DAVID M.’S LIFE STORY: (The story you are about to read is true)

Caveat … The story you are about to read is true and I never killed anyone unless it was a justifiable homicide.

Guest Blog: David’s Life Story

 

DAVID M.

 

Caveat…The story you are about to read is true and I never killed anyone unless it was a justifiable homicide.

My name is David M. and I am 57. I was born on December 16, 1952 in Mesa Arizona. I am the eldest of 12 children. I am a Sagittarius and I love adventure. My adventure started when I was five years old after my parents Nephi and Anna Mae took me to live in a colony of ex-Mormons in the state of Chihuahua Mexico called Colonia LeBaron. This colony is a small place that is just south of Galeana Chihuahua Mexico and is and just north of San Buenaventura Chihuahua Mexico. This is a colony where they practice polygamy. (I do not practice it.) During my childhood I did not have time to be a kid because the elders had us all in the fields clearing it so they could plant alfalfa, tomatoes, sugar cane and corn. It was difficult time to say the least. By the time I was 9 years old I was taught how to plow the cleared fields behind a mule team and was out there plowing the rows to be planted. That is the way it was between 9 and 12 years old.

Ervil LeBaron

During that time my mother left my dad Nephi and married the second in charge of the church called Church of the First Born of the Fullness of Times or as call I call it “The Cult.” His name was Ervil LeBaron (Look him up on Goggle) and he had 9 or 10 wives and many children. He was an evil man with the soul of the devil. Ervil hated me with all his might because I was the eldest son of my mother and not a product of him. This is the only explanation I can come up with because before I started rebelling I was an obedient kid. Well because of his hatred for me through no fault of my own I became rebellious and refused to follow his orders and defied him at every turn. One day when I was 12 years old I flat out refused to do something he ordered me to do so he ended up beating me with his fists and kicked me with his feet to the point I lost consciousness. I remember that before losing consciousness I saw my mother standing at the front door of our house watching what was going on and she walked back into the house.

David’s mother, Anna Mae

When I regained consciousness in the dirt street in front of our house I dragged my bleeding body to a hand cranked well where I drew water and washed the blood from my body. It took me a lot of years to forgive my mother for that but I have since forgiven her.

She was caught up looking at Ervil as a living God because she felt he was a Prophet and felt he could do no wrong. Even though my mother says she does not remember the incident I have still forgiven her and moved on from that. I remember while cleaning up the blood from my body I felt such a burning rage sweep through me. I had such pure hatred pulsing through my heart and soul for Ervil that I decided then and there I was going to kill him even if I had to do it with my bare hands. Ervil was a huge man compared to me but I really did not care at that point.

I remember getting a kerosene lamp (We had no electricity) and going down into the dark basement of the house. I was always scared to go down there but this day I was not scared. I rummaged through the boxes and odds and ends looking for something to use to kill him. I eventually found a rusty single shot 12 gauge shotgun and some old shotgun shells. I remember sneaking the shotgun out of the house then going far away from the house where I tested it to see if it worked. I figured out how to load it and boy did it work. I nearly broke my shoulder firing it. I then hid out where I knew Ervil would come by in his truck and waited and waited until he showed up. While I was waiting, something happened to me that to this day I cannot explain. While waiting with this rage which was building and building, I began to feel an intense heat begin to permeate my body.

It started at my feet and worked its way all the way to the top of my head. The sensation was so real I remember being confused and wondering where the heat was coming from. This heat was of such intensity I can only describe it as if one is too close to a raging bonfire and your flesh feels like it is coming off. I dropped the shotgun on the ground and as soon as I did the intense heat dissipated. I picked up the shotgun and took it to a small manmade lake located nearby and threw it in the lake. I believe there was some Devine intervention that day, which stopped me from becoming a murderer, well that is what I think anyway and I am glad I did not kill Ervil even though he was an evil, evil man. After throwing the shotgun into the lake I returned home where I took a blanket and four loaves of my mother’s homemade wheat bread and with the clothes on my back I walked to the highway and hopped a ride never to return.

