To Monica, With Love and Affection

At the beginning of the movie Titanic, we meet Rose, now an elderly survivor of the Titanic tragedy, sitting on the research ship with the explorers who will descend to the remains of the ocean liner at the bottom of the Atlantic. As she examines some of her own personal items recovered from the wreck, one of the scientists asks her, “Are you ready to go back to Titanic?”

For me, taking my memories back to the summer of 1980 in San Francisco, when I was to meet Monica Bagby, is like Rose in the movie, going back to relive her time as a passenger of Titanic.

For all these years that have passed, my recollections have remained vivid and intensely personal, known only to a few of my closest friends and family. This was not because of fear or shame, but I had never met anyone who had known her personally as I did until recently. It was also because I never had a safe place where I could write my memoirs of my time with Monica to honour her until now.

With the eventual advent of the internet and social media, luckily in 2022 I came across this remarkable website dedicated to the victims and the few survivors of Jonestown, including accurate and extensive information about this tragic event, held in perpetuity in memoriam and for research for future generations at San Diego State University. I knew then that I had finally found a place I could honour the remarkable and beautiful woman that she was, the late Monica Bagby.

* * * * *

As a young 20-year-old, originally from Melbourne, Australia, I had moved to Los Angeles, California in 1977. I then moved to San Francisco in the summer of 1980, with the intention to do more studies in posture and movement, as I was a former ballet dancer turned ballet teacher after a car accident ended my potential dancing career.

San Francisco was so amazing at that time, as anybody who lived there then will remember. The arts, the music, the night club scene as well as so much activism including Civil Rights, LGBTQ+ Rights, Women’s Rights to name a few. It was electric, colourful and inspiring to say the least.

I moved into a large apartment with some friends I had previously made in Santa Cruz. We all loved to go dancing to the clubs on the weekends after working a long week. The gay night clubs were of course fabulous, and for single girls often they turned out to be safer than the heterosexual ones. Our two gay flatmates knew all the hot spots and would guide us where to go and dance. One balmy, summer night, they suggested that we try a different club which – as I recall – was near the bay. It was a huge old mansion that had been converted into a nightclub/disco. So, we all spruced ourselves up and headed down.

It was absolutely packed from outside to inside. I recall finally getting through the front door once approved by the door security, and standing in the main ground floor area, with a huge winding staircase that went up at least four levels. The music was so loud that the floors vibrated, and so did my body.

There were mainly women but also some men and mixed couples, and the mood was totally electric. Suddenly I realised my flatmates had all gone off in different directions and I was alone. So, I decided to explore the venue myself.

I began walking up the winding staircase, with women standing on each stair against the wall, drinking, smoking, talking, kissing etc… Suddenly as I approached the first staircase landing, I saw a tall black woman talking to another facing in my direction. She was so stunning that I couldn’t take my eyes off her. She was leaning casually against the wall, wearing faded blue jeans, a jeans jacket with a navy and white striped t-shirt, and white sneakers. No makeup except a slick of gloss on her lips. She was slender and her skin glowed with her pretty afro cut. She could have been a catwalk model with her effortless grace and beauty. I kept walking and was trying not to stare.

As fate would have it, I caught her attention as well and she smiled at me. I did look pretty and was petite compared to her taller frame. I remember that moment. It was like everything else went silent in that din of noise, and it was she and I just standing there. Shyly, I kept walking up the stairs, but I could feel her eyes on me. I went to the first floor and felt my heart beating fast. What had just happened? I calmed myself down and thought to myself that I must go back down the same stairs to get to the front door.

Eventually, I descended the staircase again, and the beautiful woman I had seen was now looking upward toward me. As soon as I drew closer to her, she looked at me again and smiled, and I did in return. I made a split-second decision as I neared the step above her, and crossed over to face her directly, saying above all the noise “Hi, my name is Elana”. She then said warmly, “Hi, I’m Monica.”

Monica Bagby was even more gorgeous close up. Long dark lashes and huge brown expressive eyes, full lips and long neck. I felt intoxicated by her beauty and warmth in close proximity to her. I believe she felt the same way toward me. It was a sixth sense that women have with each other.

