Thursday, August 25, 2011

Mercury Manifesto: Commonwealth Edison, EPA, and the Poisoning of Chicago

The press release caught my eye.

“The US Environmental Protection Agency will hold a public hearing on May 24, 2011 in Chicago on the proposed national standards for mercury pollution from power plants.

“New power plant mercury and air toxics standards would require many power plants to install pollution control technologies to cut harmful emissions of mercury, arsenic, chromium, nickel and acid gases."

I couldn’t overlook this for a bunch of reasons.

First, I knew that it doesn’t take much mercury to poison a person.

Second, it’s hard to fathom quantities at the extreme ends of the measurement spectrum, given that the universe is as small as quarks in the particles that make up an atom of matter and as big as the space needed to fit billions of galaxies with plenty of room left over.

Third, as a high school science teacher, I have used EPA statistics on mercury poisoning as a means to teach the methods for putting into proper perspective what amounts to extremely large and extremely small quantities of things.

Midwest Generation Crawford Station coal burning power plant on Pulaski in the Little Village neighborhood.  <br><i>John Konstantaras/Chicago News Cooperative</i>Midwest Generation Crawford Station on Pulaski, Little Village neighborhood

Fourth, I have known that two of Illinois’ oldest and dirtiest coal-fired electrical generating plants, Fisk and Crawford, are within the city limits of Chicago where I have worked for over four years.

It’s been widely publicized just how dirty these plants are. For instance, Fisk and Crawford, together, cost neighboring communities $127 million per year in hidden health damages, according to a report released in October, 2010 by the Environmental Law and Policy Center. The Clean Air Task Force found that air pollution from these two plants causes more than 40 deaths, 720 asthma attacks, and 66 heart attacks annually.

Finally, I realized that the hearing was just a brisk walk from the school where I teach, at the Crowne Plaza Chicago Metro, located at 733 West Madison Street in downtown Chicago.

Midwest Generation Fisk Station coal burning power plant in the Pilsen neighborhood.  <br><i>John Konstantaras/Chicago News Cooperative</i> Fisk, located in the Pilson neighborhood, and the downtown Chicago skyline

So never mind that the hearing was to be held right in the middle of my proctoring final exams. I felt I had to show up. And I knew exactly what I would be taking to the hearing if I was allowed to speak: classroom lesson demos of my mercury unit conversions.

epa

Though a typical lumbering governmental bureaucracy, the EPA holds a tenuous place in national public affairs. Mandated to protect the health interests of citizens when they're faced with potential environmental hazards caused by industry, it’s been buffeted back and forth by bureaucrats who occupy both sides of the isle. Instituted by the most quintessentially Republican president, Richard Nixon, in 1970 (wait, Ronald Reagan holds that distinction), it’s been Republicans who lately have been out to emasculate its ability to enforce such things as the Clean Air Act. The EPA is bad for industry profits, held dear in the hearts of the many Republican owners of the means of production.

But the EPA is a good cop who, like a Boy Scout helping an old lady cross the street, might get a laugh from this Joe Citizen whose health they are mandated to protect. Even so, getting into the queue to talk to the EPA folks at the hearing took some back and forth with its handlers.

“The public may register to speak at a specific time at a hearing by contacting Pamela Garrett at garrett.pamela@epa.gov or registering in person on the day of a hearing. EPA also will accept written comments on the proposed standards until July 5, 2011. EPA will finalize the rule by November 2011.”

Pamela G. Garrett, US EPA, Research Triangle Park, NC 27711
Dear Ms. Garrert:

Please give me a 5 minute slot sometime after 2 pm to speak at the Hearing regarding mercury pollution.


Dear Mr. DePrez:

Atlanta
is the only hearing location that has open slots. You did not mention which location, Atlanta, Chicago, or Philadelphia.

If you would like to show up at Chicago the team will try their best to work you in to speak. They are willing to cut into the lunch and dinner hour and possibly go beyond the 8:00 conclusion to give everyone a chance to speak. If you decide to try to be worked in, I need to know in order to have a list for the team, and you will need to plan on possibly being there for several hours to be worked in. Please let me know as soon as possible if you think you will be in attendance.

Dear Ms. Garrett:

Chicago, sorry. Work me in. I would need an overhead projector to make my points. It would take 2 minutes.

Dear Mr. DePrez:


You are on the wait list. Would you provide me with your address and phone number for our records? Thank you.

The smoke stack of the Fisk Generating plant, a coal powered power plant, is located in an urban setting near Dvorak Park in the Pilsen the neighborhood.  <br><i>Jose More/Chicago News Cooperative<br></i>  Midwest Generation Fisk Station in the Little Village neighborhood

The walk downtown was on a brilliantly sunny day in May, and it was hard to think that such pristine air was passively aggressive in its pernicious program to poison me with mercury. But the horror stories come from the EPA itself.

A concentration of 0.0005 mg (milligrams)/L (liter) of mercury is lethal. (That's five ten- thousandths of a milligram. There are 1000 mg in a gram and about 16 grams in an ounce.)


For fetuses, infants, and children, the primary health effect of mercury is impaired neurological development.


Symptoms include: tremor, emotional change, insomnia, neuro- muscular changes, headaches, disturbances in sensations, changes in nerve response, performance deficits on tests of cognitive function.

Chicago

Smoke stack of the Midwest Generation Crawford Station coal burning power plant on Pulaski in the Little Village neighborhood.  <br><i>John Konstantaras/Chicago News Cooperative</i>

Such grim reaper statistics couldn’t put a pall on the frolic by the “baby buggy brigade” of moms with their kids in strollers protesting outside the hearing. I reminded myself that humor is a great way to habilitate the horror that we often end up facing as we navigate the uncertainties of life. I went in and started bugging the folks at the folding tables to get me onto the list of presenters. “We’ll try to work you in,” they said. “Sign up here.”

No they didn’t have an overhead transparency projector. Sigh. Underfunded education can’t give every teacher access to a laptop computer and projector, which the EPA had set up for presenters. So I had to find a way to photocopy my calculations to just hand the EPA guys if I got a chance. The hotel clerk was great helping me out.

The hall was packed. Kids were everywhere. Environmental groups sure knew that kids in costumes carried a rhetorical advantage. Mardi Gras at the Mercury Muck Musings. Electric utility industry reps were noticeably absent. But I got in! And it was just an hour later.

The four panelists looked bored. I was paired with a presenter who discussed the health statistics for possible mercury-induced ailments at a local city free health clinic. When it was my turn, I handed the four EPA panelists a set of calculations. They smiled wanly.

img071

“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for a chance to share with you how I teach my science students to make sense of statistics.

“In this case, it’s you guys who give the lethal dosage of mercury, which is 0.0005 mg/L. And here’s the stated annual amount of mercury in pounds, 1,700, that the the seven Illinois Com Ed plants produce as a byproduct of burning coal.

“We fight a losing battle converting kids to metric, but metric is the rule. So, in milligrams, it looks like the plants annually put out 3,700,000,000 mg of mercury (Hg is the chemical symbol).

“We will now merge the milligrams to the toxicity concentration of mercury. We will solve for x through cross multiplication and canceling units so we can scale up to the number of liters this much mercury would pollute to human toxicity if it were somehow allowed to diffuse to that level of concentration in the blood of a human.

“We must follow the significant figures rules for handling measured amounts. We must also be sure that it’s set up to cancel units of measure so the answer is simply in liters. Notice the use of scientific notation so that we’re not having to write out long, unwieldy numbers.

“So the answer is 1 x 1013 liters. It’s hard to visualize that much water, so let’s convert it to gallons. A liter is the equivalent of 0.25 gallons or 2.5 x 10-1 gallons. Cancelling liters and converting to standard notation, yes, it’s 3,000,000,000,000 or 3 trillion gallons.

img072

“But here’s the clincher. How does one fathom that much water? It’s kinda hard. So lets imagine how much of Lake Michigan this much water would fill.

“Lake Michigan is one of the Great Lakes and is right next to Chicago. It’s filled with 1.3 x 1015 gallons of fresh water. The water that could be polluted by Com Ed’s annual pooping of mercury is 3 x 1012 gallons. That’s 0.2% of Lake Michigan, or two tenths of one percent.

“Aw, what’s so bad about that? Doesn’t seem like much, but wait. The great Lakes are the largest bodies of fresh water in the world. So let’s do one last calculation. How many years would it take, at the rate of Com’s Ed’s polluting, and imagining that all of it ended up in the lake fully diluted, to raise the level of concentration to human toxicity?

“Answer: 500 years. Oh, the potential power that a couple of smoke stacks command!” Some nervous laughter broke out in the audience.

Fisk coal-fired electrical generating plant, Chicago

I excused myself politely at that point, thanking the panel, which returned the favor. At the break, I was surrounded by moms in funny costumes who wanted to know more about my programs with the kids. One mom, who home schools her kids, asked me for copies of any materials I might offer for teaching simple unit conversion and cancellation methods.

I shared with them how, ironically, I had noticed for years, when living 50 miles west of Chicago, the daily “coal train” of 100% hopper cars filled to the brim with Wyoming coal that passed through Geneva near my home, bound for Fisk and Crawford.

“I felt grateful for NOT living in Chicago at the time,” I said sadly. “Just last week, like the proverbial insult to injury, I counted 147 cars in the train when stopped at an intersection in Chicago on my way home."

So it was good to get all that off my chest in front of an appreciative audience, fellow citizens exposed to silent, inconspicuous, and insidious particles of death.

Then it was “back to the mines” filled with final exams to grade.

