Cult Insanity

by Irene Spencer

  His chilling words momentarily froze me. Though afraid to cross him, I summoned up my courage and spoke. “Ervil, they’re your brothers! How can you say such a thing?”

  He stared at me as though I were an idiot. “Ah, can’t you see, God is no respecter of persons!”

  Unwilling to listen to any more threats, I excused myself and went home. If Ervil would kill his own brothers, I wondered if I might be next.

  A few nights later, Verlan secretly entered Los Molinos, staying undercover long enough to visit briefly with each of his seven wives. I expressed my fear, telling him of Ervil’s threat against Joel and him.

  “Wow,” he said, his voice trailing off. “If he has Joel killed, our lives would really change. But, don’t worry. Joel has promised us he will live to see Christ’s Second Coming. If he dies without appointing a successor,” he continued, “we’ll all know he was just a good man and we barked up the wrong tree.”

  Somehow the belief had been circulated among the devout group that Joel would not die, because of this scripture: “. . . behold the life of my servant shall be in my hand. Therefore, they shall not hurt him . . .” (3 Nephi 21:10). I remember Bill Tucker and Verlan agreeing to how safe they felt when they flew to the mountains in Ossmen Jones’s small plane with Joel. Both men believed that as long as they were in his presence they would not crash, because Joel was going to live to take them into the millennium.

  Two days later, I found Joel in a small camper trailer, in bed resting. I greeted him warmly, sitting on the edge of his bed. I hadn’t seen him for several weeks and felt fortunate to find him alone. Usually he was in the presence of one or more of his wives, making it impossible to have a private audience with him. I shared a bond with Joel. He was just a good guy with no flair or frills, just confident that he’d been appointed by God.

  “What’s up?” he asked.

  I sighed. “Joel, I am just sick at heart. I’ve come to warn you about Ervil. I was at Ruth’s two days ago when Ervil told me that both you and Verlan would be put to death.”

  I could see Joel’s pain; he began to cry. He covered his face with his hands, trying to keep control of himself. When he could finally speak, he said, “They’ve got to be given enough rope if they want to hang themselves. Let them go ahead.” He sighed sadly. “Let’s see how far they’ll really go.”

  I, too, had always thought Joel would be safe. Joel claimed to be the last prophet before the Second Coming of Jesus Christ. He had promised the church that he would take us into the millennium, that he would hand his faithful followers over directly to Jesus Christ upon his Second Coming. So I was completely surprised when Joel said, “I will be killed.”

  He had repeatedly consoled us by stating that he had a promise from his father, grandfather, and Jesus Christ himself that he would not fail. With his promise engrained in me, I couldn’t accept his resolve. We had been taught that the words of Isaiah—“Behold my servant will prosper, he will be high and lifted up and greatly exalted . . . so his appearance was marred more than any man, and his form more than the sons of men. Thus he will sprinkle many nations. Kings will shut their mouths on account of him; for what had not been told them they will see, and what they had not heard, they will understand” (52:13–15)—applied to Joel.

  “How can you say you’ll be killed? You promised us you’d live until Christ came back.”

  “No, every testator that comes has to seal his testimony with his blood . . . just as Christ and Joseph Smith.” He softly wept again. “I will be killed.”

  If Joel died, I concluded then he definitely was not the One Mighty and Strong, and his whole foundation based on that assumption would crumble. It would mean that he did not hold the first grand head of priesthood that Moses and all his predecessors held. It would mean that he was not the “promised seed of Joseph Smith by which all the nations of the earth would be blessed.”

  Joel had no clue that I walked out having questioned my faith in him. If he died, I knew we’d all been deceived. He had claimed he held the scepter, which gave him authority to redeem Israel and usher in Zion. I knew if Joel died, I had just wasted sixteen years believing in a false prophet.

  More confused than ever, I hurried home.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  On August 20, 1972, I backed the old green Chevy truck up against the side of a cement platform. The man who had filled three large butane tanks for me was loading them onto the truck. I watched traffic pass by on the highway in front of me while I waited and was pleased to see Joel’s gray truck approaching. One of his wives was driving. He sat in the passenger’s seat eating a banana.

