Closing The Gate: A Heaven's Gate Cult Biography

well-being.

Introduction

On March 26, 1997, in Rancho Santa Fe, California, 39 men and women were found dead in a spacious rented mansion - the apparent victims of self-induced drugs and alcohol. The 21 women and 18 men - ranging in age from 26 to 72 years - were members of the Heaven's Gate cult, and carried out the largest mass suicide to ever occur on American soil.

The question often asked is Why?, but the answer is as difficult to understand as the act itself. From their own accounts, they believed that exiting their vehicles (killing their bodies) would free their souls and allow them to reach the Next Level of Human Consciousness (Heaven). As the Hale-Bopp Comet approached Earth, the group prepared to meet their guide to the Next Level, on a UFO thought to be following in the comet's wake. They cut their hair in similar short styles, dressed in matching, custom-made, black garments, and Nike® athletic shoes, ate identical last meals, and methodically ended their lives.

Most had written or video-taped messages for the families and world they left behind, explaining that this departure was their choice, and was to be celebrated, not mourned.

The group, now known as Heaven's Gate, had been in existence for more than 20 years, under various names, including: The Two, Human Individual Metamorphosis (HIM), Total Overcomers Anonymous (TO), The Transfiguration Monastery for Renunciants in Readiness for the Kingdom of Heaven, and The UFO Cult, but were largely unknown until their mass exodus.

In the months which followed the mass suicide, many articles were written about the 39 individuals, their common beliefs and practices, their families, and their lives before joining the cult. However, there were other deaths related to this cult - others who believed as they had, and reached beyond life, toward the Next Level. Some were reported, some were not.

James Edward Pirkey Jr., called Gabby, GBB (GBBODY) and Jizo, by his cult family, was one of the former cult members whose death trailed the mass suicide.

He was 36 years old and living in a small apartment, in a rundown section of Southeast Atlanta, Georgia, when he followed the precious spirits to the Next Level.

I am his sister, and this is his story.

Chapter One

Told by Jimmy's sister, Deborah (Deb Simpson)

Past Time for Me to Go

"It's past time for me to go.

The precious spirits have long since taken flight."

Excerpt from Jimmy's letter of May 10, 1997, and his sketches of the 39 members of his cult family who were involved in the mass suicide.

Wednesday, March 26, 1997

Tampa, Florida

As I watched the evening news, I had no way of knowing that the events of this day would lead to my brother's death. When the newscaster began to talk about a mass suicide involving a strange cult in California, I watched with only mild interest, until he mentioned the nicknames Do and Ti, and played a news video of Marshall Applewhite talking about Earth being recycled.

In the picture, Do's eyes were wide and wild - his eyebrows raised and fixed, and his overall mood excited. His words were filled with intellectual philosophies, biblical language, and a practiced tone, which made me wonder what he was trying to 'sell', but that became clear, as the newscaster continued.

Marshall Applewhite, known as 'Do,' and his partner Betty Nettles, known as 'Ti,' started this group in the early 70's, the newscaster began. I felt my heart racing, as I raised the volume.

Nettles died several years ago, and the group has been living a nomadic existence - only recently moving to the Rancho Santa Fe area. A local restaurateur tells us that the group came in together on Sunday - just three days ago, and each of them ordered the same, exact meal of salad, pot pie, and cheesecake. I shivered as a chill ran up my arms, and for one moment, I stopped breathing.

The 39 men and women were all dressed alike, in black sweatpants and black shirts. Each had the exact amount of money in their pockets - one five-dollar-bill and three quarters. Some of the men had been castrated, including Applewhite.

The newscast paused for a commercial and my mind deluged with concerns for my brother. It's the cult that Jimmy had been a member of….did he rejoin them? Was he one of the 39? I raced to call my aunt.

Aunt Kay, did you hear the news…about the cult that committed suicide? I asked as soon as she answered the phone.

You mean those people in that big ol' house in California? she asked. Yeah, we saw it on the news earlier today.

That's the cult that Jimmy was in! Do you know where he is? If he's ok?

I reckon he's okay. He was the other day, when I talked to him. Besides, what makes you think this is the group he was with? He didn't say nothin' to me and Mike about the group planning to kill themselves. Just said he was in a commune-like place for a while.

I know, but he didn't tell you everything. It's them. He told me about the names they used, the leaders, Do and Ti, and how they had nicknames for everybody that ended in 'ody'. Jimmy was called GBBODY or Gabby, for short. It was kind of a joke, because he talked, or gabbed, so little.

Well, anyhow, he ain't with them now, so you don't need to worry none. He's here in Atlanta - not in California.

Can you call him? He hasn't talked to me since I refused to send him money the last time he asked, and I'm afraid he'll try to follow them.

As I hung up the phone, I watched the pictures of the bodies being removed from the house in Rancho Santa Fe, and turned up the volume just as the newscaster began to talk about the cult's history.

"It seems that this group has been known by many names: The Two, HIM (Human Individual Metamorphosis), the Transfiguration Monastery for Renunciants in Readiness for the Kingdom of Heaven, and the Total Overcomers."