Sunday, August 21, 2011

Rambles on the Rocks: Terror and Triumph in the Goddard Quadrangle

Mt. Goddard 1South face of Mt. Goddard G. K. Gilbert, 1904

One of the most isolated places in the world is in proximity to some of the densest populations in the world in metropolitan California. Located, technically, in Fresno County, California, its canyons and peaks, part of the Sierra Nevada Mountain Range, defy the imagination. I’d like to record a few recollections of my saunters through this veritable terre incognito.

Maps made of the area date back to the first surveys by William H. Brewer and Josiah Whitney of the California Geological Survey in the 1860’s. Hikers and climbers use modern descendents of these first maps, some of which are configured into 15’ x 15’ quadrangles and show contours, trails, and lakes, peaks, and valleys. For years I have called the aforementioned place, simply, the Goddard Quadrangle.

img070Evolution Valley that drains north into South Fork San Joaquin River; Mt. Goddard at extreme lower left; Sierra Nevada crest outlined in stark red from NW to SE

Titles of notoriety befitting the historical era of its original mapping dot the rugged watershed that the “quad” illustrates. Most names were given by Theodore S. Solomons in 1895 on an expedition for a route from Yosemite Valley to the Kings River Canyon. Included are Mts. Darwin, discoverer of natural selection, Huxley, Darwin’s evolutionary theory bulldog, Wallace, codiscoverer of natural selection, Lamarck, an evolutionary theory predecessor, industrialist Spencer, “social Darwinist” profaner of the theory, and Emerson, transcendentalist. Mt. Goddard itself is named after civil engineer George Henry Goddard, who surveyed the Sierra Nevada during the 1850’s. All of them are over 13,000 feet in elevation. Evolution Valley forms a swath of descent to forested parts. A first professor of geology at fledgling University of California, LeConte, lends his name to another canyon.

john-muir1

In his first trip through the area in 1873, chronicled in John of the Mountains, pioneering Sierra explorer John Muir journaled about his passage up Evolution Basin to the high peaks on the crest. “The first tributary of any size is a bright active stream coming down in a foamy cascade of one thousand feet,” he wrote. “…had a glorious view of the Owens River and Valley, and of the Sierra, one broad field of peaks upon no one of which can the eye rest. They are gothic near the axis, a mass of ice-sculpture. Mount Emerson is imposing with its evenly balanced crest and far-reaching snowy wings.” Muir then describes the party’s encampment in the South Fork of the San Joaquin River canyon. “Up early and went with Clark to a point on the divide to view the landscape and plan the route. The view is awful- a vast wilderness of rocks and canyons. Clark groaned and went home.”

Mt. Goddard 2 North aspect of the Goddard Divide; Wanda Lake on left; Mt. Goddard on right

I too have crisscrossed this region of gargantuan granite grandiosity many times over the years. For instance, I hiked over Muir Pass on my way from Giant Forest to Yosemite. I scrambled off trail up Goddard Canyon through exhaustively boulder-strewn Davis Lakes Basin to the lakes named after Muir’s daughters Wanda and Helen. I approached the ungodly, remote Enchanted Gorge from its gateway summits, a pair of metamorphosed volcanic rhyolite peaks named after mythological creatures from Homer's Odyssey, Scylla and Charybdis. I attempted once to gaze down Spanish Peak, located in the “quad” kitty-corner to Goddard, to the stream bed below where the Middle and South Forks of the Kings River meet, and would have succeeded in visibly penetrating the view for its full 8,000 foot drop, 3,000 feet deeper than the Grand Canyon, were it not for the now famous smog generated by 28 million vehicles in a state of 35 million, or 0.8 vehicles per person. But the most memorable was a scramble to the top of the quadrangle’s namesake, Mt. Goddard, first climbed by Lilbourne Winchell and Louis Davis in 1879. It’s set off west of the Sierra crest and is therefore isolated at 13,568 feet in the middle of it all.

It might be interesting to note that all my trips into the region have been solo except this one. A fair lady accompanied me on her first “Fifty Miler” in the mountains. She declined, however, to scale the summit with me, which was the primary objective of that trip. The following is a description of the climb, made alone, and written in 1981.

Mt Goddard f w Wanda Lake

“Picking the instruments of survival out of my backpack and tossing them into a rucksack, I marked off to myself, 60/40 parka and first aid kit, yes, granola bars, water bottle, bible, yes, yes, and yes… and strolled away from my partner’s tented encampment in the talus.

“The morning crispness breathed a kind of languid mien and framed expectant heart and soul with excitement spiked with dread. I trudged toward the mountain of tortured rock that catapulted another 2,300 feet into the sky. I eyed my objective. Separated from the spine of the Sierra proper, Mt. Goddard rose up in stark solitude, an apex down which some of the deepest creek canyons in the world are gouged. The Goddard quad map indicates how escaping snowmelt spills toward the south up to a total vertical distance of 11,000 feet to the canyon bottoms along the incredible Middle Fork of the Kings River.

“I bounded back and forth across the many streamlets that laced together the glacial runoff coming down from old and worn glacial icepack. The permanent ice rested on a nearly vertical slope and was haphazardly broken by the season’s heat and smudged by markings made when debris fell out of crevasses above it and came tumbling down the mountainside. Its appearance was like an old and tattered shawl blanketing the lap of a woman sitting with long, gray skirts, knees spread, and shawl spilling down pleats to languish at the hemline. Water gurgled under the steep wave of talus that had been knocked down by the expansions and contractions of the ice above.

“I parceled out a continuous litany of mini-goals, looking only to the one ahead, trying to suppress the merciless compacted collection that attempted to imprint itself onto my struggle. I scouted for some of the plants listed by Muir when he came through the area in 1873, Ivesia, Plemonium, and yellow Compositae. “I found larkspurs, columbine, Spiraea, and Dodecatheon,” he had written.

Starr's Route 12,200

“Before me was a wall of rock hewn by erosion into vertical slabs that looked like pickets on a fence. I contemplated each move of extended, clasping appendage before feeling confident that a hold would contribute to my ascent. I felt grateful for each secure grasp on colorful crustose lichen-splotched granite in the vertical tumult of rock. I traced the toothy ridge carefully, following its disheveled sharpness south and around to the west to where it came brawling together with the great hulk of the mountain’s north face. Here, the granite splinters of the Goddard Divide reminded me of shark’s teeth ready to snap up into surprised flesh, sending me off balance and tumbling down into the gut of the range where I would be ground apart by gizzard talus and digested by enzymatic glacier waters a thousand feet below.

“SWOOSH! A few feet before my astonished face a falcon, no, two falcons, raced by, chasing each other around the top of the mountain. Effortless, even at 13,000 feet, these wedges of confident freedom were suddenly gone, having drilled away a thousand feet of altitude in seconds. Welcome to the island in the sky.

“Piles of dark gray cumulus began to assemble on the western slopes of the range. But I tried not to notice, thinking I’d be soon up and off the summit, heading back to the lady of the canyon down below. I was soon on top and attempted to absorb, in Muir’s words, “glorious” and, at the same time, “awful” views in all directions.

“Billowy masses of cloud began to obstruct the views. My whiskers and wisps of wool of my cap sparkled and crackled atop this natural lightening rod. I was ready to fry in any second. I tumbled head long down the talus, initiating a mini avalanche. I cowered under a ledge. Flashes of bolts slammed into the mountain. Thunder reverberated off canyon walls after crashing into them like boxcars against brick walls. Blizzard flakes drilled into nylon attempts to ward off cold and fear. I stared into gaping grayness, a merciless murk of wind and snow blowing past me. Awe and dread enveloped me, remembering how September storms can last well into the night. Socked in, I waited.

img068Gorges that drain south into Middle Fork Kings River; Mt. Goddard at upper left

“Finally I caught glimpses through the gray of peaks above the Ionian Basin, cast in crimson before a rapidly advancing dusk. Misty corridors revealed the slash of Goddard Creek below Ragged Spur. I began making my way slowly down slippery talus, checking my advance carefully against memories made before socking gray cloaked the mountain again. I waited while eating raisins and reading Proverbs. I had to backtrack more than once to a point where I thought a route down ought to begin. I felt the namesake of an area west of Lake Tahoe I hiked once, Desolation Wilderness.

“I decided on a descent down a coullar that would effectively be a point of no return. Surrounding me were Promethean shafts of iron oxide-stained granite that impaled a fiery red Olympian sky. I clutched at damp and slippery rock with numb fingers. A cracking sound startled me, and I peered over a ledge toward glacier specks coming into focus. An avalanche! Boulders far away tumbled in slow motion down the ice fields of the glacier on Goddard’s north face.

“Exhausted legs, caught like prisoners between the freedom of gravity and the slavery of resistance, counted out uneven periods like a broken metronome. I could see a network of rivulets that collected the waters of Upper North Goddard Creek that, in the darkening mist, lacked any kind of definiteness, more like seeing a Martian canal system through clouds and torment with a telescope.

David Lakes BasinDavis Lakes from the north face of Mt. Goddard Divide; camp below; lakes drain down North Goddard Creek to South Fork San Joaquin River in Goddard Canyon

“Suddenly I saw a speck of red in the darkened moonscape, a pinprick in an expanse of madness. Camp. Then back again to obscuring cloud-choked depths. I blessed each vertical foot of drop.

“Once in the darkened basin below the glacier, I passed granite monoliths that seemed to ponder my stumbling gate with rather benign indifference. A silhouetted figure came out to greet me. I wondered if my eyes appeared wild and prophetic. I don’t remember saying anything at first. We walked together back toward camp.