  I honked, hoping he would see me, but the vehicle went right on by. I had no idea it would be the last time I ever laid eyes on him alive.

  EVENTUALLY THE DETAILS of the murder of Joel F. LeBaron came to light from Ivan who was present at the scene and related the story to a group of family members.

  On that fateful day, Joel stopped in Ensenada on his way from Los Molinos to Colonia LeBaron, where he was to attend the church conference.

  Two of his wives, Cathy and Jeannine, and several of his children accompanied him in his pickup. They stopped at the home of Benjamin Zarate, where Joel had left his 1966 Buick, which he intended to tow behind his pickup.

  Upon their arrival, they were met by Gamaliel Rios and Andrès Zarate, Benjamin’s son. They told Joel and his wives that Benjamin had just moved to a new home. They also informed him that someone had taken the keys to his Buick. Andrès said he would drive Joel’s pickup, with the family over to his father’s house to go see if he could find the keys. This was only a pretext to leave Joel alone with Gamaliel so that Joel’s family would not be present for the murder. But unbeknownst to anyone, fourteen-year-old Ivan, Joel’s stepson, stayed behind, resting in Joel’s Buick.

  Gamaliel soon lured Joel into the empty house to discuss the church controversy.

  Ervil, his cousin Conway, and Dan waited nearby in Conway’s car, expecting Gamaliel to kill Joel and then join them. Conway was to drive them away in the getaway car. The three became nervous when they felt Gamaliel was taking too long, so Dan went in to do it himself.

  A struggle ensued. Joel was struck with a steel wrench and a heavy wooden chair. Joel fought as he fell to the floor. Finally Gamaliel subdued him, and Dan shot Joel—by putting the pistol in his mouth. Then Dan shot him a second time in the forehead and blew more of the back of his skull away. (There was no confession as to whether Gamaliel or Dan did the shooting, but we all believed it was Dan.)

  Ivan watched as Dan came out through the door and paused to see if the coast was clear while Gamaliel jumped out of a side window. Then both killers walked to the car and raced away.

  Ivan had heard the shots, but stayed in the car, unsure of what to do. When Joel didn’t come outside, Ivan went into the house and, to his horror, found his stepfather dead on the floor.

  Soon, members of a small church across the street notified the police, who arrived with an ambulance, which took the body away. Ivan walked up and down the street crying uncontrollably, hoping to find his family, but eventually he gave up and returned to the house and waited until he was taken to a police station.

  When the wives finally pulled up, Jeannine saw people gathered there. She made her way into the house, where she found a broken wooden chair and the floor splattered with her husband’s blood. Cathy and Jeannine wept in despair. They knew that they had been conned into leaving so that the perpetrators could carry out Ervil’s orders. Still crying and in shock they jumped in Joel’s pickup and headed to the police station to inquire about the murder and to find out where their husband’s body had been taken. As they pulled up, Ivan came running out and, though crying, managed to say, “They killed Daddy!”

  MEANWHILE ERVIL’S ESTRANGED WIFE Kristina and a girl friend caught a ride to Ensenada with Steve Williams. She had separated from Ervil two years earlier and hoped to confront him about getting a legal divorce and some documents sh
e needed.

  Steven left Kristina and her friend at a motel while he went to a nearby store for coffee. The friend was nursing her three-month-old baby when Steve burst in the room. “An American has been shot and killed,” he said. “I wonder if it’s someone we know down here?”

  Leaving the friend and her baby in the motel room, the two rushed outside to the car. They drove through town, stopping along the way to ask several people where they could locate a police officer. They soon found one who sent them to a substation. When they arrived, a policeman who had helped transport the body was still there. He took them to the chief of police, who consented to take them to identify the body. So, Steve and Kristina followed the two men to a rundown part of Ensenada.

