Peoples Temple’s nominal affiliation with the Disciples of Christ further solidified its reputation as a “black church.” Devout African-American families, recruited both in Indiana and California, were welcomed; many were already comfortable within Jones’ religious world. At this moment, however, the organization’s cultural center of gravity was about to undergo a radical shift reflecting Jones’ now apparent disillusionment with religion, a shift that would have been inconceivable without the professional and educational resources of a core group of atheist middle-class white liberals like Gene Chaikin, who were raised to address social injustice via secular activism rather than organized religion.elect George Moscone as mayor of San Francisco in 1976. However, Jones’ dissolute behavior was becoming a liability that had started to attract media attention. He was arrested for lewd conduct toward a male police officer in a San Francisco movie theater in December 1973 but managed to escape prosecution. A dissident group of younger followers left the church in the spring of that year and continued to question publicly their leader’s political integrity and personal ethics.
These ethical lapses — previously evident in elaborately faked faith healings that preyed upon the religious elderly — became institutionalized, as the core group of dedicated young idealists surrounding Jones struggled to accommodate his corruption as the only alternative to condemning it. The movement began to turn inward, as the glare of publicity exposed its increasingly bizarre, authoritarian social mores to liberal condescension directed at them from the outside world. This dialectical relationship only enhanced the minister’s power within his church and cemented its reputation as a cult.
Like Voltaire’s Candide, Gene Chaikin was temperamentally ill-equipped to adapt to religious hypocrisy on this scale and sought refuge from it in horticulture, a lifelong hobby. In mid-1973, he welcomed the opportunity to exchange his legal pad for a machete and went to South America, where Chaikin supervised the planting of an extraordinary, self-sustaining agricultural commune in the inhospitable jungles of Guyana, which would become known as Jonestown. Chaikin was there for two years, away from his family and living with a small group of pioneers, relatively free of Jones’ direct control before the mass exodus to Jonestown began in earnest.
It was the happiest time of Chaikin’s life. He oversaw the planting of crops in the challenging topsoil and functioned, in the words of fellow pioneer Don Beck as “a gentleman farmer.” From July 1977 onward, more than 1,000 Jones followers left America for a better life in Jonestown, intending never to return. It was in Jonestown where Phyllis Chaikin finally discovered a role for herself, one that corresponded with her commitment to the cause. At last, her nursing credential had won her the more elevated place she sought in the community and in the esteem of its leader. “Dear Folks,” she writes in an undated letter probably from late 1977:
Have not heard from you — mail to interior is delayed. I wonder how you are doing. Would you believe it I am administering the entire medical health staff at Jonestown. We have a fine young doctor, 2 nurse practitioners and a number of RNs and LVNs. Bright young people the doctor and I are training are Health Care Workers. They are becoming integrated in the whole health process here. They go to every residence in Jonestown twice a day to make sure everyone is ok — they have been trained to do monthly breast exams. Two were La Maze coaches when the first baby was born at Jonestown which was a highlight in my life — I was the circulating nurse. As you can imagine — it is very exciting and educational to oversee such a progressive system.
I think of you frequently —
Phyllis
Jonestown’s purpose-built medical center was Phyllis’ new domain. From there she administered a revolutionary program of socialized health care available not only to the temple populace but also to the outlying community of Amerindian tribes. She also supervised the Jonestown pharmacy.
As Phyllis blossomed, Gene began to wither. Jones had arrived in the jungle beset with crises, grudges and obsessions. He had tried and failed to suppress two hostile pieces of investigative journalism that appeared in New West magazine, several copies of which were picked up by Herbert Alexander, later to be placed in the briefcase we found in our basement. Jones claimed to have sired a baby boy, John-Victor, by an attractive devotee named Grace Stoen, whose husband, Timothy Stoen, had been a fervent Jones disciple since the early days in Ukiah. Jones decided to raise the boy in his own household and even persuaded Stoen — a Stanford-educated attorney who supervised Gene’s legal work for the temple — to renounce in a sworn statement all claims to patrimony.
When the Stoens’ marriage inevitably collapsed and Grace left the temple, Jones sent John-Victor ahead to Guyana in order to thwart her attempts to gain custody, a strategy temporarily reinforced by Timothy Stoen’s residency in Jonestown from mid-February 1977. A month later, however, on March 20, Stoen defected, leaving his infant son behind. Putting aside their marital differences, the Stoens reunited in California to pursue custody of the boy, and the stage was set for a public confrontation that would pose the ultimate challenge to Jones’ internal authority, as well as to his already battered reputation in the world outside Peoples Temple.