Tuesday, August 9, 2011

From the Soul of the World: Ravinia Festival and the Song Interpretations of Jackie Evancho

Watching Jackie Evancho sing is a religious experience. The vocal virtuosity of this young performer from Pittsburgh had “gobsmacked” me early on with incredulous astonishment that produces tear-filled sobs of smiley joy, a reaction that no one else has ever caused in me. So my visit to Ravinia Festival in Highland Park, IL to hear her sing in person on August 7, 2011 was like a visit to the sacred mysteries of Eleusis or Mithras in ancient Greco-Roman times.
 
2011-8-7 Ravinia

Neither pouring rain nor screeching cicadas could drown out the effect that seeing this prodigy’s performance was going to have on me. I, of course, already knew what that effect would be. But I went with an inordinate desire to know why. A hypothesis provided by others is Evancho’s interpretive genius. But more important in my thinking is the psychological state she enters when she sings. Evancho says she is taken possession by the music. So I went to get an inside look at the genius of Jackie’s interpretations, especially when under the influence of her music in front of a live audience.
 
2011-8-7 Planted at Ravinia Terry Baker Mark Rhein

Due to the patient work of a key member of “Jackieville” and another who coined that title for Evancho’s facebook page and made a banner blazoned with its moniker, I was able to get a second row center seat. Unlike other venues, the spot set up for her on the stage was just a few feet back from the edge. I spent part of the interminable wait while the Chicago Symphony Orchestra warmed up speculating on what Evancho would seem like at her place there just 15 feet from where I sat. The height of the pair of microphones set up for her meant that she must be petite, a very tiny girl. How she, being so small, commands the power that I know she has made me wonder.
 
Then the prelude to the opening number began, during which she appeared from stage right, smiling and waving with one hand while carrying a water bottle with the other. She was resplendent in a beautiful purple dress. She was not overly “done up” like in so many of her talk show appearances. With grace and poise, she positioned herself behind those microphones. As I suspected, Evancho exhibited a diminutive stature with a porcelain delicacy as if a figurine atop a music box, that is, until she gathered herself in preparation to sing. In that moment of truth, Evancho underwent a physical transformation from a pretty little girl, kissed blond by summer sunshine and chlorine at the pool, all smiles and “angelic adorability,” to a strangely adult-like diva who takes complete command of her artistic performance.
 
img064Ticket to the Soul of the World

I observe this transformation regularly in the best artists where I teach, a high school for the creative and performing arts in Chicago. The head of school says our students have a passion for their art, one that they discover early in their lives. Jackie discovered hers at the age of seven, turning eight years old. From that point forward, parents, like Jackie’s, have to put up with their student’s peculiar and sometimes aggravating initiatives and prodding that, in the case of my school, compel parents to come to our open houses, children in hand, to listen to us offer a way to channel that passion to its rightful fulfillment.
 
Lovers by Shigeru Umebayashi is Jackie’s favorite song on her CD Dream With Me because “It’s so powerful; there’s so much emotion in it.” The theme from the film House of Flying Daggers, it was first on the playbill. The memory of a loved one lost, the “you” of “You ARE my true love,” is a universal experience. Perhaps all she needs is the memory of the loss of her pet duck MoMo to a hawk in order to evoke it. The accent is on the ARE, when she tilts her head back, eyes closed, clutching the fist she makes with the other hand with which to beat her breast, and the verb is exhaled with such force of her breath that she makes the microphones on Ravinia’s stage undulate. It’s the end of the stanza. She opens her eyes, lets her arms fall to her side, and gazes with a dreamy sadness out over the audience while the orchestra continues on with an interlude. That look is priceless. One can observe her render the same look of ethereal melancholy after each high note in Dark Waltz, a crossover classic popularized by New Zealander Haley Westenra on her first internationally published album Pure in 2004, and produced as part of the video marketed to PBS contributors, Dream With Me In Concert. Now comes the last line, which she begins a cappella. “Your voice still echoes…” She stops abruptly with a hard consonant “s” after she effortlessly raises the pitch ever so high with her light lyric soprano skill. The pause is pregnant. Then, “in my heart” escapes her chest as she lets her diaphragm and intercostal muscles relax. The orchestra reenters on the last word. I finally stop shivering and dry my eyes. She just has it.
 
2009-6 Debra Crosby Talent Quest TV O MioAgreeing that “angels” are the source of her inspiration to sing in the classic style

Starting with the aforementioned moment of truth prior to each song, Evancho’s passion apparently gives her permission to surrender to a possession by the music that is in her mind and soul. The words aren’t important. Music is a more universal language of passion. She made that obvious at the age of nine when singing the Puccini aria O Mio Bambino Caro without being able to tell Debra Crosby of the Talent Quest TV show beforehand what the title to the song meant. She grasps the music and appropriates it into the center of her being. As said before, she wasn’t taught that. “Nobody can teach you that,” said Ehkzu. “She just has it.” She closes her eyes feeling it. She must communicate it or suffer deprivation. Though the words aren’t important, it helps that she has a seeming photographic memory for lyrics and perfect diction. If she could, she would look you directly in the eye, like she does in so many of her early YouTube videos.
 
I lately made friends with someone who became a fan in March of 2009 after seeing one of her YouTube videos. He proceeded to donate to the family’s fund drive to support the production of her first CD, said to require about $20,000. In June of 2009, on a live computer feed, he watched Debra Crosby brought to tears as little Jackie softly sang O Mio. He went on to buy 35 copies of Evancho’s CD Prelude to a Dream when it finally came out. Before her “discovery” on the TV reality show America’s Got Talent (AGT), he helped raise money for a second family-produced CD. Then he helped get Evancho’s YouTube audition tape that the family submitted to AGT voted number one. For his efforts he is named in the credits on her second CD O Holy Night, which debuted in the number two position on Billboard’s Top 200 and earned her the distinction of usurping Michael Jackson as the youngest performer to put out a CD in the top ten of Billboard’s charts.
 
The “Jackie Effect” that had so thoroughly converted this fan, even though it was only in its nascent stages, was clearly visible in the video that snared his heart and subsequent devotion. It was the YouTube video of Evancho’s cover of Britney Spears’ song Everytime.
 

This homemade video, filmed in a corner of the Evancho’s house, let’s call it “The Love-Lost Laundry Room Lament,” shows Jackie’s emotional connection to the music she sings and epitomizes her latent genius for interpreting it. Study this video. A cute sports cheer, “Go Pittsburgh Steelers,” gives way to a total immersion into her fast becoming characteristic mental and emotional “zone.” Watch her. She looks down and gathers the folds of her mouth, closes her eyes, then looks up right at you and begins her soulful rendition of this heart-torn love song. It’s all there. She shakes her head in dismay and sways back and forth with eyes closed. The tone of her voice indicates that the impact is wrenching the words from her. Then she raises her hands up so you can see her flared fingers and laments like a propitiating preacher, “You seem to move on easy…” then turns her head away as if blind struck by the corporeal emotion of it all. Study her at the 2:45 second mark when, between verses, solemn glances around her give way to a sad, downturned demeanor. She is waiting to go on, though it looks like she just can’t. At the end of the need for lyrics, the music still playing, she is visibly wracked by the meaning she has so effectively made of it. Suddenly it’s over. The spell is broken. She makes furtive glances as if she doesn’t know where she is and needs to get reoriented. Then she smiles sweetly and says, “Thank you.” A child has just come back from a journey to the soul of the world.
 
11tao-conrad-performance
I felt humbled upon realizing that piano prodigy Conrad Tao would be featured at Ravinia. In the words of Piers Morgan of AGT, “I know what is going to happen here, we’re going to wake up tomorrow and America is gonna be going CRAZY...” I was “feeling goose bumps” well before 17 year old Conrad walked out onto the stage. This performer does not press piano keys. Rather, like a harpist, he pulls at them, rhapsodically plucks at them from his heavenly lyre with gentle, graceful flourishes of his hands, as if they held the conductor’s baton in order to coax heaven-sanctioned sounds from the soul of the world. In the midst of Imaginer by Walter Afanasieff and Lara Fabian (the words arranged more appropriately for Jackie’s young age), I had to pinch myself. There these two prodigies were, teamed together, in the words of conductor Constantine Kitsopoulos, giving us “hope for the youth of America” through music.
 
I don’t know much about opera, though Evancho has put me on a steep and rapid learning curve, but I’ve watched my niece who just graduated from the classical voice program at Notre Dame. She appeared stiff at her senior recital, saying afterward that holding onto the piano of her accompanist with her right hand “was allowed.” I had given her copies of Jackie’s music but never heard back from her. I feel sorry about that, how rule-laden operatic performances must be in order to best exemplify intentions in the minds of the genre’s composers. But classical crossover has a more universal appeal. It’s more approachable. Imaginer marries the masses and thus made me, a member of the class of commoners, marvel and melt in the midst of these two young performers. Not opera, Imaginer “allowed” Jackie to do something else that I appreciate, being a school teacher who is well versed in the theories of educational psychology. Though behaviorists say, “prove it,” the branch generally called “cognitive structuralism” describes how one’s mind constructs its percepts of the world into seemingly three dimensional concepts like arranging furniture in a living room. Evancho’s hand and arm gestures, just like Conrad’s sweeping pectoral pronunciations, corral the mind’s musical meanings into intended arrangements. The result is a pleasing sense for the evocative expression that the mind wants to make out of the music. It may be only suggestive, but Evancho’s fluid stance and undulating hand gestures kept time with the unfolding of the song’s magical mystery of “old wars dissolving, a world without hunger, the extinguishing of all fires by a single God.” Did she need to study the words or only learn to pronounce them in flawless French? Did it matter? Their meaning flowed out of the sung soul of the world, especially the verse that she raised up to Conrad’s crescendo, “ouvrez les yeuxxxxxx!!!! (Open the eyes!!!), her hands in fists pounding the word’s compelling command out of the center of the living room, her heart, and up and out of the ceiling above it, her head, with eyes closed and larynx channeling its soaring energy like a rocket launch.
 
