STILL STANDING

A Memoir of a Former Scientologist



By:
     Nancy Many


Table of Contents:

February 20th 1996.....................5

Tom Cruise 2005..........................26

Entrance to Scientology....30

International Management.72

March1979,Rehabilitation.96

Adjustments...................................152

Celebrity Centre....................163

Rehabilitation Again........173

Christmas 1982-1983.............203

Espionage ......................................300


Becoming a Public Scientologist ....................................................................235

Business Consulting.............241

Field Staff Member................250

Doubts and the Internet.258

Office of Special Affairs "Handling"........................................288

Shattered.........................................309

The Healing Begins..............323

Lisa McPherson..........................334

Internet Posting....................339

Jeannine and Greg.................349


Hopes of Closure....................373

They Get to the Millionaire
....................................................................384

2005 Integration....................404

Taylor's Point of View..449

Spring 2005 Trip....................454

Scientology Celebrities.461

Scientology and Me Today472

The Visit.........................................466

Updates...............................................473

Appendix - Social Control -
And Cults...........................................474



CHAPTER ONE
February 20th 1996



    It was after midnight when I carefully sat up in bed and slowly untied the sash my husband had tied around my ankle.  I knew he had connected our ankles so he would be awakened if I got up in the middle of the night, but I also knew he didn't understand the truth of what was going on.  If he woke, he would only try to stop me from the work I had to do; the planning and preparation I had to do this night.  I was now certain that Scientology's Captain Bill had been right in his theories and views.  The alien race, the Marcabians, had taken over the top management of Scientology.  Captain Bill had been a high-ranking, long-standing member of Scientology and he told me that the Marcabians had placed (invisible to humans) "Tepaphones" on top of the big blue Scientology complex in Los Angeles.  It was through these Tepaphones that they practiced their mind control of the humans, especially the higher level members of Scientology.  It made sense now.  It had been the intention of Scientology all along that I lose my mind.  This also explained why the staff of the Upper Level Scientology Centre, the people who worked at the Office of Special Affairs International (OSA Int), were so cold hearted to my pain these past two weeks.  They were either aliens themselves or controlled by the aliens.  
  It was clear to me that OSA Int. had no intention of helping me; in fact they were hoping I would completely drown in my anguish and confused thoughts.
   I quietly made my way to the kitchen to make a cup of tea.  It was 1AM, and I had a lot to do.  I knew tomorrow was the most important day of my life.  A battle would be fought.  Win or lose it would be over by 2PM.  I wanted to win, and felt I had enough allies and support to achieve the victory I desperately needed.
   I took a cup of lemon tea to my desk and turned on the computer and small desk lamp.  The hum from my space heater and my curled up dog kept me company.  I knew I needed to list my resources before I could have a solid plan.  This was a battle between the Godless ones and the Faithful.  
I made a general plan of how I would survive the large spiritual attack I felt was coming with the dawn of the next day.  For some reason, the time of 2PM stuck in my mind as the cut off time.  If I could last until 2, all would be well, and I would have won this pivotal battle.  I did not know why 2PM was the time.  In Scientology Thursday at 2 is very significant; I did not understand why this Wednesday at 2PM was the deadline; I just knew it was.  I didn't know exactly the form the conflict would take, but I knew it would start in the morning and if I could last until 2 the major danger would pass.
   I listed the people I felt could give me helpful energy, either directly or indirectly through prayers.  This would give me the good energy I would need to go into battle against the alien demons.  I placed these allied people in order of phone calls and planned the sequence of actions as best I could.  I knew some things would unfold in ways I couldn't predict, I had to be ready for how they unfolded.
	I was not certain upon which side Mick Wenlock was.  We had worked together years earlier in Scientology and he was a friend of mine.  Thru our recent email conversations, he had made it clear that he was out of Scientology.  During the intense Scientology Office of Special Affairs interrogations I had been subjected to for several weeks prior to my breakdown, his name had come up often and I questioned what side he was on.  Part of my plan was an email that I wrote and sent to him that night.  The intent was to shake Mick up if he was working in concert with Scientology's Intelligence Unit and the evil aliens.
   After a few hours work, I crawled back into bed and tied my ankle back to my husband's.  I did not want him questioning me in the morning.  It was going to be a busy day.
    I awakened as usual and got the kids off to school.  
Chris left for work.  I attempted to act as normal as I could in front of my family.  I didn't want concern to get in the way of my master plan.  This was as much for their survival as my own, except they were unaware of the danger.
One of the first calls I made was to Chris' parents who were Born Again Christians in upstate NY.  My father- in-law had spoken to his minister and read me a quote from the bible - something about the "sons".  Things began to click; I realized they were after my sons.  This was it.  The part I hadn't predicted or seen the night before.  I hung up the phone frantic over how I could protect them.  My stepson was older and had not lived with us for several years.  He now lived on the other side of town; I didn't feel any danger around him.  My older son was at a Catholic High school, and I knew it had so much daily prayer that there was a protective bubble.  The Principal, Sister Lucille, had a strong faith and that faith would be protecting Carey.  
As I paced our small living room, balloons from a weekend party began to burst on their own.  I could feel the negative electric energy building and knew I was close to their plan by the sound of the balloons popping.
"OK, so Carey is safe," I said to myself, calming down about him.    My pacing continued, and suddenly more balloons popped when I started to think of my youngest, son Taylor.  Taylor was 9 years old and in the public elementary school down the street; he was not safe at all.  
My mind raced with how I had to get him out of that school and under some sort of protection.  I realized I could not go myself: that would bring the Evil Ones right to him.  Already the energy in the room was darkening and rustling with intensity.  I knew it was not my imagination, because balloons continued to pop, balloons neither my dogs nor I were near.
     The school was only a block from our Recording Studio; I could ask the studio manager, Regina.  I called, keeping my voice very calm and told her Taylor needed to be picked up and brought home and could she please go to the school, sign Taylor out and drive him home for me.  It was close and she promised to do it.  
I hung up the phone, still frantic.  What if Regina didn't get there in time?  What if the school wouldn't release him to her?
During the last two weeks I had seen my three Siberian Huskies fend off the evil energy; I knew they could offer some protection.  I felt such urgency I couldn't' wait any longer, I hooked two of them up to their leashes and ran down the street, hoping to meet up with Regina and Taylor. 
I raced down the street, my two Siberians pulling me, meeting Regina at a half waypoint.  She didn't mention my running towards them or judge me.  I knew she was on our side (whether she was aware of it or not).  I thanked her for picking up Taylor.  Then Taylor, I, and the dogs went quickly back to our home.  
