Episode 17: He’s Able

Don Beck addressing the Peoples Temple Junior Choir: Are you ready? Now remember, this is going to be a story about the Peoples Temple. So, what the people see on the film, and you’re doing right now, and they’re going to film you, what they’re going to have an impression of the Temple. Right now, you’re representing all of us, you’re representing Jim, you're representing principle, peace, love, and brotherhood.

“Welcome!”

Every now and then, I treat myself by spinning the rarest record in my vinyl collection. An old gospel funk album printed in 1973 called He’s Able by the Peoples Temple. It was the only commercially released album by the Peoples Temple and apparently hard to find.  I received it as a gift, and much to the dismay and shock of my friend, I could not wait to unwrap it.

I was holding history in my hands. A snapshot in wax etched nearly 50 years ago. As I lowered the stylus and listened, I felt as though I was hearing these songs for the first time.

 “Simple Song of Freedom,” from He’s Able

The warmth of the bass, those deep analogue tones, the gloriously designed stereo image, finally free and in high fidelity.  Music is an emotional language that can transport the listener to another time or place, conveying ideas and feelings that words simply cannot.

Welcome back to Transmissions from Jonestown, you’re listening to Episode 17: He’s Able

“He’s Able”

Listening to He’s Able, you can easily imagine visiting a Temple service for the first time. The funky mix of spirituals, original songs, and `60s hits creates a diverse listening experience that is remarkably inclusive and inviting. The album opens with the children’s choir [“Welcome” plays], their voices proclaiming their hearts are filled with song because he is always near. The song welcomes you and sets the tone for the rest of the album. What follows is a variety of songs representing just a fraction of the talent and creativity possessed by Temple members. The song choices themselves, designed to showcase the Temple's talents and the social message flow as if to tell the story of a movement. [“Hold On” plays] If you listen carefully, you can feel the hope and optimism in the voices on the album, as the lyrics express their struggles to free the oppressed and find purpose in this life. There are references to the Father, but the significance and meaning differ slightly from other Christian music, giving the old standards new meaning. The album ends with a question, “Will You?” A song about sharing, brotherhood, and a changing world 

“Yes, the world is changing, will you?”  

Maybe more than anything, the Temple left behind, He’s Able, reflects the way the Peoples Temple saw themselves. The altruistic message of equality expressed on the album, the optimism, and high energy of the singers juxtapose with what we know will be their eventual fate. Yet in that moment in 1973, now etched in vinyl, the Temple's future is not yet set, and the dreamers still believe, and you can hear it. This is the story behind the making of He’s Able.

(Q365 ) Man: “Test, one two three. Test, one two three four. Test, test, test, test, test, test. Test, test.”

[“The Greatest Love of All” organ intro]

One day, not so long ago, Mike Wood found himself on Hollywood Boulevard taking a stroll down memory lane. He’d spent hours recording tracks for He’s Able at the Producer’s Workshop, nearly 50 years ago, when the Temple was his life.

Mike Wood: “I had an office in Beverly Hills and one in San Francisco. I would go to Beverly Hills every other week for a couple of days. In the evenings, I really enjoyed walking around the town, I fell in love with West LA. One evening, I decided it might be kind of fun to walk over to Hollywood Blvd and see if the old Producers Studio was still there. Producers Studio, of course, w where we recorded He's Able, and that was a memorable experience in and of itself. So, I walked over to the old location and sure enough the building was still there but it's now called the Hollywood Museum of Death, and for those of you interested in Hollywood you'll want to know that the Hollywood Museum of Death is just around the corner from the Hollywood Museum of Broken Relationships.

Anyway, back to the Museum of Death, so I thought, well, I wonder if they have any connection to the Producers Workshop? So, I walked in and was greeted by exactly the kind of young, heavily tattooed, heavy metal, dyed black haired kids who were essentially curators and docents ushering people around the Museum of Death. I did not, at that time, think that the Museum of Death would have anything related to Peoples Temple at all; I was just curious about the Museum's connection to the Producers Workshop. So, I introduced myself to one of the young staff people and explained what my connection to Peoples Temple was and that I recorded the He's Able album as one of the musicians, and he really jumped at it.  He said “Oh my God, we have a whole segment devoted to Peoples Temple and we are very interested in speaking with anyone who is connected to He's Able, because we’ve talked a lot about it- we've been told a lot about it, because the Producers Workshop still exists it's just in the back of the building not in the front of the building anymore.”

As we were talking, a number of the other staff people came over to chat and ask me questions. It must have been quite amusing to other people who were attending the museum just as visitors, because here I am, this older white male who has enthralled all these young gothic kids, and I was really bemused by that. But they were very sincere and very polite, and one of them said, “Oh my gosh, we had the album, would you sign it for us, would you autograph it for us?” I said look, I was just a bandsman, I played the tenor sax, I wasn't the choir director. They said “we don't care, you're on it, we really would like you to sign it for us,” and I said well, if you insist, I'll sign it, and so I did and they escorted me around the museum and showed me the wall devoted to He's Able and Peoples Temple and asked me all the questions you might expect that someone would have who is interested in this subject but didn't really know much about it, and it was a really kind of a fun experience, and they were so polite. I was just shocked because I was expecting, I guess, that people who dressed in the goth fashion would be sort of angry young people. But in no way. They were just incredible kids, and it was a wonderful experience. I so enjoyed it.”

Long before He’s Able hung on the wall in the Suicide Hall of the Museum of Death, it was sold at merchandise stands during Temple services. Displayed among pictures of Jim Jones, anointed prayer cloths, and handmade crafts, He’s Able sold thousands of copies wherever Temple buses carried them throughout the United States. It was the soundtrack of the movement, a movement that depended heavily on music to convey its culture and message to the public. Music for the Temple was like a soul for the body; without it, Temple services would have been lifeless, cold affairs. But like a soul, you cannot separate the music from the Temple’s body or its history, no matter how positive the funky vibes. Even as we hum along or tap our toes, subtle nuances in the lyrics raise the hairs on the backs of our necks. Reminding us that most of the people who made the album died in Jonestown.

Jones (978):  humming. 

[”Set them Free” plays] 

For Mike Wood, the time he spent at the Producer’s Workshop moonlighting as a sax player was a welcome break from his hectic schedule and the stresses of everyday Temple life. Music played an important role in both Mike’s life and the Temple’s history.

Q953 Jones [singing]: “It’s true, you never knew, you could live in the heaven today/ Live with God in a body, whose (unintelligible) having his way. (unintelligible) opinion, love and devotion.”

 Mike Wood: “Jim was a good singer. Jim had a good voice. Marceline had a good voice. And they came from a Pentecostal tradition, and there's always a lot of singing in the Pentecostal churches, plus you know they were appealing to the Black community, and if you know anything about black spirituality, it is at its core, a musical testimony and the musical experience. You name the artist, and they started out in their church choir. It was really kind of an emotional thing, so it was just part of our experience.”

Q1054 Jones: “But I’m glad we have each other. When trials come, you know how much you need each other. You know how much you need the body of Christ. That’s why I sing, nobody knows– I never sung that publicly, but it kinda rang in my heart, because I love you. So we’ll sing to each other and be glad, no matter how much trouble we have at the end, we’ll sing glory hallelujah. (Hums) Sing it again. Nobody knows.(music, “Nobody Knows The Trouble I’ve Seen”) But I love them. Used to sing it when I was a child, when I was poor and cold, you know. Jones and Congregation: (singing): Nobody knows the trouble we seen/ Nobody knows like Jesus.”

Mike Wood: “Many of our members, particularly choir members, had come from the Black spiritual experience and had developed a musical talent there and then brought it to the Temple, and our choir was certainly a reflection of that. They gave it a real added dimension in terms of musicality. And in terms of recruitment, the choir was, of course, invited to sing all over the state, and Jim, of course, conditioned our appearance on his being able to speak, and that was fine with me. But we were traveling a lot on our own, independent of the church meetings. It was a lot of fun; I really enjoyed it.”

Q1057 Jones: “Well, I’m a hard man but a good father, ‘cause I’m not gonna take care of anybody before I take care of you. ...Tomorrow, they came up to me and they said, “Our choir is supposed to sing at a Baptist church,” they said. Said, “Your choir’ll be leaving at two o’clock.” I said, “Who in the hell said it was?”