I now understand what Dr. Clark Rosen, director of the Voice Center at University of Pittsburgh Hospital means when he says her genius is not simply that voice; rather, it is her brain that constructs a virtuoso performance of Imaginer by expertly coordinating all her physical apparatus, lungs, throat, and skeletal and muscular gesticulations.
 
After coming back down to the soul’s center at the end, Evancho croons softly as she gently shakes her head, like brushing one’s self off after the exhausting physical exertion of an athletic performance. Yes, Jackie can croon like the Las Vegas rat pack. She did at eight years old in Everytime at the end, at nine years old in Teaching Angels How to Fly before and after the last refrain, and here at age eleven in Imaginer. They may merely have been in the body, but these two performers created for me an out-of-the-body experience.
 
Dante Cosmos

Making the closest encounter with the soul of the world, at least for me, were Evancho’s renditions of The Lord’s Prayer by Mallot and arranged by Nicholas Dodd, and of To Believe by Jackie’s uncle Matthew Evancho. I sense that the Evancho’s are very spiritual people, and it is no accident that these two pieces were included on Dream with Me. It is worth noting that BOTH of these gospel-hinting songs were chosen for Evancho’s road tour. This decision effectively forced the exclusion of other, less “spiritual” songs because the play list had to be kept to a maximum of eight or nine to better preserve Evancho’s voice. Perhaps piety becomes a more suitable attitude the closer in proximity one is brought to the soul of the world.
 
2010-10-7 Jackie Evancho The Prayer LA On the AGT Tour in LA singing the spiritual “The Prayer,” written by David Foster

David Foster wrote the spoken prayer part for her in To Believe, and I think it is the fulcrum upon which Dream With Me and its concerts are balanced. For me it is the most powerful point in Evancho’s performance. She stops, publically faces the world as her witness, and tells God that she intends to do the very best that she can. And she does so without the dour solemnity of a penitent; rather, with the singsong cadence of a raconteur. She’s telling a story about her arrival at the center of the soul of the world. She told David Foster, who asked her what is going on in her mind when she sings, “when I sing something just overpowers me and makes me very comfortable and very happy.” It also makes her very courageous, offering her a conviction that grants her command of the soul of the world, and I was struck to the core of my being hearing her recite this prayer at Ravinia.
 
Like a switch that completes an electrical circuit, Evancho needs an audience with whom to reciprocate the intense emotion she elicits from the music. Heart to heart communication must come full circle. Her experience of that emotion is personal. She then communicates it in a manner very personal. At Ravinia, it seemed as if Miss Evancho sang just for me. It was like I was the only one in the audience. I knew I wasn’t, but she possesses the power to reach out to individual hearts. Someone said, “This little eleven-year-old girl is expressing feelings that only I have ever experienced, and I don’t really know how to comprehend that.” Perhaps we all help make up the soul of the world, and she has been gifted with an innate understanding of its universal nature and how to connect each one of us to it.
 
Double Wave

When I gave her a double wave, a gesture that has become the trademark for her effervescent charm, she gave one back to me. That is because Jackie feeds off her audience. Authentic artists are not so much concerned with the effect the art has on them as they are about the effect it has on their audience. Many aspiring artists must learn to move past mere potential in which it seems as if they are in their art rather than their art is in them. Good art leaves the artist behind and stands alone, shimmering, mesmerizing, drawing the audience in, beckoning to be received. It is noteworthy that Evancho’s meteoric success is primarily based on performances in front of live audiences. Like a good entrepreneur, she knows the customer is everything. She needs to connect with “you guys” out there who are watching her and for whom she sings. It began with the YouTube videos. “Hey, it’s Jackie, and I’m here to sing….” When she connects, the effect it has on her is part, parcel, and reciprocal with the cause, the passion, with which it began. Only then can there be those endearing, wide-open smiles and clutched hands extended straight down. The audience’s response finishes a cycle and serves as positive feedback with which to accelerate the system. When I yelled, “We love you, Jackie!” she literally hopped into the air. I remember Howie Mandel, after her inaugural AGT rendition of O Mio Bambino Caro, exclaiming, “Jackie, you’re amazing!” This elicited from her an absolutely priceless giggle. Such positive feedback makes her interpretations for the songs she sings gain in power, passion, and perfection over the course of the concert. This is what made the last two songs at Ravinia, Sarah McLachlands’s Angel and Lloyd Weber’s All I Ask of You the best of the best. Evancho’s sense that her audience successfully empathizes with the passion with which she communicates through her singing fortifies her genius and accelerates the maturation of its expression.
 
2011-6 NZ Brain of an adultEvancho describing her ambitions and fears at Dylan’s Candy Bar in NYC

Strangely enough, it is not the quality of her voice that matters to her. While in New York City last June promoting Dream With Me, Jackie told TVNZ reporter Tim Wilson, “Whenever I sing I sound like a normal kid, almost. I don’t see what’s so special about my voice. When everyone says, ‘Oh my goodness, Jackie, you have such an amazing voice,’ I go ‘I don’t really understand.’ I mean I just sound like a normal kid. I mean I hear a lot more maturity to it, but I don’t hear, like, I don’t hear what everyone else is hearing and why it’s so amazing.”
 
Why Evancho can’t understand this had puzzled me until now. It is true that such a nonplussed reaction is appropriate for a genius and also a kid who just wants to fit in with her peers. This was illustrated in the 1997 film Good Will Hunting. Matt Damon’s mathematical genius character Will Hunting refuses to leave the construction jobs of his working class buddies from south Boston, with whom he grew up, for jobs with the intellectual big leaguers. Stellan Skarsgard plays the role of the brilliant mathematical Fields Medal-winning professor Gerald Lambeau who takes Will under his wing when he gets into trouble with the law. When Professor Lambeau critiques an even more brilliant paper that Will writes for him, Will expectorates, “Hey! This is so easy that it’s a joke. And I’m sorry, I really am, that you can’t do it.” I can thus take Evancho’s word as a “truthful girl,” as well as a preternaturally intelligent one, that she can’t acknowledge that she has a voice so awe-inspiring that even adults can only describe it as the voice of an “angel.” Even her parents initially misunderstood. Their suspicions required testing. In their own words, “after her showing in the competitions, we thought there might be something here…” But Evancho just sees the music, her experiences of it as it seeps out of the soul of the world, and her desire to communicate it.
 
Jackie Evancho 5 bubbly ten year old and angelic diva

Now I know that the driving force of Jackie’s genius is her passion for the music and having an audience feel it too. Matt Damon’s character gave himself away in that he plied his blue collar janitorial services at MIT, one of the most intellectually prestigious universities in the world. Being where it matters, picking the place where passion can be communicated most successfully, explains how and where one can find Evancho’s interpretive genius-in front of a live audience. When asked during AGT where she would most want to perform, she said, “on a stage, any stage.” There, she doesn’t hear herself sing. She’s too busy. Called by her muse to the center where the music is, she, like a siren, a savior figure with outstretched arms, palms up, is busy beckoning us forward to join her at the center. What she hears, what she can take to heart, what spurs her to improve in her use of her gifted pipes every time she sings, is the praise of an appreciative audience. It affirms that she has successfully gotten us there. Out of that little girl then, like a sipapu on the floor in the center of a Southwestern pueblo kiva, has come the soul of the world.

Saturday, July 30, 2011

Seekers of Exotic Escape: My Classmate’s Close Encounter with Comet Hale-Bopp aboard a UFO

Her eyes peered down pensively at me from atop the cliff. My friend and I were swimming at Slippery Rock west of Eugene in Oregon’s Coast Range. It was a warm, leisurely summer day in July, 1975.

“Jump,” I yelled, treading water in the pool below. Two dozen feet of empty space gave freedom to her fall, ending next to me with a splash.

Susan Strom 1969Soon after that innocent summer idyll, my friend the jumper, Susan Francis Strom, disappeared for 22 pensive years apart from disavowed family and friends. During that long self-expulsion, she sought a similar passage through empty space, outer space, this time in a flying saucer to a literal space in the heavens. Her chance came when the Hale-Bopp comet appeared at its nearest and brightest point on its trip around the Sun in March of 1997. The freedom of her fall would end with a different kind of splash though, death by suffocation, along with 38 others in the largest mass suicide in American history.

I’m hoping this story gives closure to long-simmering grief for my friend as I attempt to explain what led to her participation in the lethal ritual that she and the rest of a fringe group, called Heaven’s Gate, celebrated in Rancho Santa Fe, California that fateful March. My explanation requires blazing a trail through what Campbell calls a “cultic milieu” filled with an interesting, eclectic, and sometimes rather odd assortment of metaphysical musings, made rife, perhaps, by the quickening approach of the end of the second millennium.