  Steve helped Kristina walk on a plank over mud; they were trying not to dirty their shoes as they entered what appeared to be a veterinary clinic. No staff member was there, but they could see a menagerie of caged animals everywhere outside, and they could smell animal waste and sewage from the yard. They entered a small, stark anteroom that reeked of mold and mildew. Steve led Kristina up to a partly opened door. Walking into the darkened room, he stood on a chair and pulled the chain to turn on the light. There Kristina saw her brother-in-law . . . her beloved prophet laid out on an old table. They couldn’t believe his body was unattended. Steve cautioned her to stay back and not approach the body. “I don’t think you need to see this up close.” He shook his head in disbelief.

  Kristina had a mind of her own. Steve couldn’t have stopped her even if he’d barred the door. She knew she needed to witness this with her own eyes.

  In spite of his violent death, Joel looked serene and peaceful. Blood was still on his face and head where he had been hit by some object and a bullet had hit his forehead almost dead center, a quarter inch above the beginning of his left eyebrow. Steve noticed the head tilted oddly backward so he rolled it to one side. The violence of the mushroom, hollow-point bullet had blown away pieces of the back of his skull.

  Kristina trembled with disbelief as she peered closely into Joel’s face. Her legs buckled, but Steve grabbed her before she hit the floor and led her back to the car. Kristina hesitated, not wanting to leave Joel’s body in such an undignified resting place, even temporarily. To her it seemed so unworthy of him.

  Kristina disclosed to the police that her estranged husband, Ervil LeBaron, was probably responsible for Joel’s murder. The chief of police called for backup and for a transport vehicle for the body.

  Soon a patrol car and a police van, with metal seats on both sides, used to transfer prisoners arrived on the scene. The chief of police and two policemen rolled Joel’s body off the table into a blanket. Carrying him out to the transport van, the chief of police chewed out the officers for delivering Joel’s body to the wrong place. He then ordered it to be taken to the morgue in the center of Ensenada.

  Still in shock, Kristina wailed, “If they’ve killed Joel, we’re all going to die!” She wanted to leave right then and go back to St. George without confronting Ervil, but Steve insisted they continue on to Anna Mae’s house, which was on the better side of town. Kristina tried to pull herself together, knowing she needed to follow through with what she’d come for.

  Anna Mae’s house sat at the top of an inclined driveway. When Kristina and Steve arrived, they parked on the slope directly behind Anna Mae’s car. Having had some time to think on the way there, Kristina was now boiling mad. Steve had to help her walk up to the house because she was so distraught. He knew she needed privacy, and he didn’t know Anna Mae, so he returned to the car to wait.

  Even though both women had been sister wives and confidantes, Kristina was concerned about how Anna Mae would treat her now that she had left Ervil. Yet, she stormed into the house to confront Anna Mae face-to-face. She blurted out in agony, “Joel’s been shot!”

  “Has he?” asked Anna Mae calmly.

  “He’s dead, Anna Mae! He’s been murdered!”

  Now hysterical, she grabbed Anna Mae by the shoulders, looking for some kind—any kind—of reaction. Without emotion, matter-of-factly, Anna Mae said, “Well, Kristina, he was doing a lot of things wrong, you know.”

  She would never be able to forget those exact words. As they talked, Kristina happened to look out the back kitchen window and saw Ervil peeling out the back alley in his infamous “Golden Calf.” It had been parked behind one of the outbuildings. Kristina knew the vehicle well since she had been at the dealership when it was purchased. She figured Ervil had been holed up in Anna Mae’s house and sneaked out the back when she arrived. The rage she felt turned to fear.

  While Kristina was inside the house, a car had pulled up to the driveway and boxed Steve in. Raul Rios was driving and another man sat in the passenger seat. Steve had met Raul several times on various occasions, so he recognized him immediately. Raul got out of his car and accosted Steve. “Who are you? What are you doing here?”

  “I’m Steve Williams. We’ve met a time or two at church,” he said, reminding Raul who he was.

  Steve pointed to the large front window, where both he and Raul could see Anna Mae and Kristina. Steve explained that Kristina was Ervil’s wife and they had come to visit.

  “You’re okay then,” Raul commented, returning to his car.

