Waco: David Koresh, the Branch Davidians, and A Legacy of Rage

David Koresh, the Branch Davidians, and A Legacy of Rage

Waco

Jeff Guinn

Bestselling author of Manson and The Road to Jonestown

Impressively researched and written with storytelling verve. —The Wall Street Journal

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In memory of Iris Chang: Historian and Hero

A fog of crosscutting motives and narratives, a complexity that defies storybook simplicity: that is usually the way history happens.

—RICK PERLSTEIN, THE INVISIBLE BRIDGE

A Note on Nomenclature

Victor Houteff founded the organization originally known as the Shepherd’s Rod, then later as the Davidians. The proper term for the group subsequently led by Ben Roden is Branch Davidians. When Lois Roden moved into the leadership, for a time she called her followers the Living Waters, but they ultimately remained the Branch Davidians. David Koresh did not emphasize a group name. Most followers led by Koresh identified themselves as Bible students, or, less frequently, as Students of the Seven Seals. In 1993, the name on the deed to Mount Carmel was General Association of the Branch Davidian Seventh-day Adventists, so members of the media covering the initial ATF raid and subsequent fifty-one-day FBI siege identified the besieged as Branch Davidians in their reports. Since this is the name ingrained in public consciousness, it’s the one I use most frequently in this book.

PROLOGUE

ATF, Morning, February 28, 1993

Just before dawn on Sunday, February 28, 1993, an eighty-vehicle caravan departed Fort Hood Army base outside Killeen, Texas, heading northeast toward Waco, sixty-five miles away. Cattle trailers pulled by pickup trucks took the lead and brought up the rear. In between was a hodgepodge of sports cars, station wagons, and nondescript government-issue sedans sporting telltale extended antennas. All had their headlights on—it was that early morning time when darkness and daylight weave together, and a brisk, chilly breeze blew about puffs of ground fog. Rain seemed certain sooner rather than later. The less-than-perfect weather was irritating, but the drivers in the mile-long procession had other things on their minds. They were all agents of the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms, better known as ATF and tasked with enforcing often unpopular federal laws. For the last two days, they’d been receiving special training at Fort Hood. In another few hours, they were scheduled to participate in the largest and, hopefully, best-publicized raid in agency history, one that might improve perception of their controversial organization.

Since late June 1992, ATF had investigated prophet David Koresh and his followers, collectively known as the Branch Davidians and living in a sprawling, makeshift building (ATF reports described it as a compound) called Mount Carmel on seventy-seven hardscrabble acres about eight miles outside Waco. ATF planners believed approximately seventy-five men, women, and children occupied the fire-ant-infested property; it was hard to get an accurate count because they milled in and around their building so incessantly. After eight months, accumulated evidence indicated that the group was illegally altering guns from semi- to fully automatic, with the intent of either selling them or else using the fearsome weapons as part of a plot to bring about the end of the world. This, ATF tactical planners speculated, might involve anything from an assault on outsiders to gory group suicide.

Though specifically what the Branch Davidians believed, and exactly what they intended, wasn’t clear to the ATF, it was still obvious that they at least had illegal guns in their possession, and illegal homemade improvised explosive devices (hand grenades), too. This made them lawbreakers, and appropriate targets of agency action. Two days earlier, on Friday, February 26, a U.S. district judge signed off on an ATF search warrant for Mount Carmel; a criminal complaint against, and an arrest warrant for, Vernon Wayne Howell (David Koresh’s given name); and, critically, an order to immediately seal the warrants from public view. ATF organizers feared above all else losing the element of surprise; every possible step to catch the suspects off guard was built into the raid plan.

Traditionally, ATF raids took one of two forms: surround and call out, giving suspects a chance to give up peacefully, and dynamic entry, bursting into the suspects’ lair before they had time to take up arms and resist. After many meetings and drawn-out discussions, dynamic entry became the plan for Mount Carmel, avoiding any potential for the Branch Davidians fighting back, destroying evidence, or committing mass suicide before arriving agents could stop them. The ATF’s intent was to swoop in, arrest Koresh, find and confiscate critical evidence, and close the raid without a shot fired by either side, with at least some of this efficient, bloodless action captured on film for the benefit of the media and members of Congress. ATF budgetary hearings were scheduled in March.

