Christal Cooper 2,301 Words (including excerpt)
Julia
Scheeres, author of A Thousand Lives: The
Untold Story of Jonestown
“The more I understood what actually transpired in Jonestown, the more
offended I became by the notion that Jones’ victims “drank the Kool-Aid.” I felt a duty to defend them, to tell the
true story of what happened in Jonestown.
The central argument of A
Thousand Lives is that Jim Jones murdered his congregants – it was mass
murder, not mass suicide.”
“I kept putting it (writing the ending)
off, going for walks, going out for coffee.
I didn’t want the people I’d been writing about for so long to die. If it were fiction, I would have changed that
ending.”
Julia Scheeres
juliascheeres@gmail.com
www.juliascheeres.com
Author of Jesus Land:
A Memoir and
A Thousand Lives: The Untold Story of
Jonestown
In November of 1978, eleven-year-old Julia Scheeres never
dreamed she would grow up to be a writer and write about the Jonestown Massacre
in A
Thousand Lives: The Untold Story of Jonestown, published in 2011 by Free
Press, a Division of Simon & Schuster, Inc.
Even still, she carries the memory of an eleven-year- old girl
remembering the terrible tragedy that occurred on November 18, 1978 .
“My
parents subscribed to Time and Newsweek magazines, and I remember the
covers of both - shots of the Jonestown bodies. I was living in West Lafayette,
Indiana at the time. I couldn’t wrap my head around how a fellow Hoosier and
former Methodist pastor could orchestrate something so evil.”
Scheeres grew up in a strict Calvinist household with an adopted
African American brother named David. She’d later write about their
relationship in her New York Times bestselling
memoir Jesus Land, published by Counterpoint Press in 2005.
By 2009, Scheeres decided to take a break from non-fiction and
focus on writing a fictional satirical novel Revman, about a charismatic
reverend and city manager who dominates a small Indiana town.
“The novel
was going to be an antidote to writing my memoir, Jesus Land, a way to poke fun at the small-minded religiosity that
surrounded me as a kid and caused me so much pain and hilarity.”
Scheeres, who is originally from Indiana,
remembered that terrible event in November 1978 and decided to Google Reverend
Jim Jones and The People’s Temple for inspiration for Revman. It was then that she
learned that the FBI had recently released over 50,000 new pieces of paper and
almost one thousand audiotapes that FBI agents had collected from Jonestown in
November of 1978, after the massacre. Soon her interest was no longer in Revman
but in this new material released by the FBI that had her total attention,
and her total urgency: she realized the
story of A Thousand Lives was more urgent to tell than Revman.
“I think
narrative nonfiction is the most powerful writing on earth. Not only is it
entirely true, it borrows all the facets of good storytelling from fiction -
writing in scene, dialogue, texture, tension, etc. I love
narrative nonfiction - true storytelling.”
Her agent,
publisher, and editors all agreed with her – A Thousand Lives was more urgent
to write, and in today’s time, it is easier to sell nonfiction books than
fiction books.
What makes A
Thousand Lives: The Untold Story of Jonestown different from all other
books about this event is that the book focuses on the individuals Jim Jones
violated and not on Jim Jones. One could
take it a step farther and say that A Thousand Lives gives
these individuals their individuality back – they are not viewed as ignorant or
brainwashed, but human beings who yearned and worked for a better world, only
to be conned by the great con man and murderer of all time, Reverend Jim Jones.
“Jim Jones
appeared to be a vociferous supporter of equality. That’s how he attracted such
a large following of African Americans and whites who believed in this dream of
social justice.”
There are forty
beautiful dreamers of social justice memorialized, by having their picture
grace the inside and back covers of A Thousand Lives.
“Those are people
mentioned in the book. You can look at their faces as you’re reading it and see
they weren’t monsters or baby-killers, they were everyday folks who may look
like someone you know - a friend, family member, etc. I wanted the reader to
feel a deep emotional connection to these people, to see their faces and know
their names. For too many years, they’ve been demonized as cultists and
“Kool-Aid” drinkers.”
Of
the forty individuals she mentions in her book, the one she identified with the
most was Thom Bogue, whose story begins in the first paragraph of the book.
“I was lucky that I was able
to convince Thom Bogue to speak with me and that he only lived an hour north of
me. He had an amazing recollection of events, and as a kid in Jonestown, a
unique perspective. When I was a teen, I was sent to a reform school and
we bonded over our experiences. Some of the same punishments were used in
Jonestown and at my school - such as shaving kids’ heads when they tried to run
away, forbidding them from speaking or making them do manual labor for hours on
end.”
Scheeres
wrote most of her book at the San Francisco Writers Grotto, a collective in San
Francisco. She wrote on her computer,
listened to classical in the morning, jazz music in the afternoon, and drank Peet’s
Coffee, Major Dickason’s Blend.
“It took about three
years. I
moved and was pregnant (twice, lost one) while writing it. Life got in the way.
And when I was about to submit the book, the FBI released un-redacted versions
of its files, meaning I could read the names of the members of Jones’ inner
circle who encouraged him to kill everyone and who was sending down guns in
false-bottomed crates, etc.”
