Darker Than Fiction: Crimehub

Do you ever stumble across facts from history that feel like we shouldn't know them? Like they're just too dark to even be real. That is what today's episode feels like. Welcome back to our favorite true crime episodes of the year. This whole month we've been giving up our feed to some of the best storytellers in true crime, talking about cases that stuck with us long after listening to them. This week, we're featuring an episode from Crime Hub, a show that delivers the kind of chilling, atmospheric storytelling we know you love. The case is the deadliest act of Familicide in US history, carried out by Ronald Simmons and Arkansas in 1987. It's a horrifying story of control, abuse, and hidden violence. Enjoy today's listen and I'll see you again on Monday for the final act in our special takeover series. Dear Ma, sometimes you reap many more times what you sow. You have given so much to this family. This is just a little token of our appreciation. Keep it in remembrance of us. Love, gene, and family. Ronald Gene Simmons woke early on December 28, 1987. The bearded Vietnam vet from Pope County, Arkansas had slept on his couch the night before, with two pistols within arms reach. He lived with his family on a 14-acre farm they called "Mockingbird Hill." Despite being a quarter mile from Arkansas Highway 7, the Simmons home was remote, quiet, and eerily still. That morning, Gene walked the property for what was likely the final time. His stroll brought him to a shallow grave in the woods behind the house. Inside were the bodies of his wife, his granddaughter, and five of his seven children. They were doused in caracene and laced with barbed wire. They'd been shot, beaten, and strangled to death three days before Christmas. And yet, despite the horrors before him, Gene never flinched. He didn't blink. He didn't shake. He didn't even shed a tear. All he could think about was the bottle of sweet wine waiting for him at home. He returned to the house atop "Mockingbird Hill," where he stepped over the bodies of seven more family members. Among them were his eldest daughter, his son, their respective spouses, and three more children. The youngest of whom was only twenty months old. Gene retrieved his sweet wine and drank until the bottle was dry. Then, he sat down and removed all the money in his wallet, roughly $250. He grabbed a pen in some paper and wrote a letter to his mother-in-law, May Novak. He signed it, loved Gene and family, knowing damn well that he was the only one left. Over the Christmas weekend in 1987, Gene murdered fourteen members of his family in the deadliest act of familiar side in US history. Then, he drove into Russellville, Arkansas, where he wounded four and killed two more. Nobody knew how long he'd been planning the bloodbath. Those outside the secretive family didn't think he had it in him. They didn't know what a monster he was until rumors began circulating about his seven-year-old daughter, Sylvia, and the incestuous relationship she was born of. Troubled youth. Ronald Gene Simmons was born six weeks premature to LaRetta and William Simmons on July 15, 1940. He was the middle of three children and lived with his poverty-stricken family in Chicago, Illinois. Illness kept the premature baby on death's door for the first two years of his life. His older brother started school in 1942. That same year, his mother gave birth to a healthy baby girl. Then, in 1943, William Simmons dropped dead of a sudden stroke. The sick toddler was left to fend for himself before he could walk, talk, or use the bathroom on his own. Life took a rare positive turn in 1943 when LaRetta ironically met and married another William. William Griffin was a civil engineer with the U.S. Army. He was educated and detailed-oriented, but more importantly, he was sober and good to the children. Young Gene began calling him "Dad Griffin," choosing to retain his birth father's surname. The Army transferred the family to Arkansas in 1946, and they spent much of the next decade bouncing around the state, at one point settling in Pope County, where Gene would later launch his killing spree. Despite living in a relatively stable home, Gene devolved into the family bully. His half-brother Pete, born in 1945, quickly became the target of his emotional aggression. He teased Pete relentlessly, hitting him, pinching him, and slapping him when nobody else was around. Gene also played the mental game, manipulating his brother into doing things he shouldn't do. For example, Gene once convinced Pete to ride a bicycle, even though it was far too big for him. When Pete fell off and scraped his knee, Gene ran home and told his parents that Pete had taken the bike on his own. The mother knew Gene was lying. She also knew she'd never get the truth out of him. The boy didn't like being questioned and, in his mind, he was never wrong about anything. To question him was to cross him, and to cross him was to unleash hell. There came a point when Loretta and Dad Griffin couldn't take it anymore. They sent 15-year-old Gene to Morris Academy, a Catholic boarding school for troubled boys. He spent a year with the priests and returned home a well-mannered child. However, what they taught him, or likely forced upon him, wore off within a few months of being home. Gene was back to abusing his parents and secluding himself in the solace of his bedroom. Relief finally came in 1957, when the unruly teen dropped out of high school and joined the US Navy. Rigid discipline was good for Gene. He enjoyed following orders and was eager to please those in