There were obvious impediments to the plan. The Branch Davidian property was located off a narrow country road, at the end of a long driveway winding up a barren slope with no cover for anyone approaching the front door. The suspects were up at dawn every day, and believed to be handy with their arsenal. But ATF officials based their plan on two factors vouched for by informants, former Branch Davidians who’d turned against Koresh. First, Koresh kept tight control on weapons; all guns were kept in a locked storage room and taken out only on the leader’s personal command. Second, Mount Carmel residents adhered to a rigid daily schedule. Each morning after breakfast there was the daily, a gathering for communion (grape juice and crackers rather than wine and wafers) and scripture-based discussion. After that, certainly by 10 a.m., all able-bodied men on the property came outside to continue excavation of a massive pit that surviving Branch Davidians later described as a tornado shelter. The ATF believed it was intended as a bunker to provide cover during firefights.

So, in just a few hours on this damp Sunday morning, the Branch Davidian men would be working outside, their guns would be locked away inside, and seventy-six ATF agents, concealed in two cattle trailers, a common sight on Central Texas country back roads, would rumble up the Mount Carmel driveway, emerge from the trailers on the double, get between the Branch Davidian men and their guns, and gain control of the property. From there, it would be easy. Everything hinged on taking the suspects by surprise. Raid planners were so confident of succeeding that there was not a fully formed Plan B if things didn’t go as anticipated. During their special training at Fort Hood, ATF agent Mike Duncan recalls, someone asked a supervisor, What happens if things go to shit? There’s no place to take cover. The response was vague—get out of the trailers, move away from the compound, return any fire. Agent Dave DiBetta remembers, "That sounded like something out of Monty Python and the Holy Grail; our [backup] plan is to get out of the trailers and run away, and then surround the place?" But the agents bought into the basic premise; the Branch Davidians would do as expected, and total surprise would be achieved.

The ATF caravan reached the Bellmead Civic Center around 7:45 a.m. (Six agents arrived several hours earlier, and had already departed to secure the muddy, wooded area behind Mount Carmel and prevent escape in that direction.) This collection of squat public buildings just off Texas State Highway 84 was chosen as the raid staging area for its convenient location—the tiny town of Bellmead was a few miles northeast of Waco and nine miles from Mount Carmel. Despite planners’ fixation on surprising the Branch Davidians, no thought was apparently given to concealing ATF’s presence from Bellmead locals—an ATF official, wearing a jacket emblazoned with the agency’s emblem, and several Bellmead cops stood in the street, directing caravan cars into the parking lot. Bill Buford, leader of an ATF Special Response Team (SRT) from the agency’s New Orleans division, was appalled when he went inside and found some sweet ladies, ten or twelve of them, serving coffee and doughnuts. The refreshments were welcome, but, at least to Buford, the civilians weren’t: It was obvious we were about to do something. [The women] could have told people about it.

The agents had about ninety minutes to go over raid plans with team leaders, change into combat gear, and prepare to board the cattle trailers for what would be another fifteen- or twenty-minute ride to Mount Carmel. Stacked in three abreast, thirty-seven agents would ride in Trailer #1 and thirty-nine in Trailer #2. Two ladders would also be crammed into the second trailer; some of the agents were expected to scale their way up to a roof just beneath an upper floor on a side of the compound where Koresh supposedly kept the guns locked away in a room.

The atmosphere as agents sipped coffee and chatted was energized rather than nervous. Most were either veterans of the U.S. military with considerable combat experience, or else had previously worked as police officers or members of the Border Patrol. There were elements about this operation that were unique, that made it, in the opinion of agent Rory Heisch, a BFD, Big Fucking Deal. For the first time in agency history, agents from multiple divisions—Houston, Dallas, and New Orleans—would combine in a joint operation. Typical ATF raids might involve up to twenty participants: an entry team, a perimeter team, and perhaps one or two members of the local sheriff’s department. But those raids usually took place at houses or apartments no larger than a few thousand square feet.