From the age of 12 until I was 16 years old I roamed alone throughout Mexico working as a cowboy field hand and construction worker. I spent much of my time living under bridges, bushes the stars and in culverts along the highway. Needless to say I had many adventures. (More to plug in here) I eventually ended up in Tijuana Baja California Mexico during winter time. I only had a blanket to keep warm which did not do very well in that respect but it was better than a stick in the eye. I was freezing and hungry and sick with a nagging strong cough. I found myself on a street in Tijuana where all the prostitutes hang out. I walked up and down the street to talking to several of them individually asking them for some food. All but one yelled at me something to the effect “Lárgate Niño malcriado” which loosely translated means “Get the “F” out of here you miscreant child.” One of the women named Maria took pity on me though and got me something to eat and took me to a pharmacy where she paid for some medicine. I remember the guy gave me a shot in my butt which seemed to eventually cure whatever I had.

She bought me a warm coat and let me live with her down at the Tijuana River where back then people lived in board and tarpaper type shacks. It was a filthy place to live but at least I had a roof over my head. I think they have all been torn down now. I lived with her for about 3 or 4 months and she treated me like her little brother. I walked the streets with her to keep my eye on her so she would not get hurt. I think I was 14 years old then. I then left and continued my way down south never to see her again. I wish I knew where she was so I could find her and thank her for helping me in my time of need. I then ended up in a small community just south of Ensenada called either Ejido or Colonia Chapultepec where Estero Beach is located. I ran into a local kid named Felipe on the beach who rented horses to the American Tourists. I hung out with him during the day and at night I lived under an overturned boat on the beach just outside Estero Beach next to a dilapidated bait shack where I later sold salted anchovies to the tourists. I remember one day while walking along the highway in Maneadero Baja California I stopped to rest in an olive grove next to a ditch. I distinctly remember asking myself if being a homeless person was all I was ever going to amount to.

It was at that point I decided I had to somehow find my way to my grandma’s house in Mesa Arizona. All I knew at that point is that I had a grandmother named Hattie in Mesa Arizona and an Uncle Melvin. I said goodbye to my friend Felipe and headed south. While walking along the highway between Maneadero and Colonia Vicente Guerrero one night I decided to sleep in a culvert under the highway. I was out in the middle of nowhere. I had been walking along the highway picking up cigarette butts people had thrown out of their cars and was smoking them. I went down into the culvert and wrapped myself in my blanket and fell asleep. The next thing I remember is hearing these God awful snarling sounds coming from the area of my feet. I woke up and realized that a large pack of coyotes were in the culvert and in the process of attacking me. They must have thought I was a dead body or something and were going to eat me. I probably smelled pretty ripe at that time. When they started biting my shoes and tearing at my blanket I rose up in such a fright I began screaming at them at the top of my lungs. I picked up anything I could lay my hands on and threw whatever I had in my hand at them.

I ran up to the highway and just kept running with a rock in my hand and looking behind me to make sure they were not coming after me. When daylight came I was going to throw the rock away but realized it was a crystal about the size of a half a pack of cigarettes or a little less. I kept that rock all these years and made a small crystal rock necklace with it which I have to this very day. I continued my journey south and ended up in Colonia Vicente Guerrero where I found a job digging for clams at the beach. It was cold work because I had to go out into the surf waist deep early in the morning and dig them out with a garden type pitch fork and put them into a gunny sack. I worked as a clam digger for a while living in a rusted out car next to the sand dunes and ate clams every day. I then headed south again and got a ride in a pickup truck with a Mexican man who ended up dropping me off in the middle of the desert because he was turning off the main highway and going east up into the mountains. There I was, without food and water in the middle of nowhere during the middle of the day. It had been raining so I looked around in the desert for any pools of water may have collected and the only water I found was that which had collected in some cow hoof prints. Of course I drank it.