Congregation: (Cheers and applause) 

Jones: (Calls out) “You mean to tell me that I’m gonna be here at two o’clock tomorrow, and all this choir gonna decide to go to some Baptist church, and I’m sitting here tryin’ to get a message? No! There’s only one way, I’m gonna tell you. There’s only one way that you’ll go sing anywhere; if you do otherwise, you’ll be out of your choir uniform tomorrow. The only way you can go is if they take me preaching first. Hey, hey! And then I want to tell you, you better know some funeral anthems because when I get ready and finish, you’ll have to bury `em, ‘cause they’ll all be dead. So they tell me, they– they got to get this bus, when they gonna get this bus lined up, they’re gonna have that bus lined up. I said, “Where’re you going?” Said, “The choir’s going over tomorrow to sing at a Baptist church.” I said, “The hell they’re going over to sing tomorrow church. Oh no! You think they’re gonna get my singing and use these people, you don’t know how these churches– My people were innocent in it, they don’t know how they work it. They get all these choirs in, and then the preachers collecting and I said, “I’ll bet you there’s some pastor,” and sure enough, when they got behind it, a pastor’s (draws out, sarcastic) wife. And if you think that we work and got this music together and sweat to build these organs for you to go to sing for some fat ass preacher to make money off you, (cries out) no! If they want to hear us sing, then let them come over and hear the light of the world!”

Congregation: (Cheers and applause)

Jones: “If they want to hear the beautiful singing – and we’ve got the most beautiful soloist and the most beautiful choir – but if they want to hear them sing, let them first come over and hear the 'Rock of Ages”

Former Temple member Laura Johnston Kohl was in the choir and recorded tracks for the album. Before she passed away, she recounted that her memories with the choir were among her most dear. She said, “The music became the heart of the meetings and set the tone for the entire service, introducing the dynamic of Peoples Temple.”

Laura Johnston Kohl: “Music unified. It's a universal language. So, music unified. Also, having people see their kids enthusiastically singing music and everything like that, it makes you know parents have tears in their eyes and stuff. I mean, it's just heartwarming to see children involved in music and being enthusiastic. And also, it really brought some of our greatest, most creative musicians, writers, and authors; it gave them a venue that they could really express themselves way beyond the constraints of most churches. And so, we had people who were just multi-talented. Musicians who were drawn in to perform, and then could share their expertise around. In many ways, music was a very important part of what was going on in Peoples Temple. And it was created because once Jim changed the words of these old, like slave melodies and different things, somehow it had its own meaning within Peoples Temple because we changed the words to work for us.”

Q1027 Jones:  “My own white companion [Marceline Jones] was spit on with our black son [Jim Jones Jr.], and she’s been attempted to be driven off the road, and I suppose she’s a typical prototype of blondeness...and certainly she has a black heart. Peace. Peace. See, a black heart’s good here. We’re changing some of that. That’s why someone the other day heard us singing this song: “What can make us black– our black to glow? Nothing but the blood of Jesus.” They said, well, I never heard it that way. Well, we’re changing it because black isn’t bad, darling. Black is beautiful!”

Congregation: Applause, cheers

Jones: “You see the ol’– the old racist church– the old racist church, they want to talk about white as snow. Well, we want our black to glow. It’s alright to be white as snow if you want to be. We want our black to glow. So, we change the little words like that because we’ve got to re-educate. There’s been a lot of this fear of darkness, back to primitive man that has called black bad. Dark. Evil, uh– he’s– is– is– is this– this type of imagery of black being bad and white being good, we’ve got to change that around. Because we’ve found black to be very, very good and very, very beautiful.”

 The lyrics to the songs, like the Temple’s beliefs, evolved and changed to fit the times. By updating old spirituals and augmenting popular hits, the Temple’s playlist had something for everyone regardless of age. From the moment you walked into a Temple service, the music created a certain atmosphere.

The voices of the choir lifted the spirits of the congregants, electrifying the audience. Loretta Cordell, with her Hammond B3 organ, accompanied Jim Jones' long sermons and set the tempo during faith healings. Without musical accompaniment, Jones' performances would have been far less effective and memorable.

Q162 Jones: [with organ accompaniment from Loretta Cordell]: “I was in Christ Temple one time. That’s the biggest Pentecostal Church in America. And they all said, “Jesus is coming soon.” I was sitting down, ’cause I knew he hadn’t gone anywhere. (Singsong) And they were all jumpin’ up and shoutin’, and sayin’, “I’m ready, I want him to come, I hope it’ll be mornin’, I want it to at least be noon, and I hope it won’t be before the night.” And they were shoutin’, and they were screamin’ in Christ Temple. (Speaks) You remember about Christ Temple over there. (Sings in monotone) Ahh, yes. And I was there, and I can tell you this for a truth. Aah. About that time, over across the way, a big gas reservoir went BOOM! And all those folks that were on their feet, wantin’ Jesus to come, they all hit the floor, and were down under the benches, they hid on the floor. They had the Holy Ghost, they’d been baptized in Jesus’ name, they spoke in tongues, (speaks emphatically) but they all were crawlin’ on the floor, (sings in monotone) and I looked around, and I was the only one sittin’, ’cause I knew I didn’t have to be (cries out) afraid! (Sings) Aah, I love the truth. I don’t care if I have to die. I’d rather preach the truth than eat apple pie. I’d rather preach the truth than have silver and gold when I die. I’d rather preach the truth. [You] Say, “They’re gonna come for you.” I know they will. But when they come, they better get ready, ’cause there’s gonna be 10,000 (unintelligible word shouted into distortion [Right?])—"

Mike Wood: “Loretta just basically played the organ or piano, and Jim really, Jim Jones that is, I think it really helped him phrase his sermons and do the work that he felt he needed to do. I recall she would play very softly, like somebody in a band does when they're backing up a singer. There's not a real tune there; there's just interlinked chords, if you will, and she was very good at that. It gave depth to Jim’s paranormal ministry that made it even more impressive. Without it, his ministry was a little flat [chuckles].

So that was my experience with Loretta. As a person, she was very quiet. When I knew her, she had had five children with Harold. She was never a vocal person in the Church, and her role was really as the organist. Harold was one of Jim’s close associates in those days, and they were just a very nice family, I thought.

My family has a history in music. For example, my grandfather, that is to say my mother's father, was a professional musician and Swing era bandleader in central Ohio, and my grandmother, as a young woman, was a pianist and organist accompanying silent movies in one of the major theaters in downtown Columbus. In fact, my grandfather and grandmother met each other in front of that theater. Both were waiting for their dates, and their dates stood them up, and they began talking with each other, and six weeks later, they were married. My grandfather had been a doughboy in the First World War in the American Army as a musician and served in France immediately after the war, entertaining the troops who were still there and trying to get home. So, my grandparents were musicians, and my mother, Patty, was a great singer. In fact, she fronted her father's band as a singer, and she was only 11 or 12 years old. She had a great voice, something like Kate Smith. She had a huge talent, actually, and could really knock out a tune whenever she wanted. And she loved, loved being on the stage. That was my background.

I inherited my grandfather's instruments. He was a sax and clarinet player and I inherited them, and when I was nine years old, my mother gave them to me and sent me off to music lessons, and I had music lessons from someone who was an older man at that time, who had known my grandfather, and in fact had himself been a very famous musician you know, now 100 years ago or so. But that was my introduction to music. And my mother had a great talent as a parent for making her goals for her children their goals without their even thinking about it. So, my mother never really pushed me to be a musician, but she inspired me to be one, and it wasn't long before I actually picked up the ball with respect to becoming a musician and ran with it, myself. And so, I had music lessons; I had clarinet lessons, sax lessons, and piano lessons from the time I was nine years old until I was oh my gosh- until I moved to California. I even taught music when I came to California; I gave private lessons to a couple of folks.”

Growing up in Ohio, Mike’s family was always on the move, rarely settling anywhere for more than a year at a time. His mother Patty, a devout evangelical, encouraged and supported Mike’s talents with what meager means his family had. Mike showed talent and played well, but still dreamed of being a musician and playing with a band. When Mike’s family joined the Temple, he was 12 years old. Early on, he became close to Jim Jones and Jack Beam. Mike once said, “Like so many other Temple families, the Beams were a photo op for anyone wishing to depict the typical values-oriented Midwestern family. They had been in the Temple since its founding.” Mike’s earliest memories of anyone in the church, apart from Jim Jones, are of Jack Beam, Sr.