Revitalization Movements

The period 1960 to 1990, according to McLaughlin, comprised the “Fourth Great Awakening” in the history of American religion. Socially induced forces, especially materialism and economic determinism, were causing “cultural distortion” (Wallace) in the collective unconscious (Jung) of Americans, leading to a break down in the consensus of agreement with the ways of the established order. Many of the disaffected, including a large portion of the baby boom generation, intellectually exhausted by the tumultuous sixties, sought resolution for a deepening sense of alienation through “consciousness-raising” experiments with alternative religions. These seekers became potential waves of amber harvest into the barns of, especially, auto-licensed doomsday cult “de sac” builders at the dead ends in the mushrooming “farm housing developments” of the new religions.

marshall-applewhite bonnie-nettles

One disaffected, disenfranchised entrepreneur was former music professor Marshall Herff Applewhite, age 42, along with his partner, former nurse Bonnie Lu Trusdale Nettles, age 47. In September of 1975 they instructed subordinates to tack up flyers around Corvallis, Oregon that advertised a meeting on Sunday the 14th in a convention room, rented under a fictitious name, at the Bayshore Inn in Waldport, 16 mi. south of Newport on the coast.

UFO Meeting Flyer

The text of the flyer continues, as follows. “Two individuals say they were sent from the level above human, and will return to that level in a space ship (UFO) within the next few months. This man and woman will discuss how the transition from the human level to the next level is accomplished, and when this may be done... This is not a religious or philosophical organization recruiting membership. However, the information has already prompted a number of individuals to devote their total energy to the transitional process. If you have ever entertained the idea that there might be a real physical level in space beyond the Earth’s confines, you will want to attend this meeting.”

My friend Susie was intrigued.

Changing Her Major

I had met fellow Botany Major Susan Strom while we were both enrolled in Structure of Seed Plants at Oregon State University the previous winter. I remember taking a real liking to her after a long talk in the Commons. Her dark eyes, set wide apart in a pleasant face, held a soft sadness that made me want to just hug her.

Cordley Hall OSU

Cordley Hall, Department of Botany/Plant Pathology Oregon State University

She told me of her camp counseling experiences, and I told her of my camping and backpacking in the Sierra, beginning as a boy scout at age 13. I said to her that my starting out in forestry was based on a love for trees. I’d emigrated all the way from Virginia for the chance.

“My tree-hugging disaffection with the tree-chopping utilitarianism of forestry led to the purity of plant science,” I continued, feeling a bit chagrined. Susie mostly nodded in agreement without saying much.

She had come out from Omaha. I could feel that her sense of dislocation was of a vaguer sort. I remember a confused look in the deepest brown eyes I’d ever seen up till then. It was a retiring look of longing and sadness for peace and tranquility somewhere on the lovely green earth, but she couldn’t tell me exactly what she wanted.

I remember our consensus that, unlike classes in plant ecology and primitive plant morphology, labs in the course we took together didn’t involve live plants, just dead slices of parenchyma tissue fixed on slides. We were supposed to explain how cells had differentiated at the behest of unseen indole-3-acetic acid and gibberellin growth hormones before permanent immobilization on the little strips of glass.

We both got a “C” in the course. We shared a desire for a more dynamic organic vitality.

Susie had a degree to finish, but read the flyer and saw opportunity to learn something new, along with a kind of academic ne’er-do-well acquaintance in our crowd named Dave Van Sinderen. I had found out that summer that she had shacked up with him at a town commune cohabitated by mutual friends on 32nd Street. Three years older, he drifted between interests, spending time, for instance, at the National Outdoor Leadership School of Lander, Wyoming, learning how to lead wilderness trips. Camping gear was their furniture, with sleeping bags on the floor. I was jealous and didn’t want to go to the meeting.

Reeling in the Catch

I try to imagine the experience through Susan’s eyes, beginning with that recruitment meeting in Waldport. Applewhite’s and Nettles’s aliases would change over the years, yet “Bo and Peep,” respectively at the time, exhibited the power to intrigue.

Susie must have thought the humorous titles (rounding up their sheep) that poked fun at themselves rather disarming. (Don’t take yourself too seriously.) Bo had a giddy, child-like demeanor, the charisma. He was the spokesman with the resonate voice of a former opera singer. Peep was the quiet, more serious leader who took a back seat.

What did Susie hear? Evacuate Earth, ascend to the next level, because the kingdom of heaven was at hand. A space ship, a UFO, would be the mode of escape. “How interesting!” she must have thought. This was not your typical millennial message heard in the Bible belt surrounding Omaha. It had Star Trek, with aliens thrown in.

Susie and Dave were given a chance to ask questions. I’m sure the organic language for how the Earth was one of many space “gardens,” and how humans were “plants,” put on it by alien forces, as were other beings elsewhere in the universe, appealed to Susie’s botanic sensibility. She and Dave were like “caterpillars” waiting to be metamorphosised by the Two’s divine agency into “butterflies.” This too, I’m sure, appealed to their Earth Day-bred environmentalism.

The recruitment method Bo and Peep used was clever and different. They kept the message brief to keep the curious guessing, though there had been a lengthy question and answer session, with rigidly scripted answers offered at the end. Their ability to answer curtly, forthrightly, and without embellishment meant to give the message a sense of plausibility. And the speakers stuck to the message. There was no talk of life style or living expenses.

Then the screening process began. Since Susie and Dave wanted to inquire further, they gave their phone number and were called a day later and told of the follow up meeting at a park near Eugene. The intent was to slough off the gawkers and hostile hecklers. When Dave and Susie declared a serious interest in trying out as novitiates, they were again told they must leave everything they own, and were given a week to decide. Then they would be called collect about the next step. ''It's a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity,'' Dave told friends. When the call came, they said they were ready. They were given directions to a campground in the mountains just west of Livermore, CO. Dave and Susie packed up Dave’s VW microbus and left town.

The Anointing

He from Corpus Christi, the son of an itinerant Presbyterian minister, and she from Houston, raised Baptist and born again at age 11, Applewhite and Nettles were seeped in the Christian gospel of the Deep South. Bo had taught music at St. Thomas Catholic College in Houston, home of NASA. So he and Nettles must have been familiar with alleged UFO sightings and visitations from outer space, kept under wraps by the government. He read the science fiction of Robert A. Heinlein and Arthur C. Clarke. He decided objects people thought were angels were, rather, UFO’s.

houstonSkyline, Houston, Texas

Applewhite, a divorced father of two after 16 years of marriage, was fired from St. Thomas, perhaps for a homosexual affair with a student from the Montrose section of Houston. What do you do when a deep Southern upbringing has taught you to despise your malfunctioning sexuality that predisposes you to ridicule, ostracism, and denial of salvation? Applewhite checked into a sanitarium seeking exorcism of his sexual preference. There he met nurse Peep, divorced mother of four who dabbled in astrology. They hit it off immediately, platonic, clairvoyant love at first sight.

It was a marriage made in outer space.

Applewhite’s vision of self-loathing became a convenient source for a new and powerful kind of redemption. Bolstered by a rejection of their dissatisfying pasts, both decided they were no longer who they once were. They began to wander by stolen car for three years exploring new identities. Neither he nor Nettles were immune to protean inter-changeability. Their self-stylized divinity would evolve throughout their “careers.” but, for now, they decided they were the Two of Chapter 11 in the book of Revelation. Fire from their mouths would devour their enemies (including bosses who fire you for being gay?). They would smite the earth with every plague. After their prophesying, they would be killed, and everyone would rejoice because the prophets had tormented those who dwell on the earth. Three days later God would raise them and call them up into heaven. Not the typical career objective unless this is a delusion of grandeur with a noticeable absence of any type of sexuality in the list of job qualifications.

Wandering in the Wilderness

Soon after her departure, Susan was admonished to write home on a handout postmarked in Livermore. She wrote her parents in Omaha, saying, ''The only way I reconciled leaving you is that I can help you from the Next Level, God's Kingdom.'' A mimeographed statement on the back suggested that even if she were to be killed, her body would be resurrected and would continue on into the next level. If this was alarming, it was because of where and when and under what conditions would she be in "the Next Level." Best hoped for was a spiritual place of repose and security from which to dispense some sort of benevolence. Worst feared for was that she was going to die soon at the hands of a kidnapping cult of death.

Despite the extreme situation of her present status, she and others were tapping into a universal sentiment going back to Plato. According to Angus, Plato, under the influence of oriental mystery religions and their attempt to respond to a yearning for immortality, wrote that man is a "heavenly plant and not of earth." He is the "spectator of all time and all existence" with an "innate knowledge of the heavenly patterns, who in self-examination can adorn his soul, which is by nature immortal." Properly situated, the soul can face the future, for "fair is the prize, and the hope great, and the venture glorious," not in a "sensuous continuity of existence," but in increasing "god-likeness in a differentiated eternity," a status that can be achieved by boarding a UFO. Susan was embarking on an adventure. Her stance as an "exhausted seeker," however, meant suspending her training in scientific thinking and declaring intellectual surrender.

VW camper van

Bo and Peep kept quiet watch over the nomadic group. Talks around campfires with new recruits under the stars came natural to Dave, the wilderness environmentalist, and Susie, the camp counselor. It must have been exciting, a radical departure from previous norms, yet non- threatening. And the fervent but low key exhortations of the Two fit the protean style of seekers, many who flitted like flies in and out of the new religions. Serial experiences that “taught something new,” according to Lifton, was an adaptation to the “flooding of imagery” wrought by mass communication and rapid change in modern society. I remember my own “strong ideological hunger” and shifting allegiances in those days as a Religious Studies major.

anzaMPSsite

There was no hard sell. Anyone was free to leave, often given a bus ticket home. They weren’t being smothered in love either. There was no forced fusion into a collective identity dictated by their new elders. The present community wasn’t important. The future “shedding of their containers” on an individual basis, and thus the effectual eradication of community and the need for it, was everything. What bonded them together was simply the wait. Sometimes silence prevailed around the slowly stoked campfires, each listening to the wind and watching the shooting stars. Up there somewhere was their immediate destiny.

