The building, red bricked, colonnaded,
crowned with a white cupola, sits on a grassy knoll in northwest
Hinsdale. Unmarked, unremarkable, it barely registers as anything more
than a garden-variety administrative headquarters of unknown provenance.
That isn’t to say that the decades-old property, situated on 223
acres in this Shangri-la of a western suburb of multimillion-dollar
estates and country club splendor, has escaped notice over the years.
The sight of teenage girls walking arm in arm in a nearby park,
identically dressed in chaste ankle-length skirts, red scarves knotted
around their necks, and modest Mary Janes, and of teen boys seemingly
stamped out on a Wonder Bread assembly line—always in dark suits, white
shirts, and ties—drew the occasional stare.
“Everyone kind of thought it was very strange. Like, what do they
really do there?” says one longtime Hinsdale resident. “They always
seemed very secretive.”
Then, in 2014, came a scandal,,,
The Cult Next Door | Chicago magazine | July 2016
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