The Road to Jonestown

by Jeff Guinn

  The embassy was well aware that controversial Charles Garry was the Temple’s legal representative. Garry made a fall trip to Jonestown, returned to San Francisco, and in a press conference described it as “paradise.” He clearly would relish a high-profile lawsuit alleging that the U.S. government was unlawfully persecuting an overseas Christian mission. So in January 1978, recently appointed U.S. ambassador to Guyana John Burke sent a confidential “Conditions at People’s [sic] Temple Mission” memo to his superiors at the State Department:

  Two visits to the People’s [sic] Temple Agricultural Community [Jonestown] in northwest Guyana, conversations alone with a number of the persons living there, and inquiries of GOG [Government of Guyana] who visit Jonestown frequently, have convinced consul [Burke] that it is improbable that anyone is being held in bondage or against their will at the People’s [sic] Temple Community. Consul has either met with or personally observed approximately 500–600 of the 800 people [Burke’s estimate] residing there. They appear healthy, adequately fed and satisfied with their lives. . . .

  Persons with whom [we have] talked in private—some of whom were allegedly held against their will—appeared spontaneous and free in their conversation and responses to [our] questions. . . . In short, there is no hard evidence available to support the numerous allegations which have been made.

  Embassy believes that the Department [of State] should draw upon the above when responding to inquiries from Congress or other interested parties in the U.S. about conditions at Jonestown. We believe that to return continually to the community to “investigate allegations of Americans held against their will” could open the Embassy and the Department to charges of harassment. Accordingly, unless otherwise directed, we plan to have a consular officer visit [Jonestown] quarterly to perform routine consular services. At that time the consular officer can also follow up on any welfare/whereabouts inquiries with members and relay family greetings, etc.

  That message was forwarded by the State Department to appropriate members of the Senate and House, who in turn continued relaying family queries to the State Department, but more out of routine constituent service than any real expectation of immediate action. Leo Ryan was the exception. Former speaker of the house Jim Wright recalled, “[Ryan] continued mentioning to me that he was certain of nefarious activities by an alleged church group in Guyana. He intended to take action regarding them as soon as his own reelection efforts [in 1978] were concluded, and by that I assumed he would propose some form of formal congressional inquiry in the late fall or early winter of that year.”

  Jones knew nothing of that, or the secret memo by Ambassador Burke. What he understood for certain was that the enemy he perhaps feared most had made an open challenge. On November 17, 1977, Tim Stoen wrote directly to Jones, in care of the San Francisco temple: “I am asking your cooperation in delivering John Victor Stoen to Grace Stoen and me.” The timing of the letter was particularly apt. On November 18, the San Francisco Superior Court issued a new order for Jones to return John Victor to his mother. The November custody hearing in Justice Bishop’s Guyanese court (which Jones did not attend) was inconclusive, with further consideration postponed. But Bishop did not dismiss the case, so Jones had to worry about Tim Stoen on two legal fronts.

  Jones more than anyone understood Stoen’s ability to construct, then carry out, plans of attack couched within legal limits. Stoen had utilized this talent on behalf of Jones and Peoples Temple for years. Now he was not only in position to use all his skill and insider knowledge against them, he had a burning, personal cause. He wanted John Victor back, and there was clearly antagonism even beyond that. Jim Jones Jr. says, “Tim for so long really believed in [Jones] and the Temple, I’d even say he loved my dad, and Dad went out and hurt him in the worst way, getting his wife pregnant.” To a degree far beyond his fixation with any other enemy, Jones prepared for war. In consultation with Charles Garry, Jones laid out an attack plan focusing solely on Tim Stoen. The first step was “writing to the newspapers, or calling them, re TOS [Timothy O. Stoen].”