Nomadic wandering took the Two and their new initiates through a series of scruffy campgrounds. Susan and the rest were made moving targets during this initial period of indoctrination, a cosmological disappearing act, in order to evade family members or hostile vigilantes looking to rescue recruits who had earlier disappeared medb without a trace. They stayed in places such as Medicine Bow National Forest, WY and Bonny Reservoir, CO. Sometimes over the years they would settle for a time in towns where they earned money working as waitresses or store clerks. Recruitment was spotty and attrition high.

Rules of Order

Except for Jesus, who came "eating and drinking," every great teacher from Plato to John the Baptist, from Paul to Plotinus, decreed that a lifestyle of asceticism was a necessary qualification for religious life. Many questioning young Americans had been raised in affluence and its covert offering of sexual freedom, but Bo and Peep were seasoned critics of materialism and sexuality and its renunciation for their nascent religious purposes, ones that declared that the spiritual and the natural were mutually antagonistic and ultimately irreconcilable. The body is a tomb of the soul. Saving the soul required escaping the body. These body snatchers were body deniers.

In accordance with austere ascetic practices that were in reaction to the corrupting influences of sexuality and materialism, and also with the need to discipline, regiment, and subordinate new members, the Two exhorted Dave, Susan, and the rest of theirarci_wy prospective flock to give up sex, drugs, alcohol, and tobacco. I have always wondered how they took the no sex message. What made this easier, I’m sure, was their being paired in rotating partnerships. Each would monitor the other’s self correction regarding base human behaviors unbefitting the divine sparks of goodness that aliens had implanted within their corruptible “containers.” Such “catalytic conflict” between the new recruits would promote the “overcoming” process and maintain party line equilibrium. The Two would thus control through this reciprocal feedback between partners.

A sign that building community was unimportant, which made this group stand out compared to other new religions, talk with older, more experienced members was discouraged. More importantly, the Two needed absolute control over the fluidly evolving party line. Recruits were treated to low key sermons by the Two from folding chairs in camp. When hitting a sticky point, they would excuse themselves to go confer privately. They also circulated handouts amongst campers.

Sacred Tablets

richardson1

I am fascinated by how Bo and Peep kept up with these scripted revisions on the road in the days before laptops. I picture a portable, manual typewriter much like an old fashioned war correspondent’s with which to make and mimeograph evolving doctrine.

A pair of vigilantes who doggedly followed the Two’s convoluted trail, finally intercepting them at Rock Cut State Park NE of Rockford, IL, was able to listen to some of their sermons and examine handmade scripture on October 6, only 22 days after the Waldport, OR recruitment event.

Historical perspective makes for a chilling effect what one of the student leaders told them in those earliest days of the cult. “No one would need to die in order to go to the ‘next level,” he said. This prompted one of the eyewitnesses to respond, “Our fear of a mass suicide (my emphasis) resulting from hypnosis abated.” *

The eyewitness, after watching a sermon the Two gave to campers seated on a semi-circle of picnic tables, reported, “I had been trained as an actor and director myself, and had taught theater arts. As I watched this couple, the man especially revealed he was acting. He used every device he had for portraying himself as that which he needed to be. His eyes were tools, his hands were tools, his gestures, his voice, his silence, his choice of metaphor, his dress- all tools. He used them in a too-conscious fashion, revealing the kind of overplaying I had seen often when a student tries too hard to be convincing to an audience, or to himself. His overacting was not wild and obvious, but very evident to me.” *

5699035-tent-in-the-forest-at-a-primitive-campground

The eyewitnesses pieced together the following heretical imperatives the Two preached to proselytes and handed them on pamphlets.

“After being born in the usual way of others come from the kingdom of God, it was revealed that we are the incarnate Two of Revelation. The kingdom of Jesus, Elijah, and Moses is a physical place. Souls are planted in all vehicles by God. Our task is to reveal to you, who are now ripe souls cultivated on garden Earth, how to enter the kingdom.

“If reading just the quotations of Jesus, nothing else, it’s the same process, which is called Human Individual Metamorphosis. You must deny all ties to earthly existence and suffer rejection by unripe and unresponsive souls. Aided by the powers of Fathers now nearby, a chemical change will transform your body into a celestial vehicle suitable for the kingdom. A spaceship will take you there. Souls onboard the ship will be the first ever to enter the kingdom.

“Souls of vehicles who die apart from this exclusive process will recycle into other humans through birth. Up to this point all have died and their souls have recycled. God’s originally implanted souls, which have been reincarnating over centuries, have been migrating toward the western United States. Ascended souls will become Fathers themselves and will control the destinies of other vehicles and their souls planted in gardens all over the universe. Meanwhile Earth’s garden will be hoed under, replanted, left alone, or destroyed.

“We (the Two) are not Jesus. Jesus did not teach love of others, how to get along with others. He taught this overcoming process.

“Anything that puts doubts in your mind is the work of disincarnates, powerful earth-bound souls who have died and think they are in heaven. Demons, they have power to keep you here by pretending to love you through friends and families, which is not loving. It is clinging. They especially use the prayers of your loved ones to keep you here. You must avoid all this at all cost.

“Your body doesn’t die from Human Individual Metamorphosis. The space ship that is coming soon will carry you live to heaven.

“Spending all your time and energy telling yourself that this message is true is imperative. Thoughts about all else must be discarded.

“Once the prophecy about us (the Two of Revelation) is enacted and we are at the next level, a second space ship will come for you, once your process of preparation is complete.” *

This ingeniously devised recruitment method for gathering followers with a whacky but not necessarily insane promise that they would not die but still go to heaven "could be envied by any salesperson who ever tried to close a deal by first getting a commitment." *

*Tom Robinson Northwest Magazine 1975

Gnostic Astronauts

Primitive_Area_Tent_Photo_sm

Bo’s and Peep’s plaint was an offbeat fusion of Gnostic Christian heresy and science fiction. Souls, “divine sparks” that had always existed, would recognize their transcendent potentiality and return to Evolutionary Level Above Human, which had been their original and only true home. What they needed was the secret knowledge or gnosis (γνώσεις) required for it to work. Bo and Peep possessed the secret, boarding passes for a literal ride aboard a modern spaceship. Carnival hucksters operating rides at the county fair couldn’t have made the ancient heresy sound more appealing.

At the heart of Gnostic heresy is dualism, traceable to Persian Zoroastrian influence, which meant that the world of fallen matter ruled by “Lucy” (Lucifer and the lesser “luciferans”) is pitted against those with the divinely planted spark who must escape to heaven.

Susan may have recognized a familiar millennial narrative with a newly adopted and rather novel space age pedigree. The time for the fallen world of matter, ruled by Lucifer’s minions, to be “spaded under” was at hand. It is interesting to note that all the categories of this narrative were encapsulated in a physical body. A physical space ship would take her prepared physical body, which would not have to die first, to a physical heaven. Physical embodiment of divine categories is not unusual. It actually occurs in the writing of the Apostle Paul, such as the “body” (σάρκ) of sin (Rom. 6.6) and the “body” of death (Rom. 7.24), both which must be redeemed through a saving event that would “further clothe” one’s “tent” with one’s “heavenly habitation.” Having more clothes, not less, would enable “life” to “swallow” the “mortal.” And God gave the “spirit” as a first “installment” (Rom. 5.1-5). The narrative just needed updating with some cool technology.

20091219P1040184FortStantonDawn

Adapting dualistic categories to new age thinking in regard to the problem of HOW this would manifest physically necessitated revision over the course of the group’s history. At first, one’s ascetically prepared body, later “container-vehicle,” would transport its spark via space technology. Ultimately, the old container must be left behind and the spark must transcend to a new and different kind of container. The seed of suicide as a means to hasten the process eventually took root and germinated in the mind of Bo the Gnostic astronaut.

The Saved Remnant

In his book The True Believer, Eric Hoffer writes the following. “To plunge headlong into an undertaking of vast change, they must be intensely discontented, yet not destitute, and they must have the feeling that by the possession of some potent doctrine, infallible leader, or some new technique, they have access to a source of irresistible power. They must have an extravagant conception of the prospects and potentialities of the future. And they must be wholly ignorant of the difficulties involved in their undertaking.”

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Though useful, aspects of Hoffer’s model don’t apply. Susan, I’m sure, felt “discontent.” I had sensed that. But she was not “destitute.” There would be lean times, for sure, some of it deliberate, such as her Spartan diet at Rancho Santa Fe that consisted of pasta for breakfast, and fruit and lemonade parceled out till bedtime. And there were good times. Members sometimes managed to save enough from wages and money that new members brought in to afford several expensive campers for their travels. Dave bought the New Mexico property they lived in just prior to Rancho Santa Fe with interest from an earlier trust fund, a possession that, interestingly, the Two had not urged that he abandon according to ascetic discipline. Lee Ann Fenton, who did much of the bookkeeping, says $300,000 to $400,000 had been a reasonable estimate of its worth. And, at $7,000 a month rent for the mansion they died in, their web design business was lucrative enough.

Per Hoffer’s “potent doctrine,” an apocalyptic narrative of escape, each participant’s ego was initially spared. The individual, not the collective, was the subject of transformation, initially called Human INDIVIDUAL Metamorphosis. This principal is traceable to Christianity prior to Augustine, elucidated by St. Irenaeus, bishop of Lyons (c. 130-c. 202 C.E.). In Irenaeus’ view, the whole history of human existence is one of progress from immaturity towards perfection. Each human is adapted by nature for the acquisition of virtue by means of moral development and growth and finally brought to the perfection intended by God. Hints of this are in scriptures, such as, “Work out your own salvation in fear and trembling” (Philippians 2.12). Bo took this and cloaked it in Gnostic heresy, stated again simply, that each one is a prisoner within alien territory ruled over by an inferior deity from which one must be liberated and taken back to one’s true home.