I knew it. It is them. The Total Overcomers was the name on the card Jimmy left for Mother when he joined the group. The Transfiguration Monastery for Renunciants in Readiness for the Kingdom of Heaven was the name on the tract he left with his goodbye letter.

As the newscast flashed the date and time, I realized that it was exactly two years ago, on March 26, 1995, when Mother died of cancer. I wondered how Jimmy would see this coincidence.

The next day, Aunt Kay called to tell me that she had spoken with Jimmy and everything was fine. We would later learn that even as he said this, Jimmy was planning his death.

Wednesday, May 6, 1997

Heaven's Gate was back in the news. A former member had committed suicide as he followed them to TELAH (The Evolutionary Level Above Human.) Once again, I wondered what Jimmy was thinking, how he was handling the death of his spiritual family, and how he felt about not being there when they went to that Next Level, as he called it. I tried to phone him at work, but was told he was out sick that day. I wondered how many other former members were thinking of 'exiting their vehicles' through suicide.

Tuesday, May 13, 1997

I left work early, feeling drained and with a strange sense of foreboding. When the phone rang, I thought of not answering, but somehow I knew that I needed to.

I heard the sob in my aunt's voice as she spoke into the phone. I'm so s-sorry…I h-have to tell you this…Jimmy's…..dead.

I sat on the end of the bed, unable to move. As my voice cried, Oh, no…Oh God, no…, my mind began to whirl with thoughts of my only brother. Large, sad, brown eyes, playing in the sand with his cars. reading or watching television in his room…always alone.

On this sunny, warm Florida day, the world seemed to be moving in slow motion - nothing quite real, quite true. My feet were unable to find the floor, my eyes unable to focus. The sounds of the outside world were muted and distant, as if they existed in a dream. I could hear my aunt's voice on the phone, and my fiancé's voice next to me, but I couldn't quite comprehend what they were saying.

I heard myself ask the questions when…where…how…, and I heard my aunt answer, but I couldn't grasp the words she said. I struggled to picture the events she described, and simultaneously tried to prevent myself from picturing them.

Jimmy wrote a farewell letter explaining that he had to leave - that he didn't intend to hurt anyone. He placed a purple cloth above his bed, dressed in black garments and new tennis shoes - as his cult family had done - lay down in his bed, and placed a gun to his head. He died in the ambulance on the way to the hospital.

My baby brother, my only sibling, the little boy who was more like my son than my brother, was gone.

I remember one moment of relief - that Mother had died two years earlier, and would not have to endure the death of her only son. But the moment of relief passed quickly, followed by years of grief.

James Edward Pirkey, Jr. died on May 13, 1997. He was 36 years old, had never been married, and had no children. He had placed a gun to his head, and reached for the Next Level - the place where he hoped to meet the precious spirits already departed.

This is the story of his life - of the childhood that left him lonely and searching-seeking something to make him feel worthy and welcome in the world. Instead, he found something which led him to leave the world.

A copy of Jimmy's letter to Aunt Kay is in Appendix D

Chapter Two

Told by Jimmy's mother, Kathleen

Never Tellin' Nobody….

Jimmy at six weeks, in my arms.

Look at them big ol' brown eyes!

Seattle, Washington

1961

My little Jimmy had hisself a tough time bein' borned. His ole' daddy, Jim, jist wouldn't make hisself keep a job, so I didn't get to see no doctor when I was carrying Jimmy, and I got Toxemia and both of us almost died. I wanted to wring his father's neck. We didn't have no insurance and no money to pay for no doctor. Course, my mother had seven babies and never saw no doctor, so I kept tellin' myself it'd be okay. Anyhows, it probably didn't help none that we kept a movin' all the time. All we did was pack and move and pack and move, from one dump to another.

When I was six months along with Jimmy, Jim got this wild hair up his butt to go to California. So, off we went - from Daytona to Los Angeles. And jist like always, we packed up and left without tellin' nobody we were leaving or where we were goin'.

You know, other people probly thought we were a family on vacation, and Jim liked to act that way. He had got us all new suitcases and new clothes - he liked to have new stuff. He was good lookin' at six feet tall, broad shoulders, dark wavy hair, and big brown eyes that I could look at all day. 'Course his waistline told how much he liked his sweets. He always wore shorts and bright flowery shirts, and liked to talk to everybody. When I stood up right beside him, my belly big with his baby - I was proud to be his wife.

It was my long, dark, wavy hair, and five-foot-six set of curves that made him look my way when we met at that ol' Redfern Meat Packing Plant in Atlanta. Now I jist felt fat, in my pedal pushers and big ol' maternity tops. My daughter, Deborah, was almost as tall as me - nine years old, wavy blonde hair, blue eyes, and wearin' one of her new short sets with matching shirts.

Jim and Deborah got along real good. They liked the same things - peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, Frankenstein movies, and spendin' money.