 

Mama Espinoza

I found a rattlesnake by accident which I killed with a rock and skinned and gutted with my bare hands because I did not have a knife. I did have matches though which I used to light the cigarette butts I found discarded along the highway. I found some dry grass and started a little camp fire which I used to cook the snake over the coals. I had done that before with jack rabbits I had killed while roaming throughout Mexico. I then found a Cholla Cactus and an Ocotillo bush. I removed several sections from the cactus and Ocotillo with some rocks and sticks to form a ring on the ground so I could sleep in the middle and keep the snakes away from me. I had a restless sleep that night and the next day I was picked up by another Mexican man in a pickup truck and off I went making it to El Rosario Baja California. I remember coming down into the town from the mesa and being dropped off at Mama Espinoza’s Restaurant. There was one of those old gas pumps in front of the restaurant the type where the gasoline was hand pumped into a glass container on top of the pump. I think I was 15 years old then. Back then there were no paved roads that I recall beyond El Rosario. I remember that I was starving and that Mama Espinoza took me in and gave me food and a warm place to sleep.

She treated me as though I was one of her own children. I told her my name was David Martinez because I was an illegal alien in Mexico and did not want to get in trouble. Back then I was a kid and I think I was not expected to have a Mexican Government ID but just the same I did it to be on the safe side. I worked at the restaurant for a time then I went to work at a ranch called Rancho San Juan de Dios located in the mountains south east of El Rosario where Anita’s husband Heraclio Espinoza owned a small ranch. One of Mama Espinoza’s sons and his wife lived on the ranch at the time. Before her son was at the ranch he worked as an abalone diver and wore a hard hat type diving suit to gather abalone. While I was at the ranch an old man came who was hired to build an adobe house next to a water tank and a small stream. One of my jobs was that of helper and had to haul big adobe bricks to him. The man was an alcoholic. I don’t know how, but he managed to keep everything level and plumb. Whatever he was drinking he always put it in his coffee morning noon and night. At night after work he would drink some more and walk along the lonely dirt road in the hills of the ranch singing and yelling. There was nothing around for miles and miles but cactus, wild animals and cows.

One night the old man took off on one of his walks and I fell asleep. I was suddenly awakened and could hear him yelling very loudly from a long way away. It sounded as though he was injured or something. I went to wake up Mama Espinoza’s son at the main house and found he too was awakened by the yells of the old man. We walked for a long distance down the road in pitch black toward the yelling old man. When we found him he was lying on the ground drunk as a skunk with one of his arms over the neck of a calf and singing to it. We dragged him for what seemed like an eternity back to his bunk where he refused to go to sleep and kept arguing that he wanted to go back and sing to the calf some more. We had to hold him down until he finally passed out. The next morning he denied he did any such thing and was pissed at us for making up the story. I wonder what happened to him. After I returned to the restaurant from Rancho San Juan de Dies, one day a young American Tourist traveling alone stopped to buy gas at Mama Espinoza’s in an old World War II 4X4 ambulance wagon. It was still painted in the military green.

He told me that he was going to cross over the mountains to the other side of Baja California and head over to San Felipe Baja California. I told him I was an American and was trying to get to my grandmother’s house in Mesa Arizona. He offered to give me a ride as far as San Felipe so that day I told Mama Espinoza I had to leave. I thanked her for her kindness and left with American who gave me a ride to San Felipe. I got a job in San Felipe working as a dishwasher at a restaurant on the beach north of town. I slept in a small rat infested trailer while working there. I remember the owner had an old, old Toyota Helix pickup truck that we always had to park on a hill to start it by popping the clutch because the starter would not work. One day I got so sick that I remember dreaming that rats were eating me. The next thing I know is I am waking up in the surf and the pickup truck is parked on the beach. I guess I drove it to the beach and jumped into the surf which must have reduced my fever to some degree. I remember an American tourist couple were walking on the beach and pulled me from the surf. I guess I was out of my mind because the next thing I know I was at the local clinic where they paid for my care. I wish I knew who they were so I could thank them.