  San Francisco Chronicle columnist Herb Caen, who continued championing Jones despite the New West article, began mentioning the legal battle for custody of John Victor, informing readers that Jones “care[s] so strongly” about keeping the child “because, according to well-informed sources, the true father of the child is—Jim Jones.” Jones had followers write a new series of highly detrimental affidavits describing Stoen, particularly alleging that he mocked Prime Minister Burnham and the Guyanese government. If Stoen successfully rallied U.S. authorities against him, Jones wanted the protection of Guyana’s leadership. Additionally, Temple members remaining in the San Francisco area were coached on possible ways to intimidate Stoen. One list suggested “send[ing] him literature from mortuaries,” “[sending] floral wreath/hearse/ambulance etc. to his home,” “sugar in [gas] tank,” “write in his name to radical magazines/to gay magazines/to right wing senators supporting them [so that record will be on file with them],” and “generally let him know that we know where he lives etc. . . . [have] people show up now and then.” Even if most of these specific acts were never carried out, Stoen mentions several times in his memoir that he was followed and, on at least one occasion, specifically warned of a Temple plan to have him killed. During his Temple tenure, Stoen sat through Planning Commission meetings where the possible murder of traitors and enemies was discussed. Now he knew that there were similar conversations concerning him.

  Jones drew on his followers’ own dread of Stoen. During Stoen’s time as Jones’s chief legal strategist, he’d been feared by Temple members, who assumed that many of the harsher aspects of Temple life, especially the physical discipline, were instigated by him rather than Jones. In a sense, when Stoen went public with his support of Grace and, therefore, his opposition to Jones, it allowed Jones’s followers to also fixate on a specific foe rather than generic enemies identified by social status or agency—racist whites, the capitalist elite, the CIA, the FBI. Jones took full advantage; once, during an evening gathering at the Jonestown pavilion, he asked everyone to write down their preferred means of killing Tim Stoen. The more they despised him, the more Jones believed that he could count on their loyalty.

  Jones also dug in for extended courtroom battles for John Victor. It was expensive. Besides Charles Garry’s hefty monthly retainer back in California, Jones engaged Guyanese attorney Lionel Luckhoo, perhaps the most famous trial lawyer in the country. Each consultation with Luckhoo routinely set Temple coffers back as much as $2,500. Plenty of other defense attorneys in Georgetown cost considerably less, but Jones was willing to spend whatever was necessary. Just as valuable as Luckhoo’s courtroom skills were the veteran attorney’s personal connections with Justice Bishop and the other members of Guyana’s high court.

  Jones was ready to spend even more. In September 1977, he ordered Debbie Layton to find Stoen in San Francisco and offer him a bribe to leave Jones and the Temple alone. Layton was to suggest $5,000 and go as high as $10,000 if necessary. Layton had trouble locating the former Temple attorney—Stoen had done a good job covering his tracks. When she finally confronted him in October outside San Francisco’s Superior Court, Stoen firmly turned down the bribe, warning Layton that he was willing to sacrifice anything to return John Victor to Grace, because that was where the child belonged. When Layton reported back to Jones by radio, he was less dismayed by Stoen’s refusal than by his apparent sincerity: “Dear God, he’s become principled, too?”

  Tim Stoen and the custody fight would have been sufficient stress for anyone, but for Jones they were only two critical concerns among many. Throughout the end of 1977 and into 1978, it seemed as though everything was going against him and Jonestown. The Stoens weren’t the only parents among the Concerned Relatives making concerted efforts to regain their children. Howard and Beverly Oliver took steps to legally revoke the power of attorney they had granted the Temple over their teenage sons Billy and Bruce. Bruce had t
urned nineteen in Jonestown, but Billy was seventeen and still a minor. The Olivers obtained a court injunction returning Billy’s custody to them and flew to Guyana to collect him. Jones stalled, Billy stayed in Jonestown, and embassy officials in Georgetown told the Olivers it was a matter for the courts, rather than diplomats, to resolve. The Olivers ran out of money and returned to the United States, declaring they’d be back. That was the last thing Jones wanted at a time when he was trying to further delay any Guyanese court action involving John Victor. One contested Jonestown child was bad enough, but two?

  And then there were three, though this child was an adult. Steven Katsaris was determined to rescue his daughter, Maria, from Jones and the Temple, or at least plead his case to her in person since her letters had grown increasingly impersonal and she refused his offers to pay her way back to California for a visit. Katsaris informed Maria he would arrive in Georgetown on September 26 and hoped she would meet him there. She didn’t. Katsaris waited for a few days. Temple spokesmen told him that Maria was away on a trip to Venezuela with her boyfriend, whom she had identified in letters to her father as Jonestown doctor Larry Schacht. When Maria never appeared, Katsaris went home, but not before promising Temple members that he would return.

