Cult Insanity

by Irene Spencer

  He was unable to see either of us because of the bandages that covered his swollen eyes, but he heard our footsteps and called out, “Who is it?”

  “It’s me, Daddy, Yavona,” Yavona responded in a barely audible whisper.

  “Tell me the truth,” Herman demanded. “Is Mama dead?”

  Yavona looked at me questioningly. I nodded for her to go ahead, motioning to her to break the bad news gently, but she choked up.

  “She is dead, isn’t she?” Herman asked again.

  Tears slid down Yavona’s cheeks. She shook her head, letting me know that I’d have to tell him.

  “I’m sorry, Herman . . . really sorry.” My voice faltered. “Cora is dead.”

  “Where are Rhoda and George? Are they dead too?”

  “Yes, Herman, but Bevalyn and Theo survived, and so did Nephi’s daughter Maria.” It was agony for me to deliver even that much of the bad news. When I could no longer bear to see him so banged up and helpless, I left the room.

  Relatives and friends began arriving long before I’d taken care of all the details of planning the funeral. Exhausted and six months pregnant, I stayed up working throughout the night. I cooked beans, rice, and fresh loaves of bread to feed the crowd at my house before and after the funeral.

  The kids had done great with the housework and tending babies. Donna and Rhea had done their best, but, even so, I scrubbed dirty fingerprints off walls and door frames, mopped floors, and ironed clothes for us all to wear to the funeral.

  How we survived this sad ordeal I’ll never know. Six people all lost at once and buried in Ensenada.

  * * *

  A COUPLE OF MONTHS after Nephi’s accident, my brother Douglas and my mother arrived from Montana with Douglas’s ten children. It had been five years since I had seen them.

  Mother couldn’t suppress her feelings of disappointment. The ragged furniture, the cold bare cement floor, and the chaotic noise from Verlan’s numerous children brought forth her sadness. Her judgmental eyes acknowledged my poverty and evident unfulfillment. I talked incessantly trying to redirect her focus on to me. How badly I needed her acceptance. She could see where my choices in life had taken me. She had warned me sufficiently before I had made the plunge into plural marriage and I was nauseous from anxiety. I panicked as I resolved to not give way to my feelings of guilt and rejection. Because of all the commotion, Mother suggested I accompany her outside, away from the excited children who overwhelmed her as they crowded around her. I led her out the door into the yard; her pace deliberate and weak as she hung on to my arm for security. Though she was only fifty-eight, seeing how Mother had aged tugged at my heart.

  “I wanted to talk privately to you,” she began. “The terrible rumors I have been hearing have caused me to fear. I try not to believe them, but they say where there’s smoke, there’s fire. Our relatives still wonder if the LeBarons killed John Butchereit and Mauro Gutierrez.”

  Angrily, I cut in. “It’s a lie, Mother! Our group had absolutely nothing to do with their deaths. Both men were shot by Mexican outsiders, and I’m tired of the malicious accusations.”

  Tears filled Mother’s eyes as she steadied herself holding on to my arm. “I wish I had proof,” she said.

  “Well, it’s true,” I assured her. “You’ve got to believe me.”

  I detected the reluctance in her voice again.

  “Are you going to tell me that the Ropers and Nephi Marston were not murdered by Ervil either?”

  Her unfounded claims riled me. “I can’t believe you would even suggest they were murdered,” I snapped. “They were killed in a car accident! Nephi, who was driving, rammed into a big truck loaded with produce. It had no taillights. Because of the blackness of the night, it was undetectable. Believe me, Mother, I was the one who identified all six bodies at the morgue. Some were almost unrecognizable.”

  Her body language told me she didn’t believe a word I said.

  “Do you think I’m lying, Mother?” I cried. I wondered, had our bonds stretched so thinly, they’d finally been severed? I moaned loudly in despair as my cries fell on Mother’s deaf ears.

  She patted my arm, “Honey, how can I believe it? Mau-ro . . . then John Butchereit . . . then you tell me six more died in such a short time? It sounds impossible. Look at the odds.”

