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Authors: Deborah Layton
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brother.
Looking back I can see how well orchestrated the demise of their marriage was. But at the time no one saw the contrived and more sinister meaning. It happened during a small meeting Jim had arranged to discuss Larry’s C.O. status. During the session Jim mentioned he’d observed a “distance” that had grown between the young couple. Larry agreed, saying he worked long hours at two jobs and that Carolyn had grown quite cold. Carolyn agreed and, much to his surprise, asked for a divorce.
“I’m sorry that is how you feel … but if that’s what will make you happy …” Larry whispered, visibly shaken.
Jim suggested that Larry meet Karen, a devoted new member. Karen just happened to be in the building and was summoned to Jim’s meeting. The Reverend introduced them officially and said he felt in his heart and psyche they would be well matched. Within six months Larry was divorced from Carolyn and dating Karen. They married soon thereafter.
I had seen Karen’s photograph on Papa’s desk. She reminded me of a cover girl, young, blond, hair blowing in the wind. She looked honest, sweet, and fun. She had been a homecoming queen in college. I was eager to meet Larry’s new wife and to see for myself what the man Larry called the Prophet was all about.
Finally, my familiar promises of good behavior worked and myparents gave me a few days away from them. I boarded a Greyhound bus for the three-hour ride north to a place where the summer heat reached over 100 degrees.
Karen and Larry met me at the Ukiah bus station and we drove to the Mendocino coast for a picnic. I followed them along the sunny beach as they held hands and we searched for the perfect sand dollar. Larry found three. When we finally laid down the picnic blanket, Karen began to talk about their remarkable pastor, Jim Jones. Part American Indian, he had been born May 13, 1931, raised by his mother in Indiana, and grown up deeply opposed to racism. In 1952, at only twenty-one, he had become assistant pastor of his Methodist church, and by 1960, he had his own congregation.
“He was always selfless, Debbie, and encouraged all his parishioners to follow his example,” Karen told me, her eyes filled with admiration and pride. “We are a denomination of the Disciples of Christ,” she explained, handing me a grassy vegetarian sandwich.
“Jim was appointed Director of the Human Rights Commission when he was only thirty years old!” Karen continued. “Then, in 1961, he had a vision of a nuclear war and worldwide devastation. He traveled to Brazil and other South American countries, searching for the safest place for his followers to live. He determined that Ukiah would be safe from nuclear fallout, even if San Francisco and Seattle were hit by nuclear bombs, and he moved here five years ago.” Karen smiled at me. “That’s when I met him!”
Later I found out that in the mid-sixties, during the Cuban Missile Crisis, Esquire magazine had published the nine safest places to hide in the event of a nuclear war. Jim had chosen Northern California from the listing and found a cave that could house all of his followers until the fallout had subsided.
“Oh, Debbie, I was lost, just like you. Jim showed me how egocentric and self-indulgent I had been. He needed my help to stop the ugliness of prejudice which has kept the blacks and Indians down. I stopped smoking marijuana and joined him in his fight to rid the world of hatred. Oh, Debbie, what a saint he is. He has adopted three young orphans from Korea, a black son, and he was the first minister to have a black man as his associate pastor. That’s Archie. You’ll know him right off. He usually begins the services, then sits on the podium during Jim’s sermon.” She touched my cheek gentlywith her hand. “You really will learn that ours is the only path to enlightenment.”
I was duly impressed. Karen, Carolyn, and Larry belonged to a very important organization.
The next morning Karen
Looking back I can see how well orchestrated the demise of their marriage was. But at the time no one saw the contrived and more sinister meaning. It happened during a small meeting Jim had arranged to discuss Larry’s C.O. status. During the session Jim mentioned he’d observed a “distance” that had grown between the young couple. Larry agreed, saying he worked long hours at two jobs and that Carolyn had grown quite cold. Carolyn agreed and, much to his surprise, asked for a divorce.
“I’m sorry that is how you feel … but if that’s what will make you happy …” Larry whispered, visibly shaken.
Jim suggested that Larry meet Karen, a devoted new member. Karen just happened to be in the building and was summoned to Jim’s meeting. The Reverend introduced them officially and said he felt in his heart and psyche they would be well matched. Within six months Larry was divorced from Carolyn and dating Karen. They married soon thereafter.
I had seen Karen’s photograph on Papa’s desk. She reminded me of a cover girl, young, blond, hair blowing in the wind. She looked honest, sweet, and fun. She had been a homecoming queen in college. I was eager to meet Larry’s new wife and to see for myself what the man Larry called the Prophet was all about.
Finally, my familiar promises of good behavior worked and myparents gave me a few days away from them. I boarded a Greyhound bus for the three-hour ride north to a place where the summer heat reached over 100 degrees.
Karen and Larry met me at the Ukiah bus station and we drove to the Mendocino coast for a picnic. I followed them along the sunny beach as they held hands and we searched for the perfect sand dollar. Larry found three. When we finally laid down the picnic blanket, Karen began to talk about their remarkable pastor, Jim Jones. Part American Indian, he had been born May 13, 1931, raised by his mother in Indiana, and grown up deeply opposed to racism. In 1952, at only twenty-one, he had become assistant pastor of his Methodist church, and by 1960, he had his own congregation.
“He was always selfless, Debbie, and encouraged all his parishioners to follow his example,” Karen told me, her eyes filled with admiration and pride. “We are a denomination of the Disciples of Christ,” she explained, handing me a grassy vegetarian sandwich.
“Jim was appointed Director of the Human Rights Commission when he was only thirty years old!” Karen continued. “Then, in 1961, he had a vision of a nuclear war and worldwide devastation. He traveled to Brazil and other South American countries, searching for the safest place for his followers to live. He determined that Ukiah would be safe from nuclear fallout, even if San Francisco and Seattle were hit by nuclear bombs, and he moved here five years ago.” Karen smiled at me. “That’s when I met him!”
Later I found out that in the mid-sixties, during the Cuban Missile Crisis, Esquire magazine had published the nine safest places to hide in the event of a nuclear war. Jim had chosen Northern California from the listing and found a cave that could house all of his followers until the fallout had subsided.
“Oh, Debbie, I was lost, just like you. Jim showed me how egocentric and self-indulgent I had been. He needed my help to stop the ugliness of prejudice which has kept the blacks and Indians down. I stopped smoking marijuana and joined him in his fight to rid the world of hatred. Oh, Debbie, what a saint he is. He has adopted three young orphans from Korea, a black son, and he was the first minister to have a black man as his associate pastor. That’s Archie. You’ll know him right off. He usually begins the services, then sits on the podium during Jim’s sermon.” She touched my cheek gentlywith her hand. “You really will learn that ours is the only path to enlightenment.”
I was duly impressed. Karen, Carolyn, and Larry belonged to a very important organization.
The next morning Karen
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