Timothy Stoen would become the church’s most dangerous apostate; he was articulate, resourceful, well versed in media and a credible witness to the worst excesses of Jones’ conduct. For Jones, the issue was deeply symbolic; within Peoples Temple, John-Victor assumed the status of a God-child, and the battle about to take place over his status represented the movement’s ultimate, defiant renunciation of the world it had left behind.
With the population of Jonestown now at 1,200, and supplies failing to meet the demand, Gene Chaikin’s idealistic vision of agricultural self-sufficiency was in ruins. Two-thirds of the residents were elderly or minors, so an overworked group of physically capable adults had to bear all responsibility for subsistence farming. Jones’ obsession with the Stoens’ custody case created difficulties for Gene, who had to orchestrate a relentless legal counterattack while keeping his reservations to himself. The case had become a rallying point for the temple’s enemies in the U.S., including both the press and a newly formed protest group organized by Timothy and Grace Stoen, called the Concerned Relatives.
Meanwhile, the Jonestown community was stockpiling pharmaceuticals, and its leader’s mental health was becoming increasingly precarious, his behavior erratic. When the Stoens attempted to press their case through the courts in Guyana’s capital city, Georgetown, Guyanese bailiffs appearing at the compound with summonses were chased off by security personnel armed with rifles and machetes. Jones began to fear that his host, the socialist government of Guyana, was about to deliver him to the CIA, and that the entire community would be repatriated in shame.
One night in August 1977, Jones fired gunshots into the jungle and, claiming to have narrowly escaped a sniper’s bullet, roused from sleep the entire population. Ranting maniacally over the public address system, as was his habit, he gathered everybody in the pavilion to announce that the CIA, backed by Guyanese paramilitary forces, was on its way. Jones declared another “White Night,” but this time it was not an exercise in psychodrama restricted to a core group of devoted ideologues in Northern California. This time, Gene Chaikin watched his children stand quietly in a jungle clearing, lining up with their friends to drink fruit punch that Jones announced was spiked with a lethal dose of cyanide.
When Jones finally sent everyone back to their cabins, Gene had seen enough. As a trusted member of Jones’ inner circle, he was one of the few in the community who still possessed his passport and a dispensation from Jones to travel outside the compound. Once again, Gene needed to get away from Jones and his madness, to gather his thoughts and possibly seek help back home. He had become convinced that Jones was mentally deranged and that the lives of his children were in danger.
Gene Chaikin flew to San Francisco. There he may have unburdened himself to his brother Ray and to other family members, who, like the Alexanders in Los Angeles, were anxiously monitoring the situation, hesitant to lend their support to the Concerned Relatives in case it provoked Jones to more extreme measures. Gene spent time in the temple’s legal office in the Geary Street church and imprudently confided his suspicions about Jones’ deteriorating sanity to the staff. Panic-stricken messages were relayed by ham radio directly to Jones in Guyana, who reacted in fury to Gene’s allegations. Temple loyalists in America scrambled to distance themselves from Gene’s blasphemy.
Impolitic by nature, Gene now shared with Marceline Jones his misgivings about her husband’s mental state. Finally, he huddled with Charles Garry, the legendary left-wing attorney who had defended Huey Newton and who had now been retained by Jones to manage the temple’s increasingly paranoid retaliation against its enemies in the media. The two lawyers had become friends. Garry was receptive to Gene’s message, but once again, Gene had been indiscreet. Marceline, known as “Mother,” was furious, and Jim Jones sat at the radio in Jonestown raging over what had now become known as “the Chaikin crisis.”
Jones summoned Gene to return immediately to Jonestown, but Gene held out, diverting instead to Trinidad, where he made a last stand. He mailed Jones a long, principled letter of dissent, explaining his misgivings about the minister’s mental state and challenging his judgment. This letter, included in the FBI evidence files, is the boldest and most eloquent statement of dissent on record against Jones. “Jim,” he wrote:
I left because I am no longer willing to live in a situation of anxiety or bi-weekly crisis ... for several reasons: 1) my nerves just won’t take it any more, I’m too beat, 2) it is impossible to build anything in that sort of atmosphere because building requires lots of planning and continuity of effort and application — the continuity is destroyed by the crisis mentality, 3) because I feel that the crisis environment is to some extent created and maintained by your state of mind ... I think you suffer from a lack of balance, both of perspective and behavior. I detest being lied to and manipulated. You have, over the years, done a lot of both ...