I had the Hong Cong Flu or something. One day after I felt better and working at the restaurant a shrimp boat captain came to the restaurant from his fishing boat on a smaller boat which he beached and came into the restaurant to eat. I found out he was out of Guam’s Sonora which was on the other side of Bhatia de California and one step closer in getting to Arizona. After explaining my situation and wanting to get to my grandmother’s house in Arizona I asked if he would give me passage to Guam’s which he said he would. I worked for 2 or 3 weeks on the shrimp boat. I remember that for the first couple of days I was so seasick I was in the fetal position in the living quarters. After that I was ok and got my sea legs. The captain dropped me off in Guam’s where I got work with Circus Vargas feeding the elephant and cleaning up their poop. I remember they had such large poops. While working at the circus I found out there was a warehouse near the Port of Guam’s where semi tractor trailer drivers loaded up to head to Nogales Mexico which borders with Arizona. I asked around for passage to the border until one of the drivers finally consented to give me a ride.

He gave me a pack of Raleigh cigarettes and told me to meet him at the warehouse the next morning before light. I camped out near the warehouse next to some trash cans all night long until he showed up at the warehouse then next morning. The trucker gave me a ride to Nogales Mexico. He drove me all the way to the border and pointed out a line of people walking into the United States and told me “Kid get in the line and when you reach the immigration man tell him you are an American Citizen.” I got in line and continued forward with the rest of the people. At the time I was wearing rags for clothes and had cardboard in my shoes to cover the holes in the soles of my shoes. I also spoke better Spanish than English at the time. Well when I reached the immigration guy I told him I was an American Citizen trying to reach my grandmother’s house in Mesa Arizona. For whatever reason he did not believe me, and neither did any of the other immigration guys. They ended up turning me over to the Mexican Immigration who locked me up in the Nogales Mexico Jail. God was I scared. I was in a big cell with many criminals and with only one toilet to go to the bathroom. I spent the night wide awake and never used the bathroom once.

The following day the Chief of Police had me brought to him and asked me what the hell I was doing in his jail cell. I told him about Colonia LeBaron and my homeless travels throughout Mexico and that I was a 16 year old American Citizen just trying to get to my grandmother’s house in Mesa Arizona. God did he raise the roof at the police station with the people who placed me in the jail cell. The Chief made a telephone call to someone and the next thing I know is two Americans came to interview me at the police station. I told them my story and the names of my grandma and uncle and they said they would try to find them for me. For the next 4 months or so I lived at the police station in a small room where they put a cot so I could have a place to sleep. The policemen bought me some new clothes and new shoes and some of them even took me to their house so I could take a shower. I became the official police shoeshine boy, office cleaner and interpreter until my Uncle Melvin showed up with my American Birth Certificate and took me home to my grandmother’s house in Mesa Arizona.

David M.

At the Age of 17 I joined the Marines and went to Boot Camp in San Diego California. God only knows how I passed the test to get into the Marines since I had no real formal education before the little I received when I went to my grandmother’s house. At the age of 19 I married a girl while stationed at Marine Barracks, Naval Ammunition Depot Hawthorne, Nevada. Her name is Donna. We were married for 10 years and had 3 children Katrina, David Jr. and Dana. I now have 6 grandchildren. While in the Marines I was a Military Policeman then went on to become a Criminal Investigator with the Criminal Investigation Division. I was sent to Okinawa Japan where I worked with the drug suppression team. We worked closely with the Japanese Narcotics Control Department, which is the Japanese D.E.A. because the Military personnel would trade military equipment and arms with the Japanese Mafia called the Yakuza in exchange for drugs.

One day our team consisting of Americans and our Japanese counterparts entered into an operation against the Yakuza. One of my responsibilities was to be a lookout on the outer perimeter looking for anyone sneaking up from behind us while the assault team entered the building to take down the Yakuza and any military personnel in the building.