The Mount Carmel facility, so far as ATF planners could tell, sprawled approximately 43,000 square feet, and there were questions about the actual floor plan inside. Because the Branch Davidians had built the place haphazardly and without outside contractors, there was no blueprint on file for the ATF to study. During training at Fort Hood, masking tape and rope were used to indicate approximate room locations. Beyond the certainty about the group’s daily schedule and that all guns were locked away in an upstairs room, most of the rest of the raid plan for taking control of Mount Carmel’s interior was based on guesswork. One hundred and thirty-seven ATF agents, including support personnel, were on hand that morning to participate in the raid. It was impossible to be certain if that was the right number, too many, or too few.

About half of the seventy-six agents assigned to the dynamic entry were members of ATF Special Response Teams, the agency’s elite tactical units. SRTs were still relatively new; especially with the proliferation of hostage situations occurring across all of law enforcement, ATF agents had badgered their superiors for additional training equivalent to that undertaken by police department SWAT teams. Selection for SRT training didn’t mean more money—it was voluntary—but it brought considerable status within the agency. With that status came risk: SRTs led the way into every major, potentially volatile encounter. Even so, agents’ training and ability to remain cool under extreme pressure was reflected in an astonishing statistic: in the three years previous, ATF’s crack emergency teams executed 603 warrants and gunfire occurred only twice, with a total of three fatalities, all suspects. No one at ATF ever set out intending to injure, let alone kill, anyone.

This was apparent as agents prepared for the Mount Carmel raid. They armed themselves to gain and retain control rather than engage in a firefight. A half dozen agents carried AR-15 semiautomatic rifles, but most of the rest had lower-powered semiautomatic MP5s out of concern that Mount Carmel’s walls, floors, and ceilings were apparently constructed of flimsy materials. If any shooting did occur, agents didn’t want their bullets plowing into adjacent rooms where women and children might be sheltering. A few agents had shotguns. Almost everyone had a holstered handgun, and, particularly among the most veteran agents, a backup handgun. Agent Robert Champion was assigned to lug a fire extinguisher. The Branch Davidians had lots of dogs, some known to be aggressive. If any dogs attacked the raiders, Champion was to spray them with the extinguisher, in hopes that this would subdue the animals without making it necessary to shoot them.

Everyone donned protective vests, though the protective plates in them would not necessarily stop bullets fired from the high-powered guns that ATF believed the Branch Davidians had. Some of the agents who would lead the way through Mount Carmel’s front door even removed these plates from their vests, anticipating that, since the Branch Davidian men wouldn’t have access to guns, there might be some hand-to-hand fighting instead. A front vest plate alone weighed twelve pounds. Removing the plates gave these agents more mobility. Agents’ headgear ranged from a variety of helmets to woolen caps; ATF’s limited budget did not allow for providing much equipment beyond guns, ammunition, and vests. Penny-pinching was a fact of ATF life. Agents had to scrounge their helmets from military surplus outlets (frequently substituted wool caps were cheaper), and most bought their own combat boots, too. But despite forced frugality limiting their gear, the agents knew that, when they swarmed Mount Carmel, they’d still be an intimidating sight. Even the most apparently hard-bitten suspects usually surrendered abjectly when faced with the unexpected appearance of trained, combat-ready professionals. Agent Blake Boteler recalls, We didn’t think much about them [the Branch Davidians] fighting to the death. A lot of people claim they’ll do that. If ten do, then when we kick down that door, four wet their pants and the other six may curl up like a ball on the floor. Sometimes, there’s one ready to fight. The element of surprise helps. It gets people on their heels. They intend to fight, but self-preservation takes over and overrules whatever doctrine they have in their heads.