The
two questions individuals tend to ask about Jim Jones are: Was he mentally ill or plain evil? (and) Were his motives ever pure?
“He was a drug addict, a
megalomaniac and a chronic liar. I don’t know that he ever had “pure” motives
in his ministry, or just stumbled on a message that would attract a large
following. I don’t think we’ll ever know the answer to that question.”
CHAPTER ONE:
The journey up the coastline was choppy, the shrimp trawler
too far out to get a good look at the muddy shore. While other passengers rested fitfully in
sleeping bags spread out on the deck or in the berths below, fifteen-year-old
Tommy Bogue gripped the slick railing, bracing himself against the waves. He’d already puked twice, but was determined
not to miss a beat of this adventure.
The constellations soared overhead, clearer than he’d ever seen
them. He wiped salt spray from his eyes
with an impatient hand and squinted at the horizon. He was still boy enough to imagine a pirate
galleon looming toward them, the Jolly Roger flapping in the Caribbean breeze.
This was his first sea journey. His first trip outside the United
States. He squinted at South America as
it blurred by, vague and mysterious, imagining the creatures that roamed
there. A few years earlier, he’d
devoured DC Comics’ Bomba, The Jungle Boy series, and now
imagined himself the hero of his own drama.
The very name of his destination was exotic: Guyana.
None of his school friends had ever heard of it, nor had he before his
church established an agricultural mission there. After his pastor made the announcement, Tommy
read and reread the Guyana entry in the Encyclopedia Britannica until he
could spout Guyanese trivia to anyone who showed the slightest interest in what
the lanky, busy-haired teen had to say.
Aboard the Cudjoe, he ticked
off this book knowledge to himself.
Jaguars. Howler monkeys. One of the world’s largest snakes, the green
anaconda, growing up to twenty feet long and reaching 350 pounds. The country was home to several of the
world’s largest beasts: the giant
anteater, the giant sea otter, the giant armadillo, the fifteen-foot black
caiman. He knew a few things about the
strangeness surrounding him, and those few things comforted him.
The plane ride form San Francisco to Georgetown had another
first for Tommy. He sat next to another
teenager from his church, Vincent Lopez, and the two boys took turns gaping out
the small convex window as they soared over the Sierra Nevada, the Great
Plains, the farm belt – the entire breadth of America. The cement mass of New York City astounded
him; skyscrapers bristled toward every horizon.
At JFK International Airport, Pastor Jones, who was going down to visit
the mission himself, held a tight hand on the boys as he herded them toward the
connecting flight.
Everything about Tommy Bogue was average – his height, his
build, his grades – except for his penchant for trouble. His parents couldn’t control him. Neither could the church elders. He hated the long meetings the congregation
was required to attend, and was always sneaking off to smoke weed or wander the
tough streets of the Fillmore District.
Ditching church became a game, one he was severely punished for, but
which proved irresistible.
They’d only told him two days ago that he was being sent to
the mission field. His head was still
spinning with the quickness of it all.
The counselors told him he should feel honored to be chosen, but he was
wise to them. He overheard people
talking about manual labor, separation from negative peers, isolation, culture
shock: All these things were supposed to
be good for him. He knew he was being
sent away, but at least he’d get out of the never-ending meetings, and more
important, he’d see his father, for the first time in two years.
His dad left for Guyana in 1974, one of the pioneers. He’d called home a few times over the
mission’s ham radio, and in brief, static-filled reports, he sounded proud of
what the settlers had accomplished:
clearing the bush by hand, planting crops, building cottages. Tommy was eager to see it himself.
Finally, as the sun blazed hot and high overhead, the Cudjoe shifted into low gear and swung
toward land. The older church members
crowded Tommy as the boat nosed up a muddy river, the wake lifting the skirts
of the mangroves as it passed. In the
high canopy, color flashed: parrots,
orchids, bromeliads.
The travelers slipped back in time, passing thatched huts
stilted on the river banks and Amerindians, who eyes them warily from dug-out
canoes. This was their territory. Late in the afternoon, the passengers arrived
at a village named Port Kaituma and excitement rippled through them. The deck hands tied the Cudjoe to a pole in the water and Tommy helped unload cargo up the
steep embankment. Pastor Jones, who’d
spent most of the trip secluded in the deck house, welcomed them to the village
as if he owned it. There wasn’t much to
it beyond a few stalls selling produce and secondhand clothes. As he spoke, Tommy listened attentively
along with the others; Guyana was a fresh start for him, and he planned to stay
out of trouble. Jones told the small
group that the locals were grateful for the church’s assistance – the mission’s
farm would put food on their tables.
After a short delay, a tractor pulling a flatbed trailer
motored up and the newcomers climbed aboard with their gear. The tractor slipped and lurched down the
pitted road to the mission, and the passengers grabbed the high sides and joked
as if they were on a hayride. All were
in good spirits.
At some point, Tommy noticed the squalor: the collapsing shanties, the naked brown kids
with weird sores and swollen bellies, the dead dogs rotting where they fell. The trenches of scummy water. The stench.
