Koresh, page 33
The FBI got in touch with David Oates, an expert in “reverse speech.” Oates believed that when we speak, people subconsciously reveal hidden meaning. These “backward” messages, produced every fifteen to twenty seconds in a normal conversation, exposed the speaker’s true thoughts.
Oates apparently suggested listening to David’s KRLD interview in reverse, to reveal what the leader was actually thinking and planning. It’s unclear if Oates ever submitted an analysis of the interview.
When the Davidians tried to speak with each other using CB radio, the FBI jammed the channels. They also blocked all radio signals in the area, only allowing the Davidians to hear news broadcasts.
The FBI even investigated an experimental machine developed by Russian scientists that could send subliminal messages over a telephone line. The claim was that the messages could burrow into Koresh’s subconscious and get him to come out of the compound along with his followers.
The FBI proposed flying a plane to Russia and picking up one of the machines. At this point, the Russians conceded that the device might not work as advertised. In fact, it might make things worse, by sending subliminal messages to Koresh that made him more violent and intractable. The idea was abandoned.
The HRT guys out in the field knew none of this, but their assessments were often the most prescient. Lying in the mud on the cold early-spring mornings, they traded jokes about the siege.
“Hey, you know what Waco stands for?” went one. “We Ain’t Coming Out.”
43
The Hill
THE PRESS HAD arrived within hours of the ATF raid, filling up hotel rooms in Waco and surrounding areas. Packs of journalists from Chile and Israel and France and countries further afield were working the story, a thousand reporters and cameramen and producers in all. Satellite trucks cramped the roads around the perimeter. Crews from Southwestern Bell arrived to run new telephones lines and installed a microwave dish and a switching station to fulfill their needs.
It was the world’s biggest story, but boring to actually report. Two weeks after the ATF raid, the siege had entered into a protracted lull. The daily FBI press briefing was the main event of the day. When that was over, the journalists searched for diversions. They turned a nearby cow pasture into a golf course, chipping and putting between stand-ups. Footballs were produced and tossed back and forth. The nights in Waco were chilly, but the days could get up into the high sixties. Some reporters worked on their tans, laid out in lawn chairs. A horseshoe pit was dug.
They drank and they gambled. The sound of margarita blenders competed with the growling hum of generators used to power the lights and cameras.
The Russian writer Ivan Solotaroff arrived on assignment for Esquire magazine. Everyone was asking what would happen at Waco, but Solotaroff had a different question. Not how will it end, but how do you want it to end? What would be the ideal endgame, journalistically speaking?
He had his answer, and it was very dark, very Russian. “Hey, you know what you want?” he told the others. “You want Da Big Heat. You know. Cagney. Da Big Heat. Dat’s what you want.” That is, a fiery, all-consuming explosion.
Most of the reporters had little sympathy for the Davidians. At one of the press conferences, the journalist Dick Reavis sensed “a lynching mood,” and it wasn’t just among the law enforcement types. USA Today reporter Mark Potok got down to Waco about twenty minutes before the first FBI briefing on February 28, and he stayed on. He hated how the FBI controlled the narrative with their daily press conferences, but he admitted that the press were hardly fans of Koresh. The chatter among the journos ran along the lines of: “What is wrong with these people? Why doesn’t the FBI go in and do something? This is outrageous.”
There was little to break up the day. It did cause some amusement when the FBI took out one of the cars on the property, sending a Bradley to crush it flat, and it turned out not to belong to the Davidians but to the Waco Tribune.
One moment of excitement arrived with the media’s discovery of the Methodist’s Children’s Home in Waco. Most of the children who’d been released from the compound were staying there, decompressing and undergoing therapy. TV stations brought in helicopters from Dallas and further afield and flew overhead, attempting to catch the faces of the Davidian boys and girls when they walked outside for fresh air.
The locals in town ran a Salvation Army truck for the journalists and the agents, with fresh coffee and doughnuts. They also stood for interviews. They were friendly, for the most part, although the Chamber of Commerce was worried about the effects twenty-four-hour coverage would have on local business. A farmer, Josh Montkemp, was pretty savvy about how the journalists saw Waco, whatever the Chamber of Commerce imagined. He told a reporter, “There ain’t been this much excitement around here since the hogs ate Mama.”