authority. After boot camp, he was stationed at a ship repair facility in Guam, where he finally earned his GED. He dreamed of raising his own family on one of the many farms that dotted the Arkansas landscape. He wanted a dedicated wife and as many children as she could bear. He imagined a future with dozens of grandchildren, skipping, singing, and playing in the sun. It was perfect. It was idyllic. And it was the polar opposite of things to come. In 1959, Gene returned to America to work at a Naval Hospital in Washington State. While attending a USO show at the Bremerton YMCA, he met 18-year-old Rebecca Ulebarri, most people simply called her Becky. Becky was the youngest of five children born to May Ulebarri, her father abandoned the family shortly after Becky's birth, and may quickly remarried a coal miner named Andy Novak. The family lived on a farm where May raised cattle, pigs, and chickens. She was a hardworking woman who kept the family afloat during frequent strikes and layoffs in the coal mines. Becky, however, never felt at home on the farm. She was a good-looking city girl who loved dancing to 1950s rock and roll. Her favorite song was "Teenager in Love" by Deon and the Belmonts, and she was in love when she looked across the dance floor and locked eyes with Ronald, Gene Simmons. Saigon Becky Ulebarri became Becky Simmons on July 9, 1960. The sudden wedding shocked the Simmons family, who hadn't met Becky until Gene brought her home one day and introduced her as his new wife. Everyone, including his brother Pete, was wise enough to keep their mouths shut. Becky seemed good for him. She seemed to change him. The birth of Ronald, Gene Jr., a year later, was another step in the right direction. But old habits die hard, and soon, Gene was back to his vein, selfish, and controlling ways. Becky couldn't drive, and her husband refused to teach her. He kept a vice grip on the mail, the phone, and all the family finances. In public, he'd correct her country grammar and revel in making her look like a fool. He'd make Becky beg for money to feed their children, simply to make himself feel better about being their provider. Despite the abuse, Becky was a good wife. She kept the home clean and cared for the children while Gene was away with the Air Force. She always referred to him as my Gene, and would have seven children with him between 1961 and 1979. Among them was their oldest daughter, Sheila Marie, born October 24, 1963. From the moment she first grew breath, Sheila was the light in her father's eye. Becky had never known that kind of affection, so she didn't want to interfere when Gene showed a special interest in their daughter. Although she'd come to regret that decision, Laming Becky wouldn't be fair. Jean moulded and manipulated his wife until she was dependent on him to survive. To question him, would be to threaten her very existence. Before he deployed to Vietnam in 1967, Jean bought a 20-foot trailer and packed his family inside. He drove it to Becky's parents' home, jacked it up, and removed the tires, ensuring nobody could move the trailer until he returned. He sent her, at most, $40 per month to feed and to clothe the children. In today's money, that would be like a single mother of three, living on roughly $390 per month. Jean never saw combat upon landing in Saigon, Vietnam. Instead, he worked in the Personnel Investigations Division, where he excelled as a typist. In the words of his commanding officer, Sergeant Simmons was an excellent team member. Jean remained in Vietnam until after the 1968 Tet Offensive, when the Viet Cong launched a surprise attack on South Vietnamese and American forces stationed in Saigon. He awoke on January 30, 1968, to distant blasts and incoming rocket fire. Small arms fire echoed in the streets near his apartment, as a Jeep arrived out front to whisk him back to headquarters. Mortars exploded in the street around him, as Jean gripped his standard issue M16. He hadn't held it this tightly since basic training and wondered if he could still point and shoot. Jean pulled himself together upon arriving at HQ. He manned the founts and relayed messages as nervous sweat rolled off his nose. His CEO would later comment on his coolness under pressure. Back home, images of the Tet Offensive played on every TV in America. Becky believed that her beloved Jean was trapped in hell, and she bargained with God to save his life. Four days later, she received a letter from Jean stating that he was okay. Her stomach turned upon reading it, and a cascade of anxious vomit rose and Becky's throat. She raced to the toilet and let everything out, only to fall back, wipe her face, and promise the Lord that she'd be a better wife. Jean came home in July 1968, but the Simmons' wouldn't stay put for long. Like his stepfather before him, Jean's military career would move his family all over the country. They lived in England briefly, and spent four years on Travis Air Force Base in California. For Becky, those were the best years of her life. She had six children, with two more on the way. Jean's side of the family meant everything to her, and she even formed a special bond with Dad Griffin. Then, in the mid-1970s, shortly after the birth of their son Eddie, things began to spiral. Life would never be the same, and soon Becky would find herself praying for a way out. Control freak. Ronald Jean Simmons never forgot how his M-16 felt in his hands during the Tet Offensive. Between then and his return home, he developed an unhealthy infatuation with guns. He fantasized about imaginary battles and shooting as many Viet