other that we will do for ourselves?5 Stay positive: Do not allow your group to turn into a “pity party.” Pity parties rob you of your spirit and do nothing to empower you. The purpose of this gathering is not simply to complain, and stop there. Go ahead and get what's bothering you, worrying you, or hurting you off your chest, and then ask for advice. Brainstorm possible solutions and strategies for the issues you're facing.
6 Use the WIT Kit: The suggestions found at the end of each section in this book can provide a focus for your meetings. We purposely created the WIT Kit to give you tools that you can work with as a group in your own kitchen-table meetings. Discuss the topics and questions among yourselves.
7 Share your experiences: Visit our website, www.kitchentablefriends.com, and let us know your stories.
Our kitchen-table group met for over ten years and, during that time, we told many stories, solved many problems, and mended many broken hearts. We begin by introducing you to the defining moments that brought us together as lifelong friends.
2
TRANSCEND MISFORTUNATE EVENTS.
Although there may be tragedy in your life, there's always a possibility to triumph. It doesn't matter who you are, where you come from. The ability to triumph begins with you. Always.
OPRAH WINFREY, TV HOST (1954–)
Jungle Encounter
“Nightmares. They still invade my sleep forty years later. The nightmares remind me that life is a precious resource to be used up, enjoyed, lived. I am Jackie Speier, and my nightmares take me back to a fateful November day in 1978. I was twenty-eight and getting ready to purchase my first home. I was legislative counsel to a US congressman and I had it all! I also had a strong premonition that the trip I was arranging to South America could be one from which I might not return. ‘Silly thoughts,’ my friend Katy assured me. ‘After all, you will be traveling with the press corps and a US congressman. What could possibly happen?’
“Holed up in a congressional office for hours at a time, I was reading State Department briefings on a religious community created by the Reverend Jim Jones. We were investigating numerous allegations from relatives that their family members were being held against their will in a jungle hideaway known as the People's Temple. As we reviewed taped interviews with defectors, I had an ominous feeling—a feeling I could not put out of my mind. One former member had told us that people were being forced to act out suicides in an exercise Jones called the White Night.
“Congressman Leo Ryan, my boss, had heard enough. He decided to see firsthand the plight of US citizens in Guyana. But even after the CIA and the State Department had cleared the trip for safety, I still had doubts.
“We flew into Guyana's capital, Georgetown, changed planes, and continued on to Port Kaituma—a remote airstrip deep in the South American jungle. A convoy of several trucks drove us to the Jonestown encampment. We entered a clearing in the jungle, where I saw an outdoor amphitheater surrounded by small cabins. You couldn't help but be impressed by the settlement. In less than two years, a community had been carved out of dense jungle. During our first and only night at the People's Temple, the members entertained us with music and singing. I remember looking into the eyes of Jim Jones—and I saw madness there. He was no longer the charismatic leader who had lured more than 900 people to a remote jungle commune; he was a man possessed.
“The congressman and I randomly selected people to interview to determine whether they were being held against their will. Many of the individuals were young—eighteen or nineteen years old—while others were senior citizens. One by one, each confirmed that they loved living in the People's Temple. It was almost as if they had been coached to answer our questions. As the night drew to a close, NBC news correspondent Don Harris walked off alone to smoke a cigarette. In the darkness, two people approached him and put notes into his hand. Harris gave the notes to me, and I held in my hands evidence of what I had sensed all along: These people were indeed being held against their will in this South American compound.
“Morning broke, and I interviewed the two people who had given Harris the notes saying they wanted to leave. Word of the opportunity to leave had gotten out, and more people started coming forward saying that they also wanted to leave. Then suddenly, a couple of men with guns appeared. Chaos ensued as more people approached us wanting to leave. Jim Jones started ranting and screaming. Larry Layton, one of Jones' closest assistants, said: ‘Don't get the wrong idea. We are all very happy here. You see the beauty of this special place.’ One hour later, Larry Layton had become one of the defectors, asking to escape the jungle compound.”
3
WHEN LEFT ON THE TARMAC, START WALKING.
The world is round and the place which may seem like the end may also be only the beginning.
IVY BAKER PRIEST, FORMER US SECRETARY OF THE TREASURY (1905–1975)
Three Minutes from Death
“People began screaming and crying, some parents engaging in a tug-of-war over their children—one wanting to go; the other wanting to stay. So many people had decided to escape the People's Temple that the consulate had to order another plane.
“We left for the airstrip. Dressed in an oversized yellow poncho, Larry Layton, Jones' assistant, seemed overly eager to board the cargo plane. I distrusted him and asked that he be searched before boarding. A journalist patted him down, but did not find the gun Layton had hidden under his poncho. Thinking back, I now realize how helpless we were—a congressman, congressional aides, journalists, and cameramen; not one among us a police officer or military escort. We had nothing to protect us other than the imagined shield of the invulnerability of a US congressman and members of the US press corps.
“Suddenly, we heard a scream. Seconds later, I heard an unfamiliar noise. I saw people running into the bushes and realized that the noise was gunfire. I dropped to the ground and curled up around a wheel of the plane, pretending to be dead. I heard footsteps. I felt my body twitch as someone pumped bullets into me at point-blank range. I was shot five times.
“The gunmen continued to walk around the tarmac, shooting innocent people. Soon it was quiet. I opened my eyes and looked down at my body. A bone was sticking out of my arm, and blood was everywhere. I remember thinking: My God, I am twenty-eight years old and I am about to die. I yelled out for Congressman Ryan, calling his name several times. There was no answer.
“The plane's engine was still revving, and I thought that if I could just get to the cargo hatch, I could escape this place. I crawled toward the opening, dragging my body as close as I could to the baggage compartment. A reporter from the Washington Post picked me up and put me into the cargo hold. I remember asking him if he could give me something to stop my bleeding, and he gave me his shirt. I was losing so much blood that the shirt was soaked in seconds.
“The plane was filled with bullet holes, and we soon realized that it would never make it out of this hell on earth. Someone pulled me out of the plane and placed me back on the airstrip. Accidentally, they laid my head upon an anthill and ants started crawling all over me. Lying next to me was a reporter's tape recorder. I taped a last message to my parents
