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Hello.  I am Dennis Erlich, publisher of the inFormer -
a newsletter devoted to sharing former insiders' points of view
about scientology's actual (underlined) practices, beliefs and agenda.
The two main things most people would be fascinated to learn about
scientology are:
   1)  The OT (higher, confidential, more costly) Levels deal with
   exorcism and the myriad of entities implanted into your body
   75 million years ago who make up what Hubbard called "Reactive Mind".
   2)  They believe that if they think something is true, it becomes true.
   Reality is what you agree to.  If enough people believe the same lie -
   it BECOMES reality.
The scienos and their lawyers have tried to harass me -
directly and via friends and family - to intimidate me into silence.
Meantime, I have co-operated in investigations, published
and continued to speak out.
If you have any questions, feel free to ask.
Meantime, here's a bit of satire from the inFormer:
                               END OF THE Q.
                               Dennis Erlich
     For those readers who never knew cult-talk, I apologize for
the following.  But since the story is absolutely true and
occurred while I still was, as salesmen put it, "under the
ether," I will write it as I lived it.  If you don't understand
the words I use, as the chinaman said, "You betta off!"
     I have commented previously that leaving scientology and re-
entering society was like landing on a different planet.  I had
to learn the customs and language of the "natives," adopt their
manners [or lack of] and hope there was a place for me to fit in.
     But an even greater shock was going to Flag [in Clearwater]
when it first opened for business in 1976, to become Sea Org crew
in the "Mecca of Technical Perfection." 
     First of all there was the matter of deceiving the "local
wogs" with our shore story.  All staff and students were told
exactly what lie to tell any Clearwater residents who asked about
our presence:  we were all religious students on retreat at the
new United Churches facility in the Fort Harrison Hotel. 
Fortunately for us, few of the locals even cared to talk to the
staring, stiff, and sullen students and staff.  But still, it
didn't take long for them to realize we were not who we claimed
to be.  It became very unfriendly in town.
     Meantime, "The Friendliest Place on Earth" was also proving
to be something less than that.  For me it was more like basic
training in concentration camp management.  New staff and
students were packed like sardines, twelve to a tiny hotel room,
in bunk beds four high with barely enough room to squeeze between
them.  Any time the income fell below half a million dollars a
week everyone was assigned to "Rice and Beans."  On these
numerous occasions, all we were fed was spanish rice and boiled
beans.  This was all part of showing the new recruit what he was
worth.  The spiritual pecking order was energetically applied and
strictly enforced.  Anyone new to Flag began as low man on the
scrotum pole.
     Flag crew considered all "outer org" students or staff to be
DBs [degraded beings.]  The fact that I had a wonderful
reputation in the field and had run the most successful
Internship in the history of the cult, made no difference.  When
I arrived at Flag I was treated like scum.  Everyone was.
     Brian Livingston [Class XII] was the Intern Sup and Jeff
Walker [Class XII] was Cramming Officer.  What a line-up!  
     Brian, who has since blown the Sea Org and is no longer a
scieno, made a habit of getting up on a chair and screaming his
lungs out at individual interns.   The standard message was that
they were squirrels, out-ethics or just plain stupid.  His
bellowing could be heard all over the tenth floor ballroom of the
Fort Harrison and the HCI [Hubbard College of Improvement.] 
Students would hear him and go silent with terror at the thought
of having to confront Brian's wrath when they finally arrived on
the internship.  But this was just fine with Brian.  It made them
a more cowed and compliant [than they already were], when
eventually he did have to deal with them.
     Brian was the "nice" one of the two.  Walker was the most
feared.  He didn't have any completion statistic or bonus to
contend with.  He had no vested interest in seeing that interns
survived his "handling" of them.  Thus, he could act like the
ruthless little prick he was.  
     Walker was famous for getting right up inches from your
face, poking you in the chest and screaming "PIG SHIT!" when he
didn't like your answer to his questions and wanted to show his
disgust for you.  One intern [who eventually ended up in the
galley], reported to cramming on a session she'd done.  After
Jeff read the errors in the folder, he threw open the 10th floor
windows next to his desk [which had no screens], pointed outside
and commanded her to jump.  She talked about the incident for
years afterwards, claiming she barely had enough self-control to
withstand his control.  This kind of thing was a joke to Jeff. 
He never failed to show his disdain for people.  Usually disgust
was the kindest emotion he exhibited when dealing with outer-org
   [ Continued In Next Message... ]

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   [ ...Continued From Previous Message ]
interns.  They just weren't up to his standard or that of Flag
auditors.  Those few who survived the indoctrination, gruelling
hours, retreads, retrains and the constant shifting politics of
being Flag crew were at least treated like they were somebody. 