I was located in an open raw sewage ditch we called “Benjo Ditches” which is common in Okinawa. What a stench. I had my .45 Caliber pistol locked and loaded in my right hand with several other loaded magazines at the ready. I had just looked back toward the warehouse from my rear when suddenly the hair on the back of my neck rose up. I whirled around my pistol in hand with my elbow tucked into my side and to my horror there was a Yakuza pointing a shotgun at my head from about 10 feet away. It seemed like everything slowed down at that point.

I remember realizing he was not one of the good guys because he was not wearing the yellow pieces of cloth each of the team members tied around their left and right upper arms. This all must have happened in microseconds because as soon as I turned I pulled the trigger as fast as I could and emptied my magazine into the man and he fell dead. I remember that one of the first things I thought about afterwards was that moment many years back when I was going to shoot Ervil LeBaron with the shotgun and wondered if I had shot him would I have survived this shotgun encounter. To this day I wonder if there was a connection with the two incidents. I later had to go before a Japanese Judge where I was exonerated and the incident declared self defense.

After coming home from Okinawa I divorced my first wife and three years later I married a Marine. We had a son who now works for the Riverside County Sheriff’s Department as a Corrections Deputy. My second wife the Marine and I ended up going to the first Gulf War called Operation Desert Shield and Operation Desert Storm. She was in the desert closer to the enemy in Kuwait than I was. She was near Al-Saffaniyah and I was assigned to the Port of Al-Jubayl and was the Chief of Detectives in charge of seven Criminal Investigators responsible for investigating crimes for 75,000 Marines. My wife was an Electronic Repair Technician. We rarely saw one another. Occasionally I would sneak away from the base and drive the one hundred miles at breakneck speeds in my white Crown Victoria to get there before dark. I wore one of those red and white checkered Saudi Arabian headdresses to blend in with the rest of the Saudi Arabians driving on the road. I would bring her things she could not get out in the desert and only had time to spend an hour or so with her. Before heading back I would have to fuel up at the fuel farm from big bladders of “Mo-Gas” and head back on the dirt road at night with my headlights out because they were in black out conditions.

David M.

It was a bitch driving in the desert on the dirt road with my head poked out of the driver window trying to keep on the road and going through military check points in a civilian car hoping they would not shoot at me while trying to get back to the highway. Once on the highway though I drove the 100 miles back to Al-Jubayl at 100 miles an hour or higher in that Ford Crown Victoria. I loved that car. I went to see her only a couple of times during my 9 months in Saudi Arabia. When I returned to the states I retired after 23 years and would only drive a Ford Crown Victoria for years up until recently. Since my retirement I started another career as a Criminal Defense Investigator and I work for a county government in California. I have about eight years left before I can retire and get my second retirement. My wife continued on with her career in the Marines and also did two tours in Iraq before she retired this year after serving 30 years. We have been separated for the past 15 years but still live under the same roof. She lives in her side of the house and me in mine. Life continues on. Let’s see where my next adventure begins.

David’s blog on his trip to see Mama Espinoza will follow in a few days.

0 THOUGHTS ON “GUEST BLOG: DAVID’S LIFE STORY”

  1. Dear David: For some reason, your name is hidden behind the the bar that begins where we write our comments, so I’m unable to see if my voice recognition program spelled correctly or even wrote correctly what I spoke into it. If that makes any sense!

    A friend I met who found my Website while surfing for more stories and information about LeBarons, found your story. She Emailed me the link, saying she figured she had found a story I had not read about the LeBarons. How right she was!

    I loved your “Adventure” attitude toward life, despite how you survived such unbelievable experiences. I thought my life was bad, but I could not have begun to have survived what you survived and lived through.

    Your life far surpasses what your sister Anna LeBaron relates in her book. Your story should be made into a book and sold if you could use the money, and it’s worth it to you to go to the trouble to sell your book. In fact, I think it could become a classic — something I akin to another Huckleberry Finn Adventure!