Cong as he could. The firing range was his second home, and he earned a reputation for being one of the best shots around. According to Becky's brother, Jean could shoot a man in the eye at 20 paces away. Little did he know how true that statement was. Despite never firing a shot in active combat, Jean saw himself as an infallible demigod and war hero. The delusions quickly devolved and a verbal and physical abuse. He began beating his wife between 1974 and 1975, after Becky demanded that she learn how to drive. She metaphorically twisted his arm until he relented, and he literally twisted hers for the slightest mistake. Jean became a control freak who was comfortable with violence. Most arguments between the couple ended in a flurry of punches and backhanded slaps. Becky was to dress plainly and keep her hair up at all times. The only time he allowed her to wear makeup was to cover her bruises and black eyes. Becky would write letters to her family, but Jean refused to give her the stamps. This forced Becky to ask others to mail her letters in secret. When her husband found out, he changed their mailing address to a distant PO box, one that was too far to walk to in a single day. Jean retired from the military in 1979, after achieving the rank of master sergeant in the Air Force. At the time, the family had settled on a two-acre property in Cloudcroft, New Mexico, a small town in Lincoln National Forest. His manipulative ways and need for validation led to one-sided contests between him and Becky, to see who was the better parent. He worked on cars with Jean Jr and took the other children roller skating. Sheila, however, was Daddy's little girl. The 16-year-old was going through physical changes, which made her socially awkward and dependent on her father. She'd never been on a date and she'd never kissed a boy. Jean wanted to keep it that way. About a year prior, Jean had read and clipped an article about a woman in New England who shot and killed her daughter to prevent her from becoming a prostitute in Boston. But despite clear evidence that the mother did it, the court of public opinion crucified the father for failing to love, counsel, and protect his daughter. Jean watched Sheila come into her body between the ages of 16 and 18. Her hips narrowed, her breasts grew, and she developed the figure of a pretty small-boneed girl, just like her mother. Many fathers dread this time in their daughter's lives when the prying eyes of lustful men lear at their little girls from every cardinal direction. Jean wouldn't stand for it. He would be the only man in Sheila's life. His lustful eyes were the only ones allowed to gaze upon her. Family secrets Seven pregnancies had taken a toll on Becky Simmons. One more might kill her. Following her doctor's advice, Becky underwent tubal ligation. In other words, she got her tubes tied. According to the Cleveland Clinic, some common side effects of tubal ligation are symptoms of PMS and menopause. Becky ran into both like a brick wall. She spiraled into a deep depression and was unable to satisfy her husband sexually. Furthermore, Jean now saw her as damaged goods and no longer able to carry his seed. Becky was just another burden whose medical bills were costing him money. He'd fly into a rage and screen matter. "Go ahead, get sick. You don't give a damn about anything or anybody but yourself." His tie raids would send Becky running from the bedroom. Tears dotting the floor behind her, until she finally found solace in bed with one of her children. The late 1970s and early 1980s brought more dysfunction and chaos to the Simmons home. Jean began hoarding everything he could. From tin roofs and scrap metal to chicken coops, spare engine parts and tools. If it was free, Jean grabbed it. Jean Jr. had moved away to college. Becky was a wreck and the younger children largely fended for themselves. Meanwhile, Sheila felt alone and confused. By the summer of 1980, her father was the only person who seemed to show her any attention. The idea of incest didn't bother Jean anymore. He'd been clipping relevant newspapers and reading magazine articles ever since Sheila's body developed. The Egyptians used to do it to preserve their bloodlines. Why shouldn't he? Under the guise of visiting Dad Griffin, who by then was suffering from the early stages of Alzheimer's, Jean and Sheila took a father-daughter drive from New Mexico to California. They stopped in Phoenix, Arizona on the way for a coin show. Old money always fascinated Jean. Sheila simply played along to please her father. They spent all day looking at coins and then booked a motel room outside the city. They ate McDonald's for dinner and then Jean told Sheila to shower and get ready for bed, as they had a long day of driving ahead of them. When she came out of the shower, she found Jean sitting on one of the beds. He was naked, other than a thin motel towel. "Come over here," he beckoned. "They'll charge us extra if we use both beds." Hopelessly naive, Sheila didn't know any better. She lay down beside him with her hands clutched tightly between her legs. Her father rolled over, put his arm around her, and whispered in her ear. "I'm beautiful princess. There is so much you don't know. So much, I need to teach you." Sheila didn't fight. She didn't protest her kick. She hardly moved, as Jean entered her. He finished inside her and then rolled over to catch his breath. "You're a woman now," he said. "You can make all my dreams come true." Becky could tell something was wrong when her husband and eldest daughter came home. Jean doted on Sheila the same way