  Through my despairing tears, I insisted that Mother accompany me to a junkyard two blocks away where the demolished car had been deposited.

  On our walk, Mother voiced her objections. “How do I know the car we are going to see is theirs?” she asked.

  “You’ve got to believe me, that’s all. I saw it many times. It was in my yard two days before the accident. Nephi stopped by, hoping I’d let Donna go with them to Los Molinos to help his pregnant wife and tend her year-old daughter, Maria.”

  I prayed every step I took that I’d somehow be able to convince Mother that their deaths had been an accident. If I couldn’t, I felt it was an affront to my own character.

  We entered the sagging chain-link gate where the wrecking yard was almost full to capacity with rows of demolished car bodies. It felt eerie, just like a graveyard, as I contemplated, imagining the deaths of many who had died in the broken wrecked cars.

  I easily found the car. The roof was completely squashed down upon the broken bloody stained seats.

  “See, Mom.” I pointed. “The car was forced under the rear of the truck and flattened. Some must have died instantly.”

  Mother shook her head, sickened, as she shifted her eyes from the gory sight. She sighed. “I just wish I had proof that this was their car. Was everyone in the vehicle killed?”

  “No, Nephi’s toddler, Maria, and two small Roper girls, Theo and Bevalyn, survived.”

  I bent down beside the front passenger seat. The car door had been completely torn from its hinges, no longer on the wreckage. Peering under the broken seat frame, I hoped to find a paper or anything with a name on it so I could convince my mother that the car we were inspecting was really Nephi’s. I spied a plastic baby bottle that was lodged under the seat. Using force and exertion, I finally loosened it enough to free it. The empty milk-stained bottle had writing on it. In red nail polish was the name “Maria.” I burst into tears . . . tears of joy. Now maybe Mother would believe me. She didn’t confess whether or not she disbelieved the rumors, but in my heart I knew I held the proof in my hands.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Ervil summoned all the married women to yet another private meeting. He insisted that we swear under oath that not one word of what was spoken in the meeting would be repeated to anyone. He smirked as he said, “That means not even your husbands. Do you understand?” He stared at each of us in turn. “Do you?” he repeated, insinuating dire consequences.

  I remember so well his first sermon to us about the shortcomings of our husbands. “There are women here under the sound of my voice whose husbands are spineless.” He looked disgusted. “Some even allow you women to run their lives. Some of these worthless men will never”—he shouted the word for emphasis—“be able to exalt you in the celestial kingdom. Your only hope is finding a godly man whose life has been completely dedicated to the Lord.” He snickered, pointing his finger at the small group. “I’m going to prophesy.” He shook his finger, then continued. “Pretty soon a few of you women will find your husbands pushing up carrots in the garden.”

  Horrified by his words, I knew then what Ervil’s intentions were. I’d suspected it all along, based on hints he conveniently dropped every now and then. Now, I could see he intended to kill those less-fortunate souls who did not measure up to his preposterous standard.

  When Ervil saw the shock on the women’s faces and heard their distressed sighs, he laughed, apparently thinking he was expressing concern for them. “When your wimp of a husband is removed from your path, you’ll be given to a man who you rightfully belong to.”

  Again swearing us to secrecy, he intimated to us what the consequences would be if we broke his
trust. After his not-too-subtle threat, he attempted to be kind and loving as he dismissed the meeting.

  Vows or no vows, I went directly to Joel’s home. I felt close to him and I knew I could trust him. When I entered, he could see by my demeanor that I was upset.

  “What’s up?” he asked.

  Knowing his wife Magdalena knew no English, I smiled at her in recognition. Then I just sputtered out my fears. “Joel, I’ve just come from the women’s meeting. We were all sworn to secrecy by Ervil, which is a crock of bull! He had all fifteen of us swear allegiance to him.”

  “Oh, I think he means well,” Joel said, trying to ease my concerns. “He just has no tact at times.”

  “Joel, it’s worse than that! He told us that real soon a few spineless husbands would be ‘pushing up carrots in the garden.’ ”

  Joel couldn’t help but laugh. “That’s so ridiculous. C’mon, Irene, you know he has to be just joking around. I’m sure he doesn’t mean it.”