We tried to talk but the music was so loud we decided to go to the bar upstairs which was a bit more secluded. Both of us were slightly coy and shy. We both immediately felt at ease with each other and spoke for a little while.

It was after midnight by this time, and my flat mates who had brought me there had all but disappeared. Monica made the next move and suggested a nice coffee, ice-cream sundae place nearby. So, we walked in the lovely evening air and enjoyed some well-deserved caffeine and sweets.

I asked Monica where she lived. Looking back on her answer it was a bit nebulous, most likely because – as I now know – she was not settled in any one place yet. I suggested that she come back to my place.

When we arrived, I recall us trying to keep quiet and giggling so as not to wake anyone that was home. There was a small nightlight on in the carpeted loungeroom, which was next to an adjacent kitchenette. I went to open my bedroom door but it was locked: someone had already taken it and was asleep.

Monica and I somehow gathered up some blankets and made a makeshift bed on the floor next to the kitchen. Amazingly I recall the warmth of the air, both her and I sitting on the blankets looking at each other and holding hands.

Before we knew it, we kissed and it was beautiful. For the next few hours, we surrendered ourselves to each other, and it felt again like only she and I existed in the world. It was intensely passionate, sensual and felt right. It did not matter whether she was above me, below me, to my side or we were wrapped around each other, our bodies fitted perfectly together. Her skin colour against mine looked gorgeous, and I remember us both having our arms next to each other looking at them and each other’s bodies. The height difference just did not matter. In fact, we looked so pretty and perfect together. Even recalling this now fills my eyes with tears.

At about 4am, Monica and I were sitting in silence naked on the blankets. It is important to note that up to this point, Monica had not mentioned anything about Jonestown or her escape from there. This is why this next recollection is so moving and important. It is etched in my mind, every detail. Monica was sitting with her arms wrapped around her knees, with one cheek on her knee. I was sitting to her side, against her with one arm wrapped around her, and the other gently caressing her back. She was enjoying the contact and we were both so relaxed after making love and just wanted to hold each other close.

Aside from the night light near us, there was only a small window in the kitchen. The moon was full, and I recall seeing the combination of the moonlight and night light shining gently onto her back, making her skin glow gently. I kept caressing her spine and as my fingers brushed over the back of her chest, I felt these two long, thick scars either side. Without a word I kept caressing her there, and she did not flinch or back away. I looked and saw that the two scars looked quite fresh. My mind was racing: what were these scars from? I quietly thought of all conceivable scenarios. Then I wondered if it would it be too personal on the first night of our relationship if I asked her. But I did. I took the initiative and asked her gently, “Monica….” I paused … “these scars, if you don’t mind me asking, what happened?”.

She paused for at least 45 seconds. I still caressed her back and scars as I waited for the answer. Then she turned her body to me and looked at me. She then said, “Did you hear of Jonestown?” My mind was scrambling to recall anything about this. Then I replied, “Oh, yes, I remember seeing something on the nightly news just over a year ago in Los Angeles and all the horrific footage.” Monica then said. “Well, I was there and managed to escape earlier that evening before the mass suicide.”

It was as if someone had given me an electric shock. I was shaken but did not let it show. I had never had anything to do with Peoples Temple and knew absolutely nothing about it, other than what I had seen on the nightly news a year before. Maybe as I had lived in Australia previously, was not exposed to it.

I wanted Monica to feel safe to speak about it, and I wanted to be there for her. Holding her even closer and kissing her, I showed I wanted to hear her story if she was comfortable telling me. She must have sensed this and began to tell me her story in great detail. I watched her eyes and her face, and felt her body when it was trembling, angry etc…Her trauma was almost unreal. I couldn’t believe this incredibly calm, beautiful and gentle woman had the guts and the strength to decide to leave Jonestown, to survive despite being shot at such close range, nearly bleeding to death; and on top of that, encouraging Vernon Gosney to leave with her, each of them saving the other’s life.

Having been involved in Human Rights education work as a volunteer, I have encountered many survivor stories from war and genocide. Trauma at its worst. But to be both naked and sitting next to Monica, now as lovers, wrapping ourselves around each other as she told me of her unspeakable ordeal, was an entirely different level that has haunted and moved me till this day. I felt so honoured and humbled that she told me everything in explicit detail.