Far from actually fighting, ATF hoped to create a family-friendly atmosphere. Several females were among the seventy-six agents about to participate in the raid. They would enter Mount Carmel after the SRTs secured the building, then separate the Branch Davidian women and children from the men, gently escorting them to another area, where they’d soothe the kids by offering them candy. It was understood that Branch Davidian offspring rarely enjoyed such treats. When things were more settled, one or two agents were assigned to drive to a nearby McDonald’s and bring back sacks of Happy Meals for the youngsters. ATF support staff planned to bring tents to keep the Branch Davidian women and children out of the cold, wet weather, and to set up Port-o-Lets so that they could relieve themselves in privacy, undoubtedly a welcome alternative to the ubiquitous buckets that comprised plumbing-free Mount Carmel’s facilities. At the Bellmead Civic Center, all the women agents stuffed their pockets with candy, and so did some of the male agents. They hoped that the Mount Carmel kids, and perhaps their mothers, too, would feel less panicked thanks to all this bounty.

Even the final go-word signaling agents to exit the trailers and rush the compound was selected to be as nonaggressive as possible. The raid itself had the code name Trojan Horse. ATF’s traditional call to action was Execute, but the term seemed risky: if that portion of the raid was recorded for public replay, irresponsible members of the media and Congress might cite Execute as an indicator of lethal intention. So, for the Mount Carmel raid, the go-word would be Showtime!

The raid leaders were Phil Chojnacki and Chuck Sarabyn, the special agent in charge (SAC) and assistant special agent in charge (ASAC) from ATF’s Houston office. They were assigned these roles because Waco was part of their larger Houston region. There was some concern, especially among the more veteran agents, about Chojnacki and Sarabyn as raid leaders. Neither was considered to have much field experience. On this day, Chojnacki was scheduled to observe the raid from above in one of three helicopters provided to the ATF as support by the Texas National Guard, and Sarabyn planned to ride into Mount Carmel in Cattle Trailer #1. For the moment, both were out at ATF’s field headquarters on the campus of Texas State Technical College (TSTC), a site several miles away from the Bellmead Civic Center and Mount Carmel, but handy for an adjacent landing strip that could accommodate the National Guard helicopters.

In early January, ATF had also established what the agency termed an undercover house in a rental property directly across the road from Mount Carmel, and staffed it with eight male agents pretending to be TSTC students. One of these agents managed to visit Koresh at Mount Carmel several times. This morning, he was supposed to go into the compound one final time, to ensure that the Branch Davidian day was on its anticipated schedule, and that the suspects still had no inkling of ATF’s imminent arrival. Once the agent confirmed these facts to Sarabyn at the TSTC command post, the second-in-command would come to the Bellmead Civic Center and the raid would commence.

A point of unexpected concern was the first in a series of investigative articles about Koresh that was published on Saturday, February 27, by the Waco Tribune-Herald. Titled The Sinful Messiah, the initial stories indicated that Koresh maintained a harem of Mount Carmel women, including underage girls, and that Branch Davidian children were so savagely disciplined that Texas Child Protective Services had investigated, though not enough evidence had been found for CPS staff to bring a case. Learning of the series in advance, ATF officials worried that its publication might goad the Branch Davidians into high alert and thwart the agency’s plans for a surprise raid. At Fort Hood, the ATF agents were informed that the newspaper’s editors had refused the agency’s request to briefly postpone the series. Originally, ATF scheduled its raid for Monday, March 1. After being rebuffed by the Tribune-Herald, agency officials moved the date up one day to Sunday, February 28—Fort Hood training was cut from three full days to two. About the same time on Sunday morning that the ATF convoy left Fort Hood, Koresh and the Branch Davidians were reading a second installment of accusatory stories. The undercover ATF agent’s morning visit to Mount Carmel was especially critical; he was to observe whether the newspaper’s series was in any way disrupting the Branch Davidians’ usual daily schedule.

Just after 9 a.m., operation second-in-command Chuck Sarabyn rushed into the room where agents continued making their preparations for the Mount Carmel raid. He was clearly upset, shouting, Get geared up, we’ve got to go now, and several agents remember Sarabyn adding, They know we’re coming. To SRT team leaders Bill Buford and Jerry Petrilli, yelling out this news to the room at large was a breach of protocol. As raid tactical leader, Sarabyn should have first quietly summoned the more experienced team leaders to his side and elicited their advice before making and announcing the decision to carry on, even though the critical element of surprise was lost. They tried to calm Sarabyn and get more details. Both Petrilli and Buford recall that he kept repeating, We’ve got to go right now.