he used to dot on her when they were love struck teenagers. Her penny-pinching husband began showering Sheila with gifts. He'd drive into town to pick her up from school while leaving his other children on the curb to take the bus. He began calling her his "princess" and "little ladybug." The pen names made her sick, but Sheila knew better than to argue. Twice between August and September, Jean forced himself upon his daughter in the back of the Dodge van. He could tell she didn't like it. In fact, she told him as much. The incest ceased during the fall of 1980 and the winter of 1981. For a brief moment, Sheila believed her torment was over. Then, in March of '81, she received news that changed their lives forever. Sheila was pregnant. She told her father, who refused to take her to a doctor to confirm what they already knew. Instead, he took the opportunity to tell Becky and the rest of the family on March 21, the night of Sheila's senior prom. Sheila didn't have a date and didn't want to go. Jean insisted, having bought her a new blue dress with a loose waist to hide her bulging belly. He told Sheila to enjoy herself, and that he talked to Becky about the baby that night. But yourself and Sheila's prom shoes, imagine trying to enjoy yourself, knowing full well that a bomb was about to blow your family to bits. Jean's opening statement to his wife was, "Don't say anything until I've finished. Sheila Marie is going to have a baby. He talked about this being their baby and how they'd raise it as a family, just like all the others." Every word out of his mouth solidified the suspicions Becky had held since the summer. Her husband was a monster, and she and her children were trapped in his cave. Sheila returned to a quiet home that evening. All she could hear were her mother's muffled sobs coming from a corner room. Becky refused to get out of bed the following day, and lay stone-faced as Jean lectured her about how she ought to feel. Jean swore Becky and Sheila to secrecy. He knew he could lose everything if word ever got out. And if Jean lost everything, Becky would lose everything too. The government would take the children, and legal bills would force them to sell the home. Their respective families would cast them out, and Becky would be left alone to starve on the street. But despite Jean's threats, Becky knew she had to tell someone. On the run, little Jean wasn't so little anymore. It was 20 years old and spent most of his time away at college. He didn't want anything to do with his father, but still felt an intrinsic duty to his mother and siblings. When Becky told him about Sheila, little Jean wanted to ring big Jean's neck. He ultimately confided in a college friend, who implored him to tell the police. So on April 17, 1981, little Jean called the New Mexico Department of Social Services to report the incestuous relationship between his father and sister. On April 20, a caseworker arrived in Cloudcroft and spoke with Sheila's high school principal. He confirmed that rumors had been spreading around school and allowed the caseworker to meet with Sheila privately in his office. Surprisingly, Sheila was an open book. She told the caseworker everything about Jean and their trip to California. She confessed that she was carrying her father's child, and that she planned on going through with the pregnancy. Later that day, the caseworker tracked Jean down and confronted him with Sheila's story. Instead of denying it, Jean owned up to it matter of factfully. "Yes," he said. "That baby is mine." He showed no signs of concern over what the pregnancy might do to his family, nor did he seem remorseful in any way. "I'm sure you understand that I had to do it to protect her," he said. "Sheela is very naive and trusting, and it was my duty as her father." Under threat of prosecution, Jean agreed to seek psychological counseling for himself and the whole family. However, the sessions only lasted five weeks. At which point, Jean's lawyer informed him that anything said during counseling could be used against him in court. By then, news of Sheila's pregnancy had spread like wildfire. She couldn't show her face in school, so her principal kindly delivered her assignments so she could graduate. She achieved her high school diploma in May, and gave birth to her daughter Sylvia Gale on June 17, 1981. Obviously, Sheila didn't want her baby to bear her father's name. Two months later, Jean was charged with three counts of incest and faced upwards of nine years in prison. Police officers gathered on August 11th, planning to arrest him at his home in Cloudcroft. But when they arrived, they found the place deserted. Jean had packed and moved his family 800 miles east toward Arkansas, a small town northeast of Little Rock. By January of 1982, he was working in an army recruiting office and desperately trying to win back Sheila's affection, not that he ever had it. Jean didn't know it, but Sheila had eyes for another man. While taking classes at Droughton School of Business, she met another young student named Dennis McNulty at the snack bar. He was kind, warm, and genuine. The polar opposite of her sex-addicted father. When Sheila told Dennis about her daughter, the first words out of his mouth were, "I'd love to meet her." Sheila and Dennis began dating that spring. And as hard as they tried to keep it a secret, word of a new suitor in Sheila's life eventually reached Jean. Immediately, he began looking for a remote piece of land to hide his family and his twisted secrets. He eventually found a 14-acre plot near the town of Dover in Pope County, roughly 