Mike Wood: “One of my cherished friends in the Church was Jack Beam, and I mean Jack L. Beam; Jack senior. Jack was one of the great characters of the Peoples Temple. And when I first became a participant in Peoples Temple, Jack Sr. was one of the guys who I was closest to. Jack Sr. was really just a natural comedian; he was funny and could make anyone laugh, and really lightened up the situation. He had a great personality. He always reminded me of Nikita Khrushchev because they were about the same size and shape and they were both bald headed, and as you may recall Nikita Khrushchev was the Chairman of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union back in the Eisenhower and Kennedy administrations when I was just a little boy, that was my first impression of Jack. But as soon as he opened his mouth, he was transformed because he had such a great persona and just the funniest jokes that you can imagine. He could turn any situation into a comedy.

He was part of our skit crew, as you may know, as I was. We would often act in the same skit and act across from each other. The problem I had with Jack was that he would never study his lines; everything was ad libbed, and when you're somebody like me who pays very close attention to the script, and works to memorize my lines, and get the part right, it takes some doing to get used to somebody who's ad libbing all the time. All of a sudden, your carefully remembered and composed lines just go out the window, and you've got to stay with them because the show goes on, and that was a challenge, because once he started to ad lib, he became the center of attention, and you were a sidelight.

His son Jack Junior, Jack A. Beam, was no longer in the Church back then; he wasn't, you know, an adversary of the church. He wanted to be a professional musician and went out to do so. So, he created a band called Stark Naked and the Car Thieves, and they played quite successfully in California and Hawaii, and other western venues. He returned to the Church in 1968. Before he came back, Jack, his father, loved to regale me with tales of his son, and to me, an aspiring musician at that point, they were like tales of the Gold Rush. So, when Jack Jr. returned to the Church, I was a little intimidated, but we became fast friends. When he first came back, he was clearly head and shoulders above everybody in terms of his musical talents. We would get together- four or five of us who had some interest in music and had some ability as instrumentalists. We would just play as if we were just a garage band. So, Jim quickly realized that Jack Jr. had a helluva lot of talent and appointed him to be the choir director, and Jack just took off. When I say that, he really created the Church choir. Of course, we had a church choir before that, but it was just your standard-issue church choir. You’d sing the old hymns, and you’d sing the old hymns in the same old way. But Jack brought a level of musical talent and inventiveness that just hadn't been there before. He really deserves all the credit you can give him for the album; he's the one who made contact with the people at the Producer’s Workshop, scheduled all the appointments and put together the music, and made sure we were there to record as he wanted us to record. He was a very demanding and perfectionistic choir director, which is one of the reasons why the album to this day is memorable in itself.”

The Beam family joined the Temple in 1954 in Indiana when Jack Arnold was just a kid. His father, Jack Sr., and his mother, Rheaviana, were loyal members, but Jack Arnold, a rebellious teenager, did his own thing, devoting himself to music. He wouldn’t join the Temple until more than a decade later in 1969.

Jack Arnold Beam: “Yeah, my grandmother was the one who introduced us to him. The way my family met Jim was in Indianapolis, when I was a kid, my grandmother and grandfather went to a church, the Laurel Street Tabernacle. The minister there at that time was an older fellow named John Price. Somehow they were more religious background, they were talking to my mom and dad about this young guy that was a guest there- that John Price had started inviting over to speak, `cause he was a young guy getting started out, and he was I think part Native American, I'm not sure, but they told them it was Jim Jones. And so, my mom and dad went there a few times and started listening to him.

He was more of a practical kind of approach at that time, which was talking more about helping the needy people who were having a hard time getting by, and all of that. Those sorts of more social issues, and so that kind of resonated with my mom and dad, and over a period of time, they started following him. As it turns out, he started getting more followers coming to those meetings, and so he decided to start his own church. After he left Laurel Street Tabernacle, he started Peoples Temple, and it was at 15th and New Jersey in Indianapolis. Over a period of time, it just started expanding, but he built his whole ministry on feeding the hungry, helping people, and getting people straightened out who were messed up. So that's how we got in touch with Peoples Temple.

His message, even in the early days, was more about social issues rather than just the Bible. He would throw a little Bible verse in there if it helped him make a point on a certain thing. It wasn't religion, he was on social issues. I had an uncle who was like a year older than I was, and he used to sing in the meetings and stuff, and I thought, hey man, if he can do that, so can I [laughs].  I would, every once in a while, get a chance to sing in the service somewhere. They’d have a few songs, and then Jim would start talking, you know, that kind of thing. They were a lot more subdued in terms of before, like when I did the album, and in that time frame, those were more music-oriented for the church service. Mainly in the early days, there would be a few congregational songs, and then Jim would talk, and then everybody would go home, you know?”

Q1057-4 Jones:

 (Feedback)

 (Thumping on the microphone)

 Jones: “That’s a– That’s a lovely song.”

 (Organ music begins to play)

 (Congregation begins to sing “Our God has brought us from a mighty long way”)

 Jones: “I like that melody right now anyway. Sing it. (Clears throat)”

 (Thumping on the microphone)

 Jack A. Beam: “Where’s the microphone?”

 Jones: “You need more cloths? Here’s some–“

 Congregation: (singing) Our God has brought us–

 Jones: “Hold your hand up high.

 Congregation: (singing) –from “a mighty long way.

 Jones: “Four, three, wait, wait, wait, wait. Three. Three. Four.”

 Congregation: (sings, joined by Jack Arnold Beam)  I’ve been blessed. Be on time for the buses, because they will depart starting at five P.M.

 Jones: “Yes. It’s– It’s very important.”

 Beam: “Don’t delay. You’ll be standing here without a ride.”

 Jack Arnold Beam: “I never was very religious because attending these traditional types of Christianity, philosophy, and the Bible, and that sort of thing, having been exposed to all of that over a period of years, it never resonated with me. There were too many contradictions in it to make sense to me. When Jim started his own church over there on New Jersey, I was more interested in the music aspect of what they were doing, because at that particular time, as a young person growing up, I was into like a gospel feel and rhythm and blues, and that sort of thing. At that time, there was a young gal, her name was Loretta Cordell, and she played a Hammond organ, as they used for traditional church music. She played a more gospely feeling music and that sort of thing, so that's what caught my ear, because when I was younger, I was taking piano lessons- because my dad also played piano. He didn't play a lot, but he played like boogie woogie music that was popular [chuckles]. So that's what kind of got me interested in what they were associating with. It wasn't the church thing per se, it was more picking up on the music and being interested in that part of it.”

Music has always been a driving force in Jack’s life. His grandfather played piano with the Paul Whiteman Band in the `20s, and his father, Jack Sr., carried on the family tradition playing boogie woogie tunes for the family. Jack Arnold started learning piano at age nine and, thanks to the Temple, fell in love with the sounds of the Hammond B-3 organ and gospel choirs. He devoured all the R&B he could get his hands on with favorites like Ray Charles, Sam Cooke, and Mahalia Jackson. Jack was determined to follow his dreams of becoming a professional musician. When Jim Jones moved to Brazil and Jack's parents decided to follow, Jack opted to stay behind and pursue his musical career. 

Jack Arnold Beam: “While they were gone, I was basically on my own at 17. I didn't want to go down there. It had no appeal to me, whatever Jim was doing, I'm sure he [Jack L. Beam] was involved in, and I don't know whether he particularly was with the CIA, but he was assisting Jim and doing whatever needed to be done. They never talked about any of it. Well, the thing of it is, to me, it sounded boring because I didn't believe in religion anyway. I didn't believe their cover story. It didn't seem appealing to me, and I told him, “Hey, I'll stay”, and we had an apartment house at that time, and I was trying to keep an eye on that aspect of it a little bit for `em. So, I didn't end up going with them. I had just graduated from high school, and I was out of high school a few weeks before they took off.  I had gotten a job, and after they were gone about two weeks, I got fired [laughs] and... for trying to kill the manager [laughs]. But anyway, we didn't get along too good, so being a kid, I didn't have good control over my temper at that point. I went ahead and got going again and got a job. I had a really good friend that I had known through high school who was a guitar player. I got an old guitar and it was in two pieces and I got it all back together again, and then I got him to teach me how to play some chords, and that's how I got going.

They (the Joneses and the Beams) had gone to California, 'cause I guess they had already figured out it was during that time there was a pretty heavy interest in what Russia was doing, and this and that, and there might be a war. And at that time, Jones was more interested in moving to California. There was a place called Redwood Valley that he had heard of that could survive, maybe, a nuclear war because of how the mountains and all of that were laid out there. So anyway, they went there. Well, my buddy that I had been working with in terms of learning how to play and getting all that going. His name was Jerry Mills, and he and I wanted to be in the real music business, and you either went to New York or you went to LA. And since my parents had moved to California, we thought, hey, why don't we go out there and see if we can get something going.”