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Susan was told she was a “student” in a “class.” She thus had class projects and homework. The “works” or drills Susan performed with her check partner were designed to diminish the fallible “human” characteristics peculiar to her, since they detracted from the character of her “divine spark.” Drills were tailored to each partner’s peculiar peccadilloes. She may have been amongst those who were made to listen to the incessant hum of a tuning fork knocked over the head. The objective of this do-it-yourself initiative was to more effectively “tune in” to her divine spark’s connection to the Level Above Human. But, in general, the drills were designed to diminish trust in one's own judgment, inappropriate curiosity, deceit, sensuality, taking initiative without one’s check partner, and desire for attention.

“Shame and fear were the impetuses to keep you under control, to keep you from thinking for yourself,” former member Michael Conyers said. ''You were trying to define yourself as a pure vessel in Bo’s mind. Your punishment was him denying you his approval.'' I cringe at how acrid, conditional love in a relationship of utter dependence maintained Susan’s sense of belonging and security.

Group members were permitted to occupy their spare time with ''approved'' games, like Yahtzee, Clue and croquet. They read mysteries. They watched TV powered by a generator. Bo would point out the all- too- human frailties of contestants on ''The Price is Right.''

The leaders initially were open-minded and flexible as doctrine developed. They were quick to humorously declare their “fallibility,” for instance, with an “Aw, shucks” whenever the predicted flying saucer failed to appear. Like all movements, there eventually had to be, according to Weber, a routinization of charisma and solidification of identities and roles. They experimented with his being the reincarnation of Jesus to her incarnation of Jesus’ Father. (See In His Own Words Parts 1-10) Bo had sensed from the beginning that Peep was the more mature Older Member, and when she passed away from liver cancer in 1985 under the false name Shelly West in Parkland Hospital in Dallas, he was devastated. She remained with him, communicating to him from the Level Above Human. In the living room surrounded by bedrooms filled with 39 dead bodies, two chairs from Target sat perched on a folding table. One was for Peep. He successfully adjusted to her absence aided by such gestures, which helped to reinforce the group’s “extravagant conception of the prospects and potentialities of the future” (Hoffer) for 12 years more after her death.

Applewhite

Bo’s “irresistible power” (Hoffer) to keep the message plausible was originally due to his charismatic manner, which also described the product of the social relationship between Bo and his followers, but also due to his quiet leadership that, after her death, grew more rigid in its authority with each passing year. He slowly changed into Hoffer’s concept of the “infallible leader.”

Deprivation theory supports the thesis that constant isolation and reinforcement of the sacred narrative, a carefully cultivated sense of election, docile dependency to dictatorial leadership, and a habituated regimen, maintained a numbing mind control over Bo’s subjects. It was more than simply Bo’s need to dominate, to wield power. According to Berger, we confirm ourselves when we externalize our identity through conversation with others. An affirming audience powerfully reinforces that projected identity (Faurbach), which is appropriated as objective fact (reified, Nietzsche) in the mind of the adherent. In a closed community, the effect is reciprocal. An immediate space ship ride to a place without the troublesome aspects of sex, a place in which “they neither marry, nor are they given in marriage” (Matt. 22:30) would be a simple and effective solution to Bo’s repressed homosexuality, his “thorn in the flesh.” Manufacturing and maintaining multiple sexless followers like himself by means of ascetic practice and reinforcement would powerfully reinforce this androgynous self deception meant to eliminate once and for all his protracted agony over a deviant sexuality.

From Cult to Sect

The type of religious organization Susan and the others belonged to evolved along with the doctrine. The flying saucer community gradually transformed from a cult to a sect. This is attributable to the changes in the doctrine and its practice.

Initially its eclectic grab bag of metaphysical elements drew members who had no intention of restricting their ideology or their membership to a single group. Such is the nature of a cult. For instance, one could practice transcendental meditation in order to enhance one’s experience of any religious persuasion.

But Do and Ti, as they were now called, had to address the problems of the precariousness of doctrinal boundaries and authority. They began to proclaim the uniqueness of their message and the requirement of an exclusive adherence to it. Increasingly Gnostic notions of a dualistic cosmology made the message more exclusive, cloaking it in science made it more plausible, and autocratic authority protected it from challenge. They declared that change, evolution to ever higher forms, even in heaven, was perpetual. This wrapped it in the garb of the evolutionary science of Darwin. And spaceship flights to a material heaven somewhere in the galaxy wrapped it in the garb of the astronomy of Halley. Both, ironically, protected it from the secularizing tendencies of modern science and technology, which usually tend to induce assignment of authority for running civilization and its institutions, especially those that explain the way the world works, to agencies that are not religious. So deliverance from this world aboard a ship to a better life in the next level, and the arena for even further change, were both projected onto outer space in chiliastic hopes that the Level Above Human would be reserved only for them, the saved remnant. Only Do and Ti, the exclusive authorities, knew the way.

A permanent body of loyal believers began to emerge, sequestered and maintained without walls.

Managing the Household

Heaven’s Gate, being a sect, required that it maintain strict discipline, adherence to internal authority, and segregation from the surrounding social world and its government, toward which they maintained only the minimal relations required for economic and political survival. It used strictly cash in order to sever ties to the economic infrastructure of the banks, the Social Security Administration, and the IRS. This helped conceal the borders of the theologically sequestered community from mundane oversight by the established order.

I have always wondered how they got away with that. Conning the fallen world of Lucifer had become high art, beginning early. On their epic road trips in the early ’70, the Two had often skipped out on their motel and food bills, stating that they obeyed no earthly laws. ''The Lord will be as a thief in the night.''

When the threat of breaches in security died down in the ‘80’s, members sought well paying jobs, probably because Dave’s trust fund was exhausted by 1981. Phony resumes were submitted, which required elaborate ruses. Phone numbers for out-of-state ''references'' would ring back to the house through call-forwarding. Members pretended to be past bosses and dispensed high praise.

Margaret Richter, a high school valedictorian, was a computer whiz. David Moore was a master mechanic. Susan Paup was a technical writer. They never had any trouble finding work. All who found jobs pleased their employers. Group members were punctual, impeccably groomed, and collegial but not gossipy. They ate bag lunches.

I’ve also wondered what Susie’s roles included. Members without jobs worked in the houses. Each day required intricate scheduling that dealt with endless minutiae: who would peel carrots, who would bag garbage, who would drive whom to work. The group kept the Procedures Book, as big as a phone directory. It mandated the direction for pulling a razor while shaving and the proper circumference of a pancake. The lesson here was not so much that there was a single right way to do things, but that unquestioning obedience was essential for a Next Level mind.

Avowed masters of mall shopping, the Two outfitted members via T. J. Maxx and Burlington Coat Factory. Apparel, even underwear, was shared. Permission for sole use of any article of clothing was denied.

Members felt fondness for each other while busy with the burdens of mundane housework. But expression of such was forbidden. Giving a hug soiled the bodies of the affectionate. Or else such behavior proved an addiction to be overcome. Lee Fenton was addicted to giving and receiving affection. Dick Joslyn was addicted to egotism. John Craig was addicted to stubbornness. Angela Skala was addicted to pie. What was Suzie addicted to, I wonder?

And I wonder what Susie thought about all the regimentation, down to the rudiments, such as how toothpaste and soap were arranged in the bathrooms, and how to bake a bourbon pound cake “10 inches high” with which to reward (mollify and keep quiet) those who helped at the car wash. (Body-despising ascetics, they didn’t eat such food themselves, of course.)

Susie and the others, I’m afraid, didn’t think much at all.

Heaven’s Internet House Calls

Heave's Gate logo

The dawn of the inexpensive Internet pc around 1994 ushered in the ultimate, and final, windfall of Heaven’s Gate’s isolated economics. Work could be done at home. Those with early training in computer science went to work as web page designers, calling themselves, with entrepreneurial flourish, Higher Source. source I picture sexless monks at pc’s all over the mansion stroking away at keyboards, lemonade and fruit dishes accumulating on the desk tops. Since computers free the imagination from the everyday world, inevitable downtime in pallid closed quarters led to graphic doodling with childish whimsy. Post-rapture imaginings took many field days, I’m sure. Sci Fi pop art kitsch popped up and got printed to adorn the tack boards in cubicle-like work areas. The following is a gallery of galactic gleanings that illustrate Heaven Gate’s techno-sentiment, emotional need, and cultural fluff.

img057 Illustration 1 After fleeing Earth, the cultists, now higher members, construct an Earth Lab

Illustration 3 Illustration 2 Controlling a typhoon on Earth; moving toward Saturn’s rings

Illustration 4 Ullustration 5 Pluto’s polar entrance for a landing ship; descending to its inner core

Illustration 6 Illustration 7 Older Member exits shuttle to greet Plutoans; confers with Pluto’s chief

The Rapture or “Beam Me Up”

The sect had started out 22 years earlier “wholly ignorant of the difficulties involved in their undertaking,” according to the Hoffer thesis. The greatest “difficulty” was the waiting. Many had left as the wait dragged on. Those who held out were those who were irrevocably mentally hooked. Susan’s tenure of 22 years was amongst the longest. When Hale-Bopp appeared, the difficulty of their undertaking suddenly became simple. Continuing in support of Hoffer’s thesis, the sect discovered “some new technique” that provided “access to a source of irresistible power.” That technique was suicide.