The nonstop coverage got attention in Hollywood. Producers began circling Waco. One newspaper said that the story was the combination of every tabloid theme except the return of Elvis.
Reality programming was cresting in the early nineties. Made-for-TV movies like Lethal Lolita, based on the story of Amy Fisher, who shot her ex-lover’s wife, earned high ratings. Bidding wars had broken out over the rights to the stories of the survivors of the bombing of the World Trade Center, drivers who’d gotten lost in the deserts of Nevada, skiers stranded on Colorado slopes.
There were reports that Bonnie Haldeman, Koresh’s mother, had sold her story. Robyn Bunds, who was living outside the compound, had two TV offers on the table, plus one movie bid. “We’re in a situation where a dog from Mars bites your toes off and you’re in a hospital and the first thing you do is call an agent,” complained the president of one film company. Offers flowed in as the siege continued to dominate the evening news, with bids ranging from $550,000 to $600,000. “The numbers got so grotesque that I just passed,” the producer remarked.
Producers pored over TV schedules. If Koresh surrendered soon, they worried, there wouldn’t be enough time to make a TV movie before the all-important May sweeps. What would be ideal was if he stayed inside the compound until June. If he came out then, a production could easily make the fall window.
The reports about Bonnie’s film deal—she’d reportedly signed a contract for $75,000—reached David’s ears. It pained him deeply. This was blood money, in his mind. “David’s not happy,” Steve told the negotiators. “If they want to say any of this, they can . . . he even said, that’s more money than she made even as a prostitute.”
This was fresh news. Steve told the FBI that Bonnie had turned tricks when David was a little boy. “That can be checked out and proven.” Bonnie denied it, saying she had gone out with well-to-do men at one point, and they’d given her gifts, but that didn’t make her a hooker.
David clearly felt betrayed. Viperish memories of the past welled up. If he should die, he told the FBI, he didn’t want his children going to Bonnie. His protestations of love for her, his concern for her soul, were frangible. Go a millimeter beneath the surface and you could feel the acid running.
Ordinary people from Australia, South Africa, China, called the FBI with solutions to the siege. These included bringing in an enormous helicopter with a hook that would rip the roof off the compound or flooding Mount Carmel until the followers emerged. Many said that God had told them to call.
Another suggestion was that the FBI should plant a large wooden crucifix in plain view of the compound and persuade David that if he was the true Christ, he should crucify himself on it. A retired judge from Alabama phoned in to ask for the compound’s number, as he wanted to call David and pretend to be God. The deputy asked the judge what God’s voice would sound like, and the judge said he would think of something.
People headed to Waco from various points on the map, as if on a pilgrimage. If some looked at Mount Carmel and saw a modern Alamo, Christians especially saw parallels to besieged faithful in other times and other places, such as Masada, the ancient fortress in Israel where legend had it that 960 Sicarii—a sect that had split off from the Jewish Zealots—withstood a Roman siege before committing mass suicide.
Jeff H. Terrell, thirty-one, a resident of LA, was driving to Waco with a friend. They were headed east on 1-10 in a van. Near Upland, California, Terrell’s companion suddenly changed his mind about going to see the Davidians and exited the freeway. Terrell shouted that the man was an undercover FBI agent, then jumped out of the van and began running. He later said he was trying to find another ride to Waco.
Sometime later, Terrell jumped through the front plate-glass window of a home belonging to a Mrs. Fay Thacker. He was shouting, “I’m Jesus Christ, take me to Waco! Take me to Waco!” Mrs. Thacker happened to be sitting in her living room at the time watching coverage of the Waco standoff on TV. When Terrell picked himself up off the floor, she saw that he actually bore a striking resemblance to David Koresh, which gave her a shock. His hair was long and he was wearing a black motorcycle jacket. It turned out that Mrs. Thacker’s was the tenth window he’d jumped through in his search for transportation.
Another seeker was Jesse “Lord Lightning” Amen. He showed up at the FBI perimeter and somehow slipped past it, walking across the fields and up to the compound itself. He knocked on the door and when one of the Davidians answered, Amen told them, “I’ve got fifty thousand people that are ready to come to your aid.”