We began to play games.  I did not want Taylor to be upset; I wanted him to think it was a fun time.  We started to play a game called "opposite day".  We did things the opposite of how we would normally do them.  Suddenly I could feel the dark energy swirling around the house.  I knew we had to get out.  I heard some more of the balloons in the living room popping again.  I knew the energy had made it into the back of the house where the two Black Dogs were barking wildly.  We had to move quickly. This time we took Sasha, our red Husky, and some "Magic: The Gathering Cards" to play with.  I brought the portable phone with me, just in case I needed to contact someone else on my list.  We went out through the window, instead of the door, because it was opposite day.
   As my young son and I walked through the streets of Burbank, I could see "them" circling the streets around our house; their cars had a different feel to them.  Sometimes as we sat on the sidewalk curb to play cards a slow moving car would pass by.  The driver would look as us sitting with our red dog.  I would notice the driver's spark of recognition before his car moved on to turn the corner.  Trying not to spread my fear, I simply told Taylor we needed to keep walking.
    We arrived at a large intersection and some people, two women and a man, happened to park their car right where we were standing on the sidewalk.  They came around to speak with us and admire our dog.  I knew they were pawns.  I could see the aliens moving in and out of control of their bodies and see the focus centering on Taylor.  I looked down at my portable phone and realized that was how they had tracked us; I quickly threw it into the bushes.  
I was frightened and panicked.  My thoughts were racing but I had to calm them to get a fast plan to save my son.  I realized that if they could switch bodies, so could I.  The best thing for me to do was to act like Taylor, my nine-year-old son, and they would come after me instead of him.    
I grabbed the dog's leash and ran into the street, wildly, like a kid would.  I completely expected to be hit by a car.  If they bought the idea that we had switched bodies and my body got hit, then my son would be safe.
I was surprised to arrive safe and sound on the other side.  No car had hit me.  I stood there confused for a moment or two.  I saw that Taylor was on the other side of the busy intersection with those other people.  He was still in danger.  They were looking at me, but I could see they had him surrounded.  Taylor was standing motionless, silently staring at me.
"What to do?  What to do?" my mind racing, scanning the streets I was standing near.
  I noticed I was near a McDonald's restaurant with the kids' fun room in the front and ran towards it.  I had to keep them thinking "I" or "my body" was Taylor.  I ran into the McDonalds and crawled into the entrance of the ball room.  I had forgotten the dog was still with me, attached by a leash.  She crawled in with me.
  I sat in the middle of the balls with my dog attached to my arm.    I could feel the surprised energy in the restaurant.  I could see through the plastic walls, the blurry faces of some of the patrons of the restaurant staring at me in stunned silence.  There were a couple of kids who had been playing in the Ball Room; they did not come near me.  Suddenly the MacDonald Managers' head broke into the entrance to the Ball Room.  He was on all fours kneeling outside and only his head inside the Ball Room where I was sitting with my dog.
 "Ma'am, you can't be in here... no adults are allowed in the play area and no dogs in the restaurant."  He barely blurted it out, his face turning red.
 That's when I noticed I still had Sasha, the dog.  I had no idea what my next move should be; my mind was empty.
  Taylor's head poked through the exit hole on the right.
"Come on Mom, let's go"
I looked from the manager's face on the left to my nine-year hold's face in the right exit hole.  The manager's face was so red I thought it would explode.  My son's was white and pained.
My son put out his hand to me.  "You have to get out of there."
I could see through the blurry plastic that Taylor was alone; the three people who had been after him were gone.  
I was elated.  It had worked, he was safe and he was alone, and since I had ditched the phone, I knew they couldn't track us any further.
"C'mon Mom."  Taylor motioned his hand towards me.
  I crawled out of the Ball Room, my dog following on her leash.  I was about to push the alarmed emergency exit door when Taylor took my arm and guided me out the regular door.
   I scanned the streets and parking lots and no longer saw the aliens.  I had some sense of safety, but it was nowhere near 2PM, so I knew the danger wasn't over.
Taylor and I walked behind the 7-11 located next to the McDonald's restaurant and I fell to the ground.  I could not hold my body up.  Taylor pulled on my arm.
"Mom, get up, please, Mom"
I could see he was really getting upset, his faced was now flushed, and his eyes darted around to see if this embarrassing situation was being witnessed.  I pulled on all the strength I had to get up.  We walked in the front of the 7-11 and around to the other side.  I wasn't thinking anything; just following my 9-year old's lead, when I collapsed again.  Only this time I could not get back up. 	  I had fallen partly on the sidewalk and partly in the street.  My son pulled my arm to get my body fully on the sidewalk.
Several bystanders came to help.  I wasn't certain if they were the same three from across the street, but it didn't matter, I could see the alien/evil control and once again felt I had to take attention off of my son.  I tried to get up, but fell back down.  I truly had no physical strength.  I yelled at my son "Call the King, Call the King."  It was part of a game we had been playing earlier and the King was in reference to his father at work.  I noticed people standing above me and I could hear whispering among them; their intentions were not good, the energy was dark.  A man moved close to my son, and I knew he was from the dark side, I started to thrash as best I could.  From my position lying on the sidewalk, I noticed the large tires and red side of a fire engine.  Men in blue were now around me touching me, and speaking with me.  I tried to push them away.
"Ma'am, we are only trying to help you".
"You have to lie still or we will have to put you in restraints".
Restraints, I thought, who cares about restraints, I am trying to save my son.
I heard the firefighters talking amongst themselves, about me, but the energy was different than the bystanders.  I looked over to my right and I saw my son with tears streaming down his face.  I was heartbroken he was so upset and didn't know what was happening.  I could only imagine what was going thru his mind.  As I looked at him I noticed that he was now with a policeman, and I could tell this policeman was one of the safe ones.  He was a good soul and Taylor was now protected.
I lay back down, but noticed a person with evil energy from the bystander crowd move forward to get involved.  I used all my strength to jump up and yell.  I didn't understand when all I heard noise and gibberish come from my mouth.
"Are you on drugs?  Ma'am, are you on drugs?"
I just looked at the firefighter blankly; he thinks I am on drugs.
"Have you been drinking, Ma'am, have you been drinking"
Well, of course I thought, he can't see the aliens.  So he has to figure I am just hurting my son, when the truth is I am saving his very soul.
One of the firemen said to the other; "We're going to have to use the restraints".
I could tell by the sound of his voice he was very sorry about it, and I felt bad, because he felt he was doing something bad to me.  I actually was beyond caring about restraints.  What difference would restraints make?  I had no control over my body, and my mind was a swirling funnel of chaos.
	The ambulance came and I was lifted onto it with one firefighter at my side.  The door slammed closed.  I think the firefighter felt I was on drugs or alcohol and was hurting my son.  He was angry and yelled at me.  He shouted, "How do you like it now?"  I blacked out.
                         _______________