80 miles east of Ward. He packed the cars, rented a U-Haul, and moved his family as swiftly as he could. Two days later, a no-trust-passing sign went up, and Jean erected a 10-foot barbed wire fence around his new homestead. He called it "Mockingbird Hill," and it was atop that hill that Ronald Jean Simmons would make his final stand. Murder on "Mockingbird Hill." Jean's new homestead was a half-mobile home, half-clap-board house with a steep red clay driveway winding down to the road below. With the forest and pond at his back and a 10-foot fence ahead of him, Jean had successfully isolated his family from the prying eyes of Dennis McNulty, or so he thought. The home was physically large enough for Jean, Becky, all seven children, and baby Sylvia. He'd had a full kitchen and dining room, but no plumbing, heat, or air conditioning. While the home was rigged for a phone, Jean wouldn't allow one to be set up. He didn't want Becky, Sheila, or anyone else to have contact with the outside world. One settled, Jean put the kids to work digging ditches and building two small outhouses that would serve as bathrooms. The only person seemingly excused from hard labor was Sheila. She knew why. In fact, everybody on "Mockingbird Hill" knew why, and yet that didn't stop Jean from pursuing his daughter. Thankfully, Dennis didn't stop either. He wrote to Sheila as often as he could, and routinely drove over 160 miles round trip to court her. He put a smile on Sheila's face, a smile that Becky hadn't seen in a long time. She told Jean she'd stand by her daughter if Dennis were the man she wanted to marry. Angry, bitter, and jealous, Jean would do anything to get Dennis McNulty out of their lives. And yet, everything he tried only brought them closer together. Shortly after Easter in 1984, Sheila announced that she and Dennis were engaged. About two weeks later, Jean bought a snub nose 22 caliber pistol at the closest Walmart in Russellville. He was going to kill Dennis McNulty. He just had to figure out how and when. Meanwhile, Jean worked a series of low-paying odd jobs in Pope County to fund his compound and eventual killing spree. Ironically, Dennis helped him land a gig cleaning the machines at a pickle plant in Etkins. He worked for a frozen food company for a few months before landing at Woodline Motor Freight in Russellville. Part of Jean's job at Woodline was cold-calling customers who were past due on their utility payments. Instead, he spent most of his time pining after a young secretary named Kathy Kendrick, who rejected his advances and ultimately quit her job. Sadly, the next time she saw Jean would be the last. Jean's behavior and poor performance got him fired from Woodline. Over the next three years, his only income came from working the graveyard shift at the 24/7 Sinclair Mini-Mart. During that time, Sheila and Bill Simmons, their third oldest child, had moved out, married and had their own children. Sheila was the only one with two kids, one with Sylvia, and the other was one-year-old Michael, her and Dennis' first baby boy. The five remaining children, including 26-year-old Jean Jr., still lived at home on Mockingbird Hill. The next oldest was 17-year-old Loretta, and the youngest was 8-year-old Rebecca. The home was getting smaller, the holidays were quieter, and soon Becky found herself looking for an exit strategy. During the fall of 1987, she worked up the courage to write to Bill and Sheila. To Bill, she wrote, "I don't want to live the rest of my life with Dad. I am a prisoner here. The kids are too. I want out as soon as possible." To Sheila, she wrote, "Happy birthday. I wanted to buy you a card, but FATSO wouldn't let me." Becky had begun calling Jean FATSO in secret. The letter continued. We found the shells for his gun on the ground outside. I told him that if he ever tried pointing a gun at us, I would get him for assault with a deadly weapon. I've been a prisoner for long enough, and Bill and I are trying to find a way. Day by day, Jean's family slowly slipped through his fingers. Bill's wife, Renata, was a hairstylist who loved working on Becky's hair and makeup. She also touched Sheila and the girls up, making them look like movie stars. Jean, of course, hated it, and told the women they looked like hoars. But to his dismay, the girls in his life barked back, "You can't treat us like slaves," they said. "We have rights, too." His younger children gravitated to Dennis McNulty, who became more of a father to now six-year-old Silvia than Jean ever was. Meanwhile, Sheila and Bill devised a plan during the fall to get their mother away from Jean. They'd do it over Christmas when the whole family would be together. For Becky, it was a light at the end of the tunnel. All she had to do was make it through the holidays, and she'd be free. Little did she know that Jean had been plotting to kill them all for months. He made a list of people he wanted to kill after his family. Among them were his old boss, a handful of old co-workers, and Kathy Kendrick, the secretary who rejected him. On December 18, 1987, Jean quit his job at the minimart. Four days later, he launched the worst mass killings Bri and Arkansas's history. Murder on Mockingbird Hill, day one. Jean awoke on the morning of December 22 to a relatively empty home. The four youngest children were already at school. Little Jean was asleep in bed, and Becky was getting started on the day's chores. Armed with his 22 caliber revolver and a two-foot piece of galvanized pipe, Jean sat on the couch and flicked on the TV. His eyes glazed over as wheel of fortune played