Hale Bopp 3

Hale-Bopp's approach is the "marker" we've been waiting for -- the time for the arrival of the spacecraft from the Level Above Human to take us home to "Their World" --in the literal Heavens. (Heaven’s Gate website)

The media made a field day out of the giddy anticipation sect member’s presented in the “suicide note” videotapes broadcast to the world via ex member Rio DiAngelo at the sect’s web design employer. Hale-Bopp had ushered in the moment of truth, confirmed by its greatest brightness occurring on March 23, the day of a full Moon, which was also about the time of the Spring Equinox. And it was Easter Week, the holiest liturgical celebration in the West for an event involving the death (suicide?) of one of the greatest Higher Members to have ever visited Earth. It was an occult fantasist’s dream come true.

Never mind that the sighting of a bright “space ship” in the comet’s tail proved to be just another star. Their wait was over. It finally came time to ascend from their despised earthly “vehicles” to the celestial one made real by Hale- Bopp. It would start Saturday, March 22.

Heaven's Gate 1

The rite was orderly, antiseptic, and precise. The house was in order without a dirty dish in the sink (Well, there was one unfinished load of laundry). Nary a drop of blood was spilt. All followed procedure: a communion cocktail of Phenobarbital in fruit, washed down with vodka, so the knockout would make death painless and unobservable to the communicant, and a plastic bag over the head to induce actual death by means of suffocation.

Susie was one of two partners who were the last to die, Tuesday, March 25. Here’s where putting myself in her place becomes especially difficult. I was curious about Susie’s paired partner at the end, nurse Julie LaMontagne, 45. Raised by a foster family, she got her nursing degree from the University of Massachusetts at Amherst, graduating cum laude in 1974. Shortly afterward she saw her best friend drown and her birth father, with whom she had remained close, die of cancer. The deaths "just made her collapse," says her brother. "We could never get her back after that." She drifted through a series of New England communes until she stumbled on Heaven's Gate in the late '70’s. She became Applewhite's personal nurse.

img063Susan Francis Strom at the time of her passing, age 44

The only description made by outsiders came toward the end, just before the two moved to the mansion in one of the exclusive gated communities of Rancho Santa Fe. Susie and Julie had a rummage sale at their little house. Their neighbor reported that the women were dreamy, charismatic. “You were drawn to them,” she said.

Coroners know the precise sequence of decay dead bodies undergo at specific temperatures. Death began on Saturday or early Sunday, according to the San Diego County coroner, Dr. Brian Blackbourne. Susie and Julie must have experienced the certain stench of decay, evident by Tuesday, three days later. What did they think seeing no one being whisked away, neatly packed bag in hand, each with I.D., such as a passport or a driver’s license, despite the announcement by Do on tape that each was to “become another individual,” and a $5 bill and two quarters to demonstrate that they were not vagrants?

Nike shoe I have to imagine that the scene, each body laid out on a bunk bed or futon with the same uniform, black pants and tunic, each sporting a shoulder patch stating, “Heaven’s Gate Away Team,” Nikes bought in bulk at $10 apiece, and each under the same purple triangular shroud, just made it right. Don’t question Do, even if he’s dead and smelly. Maybe they were just following Scripture. The words of Revelation state, “And those from the peoples and tribes and tongues and nations will look at their dead bodies for three and a half days, and will not permit their dead bodies to be laid in a tomb.”

alien

The sacred narrative had demanded a major revision when Ti died in 1985, her body remaining quite bound to this world. The faithful would each ascend in a new “vehicle,” a parallel body, acquired with Next Level knowledge, with a different molecular structure. It would lack teeth and a digestive system, and, most importantly, a reproductive system. A whimsical portrayal of its childlikeness, innocent yet wise, all brain, adorned the mantle in the mansion’s master bedroom in which Do lay, propped up with pillows. Did Susie see such bodies appear at the scene? If so, maybe the journey was too brief to require a change of clothes, and the cash was in the wrong currency.

When it was finally their turn, Susie and Julie may have felt confused that they would be unable to complete the rite of transformation to the Evolutionary Level Above Human. There would be no one to take the ugly bags off their heads, neatly put them into the dumpster out back with the others, and place the purple shrouds over them. I find it noteworthy that they did not toss a coin or something that would determine how one would help perform the entire rite for the other, leaving only one partially able to complete the process. However, conditioned over many years to partner in everything class members did together, Susie and Julie performed the ritual in a seamless, synchronized choreography. Both were found with bags over their heads and no purple shrouds.

Aftermath

One has to admire how well they pulled it off:

1. Meticulous preparation, probably scripted in the conditioned manner of all their activities (some of it written on notes)

2. A “press kit” consisting of a flamboyant, even smug, announcement of their “do-it-yourself rapture” on the title page of their clandestine website, “Hale- Bopp Brings Closure to Heaven’s Gate; As was promised, the keys to Heaven’s Gate are here again in Ti and Do (The UFO Two) as they were in Jesus and His Father 2000 years ago,” and suicide notes in the form of farewell tapes, each bidding the world goodbye with child-like happiness;

3. A “last supper” at Marie Callender’s Restaurant in Carlesbad, the burden of choice eliminated by making just one selection, consisting of iced tea, dinner salad with tomato and vinegar dressing, turkey pot pie for entre, and cheese cake topped with blueberries for dessert

4. Perfect setting, a comfortable, big enough place in a gated community in which the covenants at the top of the list were about ensuring privacy, best exemplified by the absence of street lights

5. No witnesses, no interference, that is, until ex member Rio DiAngelo got the tapes. By then it was too late for him to become a witness, and thus an accomplice, or sound the alarm to do anything about it. It could have backfired. He got the tapes Tuesday by Fed Ex, when the plan was Wednesday. Susan was still alive on Tuesday. DiAngelo put them aside until Wednesday.

Applewhite 2

Who’s at fault for this tragedy, if it can even be called one? Applewhite? Despite sectarian characteristics, with its inherent top-down authority structure, the process he utilized was a direct outgrowth of the epistemological individualism of the cultic milieu. They came with their questions, and “freely” went with his answer, a powerful one in its freedom-inspiring simplicity. His potent message about “potentialities of the future” (per Hoffer) for each member of his chosen spaceship “crew” was the one and only thing. This world and all its factors past and present were categorically to be disparaged. The world was not real. Reality was, instead, always the near-future escape in a UFO. Susie felt freedom and special recognition in this divinely appointed opportunity that inspired confidence and gave a simple and powerful meaning to her existence.

But people died. Heaven’s Gate has been judged a death cult. That’s tragic, is it not? One can argue that history is replete with stories of people dying for their beliefs. However, these deaths will always be questioned. Was it 39 suicides or 1 suicide and 38 murders? American society is grounded, in part, on the legal protection of lives. And the members of Heaven’s Gate were in the grip of voluntary enslavement to an ideology that ignored these laws of the fallen world order surrounding them. They had abdicated self control to the decisions of their leader who wrote the book of laws governing their community. I am sure there was no give-and-take about that. Do called the shots. And people died at the hands of people. When is that legal? Times of war? They would have argued that they were at war with their enemies, the “luciferians” all around them. Everyone was the enemy, down to the very bodies they occupied. He said that.

Judged strictly by a legal, constitutional standard, Susie’s last act on this earth was felony assistance in multiple suicides. What about killing the enemy who is your self? Can she be blamed for that? Enter the Kavorkian legal conflagration. How about its premeditation? Enter the issue of mind control that “made her do it,” even after the leader who came up with the idea was already dead, probably by the end of the second “wave” of 15, sometime on Monday, March 24.

Being ordered to kill is an argument that failed to protect the Manson family girls, and also convicted Manson, though he was absent from the scene when the 1969 Tate/LaBianca murders that he ordered occurred. The scenario of Applewhite’s argument, if it could be played out in the courts, that the coming of the comet Hale-Bopp made him order self- inflicted murder, would have failed, as did his defense that an older member made him steal a car in the early ‘70’s. The courts would also have condemned his argument that the suicide sect members were not taking their lives, rather, they were giving their lives, “developing” them into a more advanced state. Suicide defined in his own context, in a clever reverse psychology, meant "to turn against the Next Level when it is being offered.”

Morgue technician Moment of grief: technician at the San Diego County Morgue

The class for overcoming humanness was now officially over. 38 volunteers, conditioned by time and reinforcement to become unwavering fans (read fanatics), were compelled to obey the command of a man with a grandiose psychosis. You will know him by his fruits that included no sermon on the mount, sacrifice for one’s neighbor, social ethics or services, or honor for mother and father. Even Mary was allowed to be with her son at his death. The only fruit grown was powerfully legitimating his self-appointed annihilation with multiple participants made docile, unwitting, and willing by means of his relentless indoctrination that, in Susan’s case, spanned 22 years. According to Do’s reckoning, the time it took to prepare the class for the Level Above Human, from its reference, was 31 minutes.

In the end there was no one to indict, no one to try or convict, no one to incarcerate or commit. Justice had become too elusive. The only things that could be done were to notify next of kin, cremate the bodies, auction off the meager property left behind by the dead members of Heaven’s Gate (sold for $33,000, including between $100 and $130 for each bunk bed the bodies lay on, proceeds to go to the families of the deceased for burial expenses), and wonder about the status of the divine “sparks,” the souls of those who Applewhite and Nettles had come to liberate. On my part, I pray for Susan’s.

 
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