Over the next several years, Jack toured the country, honing his musical skills playing nightclubs in California, Hawaii, and Vegas. Jack loved R&B, funk, and soul. Growing up in the Temple had trained Jack's ear to the sounds of gospel and spiritual hymns. The time Jack spent performing with rock bands in the `60s expanded his creative abilities and taught him the ways of the stage.

Jack Arnold Beam: “I was with a group called Stark Naked and The Car Thieves, and we were playing Vegas at the Pussycat A Go Go - which is no longer in existence. At that time, it was one of the only dance clubs. I moved to California in `63, from Indiana. My best friend Jerry Mills came out with me, and we stayed initially at my folks' house, but then we got our own apartment. When I came out there, I got a job working at GM, at an assembly plant out there, and he went to work playing with some guys in a band in town because we moved to Hayward, CA. I left GM, and we started playing at a nightclub in the Hayward area. From there, another friend of mine from Indiana had come out to California. Three guys he knew who were singers that had bands in Indiana - had sung with guys in Indiana, they came out here and they got going, and to make a long story short, there were six of us and we went on the road.

We were playing places in Southern California, and then Vegas, and that kind of stuff. While I was in Vegas one of the guys got drafted and he got out of the draft, but we had hired a guy from The Casinos, which was a hit group out of Cincinnati; it was Glenn Hughes, and he was singing in the band when this guy who had gotten drafted came back. Well, we got in a big blowout because a couple of the guys wanted him back in the group, and you know da da da, so I quit the band, gave my notice. And then I ran into a guy named Chuck Girard who had had hit records and stuff who is working with a group called The Castells, and then he had left them and started a group called Chuck and Joe, and Joe was also in The Casinos- and so we locally picked up a guitar player, drummer that they knew who was in LA who we got together with, and there was six of us. Because it started out as a Vegas group, they were calling it Six the Hard Way. There were three singers in front and three guys playing in back, which is two threes and six, the hard way in dice talk. These guys had houses and apartments in LA, and we went back to put a whole thing together for that group. When I met `em in Vegas, we didn't start playing in Vegas with them, we went back to LA to regroup, and we played places, outlying areas in LA, kind of smaller clubs and whatnot in order to get tightened up as a group. Then, once we got tight, I was able to get a hold of a manager that I had met in Vegas who wanted to work with us because most of the guys that were in that Six the Hard Way were all from hit groups, pretty much.

He started booking us everywhere. We played all over the West Coast, and we were recording; that's what I loved originally when I started getting into music before anything. I wanted to be in the recording business, not you know, playing bars and casinos and all of that, you know, playing to drunks. I wanted to write and arrange, and create. Well, “Sunrise” [plays underneath] was at the time when The Mamas and The Papas' style of music was happening. The guy singing lead, that kid called Chuck Girard, left Six the Hard Way. We were in Hawaii, and he and Ernie the drummer, while we were over there, everybody dropped acid, and he got religion [laughs].”

For Jack, the 60s had been an exciting and productive time. While audiences flocked to his shows searching for a good time and consciousness expansion, Jack was discovering his higher purpose. Up till now, being a rockstar had been Jack’s dream, and for nearly a decade, he lived that dream playing in clubs like the Factory in LA, during a legendary time for rock bands. Music was a language Jack spoke fluently, but the stage no longer inspired him. As the `60s wound down and Jack tired of touring, he turned his attention to new pursuits, becoming a music producer.

Jack Arnold Beam: “Around `69 is when I went back with the Temple, and the reason why I did is I got tired of playing nightclubs, playing to drunks. I wanted to be in production. I wanted to be making the music, and I wanted to get off the road. While I was still on the road, my mom, I had mentioned on a phone call to her, 'cause they were living in Ukiah then, which is, you know, right by Redwood Valley. Anyway, I mentioned to her that I'd like to go back to college and study music and all of that, writing and arranging, all the different aspects of music. So, she had mentioned “hey, you know we got a program going on here at Peoples Temple,” she said, “If you come here, they will pay for your education, and you'll get a chance to do that”. So that's how I got into the whole idea of going there in `69.”

Jack Arnold Beam officially joined the Temple in 1969 with the understanding that the Temple would pay for his college education. The Temple immediately made use of Jack’s talents and put him to work with the Temple choir.

Jack Arnold Beam: “After I was there for a while, they asked me to work with the choir. So, I gotta give a lot of credit to Loretta Cordell, who was the organist. She and I had to try to find out… First of all, we started out singing some of the songs that the congregation had sung and doing arrangements of them. And, at that time, he was still doing trips- he had started doing trips to San Francisco, and to LA, it was just starting. So, we would drive buses down there and have meetings.

As they started out, it wasn't as much music as it was like traveling to these places, and him mainly talking. Loretta would do a couple of congregational songs because it was a mixed audience of people of color and white people, and whatnot. It was kind of a variety of a mixture. More people started coming up to Redwood Valley because I was going to college. I started college at Santa Rosa Junior College, then I ended up graduating from San Francisco State, studying music, and I had a degree in social work. We were gathering younger people who were really into music, and we were able to take some traditional songs that might have been sung in Black churches, and not what they sang that were traditional kinds of things- we started mixing those, and then I started writing stuff.

That's how we did it- with the new people coming in and picking up from their backgrounds, traditional songs, and whatnot, and making arrangements out of them. Also, we had to leave the situation open, so that if you want to sing in the choir, you can do it. Now there was another young lady named Anita Ijames; she was helping also. She, I, and Loretta would get together, and we would work out the song harmonies. And then Anita, while I was working with the band, put it together, helped teach the new people the parts to the songs. It was soprano or alto, or give them parts, and then we'd rehearse with that until they were able to get it down. After a couple of years we were really getting pretty good, and at that point, I thought, if we had a record, or something like that- because, at that time everybody that was in kind of a leadership position of some sort, we were thinking about how to make money for the Temple so that we could travel a little bit with them and have some income to help pay expenses and whatnot for the Church. The idea of making an album came up, and I told Jim that it would be a good way to help not only spread your message but also make some income to help support. So that's how that all got lined up.” 

For Mike Wood, Jack Arnold's arrival was like the return of the mysterious prodigal son. In the years Jack was playing professionally, Jack Sr. would often speak admiringly of his son and relate stories of the young rocker’s adventures. When Mike finally met Jack Arnold, he described him as every inch a blonde Paul McCartney, complete with a Fu Manchu mustache, hip floral shirt, and red on black bell-bottoms.

Mike Wood: “I was totally impressed with Jack when he returned because he was my image of the bad ass rockstar. He came in with his, you know, Fu Manchu mustache, and long blonde hair, and red and black bell-bottoms, and seven-leaguer boots, and he was just the image!”

Jack himself recounted in an article he wrote entitled “Sing the Song of Life, Follow Your Dreams,” that when he went to his first Temple meeting, he felt like a duck out of water. With his long hair and big bellbottoms, he was the only hippie in the place. When he walked in and sat down, he could feel everyone’s eyes on him as if they were thinking, “How the hell did he get in here?” At this point, Jack wasn’t sure if he would stay in Ukiah or not, even if the college was free. Jack was used to doing his own thing, which at that time included smoking weed and having fun. Temple life would be structured with limitations, but for Jack, the opportunity to change the world through music and produce works of his own was worth the sacrifices. Jack committed himself to the movement and its humanitarian causes. The Temple was getting people off drugs and helping the downtrodden of the world. Later, when we see Jack on the Album cover of, He’s Able, or performing with the Temple band during faith healings, he is clean-shaven with short hair, wearing a light blue dress shirt, as was the style of the choir. Though his appearance became more conservative after joining the Temple, his musical progressions remained as funky and far out as his rocker persona had been.  

Jack Arnold Beam: “I really believed in trying to help people who needed a break, and most of them were Black, not all, but most. It made sense to me at that time in my life to try to help, and the only way I could have helped was music.”

As choir director, Jack found himself surrounded by incredible talent, with a head full of fresh ideas and songs. Jack knew with a lot of work and a little polish, he could produce something unique that sounded professional and reach more people with his music than ever before.