  I shot back in anger, “Joel, he said it with blood . . . in . . . his . . . voice!”

  “Don’t get all riled up. I’m sure there’s really nothing to it,” he said lovingly. “But if you’re worried, I’ll keep an eye on him.”

  * * *

  WITNESSING ERVIL’S TIRADES in the women’s meetings raised my concerns. Ervil vowed that very soon God would obliterate all false prophets from the face of the earth. They’d be struck down with God’s own hand for their wicked participation in stealing the tithes that rightfully belonged in the house of the Lord.

  “Every polygamist group is under a curse. All are guilty of robbing God’s money. It must be stopped. In the scriptures, God tells us plainly that his vengeance would begin upon his own house. Who has had the truth? What house is he talking about? We know God is speaking specifically to the Mormon Church. They had the truth. They were recognized as a chosen people—until they disqualified themselves. Now listen carefully so you’ll understand this. The Church of Jesus Christ received the fullness of the everlasting gospel, but in 1890, when President Wilford Woodruff signed a manifesto, he brought damnation upon God’s saints.”

  Ervil’s boisterous voice thundered above the crowd. “When Woodruff signed that satanic document abolishing the sacred law of plural marriage, he signed the death warrant of God’s chosen people. That despicable act caused the church to fall from the grace of God. The once true restored church separated itself from our Lord and Savior. That’s why it is out of order.”

  He pounded the podium after each word to emphasize his point. “Do . . . you . . . understand . . . ? That’s why God spoke to our prophet Joel. He instructed him to organize the Church of the Firstborn of the Fullness of Times so he’d have a vehicle by which to live every aspect of the gospel. We were the fortunate ones! Just think how blessed we are to be God’s only church on the face of the earth, the only one recognized by him.

  “The ultimate test of a prophet is found in Deuteronomy 18:20–22: ‘But the prophet who presumes to speak a word in my name, which I have not commanded him to speak, or who speaks in the name of other gods, that prophet shall die. And if you say in your heart, how shall we know the word which the Lord has not spoken?—When a prophet speaks in the name of the Lord, if the thing does not happen or come to pass, that is the thing which the Lord has not spoken; the prophet has spoken it presumptuously; you shall not be afraid of him.’

  “God has not changed. It’s the same thing today. It’s best that false prophets be annihilated so they won’t be a hindrance to God’s perfect plan.”

  I cringed. Fear surged through me as he spoke. I knew that he intended to eliminate all who would oppose him. I silently cried, hoping my premonition would not come to pass. It flashed through my mind that his number one target would be my uncle Rulon Allred, who was the leader of the largest fundamentalist polygamist group in Utah. I mourned throughout the long shocking sermon, trying to block out the impending threats of this egotistical man.

  My uncle, whom I loved dearly, had always been a father figure to me. After my mother’s divorce, Uncle Rulon had filled my father’s place in my heart. He was a stately, kind man whom everyone honored with deep respect. His spirit of servitude was hailed by everyone who knew him, a gentle chiropractor who selflessly gave up his own time away from his seven wives to deliver hundreds of babies to polygamous families. He was a model saint known for his leadership in the fundamentalist movement. Many saints followed him, striving to create the same order that existed in his plural families. He was affectionate and respectful to all his wives who accompanied him to religious gatherings. Not only was he esteemed as a perfect saint, but many even revered him as a potential god.

  It was he who had made arrangements for me to marry Verlan when I was sixteen. At that time he exacted a promise from me that once I was married I would never look back with regret.

  Ervil hadn’t mentioned names in the meeting, but, just because Uncle Rulon had such a large following, I wondered if Ervil would go after him first. With Verlan and Joel away from the flock doing missionary work, Ervil had full reign over all of us.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Verlan returned a month later boiling mad. He told me that he was going to insist that Ervil be stopped. “It looks like he has begun his campaign of terror. You know he sent Dan Jordan personally to see your uncle Rulon and gave him an ultimatum: he is to accept and follow the revelation given to him by Joel and move his several thousand followers to Mexico, or suffer the consequences. The tithing money your uncle is receiving from his followers is to be sent directly to Ervil. Your uncle ordered Dan Jordan to leave his office and never return after delivering the threat.”