  Maria was twenty-four, legally entitled to make her own decisions—unless she was being held under duress or chemically controlled through drugs. Based on his own observations of Jones and Peoples Temple in Redwood Valley, Steven Katsaris thought these things were possible. He was a naturally outspoken man and not one to be intimidated by Temple threats or soothed by a conciliatory letter like the one he received from Maria soon after his return to the United States She wrote that she was sorry to have missed him, that she’d heard he was concerned about her, but he wasn’t to worry—she was fine. A month later, Maria wrote again, and her message was hostile. Temple leaders would allow Katsaris to see her if he returned to Guyana, but (referring to Concerned Relatives) “you have been cooperating with the worst kind of people, stirring up trouble. . . . [If] you do not stop this immediately, that’s it. I will never see you anymore.”

  In Jonestown, Jones and Temple attorney Gene Chaikin prepared Maria for a possible confrontation with her father, or at least an interview with U.S. embassy officials investigating Katsaris’s claims. She was provided with a list of nineteen possible talking points and allegations. A few were designed to turn Katsaris’s wrath against a Temple enemy rather than the Temple itself: “Did Tim Stoen call your father an evil bastard? Did Tim Stoen often advise you against seeing your father?” Failing that, Maria was to make accusations that Katsaris could deny but also couldn’t disprove: “Were you afraid of your father as a child? Did your father, Steven A. Katsaris, sexually molest you?”

  At the end of October, Katsaris returned. As she’d promised, Maria met him, but she was accompanied by Carolyn Layton and two other Temple members. A U.S. embassy official was also present. The meeting went badly. Maria was standoffish. She assured her father again that she was fine and rebuffed his offer to bring her back to America. Katsaris finally told her that he would leave an airline ticket for her at the Georgetown embassy in case she ever wanted to come home. After his daughter left, he learned from the embassy officials that she had accused him of molesting her as a child. Jones had intended the allegation to make Katsaris back off, but it had the opposite effect. He was still determined to rescue his daughter, and now he began considering a lawsuit against the Temple for libel.

  In October, a past Jones misstep came back to haunt him. Three years earlier, a Los Angeles judge ordered all records of Jones’s lewd conduct arrest to be destroyed. But, although sealed from any public scrutiny, they still existed, and now California’s attorney general requested that the judge’s decision be overturned. The clear intention was to make them available to the press—Jones wasn’t always unnecessarily paranoid. He ordered Garry to go to court and fight to keep the records private. Court maneuverings on both sides would certainly take months, and in Guyana Jones would have to fret through every minute. Media descriptions of him as a sexual deviate would lend even further credence to suits by parents to regain custody of Jonestown children—what judge, American or Guyanese, would allow little boys and girls to live in a remote jungle camp run by a pervert?

  Another matter involving Jonestown kids also caused great concern. Jones and the Temple were proud of the school system they’d designed and implemented. Mission children were held to high standards of scholarship and class conduct. Their curriculum was designed by Temple adults who were educators, as were their teachers. But such home schooling did not comply with Guyana’s strict educational rules—as part of the Burnham administration’s effort to build a sense of national pride, the Ministry of Education required that all children study Guyanese history and culture. For a time it appeared that the ministry might require all Temple children to attend school in Georgetown. Jones, fearful that he would be arrested for defying Justice Bishop’s court appearance order if he stepped outside Jonestown, let alone visited Guyana’s capital city, had to rely on staff from Temple offices in Lamaha Gardens to meet with ministry officials and plead Jonestown’s school case. A compromise was reached—the Jonestown curriculum would be adjusted to include the necessary Guyanese studies. Over the next few months, ministry observers would visit Jonestown classes to determine if the instruction provided was sufficient. If so, Jonestown’s school would be officially certified. If not, all of the settlement’s school-age children would have to attend Guyanese schools and, given the isolation of Jonestown, that meant boarding them away from the mission. Again, there would be no quick decision.