like white noise. All he could hear were the voices in his head, arguing over whom to kill first. Before he knew it, he was opening the door to Little Jean's room. His eldest boy was fast asleep, likely dreaming of his three-year-old daughter, Barbara, who was crack. Jean brought the pipe down over his son's head. The blow, however, didn't kill him. He stumbled out of bed, nearly slipping on his own blood. His eyes came up to meet his father's soulless gaze, a jolt of adrenaline jump-started Little Jean's body. He lunged, but Jean raised his pistol and shot his son twice, once in the chest, and once in the face. The 26-year-old fell and began crawling on the floor. The killing blow came from an execution-style gunshot to the back of the skull. One down, 13 to go. In a flash, Jean found himself pushing open Becky's bedroom door. She'd heard the gunshots and was cradling Little Barbara in her arms. Don't kill me, Jean. Please don't kill me. Without hesitation, Jean swung the pipe twice at Becky's head, stunning her. Then he raised his pistol and fired twice into his wife's face. Blood and brain matter splattered on the wall behind her. Barbara fell in a heap on the floor, at which point Jean knelt and strangled his three-year-old granddaughter to death. Satisfied that his wife's son and granddaughter were dead, Jean rushed outside to make sure no nosy neighbors had heard the gunshots. He expected to hear distant sirens, but the air over Mockingbird Hill was quiet, other than the woosh of cold winter air. One by one, he loaded the dead bodies into the new privy pit that his children had spent the last several weeks digging. Little did they know they were digging their own graves. When he was done, he went back inside, opened a bottle of wine and continued watching Wheel of Fortune on the couch. All he could do now was wait. The school bus would be pulling up later that afternoon. He sipped from the bottle and thought, three down, 11 to go. He sat still and stoned faced, until the distant hiss of a breaking school bus broke his trance. Jean's four youngest children, scampered off the bus, as it dropped them at the bottom of Mockingbird Hill. They hurried up the red clay driveway, excited to begin their Christmas vacation. That's when they saw Jean approaching, wearing a wide grin. "I have a special Christmas gift for all of you," he said, "but I want to give it to you one at a time." He told the others to wait in the station wagon, while he walked inside with Loretta. She was the oldest. It was only fair that she went first. Loretta followed Jean to his bedroom, where nobody was ever allowed. He closed and locked the door behind them. And immediately, Loretta knew something was wrong. Jean grabbed her hair in his left hand and punched her twice in the face with his right. He split her lips and likely broke her nose. Then, he removed a length of fishing wire from his pocket and strangled Loretta until the life faded from her eyes. He carried her body to her room and placed her on the bed. Then, he returned to the station wagon, where the windows fogged with the excited breath of his three youngest children. One by one, he did to them what he'd done to Loretta. When he was done, he cast their bodies into the privy pit, where their mother, brother, and niece all lay. Finally, Jean returned to the couch, drank his wine, and started on a six pack of slits. Seven down, he was halfway there. Murder on Mockingbird Hill, day two. Jean spent the next four days drinking, talking to himself and punching holes in the wall. Paranoid that his crimes would be discovered, he took multiple walks every day around the property, stopping at the gravesite, to ensure the bodies hadn't moved. It was noon on the 26th. Jean was pissing outside when he heard a distant car door slam at the bottom of Mockingbird Hill, worried that it might be the police. Jean rushed inside and grabbed his 22. He pressed his ear to the door, waited, and listened. Stop crying, Trey, we're at grandma's house. Jean heard Bill say to his son, William, Trey Simmons, the third. He peeked out the window and saw Renata walking behind Bill in their son. Her arms were full of bags, toys, and Christmas presents for the kids. Jean welcomed them inside and told Bill he was working on a secret Christmas gift for Becky. He said that she and the kids would be home soon and that he needed help wrapping it. Bill could smell the stench of slits on his father's breath, but that was par for the course. Oddly, Christmas was the only time of year that he ever saw a sliver of humanity in his dad. Bill could only wonder what this secret gift might be. Renata was sitting with her son on the couch when she heard Bill scream, "Dad, no!" Several gunshots followed, at which point Jean turned the corner and trained his gun on Renata. He fired four times, striking her twice in the neck and jaw. Jean approached, kicked her body over and emptied his remaining bullets into her head. He always hated Renata and was happy to mutilate her pretty face. The only thing he regretted was not making her watch as he strangled her son to death with fishing twine. When it was over, Jean fell onto the couch and reloaded his pistol. He took another long pull of wine and kicked his feet up on the coffee table above Renata's bullet-riddled head. He felt more alive than he had in weeks and he couldn't wait for Sheila, Dennis, and the kids to arrive now. "It turned your little ladybug against you," said the voices in his head. "She lied to you and betrayed you and destroyed your family." Another car door slammed at the bottom of Mockingbird