The Road to Jonestown

by Jeff Guinn

  The slightest hint of potential treachery was always enough to trigger Jones’s paranoia. Ijames’s report alarmed him in the extreme. But thanks to his own prophecy of a looming nuclear apocalypse, Jones could hardly make an immediate return to the Temple pulpit. His followers had to believe that his priority was saving them, not reclaiming them from a potential usurper. All he could do was ask Ijames to continue monitoring Winberg and report any further concerns.

  He put on a brave front with his family. After landing at an airport in Brazil, Marceline was taken aback by the relative primitiveness and widespread poverty. Sensing her dejection, Jones embraced her, and together they sang, “I’ll be loving you always.”

  Using the limited amount of money they’d brought from the United States, the Joneses rented a sparsely furnished, three-bedroom house in Belo Horizonte. With a population of about a million, their sprawling new home city was intimidating. Everyone spoke Portuguese. Much of the surrounding scenery was lush, even breathtaking—Belo Horizonte translates in English as “Beautiful Horizon”—but its streets teemed with beggars, many of them children on the verge of starvation. Local orphanages could support only a small percentage. In Indianapolis, the black ghetto was an obvious place for Jones to base a ministry. In Belo Horizonte, there were almost too many choices. It was hard for Jones and Marceline to learn to function for themselves—even the seemingly simple task of mailing letters back home proved perplexing, since none of the post office clerks understood English.

  It was in a Belo Horizonte post office that Jones made his first significant new acquaintance in Brazil. A short man was summoned by a staffer to help translate. He introduced himself to Jones as Ed Malmin, an evangelist who had been in Brazil for three years. Malmin spoke Portuguese like a native. A friendly sort, he invited Jones to bring his family over for a meal. The Joneses were charming dinner guests. Jones talked about his vision, and how he had come to Belo Horizonte for its relative safety from nuclear fallout, and to study it as a possible relocation site for Peoples Temple. Malmin, who’d attended the Los Angeles seminary of famed evangelist Aimee Semple McPherson, was sympathetic. He offered to introduce Jones to local officials, and to do what he could to assist his family in assimilating.

  By the time dinner was through, Jones and Marceline had made another new friend. Malmin’s sixteen-year-old daughter, Bonnie, had quarreled with her parents about her Brazilian boyfriend. The elder Malmins thought dating a boy of another race was inappropriate. The Joneses, with their rainbow family, didn’t see anything wrong with it. Bonnie was soon a constant presence at the Jones’s home, helping Marceline with chores and serving as a translator. Soon, with her parents’ permission, she moved in with them. Bonnie found life there much more congenial. Following Marceline’s example, the teenager began wearing less makeup and keeping her hair in a simple ponytail instead of the more elaborate styles she’d previously favored. Bonnie loved the Jones children, Jim Jr. especially. Jones struck her as genuinely compassionate for all living things. When someone gave the Joneses a live duck for their evening meal, Jones couldn’t bear to kill it and insisted that they keep the fowl as a pet. He also graphically advised Bonnie about sex, including the use of condoms. Jones gave her one, and insisted that she carry it in her purse when she and her boyfriend went out on dates. He also taught Bonnie the technique of driving a knee to the groin of any overaggressive male. Jones’s sex advice didn’t make Bonnie uncomfortable—his demeanor was always paternal—but other things caused her some concern. Jim Jones was in Belo Horizonte as a missionary, but there was no copy of the Bible in his house. No grace was offered at meals. When Bonnie asked if she could say it, Jones and Marceline were agreeable. They apparently had nothing against prayer. They just didn’t use it themselves in their private lives.

  Jones soon became frustrated in Belo Horizonte. He met various officials, but had no means of influencing them. He was just one among many American missionaries. Perhaps Jones could have distinguished himself by initiating free food and clothing programs for the city poor as he had in Indianapolis, but he had no money to pay for them. He had counted on receiving regular stipends from Peoples Temple, but never received any. Back in Indianapolis, the Temple was in trouble.