    When I came to I was being wheeled into a hospital room and there were doctors and nurses around my head and body.
"Ma'am, what's your name?"
"What day is it?"
"Do you know where you are?"
I just looked at them blankly.  I could see a clock and knew it wasn't 2 yet, so I had to be very careful.
There were people in and out of the room, and I caught snippets of conversation, but I was afraid to say anything.  I was not certain where I was, but I was certain I was not safe.
	I noticed a man at the door.  The nurse said, "Your husband is here".
"Husband," I think, "My husband Chris.  I don't know, is that really him, I don't know."  I just looked at him.
"Nancy, it's me, Chris."
"Chris.  He looks like Chris.  He does sound like Chris, but what if this is another trick?  I beat them out at the MacDonald's, who knows what they are going to do next.
Chris held my hand and said to the nurse, who has noticed I haven't recognized him, "She wears glasses, she can't see without her glasses."
"Glasses?"  I think, Chris knows I wear contact lenses, why is he telling her I wear glasses?
I pull him down so I can whisper in his ear - 
"Is it safe?" I ask.
He brushes my cheek with his hand, "Yes, honey, it is safe, it's safe now".  
I look at the clock over his head and see that it is only 1:00PM; I know it isn't yet safe.
Regina arrives at the doorway and Chris talks briefly with her and then comes in with my glasses and puts them on my face.  It looks like he also handed a bottle of prescription drugs to the two nurses standing in the corner.  Now, I really can't see.  I did have my contacts on, and the addition of the strong prescription glasses makes everything blurry.  Chris left the room and I can hear the two nurses, are looking at the medicine bottle that the Scientology doctor had prescribed me to "help" me the week before.  
"THIS is what they gave her to help her sleep," they laugh with each other, as if it is the most ridiculous thing in the world.  I had originally thought that the Scientology doctor was in on the plan, but now I know it for sure.
   Chris came back in the room to tell me that Tory Christman (a public Scientologist) and Kirsten from the Intelligence Department of Scientology are in the hospital lobby. 
"Don't let them come back here, please," I plead.
"Don't worry; they are not going to see you.  They say they are here to help."
I later found out that as the prescribing physician: the Scientology Dr.; was notified about my collapse and mental state.  She alerted Scientology's Office of Special Affairs who sent people from the Intelligence Department to the hospital to prevent any psychiatric help or admission.  At the time I only knew that the people in the lobby where not there to help me, no matter what they said to Chris.  
It was getting closer to 2PM and I now believed that Chris probably was Chris, and he has told me that our son Taylor and our red Siberian dog Sasha were safe.  I can still hear the aliens using the hospital intercom passing messages about me; I wonder why Chris can't hear them.
  The nice nurse comes over to the side of my bed.
"Don't you want the restraints taken off?"
I honestly don't care about the restraints, I can barely feel them, but I can tell that she would like me to want to have them taken off.
"Sure," I answer.
"OK, now I just want to make sure you don't become combative again or we will have to put them back on."
I look at Chris standing next to me and I'm 90% certain it's really him and I am safe, and she has been such a wonderful nurse.
"I'll be good."
The nurse moves to my side with a clipboard and pen.  "Now I have to ask you a few questions, just answer as best you can."
With a little bit of prompting from Chris I am able to answer the key questions to prevent a mandatory 72-hour Psychiatric hold.  They include things like who are you, where are you, what day is it, what did you eat for breakfast, and do you know what happened?
I must have passed, because she has a smile on her face as she unbuckled the restraints.
Chris tells me that the doctor wants me to stay overnight at the hospital, but that he (Chris) is going to sign a paper saying that he is taking me out against medical advice.  
"The doctor just wants to get you an MRI to make sure you don't have a brain tumor or something like that."
"Brain tumor?"
"They just need to check it out, and then I'll take you home."
"OK."
There was an older woman standing directly outside the door to my room.  She never spoke nor entered the room.  She would make eye contact with me, but I couldn't feel negativity from her.  I wondered who she was and what she was doing there.  Perhaps she had been sent for protection.
As they wheeled me out of my small room to go to radiology, I sat up in my hospital bed and stared at her.  She simply looked back. No bad energy, no good energy, simply calming energy.
	They wouldn't let Chris into the radiology room.  I was very suspicious of the two male technicians.  They shifted my body from the bed to the MRI platform.  The platform moves my body, so that my head enters what appears to be a large white helmet.  The two technicians went behind a screen, leaving me alone on the platform, with my head inside this strange white machine.  Soon I smelled the gas.  The aliens were trying to get me to breathe in through the machine as a final effort to control me.  But, I knew at this point it was almost 2 o'clock and that if I could just hold my breath, this would be the last hurdle I would have to make.

                   _____________________

   Chris, Taylor, Sasha and I finally left the hospital to head home.  On the way, we made a short stop at the supermarket for milk and something for supper. 
Chris parked the car and turned to me.  "Will you be OK in there?"
 I thought for a bit.  Taylor and Chris were with me, the drug they had given me at the hospital had calmed me down somewhat, and we were past 2PM, the critical hour.
"Yeah, I'll be fine, just stay close to me."  Taylor sat in the cart as I pushed it with Chris standing next to me.  Two elderly women came over to admire Taylor.
"What a nice looking boy he is."
I could feel the protective panic rising and was about to shoo them away, when they turned and smiled at me.  They had brilliant warm smiles and I knew these two women were from the side of the good.  I also noticed something else; they both had dark ashes rubbed on their foreheads. I smiled back and pushed the cart forward.  Ash Wednesday, I thought. No wonder this had been such an intensely spiritual day of battle I had been so out of it these past couple of weeks, I had not realized that today was Ash Wednesday.  That explained a lot.
I noticed several other people in the supermarket with ashes on their foreheads and felt much safer.
We paid for our groceries and went the few blocks home.  Chris got me safely to bed, and then he called the Scientology doctor from the room next door.  I only heard the mumbles of the conversation, but after Chris hung up the phone he came in and sat on the bed with me.  He held my hands and looked deep into my eyes.  
"The doctor says that the only help for you now is Psychiatric drugs and she is not allowed, as a Scientologist, to prescribe them"
I looked at him with a mix of emotions.  I didn't want to go back to the Scientology doctor anyway.  I had always felt she was a tool for the alien Marcabians and only wanted harm to come my way. 
 "We are on our own, Nancy.  There is no help coming from Scientology.  There is no help coming from anywhere.  We are in this together and we are going to get through this together."
Chris was talking to me so slowly and deliberately, with him holding my hand and looking deep inside me, it got to ME, the ME that had been fighting this war for the past two weeks.  It didn't matter we had no more help from Scientology; they were the ones who pushed me over the brink in the first place.  They had been actively working to make me worse since my mind cracked two weeks prior. What mattered was that I was no longer alone.  Chris was in this with me.  I remembered what the nurses had said as they laughed about the drug Chloral Hydrate and herbs the Scientology doctor had prescribed me.
I realized exactly what we needed to do.  "Let's do the opposite of everything they told us.  Let's stop all the drugs, the mega vitamins, the herbs, the calcium magnesium drinks, all that stuff."
"OK, we'll get through this, Nancy." 
I felt my first bit of hope in two weeks as we embraced.


