Cult Insanity

by Irene Spencer

  Her grave has never been discovered. When the exhausted gravediggers returned, Ervil was incensed upon seeing his dirty car. He showed no remorse whatsoever over the murder of his own daughter; Ervil was furious that his new car was splashed with mud. He ranted, calling the boys “stupid idiots.” When he checked the tires, he saw even more mud and feared it could be used as evidence. He reprimanded Eddie and Duane for being so incompetent, then turned to examine the trunk of the car. He saw Rebecca’s blood had stained the trunk mat, and he raved that they’d left still more incriminating evidence. He grabbed the bloody mat and threw it into a trash barrel. He lit the contents with a match and made sure everything burned to ashes.

  Ervil was still dissatisfied. He ordered Eddie and Duane to wash his car inside and out and to buy new tires for the car. But, still fearful of being implicated, Ervil refused to drive the LTD. He sold the car and replaced it with another—same make, year, and color.

  Upon hearing of Rebecca’s death, I fell apart, half in shock. She was only seventeen years old, and four months pregnant with her second child. She was young, beautiful, full of determination and spunk. My heart was wrenched. I could not comprehend her death nor the sick mind that ordered it. I’d witnessed the years of neglect she received from her father as a child. She was treated as less than most because she had Delfina’s blood coursing through her veins. She had been emotionally starved and deprived of education, never having any but her most basic needs addressed. Now, on top of seventeen years of abuse, my precious niece met the end of her short unhappy life by being “blood atoned.”

  I hated Ervil, more than I could bear to express; he was evil. His satanic tendencies caused suffering, deprivation, misery, torture, or death for increasing numbers of people. Yet he was too gutless to do the dirty deeds of death himself, so he manipulated and ordered others to do his killing. In Rebecca’s case, he had forced his own stepson and brother-in-law to carry out the dastardly act of her murder.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  As soon as Ervil had his brother Joel assassinated, he began contacting all the fundamentalist Mormon splinter groups, demanding that they join his church and, of course, pay their tithing monies to him. The Allreds’ Apostolic United Brethren was first on the list, being a juicy apple to be plucked.

  The next real threat came in 1975 in a pamphlet Ervil had titled Response to an Act of War. Handwritten on the back of his new recruiting tract was a personal note to my uncle Rulon. In this warning Ervil urged Rulon to “repent and live the constitution of the political kingdom of God lest the sword of the Lord fall upon you . . . the day is at hand. Repent ye therefore or suffer destruction at the hand of God! There shall be left neither root nor branch” (The 4 O’Clock Murders, pp. 137–138).

  Sufficiently concerned, Uncle Rulon went to the police. He asked them to seriously consider the threats and extortion demands being made on the Mormon splinter groups.

  At the same time, Uncle Rulon ignored Ervil’s threats, refusing to join or pay him. Ervil became indignant and sent another warning to the Allred group, offering them one last chance to comply with his demands. Still Rulon ignored his outrageous commands.

  Rebuffed by Uncle Rulon’s disobedience and bolstered by the success of his previous murderous victories and his miraculous release from jail, Ervil began to plan the blood atonements of other men he considered to be false prophets who also were ignoring the Lord’s commands received through him.

  Ervil’s wives Rosemary Barlow and Anna Mae Marston rented a mailbox in South Pasadena, California—P.O. Box 1412, which Ervil used to promote his new organization, the Society of American Patriots.

  In another pamphlet the Society of American Patriots indicated that Ervil M. LeBaron, God’s servant, would soon run the world. Ervil also referred to himself as a martyr and rebuked Jimmy Carter for distributing posters and allowing the press to use Carter’s picture as though he were Christ coming to save America. He warned Carter that when he took the presidential oath, he would be exalting himself as a false god, which carried the death penalty.

  The FBI and Secret Service took interest in the threatening accusations, believing Ervil was capable of killing Carter if given the opportunity. Ervil’s ambiguous pamphlet was written purposely to confuse those who read it, but the Secret Service knew it was a threat, though it was difficult to prove in court.