Mike Wood: “It's more remarkable even than you might think, because he had to take what he was given in the Church. Fortunately, there were a lot of talented people. They weren't under any kind of administration; they were just exercising their talent on their own. Someone might get up and sing a song, it would be a beautiful song, but it wasn't organized, it wasn't arranged, it wasn't charted. Nothing like that, they just sang, they were inspired to sing, and they’d sing. So, Jack basically had a good idea of who had what talent, and he would put them together. You know, he wrote most of the songs on the album, and even those he didn't write, he arranged. He had a great way of doing it. We were a headband; we didn't have anything written down at all. Jack would basically figure out whatever part he was interested in developing and play it on guitar, and then he would hum it to whomever was going to be playing or singing that part. So, they really learned it in their heads. Fortunately, we had a hell of a lot of great, talented people: Deanna Wilkinson, who, of course, comes to mind, or Shirley Smith, even Jack himself, or his sister Joyce. People who had come from musical traditions in their own communities or in their own spiritual practices, and he was able to meld them together and put together a heckuva music experience. He gets all the credit in the world for He's Able.”

Jack has an organic approach to writing music that has evolved over the years as technology has changed. It cannot be overstated the complexity of producing an album before the modern age of digital recording. Jack spent hours working songs out in his head before humming and playing the individual parts of songs to his musicians and vocalists.   

Jack Arnold Beam: “I've written songs every way there is. Sometimes I'll get a track that I like, a feel that I like, and I'll work with that, and then I'll put lyrics to it, or I'll start out with just lyrics, and then put tracks to it. When I started out recording, it was two-track recording; you put 30 people in a studio and you’d do it until everybody gets it right one time, and if you're right at the end of the song and you screw it up you gotta start over again, because two-track was before you could overdub and all that.”

How did the idea of making an album come about?

Jack Arnold Beam: “Well, I have two memories about that. It was kind of like back and forth, and I know that he had mentioned something about it, but I think upon recollection of it, because it's been awhile, I think I may have put it out there first, but then he got interested in it right away when I mentioned the word money.”

Located next to a porno theater on Hollywood Boulevard, the Producer’s Workshop, though a bit small and minimalistic, housed some of the best modern recording equipment of the era. Classic albums like Pink Floyd's The Wall and Fleetwood Mac's Rumours were recorded and engineered there.

Jack Arnold Beam: “I had Producers Workshop do it. We got it together. It was all done on 16-track recording at that time, which was the best you could get. 24-track hadn't come out yet. Then we had to get a company to press it for us.”

Mike Wood: “Jim said, “Well, how much will it cost?” The total cost was about $6 grand. So, then Jim said, “How are we gonna make that money back?” So, we said, “We’ll sell the albums at church after the meetings, for 10 bucks an album.” He said, “OK, it's a great idea.”

 Everybody went out to Golden Gate Park one day to have their picture taken for the album. I wasn't there for that. You know, we had all these albums and we would sell them at church meetings. In all of our Temples- I think Deanna Mertle is the one who really started this;  you would have trinkets, Jim's pictures, and key chains with him on them, and Jim in various poses to protect you from different ailments or accidents or whatnot. And so, this became one of the items for sale at the tables that were in the church vestibule as people walked out. So, it was just another item of merchandise to make more money for the Church.”

On He’s Able album cover, we see the choir posing in Golden Gate Park. They’re standing in front of the Portals of the Past. The white columns of the monument once marked the entrance to the Nob Hill Mansion, a garish palace built by a wealthy railroad tycoon. Those pillars are all that remain of San Francisco’s Gilded Era mansions after the 1906 Earthquake.

Jack Arnold Beam: “I didn't come up with that. I think the Mertles, I think that Deanna might have thought about doing that. I think they mentioned it to us that that might be a good idea to shoot it that way since we were in San Francisco a lot. So, we lined up, and they took it that way that day. I took the songs at that time, I thought, were the ones that had our best arrangements. There were other songs that we could have done, but I thought that those particular ones would probably be enough of a cross section for listeners who like one thing or another: some like gospel, some like pop, this and that, and I tried to get that feeling, and along with what was being said in the songs, to try to be a balance.

I had more songs written and stuff, but at that time, I had already gotten out of college, and we were traveling a lot around the country, doing all these performances and stuff with Jim, and it just never got to that point. We were selling that one, so many of them, that it never got to the point where we thought about cutting another one. And by the time I initially thought, maybe it would be good to cut another one, it got to a point where I was going to leave, and so that kind of just faded out.”

Jack was given a lot of creative control over the album. But recording sessions had to be organized around the Temple's busy schedule.

Jack Arnold Beam: “Oh yeah, it was really busy because, believe it or not, the album was kind of like, when we get a chance to do something, we’d go do it. Because we were so busy traveling back and forth. What I had to do was kind of lay out the whole idea to myself and make lists of how I'm going to organize it. First of all, you have to get the band in and lay the tracks, and put those arrangements together and record them. And then once we got to that point, I'd have to figure out when we went to LA, we couldn't get out of there till about maybe 11, midnight, maybe sometimes later than that, to get into the studio. So, I had to book time ahead of time and then, after the meeting in LA, get the guys together.

We’d get on the bus and I’d drive the bus over to Producer’s Workshop there on Hollywood Boulevard, and we’d lay tracks, and so we did all the tracks over a period of a few weeks to get all of the band tracks together. Then, you know, lay out what we were going to do, in terms of the vocals of the choir, background singing, and take them in and do background tracks of the vocals. And then I had to organize everyone who was singing lead on each one of those songs, take them in, and record the vocals last. It was just a matter of getting it organized after those meetings and all that. That was the real hard part.”

For several weekends from midnight to early in the morning, Temple members crowded into the Producer’s Workshop. Fascinated by the professional recording equipment and excited to be a part of the album, they patiently awaited their turn in the booth, taking naps between takes.

Mike Wood: “You would lay down tracks, individually. The guys who are in the mastering lab, you would lay down the bass track first, and the guitar track, and the rhythm track, and then from there, Jack was instrumental in every single second of all that. He knew all those songs so well that I remember with the technician, we were trying to redo something, and we didn't want to go back and redo it, but they wanted to take care of it technologically, so they had to find this one note, and make whatever the adjustment was. Jack picked out the songs with just one single note, so I said, “Damn man, how did you do that?” Jack said, “Well, I wrote most of these songs.” Most of the time, I wasn’t playing, because I would be laying down the track, and that really was all I needed to do. But it was a great way to get out of the Planning Commission meeting, so I would always go, and it was always fun to kind of walk around Hollywood when I wasn't needed.

The way it worked was- I was alone, you got these padded earphones on and you're in a recording booth and bang, you play. That's how the solos were recorded. Then Rick and I think it was the rhythm section, would record our bits together, and then Jack would add in choir, or the other way around. You could really manage the recording because you’ve got all these different tracks.  It wasn't a whole bunch of people singing at any one time, and Jack would use very few people, and only the best people, so it came out sounding pretty damn good.

Jack was a hard ass about it. I've got to tell you; he was a real hard ass as a director. He knew exactly what he wanted in the way of sound and would not tolerate any deviation, and he knew [laughs] if you weren’t playing your part exactly as you've been told to play it he would give you a glance to let you know you hadn’t slipped anything by him, and you were going to have to answer for it.  He was demanding and perfectionistic, as he had to be, and that's why the album is as good as it is. That's why it has a kind of integrity to it. All the songs, of course, are different and have different soloists, but they have a sound and a style, and that is down to Jack. Period.”

(Q987):  Live version of “He’s Able” / juxtaposed with the album's version of the song to show the difference.

Jack was the architect behind the aesthetic and sound of the album. With his uncompromising ear and commitment to his vision, track by track, the album came together.

Jack Arnold Beam: “You know something, I was happy at the time with it- fidelity-wise it came out good. When I heard the whole thing completely finished, there were some things that I wish I had mixed better. In all of them, I wish that it had just a little bit more bass bottom, not a lot, but just a little bit more bass bottom, for a little more punch on some of them. Before I decided that we’d put our own album out and work with it that way, I went to several labels to try to get them to go for a deal so that I could get them to put it out front rather than us putting up the money, the hours, and everything. And pretty much all of them turned me down flat, so that's how we ended up putting it out ourselves. Everybody who played on it and was - I'm talking about the band, the singers, none of them had ever been in a recording studio, and none of them had ever done anything remotely like this. So, it was really easy to work with everybody because they were all paying attention to what was going on, because they were jazzed about it. I wanted the people who worked on it to be happy with their work, that's really what I was more interested in.”

Jack wrote several original songs for the album, including “Because of Him,” “Set Them Free,” “Will You,” and “Hold on Brother.” His contemporary compositions complemented more traditional pieces adapted for the album. Every walk of life that filled the pews in Temple services was represented on the album.

Don Beck, the director of the junior choir, worked diligently to get the children ready for their recording sessions at the studio. The junior choir, originally created to keep the Temple’s children occupied and engaged during services, had become a feather in the Temple's musical cap.