Chapter Two
Tom Cruise 2005

JOURNAL ENTRY
June 29,2005
I finished reading a book on trauma and recovery last night.  It was very detailed and an intense read for me.  I saw myself in it everywhere.  They covered spousal abuse, sexual abuse, childhood abuse and trauma from the wars.   Surprisingly they did not mention much about cultic abuse, but they didn't have to.  Trauma is trauma; the results are the same.  
Today I had to take my car in to have the brakes serviced.  The whole drive over, I was filled with reminders.  There is currently so much press around Scientology and Tom Cruise.  It brings up for me this entire other side of what Scientology is, and I just want to fling the story out there.  I want to write about their rehabilitation project forces, where people are watched constantly until their thinking "comes right".  I want to call the press and let them know that Katie Holmes is being "babysat" to make sure that no negativity about Scientology reaches her ears.  She is at a delicate point in her Scientology indoctrination and could easily be swayed away.  Tom is spouting these attacks on psychiatry, on Brooke Shields and others.  I just want to get on the phone and speak to the press and let the people know that Scientology has driven people crazy, that Scientology has responsibility in the deaths of Lisa McPherson and Greg Bashaw.  I want to let them know that Scientology believes that psychiatrists have been reincarnating for thousands upon thousands of years and are the sole cause of decline in this world.  I want to let it be known that Scientology is executing a multi-year plan for world domination and for the adulation of L. Ron Hubbard as the next messiah.
I want to spit it all out in a rush of truth.  But, the desire to speak comes in a garbled mess/mass of emotions and memories.  I find myself with an urge to throw up and recognize it as the day I had hours and hours of dry heaves while being interrogated locked away in a 'counseling' room at Scientology's International Headquarters.  My spirit is enveloped with a wave of fear of things they can do, things they have done to others, things they have already done to me, and things that can come to me.
My mind is racing a million miles a minute and I fear I could not clearly get what happened to me out.  Then it would be worse.  I would have tried to communicate and failed.
I want to speak the truth as I have seen it and uncover the areas of truth that Tom Cruise has been so carefully shielded from.  
The forward push to communicate brings into view the emotional upheaval and mix of fear, anger, and helplessness that I have lived with for over twenty-five years.
Last night, on the Daily Show, Lewis Black showed clips of Tom Cruise ranting that there is no proof of "chemical imbalance" and Lewis responded with a quick,  "Then what do you call what is happening to you????"  He showed a clip of Tom Cruise speaking of the depth of his knowledge of psychiatry.  I wonder if Tom will share that he thinks psychiatrists have been destroying the world for thousands of years that they are the evil ones who keep reincarnating into people who become psychiatrists and work to destroy humanity.
Tom knows that it is only Scientology that can save the world from the destruction by psychiatrists.
Tom calls psychiatry a pseudo science and Lewis Black responds with, "Yes, you want us all to join your pseudo science - Scientology, at least that has the word science in it."
I, and the people I was watching The Daily Show that night, laughed.  Lewis Black may not know all the details I know, but he gets the general idea - and he is speaking out, he is saying what I cannot.  The laughter relieves some of my pain.