  ONLY DAYS AFTER REBECCA’S MURDER, on April 20, 1977, with several of his followers gathered in the safety of Thelma Chynoweth’s home (Ervil’s mother-in-law),he outlined the next big hit (The 4 O’Clock Murders, p. 166).

  His brother Verlan, now an archrival, would be killed while attending the funeral of the disobedient Rulon C. Allred—who obviously would have to be killed first. Supposedly, one death would lead successfully to the other. Three teams would possibly be required to accomplish the two murders. The first team would kill Dr. Allred in Salt Lake City and escape the state. The second would wait for his funeral, where they would stalk and kill Verlan. If they failed to kill Verlan at the funeral, a third team would drive to El Paso, Texas, where Verlan often traveled or stayed with Siegfried Widmar, Verlan’s closest counselor in the church.

  Ervil explained that he wanted two “pretty women” to handle the hit of Dr. Allred. So, he designated his new wife, Rena Chynoweth, and Ramona Marston, one of Dan Jordan’s wives, for the first death team who would kill my uncle Rulon.

  Why did Ervil pick women for such a horrific task and perhaps the most visible murder? Women were more malleable and obedient to Ervil, and they were far more expendable in his scheme of things.

  Don Sullivan, Eddie Marston, and Jack Strothman were to kill Verlan a few days later at Rulon’s funeral. If for some reason the mission failed, John Sullivan and Mark and Duane Chynoweth were to wait in El Paso, Texas, hoping to encounter Verlan at Siegfried Widmar’s home.

  On May 10, 1977, just past four thirty, Rena and Ramona entered Uncle Rulon’s chiropractic office in Murray, Utah. Rena carried a .25 automatic pistol, Ramona a .38 revolver. Both women were disguised with wigs and heavy coats. Three people were waiting in the reception room, an old couple and a middle-aged man. Ramona sat down next to the middle-aged man, Richard Bunker, who was reading a magazine. She placed her purse, with the pistol hidden inside, on her lap. Rena paused at the door with her hand on the pistol inside her blue parka, then entered the hall leading to the examining rooms. Uncle Rulon came out of one room and entered a lab area. As he turned to face Rena, she recognized him from the description she’d been given. She drew the gun and fired. He exclaimed, “Oh my God!” as all seven bullets seared into him. He fell to the floor.

  Ramona stood up with her gun drawn while Rena walked back into the reception room, still holding her pistol. Neither the old couple nor Bunker moved, so both killers stepped outside and shut the door. Bunker finally reacted, opening the door, to get a better description or a license plate number, but the armed women pushed their way back inside to make sure Allred was really dead. This caused Bunker to resist them in a scuffle, fearing for his own life. He pushed Ramona’s arm against the door frame as Rena aimed her pistol at him. Fortunately for him, all the bullets had been fired. Both girls were shoved outside, and again the door was closed.

  By then Uncle Rulon’s wife Melba, who was his receptionist, was kneeling over him. The girls exchanged pistols and re-entered. Rena fired a shot toward Bunker, who scampered into a bathroom. Then she approached the dying doctor. As Melba confronted her, Rena fired a final shot, which actually missed and went into the floor, but Uncle Rulon was dead enough.

  The two shooters left in a stolen Ford pickup to an appointed rendezvous in a parking lot where Eddie had brought their station wagon and Ramona’s baby. When Don arrived, he took their wigs and coats, which he later threw into a random Dumpster. The murderers fled to Denver, and the men went back to the hotel, where Jack joined them to celebrate. Then the men drove to Wyoming to wait for their next assignment.

  When Bunker was sure th
e two female killers had left, he cautiously exited the bathroom to join Aunt Melba beside Uncle Rulon’s body. She kept whispering his name repeatedly, but he couldn’t answer. Bunker felt beneath Uncle Rulon’s bloody shirt, checking for a heartbeat, but it was too late. The seven shots from Rena’s pistol had silenced him forever.