  While Steve was watching, the other man got out of the car and entered Anna Mae’s house. Soon all three disappeared from view in the window for a few minutes. Then the man came out and he and Raul drove off, screeching around the corner.

  Finally Kristina exited the house, got into Steve’s car, and said, “The guy who came in the house was Raul’s brother, Gamaliel, one of Ervil’s men. I don’t trust them. Let’s get out of here!”

  It was amazing that Steve and Kristina happened to be the ones who found Joel’s body. They still get shivers when they think about it. Kristina totally forgot the reason she’d come to Ensenada. Thoughts of signing papers and getting a legal divorce vanished. But Kristina’s mind did wander back to the time Ervil had visited her in a hospital, after an auto accident. When she realized he was beside her bed, she screamed at him, “It’s over, it’s over, it’s over! I never want to see you again—not in this life or the next!”

  Nurses had rushed into the hospital room, demanding that Ervil leave. Soon her doctor cautioned her, saying, “How could you let yourself get so upset? You still can get paralyzed from the neck down if you’re not careful.”

  It took her breaking her neck in a car accident to come to a final decision. She reasoned that if the hereafter was an extension of this life, she wanted out.

  Kristina’s mind shifted back to the present when she and Steve arrived back at the motel, where they picked up her friend and baby, then fled across the border heading for southern Utah. As it turned out, she never did see Ervil again.

  JOEL’S BODY WAS PREPARED for burial, and a viewing was held at a mortuary in Ensenada. His numerous followers from Los Molinos, Ensenada, and San Diego came to pay their last respects. It was sad to see so many people weeping, not only because they had lost their prophet, but because their dreams had been crushed. They had all expected Joel to redeem Zion and present them to Christ at his Second Coming.

  People were horrified when Anna Mae walked past the line of mourners, right up to the casket, a smirk on her face. As she walked away she muttered, “He deserved it.”

  After the viewing, Joel’s body was flown to Casas Grandes, Chihuahua, then driven on home to Colonia LeBaron, where he received the biggest funeral ever held in the valley. Throngs of people filled the church and overflowed into the streets. Joel not only was well known as the prophet of a church, but also he was loved by many of the Mexicans who lived in the surrounding towns where he had done business.

  Ossmen Jones, a lifelong friend to all the LeBarons and a dedicated member of the Church of the Firstborn, conducted the funeral, during which several Church leaders sadly eulogized their beloved prophet. They recounted his outstanding accomplishments and hoped that hi
s dreams and expectations would still come to pass so that his sacrifice would not have been in vain.

  A very long procession accompanied the body to the Galeana cemetery. Seeing Joel’s seven wives weeping by his casket broke my heart. Just before they lowered it into the ground, his wife Priscilla fainted. And I’ll never forget the crying and wailing of his numerous children.

  That evening I reminded Verlan that both he and I had understood that if Joel died without leaving a successor, we had all barked up the wrong tree because he was mistaken. However, Verlan commented that he now had to carry on, because too many people were depending on him. He was determined not to let them down.

  After long, late meetings with the brethren, trying to decide what direction to take the church now that Joel was dead, Verlan finally came to bed at three in the morning. I didn’t hear him undress, but I felt him get into bed. He buried his head in the pillow and sobbed like a child. I didn’t know how to comfort him, and I knew that my words couldn’t console him at such a time, so I ran my fingers through his hair. As I did, he cried out, “My brother is gone! I have never in my life wanted to die, but now I wish I was in the grave with him.” (My account of this was also used in Prophet of Blood on p. 143.)

  * * *

  IMMEDIATELY AFTER JOEL’S FUNERAL, Verlan and others notified authorities in Mexico and in the United States of Ervil’s threats. The court in Ensenada still held other official accusations against Ervil and his assassins.

  Having successfully blood atoned Joel, Ervil figured that the bulk of the Firstborners would naturally just fall into his lap, but instead he became more feared, even loathsome, in their sight.

  Ervil intensified his writing and proselytizing campaign, threatening to destroy anyone who opposed him. And he still intended to use the LeBaron property in Los Molinos to fulfill his dreams of grandeur.