CHAPTER THREE
Entrance to Scientology
     I first encountered Scientology in 1972 while attending my second year at a small college north of Boston, Massachusetts.  Things in my life as well as the world around me were unstable.  Society seemed in a state of constant flux and turmoil.  I had participated in marches for peace, protested the Viet Nam war, was involved in taking over a college building, and dabbled in the sex, drugs, and rock and roll lifestyle that permeated the national culture in those years.  I was a member of a women's consciousness group and a lapsed member of the Catholic Church.
   My departure from Catholicism did not come dramatically; it simply came from distaste for all organized religions.  I found my connection to God in nature and in the people around me.  I loved the writings of Thoreau and Emerson.  I felt closer to God while hiking than I did in a church or at a Catholic Mass.  I also did not understand why women could not become priests or why priests couldn't marry.  My favorite Nun and Priest during my high school years had had to leave their vocations of service and help to humankind simply to get married, though not to each other.
   My dream had always been to become a social worker, to counsel and help people.  I had already spent two summers working with at the Paul A. Dever School for the Retarded.  I worked with both adults and children, with people with many different levels of disability.  I knew a profession of compassion and help was for me.  The college I chose offered a pilot project, sponsored by the state of Massachusetts, in which a person could begin to work as an apprentice social worker after only four years of college.  I was thrilled that I would be able to work for pay while I got the needed Masters of Social Work Degree.
   By late 1971 that program was failing and falling apart, my dreams with it.  I had just broken up with my long-term boyfriend.  I noticed that the friends I was hanging out with wanted to do everything while stoned on marijuana.  The only other set of students I saw or knew on the campus were the students who loved to drink and get drunk.  I fit in with neither group and felt displaced, floating without an anchor.  It was during this time that I got involved in Scientology.  
   The Scientology center I first noticed was on Beacon Street in Boston, near Fenway Park and Kenmore Square.  It looked more like a regular office building than anything else.  One very cold October day, I was stoned and walked past the building with four friends of mine.  A large, bright, poster in the front window caught my attention.  I stopped to read.  "A civilization without insanity, without criminals and without war, where the able can prosper and honest beings can have rights, and where man is free to rise to greater heights, these are the aims of Scientology...." I read the words, only to find my mind wasn't taking it all in.  I started to read again from the top.
  The three friends I was with were anxious to keep moving and get out of the freezing cold. I wanted to keep reading.
"Wait", I said.  The words continued to pour into me; "non political in nature, Scientology welcomes any individual of any creed, race or nation."
 "Come on Nancy, it's cold out here."  Bob tugged at my jacket.
"One more minute."  I begged as I scanned the poster again.  "The combined truths of fifty thousand years of thinking men, distilled and amplified by new discoveries about Man, have made for this success."
"Nancy!"  Marty and Jill yelled sharply, I tore myself away, vowing privately that I would find out more, or at least come back without my friends and read the entire sign when I wasn't high.
We made it the next couple of blocks to Jill's apartment and warmed up with cups of tea.  When we were settled Jill said "Stay away from them, Nancy, I have some friends who got really screwed over by those people."
"How?"  I asked.
"Money, that's all they are about, all they want is your money."  Even though my other friends agreed with that sentiment, something in that poster had reached out and touched me.  I wanted those aims.  How could anything be wrong with a group that wanted those aims?
   Within the month, a friend of mine at college, Sue, got a letter from a friend of hers who had moved to California.  In it, she raved about a new group she encountered called Scientology.  I told Sue of my reading the poster and we agreed to go into Boston and check it out together.  
    We attended an Open House.  The building was clean and business like, with two large course rooms filled with tables and chairs, some smaller rooms we were told were for private counseling, and a few offices for the staff that worked there full time.  All the people were so friendly, and seemed so happy.  Nothing really captured me as different until the end of the event, when we were told we were going to be able to witness an actual private counseling session on stage in the back room.  The audience was asked to maintain quiet as the counselor (which we were told was called an Auditor), and the clientz (which they called a Pre Clear in) took the chair.  The Auditor was operating a machine I had already seen called an E-Meter.  The pre-clear was holding a tin can in each hand that was connected by a wire to the machine itself.
   I listened as the pre clear was questioned about an area of his life he had difficulty with, and he spoke freely about it.  I don't remember what the actual subject being addressed was, some physical injury the he had experienced, but I do remember that soon the Auditor was asking if there was an earlier similar time she had felt this way.  They continued in this way and after three or four earlier incidents were discussed, I realized that he was now talking about memories of a previous lifetime.  The pre-clear was now discussing things that he felt had happened to him in lifetimes earlier than this one!  
   I turned to one of the staff members who had been giving us our tour and whispered "Is he talking about his past life?"
"Yes," he whispered back.
I felt such an elation, and sense of being in the right place.  I could not believe that no one had mentioned this to me before.  I had been ready to blow the group off as just another interesting group prior to this auditing session on stage.  The knowledge that this group-helped people recover memories of past lives that may be buried, but were still affecting them in the present resonated with me. 
I was practically floating out of the room, despite the late hour.  My girlfriend Sue did not share my enthusiasm, she was tired, and we had a long way to get back to school.  We bought some paperback books and left. I left that night feeling a sense of peace and euphoria that I had found something I had been searching for.
  At the age of fifteen I had read books based on the possibility that we may have lived before.  kIt was an idea belief that struck a deep chord with me, and I searched for any information that I could find on it.  My father, a devout Catholic, told me if I really wanted to learn about it, that I should read the writings of St. Thomas Aquinas.  I soon discovered that in the early Catholic Church a belief in past lives had been held, but then was dropped.  I learned that there were many practices that believed in the possibility, or even probability of the return of the soul to this world.  For me, the theory of past lives was something that simply made sense.  It was why I could sometimes meet people and have an instant reaction.  It was why sometimes when I traveled to places I had never been before, I just felt something familiar, and I could sometimes predict what was around the corner.  
   The fact that we returned after death to live again did not contradict any of my Catholic beliefs, or other personal beliefs.  It was something that was simply a belief of mine.
Prior to that moment, during that Scientology open house, I had never found or seen a way of accessing, or actually remembering who or what I was.  I was so excited that night as Sue and I took the subway and then hitchhiked back to school.
  That first paperback book, "New Slant on Life" got put aside due to the demands of my college classes.  I also heard more negativity about Scientology from several other people - "They play with dark forces"; "They hurt people"; "They are very greedy and only care about the money".  The book languished on my shelf in my college dorm for a month or two.
	Shortly after Christmas break, I was involved in a heavy study period cramming for finals.  I was having an especially difficult time with my Biology class.  The methamphetamine, speed was a common 'study aid' in those days, it was used a bit too often.  I used Black Beauty's, a pill that would help students stay up all night and study.  That night I took one pill and was wide-awake, but just couldn't get into my biology materials.  I looked at my bookcase and "New Slant on Life" caught my eye.  I picked it up and decided to read it.
  My mind was filled with criticism and attitude against Scientology as I began to read the book.  By this time, I had heard so much negativity about it, I found myself looking for things to challenge.  It was not a thick book, perhaps 150 pages.  I found myself initially finding many things to either disagree with or think "So what?  That's no big deal."
   Midway through the book, I noticed I was actually nodding my head and saying 'Hmmmm" several times, especially while reading the chapter on "The Death of Consciousness".  Hubbard said, "Have you watched the high alertness of a young man breasting the forces which oppose life?  and watched another in old age?"  Hubbard went on to say, "Suppose we had a man who had retained all his ability to reason and yet had a great deal of experience.  Suppose our graybeards could think with all the enthusiasm and vitality of youth and yet had all their experience as well.  Age says to youth, "You have no experience!"  Youth says to age, "You have no vision; you will not accept or even examine new ideas!"  Obviously, an ideal arrangement would be for one to have the experience of age and the vitality and vision of youth."
	Wow, I thought, that's exactly how I feel, coming from an era that felt like the largest generation gap ever.  I looked forward into the lives of those much older than me and saw the burdens of paying the mortgage and working 9-5 and losing the joy of taking a hike, or just sticking one's thumb out and experiencing life as it unfolded.  I agreed with most of my generation in that I wanted something different.
  I stopped, put the book down, and had a mental talk with myself.  Even though I had liked the "Aims of Scientology" and found their form of counseling, which included past lives, to be personally attractive, I had since not found one person who had anything good to say about it.  I reminded myself that my purpose here was to read the book critically and not to lap it up mindlessly.  I put myself back in my critical frame of mind and went back to reading the book.  I found a few comments on the place of women, which I disagreed with and which confirmed for me that this was not a group that was simply all right.  I continued to read.