  * * *

  I HAD ALWAYS ADMIRED and loved my uncle Rulon. From childhood he was not only my mentor, but my father figure, my religious leader, and my confidant, even after I married Verlan. His death created a deep void in my life. I wanted to run to him, even after his death. My heart needed his loving acceptance. I knew that his murder had been arranged by Ervil. Now my family connection to the LeBarons would cause the members of the Allred group to ostracize me. The emotional pain of my own situation in this mess was almost unbearable. Most of Rulon’s followers were my aunts, uncles, and cousins. I knew his death would sever my relationships with them forever. Still, I wanted to attend his funeral to make a statement to my relatives that I honored and loved my beloved uncle.

  Verlan accompanied Siegfried and Ossmen Jones to Salt Lake City even though they knew their lives were in danger. Verlan had told me he thought Ervil might send someone to kill him at the funeral. But he gave me permission to go, cautioning me to be wise by distancing myself from him for the trip. Though disappointed that we couldn’t travel together because it would endanger me to be with him, I went to Las Vegas, where I met up with my sister Becky, who drove me to Utah.

  On the day of Uncle Rulon’s viewing, several hundred people filed past the open casket to pay homage to their revered leader, father, and friend. I don’t believe that Uncle Rulon ever had a single enemy—other than Ervil. He was so kind, patient, and forgiving. All who met him couldn’t help but love him. I was astounded to see so many grown men weep openly before his casket, not wanting to leave, but they were forced along by the pressing crowd. His numerous children took turns standing beside his casket while throngs of well-wishers offered quiet condolences.

  Becky pushed ahead of me confidently. We stood before the casket, tearfully peering into the face of our beloved uncle. We mentally whispered our good-byes as we passed the lines of cousins and aunts standing at attention. We could feel their icy stares, the anger and hatred they felt toward us, wondering how we dared show up.

  Becky had been a black sheep for years. She had abandoned the polygamist lifestyle and married a gentile. She had been the talk of every family gathering. The family whispered to one another, asking whether they could see her “worldly spirit.” They criticized her hat, high heels, and voluptuous breasts. In fact, they said a woman with a set of “knockers” like hers certainly intended to entice or lure men. They said the only reason God had given her six daughters was because of her unrighteousness, so she was not blessed with any sons. Furthermore, any woman who was divorced and lived in the wicked city of Las Vegas deserved God’s punishment.

  Becky was rejected for abandoning the group, but I was shunned even more after my outlaw LeBaron in-laws caused my uncle’s cruel and untimely death. Some cousins refused my handshake or embrace. Those who knew that my name was LeBaron, acted as though I had pulled the trigger myself.

  My eyes wandered over the crowd. I spied Verlan, Siegfried, and Ossmen entering the room. At one time, Uncle Rulon and other Allreds had respected and loved Verlan. They considered him the most likeable LeBaron, the one who could redeem the LeBaron family name. Verlan admired Rulon and asked him to perform his plural marriages. Verlan’s warmth and congeniality was infectious. However, now that his brother Ervil had ordered Uncle Rulon’s assassination, Verlan was treated with suspicion; people who had once admired him now looked upon him with disdain. When I caught Verlan’s eye, he smiled at me. That tiny gesture gave me the courage to endure my relatives’ icy stares of condemnation.

  It didn’t occur to them that Verlan LeBaron was also on Ervil’s hit list, nor could they have fathomed that Verlan had been stalked for years. In all the publicity about Ervil’s war on rival fundamentalist factions, people missed this finer point of Ervil’s insanity: He used Uncle Rulon’s death to lure Verlan. It was more than revenge; it was a means to another end.

  Becky didn’t care that Verlan had told me to distance myself from him. She grabbed my arm and pulled me through the crowd. When we finally reached him, she put me on one side and plunked herself down on the other, sandwiching Verlan between us. She laughed quietly, telling Verlan that she and I were there to protect him from being killed in case anyone showed up.

  How I loved Becky. She didn’t need anyone’s acceptance because she accepted herself—that was sufficient for her. She urged me to ignore my family’s self-righteous opinions and actions. During the years Verlan worked in Vegas, I spent a week or two at a time with Becky. We really bonded, never discussing religion; we accepted each other as sisters. Our unconditional love and acceptance for each other was the glue that bound us so tightly together.