Gene criticized Jones’ hysterical overreaction to the maneuverings of the temple’s detractors in America, which, he felt, was jeopardizing the commune’s health and stability.
The standoff continued as the two men exchanged letters. Jones attempted to persuade Gene to return to the compound, while Gene demanded the immediate release of his children. Finally, Jones appeared to consent but hedged, insisting that Phyllis come out first, ostensibly so that she and Gene could discuss their future together.
Gene was fencing with Jones but was doing so from a position of weakness; it was not in his nature to blackmail the minister with what he knew about the temple’s inner workings. Yet, unlike Timothy Stoen, Gene could not face defecting without first removing his children. His only hope was that Phyllis might support him in his attempt to liberate Gail and David and reunite his family. Gene signed off his letter to Jones:
Even in the present situation when I asked for the children you lied to me, said you would send them out, but held off till Phyllis could get here so that you would have some basis for hanging on ... I would rather be told straight out than ‘put on.’ What I do at this juncture depends to a considerable extent on what you say ... You leave me very few choices. Phyllis will come in tonight and I suppose we will talk ... but I think you and I now have very little to say to each other.
If Phyllis were allowed out of Jonestown to talk to her husband about their situation, it would only have been because Jones expected her to toe the party line. According to Tim Carter, a Vietnam veteran who survived the approaching cataclysm in Jonestown, Phyllis did indeed leave the compound to visit Gene. In a hotel room in Jamaica, she confronted her husband of 17 years, ending his rebellion by denying him the support he needed to remove their children from the clutches of a madman. Phyllis had made her choice.
“Dear Grandma and Grandpa, How you doing?” wrote Gail Chaikin in an undated letter to the Alexanders. (Judging from the rounded printing of a young teenage girl, it was probably written not long after the Chaikins first arrived in Jonestown). “We’re doing real well and are very happy at our new home. We have many streams, trees, beautiful plants, & wild flowers growing all around are [sic] area plus the different crops we planted.”
In a later letter, written in a more mature script, Gail adds:
You can’t believe how beautiful it is here. The air is free from pollution, there’s only the pleasant scent of the abundant trees. We have fields upon fields of food. Mom, Dad and David (who is really growing up) are all doing fine, are healthier than ever before in their life and love it here.
Less than a year after this letter was written, when Gene returned to Jonestown, Jones immediately ordered that his food be spiked with the powerful sedative Thorazine, and that he be constantly observed. Temple members recall sandwiches being brought out for lunch, all of them cut on the square except Gene’s, which were cut diagonally and loaded with Thorazine. Gene spent much of what remained of his life heavily sedated and was for some of this time confined to the “Extended Care Unit,” which housed dissidents being “resocialized” — in the room next to where Phyllis worked as nurse administrator of the medical staff. In the most informative journal of daily life in Jonestown known to have survived, Edith Roller, an elderly English professor, notes: “Phyllis Chaikin said she wanted to change her name. She thinks she has been too dependent on Gene. Gene agreed with her.”
Gene was sufficiently compos mentis for some of the time to continue puttering in the Jonestown nursery and even to do legal work for Jones. The minister remained threatened by Gene’s capacity for independent expression, and when dignitaries, such as the Russian ambassador to Guyana, visited the compound, Gene was nowhere to be seen.
With her marriage no longer an obstacle, Phyllis was able to devote herself anew to the minister. As the end approached, she wrote the following in a letter to Jones, preserved in the FBI files:
Dad —
... The very people who resist Revolutionary Suicide because they want to save their asses would make excellent captives for the enemy ... Though the strongest might kill themselves before being taken, the weakest — no matter what they might say in public meetings — would not kill themselves and would be the first to talk.
We prepare the people by reading the words of strong, assertive revolutionaries of the past who took this choice over the p.a. system ... We will meet in the pavilion surrounded with highly trusted security with guns. Names will be called off randomly. People will be escorted to a place of dying by a strong personality ... who is loving, supported [sic] but nonsympathetic. They are accompanied by two strong security men with guns. (I don’t trust people to arrange their own death ... but [it] can be arranged by outside pressure and no alternatives left open.) At the place of dying they are shot in the head and if Larry [Dr. Larry Schact] does not believe they are definitely dead, their throat is slit with a scalpel. I would be willing to help here if it is necessary. The bodies would be thrown in a ditch. It might be advisable to blindfold the people before going to the death place in that the blood and body remains on the ground might increase the agitation.