Amen claimed he was close to God, whose true name was “Lord Lightning Amen” and who lived in heaven with his partner, “Cherry Lightning Amen.” The fifty thousand men and women he spoke of were actually a biblical army that was waiting on the banks of the Colorado River for a sign. If the Davidians put a red flag out, this Christian army would come to Waco and rescue them from the FBI.
The Davidians were receptive. “Yeah! Let ’em come” was the general feeling. David really responded to Amen’s journey. “Hey, if these people have got the cojones to come into this place right now, I’m going to wash their feet,” he told the FBI. He did it, too, bathing Jesse Amen’s toes in warm water.
The FBI didn’t want interlopers in the compound, fearing they would get hurt or somehow catalyze the situation. They asked repeatedly for David to send Amen out, but he told them the man was genuine and they were going to be good hosts.
Amen lasted a week before leaving voluntarily. Once on the outside, he was jailed for interfering with a police officer. But he gave jailhouse interviews where he told reporters that David had repeatedly said that the feds should “bring it on.” If the FBI wanted a battle, his followers were ready.
“The Halaluyah Gang” also arrived in Waco. They usually spent the year crisscrossing America in an old Winnebago. They were led by a man named Richard W. Schmaltz, and the “gang” consisted of his wife and children. The Winnebago acted as kind of traveling billboard for Jesus, slogans painted on the fuselage. “Be pro-Christ now because Jesus will destroy the anti-Christs when he comes again!” read one. “Prepare yourself with a GED, God’s Everlasting Dream.”
The Schmaltzes would talk to anyone who would listen. Richard lectured reporters on the meaning of Mount Carmel:
“Well, the New World Order. According to Bible prophecy, there is a government system emerging into a single government of the world. The government system is against the things of Jesus. Now Jesus Christ being loving and compassionate and accepting of all those who came to believe in him . . . he accepts the weak and the downtrodden and the worst-off. But the problem with the government system is that they can only access the efficient. So what happens is that the government has to kill off anything that is a liability, ultimately, and keep only those that fit into the mainstream of what they are trying to do.”
The Schmaltzes’ fellow seekers and tourists gathered at an elevated grassy slope about three miles from Mount Carmel. It was the closest public viewing point to the compound. There was a woman at the hill who called herself Maid Marian. She’d come to Waco to be the Bathsheba to Koresh’s King David. Once she got into the compound, she believed, the siege would end and the End Times would begin, ushering in the new Kingdom. She wore dirty short shorts and a halter top, and she was often covered in a thin layer of dust. Marian intimidated people. Her arms would whip up and down as she shouted at visitors, frightening many away.
Vendors did a strong business in T-shirts and bumper stickers. The top sellers were a shirt featuring a drawing of David with Mount Carmel in the background. The slogan read: “BROTHER DAVE’S GUNS AND GOSPEL: WHERE EVERYTHING IS HALF-OFF (INCLUDING DAVE).” Another read: “DAVID, HERE ARE YOUR SEVEN SEALS,” on the front. When you turned it over, there were seven badges for the seven law enforcement agencies working at Mount Carmel. It did well with state troopers and the local cops.
Cars drove up and parked for a while. Some got out. People would form little circles around the demonstrators to hear what they had to say.
On most days, the mood leaned antigovernment. A lot of libertarians and gun-rights supporters. People held up signs saying “IS YOUR CHURCH ATF APPROVED?,” “BILL CRETIN: TEACH YOUR THUGS WHAT THE 4TH AMEND IS!” (“Bill Cretin” referred to President Clinton). And “ATF KILLS BABIES.”
“You’re next! You’re next!” cried one woman to journalists and gawkers. “Wake up and understand!”
White supremacists and a broad spectrum of people on the far right saw Waco as an escalation of Ruby Ridge. The government was hunting down people like them because of their beliefs and their guns. One who frequented the hill was a twenty-four-year-old Army veteran and ex–Ku Klux Klan member, Timothy McVeigh. Wearing a camo military cap and a red-and-black flannel shirt, he spread bumper stickers on the hood of his car and sold them. “FEAR THE GOVERNMENT THAT FEARS YOUR GUN,” read one. Another: “BAN GUNS. MAKE THE STREETS SAFE FOR A GOVERNMENT TAKEOVER.”