    I should tell you who I am. I lived across the street from your mother, and remember what a gorgeous and sweet young boy you were at eight or nine — when I taught you for a little while in my little school. I was only 15 or 16 years old then.

    I am Beulah Spencer or “Miss Beulah,” as my students called me. Ervil is my mother Esther LeBaron Spencer’s brother. The hate you felt Ervil had for you defined the hate I saw that he carried for everything and everyone.

    He was a very angry, blaming, revengeful man. I wish your story could get out there right along with your sister Anna’s right now. The world needs to see what this psychopath was really like. I could tell you a lot more, but first I would love it if you had the time to check out my Website at StephanySpencer.com.

    And I would love to talk to you. Meanwhile, I need to go eat dinner while I cry my heart out. I know of no other way to relieve myself of some of the deep pain I feel after having just read your tear-jerker “shoot from the hip” story. It is such a perfect example of what went on in Colonia LeBaron, too.

    It shows how strong and smart you were that you left when you did. Were I in your shoes, I would have sat by the roadside and cried till I died. Instead, you faced and withstood, then overcame unbelievable and dastardly life experiences — for a tender little boy of no more than twelve, to begin with, no less.

    Talk about a story of redemption and courage! No story can surpass yours! Caroline Lane wrote on my Website, in the comment section of my book report I posted on your sister Anna’s book, that Anna was the perfect poster child of someone who has overcome impossible odds.

    I am pretty sure that she has replaced Anna’s story with yours, now, as the perfect LeBaron survival poster child. BTW, she is the one who sent me the link to your Website.

    Call me at 818-363-7664. Or if you prefer, email me at Steph Spencer10@Gmail.com. Or you could simply leave a comment on one of my Posts on my Website. For I would love to touch bases with you.

    Much love, sympathy, compassion, and respect for you,
    Stephany Spencer de LeBaron/ AKA: Beulah Spencer Tucker

  2. Hi, again, David.

    I see you I was in too big a rush to send you my comments. I should have reread and edited everything at least one more time. A number of egregious errors slipped by, thanks to my undependable Word Recognition program.

    I even forgot to give you my URL, it appears. It is StephanySpencer.com

    Looking forward to hearing from you, dear David. You are one amazing person. When I knew you at age nine, never could I have imagined the life of such a perfectly beautiful boy would turn out like this!

    I thought Aunt Anna Mae was a loving mother. No, it seems she had no heart — and less sense. I do not care how much she thought Ervil was God, you don’t allow anyone to kick and beat your child unconscious and then leave him lying in the street to come to his senses on his own and drag his way to the well to pump water to clean himself up, blood and all.

    This woman should be behind bars. Nobody could be brainwashed enough to be as heartless as she was with her children. She was somewhat as non-empathetic as was Ervil.

    I remember what she did to your father Nephi all too well. What makes it even worse — so much worse — is Nephi had grown up with Ervil and his siblings, so was somewhat like part of the LeBaron family.

    But Evil-Ervil betrayed all his family, friends, and everyone else. Some of his children, such as Gabriela LeBaron, still want to think he was a God — and she believes that people are casting blame on him unfairly — and that it was “others,” such as some of his wives, who ordered all those murders, etc. How I wish I could cut-and-paste your story and send it to her.

    She has her own blog site: GabrielaLeBaron.com, but it’s not open to everyone to read. You have to get her permission, now, to read or see what she posts there.

    Take care and warm regards,
    Beulah/ Stephany

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One thought on “DAVID M.’S LIFE STORY: (The story you are about to read is true)

  1. Stephany, I am glad that your blog is serving as a means for different members of the LeBaron colony to come together and tell their stories.

    Some very remarkable people spent some trying years in the colony. I think if everyone would share their stories we would have a book worth reading.

    All the best,

    Caroline

    Liked by 1 person

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