Broken Ties
They aren't all that far from home, but Frankie Johnson and Caleb Barlow couldn't be farther from their roots. They were born into and grew up in the FLDS, until the need to escape pressed so hard there was nothing to do but leave everything behind.
Frankie, who grew up in Colorado City, left four years ago when he was 18 years old. At the time, he says he was the oldest of 18.
Like Frankie, 18-year-old Caleb started to resent the endless regulations of the religion, like losing everyday freedoms as basic as being able to date girls. The belief was that the outside world was evil, and that joining it brought punishment.
"Yeah, it was a fear," Caleb tells correspondent Seth Doene. "I wondered if I was really going to go to hell."
Frankie and Caleb-and hundreds of other boys like them-ended up out of FLDS and in limbo, in places like Utah. They've left home or been kicked out when they were barely teenagers. Their refusal to conform to their religion's unbending social rules pushes them and their families to the edge.
Those that go are known as "The Lost Boys." Their future and very survival are uncertain, and the only sure thing is that most of them can never go back to that secretive world.
When Caleb decided to leave, his father made it clear he'd never be welcomed back. "He grabbed my littlest brother and he just like shaking in my face, he's like 'You'll never see him again,'" Caleb remembers. "He said we were better off dead than to leave."The YFZ Ranch
A kind of communal safe house has been home to Caleb and Frankie, where they and other boys, like brothers Hyrum and Simon, learn a new kind of "normal."
"Didn't have very good social skills, 'cause I never went to high school or anything," Simon explains.
Simon and Hyrum also left the FLDS because they simply couldn't live without freedom of choice.
"The benefit of them coming into our home is that they have the time to be in a quiet place without expectation," says Michelle Benward, a Utah social worker who came up with the idea for the home.
Donations and government grants make Michelle's work possible.
The boys came to the home because they couldn't tolerate the strict changes made by Warren Jeffs. "We were taught to listen to Warren, do whatever he says," Caleb explains.
"We are taught to never ask 'Why?'" Frankie adds. "Don't question nothing. Perfect obedience."
"Don't talk to girls. Don't talk to people outside the community. Don't play video games. Don't watch TV, listen to music," Caleb says.
Frankie and the others say Jeffs began to systematically separate followers from anything and everything they valued. He will never forget the day his mother told him something almost unimaginable.
"And that's when she wrapped her arms around me and told me that father had been sent out of the community. And it tore me up inside," he remembers. "He was reassigned out of the community. And two of my mothers were reassigned to another man."
Caleb, Hyrum and Simon all shared Frankie's feeling when they hit the outside world. "I was completely lost," Frankie admits. "I drank every single night a fifth of vodka. Pretty much a junkie life."
And according to Michelle Benward, they aren't alone. "I have the names of at least 450 to 500 kids around Salt Lake," she says.
But in her house there are only ten beds - just ten beds, and a helping hand for the hundreds of boys for whom the future is unknown and the past has simply vanished.
"I don't even have photos of me growing up," Frankie tells Doane.
"That's not uncommon. It's not uncommon for them to come out with a few clothes on their back and some memories," Benward explains.
But with Benward's help, the boys don't seem quite so lost anymore. "We're not really lost. We kinda found our own way," Caleb says.
Recently, Hyrum and Simon found there way back to their grandmother's grave in Colorado City. Asked why they wanted to visit the grave, Hyrum told Doane, "Pay respect to my family and show 'em I still love 'em."
Despite everything, these boys are still linked to their past-a past that rejects them.
"Do you still love your parents?" Doane asks.
"Yeah. I love my parents to death. I don't care what they've done. I don't even care if I see them again. All I want to know is that they are okay. All I want to know is that all those beautiful people I grew up with are okay," Frankie says.
"Really?" Doane asks.
"I wished it'd be different. But, yeah," Frankie replies, crying.