  * * *

  Peoples Temple was no longer a strictly neighborhood church, attended by nearby residents because it was convenient. Almost all its members joined and stayed for one of two reasons. Either they were attracted to Peoples Temple because of its socialist principles and outreach efforts, or else they believed in Jim Jones and his great powers, and wanted to be part of a church that he personally led. With Jones absent in Brazil, and with Russell Winberg reverting to old-school, Bible-based worship, neither reason remained valid. People were leaving, in far greater numbers than the one or two a month that had so distressed Jones when he was still in charge. That meant Sunday offerings were drastically reduced, at the same time when there was no longer income from Jones’s appearances on the revival circuit. Profits from the Temple-operated nursing homes weren’t sufficient. Resident-patients were accepted there based on need, and paid only what they could afford. So Archie Ijames, acting as Temple treasurer, had no money to send to Belo Horizonte. Jones and his family had to subsist on whatever he could earn at part-time jobs and occasional small donations from Brazilian Christians impressed with his visionary zeal. Jones and Marceline still did what they could. Their family dinners were spare, usually consisting of the cheapest possible staples—rice, bread, vegetables. Marceline boiled the rice in a five-quart pot. After serving her family, she would set anything left over out in small bowls on the veranda for hungry street children.

  Much of Jones’s time was spent trying to hold Peoples Temple together from long distance. He barraged his associate pastors with letters of encouragement. They’d had his example in recruiting and retaining members—surely they could put a stop to the current erosion. The situation was particularly touchy with Winberg. Too much criticism might cause him to openly rebel and claim the remaining congregation as his own. All Jones could do was encourage continuation of his own policies. And, always, he pleaded for money. To make a new home for Peoples Temple in Belo Horizonte, Jones had to first establish the same progressive example there that he had in Indianapolis, as someone working effectively toward equality for all, a man once again to be reckoned with. Then when Temple followers arrived in their new home, they’d immediately become part of a prominent church, shining examples of what socialism should be.

  Jones also stayed in constant communication with rank-and-file Temple followers. All of them were encouraged to write their true pastor, asking whatever questions they liked. Some, like Patty Cartmell, wrote almost daily. They asked what he wanted them to do back in Indiana, and when he planned to summon them to their new, fallout-safe home. Jones encouraged them to continue believing in him and to keep supporting the Indianapolis programs he’d established. He described not only the wonders of Brazil, but also its great need for the kind of vision and compassion that only Jim Jones and Peoples Temple could provide. And, always, whether from assistant pastors or rank-and-file members of his flock, Jones requested reports. Who was straying from Jones’s directives? Who did they suspect was acting out of selfish, rather than altruistic, reasons?

  Events in America and around the world worked to Jones’s advantage as he tried to retain the loyalty of his Temple followers. Freedom marches by black and white civil rights activists in the Deep South often erupted in violence. In October 1962, photographs taken by American spy planes indicated that the Soviets were building a missile site in Cuba that, if completed, would give them unprecedented proximity to U.S. targets in the event of nuclear war. President Kennedy demanded that the site be dismantled, and put a shipping embargo in place around the island. Soviet freighters steamed forward. For thirteen days, the world trembled on the brink of catastrophe. Then the Russians agreed to abandon the Cuban site in return for the removal of American missiles in Turkey. It had be
en a near thing, and made Jones’s apocalyptic prophecy appear all the more valid to members of the Temple back in Indianapolis. They wondered if their pastor was about to send for them in Belo Horizonte. Instead, he prepared to leave.

  Jones could make no headway in Belo Horizonte. Without sufficient funds, he could not initiate the kinds of social programs that would impress local officials and pave the way for the relocation of Peoples Temple there. For a while, Jack and Rheaviana Beam joined the Joneses in Belo Horizonte. They provided firsthand reports about Temple problems. Next to Marceline, Jack Beam had become perhaps Jones’s most trusted associate. His hearty sense of humor leavened Jones’s obsessiveness, but Beam was every bit as committed to socialism as his leader. Belo Horizonte frustrated him as much as it did Jones. Even though Beam was a talented jack-of-all-trades who could quickly master any mechanical skill, he couldn’t find a full-time job in the city. In early 1963, the Beams returned to Indianapolis.