The mosquitos whining in his ears.
The landscape didn’t jibe with the slide shows Pastor Jones had shown at
church, which made Guyana look like a lush resort.
Tommy didn’t point out these aberrations, but turned to listen
to Pastor Jones, who raised his voice above the tractor’s thrumming diesel
engine. He was boasting, again, about
how everything thrived at the mission.
About the ice cream tree, whose fruit tasted like vanilla ice cream. About the protective aura surrounding the
Church’s property: There was no sickness
there, no malaria or typhoid, no snakes or jungle cats ventured onto it. Not one mishap whatsoever. The adults nodded and smiled as they
listened. Tommy turned toward the jungle
again. The bush was so dense he couldn’t
see but a yard in before it fell away into darkness.
The tractor veered down a narrow road and passed through a
tight sand of trees. The canopy rose two
hundred feet above them. The light
dimmed as they drove through this tree tunnel, as if they’d entered a
candle-lit hallway and someone was blowing out the candles one by one. The air was so still it bordered on
stagnant. Tommy glanced behind them at
the receding brightness, then ahead, to where his father waited.
They drove into a large clearing. Here were a few rustic buildings, and beyond
them, rows and rows of plants. A dozen
or so settlers stood along the entry road, and the tow group shouted joyfully
to each other. Tommy didn’t immediately
see his dad. He was disappointed, but
unsurprised; his old man was probably nose to the grindstone, as always. He lifted his duffle bag onto his shoulder
and jumped onto the red earth, happy to have arrived, at long last, in
Jonestown.
One Thousand Lives:
The Untold Story of
Jonestown
Chapter 1:
“An Adventure”
Pages 1 – 4
Copyright granted by
Julia Scheeres
Photo Description and
Copyright Information
Photo 1
Julia Scheeres
Copyright granted by Julia
Scheeres
Photo 2
Jacket cover of A
Thousand Lives
Photo 3
Web logo of Julia
Scheeres website
Photo 4
Web logo of Free Press,
a division of Simon & Schuster
Photo 5
Julia Scheeres and
brother David on Thanksgiving Day 1977
Copyright granted by Julia
Scheeres
Photo 6
December 4, 1978 issue
of Time
Magazine
Photo 7
December 4, 1978 issue
of Newsweek
Magazine
Photo 8
Jacket cover of Jesus
Land
Photo 9
Web logo for
Counterpoint Press
Photo 10
Jacket cover of Jesus
Land
Photo 11
Julia Scheeres
Copyright granted by
Julia Scheeres
Photo 12
Julia Scheeres
interviewing Valita George, who lost all three of her siblings in Jonestwon.
Copyright granted by
Julia Scheeres
Photo 13
The Jonestown Nursery
Image used for
educational and non-profit purposes
Photo 14
Jim Jones with some
children of The People’s Temple taken in Jonestown. This specific image was used in a People’s
Temple brochure.
Image used for
educational and non-profit purposes.
Photo 15
The forty faces of
individuals who were murdered by Jim Jones in Jonestown and displayed within
the front and backcovers of A Thousand Lives
Each individual
photograph given a copyright grant by http://jonestown.sdsu.edu
Image used for educational and non-profit purposes.
Image used for educational and non-profit purposes.
Photo 16
Tommy Bogue.
Image used for
educational and non-profit purposes.
Photo 17
That gate to the Escuela
Caribe, the “therapeutic Christian boarding school” in the Dominican republic
that Julia Scheeres and brother David attended.
Copyright granted by
Julia Scheeres
Photo 18
Siblings David and Julia
Scheeres in their teens.
Copyright granted by
Julia Scheeres
Photo 19
Julia Scheeres writing
at the San Francisco Writers Grotto
Copyright granted by
Julia Scheeres
Photo 20
Julia Scheeres doing
research at the Guyana Chronicle in Guyana.
Copyright granted by
Julia Scheeres.
Photo 21
Jim Jones on the day of
the mass murder.
Fair Use Under the
United States Copyright Law.
Photo 22
Jacket cover of A
Thousand Lives
Photo 23
Julia Scheeres view as
she takes the 12 hour boat ride to Jonestown.
Copyright granted by
Julia Scheeres
Photo 24
Map of Guyana from the
Encyclopedia Britannica
Fair Use Under the
United States Copyright Law
Photo 25
Tommy Bogue.
Image used for
educational and non-profit purposes.
Photo 26
Jim Bogue in Jonestown
Image used for
educational and non-profit purposes
Photo 27
CHS150 People’s Temple members working in water brigade to
irrigate crops, Jonestown, Guyana circa 1974-1978
Image used for
educational and non-profit purposes
Photo 28
CHS084 Peoples Temple members on board the Cudjoe (Peoples Temple boat), Guyana 1977 October
Image used for
educational and non-profit purposes
Photo 29
Members of the People
Temples’ on board the tractor in Jonestown.
CHS125 Peoples Temple members on tractor, Jonestown, Guyana
circa 1974-1978
Image used for
educational and non-profit purposes
Photo 30
The entrance to Jonestown
Public Domain
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