Outer org students and interns were not.
     Brian and Jeff were the two individuals who trained me when
I first arrived on Flag.  They were my "models" of how staff were
to behave.  I won't go into any detail on what it took to survive
this indoctrination, win their respect and become a valuable
member of the "team."  It did, however, take some severe
personality readjustment.  
     While I was still "green" at Flag, having only been there
less than a year, I was posted as Jeff Walker's junior:  Intern
Cramming Officer, FSO [Flag Service Org].  What a thrill! 
Imagine getting to be trained by the most senior Cramming Officer
in the world!  It had been my dream before coming to Flag, to be
trained in Cramming by Jeff.  Here I was!  Right under him.  Oh,
what I would learn!  
     Well, the arrangement was a lot better for Jeff than it was
for me.  He got to stop handling those stupid outer-org interns,
and I had to start.  
     He didn't even talk to me for several months, except to
grunt his disgust at me and the scum I was handling.  I had to
fend for myself, which was fine with me because Jeff was [and is]
one of the most unpleasant individuals I had ever met and I
didn't miss his charming repartee.
     Apparently LRH didn't think much of him either, because two
months after I was on post as Intern Cramming Officer, Hubbard
busted Jeff and posted me in his place as Chief Cramming Officer,
Flag.  I was totally unprepared for what was to follow.
     I had to cram every auditor in the HGC including the Class
XIIs.  Since I was only a class IV, I had to quickly study and
check out on all of the material up through Class XII.  I had a
person posted as my junior to handle the interns, who was even
greener than I.  What a responsibility!  I was now the most
senior Cramming Officer in all of Scientology.  It was just what
I had wanted . . . 
     I found out what was meant by the saying "Be careful of what
you want . . . you just may get it."  What a nightmare!  The
pressure was so great on me that I don't think I said more than a
12 sentences to my wife during my first month on post.  At the
end of my 18 hour day, I would drag myself to my room, too
overwhelmed to speak to or be touched -- a total vegetable.
     Then the disaster happened.  It was bad enough to have to
confront and cram the likes of Brian Livingston [who had since
been busted to HGC auditor] and Jeff Walker [who had worked his
way back up to the HGC after his LRH bust], but finally the
supreme test -- I had to cram the Commodore's own son, Quentin,
who was also one of the Class XIIs.  
     Quentin was sent to Cramming by the HGC C/S for failing to
get all the reads on a C/S Series 53 when he first assessed it to
an FNing list.  PC didn't progress, so the C/S ordered him to go
back and assess it again.  He found the 53 still reading, which
indicated that reads had been missed the first time he FNed it. 
[Those of you who don't understand what this was all about, are,
as I said before, better off.  Suffice it to say that he'd goofed
up on someone paying many hundreds of dollars an hour for his
     I was supposed to check his TRs, assessment and metering and
see why he messed up.  It was a routine cram, but having to do it
on LRH's son made it something more.
     Quentin, or "Q" as his friends called him, was 22 at the
time.  He looked 15 and acted 5.  He was slight, blonde and
effeminate in manner.  While he sat if front of me in Cramming,
he was constantly zooming his hand through the air between us and
making noises simulating, much as a 5 year old would, the sound
and motion of an airplane.  I had been told that he was
infatuated with flying, but I was unprepared for this:  he did
not stop his motions or noises through the entirety of our
     That conversation was, to the best of my recollection, as
     DENNIS: "I see that you got some more reads on the 53 after
it had FN'd." [swallowing]  "How do you think this happened?"
     Q:  "I false reported."  [still zooming his hand through the
     DENNIS:  "You . . false . . . reported?" [beginning to
stutter] "Uh-on the w-worksheets?" [knowing that this was one of
the highest crimes an auditor could commit, and would require
ethics handling and retraining "from the bottom up"]
     Q:  "Yea.  I false reported that the 53 FNed."  [this said
as casually as if telling me he ate cereal for breakfast]  
     DENNIS:  "Uh . . . " [struck with the import of the moment]
     Q:  "I always do."
     DENNIS:  "You mean . . ."
     Q:  "I mean I always false report when I have to FN a 53.  I
disagree with having to do that on pcs.  It never does anything
for the pc and it costs him hours of auditing.  I think it's
better to just false report and get on with it."
     DENNIS: "?......." [dumbstruck]
     Q:  "I think a lot of my father's stuff doesn't work.  So I
false report whenever I need to.  Personally, I think my father's
   [ Continued In Next Message... ]

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    [ ...Continued From Previous Message ]
      [By this time, I had turned white and was sure that saliva
    was dripping out of my now cavernous mouth.]