Q1027 Congregation: Applause, cheers, music playing

Jones: “Thank you, dear ones. It is written of old that there’s anything lovely or anything of good report, to think on that, and I can’t think of anything more lovely than you, so I can think on that. As I look at these beautiful young people, I wonder where on Friday night could you find...a group of young people so vivacious and so outgoing and so beautiful as our young people are? And up there in the balcony of little fellas that uh, we nee--(Stumbles over words) very mixed service, they need to be down where they can sing to us here, because they always sing so faithfully up there in the balcony. A whole balcony of little fellas.... And we’re so grateful for them too. The wonderful, wonderful young.”

Jack Arnold Beam: “Don Beck was the one who really organized the children. I think he was teaching a Sunday School class for the kids. Now, I could be wrong on this, but I think he came up with that song, “Welcome!” I don't know where that came from. Well again, we had already recorded all the tracks and everything and so, I’m thinking he brought in maybe 15 or 20 kids, and we put headphones on them, then they would run the track down, and he would stand in front of them and you know, kind of like choir directing. They all sang “Welcome!” Nothing happened in that studio- we would go between 11:00 PM and 3:00 a.m. In fact, as I recall, some of them were kind of like nodding out between doing stuff.”

The children between the ages of 5 and 12 slept anywhere they could between takes at the Producer’s Workshop. Spread out on the floor and under tables, they rested until it was their turn. Then, wiping the sleep from their eyes, they donned headphones and, delivering the same enthusiasm they would on Sunday mornings, belted out a giant “Welcome!”

Musically, “Welcome!” is the most lighthearted, carefree song on the album. Personally, it has always reminded me of the theme to Sesame Street. But for many former members, who knew the little personalities behind the voices, the song is a brutal reminder of just how much potential was wasted on November 18, 1978.

[“Walking with You Father” playing]

Jack Arnold Beam: “Walking with You Father” was Shirley Smith and Deanna Wilkinson. “Hold on, Brother” was the whole choir, and Deanna Wilkinson sang. “He's Able” is Shirley Smith. I played guitar and bass on different songs. Now, the guy who played regular bass was Bob Houston. The drummers, they were kids; one of the drummers was Danny Pietila, and one of them was Lew Jones played on a couple of things, and Danny Curtin played on some, and Loretta played organ: Hammond B3, and Deanna played piano.”

[“Something’s Got a Hold of Me” plays]

“I went to a meeting last night, but my heart wasn’t right.” “Something's Got Ahold of Me,” sung by Ruth Coleman, is probably the most well-known song on the album. The lyrics tell the story of the transformative power of the Holy Spirit. The music plays to the adulation of the crowd, a high-energy tune that represents the Temple's earthly connection to God, and Jones' miracle of laying hands.  

[“Because of Him” plays]

Jack Arnold Beam: “Now, horn players Mike [Wood] played tenor saxophone, and Rick Cordell played trombone.”

Mike Wood: “Rick was the trombonist in our band, and one heckuva good trombonist. He was a great talent, and I was always inspired by his playing, and I worked hard to keep up with him, and we had a pretty good brass section.”

[“Walk a Mile in My Shoes” plays]

 “Walk a Mile in My Shoes,” a cover sung by Melvin Johnson, soulfully implores the audience to avoid casting stones and have compassion for one another. By hurting each other, we can only harm ourselves. An important message of unity that would become one of Elvis Presley’s Vegas go-tos. 

Brian Kevin wrote extensively about He’s Able for his master's thesis. His article, “Songs Largely in the Key of Life,” eloquently captures the essence of the album. In his article, he wrote that Melvin Johnson was 25 when he joined the Temple. He had spent most of his life in and out of prison for sex trafficking and drug charges. After Melvin joined the Temple in San Francisco, he turned his life around and became a Temple bus driver and joined the choir. Melvin’s vocals have an authenticity, like someone who believes every word he’s singing. Melvin never went to Jonestown, but legend has it, after leaving the Temple, he returned to street crime and passed away in the `90s.

Mike Wood: “Well, Melvin was a member of the choir, and he came to us out of the African Methodist Episcopal Churches. He was very comfortable with a musical tradition and had a beautiful voice on his own. It was a little bit gritty, but that made it even more attractive, and he was one of our soloists. He was a soloist on “Walk a Mile in My Shoes.” Melvin and I were never bosom buddies because I was a college student, and my bosom buddies were all my fellow college students, but we were good friends. I enjoyed talking with Mel and riding a bus with him occasionally, and of course, once I left the church in early 1977, all my contacts with Temple members were essentially cut off, so I hadn’t seen Mel for a long time. I mean, after that, I hadn’t seen Mel at all until after the massacre.

I was walking home from work. I worked in the Bank of America building on Montgomery Street, San Francisco, and I lived in a little apartment in the Tenderloin in San Francisco, just off of Geary Street. So, I would walk from home, just think my thoughts, and just walk until I got to where I was going. So, I'm walking home one afternoon up Geary Street, and this cab just screeches to a halt, and this big guy gets out and starts running. I thought, did I not pay a cab fare, am I gonna get my butt beat, here, what's happening? And so, I was getting ready to run away, and I looked as he got closer, I looked and said, “Oh my God, it's Melvin Johnson!” I ran out into the middle of the street to meet him, and we just grabbed each other and hugged each other and cried, and he said, “Mike, I thought you were dead!” And I said, “Mel, I thought you were dead!” and we just continued to hug each other and cry, and bring ourselves up to date with where we were. It was just an amazing experience.

As you can imagine, here is a very busy street, particularly at commute hours, and horns were blaring, and drivers were flipping us off and telling us “get the hell out of the road!” So, Mel had to park his car, and we had a nice chat after that. It was a great story. I don't think I saw Mel again after that. I understand that he had a troubled life, and I'm sorry to hear that, and that he's no longer with us. I really thought he was a great character. It warms my heart whenever I think about it because we were both shocked that we were each alive, you know? I guess, it's hard for someone who doesn’t have that experience to understand, but to see somebody like that, it's as if they've come back to life.”

[“Set Them Free” plays]

Jack Arnold Beam: “Set Them Free” was talking about working with people that are having trouble with their lives in terms of making it, either to get where they're trying to go, and also being discriminated against, and all the things that, in terms of our societal values, were against people. It was kind of like if we show them love, that could be like the first step in helping them to see that there might be a glimmer of hope for them. We had Mike playing tenor, and we had Rick Cordell playing trombone. I played on that song, I'm playing bass. Everybody really played well.”

Mike Wood counts his sax solo for “Set Them Free” as the high point of his musical career. When he left the Temple, he was forced to leave everything behind. His family, his friends, and his beloved sax.

Mike Wood: “By the way, my saxophone was like the Stradivarius of saxophones. You name all the famous sax players you've ever heard of, and they were playing that horn. Selmer Mark VI. God, my mother paid $650 for that horn. This was back at a time when my dad didn't make much more than that, monthly. And the reason she bought it for me was because she wanted me to be a musician, and I wanted to be a musician. I had this funky old horn from her dad, and she knew that I wanted this Selmer because it's the best horn in the world, and so she made this deal with me. If I went through so many instruction books, she would buy me the horn. And I did. I carried out my end of the bargain. And she took me down to Lazarus and by God, we bought the damn horn. It was so beautiful, Selmers were... [“Set Them Free” plays underneath] the lacquering was perfect, and it had these concave mother of pearl buttons that you press, and it was just magnificent, and it came in this fabulous case. It was very modern, very styled. I used to sleep with the horn in the case right next to my bed so I could have my hand on it. I loved my horn.

So anyway, when I was leaving I tried to find the Goddamned thing, but I think somehow, somebody had just inadvertently- because I kept it down with the other instruments right? Because at that point I didn't have a place of my own, and I wasn't too interested in getting out, and I went down to look for it, but I couldn't find it. I assume it was on a bus on the way to Los Angeles, and it came back when I was gone. Stephan played it from time to time, but he never did anything with it.  There’s a guy, a tenor player, whose name was Brian Bouquet. He was a very talented musician, and he actually went to Guyana and died down there. I’ve seen a couple of pictures of him in the band down there, playing tenor sax, and that was my horn. So, I'm sure my horn went to Guyana, and I have no idea what happened to it after that. I assume that my horn was down there and got stolen by whoever came in, and maybe sold on the black market or something. I don't know,

I hope it's being played today, 'cause I loved that horn. But it's the only thing I really wish I had been able to take, not because of the monetary value, just because of the sentimental value [“Set Them Free” ends].