  There was more. In early October, Marceline Jones had come to Jonestown. Hue Fortson had been dispatched to run the San Francisco temple in her place. Marceline was worn down, her physical ailments exacerbated by the pressure of constantly defending her husband and the Temple. Her arrival created a ticklish situation. Though Jones openly lived in Jonestown with Carolyn Layton and Maria Katsaris, most settlers still considered Marceline “Mother” to Jones’s “Father.” (In Jonestown, he was referred to more informally as “Dad.”) It was one more blow to the long-suffering woman, now fifty, when she learned that she would be quartered in a separate cottage, one nicer than most others but inferior to where Jones lived with his mistresses. Jones still used her as a buffer between himself and his U.S. critics. Marceline continued traveling back and forth, sometimes to Washington, D.C., where she pleaded the Temple’s and Jonestown’s case to members of Congress who had received complaints from Concerned Relatives. Thanksgiving 1977 found her in the United States, and she sent Jones a letter:

  I look forward to the time when I need never say goodbye again. I am grateful for the [word illegible] beauty there . . . there is none here.

  I’m willing to stay as long as necessary. Just hold me high in thought—I’m not the woman I used to be. Please give my love to our children. They were the light of my life, and I want them to know it.

  But if Jones believed she was completely beaten down, he was wrong. Despite the humiliation of living apart from her husband in Jonestown, her time in the settlement proved at least temporarily a tonic for Marceline. She put her medical background to use in helping to overhaul Larry Schacht’s disorganized management of the settlement clinic and devoted considerable time to helping supervise Jonestown’s nursery—the babies and toddlers there included several of Marceline’s grandchildren. Though she had little chance to spend time with her own children—Stephan and Tim were kept busy with security responsibilities, Lew was always busy with lower-profile tasks on his father’s behalf, and Jones was about to send Jimmy to Georgetown as his newest representative there—Marceline began a quiet effort on their behalf, moving money in foreign banks to accounts in her children’s names. That would provide them with at least some financial cushion if they ever chose to leave the Temple. Between November 3, 1977, and February 3, 1978, she shifted just over $31,000. Terri Buford, who in Jones
town became close to Marceline for the first time, refers to these accounts as her “out package.” (Buford adds that at one point in Jonestown, Marceline slipped Stephan a bankbook indicating a substantial account in his name. Stephan hid the bankbook from his father, but someone discovered it and turned it over to Jones. Jones apparently took no action against his son or wife.)

  November brought additional troubles—they seemed to come now in rapid succession. Two teenage boys, Tommy Bogue and Brian Davis, tried to run away. They planned to make their way through the jungle to Venezuela and return to the United States from there. But their progress was slow, and they were overtaken by Jonestown security and returned to the mission. In front of all the other settlers, Jones said that the pair was lucky that they hadn’t been killed by jungle beasts or government border guards. As punishment, they were placed in leg irons for several weeks. Jones wanted the punishment to be severe enough to discourage anyone with similar escape plans.

  On November 13, the San Francisco Examiner published a story by reporter Tim Reiterman about the death of Bob Houston and Sam Houston’s and Joyce Shaw’s suspicions that Jones and the Temple were behind it. About 150 of the remaining San Francisco temple members staged a protest march, but to no avail.

  Five days later, when Jones, as expected, failed to appear with John Victor Stoen, an order was issued by the California Superior Court to San Francisco district attorney Joseph Freitas, instructing him to “take all actions necessary” to locate Jones and “secure his compliance” in returning the child to his mother. Freitas, once among Jones’s most public supporters, now wrote to the Guyanese minister of foreign affairs requesting help. He received none—Guyana’s government wanted to stay out of the mess. Leo Ryan, not yet prepared to make an all-out effort but still concerned, asked Secretary of State Cyrus Vance to use his department’s influence with the Guyanese. A State Department official informed Ryan that only U.S. courts could make formal extradition requests. When the Examiner wrote about Ryan’s query to Vance, Jones, perhaps for the first time, became aware of the congressman as a dangerous adversary.