         DENNIS:  "Uh . . you know . . . I'm going to have to re-
    train you . . . don't you?"  [hoping, beyond hope that it would
    be ok with him]
         Q:  "That's fine." [zoom goes the hand in the air]
         DENNIS:  ". . .from the bottom up?"
         Q:  "Ok."  [paying little attention now]
         DENNIS:  "Well . . .[glancing at my watch and praying it was
    dinnertime]. . it's almost four . . . why don't you come back
    tomorrow . . . after I've had a chance to go over the folder more
    carefully, [trying to give any excuse for delaying the ethics
    routing form and retrain order] . . . then we'll get you started
    on your retrain." [said under my breath as he got up to leave]
         Q:  "Ok."
         By the time this short conversation was over, I was gasping
    for air and my heart was pounding so loudly I could barely hear
    the thought screaming inside my head:  "THAT'S LRH'S SON YOU'RE
         I went running out of the Cramming room looking for the only
    Class XII friend I had who had not yet blown, Ron Shafran.  I
    found him near the swimming pool and he made me calm down enough
    to tell him the story.  I asked him what I should do and he gave
    me the type of profound and deeply meaningful answer for which
    Class XII's were famous.  "I d'know.  Do what you hafta!" and
    walked quickly away.  [He and his wife Linda left within the
         The next day was more or less routine, except for my
    underlying dread of having to bust the Commodore's son back to
    the HAS course.  I went about my business and didn't notice the
    day had flown by without Q reporting in, until the late evening.
    I decided to let it slide.
         By the afternoon of the next day, he still hadn't shown.  My
    conscience was beginning to give me pressure.  I felt guilty
    about my relief at his not showing up.  Was this some kind of
    overt I was committing?  No doubt!  Better get out and do
    something about it.
         By now Quentin's retrain was the talk of the Tech and Qual
    divisions.  I knew most people were betting he'd get off scot-
    free.  He seemed to be in no trouble at all.  But I had a job to
    do and policy to follow.  I'd get it done.
         I went looking for anybody who might know where Quentin was.
    Nobody did.  Finally, I bumped into one of his few close friends.
    I believe it was Cathy Cariotoki who finally told me:  Quentin
    had left for the West Coast to enroll [finally] in pilot school
    to learn how to fly.
         I felt cheated.  How could he be allowed to just skate out
    of the ethics trouble he was undoubtedly, but not visibly, in?
    In the back of my mind the thought:  "Get real!!  He's the
    Commodore's son, that's how."
          I should have been screaming to the Qual Sec and Senior C/S
    about Q's out-ethics.  But instead I justified my cowardice in
    allowing him to walk away with his certs not pulled, by saying,
    "Well, he's probably not going to be auditing, anyway."
         I was relieved, ashamed and shocked.
         But, then, things had a tendency to move quickly from one
    emergency to another on Flag.  "On with life!" or so I thought.
         A couple of weeks later I arrived in the crew dining room
    for dinner to find the whole place quietly a-buzz with the news:
         At that moment, hand to the Lord, I thought, "Rumor has it
    that LRH was really pissed at Q.  It was a huge loss of face for
    "the boss" having a gay son.  This most recent disgrace -- the
    false reporting -- was the last straw.  I bet he was murdered."
         We learned later that he was found in his car in the desert
    near Las Vegas airport.  All the windows were closed and there
    was a tube from the tail pipe into the car.  The car and his
    person had been stripped of all evidence such as licenses, which
    would identify the occupant.  He was still alive, but unconscious
    when he was found.  Something happened in the hospital and he
    died two weeks later without regaining consciousness.  His death
    was listed as a "possible suicide."  There are obviously a few
    questions still unanswered about his death.
         For instance, we never did find out the cause.  Neither did
    the police.
         But, when you think of the kind of life he was facing, with
    a megalomaniac father who considered him a liability in a grand
    scheme for world domination, there's one thing we do know about
    his death:
         "HE BETTA OFF!"

Thank you for your time.  I greatly appritiate your
reading this email.
Eric Garner
Do You Yahoo!?
Send your FREE holiday greetings online!
have you read Art of deception?
parts 1 @ 2?
no more questions please until you read those
I'd prefer to die speaking my mind than live fearing to speak.
The only thing that always works in scientology are its lawyers
The internet is the liberty tree of the new millennium
Secrets are the mortar binding lies as bricks together into prisons for the mind - mentioned 4 January 2000 in
The Washington Post's - 'Reliable Source' column re "Scientologist with no HEAD"
You want Bigots?