Hill. Jean felt a sexual shock up and down his body as he watched Sheila walk up the driveway with baby Michael in her arms. Sylvia ran ahead while Dennis worked on unloading the car. "The redder, Barbara!" Sylvia called out as she hurried inside. She ran by Jean, who was hiding in the shadow beside the sliding glass door. Sheila almost missed him too. Then, her eyes fell upon the bloodbath in the living room. Her ears heard the pistol cocking in her father's hand. Jean loved the look on her face. "I told you what you were doing to this family," he said, nodding toward the bodies of Renata and Tray. "You and Dennis have destroyed us, and now, now we all have to pay." Sheila put Michael down and begged Jean not to hurt her children. "Hello, I always love you Ladybug, and I'll see you again in hell." Jean fired thrice into Sheila's face, striking her in the lip, cheek, and eye. Dennis heard the cracking gunshots echo over Mockingbird Hill. He dropped everything and sprinted toward the house. He burst inside, only to meet the barrel of Jean's gun. They wrestled over it, but Jean drank on wine and high on adrenaline, won the match. He pistol whipped Dennis and shot him once behind the ear, killing him instantly. Jean would have liked it. to watch him suffer a little longer. Sylvia was hiding behind the Christmas tree when Jean grabbed her. He wrapped the fishing line around her neck and pulled until his incestuous daughter bit through and choked on her tongue. Then, he grabbed Michael and drowned the toddler in a bucket of water. Jean finished by wrapping Michael in tray and plastic and leaving them in the trunks of two rusted cars. He then arranged the adults in the dining room and covered all but Shila in winter coats. For his oldest daughter, his love is ladybug. Jean covered her in Becky's best tablecloth, making sure to cross her limp hands over her chest like a proper funeral. Murder on Mockingbird Hill, day three. Dear Ma, sometimes you reap many more times what you so. Love, Jean and family. It was shortly after 9am on the morning of December 28th. Jean drew the blinds on all his windows, just in case his neighbors got any bright ideas while he was gone. He'd spent the past 48 hours in a drunken stupor, eating nothing but cheese and onions, as he stepped over the bodies of his dead family members. But now he was out of Schlitz and sweet wine, and the food was starting to rot. He tucked his letter to Becky's mother into his rear waistband. Into a brown paper bag, he loaded his snub-nosed pistol and a six-shot ruger. He ensured the doors were locked and that the bodies were well covered. Then, Jean snuck out a window and stole his eldest son's truck. He departed Mockingbird Hill for the final time, driving south on Route 7 until he reached the town of Dover, where he stopped at the post office to mail his letter at the $250 heed tucked inside. From there, it was eight miles to Russellville, where Jean stopped again outside the law firm where Kathy Kendrick now worked. He slipped his snub-nosed in his jacket pocket and walked straight into the office. He found Kathy chatting with the client, her mind glued to paperwork on her desk. "Can I help you?" Kathy asked, as her eyes came up to meet the barrel of Jean's pistol. She squeaked out the words, "Oh no!" before Jean put a bullet in her head. He squeezed off three more rounds as Kathy fell backward into her chair. Then, he fled the scene, leaving the other woman's shaking in fear. She gathered herself and called the police to report the shooting around 10-17 a.m. An ambulance arrived and rushed Kathy to the hospital, where she died minutes later due to blood loss and brain damage. By then, Jean was pulling into the parking lot of the Taylor Oil Company, where his old boss, Rusty Taylor, was sitting in his office. Jean entered and saw Rusty through his open door. He raised his gun and fired twice, striking Rusty in the right arm and upper torso. As he turned to leave, a door opened and Jean encountered JD Chaffin, a 34-year-old Russellville firefighter who worked part-time at the oil company. Without breaking stride, Jean raised his pistol and shot JD once through the eye, killing him instantly. Just as JD's body hit the floor, Julie Money, another employee, stepped out of the bathroom, prompting Jean to spin and fire, narrowly missing the side of her head. He fled, likely thinking she was dead. Moments later, Julie called the police to report the second Russellville shooting in under 15 minutes. December 28th was her first day on the job. Jean knew he was running on borrowed time. He stepped on the gas and raced to the Sinclair mini-mart, passing several squad cars and ambulances on the way. His tire screamed as the truck skidded into the parking lot. Jean grabbed his pistol and marched into the mini-mart, where he immediately opened fire on another old boss, David Solier, who was sitting at a table in the back of the store drinking coffee with a friend. David ducked instinctively upon hearing the gunshot, and the bullet buried itself in the wall behind his head. Jean fired several more times, grazing David on the forehead and another employee in the cheek. A third man, Tony Serta, began pelting Jean with soda cans and eventually drove him away. His throwing arm likely saved their lives that day. A third 911 call came in. This time, dispatchers could pinpoint Jean's last known direction. He was heading east across town toward his final destination, Woodline Motor Freight Company, where he planned to murder another old supervisor, Joyce Butts. Nobody saw Jean walking into the