Sarabyn did share more information: the undercover agent in the Branch Davidian building had said Koresh got a phone call and immediately afterward told his followers that the ATF and National Guard were coming. But Koresh didn’t send the Branch Davidian men to the gun room to arm themselves. Instead, according to Sarabyn, the undercover agent reported that Koresh was sitting and holding a Bible. There was no sign of any weapons. There was still time to get to Mount Carmel before the suspects could prepare themselves to resist, if they planned to at all. All seventy-six participating agents scrambled to complete gearing up. SRT tactical medics used Magic Markers to note blood types on the agents’ necks. This was a new precautionary measure adopted during training at Fort Hood.

Most of the agents in the room felt some degree of skepticism. The plan had been to call off the raid if surprise was lost. The Branch Davidians held the high ground and had higher-powered weapons than the federal agents. If they were ready to fight, then the arriving ATF would face a head-on barrage with limited access to even minimal cover. But a chain-of-command mentality was imbued in them: when orders were given, they must be followed. If, as Sarabyn indicated, Koresh really was reading the Bible instead of rallying his followers to fight, maybe the mission could still be successfully completed. A few agents, mostly younger ones craving the opportunity to be in on some action, remained unabashedly gung ho. There was a general rush to the cattle trailers. Order of trailer entry had been rehearsed to the point of tedium at Fort Hood. Now, everyone hustled into proper position. Light rain began falling. It was still quite chilly. The back gates of the trailers snapped shut, and the pickup trucks pulling the trailers lurched out of the civic center parking lot.

We were sardined in, bumping up against the next guy, Mike Russell remembers. Those trailers didn’t have springs. The narrow county roads between Bellmead Civic Center and Mount Carmel were roughly paved, and we were all bouncing around, trying to find something to hang on to, maybe the iron bar overhead or bracing against the side. Plywood slabs were tacked to the sides of the trailers, and plastic tarp stretched across the roofs, to prevent anyone from seeing in. But it also prevented the agents seeing much on the outside—the only interior light on this drab morning came between sections of plywood, or else seeped through the thin tarp taped overhead. But they could see each other, and most appeared worried. Champion says, It was pucker time. They all had radios, and listened for any additional information. But there was nothing until they were almost to Mount Carmel, when word crackled through: There’s nobody outside. That chilled everyone. Boteler thought, They’re either inside destroying evidence, or else they’re arming up and we’ll run into a buzz saw.

In Trailer #1, SRT team leader Petrilli wished he could tell Sarabyn one more time how bad I think this is, but Petrilli was wedged tight in the middle of the trailer itself, while Sarabyn rode with the driver in the cab of the pickup truck. So Petrilli, bowing to the inevitable, passed the word to his squad: It’s showtime; goggles down and fingers off the triggers. In Trailer #2, the driver shouted back to his passengers, When I stop, you go.

Russell, struggling to keep his balance like everyone else in Trailer #2 as it made a wide right turn onto Mount Carmel’s driveway, had a final, hopeful thought: Well, maybe Koresh heard we were investigating, and would probably be coming after him. But maybe he doesn’t know that we’re coming right now.

He did.

CHAPTER ONE

The Shepherd’s Rod

The religious origin of what happened in 1993 in Waco extended back over 170 years to upstate New York. Farmer and Baptist lay minister William Miller, based on intense study and personal interpretation of the Bible, determined that the return of Christ and the destruction of the world by fire was imminent. Miller declared that Jesus would arrive, and the flames follow, sometime in late 1843 or early 1844, according to the biblical prophecies of Daniel and keyed to a certain span of time after a Persian king commanded the rebuilding of Jerusalem in 457 BC. Miller spread his message through lectures and published articles that were widely disseminated throughout the northeast U.S. and Canada. The concept that God would immolate the sinful earth and, with the long-awaited return of Jesus, bring about a fresh, spiritually pure kingdom was not unique, but Miller’s specificity struck a powerful chord with many who took every word in the Bible literally. If the Second Advent was coming, they would welcome it in the hopes that their sincere beliefs would gain them admission to a new, better world.