  Verlan shook his head sadly. “I can’t imagine what Ervil is thinking.”

  I cut in. “I told both you and Joel several times, and neither of you would listen. He’s a law unto himself. He answers to no one, not even Joel. His damn power has gone to his head.”

  “I know,” Verlan said, finally agreeing with me. “I never believed he would go this far. He sent the same warning to the Kingstons and the group at Short Creek, plus every faction that believes in Mormonism.” He shook his head again. “It’s a huge embarrassment. How can we ever convert people to the work of the Lord? Ervil is destroying people’s faith faster than we can convert them.

  “Joel doesn’t know how to handle him. It’s a sticky situation, but one that must be solved immediately.” Sadness enveloped me. I feared that when my uncle cut off all association with the LeBarons I would be included. I was partly in my situation because I wanted to honor and please Uncle Rulon. To lose his love would be devastating.

  I’D CRITICIZED JOEL on many occasions. He’d been told time and time again about Ervil’s unscrupulous tactics, but he refused to deal with his brother. Now I was beginning to question Joel’s leadership. I told Verlan that Ervil had intimated repeatedly that even Joel would “go down.”

  Several converts resented Ervil and feared for their lives, especially when he explained blood atonement. I felt Joel ignored signs of danger because he didn’t have the heart to confront Ervil. He worried about breaking their brotherly bonds, especially when Ervil was the one who had convinced Joel’s followers that Joel was God’s prophet. I wondered if the Church of the Firstborn would continue to thrive if Ervil refused to work in harmony.

  Verlan finally realized Ervil’s disdain when I told him that Ervil insisted I was living in spiritual adultery. He claimed that in the preexistence I’d made a pledge to be his wife, not Verlan’s.

  Joel, too, finally reached a saturation point. Unwilling to put up with Ervil’s threats, false revelations, ruthlessness, lies, and wife stealing, he prepared to release him from his coveted position as patriarch.

  At home in the LeBaron Colony, Joel sent someone to notify both Ervil and Verlan that he needed to see them. Shortly after Ervil and Verlan arrived, the three brothers retired to a bedroom for a private conversation.

  Ervil couldn’t contain his curi
osity. “What’s up?” he asked Joel, wondering why he had been summoned.

  Without hesitation, Joel said, “I’m releasing you from your office as patriarch.”

  Ervil was surprised but thought Joel was just joking. When he saw the stern faces of both his brothers, however, he knew differently. He buried his head in his hands and wept unashamedly. His two brothers joined in, mingling their tears with his. They knew the great disappointment he felt.

  When Ervil could speak, he contritely admitted to Joel that it was actually a relief to him, that the patriarchal office had been nothing but a burden to him. Joel and Verlan, realizing Ervil was completely shattered, embraced him warmly, hoping the action would not disunite them.

  Verlan came to bed and, with frustration in his voice, told me about the meeting with Joel and Ervil.

  “Was he angry at Joel?” I asked.

  “No, he knew it was coming, but it wounded his pride. You and I both know that Ervil needs to feel important. He’s been stripped of his power and control. I’ve never seen him so devastated. Joel and I cried with him.”

  In a conference two days later, on November 22, 1969, Ervil’s release was announced to Joel’s followers. Joel spoke kindly of Ervil in the conference, thanking him for the great job he had done. He expressed his love for him, stating how he hoped the two would serve together in the near future.

  Then Ervil rose to speak. His tears flowed freely as he acknowledged his dismissal with regret. I don’t think there was a dry eye in the audience. We all felt his overwhelming sadness. Knowing the magnitude of his position, we mourned his loss as though it were a death, because we all knew what it meant to him.

  Nevertheless, after the meeting, many of the saints were overjoyed. They felt Ervil had it coming. Many had been imposed upon, pushed around, and intimidated by his overpowering personality. They sighed a breath of relief, glad to see their prophet Joel taking control over his flock again.