Jim had bought us a new car - well, new for us anyways - and it was a big ol' dark red and black thing, with lots of room. Jim said it was a Buick Roadmaster Coupe. All I knowed is that it had lots of room, built-in ashtrays, four doors, and air conditioning. I shore was lookin' forward to bein' cool on this long trip across the country. All the time we was a'drivin', Jim kept talkin' 'bout how good it was gonna be in California.

I'm tellin' you, Hon - this is the place we've been looking for. It's always warm, like Florida. No more snow and ice, like we had up there in Washington, D.C. We can throw away them ol' coats. There are so many jobs out there that they can't find people to fill them. Remember that guy I worked with back in Daytona? Jim took a drag on his cigarette and continued. He told me that he started as a dishwasher, making $3.00 an hour, workin' all the hours he wanted. If he can get that much for washing dishes, think how much I can get as a bartender. I'll bet I can make more than $200 a week, easy!

That sounds great, Hon, I said. I hope we can find a place with lots of room and a yard for Deborah and this baby, I said, patting my belly. I smiled sideways at him, as I took a drag on my cigarette and blew the smoke out the winda'. I jist can't believe your boss at the bar gave you all this money. Three thousand dollars is a lot - 'specially with you leavin' and all.

Well, he did. He said it was a bonus, to pay me back for all business I brought in being a bartender. Anyway, I think this baby…and I believe it's a boy…is a sure sign of how good things will be for us. No more buyin' clothes from thrift stores - no more rollin' our own cigarettes to save money - no more livin' in dumps. We're gonna have money to do things. We're gonna see Disneyland and Hollywood.

Jim took a long drag on his cigarette and blew out the smoke, as he kept talkin'. This is where it's finally all going to happen for us. He slapped the steering wheel with the butt of his hand. He was always a'doin' that when he was tryin' to make a point.

We're really going to see Disneyland? Really? Deborah piped up from the backseat. She always piped up when it had anything to do with havin' fun - jist like Jim.

I jist listened – wonderin' to myself how much of this crap would be real. He made these great promises before…Daytona, Jacksonville, Washington D.C. Jim had big dreams, but they jist never came true. I hope you're tellin' the truth, and this time really is different. Purty soon, there'll be four of us to feed, and I won't be able to get no help from my family in Georgia, with us way 'cross the country.

The first couple'a days on the road, Jim and Deborah sang along with the radio - stuff like Get Your Kicks (on Route 66) and I Fall to Pieces. When we couldn't get no radio, they jist sang old songs, like Ninety-nine Bottles of Beer.

I didn't sing much. I was too busy thinkin' 'bout how much money Jim was spendin', and how much the doctor was gonna charge for bringin' this baby into the world. I s'pose they thought I was an ol' stick-in-the-mud, but somebody had to think about money, 'cause Jim and Deborah never did.

We were stayin' in nice hotels, and eatin' in real restaurants. I kept a'tellin' them that we needed to stay in cheaper hotels and save that money, 'cause we was a'gonna need it when we got to California. They didn't listen to me - jist like always. But it shore was nice to be a'sleepin' in hotels instead of the car, and eatin' real meals, 'stead of boloney sandwiches like we usually did when we traveled.

When we got into Oklahoma, we picked up Route 66, going west - jist like the one in that TV show they named after the road - it's one of my favorites. That George Maharis is one good lookin man! But when we got to Oklahoma City, Jim and Deborah wanted to see Frontier City - and here we go again, spendin' money. Frontier City's a little western-type amusement park with gunfight shows. Jim and Deborah really liked it. I was jist hot and wanted to sit down someplace cool.

Oklahoma was a dry, dusty, and miserable hot state - and I was gonna be glad when we got it behind us. When we finally got us a motel, Jim and Deborah swam in the pool, and I sat in the chair, and smoked, and added up how much money we spent on this little fun day. Then I went back in the cool room and put my feet up. They were swelled up, and they hurt pretty bad. Early next mornin', we gassed up the car and got back on the road.

Well, we finally got to Arizona, and there was red sand scrub brushes and spikey ol' desert grass all around us. Didn't see why nobody would want to live out there. They called it the badlands - they said it was 'cause nobody wanted to live there early on, and it got to be known as bad - and I can see why. We were drivin' through the Petrified Forest, lookin' at all the sights - and for once, Jim picked something that was free. It was real hot and dusty, and we couldn't use the air conditioning, cause it made the car run hot. So's we had to keep the wind'as down all the time, and all that red dust was a'blowin' all in our new car. The only good thing I could say was that the rocks'n sand was real purty.

Look at the colors in them, there rocks. I've never seen rocks that were red and orange, I said, as we drove past a bunch of petrified stuff.

It's not really rock. I read about this. Petrified wood is really trees and branches that were somehow washed underwater, and because of sediment in the water, and the temperature and lack of oxygen, the wood turned to quartz - you know, crystals…like you find in jewelry, Jim explained.

Hmmph! I don't care what it is - it looks like rock to me, and it shore is purty, I said. "Sure would make purty