  Jones didn’t give up on Brazil yet. Instead, he moved his family to Rio de Janeiro, and was hired to teach English at an American school. With a steady income finally assured, Jones and Marceline spent his off-duty hours ministering to the city poor. In particular, they volunteered in Rio’s orphanages. Jones attempted to raise money for the orphanages without much success. As in Belo Horizonte, he was only one of many Christian missionaries, and some of the others represented well-financed organizations that provided ample funds. Once, Jones had spurned offers to join groups doing worldwide missionary work. Now he wanted such employment, with its access to money. At his request, in May 1963 Ed Malmin wrote a generic “To Whom It May Concern” letter recommending Jones to any such organization willing to employ him. It read in part,

  Rev. Jones and I have cooperated in meetings together and have prayed together. I have the utmost confidence in Mr. Jones and believe him to be a man of outstanding character. I would trust his word of honor implicitly and can recommend him for any position of trust.

  The letter didn’t help. No missionary group hired Jones, who continued teaching at the American school.

  It was while he was in Rio that Jones later claimed he engaged in a surprising act to raise money for a particularly impoverished orphanage. As Jones told the story to his followers—and he repeated it many times over the ensuing years—he caught the eye of the wife of a prominent diplomat, who offered to donate $5,000 to the orphanage if Jones would have sex with her. Jones claimed that many women, captivated by his attractiveness and charisma, had approached him before, and he’d always declined. But this time was different—the money would help feed and clothe children in desperate need. Jones was perplexed. Trading sex for money was the equivalent of prostitution. Yet refusal would be selfish, placing more value on his personal moral code than on the orphans. After much thought, he approached Marceline and asked for her permission to sleep with the woman. Marceline put aside a natural sense of possessiveness and agreed that he should. As Jones told the story, because he was an exceptional lover, the diplomat’s wife enjoyed considerable physical ecstasy. She then honored her part of the bargain, and the orphanage received the money. Jones declared that his sacrifice exemplified true dedication to socialism. The lesson for Jones’s followers was that an honorable end justified whatever morally questionable means were necessary to achieve it.

  Unfortunately for the orphans, no similar offers from other rich women were apparently forthcoming. He accomplished as little in Rio de Janeiro as he had in Belo Horizonte. Temple news from Indiana continued to be bad: Russell Winberg was solidifying his old-fashioned control of the church, and its remaining members were split between Winberg supporters and stubborn Jones adherents. Jones felt he had to act, but didn’t trust Ross Case or Archie Ijames enough to dismiss Winberg and raise one of them to the acting pastorship in his stead. Ed Malmin provided a solution. He decided to take a break from his Brazilian ministry and spend some time back in the United States. Jones asked him to take over Peoples Temple and Malmin agreed. It was understood that Malmin’s pastorship there would be temporary and give Jones time to think of something else.

  When Malmin arrived in Indianapolis and went to the Temple to take charge, he discovered that Jones hadn’t told anyone there that he was coming. Winberg was outraged, and left soon afterward, taking with him several dozen members who’d come to prefer his more traditional ways. Malmin presided over perhaps two hundred remaining congregants, but it soon became clear that he, too, was Jones’s opposite in the Temple pulpit. Like Winberg, Malmin was a traditionalist who believed every word in the Bible to be immutable truth. When word reached Jones back in Brazil, he realized that instead of buying himself time by substituting Malmin for Winberg, he’d only made things worse. But he couldn’t arbitrarily remove Malmin, too, because he suspected Ijames and Case as potential usurpers. If Peoples Temple was to survive as the principal instrument of Jim Jones’s ministry, he could trust only himself to properly lead it.