McVeigh had been living in a suburb of Buffalo, working a dead-end job he despised, when the ATF raided the Davidian compound. He shared parts of his life history with David. He, too, had been bullied in school, he’d had suicidal thoughts, and his lack of success with women had become a source of intense frustration for him. McVeigh was strongly antitax and anti-gun regulation. He wanted to live by “God’s law,” not man’s.
He soon became obsessed with Waco, watching every TV broadcast and reading every article he could find. Here was a perfect illustration of what he’d been feeling: The government had grown too large and too arrogant, and it had become a threat to the American people. McVeigh packed his car with pamphlets and bumper stickers and started driving for Texas.
“It seems the ATF just wants a chance to play with their toys, paid for by government money,” he told a student journalist once he arrived. “The government is afraid of the guns people have because they have to . . . control . . . the people at all times. Once you take away the guns, you can do anything to the people. You give them an inch and they take a mile.”
After two days, frustrated by his inability to get closer to the compound, McVeigh left. Out on the open road, he kept close track of what was happening with David and the others.
Some new arrivals went to the roadblock maintained by federal agents and asked to go through. A Texas ranger remembered one man specifically. He looked like a prosperous business executive, dressed in a coat and tie. He pulled up to the roadblock in a late-model sedan. “I really, really need to get in and see Lord Koresh,” he told the Ranger.
The Ranger waited. He thought the guy was kidding and a punch line was surely coming. But when he studied the man’s expression more closely, he saw sincerity there, and then some. He finally told the man that he couldn’t get past the checkpoint. No one was getting through.
“You don’t understand,” the man said. “He is my Lord, and I’ve got to get to him.” It was like the Davidians’ story had found its way into some brains that were already struggling to scan. David was the final piece in their life-jigsaws.
Bill Johnston, the federal prosecutor who’d helped the ATF get the search warrant for Waco, was in his office talking with a bunch of Texas Rangers when his secretary buzzed him. “Bill, uh, phone call from George Roden.”
Four years before, after losing Mount Carmel, George had gotten into an argument about David Koresh with his roommate, Dale Adair. Adair wanted to share a vision he’d recently had in which he was the new messiah. George didn’t take the news well. He accused Adair of being an assassin sent by David Koresh to kill him.
A heated argument erupted. George reached for an axe and cut at Adair, spraying the man’s blood across the room. He then took Adair’s gun from him and shot him several times in the head. Adair died on the scene.
When detectives were called, George claimed self-defense. He said that Adair had attacked him and he’d fired the gun to protect himself. But the detectives looked at the evidence and concluded he was misleading them. He was arrested and charged with murder.
Before he could go to trial, George was declared mentally insane. The psych report concluded that he was paranoid schizophrenic. He was eventually remanded to the state psychiatric hospital in Big Spring, Texas.
Johnston punched the line and put the call on speaker.
“Johnston? This is George Roden,” a voice said.
“Hey, George,” said Johnston, who knew Roden slightly from a jury he’d served on when Johnston was an assistant DA. “How are you?”
George said he needed to talk about Mount Carmel. “Johnston, you and I need to get out there and solve this thing. I’ll meet you Sunday at noon. I want worldwide press coverage. You know those people are all NGRI, right?”
Johnston didn’t know what George was talking about and told him so.
“Come on, Johnston, you’ve got to know this. NGRI: not guilty by reason of insanity!” Johnston got off the call.
The people on the hill, who were mostly sympathetic to the Davidians, weren’t representative of the country as a whole. The mood elsewhere was much tougher. Perhaps the unusually long distance from the authorities and media to the compound figured into this. No followers could be seen in the windows, pining for release, not even the flash of a pale face. It was difficult for CNN viewers to get a feel for the people inside. All the audience was given was a shot of a large compound wavering in the ripples of rising warm air and an alien flag lying desultorily against its pole. On most days, the image was slightly out of focus. The natural drama of a hostage situation was being withheld from the audience. Sometimes it seemed as if there really was no one inside at all.
