Young Jonestown survivors lost everything, built new lives

By TIM REITERMAN

Associated Press

OAKLAND, Calif.

Jonestown was the highlight of Mike Touchette’s life – for a time.

The 21-year-old Indiana native felt pride pioneering in the distant jungle of Guyana, South America. As a self-taught bulldozer operator, he worked alongside other Peoples Temple members in the humid heat, his blade carving roads and sites for wooden buildings with metal roofs. More than 900 people lived in the agricultural mission, with its dining pavilion, tidy cottages, school, medical facilities and rows of crops.

“We built a community out of nothing in four years,” recalled Touchette, now a 65-year-old grandfather who has worked for a Miami hydraulics company for nearly 30 years. “Being in Jonestown before Jim got there was the best thing in my life.”

Jim was the Rev. Jim Jones – charismatic, volatile and ultimately evil. It was he who dreamed up Jones- town, he who willed it into being, and he who brought it down: first, with the assassination of U.S. Rep. Leo Ryan and four others by temple members on a nearby airstrip on Nov. 18, 1978, then with the mass murders and suicides of hundreds, a horror that remains nearly unimaginable 40 years later.

But some lived. Dozens of members in Guyana slipped out of Jonestown or happened to be away that day. Plunged into a new world, those raised in the temple or who joined as teens lost the only life they knew: church, jobs, housing – and most of all, family and friends.

Over four decades, as they have built new lives, they have struggled with grief and the feeling that they were pariahs. With their lives, the story of Jonestown continues, even now.

CHILD OF BERKELEY

Jordan Vilchez’s parents were Berkeley progressives in the 1960s – her father African-American, her mother Scotch-Irish. They divorced when Jordan was 6.

When a friend invited her family to Peoples Temple’s wine country church, they were impressed by the integrated community. And when her 23-year-old sister joined, Jordan went to live with her at age 12.

“The temple really became my family,” she said.

Devotion to its ideals bolstered her self-worth. At 16, she was put on the Planning Commission where the meetings were a strange mix of church business, sex talk – and adulation for Jones. “What we were calling the cause really was Jim,” she said.

Instead of finishing high school, Vilchez moved to San Francisco, where she lived in the church. Then, after a 1977 New West magazine expose of temple disciplinary beatings and other abuses, she was sent to Jonestown.

Grueling field work was not to her liking. Neither were the White Nights where everyone stayed up, armed with machetes to fight enemies who never arrived.

Vilchez was dispatched to the Guyanese capital of Georgetown to raise money. On Nov. 18 she was at the temple house when a fanatical Jones aide received a dire radio message from Jones- town. The murders and suicides were unfolding, 150 miles away.

“She gives us the order that we were supposed to kill ourselves,” Vilchez recalled.

Within minutes, the aide and her three children lay dead in a bloody bathroom, their throats slit.

For years, Vilchez was ashamed of the part she played in an idealistic group that imploded so terribly. “Everyone participated in it and because of that, it went as far as it did,” she said.

Vilchez worked as office manager at a private crime lab for 20 years and now, at 61, sells her artwork.

This past year, she returned to long-overgrown Jonestown. Where the machine shop once stood, there was only rusty equipment. And she could only sense the site of the pavilion, the once-vibrant center of Jonestown life where so many died – including her two sisters and two nephews.

THE JONESES’ FIRSTBORN

Though he waved and smiled at Peoples Temple services, seemingly enraptured like the rest, Stephan Gandhi Jones says he always had his doubts.

“This is really crazy,” he recalls thinking.

But Stephan was the biological son of Jim and Marceline Jones. And the temple was his life – first in Indiana, later in California.

“So much was attractive and unique that we turned a blind eye on what was wrong,” he said, including his father’s sexual excesses, drug abuse and rants.

As a San Francisco high-school student, he helped build Jonestown. Stephan helped erect a basketball court and form a team.

After temple gunmen killed the congressman, three newsmen and a church defector on the Port Kaituma airstrip, Jones ordered a poisoned grape-flavored drink administered to children first. That way no one else would want to live.

Stephan Jones and some other team members believe they might have changed history if they were there. “The reality was we were folks who could be counted on to stand up,” he said. “There is no way we would be shooting at the airstrip. That’s what triggered it.”

He went through years of nightmares, mourning and shame. To cope, he says he abused drugs and exercised obsessively.

More than 300 Jonestown victims were children. Now, Stephan Jones is father of three daughters, age 16, 25 and 29, and works in the office-furniture business.

BORN INTO TEMPLE FAMILY

When John Cobb was born in 1960 in a black section of Indianapolis, his mother and older siblings already were temple members. But in 1973, John’s oldest brother and a sister, along with six other California college students, quit the church and became its enemies. When the prodigals visited, the Cobbs kept it secret from Jones.

John was attending a San Francisco high school when he was allowed to join his best friends in Jonestown. There, as part of Jones’ personal security detail, Cobb saw the once captivating minister strung out on drugs, afraid to venture anywhere for fear of his legal problems.

“If anything, we felt pity for him,” he said, “and it grew into a dislike, maybe hate.”

Cobb lost 11 relatives that day, including his mother, youngest brother and four sisters.

Now 58, he owns a modular office furniture business and is married with a daughter, 29.

JONESES’ ADOPTED SON

The Joneses adopted a black baby in Indiana in 1960, and Jim gave the 10-week-old infant his own name. “Little Jimmy” became part of their “Rainbow Family” of white, black, Korean-American and Native American children.

In California, he was steeped in temple life. “To me, the ends justified the means,” he said. “We were trying to build a new world, a progressive socialist organization.”

The church provided free drug rehabilitation, medical care, food. It marched for four jailed Fresno newsmen. When Jim Sr., a local Democratic Party darling, met with future first lady Rosalynn Carter, Jim Jr. proudly went along.

Jim Jr. was summoned to the temple radio room. In code, his father told him everyone was going to die in “revolutionary suicide.”

“I argued with my Dad,” he said. “I said there must be another way.”

Jim Jr. would lose 15 immediate relatives in Jonestown, including his pregnant wife, Yvette Muldrow.

In the aftermath, he built a new life. He remarried three decades ago, and he and his wife, Erin, raised three sons. He converted to Catholicism and registered as a Republican. He built a long career in health care, while weathering his own serious health problems.

He has taken a lead role in a 40th Jonestown anniversary memorial to be held today at Oakland’s Evergreen Cemetery, where remains of unclaimed and unidentified victims are buried. Four granite slabs are etched with names of the 918 people who died in Guyana – including James Warren Jones, which deeply offends some whose relatives perished.

“Like everyone else, he died there,” his son said. “I’m not saying he didn’t cause it, create it. He did.”