Of course, I condemn myself for not trying to talk Patricia, or even Harriet, into leaving with me, because Suzanne and I had long since broken up. But you know, I didn't, I didn't, we, who knew everybody's gonna die? I mean, I knew that we had those suicide drills, but I thought those were just loyalty tests, and everybody else did too. I thought I could come back and just like get my sister out, you know? But anyway, didn't happen.

You know, the people were really good-natured people. We were caught up in our own cultishness because that was part of what was required of us, but I have always said, and I truly believe, that we were betrayed by our good intentions. And when you meet the people of the Peoples Temple afterwards, most of them were really pretty damn good people. People who were just trying to get through life and who wanna do all the good things that people want to do, and really felt good about the commitment they made to the positive goals that we were trying to achieve.”

[“Down From His Glory” plays]

Jack Arnold Beam: “We had scheduled it for him (Jim Jones) to come in and do his vocal. We already had the tracks. Loretta had already recorded the organ with it and all that. He came in, and he had his entourage, you know, his bodyguards, so to speak, were all dressed in black, with their little red berets, and everybody in the booth looked over at that, and thought “what the heck is this, dude?” They came marching in, and they all had a place to sit down, and they queued up the track, and he just did an overdub on it. But it was weird, those guys thought, “What the hell is going on here?” I could tell by the looks on their face that “this was weird.”

Jim Jones insisted, against Jack's vision for the album, on performing his reworking of “O Sole Mio.” The 20-year-old sound engineer Bob Schaper, assigned to work the booth after hours, recalls Jones' dramatic entrance to the Producer’s Workshop. Jim Jones was likely more threatened by the talent of the choir members than he was by the studio, but as always, wherever he went, he was sure to leave an impression. As over the top as the armed entourage may have been, the tension in the air likely added to the recording, as it is without a doubt the most cumbersome, least groovy tune on the album. Jim has a nice voice, but his delivery sounds somewhat self-conscious and overly contrived. Mike Wood once said in an interview that there was a hidden subtext to why Jim Jones recorded this particular song, as if Jim is really saying, “I’m God, and I came down from My Glory.” This song, more than all of the others, is a throwback to the early days of the Temple, before Jack Arnold, when the Temple was more traditional and a whole lot whiter. It’s a bit of a square peg in an otherwise circular flow, and Jones, compared to the energy of the rest of the performers, is just kind of...square.

Jack Arnold Beam: “It's also kind of a traditional that’s sung in other churches, 'Down From His Glory,' in terms of a religious kind of congregational song. He was trying to promote the idea that it was part of the functioning, pushing ideas about him being God for the people who believed what they thought they saw, in terms of his healings, his metaphysical attributes, and whatnot. So that's kind of what that was all about for him, and I didn't want to put it on the album, but at that time, there was no getting around it,  you had to have the focus on who the focus was supposed to be about.”

Q978 Jones [sings]: His love has no limits. That’s the thing to remember. His love has no limits.

 Father Socialism, yes, we thank you

 For what you’ve done–

 (Speaks) If you had breast cancer, you’d be s– you’d be singing a little louder.

 (Sings) Father, we thank you

 Possibly my favorite, and certainly the most hauntingly beautiful track on the album, is “Black Baby,” performed by Marceline Jones, accompanied by Loretta Cordell and Richard Tropp. Not unlike Down from His Glory, this song has a different feel from the rest of the album. The recording is a bit raw, the musical influences more European, but the themes speak the message of the album, and Marceline's delivery of the vocals is anything but contrived.

Loretta’s organ swells against the soft chimes of ethereal bells, as Richard’s cello hums a somber melody. Marceline’s voice begins with a whispering vibrato, the melody becoming increasingly haunting as the song builds to a crescendo.

[“Black Baby” plays underneath]

Jack Arnold Beam: “Now that was Nina Simone's record of 'Brown Baby,' that Marceline had changed the words to after they had adopted Jimmy Junior. Loretta played organ. I heard that song when I first came back. She was singing it in one of the meetings, and she would sing it every once in a while, but they changed the lyrics of it, so it made more sense from her personal viewpoint. She came in, and I think she did it and one or two takes, because she had sung that song so many times. Dick Tropp, he played cello. The cello and the organ together made a real dramatic sound.”

The organ melts into the abyss as Marceline’s falsetto, raw and emotional, transforms the soft lullaby into a mournful dirge.

Marceline’s performance of “Black Baby” speaks to a promise she made to her adopted Black child, as well as a promise she and her husband made to all the children of the Temple: “Mommy and daddy will protect you and keep you safe from harm.” Judging by the emotion in Marceline’s voice, it was a promise she felt passionate about. The tragic beauty of Richard’s cello ominously transforms the piece with soulful phrases, like tears caught in your throat.

Q383 Jones: “I haven’t thought of that song for so long in years, or the meaning of those words. They’re beautiful. One thing, to hear Marceline’s sweet voice, another to hear the words.” 

Jack Arnold Beam: “I don't know, several years back, I opened my album and just made copies of it. I had the first album that's out, but it's open now. In 1993, we had what was called “the no-name storm,” and I live right on a big river; it's a big one. What happened was in the middle of the night, about 4:00- 5:00 a.m., it had been storming all night long, thundering and storming and carrying on. Well, I woke up at about 5:00 a.m. I heard water. Outside my bedroom window is my swimming pool, and I thought, well, maybe because it's been raining and thundering and carrying on all this time, that the swimming pool is overflowing. So, I got up to look out the window to see what's happening with the swimming pool, and when I put my feet on the ground, it was in about 5 inches of water [chuckles]. So, I looked out my other window at the river, and the river was in my house. So, in a period of about 30-40 minutes or so, it was waist deep in my house and went past my house a block or so. I had all my stuff out in the garage, boxed up, of all those originals, and the flood wiped them out. I had fish in my garage, so that was an exciting part, but yeah, I lost a lot of stuff, cassettes and stuff that over the years of songs that I’d written and had copies of some of the stuff we've done, and that all got wiped out too.”

In the same year as the no-name storm that destroyed the master recordings of He’s Able, a mysterious underground record label called Grey Matter released He’s Able on CD only their version includes a thirteenth track. The audio from the last day in Jonestown, otherwise known as “the death tape.”  Researchers have tried to uncover who was behind the re-release. Jack Arnold was never asked permission or contacted about it, though he is aware of its existence. Researchers’ efforts uncovered some interesting connections to Genesis P. Orridge and Monte Casazza, pioneers of the industrial music scene, but in the end, it was never uncovered who released the CD. Legend has it that Casazza broke into the San Francisco Temple shortly after the tragedy and absconded with memorabilia. Even after all this time, tales of forgotten Temple recordings and newfound footage circulate amongst researchers. There is no telling what might still be out there undiscovered.

Q219 Jonestown Express: “How Deep Is Your Love.” 

Jack Arnold Beam exceeded everyone’s expectations as a music director and record producer. The end product was masterfully executed and entertaining to listen to. Jack helped the Temple develop its sound that would accompany Jim Jones’ speeches as they traveled throughout the nation. The music was often someone’s first and last impression of the Temple and its mission. Prominent figures, politicians, and other churches invited the Temple to perform both in the United States and later in Guyana. Temple members, though extraordinarily talented, presented the image of everyday people united for a common cause, an image anyone seeking votes or followers gladly stood behind. Jack was happy with his experiences making the album and working with the Temple choir, but over time, there were aspects of Temple life that made him reconsider his membership.

Jack Arnold Beam: “You know something? The music drug in so much, and the other part of it was the speculation on older people's part, when we would go, we would get invited to go sing and stuff, and for Jones to speak. He would have people acting like they were newcomers to the church. Usually they would be dressed up as older people and he would do fake healings and stuff, and the people who were in the audience, who had no idea who we were or who he was, saw that, and between the music and the exuberance of all of that, the vibe and him do stuff like that, it was a shoo-in that they would follow him. But without the music, it wouldn't be nearly as dynamic as it was. When I heard that they were talking about going to the jungle, I wasn't going to do that. I had too many things I wanted to do in terms of my own pursuit of music and whatnot, to be strung out.  I knew enough to know what was going on with his whole outfit, and I thought to myself, because you couldn't really talk to anybody or it goes straight to him, but I thought to myself, “he gets your ass out there in the jungle, you ain't going nowhere.”

The more I found out, being around the group that he had his meetings with, and stuff privately, you know, the Planning Commission and all that. 'Cause they drafted me into that, and after I saw everything, I went home and I told Cindy, “Pack it up, babe, we're outta here.”