   After another 50 pages or so, I realized that Hubbard was making sense.  There was just no way around it; he was making sense to me.  He had a simple chapter; "On Bringing Order"
"When you start to introduce order into anything, disorder shows up and blows off.  Therefore, efforts to bring order in the society or any part of it will be productive of disorder for a while every time.
   "The trick is to keep on bringing order; and soon the disorder is gone, and you have orderly activity remaining.  But if you HATE disorder and fight disorder only, don't ever try to bring order to anything for the resulting disorder will drive you half mad.
   "Only if you can ignore disorder and can understand this principle, can you have a working world."
  I recalled the times I had decided to reorganize a part of my room.  I remembered that there would come a point when I would look around at the chaos that my room had become, wondering why I had even started.  Hubbard was right; just a few more bits of work and the corner would be turned.  The order I originally wanted would soon arrive.
  I decided he was making sense and I should stop trying to find fault and just read the book.
  Upon finishing it I realized a couple of things: first off, there was not much in the book that didn't' resonate with me.  I also noticed that most of it was simple common sense that on some level I already knew.  Nothing new or brilliant or a major earth shattering shift came from reading it.  However, I realized that I had never found a book where the writer had written in such simple terms, and communicated to me in such clear language.
  This was not a bad thing.  Why were all these other people saying bad things about it?
   It was well past dawn by this time, and I felt refreshed and energized and ran down the two flights of stairs to burst into my friend Sue's room.
"Sue, you have got to read this book!"
Sue was getting ready for her first class, barely awake and ironing a blouse.  
"What book?"
"The Scientology book, remember the one that we got from the Center in Boston?"
Sue looked at me blankly. "Oh, yeah, no I haven't read it."
"You have to, I just finished reading it and it's a really simple book, but has a lot of usefulness in it."
Sue and her roommate looked at me.
I realized I was too chipper for them in this early morning hour and backed off.
"Are you going to breakfast?"  I asked.
"In about five minutes."
"Ok," I said, I'll be back."
I realized that I had to contain my excitement, because others were just not feeling what I felt.  They just didn't understand.  We went to breakfast and talked of classes and boyfriends and the upcoming party over the weekend.
   I had no one to share this with, this newfound sense of peace and something to hold onto.  I already knew that not many people felt as I did about past lives, and had yet to find a person with good things to say about Scientology, so I stopped sharing.
   Several days later, I had finished my morning classes and was sitting in the coffee house in the student union.  I took an inventory of my life and realized that I was starting to think in a different direction than my friends.  I didn't want to do everything stoned, in fact the last couple of times I had gotten stoned were not even pleasant experiences.  I had just completed a semester wherein I had made the Deans List, but my hopes for the special Social Work Program were dying.  It was something that might not even work out for me.  
  I had no more classes that day, I was caught up on my schoolwork, and I was at loose ends.  I decided to call the people at the Boston Scientology Centre and see if there was someone I could see today.  I wanted to know more about them, on my own and for myself.
                    --------------
    That day was a major turning point for me.  I went to the organization in Boston and spoke got to several people.  Soon it got too late for me to make my way back to the dorm and one of my new found Scientology friends offered me a couch at their apartment.  I was entering a new world.
   The individuals I spoke to that day about Scientology promised everything I wanted to hear.  I could begin counseling and helping people in a short amount of time, months as opposed to the years I was looking at through college.  Several local Boston Scientologists offered me a place in their lives.  I really liked these people and wanted to know them better.  The living quarters were communal with several apartments scattered near the offices and rent was cheap.  I had never lived communally personally, but in the early 70's many people were, including some I had known.  The thought of sharing living quarters with others who felt as I did was appealing.  There was no drug use within the group, yet there was a very hopeful and electric energy that made the highs from drugs seem tame.  It appealed to me on many levels.  
       Many of my friends and peers were experimenting with different ways of living than their parents had expected them to.  While I loved to watch the Hare Krishna's chant and dance on the Boston Common, I couldn't see changing my life in that direction.
But still, I was concerned about the religious aspect
Of Scientology.  I felt I had not just left the Roman Catholic Church but all organized religions.  The staff member speaking with me about joining was adept at handling my concerns.  She comforted me with the fact that Scientology only called themselves a church for "legal and tax reasons."  I had already observed that they did not operate in their day-to-day business as any church I was familiar with.  I was shown a Policy Letter written by L. Ron Hubbard, the Founder of the organization, which basically stated the same things.  When the organizations shifted to their "church status," L. Ron Hubbard informed his staff that this would not change their daily operation. Other than the name on the letterhead, and the occasional requests for some staff to wear ministerial collars I found it to be more a prospering business rather than a religious congregation.  There were no church services, ever; none of the members I was talking to even called it a church.  They called their place of business "The Org", short for organization.  For those who worked there, they were not joining a real church
The first course I took gave me a lot of benefit.  It was a course on communication.  The course cost $25, and at that time it felt like a fortune, but I was given a lot of encouragement from my new Scientology friends and soon got the money.  
The course broke down the various steps of communication into much smaller parts.  Students would practice these smaller parts, gaining confidence and clarity as time went on.  One of the first steps to communication is that the person has to be in the present moment.  Sometimes, instead of simply being present with the person with whom we are speaking, we are still upset about an emotional conversation the previous day with someone else or we are worried about something that might happen in the future.  This takes energy from the conversation we were attempting to have in the present.  The purpose of practicing this aspect of communication (simply being present), was to move us into the present moment
The communication course contained two drills a person practiced repeatedly to increase his or her ability to "be there" and to do nothing else but be there.  In many ways they were very similar to meditation practices and to the practice of contemplative prayer, which I studied years later.  I would find that when I first sat down to "just be there", my mind would be a swirl of thoughts.  Over time and with practice, however, I found I could find my center, a place of peace, without all the raucous thoughts that had previously been present.  I could simply sit in front of another person, and just BE.  
I could not see anything bt[positive in a person learning how to quiet his or her mind, and simply arrive in the present moment.  I gained from this, and wanted to share this with others. I had gained benefits, and I wanted others to experience what I had.  
 The organization in Boston in 1972 was small enough (approximately 50 staff) so that I knew everyone on a personal basis.  L. Ron Hubbard himself had sent several of his top executives to Boston as part of what they called a Command Team.  This team contained executives who had once run many of the top Scientology organizations in the United States.  They had been sent to Boston to expand this one smaller organization, to make and send a lot of income to the higher organizations.  The executives who were part of this Command Team all knew and had worked with L. Ron Hubbard personally.  Through them I was able to hear many personal stories of not only Hubbard's drive for higher and higher production, but also his sense of humor and compassion.  Though I had never met him personally, this close working relationship with a team of individuals who had, gave me a sense of the man and a feeling of closeness to him.  Their stories personalized him for me.  They gave me a sense of him as a real person, someone who sometimes made mistakes, could get upset, and was not always right.  In other words, while I respected Hubbard, and was sometimes in awe at his writings, I saw him as a human.  I never expected perfection from him.  I did find his writings, for the most part, had the ability to take philosophies that were complex and then distill them for me into simple, understandable, and useful concepts.  
One day, I arrived at the organization in the early afternoon.  I was attempting to juggle my college classes along with my Scientology course work and the volunteer work I had begun to do with Scientology.  Bill Franks, a tall handsome member of the Command Team asked me to come to his office.  He didn't say another word till we arrived there and he offered me a seat.
"Have you heard about the Sea Org?" he asked.
I knew that all the members of the Command Team were called officers in the Sea Organization.  They always wore uniforms similar to those of naval officers and could be a striking sight when seen walking in a group along the streets of Boston.
"Yes," I answered.
"Would you like to join?"
Join, I thought.  I hadn't even known that was possible and I felt honored that he was even asking me.  I knew that Sea Org Members devoted their lives to the forwarding of the purpose of the aims of Scientology.  They had ships and traveled the world, bringing the sunshine of Scientology with them wherever they went.
"I still would like to try and finish this semester at college."
"That is only two more months and we can work that schedule out," he placed the foolscap size copy of the contract in front of me.
I noticed the Sea Org symbol at the top of the page and read the contract.