Some estimates suggest hundreds of thousands awaited the great event, but by the end of 1843, nothing had happened. Miller suggested a new deadline of March 21, 1844, and, when Christ and the flames didn’t appear, announced that he would watch and preach until the glorious day finally arrived. Loyal followers believed that Miller must have inadvertently made some miscalculation. There was a groundswell of support for October 22, 1844, as the correct date, but when that passed without incident—this was dubbed the Great Disappointment—Millerites were left to ponder what went wrong, and how to correct whatever human failings might prevent them from being properly prepared when Jesus did come again, as the Bible promised, and only the pure would be spared.

Some concluded that William Miller’s calculations of time were correct, but his biblical interpretation was flawed. Christ did return as predicted, but in Heaven rather than on earth. The significance of 1844 was that this was the time when Christ began judging individual mortals to determine their eligibility for salvation. To qualify, it was crucial to rigidly adhere to all holy strictures as they appeared in the Bible, with enlightened believers separating themselves entirely from the sinful ways of the world. These splinter Millerites formed the basis of the fledgling Seventh-day Adventist (SDA) Church, perhaps best known today for observing the Sabbath on Saturdays. The faith’s appeal to generations of like-minded biblical literalists was such that it eventually became one of the fastest-growing denominations in the world.

SDA tenets included that resolutely correct faith alone saves souls; the dead are unconscious and will eventually be subject to judgment; and Christ will return to the earth after a time of trouble. The Bible must be constantly studied; all truth is written there for those wise and industrious enough to discern it. In particular, there was certainty that God occasionally utilizes humans as messengers or prophets. These individuals offer new theological insights and interpretations that must be honored. Ellen G. White emerged as the most prominent among them. White was raised in a Millerite family, and, beginning in 1844, experienced a series of visions that collectively supported and expanded SDA doctrine. Before her death in 1915, White wrote innumerable articles and dozens of books, which became treasured study guides among the Adventists.

By the early 1920s, Seventh-day Adventist fellowships extended across America from coast to coast (more SDA communities flourished overseas), with members striving each day to follow biblical admonitions, endeavoring all the while to study scriptural nuance and avoid worldly temptations, positive that in their rigorous piety they would be eligible for salvation above all errant others when Jesus returned to judge mankind. SDAs did not indulge in William Miller–like prediction of specific dates, only that the Second Advent, the End Time, could occur any day and they must be ready. But it was this sense of being perfectly right while everyone else was completely wrong—no lukewarm piety impressed the Lord—that lent itself, one devout Adventist concluded, to a dangerous sense of self-satisfaction, of having already done all that was necessary to please God, with favorable judgment at the Second Coming assured.

Adventist Victor Houteff feared that his beloved church had grown too comfortable and spiritually lax. Unless its members returned to the biblically mandated constant state of vigilant piety, they were in just as much danger as outsiders of Jesus’s eventual negative judgment. Houteff, a Bulgarian immigrant born in 1885, moved to America as a young man. By the 1920s, he had made his way to Los Angeles, earning his temporal living as a washing machine salesman and expressing his spiritual piety by teaching in an SDA Sabbath school. Physically, there was nothing notable about him; Houteff was of average height, 5’9", and his most distinguishing feature was a thick pair of eyeglasses. But his mind was nimble, and his determination to understand and obey God’s laws was unflagging.