office that morning. He stopped near a Christmas tree and scanned the room until his eyes met Joyce at her desk. He walked over and squeezed off two shots, striking her in the head and chest. Vicki Jackson, Joyce's coworker, was shaking behind her desk as the echo of gunfire died down. She squeezed her eyes as footsteps approached her. When she finally looked, she saw Jean looming over her, motioning with his gun for her to move. "Please don't shoot me," Vicki begged. "I'm not going to shoot you," Jean assured her. "It's all over now. I've done everything I wanted to do and gotten everyone who wanted to hurt me." With that, Jean dropped the gun and told Vicki to call the police. The building was surrounded within minutes. Jean didn't put up a fight, as police officers took him into custody. Before noon on December 28, 1987, Jean had shot six people in Russellville, wounding four, and killing two. Joyce Butts required open-heart surgery to remove the bullet fragments from her chest. She spent the rest of her days with partial paralysis on the left side of her body. Jean's other surviving victims recovered from their wounds, but would forever live with the physical and mental scars of Jean's Christmas shooting spree. Back on Mockingbird Hill, Hope County Sheriff James Bowling had a bad feeling about what he'd find inside the Simmons' home. It was eerily still for a property with so many signs of life. Chickens ran loose, and toys littered the driveway. Four cars were parked beneath a large cedar tree in the front yard. Without a search warrant, he slid through the same window Jean had used to exit. He fell to the floor and landed next to Sheila's body, which was still covered in Becky's best tablecloth. Bowling scrambled to his feet and quickly opened all the doors and windows, allowing his deputies to enter, while the fog of fresh death leaked out. One by one, the bodies of Jean's 14 family members were loaded out on stretchers and brought into town. In total, 16 bodies ranging in age from 20 months to 46 years crowded the Pope County Medical Examiner's office. It was a busy Christmas and a bleak new year. Death Wish. Ronald Jean Simmons went on trial for the Christmas murders on May 9, 1988. He'd been quiet since his arrest. He'd lost significant weight, and his beard had grown down to his belt. He'd undergone 60 rigorous days of psychological testing, where most killers might try to appear insane. Jean did his best to prove he was clear-minded and competent. Death was his ultimate goal. He planned on killing himself after the shooting spree, but he was worried that his 22 caliber hollow-point rounds weren't enough to do the job. In his own words, he didn't want to spend the rest of his life in jail as a vegetable. This, however, put Jean between a rock and a hard place. Under Arkansas law, only a jury can decide to sentence someone to death. If Jean pleaded guilty, then his maximum sentence would be life in prison without parole. This meant Jean had to stand trial and do everything he could to appear guilty. At one point, while lawyers from both parties were having a routine sidebar with the judge, Jean lunged from the defendant's table and sucker punched the prosecutor. Jurors watched in horror as Jean was led away by police, kicking and shrieking like a madman. The judge asked them to forget what they'd seen, which was like asking a child not to eat a second piece of candy. Jean got his death wish in February 1989 when the jury found him guilty on three counts of capital murder. These included the deaths of Kathy Kendrick and James Chaffin. In the interest of time, the courts lumped all 14 family members into one single charge. Ronald Jean Simmons walked into the execution chamber on June 25, 1990. The curtains drew back, revealing 14 people who had gathered to watch Jean die. Among them were his lawyers, Sheriff Bolin, and the prosecutor he punched during his trial. Jean's final words were, "Just as delayed, finally be done. It's just a viable homicide." His attorney interpreted it to mean that Jean had always accepted his fate and believed his execution had been delayed too long. Jean died at 9.19pm, becoming the first execution via lethal injection in Arkansas's history. He was buried in a pauper's grave after his surviving family members with refused to claim his body. Nobody knows much about Jean's motive for killing his family. He remained tight-lipped between the murders and his execution, never giving anybody any concrete evidence as to why. He was insecure and hated when things didn't go his way. He abused his family and kept everyone on a tight leash, but his children rebelled as they grew older, marrying into stable relationships and learning what a monster their father truly was. They turned Becky against him and would soon corrupt the minds of his younger children and grandchildren. Jean had to take action. He had to save them from themselves. But why stop there? If he was going to kill, why not take care of everybody who'd wronged him over the years? This was Jean's world. Everyone else was simply living in it. This of course is just a theory. Everyone who could speak to Jean's mental state is either dead or too far removed to give an accurate answer. He left no writings and no manifesto. He was deemed mentally sane and competent to stand trial, and there were no signs of drug-induced hallucinations. All we have is the cryptic letter he wrote to Becky's mother. Sometimes, you reap many more times what you sow. Be sure to follow Crime Hub wherever you get your podcasts and get new episodes every Friday at 1 p.m. Eastern.