 I, ___________________ DO HEREBY AGREE to enter into employment with the SEA ORGANIZATION and, being of sound mind, do fully realize and agree to abide by its purpose which is to get ETHICS IN on this PLANET AND UNIVERSE and, fully and without reservation, subscribe to the discipline, mores and conditions of this group and pledge to abide by them. 
THEREFORE, I CONTRACT MYSELF TO THE SEA ORGANIZATION FOR THE NEXT BILLION YEARS. 
Signed___________________      Date_________

    Wow, I thought, a billion years, that's a long time, or at least this entire lifetime for sure.  Do I really want to only do this for the rest of my life?  As I thought this over I remembered a briefing another member of the Command Team had given last week; they had a plan to Clear the Planet within five years.  "Clearing the Planet" wxas achieving the Aims of scientology.  It was expected that within five years everyone would be a Scientologist.  Contributing five years of my life to achieving the aims of Scientology I had read in the storefront window last fall, I could do that.
	"Alright."  I said as I picked up the pen to sign.  
	Bill was obviously happy about my choice, and we left his office sharing my new status with the staff we met along the way back to my course room.  I was greeted with great smiles and big hugs.  I was thrilled to be a full time member of the group.
 
    ___________________________________

Much to the unhappiness of my family, I dropped out of college and entered the world of Scientology 24/7.  I agreed with the stated Scientology goals of "Making the world a better place" and "Helping mankind".  I knew Scientology was not a mainstream, establishment group, and at that time in my life and in the transition state of the world in the early 70's, that was fine with me. 
	Now that I had officially signed my contract and become a member of staff, I was allowed to attend their staff meetings.  On a wall in the back of the organization was a large chart called the "Seven Division Organizing Board".  Every Scientology Organization in the world had the exact same board.  The board contains the functions of every position in the organization, laid out in colored dyna-tape.  The names of the individuals responsible for the functions are placed on this board.  The organizing board breaks down into seven divisions, each one delineated in a different color.  The seven divisions were 1) Communications, 2) Dissemination, 3) Treasury, 4) Technical, 5) Qualifications (Quality Control), 6) Distribution (Marketing), and 7) Executive.
Each of the seven divisions has three departments.  Within these three departments there are building blocks of "Units", which all add up to the final product of the department.  The three products of the departments will result in the product of the specific division.  The sum the seven divisions would be the product of the organization as a whole.  As one can imagine, this was quite a structured organization, with everyone having his or her job well defined within the framework of the whole.
	Each morning the entire staff would meet in front of the board for a group muster and something called Chinese School.  The staff would chant the jobs, duties, and products of the organization in unison.  Chinese School is an effective means of robotically learning almost anything.  Repeating something often enough, especially in a singsong rhythm along with a group, tends to speed its saturation into a persons mental thought process. 
This drilling of the lay out of the organizations' structure was important.  It was felt that the more each individual member of the organization understood about the functions in other departments and divisions, the stronger the group will be. It was felt that the organization would be more efficient with everyone knowing exactly who to go to for what, and what to expect from each other member.  I didn't find much wrong with the premise that an educated staff would be a more efficient staff.
	The founder of Scientology, L. Ron Hubbard, was a member of the Navy in World War II.  He seems to have enjoyed the regimentation and crispness of the lines of command and seniority of orders, because he kept those in his organizations.
The first position that I held at the Boston Org was in sales, the job title being registrar.  I was trained in high powered sales methods using a book chosen by L. Ron Hubbard called Big League Sales Closing Techniques by Les Dane.  It was a well-written, simple, and effective book, about how to maximize sales.  Les Dane had been a top car salesman and had written the book codifying his successes.  This book along with exercises and practice drills that L. Ron Hubbard developed to align with the book shifted the selling of cars to the selling of the "Bridge to Total Freedom".  The course became a key course for all registrars in Scientology around the world.  It is still in use today.  
I was good with people, enjoyed speaking with them, and the executives of the organization thought that I could make it as a salesperson.  As a Salesperson, or Registrar for Scientology I sold courses like the $25 Communications Course I had taken and from which I had felt I had gained so much.  I would also be selling personal counseling called auditing which were sold in blocks of 12.5 hours.  Registrars always tried to sell blocks of at least 25 hours because that was the minimum amount recommended for the person to receive the most benefit.  A block of 25 hours of personal auditing cost $4,000 at that time.  The block of 25 hours was usually delivered to the "pre-clear" within two weeks.  There were many other courses, and services costing anywhere from hundreds to thousands and even tens of thousands.  The hours of personal counseling someone could buy and receive at the Boston Org could easily run into 200 or more hours, not to mention the recommended courses, books and tapes.
  Unfortunately (for me) I had some issues about the amount of money being charged for the courses and counseling.  I felt that even the $25 that was charged for the first class, was steep, especially for college students who lived hand to mouth in the Boston area.  I could not even fathom asking people for the thousands of dollars it would cost to receive 12.5 hours of personal counseling.
That started to shift for me as I did some of the exercises and drills that were part of the Big League Sales Course.  The special drills, which were part of the course, did indeed improve my ability to "have" and "ask for" larger sums of money.  For example, I was told to sit silently in front of an upside down $100 bill until I could confront it and it had no meaning other than a piece of paper.  The organization's Financial Officer, Pat Broeker, would get stacks of hundred dollar bills and let those of us in sales to play with them.  We would throw them in the air, crumple them up and throw them at each other, the purpose being to desensitize us to our thoughts that there were not large sums of money in the world.  It was ink on paper, that's all.  We were walked to freeway overpasses and were reminded that each car passing under us had cost at least $2,000 (this was the early 70's after all).  We were asked to count the cars, until the concept of "there's no money" would disappear.
  After these and many other drills I would began to feel confident that there was indeed quite a lot of money in the world, and that my asking someone for, say 5 or 10 thousand dollars for Scientology Services was no big deal, especially when it was their eternal personal and spiritual freedom at stake.  A simple amount, like $5-10,000 worth of services per week was no big deal.  My job was to simply locate the people that had that money and match them to the courses or counseling that would do them the most good. Simple.
            ______________________
 
Hubbard believed that monitoring statistics were a vital component in any organization.  Giving each person a numerical reference would represent and measure their production on their job.  The numbers would offer each staff member some protection when doing well and serve as a lightning rod for correction when they were not.
	Scientology organizations measured these statistics on a weekly basis that would end and start at 2:00 PM on Thursday afternoons.  This time was originally set for Thursday to allow all the organizations around the world to send by telex their weekly statistics to the Management Office headquartered in England.  With the time differences and given the time it took to relay this information this would give international management time to digest the week's production and coordinate new orders or changes for the coming week.  By the 70's Scientology's International Organization Management was no longer based in England, and the telex and communication system was much faster, but this arbitrary cut off time of 2 O'clock on Thursday afternoons continued.
If you walked into any organization on a Friday morning, you would find many of the staff members were not there.  They had been pushed to meet and exceed production quotas based on a Thursday deadline and usually needed a little time to recover.  As Fridays progressed, the org came back to life, plans were made to increase production, and projects intended to expand the influence of Scientology. 
Through the weekend he production engines would kick in, slowly building in energy until Wednesday nights, in virtually any Scientology Organization around the world, are filled with a veritable frenzy of activity.  Public were often asked to stay past the 10PM closing, sometimes long into the night as sales deals' are hammered out.  Phone calls were made to help track down funds to purchase large packages of services. 
If a student was anywhere near the end of the course he or she was taking, they would be asked to remain well into the wee hours of the morning in order to complete before the 2 O'clock deadline the next day.  
	All organizations continue this hotbed of activity starting early Thursday morning, and right up till the stroke of 2PM.  New and unsuspecting public, who walked into the building thinking this is an ordinary Thursday morning, will soon become swept up in this maelstrom of activity.  Executives would be seen flying about, from workstation to desk.  The Executives stood out because they usually had a trail of assistants busily taking notes and gathering steam as they traverse the halls of the building.
	The director of the organization had two main areas that they were judged by - the gross income and the value of services delivered (the dollar value of courses and counseling completed).  Depending on where these numbers were as of Wednesday night, would determine where you would find the director on a Thursday morning.
There is a manic/depressive feel to this ebb and flow, and it permeates the organization from top to bottom.
	This affected me, an ordinary staff member, in several ways.  I soon learned that my rate of pay and ability to take time off was connected to my statistic.  Working for Scientology was a 24/7 commitment.  This was no 9-5 Monday thru Friday job with sick days or 2 weeks vacation type of job   A job in Scientology involves full time dedication to saving the world through Scientology's clearing of the planet.
 If my statistic was "up" (meaning a higher number than the week before) I would be able to take time off, to get some pay and to be treated with a modicum of respect.  When my statistic was down, especially if it was down several weeks in a row, not only was I forbidden any time off, but also I had cuts made in my pay and my very job was in jeopardy.

