he had immediately called Lamont to tell him what had happened. Lamont told me how he’d arrived at his grandfather’s house feeling like this whole thing was his fault, and he tried not to be seen as he listened to his grandfather address his family.
“He was weeping and destroyed,” Lamont told me. “He told his family to turn to the prophet. He said he was submitting to the will of the prophet. He had a testimony and was going to prove his faithfulness during this test.”
Lamont knew that something wasn’t right. Warren’s words came as a shock, but his motives had been in place long before. This latest action, however, pushed things too far. It was hard to believe that such a drastic and unprecedented step was actually the will of God. I could hear frustration and anguish with Warren and the FLDS way of life hiding in Lamont’s voice that day.
In the months since Lamont and I first met, I had been slowly learning that he possessed a history of challenging the priesthood that was as colorful and fraught as my own. Like me, Lamont had been raised in an FLDS home that was marked with turmoil and dissent. Like me, he had asked some difficult questions with difficult answers. Like me, his road to our meeting in the desert had been paved with hardship and doubt.
He was the oldest of eight children and grew up aware of problems in his parents’ marriage. His mother, Daleen, was just sixteen when she was placed by the side of Lamont’s father, Grant Barlow, a staunch FLDS follower who had been raised to respect and abide by the teachings of the priesthood by his father, George. Their union went smoothly at first. They were both very young and had enjoyed many good times together. But aspects of the religion began to challenge their love. Daleen was not the kind of woman to submit when she felt she was in the right. Broad and big-boned, she was unwilling to blindly follow things she did not wholeheartedly agree with. Because of her “rebellious” attitude, she often found herself being marched up to the home of her father-in-law for a reprimand. Daleen was aware that George was a patriarch of their church and wielded a lot of clout, however, not even his influence could lead her to “correct” her insubordinate streak. She resented having a man who wasn’t even her husband tell her how to raise her children, run her home, and handle her marriage.
Complicating matters was the fact that Grant frequently struggled to feed his growing family. He had been instructed by his father and the former prophet Leroy Johnson to work for his uncle in their sheet-metal shop, but he rarely received any compensation for his work. As a result the family barely had enough food to survive and Daleen was forced to watch her children go hungry, unable to do anything about it. Grant’s lack of care for his children created a rift in their marriage that deepened over time. The two were often at odds over the extent to which the church’s teachings would be upheld in their home, and their arguments were heated.
Finally Lamont’s father found the courage to go against the advice of the elders and find a job that provided an actual paycheck, but eventually new problems took root in the marriage. The Split in the church at the end of Uncle Roy’s days caused a division between Lamont’s parents, as many members of Daleen’s family decided to leave the FLDS. Lamont’s mother sided with her relatives, and it got to the point where Grant forbade his wife from associating with some of her sisters because of their apostate status.
But Daleen didn’t feel it was right to have to choose between her family and her church, and she had the courage to eventually leave the FLDS and take her kids with her.
On July 3, 1992, Daleen summoned her eight children to the front yard. She had told them they were going somewhere, but they had no idea where. Lamont told me that he and his siblings were at first excited at the prospect of an adventure but became a little bit apprehensive when one of their mother’s sisters pulled up in a van. The big Fourth of July celebration was to be the next day, and they worried they wouldn’t be back to partake in the fun.
“Get in,” his mother instructed. She’d directed the kids to pack as much stuff as they could fit in a suitcase, and she loaded up the car. Lamont hesitantly obeyed, but when he realized what his mother was doing, he was furious. Though he knew things were difficult at home, Lamont had never expected her to flee and he had no interest in leaving the community. When it became clear that his mother didn’t intend to return, Lamont worried about seeing his friends and family again.
As the eldest child, he tried to put on a brave face for his younger brothers and sisters who cried furiously as the van wound its way along Highway 59 to St. George. His mother took them to stay with one of her sisters, who’d left the FLDS many years before. But her trailer was hardly big enough to accommodate his mom and her eight children, which made things difficult for everyone. At school, Lamont fared little better, fighting to adjust to the new way of life. Back in Short Creek, he had been popular among his peers and loved the community, but public school in St. George was a different story. His classmates teased him mercilessly for being a member of the FLDS and for the way he dressed. The family was so poor that Lamont had just two pairs of pants, one that was too short and another that he couldn’t button around his waist.