After she had finished, I had tears in my eyes and said to her holding her close, “But look at you, Monica, look how you survived, with your courage and determination”. I couldn’t even put into words my admiration and awe for her.

We talked more into the early hours of night. She spoke a lot about having a “gut feeling” when something does not feel right. She had that feeling when she arrived at Jonestown – sent by her mother to handle drugs – about six months before the events of November 18, 1978. She spoke about how this gut instinct had saved her life before.

By this stage we were exhausted and elated and eventually went to sleep in each other’s arms. Both Monica and I knew that this was no one night stand. Something had clicked with us from the beginning. I had never really thought about labels as regards to my sexuality back then, being young. Monica was clear that she was gay. This was not the first time I had been with a woman and was not the last, but clearly, we were both madly attracted to each other both physically and mentally. I believed for what ever reason we were destined to meet.

That morning, after shyly meeting my flatmates, Monica went home. Later that day, we spoke to each other on the phone. We missed each other already. She asked me out on an official date and I blushingly accepted. From that moment on we were inseparable. We went dancing, went to the movies, took long walks, showered together, talked into the wee hours of the night, and of course were extremely physical with each other. She looked most beautiful when she was laughing and smiling.

Walking hand in hand down the street, we looked as though we had always belonged together, and many passersby honoured us with their smiles. I felt a freedom I had never felt before being so open with someone of the same sex. Australia was still very conservative about that subject back then. I was also away from my family, trying to figure out my identity and my future.

As time went on, the pressures of confronting a possible long-term relationship with Monica, wondering if my family would accept it, and my own insecurities having come out of an intense relationship with my boyfriend before that, all of it eventually made me decide to remain platonic friends with Monica. It was not necessarily something she wanted, but nevertheless it went in that direction. Looking back whether that was the right decision or not, I can only say that given the circumstances and my age at the time, I thought that was best for both of us.

After a marriage breakup, I eventually moved back to Los Angeles with my mother, then headed back to Australia, with a stopover in Israel for a year. All in all, I was away from my home country for 5 years.

Life went on for both her and me, on different sides of the globe. I would think of Monica every so often and wonder how she was. In the 1980s and early 1990s, there was no internet, no social media etc… If you wanted to contact someone via phone, you had to go through an international operator, or write a letter, or send a telegram. I decided one day to try and locate Monica, assuming she was still living in San Francisco. After many attempts I finally found her address and phone number, and I was so relieved I did.

Our first conversation was a bit awkward at first, but we kept in touch every so often by phone. One of the last conversations I recall having with Monica was about 2005, when she told me about a docudrama called Paradise Lost that was going to air soon. She said the feature covered the five days leading up to the fateful evening of Jonestown, November 18, 1978, and that a South African actress named Roxanne Blaise was playing her. I was very excited to hear this news. I understood this was a big deal for both her as well as all other Jonestown survivors, to honour those that perished there, and for the bereaved family, friends and colleagues of those victims. Trauma is something that becomes intergenerational, and effects not only the ones lost and survivors, but all those connected to them. I know this personally, not only with my relationship with Monica, but also my families having lost nearly everybody during the Holocaust.

That was the last conversation I was to have with Monica. I lost track of her after that.

Much time, life and livingness passed, with myself remarrying my current husband who is from Bali, Indonesia.

* * * * * *

In 2022, I moved to Sydney, Australia for about a year, to take a well-deserved break from work and do some personal growth studies. One evening, after I had finished studying, Monica was very much on my mind as it had been that day in self-reflection. I had wondered where she was, did she finally meet a woman and get married and was happy? How was her health? All these questions I had. So, I decided to look her up on the internet. I sat there in my hotel room, at night, overlooking the gorgeous Sydney Harbour and bay. It was so pretty and I had a clear view of the Bridge and the famous Sydney Opera House.