In every available minute, Houteff pored over scripture and found himself increasingly drawn to the apocalyptic scenes of the Book of Revelation, and to Ezekiel 9:1–9, which depicts one angel coming to earth and marking the foreheads of 144,000 fortunate believers who would be spared in the End Time, with five other angels killing everyone who is unmarked. Houteff had long assumed, in company with his fellow Seventh-day Adventists, that all 144,000 elect would come from among their church’s membership, which by 1929 numbered about 300,000. But now Houteff feared that too many SDAs were lazy in their study of, and adherence to, biblical law. He made a helpful list of damning errors, including selling church merchandise, lack of reverence, disbelief in prophecy, following the fashions of the world, and insisting that we have all the truth and have need of nothing. Houteff began discussing these perceived flaws in his classes and other Adventist gatherings. Church leaders were alerted, and ordered him to desist. When he refused, it was decided that Houteff should have an opportunity to make his case before a group of SDA elders, and they would offer appropriate rebuttal. Afterward the elders weighed both sides, and announced that Houteff was proven wrong, and must recant. He did not agree, and escalated his efforts.

In 1930, using his own funds and contributions from supporters gleaned from SDA ranks, Houteff published The Shepherd’s Rod: The 144,000 of Revelation 7—Call for Reformation, Vol. 1. In it, he repeated his stern warnings, all of them citing specific biblical scripture, and wrote, "The truth here is of great importance to the church just now because of the foretold danger which God’s people soon are to meet. It calls for decided action on the part of the believers to separate themselves from all worldlings and worldliness; to anchor themselves on the Solid Rock by obedience to all the truth known to this denomination, if we must escape the great ruin. Houteff, utilizing italics, concluded with a key biblical verse: The Lord’s voice crieth unto the city, and the man of wisdom shall see thy name: Hear ye the rod, and who hath appointed it. Micah 6:9. But Houteff was also at pains to stress that he was not calling for a new church, only a recommitment by all current Seventh-day Adventists to shape up: This publication does not advocate a new movement, and it absolutely opposes such moves. It brings out a positive proof which cannot be contradicted that the Seventh-day Adventist church has been used by God to carry on His work since 1844."

Houteff and his followers, all proclaiming themselves still loyal to the Adventists, continued arguing their case, often in parking lots of SDA churches after they were denied permission to speak to congregants inside. Houteff described himself as the rod sent by God; if only Adventists would listen and mend their ways, they could still comprise the surviving End Time remnant.

Houteff decided that he needed room to build a following sufficient for preparing the way for Christ’s return, space where even the 144,000 elect might initially gather, if God so chose, in the beginning of the Second Advent. He studied the U.S. map as intently as he did the Bible, seeking out the perfect locale combining available, cheap land and a religion-friendly culture. Houteff didn’t intend for his flock to mingle freely with new neighbors; these unfortunates, who might claim faith but lived in worldly ways, would have to face Final Judgment on their own flawed merits. Rather, he wanted a home where his people—the Shepherd’s Rod—would be respected for their rigorous, Bible-based beliefs, and left alone to practice them.

In 1935, Houteff believed he’d found the perfect spot, and purchased almost two hundred acres just northwest of Waco, Texas.

Waco, home in 1935 to perhaps sixty thousand hardy souls, is perched in McLennan County, below the banks of the Brazos River, some seventy-five miles south of Fort Worth and Dallas and ninety miles north of Austin. The town’s low-slung silhouette reflected its flat, unremarkable surroundings. Visually, there was nothing memorable about it. Waco’s two claims to fame were as the place where popular soft drink Dr Pepper was invented, and as the home of Baylor University, a Baptist stronghold where rules for students were considered shining examples of conservative Christianity. Baylor students were expected to abstain from liquor, tobacco, and premarital sex; most notoriously, the school effectively banned dancing. Though there was no written policy forbidding this blatantly lascivious activity, the administration always denied requests by campus groups to hold dances. Students enrolling at Baylor were understood to be making a declaration of lifestyle choice as well as pursuing an education.

Even in Texas, Waco’s religious fervor and conservative atmosphere were considered excessive: within state lines, its nickname was Jerusalem on the Brazos, or, sometimes, the buckle of the Bible Belt. Most residents took these appellations as compliments. Rod Aydelotte, a photographer for the Waco Tribune-Herald who was raised in the city, recalls that we knew all about religion because we had every church in the world.