In 1976, Jack Arnold Beam and his wife, Cindy, left the Temple. The years Jack spent living his dreams of writing music for a great humanitarian cause had turned into a living nightmare. Because of Jack’s proximity to Jim Jones, he knew life in Jonestown would be nothing less than a prison, and his music would be used to recruit more workers into a cause that was becoming a dictatorship. All of the good intentions and dreams Jack conceptualized for He’s Able turned to ashes in the wake of Jones' narcissism. The paranoia fueling the fires of Jones' constant rage threatened to burn down all they had built. Jones began to alienate Temple leaders like Jack with his erratic behavior and shifting ideals.

Q963 Jones: “What the hell? You always questioning my honesty. Questioning my honesty. I– Anybody know that I gave all these millions up, when I coulda collected it. You people that’ve given it to me. When I healed you– How many have I healed...? How many have I got out of trouble? How many have I got your loved ones out of jail? So (voice rises) obviously I’m not uh– I’m not taking advantage. Who in the hell would want– This is a picnic. ...First comers, they say, well, he– there’s some rumor that I’m– I come– come over here and make slaves out of the people, and then– then kick you off after I’ve g– got the place. What the hell would I want with it? (chuckles) I don’t want to even live, so what would I want with this place?”

Jack Arnold Beam: “Listening to him right at the end, I started really hawking in on him. I'd smoked grass and all that stuff when I was out on my own in music full time and all that stuff, before I even came there, and I knew the guy was ripped because I could look at his eyes. Before I left, I started really paying attention to the guy, and I knew he was jacked. But when he was down there in Jonestown, he was so strung out on drugs, and being insecure to start with, and paranoid to the max, and I mean he was paranoid up here before he ever went down there, because I worked with enough musicians strung out on pills and dope and all kinds of stuff. I thought it would be basically the same crap that was going on while I was in there, that they want to have a commune, and I was thinking to myself, “They'll be out in the hot sun down by the equator, it's going to be a lot of fun out there picking up crap and working all day in the hot sun while Jones is in his apartment getting stoned.” When you get like that, where you’re every day just wiped out, paranoia, emotionally, that it, it tends to put one through that I knew I’m not going to be going along with all this. I'm just not, I'm not putting up with that.”

Q935: Shawn Baker sings Jonestown Express' cover of “The Banana Boat Song.”

The music of the Temple would go on evolving with the message in Jack's absence. Life in the jungle influenced the music. Guyana was now their home.

Q365 Greg Watkins: “And now, ladies and gentlemen. We’re glad to have you here in Jonestown, Guyana. Sit back and enjoy yourself. We have a brief program. Presenting to you, The Jonestown Express.” 

Jack Arnold Beam: “Down there in Jonestown, it was during his sermons and stuff he would stop and let somebody sing, you know, maybe solo, and would have the choir, the band participate in that while he is shooting up his cocaine. When they got everybody down there to Jonestown, they called it The Express. And Anita [Ijames Kelley], Anita worked with getting it organized, her and Deanna Wilkinson. Deanna Wilkinson was a super fine player and singer.”

 Q352: Deanna Wilkinson sings “1981.”

 Q401 Jones: “’cause he leaned over to me, and he said that– “Who’s that young woman singing that ‘1981’?” He said, “Is that the young woman you were talkin’ about that they threw acid on?” I said yes [Deanna Wilkerson]. He said, “I’ll bet that’s right.” He said, “I’ll bet it’s 1981.” I said, be 198– He said, “I’ll bet by 1981, Comrade Jim Jones” – he calls me Comrade Jim Jones – he says, “I– I’ll bet, people–people won’t be able to pass freely out of USA or in USA by 1981.” He said, “I like that song. It’s a sad song, but I like that song.” 

Mike Wood: “Again, what happened to her face? Oh, Jim would come up with this story: “Oh yeah, some racist threw shit in her face,” or something. I think she probably got burned when she was a baby or something. One of those accidental things where a hot pot falls off the stove and the poor kid gets in the way, and there you are. I think that's really what happened. Jim Jones said anything at the moment that served his purpose, whether it was the truth or not. I think she suffered from an accident. The scars on her face were the result of an accident when she was just a little kid. He loved to lie; he just loved, and he was always doing it. So yeah, he said that about her, but she never once mentioned anything like that. My recollection is that the only thing she talked about was what happened when she was a real little girl. Let me tell you something about Deanna: she had some serious talent, I mean, she was a professional caliber musician and singer. She was incredible. She was a nasty little shit, but she had talent, she had real talent. Loretta Cordell was unappreciated too. She was really good on that band organ. Deanna was having an affair with Loretta Cordell, and they were together a lot. Boy she could sing, God Damn, and she could play, she was just extraordinary.” 

[Q935: “This is Our Socialist Land!” plays]

Rebecca Moore once said that, after the Temple moved to Guyana, they were in many respects no longer a religious organization and were instead a socialist utopian experiment.  The Jonestown Express, the choir, the African dancers, and the many talents that graced the stage in the pavilion in Jonestown connected the settlers to the outside world, reminded them of home, and filled long, hot jungle nights with music. The lyrics to the songs may have changed, but the spirit of the performances, as you can hear in Deanna Wilkinson’s voice on November 17, 1978, remained unbroken.

NBC Footage from 11/17/1978: “That’s The Way of the World” [plays]

Jack Arnold Beam: “Everything has its meaning to each individual. Some of these songs are kind of cathartic for me, you know, and maybe will be up the road. I just believe it took a few years to understand it because after that first happened, for about the first three years, I was so resentful over my dad putting his family in that kind of situation, when he knew better. And then I was upset at myself for participating in something that helped promote that along the way. But once it's done, it is done, and I look at it now, realizing that you cannot preach to somebody about being involved in something like that until they personally realize that you shouldn't, or it's going to be a problem. I mean, you can say it all you want, but that doesn't mean that it's going to stick, because if people aren't looking for an answer, you're not going to get one. It's my opinion that when you get to a point in your life where you have nothing that still inspires you, you're not long to be here.”

On November 18, 1978, Jack’s family died in Jonestown. He lost his father, mother, and his sister Ellie. Fortunately, Jack's sister Joyce survived. That fateful day also claimed the lives of Mike Wood's entire family, the lives of Deanna Wilkinson, Loretta Cordell, Shirley Smith, Ruth Coleman, Richard Tropp, and most of the choir and children’s choir. Far too many to name here.

“Because of Him” playing under

On December 5, 1978, racked with grief and struggling to make sense of the tragedy, Jack Arnold began writing lyrics to a song that would eventually be lost and forgotten for 42 years. In October 2020, Jack unearthed these lyrics while sorting through papers nearly destroyed in a flood. Throughout his life, Jack has continued to work on his music, developing his sound and working with talented musicians. These days, Jack works alone in his home studio. Shortly after discovering these lyrics, Jack wrote and recorded the song, using the lyrics that reflect his thoughts and feelings at the time, just after the tragedy. Jack generously shared the song with me, and now I’d like to share it with you.

“Father Knows Best” by Jack Arnold Beam

The Attention Span Recovery Project would like to thank our special guests for this episode: Jack Beam, Mike Wood, and Laura Johnston Kohl. We would also like to thank the Jonestown Institute, otherwise known as the Alternative Considerations of Jonestown and Peoples Temple. Their website can be found at www.jonestown.sdsu.edu. The Attention Span Recovery Project would like to thank you for listening, and remember, never give up on your dreams; without them, you’re only asleep.

J.J. Tumbles [Greg Watkins]: Yes, that’s Millie Jackson comin’ at ya right here under the starlights. If you got enough room in your belly, go down and down some of that jelly, because comin’ up next is Rick James and “You and I,” come on…

 Q1059 3 Archie Ijames: All choir members are to be here at nine in the morning to iron choir dresses. Please bring iron and ironing board, every one that’s available. All choir members that are available, be here in the morning at nine o’clock. Bring iron and ironing bo– board to iron choir dresses.

 Jones: How many’ll be here? Choir members. How many choir members’ll be here? This is ridiculous, I have to go through this now. How many’ll be here? How many’ll be here to help iron? ‘Member, there’s little– there’s one member that’s not here today, because he didn’t keep my sayings yesterday.

 J.J. Tumbles: [Music-Visions by The Commodores “...so happy”] Yes that was “Vision[s]” by the hit group The Commodores] because we dancin’ so bright, we gettin’ down with the starlights, right here on top of the hill with J.J. Tumbles gettin’ down on J-Soul. Coming at ya is a hit from the Sylvers: “Swept for You Baby,” come on…

End Transmission