  After the viewing, Verlan and Siegfried spent hours talking with local authorities, revealing Ervil’s threats and the danger that they themselves feared from him—and not only them, but any members in their Church of the Firstborn. We all were considered traitors by Ervil because we didn’t follow him, so we all deserved his death penalty.

  The following day, May 14, 1977, Uncle Rulon’s funeral was held at Bingham High School in order to accommodate the impressive crowd of almost three thousand mourners. Becky and I took our seats in the center of the school auditorium as friends and family filled the seats. From the rear of the auditorium, Verlan caught my eye, giving me a wave of recognition. His two friends stood by him, hoping to keep him safe in case Ervil’s hit men tried anything.

  Rulon’s numerous children stood by his seven lovely wives. We’d all grown up together, laughed, played, and spent many a weekend together. We had attended their religious meetings every Sunday at their father’s homes during our youth. When I beheld the tear-stained faces of my cousins, I was cut to the core. I realized then how one man’s death could cause excruciating pain and grief impacting so many people.

  I was touched as sixteen of Uncle Rulon’s sons sang the beautiful Mormon hymn “I Know That My Redeemer Lives.” I cried silently as they sang, thinking how these wonderful sons had been robbed of such an exemplary father. I reminisced how as children we swam in the creek and played baseball and hide-and-seek together. Twenty of his daughters harmonized in a song written specially for the occasion. The auditorium was filled with love for this holy man who had truly lived his religion and stood by his religious principles.

  Rulon’s brother Owen begged members of the Allred clan not to seek vengeance for Uncle Rulon’s death. His oldest son, Louis, reminded the crowd that his father was “wealthy in love, not in money” (Prophet of Blood, p. 246). Their youngest brother, Clarence, prayed for the family, especially his wives and children. My dear aunt Beth, Uncle Rulon’s youngest sister, read a poem called “The Family Doctor.” Another brother Marvin stated how Rulon had brought more than six thousand babies into the world, half of which he had delivered for free.

  When the funeral ended, the mourners formed a procession, driving to the Sunset Lawn Memorial Park in Salt Lake City, where my dear uncle Rulon was laid to rest.

  Verlan and Siegfried had met with the police the day before, cluing them in about Ervil’s murderous rampage, so nine police cars and many policemen had been dispatched to keep guard during the funeral and check license plate numbers or watch for suspicious vehicles. The presence of all those police is what saved Verlan’s life.

  Ervil had long plotted Verlan’s murder at Uncle Rulon’s funeral, so he had ordered Don, Eddie, and Jack to attend the funeral, where they were to ambush Verlan with guns. First they drove by, stalking Verlan but they were very nervous. It was dangerous to kill Verlan because if they succeeded they could easily be shot by police on the scene, but if they failed then they could be killed by Ervil for not following his orders. Either way, it was do and die. This
was a typical double bind that Ervil placed on his followers.

  As they surveyed the situation, they realized it would be impossible to take Verlan out among throngs of people peppered by police. If they went inside the building to kill Verlan, it would mean killing other people as they fired in a crowd, and the police would immediately return fire.

  Scared stiff, yet determined, they approached the site again with loaded firearms ready. However, again, the throngs of mourners and numerous policemen were too intimidating. It would be suicide, Don told Eddie and Jack; it was crazy. Don voiced their mutual conclusion—they weren’t going to do it.

  They realized they had botched God’s revelation to Ervil. Dejected, they drove back to Dallas, fearing for their lives when they would have to face Ervil’s wrath.

  Meanwhile the other hit team staked out Siegfried’s home in El Paso, but Verlan didn’t show up, so they aborted that mission as well.

  Unbeknownst to both hit squads, Ervil himself had fled to his hideouts in Mexico in case something went wrong.

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  After Ervil’s latest killing spree began, we became convinced that he would not quit until he had annihilated all those who opposed him. He was determined that no one was going to push him aside! His inflated pride convinced him that Verlan, who had been given the office of patriarch and the presidency in the Church of the Firstborn, had to be cut down. And not only Verlan. With unrelenting vengeance, Ervil began to pursue any person who would not uphold and support him. His continual revelations from God convinced him that he, and not any other brother, was the rightful prophet and head of the church.