By luck or godly inspiration, Victor Houteff selected the perfect home for his transplanted Shepherd’s Rod. He and his followers took possession of rocky land seven miles northwest of Waco city limits. The property abutted the pebbly shores of Lake Waco, whose 7,270-acre surface area was fed by the North Bosque and Bosque Rivers. Christ and Judgment Day were coming. In anticipation, the new settlement was named Mount Carmel, honoring the biblical passage Micah 7:13–14—Not withstanding the land shall be desolate because of them that dwell therein, for the fruit of their doings, feed thy people with thy rod, the flock of thine heritage, which dwell solitarily in the wood, in the midst of Carmel.

Houteff’s Mount Carmel eventually had some 120 denizens. Everyone who came, worked, either on the property or else in the outside community, where contact was cordial on both sides. Completely dependent on Houteff’s leadership, the newly gathered Shepherd’s Rod flourished. Though he claimed no special status beyond dedication to God’s service, most followers believed Houteff to be the holy, modern-day equivalent of Elijah, a biblical prophet who proclaimed the imminent coming of the Messiah. Houteff ruled his rugged kingdom with a gentle, but firm, hand, constantly cautioning that even the most faithful faced eventual baptism by fire, as prophesized by John the Baptist in Matthew 3:11. Additionally, he stressed that this prophecy would be fulfilled not by Jesus, but by some as yet unidentified later figure as its instigator. Deserving God’s favor after the Second Coming was going to be hard, and it was not only incumbent on true believers to welcome the challenge, it was their obligation to continue pleading with recalcitrant Seventh-day Adventists to mend their errant ways. A printing press was acquired at Mount Carmel, and all of Houteff’s sermons and teachings were recorded in pamphlets, which then were sent to every SDA member in the nation whose home address was available.

As years passed, Houteff acquired more land along Lake Waco, until Mount Carmel encompassed about 375 acres. He sent out two-man preaching teams to visit Seventh-day Adventist congregations around the country and sway them toward the teachings of Shepherd’s Rod. Houteff follower Dudley Goff remembers going to [these] churches and getting pushed out, but they couldn’t push us off the sidewalks in front because that was public property. We’d stand there and hand out leaflets. Sometimes people would spit at us. Houteff’s messengers proudly flaunted their identity: We had ‘Hear Thee the Rod’ signs on top of the car.

Two other notable events occurred in the era of Victor Houteff presiding over Mount Carmel. The first came in 1937, just two years after Shepherd’s Rod arrived in Central Texas. Houteff was always scrupulously circumspect in appearance—modestly priced suits and ties—and behavior. No hint of scandal touched his ministry up to the moment when, at age fifty-two, he was finally married—to Florence Hermanson, the seventeen-year-old daughter of devoted followers. The age discrepancy disturbed some loyalists, especially when the new Mrs. Houteff immediately assumed the role of her husband’s primary assistant, most notably during his Saturday Sabbath sermons, when she sat in the first row and took down all his remarks in shorthand for transcription immediately afterward. The couple lived in a second-floor apartment in the Mount Carmel administration building. No children were born to the Houteffs; Florence’s youthful vigor was expended on behalf of her husband’s ministry rather than birthing and raising progeny.

And in 1942, with American entry into the Second World War, Mount Carmel’s young men were eligible for military draft. This conflicted with Houteff’s role for them, the spreading of his message and the ongoing building of Mount Carmel into a spiritual haven where, if necessary, at the dawn of the Second Advent, the 144,000 elect could congregate before they (presumably including the Shepherd’s Rod faithful) would be transported to Israel. Shepherd’s Rod was not legally certified as a church, where young, pious male members could claim draft exemption on religious grounds. Houteff reorganized his flock as the Davidian Seventh-day Adventist Association, claiming both a connection to an established church and to King David’s throne, which would be occupied by Christ following His return. The first word in the new name became how the group was commonly known in Waco: Davidians.

CHAPTER TWO

The Davidians

For two decades after their arrival in Waco, the Davidians couldn’t imagine life without the leadership of