  Jones came to Brazil with the announced intent of preparing the way for a full-fledged Peoples Temple exodus there. After two years, it was apparent that wouldn’t happen. In Belo Horizonte and Rio de Janeiro, Brazil took no notice of Jim Jones. Its vastness, and the extent of its impoverished class, defied his best efforts to become someone of consequence. Even if he brought the loyal remnants of his once impressive congregation there, they’d no longer see Jones as a great man who brought about significant social change because, in Brazil, he wasn’t. Instead, he was a pastoral nonentity, no different from the black ministers in Indianapolis he’d mocked for having occasional meetings with important people but never making the slightest difference. Peoples Temple thrived on accomplishments orchestrated by Jim Jones. He couldn’t deliver anything less.

  He needed plausible reasons for coming home and offered his remaining Indianapolis followers some. The November 1963 assassination of John F. Kennedy was further proof that America was coming apart; his faithful flock in Indianapolis needed their real pastor’s strong, comforting presence. The Brazilian government hadn’t proven as liberal as he’d hoped. Although the country, and Belo Horizonte in particular, might be a geographic refuge from nuclear fallout, its political leaders were evil and would never tolerate a socially committed church that demanded equality for all. Jones had never committed to bringing Peoples Temple to Brazil. His two-year sojourn there had been for purposes of fact-finding, and what he’d found indicated the necessity of looking elsewhere for a fallout-free haven.

  But that was for the future. Jones’s immediate concern was saving what was left of the Temple in Indianapolis. He was certain that when he returned, he’d quickly reestablish himself as a powerful man and rebuild his congregation. What had worked once would surely work again.

  It didn’t.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  LOOKING WEST

  Some three dozen members of Peoples Temple gathered at the Indianapolis airport to welcome the Jones family home. But there weren’t enough of them to allay Jones’s concerns. Prior to his departure for Brazil, he’d been able to regularly turn out several hundred congregants to the most insignificant events. Clearly, Temple enthusiasm as well as membership had dwindled. Something had to be done right away.

  The first, most pressing problem was in the church pulpit. In Brazil, Ed Malmin had been Jim Jones’s mentor. But Jones wanted to reestablish himself immediately as Peoples Temple’s sole leader. Malmin found himself reduced during Sunday services to virtual flunky status as Jones dominated the proceedings. At meetings, Jones presided and Malmin’s opinions weren’t requested. The older man, no stranger to pulpit politics, knew what was happening and didn’t offer any resistance. Soon enough his sabbatical in the United States would be over, and he’d return to missionary work in Brazil. Meanwhile, he’d help Jones as best he could within the new limits set by his former protégé.

  Jones had plenty of time to focus on Temple issues. During the two years he was away, state and local government had taken huge strides toward nea
r-universal integration. The Indiana General Assembly created its own Civil Rights Commission and, for a change, drafted legislation with teeth. In education, in employment opportunities, and in access and use of public facilities, discrimination within state borders was absolutely forbidden. Officials were required to first seek cooperation by meeting with transgressors, but if negotiation failed, courts would force compliance. Civil rights activists chastised state legislators for not including open housing in their new laws, but the Indianapolis City Council didn’t wait for the state to act on that. The 1963 council, which now included two black members, crafted an ordinance that outlawed discrimination in sales or rental of housing in the city. Indianapolis’s Human Rights Commission was given the authority to issue subpoenas and turn evidence against violators over to city attorneys for prosecution. Jim Jones’s yeoman service as commission director had certainly paved the way for this eye-popping progress, but he’d resigned that office two years previously and things had moved forward without him. Jones could no longer tout himself as irreplaceable in Indianapolis’s integration process.

  There was still not complete equality in Indianapolis. It was one thing to give blacks the right to live where they pleased, and another for housing to be made available to them at affordable prices. Even the finest stores and restaurants now had to serve customers of all races—but few nonwhites in the city had much, if any, disposable income. Equal opportunity employment was designed to relieve racial economic disparity, but even if it succeeded the process would still take years, perhaps generations. In other parts of America, blacks refused to wait. Civil rights marches continued. Soon, full-fledged race riots regularly erupted in the ghettos of major cities. Had such simmering tension existed in Indianapolis, Jones might have reemerged as the city’s foremost civil rights spokesman by leading marches, or by appearing in burning streets to demand justice for the still unfairly oppressed.