Of course, Monica’s name came up everywhere as she is famous as a survivor of Jonestown. I scrolled down. Then my heart stopped….. an obituary notice. I blinked at the phone screen and was so shocked to see Monica had passed away mid-2009, the year of my 50^th birthday. She was one year younger than me. Myself an Aries, her a Taurus. I went numb in shock and couldn’t move for at least half an hour and just sat alone at my desk trying to absorb what I had just read. My mind was reeling. Why, how, what happened, was she sick, all scenarios going through my head. After I managed to pull myself together, I tried to find answers to those questions, but none were forthcoming. I tried to find if she was cremated or buried. If so, where was she interred or buried? I couldn’t find those answers then. I don‘t have those answers now.

I wanted to cry and talk to someone who knew her or who understood my relationship with her. Then there was grief, guilt. If only I had done this or that……maybe I could have helped her more. It is like when someone goes missing and they never retrieve the body or have closure. It all came crashing down on me all at once.

I wanted to research more about Jonestown, as so much more information and survivor testimony had come to light over the years after I met Monica, which was less than two years after she had escaped. I had read bits and pieces along the way, but then with a massive release of U.S. information about the tragedy, with more survivors willing to speak and write about their experiences, my timing was meant to be. I wanted to know more about Monica’s last years of life, her life before Jonestown and after. And somehow, it always went back to Jonestown on the timeline.

That was when I came to this website. I was amazed as I looked through it, with its incredible detail, testimonies as well as memorials for those lost. There I came across the memorial written by Monica’s former teacher, Elizabeth MacQueen, and the memorial by the late Vernon Gosney who had also been severely wounded in the Cessna plane with her and had escaped with her. I read them voraciously with tears in my eyes. Suddenly the gaps of what I didn’t know about Monica began filling in, from before, during and after I had known her.

It was at this point I made the decision to write my memoirs on Monica publicly and chose this website to do so. I had finally found a safe place in which I could honour Monica and with former Jonestown members and administrators of the site who had reality on what I was trying to say. I also liked that the website was held in perpetuity by SDSU to serve as a memorial for those lost or those who survived and as a research facility, done with the greatest respect, so that no victim or survivor’s name would ever be forgotten.

I contacted website’s administrators, Fielding McGehee and his wife Rebecca Moore, and they were so encouraging and gentle from the get-go. I asked if there was a way to get in contact with Elizabeth MacQueen.

They sought permission from her, and finally after much back and forth her I spoke with her over a series of meaningful and moving conversations. Elizabeth was the first person I had ever spoken to that knew Monica personally. Full of tears and relief, Elizabeth and I spoke. We were both able to fill in long gaps of Monica’s life to each other. There is still so much I do not know but hopefully will find out as my journey continues.

Finally, I was also able to get a never-before-seen photo of Monica from Elizabeth, taken most likely before her being sent to Jonestown. The photo is lovely, but still nothing compares to how stunning Monica was in real life. If I look back, I could compare her to a young Joan Armatrading, but even more striking.

Writing this has been a highly emotional journey, and I had to do it in steps at a time. I had not realised the gravity of her one-on-one testimony to me, all those years ago, sitting warm and naked next to each other, caressing and kissing her actual scars that came from the bullet wounds on the Kaituma airstrip in the Cessna plane. This firsthand account she shared with me so intimately and honestly, was not the same as the countless sterile interviews she had with government agencies post Jonestown. It was highly emotional and was a profoundly moving experience for both of us, as we were also intimately involved and I believe it was love at first sight. When Monica and I met each other that fateful evening at the nightclub, both of our universes collided, along with her ordeal at Jonestown and our intense relationship intersecting together.

I do not want Monica’s name to be forgotten. I really wanted to show a side of her that was never revealed before with all the love I felt for her. She was intoxicatingly beautiful, sexy, funny, gentle, smart and intuitive, yet had a strength about her that I believe saved her life that fateful day at Jonestown. I took my time in writing this memoriam to her, because I felt a huge responsibility to represent her in a way that is true and sincere. If Monica was standing in front of me now, I can hear her say, “Just tell the story, Elana.” Of course, there is much more I could tell but that I will leave unsaid here, as it is highly personal between her and me.

Finally, I wanted to dedicate Joan Armtrading’s beautiful song “Love and Affection” for Monica. This song describes so much how I felt about her and always will.

Monica, know that I loved you and always will. Maybe in some other time or lifetime, we may meet again.

[Elana currently resides with her husband and cat in Melbourne, Australia. She may be contacted through this website.]