           ______________________

	The Public Registrar is the person who interviews individuals new to Scientology and sells them books and basic introductory courses.  In the organization where I worked there were two of us holding that position.  The statistic we were assigned was New Names to Central Files, a number that showed that we had sold a person who had never before bought something from the organization.  His or her name and address is then added to the mailing list in Central Files.  Central Files is the arm of marketing that keeps track of the names and addresses of people who have bought something, so they can be continually mailed to in order to stay in touch and sell them more.  The Boston org I was working in seemed very disorganized at that time, it seemed that I had more than one 'boss' (three, in fact) and they would each give me conflicting priorities.  On one particularly frustrating day, I had a blinding series of thoughts which led me to realize that I did not have to be sitting at the desk hounded by executives to "get my statistic"; in fact I didn't even have to be in the building.  I packed up several copies of books and left the building to sell books around the city.  I sold books wherever I could; bus stops, colleges, restaurants, any place there were people.  I sold books in volume and soon had days un-harassed by executives walking the streets of Boston.  My statistics were up.
After several weeks of this, the head of the organization decided that he would make it a bit more difficult for me.  He forbid the selling of paperback books.  Now I had to sell hardbacks, which were priced at three or four times higher than the paperback versions.  I still sold, and sold, and sold.  I was very good at this and as long as I sold more than the week before I was protected.
During these months I was continuing the course on Sales Techniques.  Every night I would study and practice these sales methods with other students.  In the morning, and during the day I would go out into the world at large and put into practice what I had learned.  I learned that honesty was very important, as well as an ability to not pressure a person, but simply listen and fill a need.
	I learned that sales was a game of volume and that the more "no's" I collected, the closer I was to finding a person who would say "yes".  I learned persistence as a winning course.  It was sales pure and simple and I became quite good at it.  
	As the days and weeks past Boston got hotter and more muggy.  Finally, the Boston summer weather got to me. I decided to go where there was air conditioning, and lots of people looking for something to read - the airport!  I found, by accident, that I sold the most books when I wasn't selling.  I would take a break seated next to a person and we would strike up a conversation, and the usual question of "What are you doing?" would elicit my response of, "Oh, I'm just out here selling books."  I sold books the majority of the time.  I found that I sold more books when I was "on break" than when I was directly confronting people.
This was an important lesson.  There was more communication, more openness, and more fluidity when I had no pressure, and was sitting next to the person.  Confrontations have a way of closing people up.
During this time, I learned sales skills that have stood by me in the years that followed.  The classes and practice drills that I completed during this summer of 1972 were helpful, but it was the actual process of selling the books where I gained the expertise. 
I was having a wonderful summer; my statistics were up, and my life was unfettered by Executive harassment.  I should have known that it was too good to last.  One morning, just before I was leaving on my daily book route, I was asked about the secondary statistic for the Public Registrar - Income.
Income in volume could not be gathered out on the street selling books, so I soon found myself back inside the organization, behind a desk selling courses and other services.  Using what I had learned over the last 3-4 months, I soon found myself regularly making money for the organization; thousands of dollars; week after week.  It was noticed and I was promoted.
I was promoted to the newly created position of Gross Income Expeditor for the Foundation Organization (nights and weekend hours).  There was a separate Income Expeditor for the Daytime Hours.  The position was created by the Executive Director as a solution to his having to chase up the 10 or more separate individuals involved in earning money.  Now, he only had to deal with one during the day - David Light for the daytime hours, and myself for the Evening and Weekend hours.  David and I become the income "whipping boys."
I was now required to attend the daily Executive Meetings, which were held in the office of the Executive Director.  The Executive Director was Alex Sibiersky, a very tall, and imposing executive.  He had a large laugh, but could also yell with piercing energy, like no one I had ever met.  One afternoon I was present with the other executives, including my counterpart for the Day Organization, David.  The executive Director was late, and someone noticed the daily numbers posted on the wall.  They made a comment to me that my "income numbers were down" and to David (my daytime counterpart) that his were down as well.  David did something remarkable; he got up and changed his numbers so they were up.  Someone questioned this and David simply said, "Well, it will be up there this afternoon".  Everyone in the room knew that he had just plucked those figures out of thin air.  When the Director arrived, he noticed David's numbers were up and lavished him with praise.  I was stunned to notice everyone else in the room was silent, though, everyone knew that David had lied.  Then the Director Sibiersky turned to me.
 	It was then that I found the fatal flaw in living by the numbers, and that was that numbers themselves are not the actual things, numbers can be easily manipulated and changed.  I was berated in front of the group for not being productive and was then ordered to leave the conference room and get to work, rather than stay for the meeting.  I felt crushed.
Overall, though, I did well at the job.  Income was a major push in the Org, so executives were always working with me and the other Registrars to see from whom we were going to get this weeks money and how we were going to do it.
Each Thursday morning the Boston org would be a buzzing hive of activity.  In the Registrar's area, this would involve arranging cars and people to pick up checks, or going to people's homes or places of businesses to meet with them to get the sale closed and money collected before the 2:00 PM cutoff.
I can remember sometimes being in an interview with a prospect on at Thursday lunchtime.  I would do what I could to act as if there was no pressure, and no undue attention, just he and I discussing what his next course or counseling purchase should be.  Yet, I knew I had the attention of at least 7 executives out in the hallway, wondering what the result of my interview would be.  If I stepped out to go to the bathroom, at least one, if not more of these executives wanting to know the status of the sale would corner me.  As a registrar, I even had a supply of blank "counter checks" in my desk.  These were a banking instrument that could be used if I did close the sale, but the prospect had forgotten his checkbook.								
Some weeks we made a lot of money and the sales force and   related organization executives were rewarded by Friday night dinners out at luxurious restaurants.  There was definitely a downside to being considered a good salesperson; you were not allowed a down week. i.e. if I didn't make enough money (more than the week before),  there was something within me that wasn't working. I had	 made the money the week prior, so there should be no reason I couldn't do it again this week - and a little more.  After all we were Clearing the Planet and everyone needed more and more Scientology counseling and training.  			 Obviously, each of us is responsible for our own statistic, so if I was not performing up to the expected level, there was something wrong with me as an individual.  There was a concept called "MEST Work" in Scientology.  MEST is an acronym for Matter, Energy, Space and Time.  Sometimes I, the spirit in charge of myself, was not working all that well and needed some more inspiration or time doing "MEST WORK."  MEST work was anything that involved working with the physical universe items, things, not people.  Things did not talk back.  If you placed a thing in a certain place it would not move unless you moved it.  There was a strong feeling that if I, as a registar, could not deal with the challenges inherent in dealing with people.  I should spend some time simply working with MEST.  This meant projects like spending the night scrubbing the walls, or floors, were thought to be therapeutic.  It was thought that if I could simply see that I could be in control of physical things, this would somehow increase my abilities to be in control of people and thus get them to write a check for the services they so desperately needed.
Scientology runs on the concept that growth is measured in an Org weekly, and each week must include more production than the week before, or something is wrong with you.  So, if you sold $5,000 one week and the next week you sold $5,001, that was good, you were considered 'golden'.  But if in that next week you only sold $4,999, you were not only not golden; you may be even get accused of stopping the forward progress of the world.  Making the world a better place and clearing the planet took a lot of time and money and we had to do our part.
On the positive side, the sales personnel were given more attention and help than just about any other staff member.  We got courses and counseling in greater volume. Money was the lifeblood of this organization and it was felt that if we were doing well personally, then we would find it easier to make more money.  It was a simple formula.
I always felt the pressure and wished for more time to create and effectively do my job.  In the non-scientology world, most people in sales tended to operate on statistics of a monthly or quarterly basis.  There was simply not enough time to build up prospects and close them all within seven days.  I remember clearly one Friday night, getting dressed up with several other top income producers to go out to a nice dinner and celebrate a high-income week. Unfortunately, I knew that during this past week I had used up all of my prospects and available possible sales.  The odds of my being able to top the dollar amount I had just met were slim to none.  So, while dressing for this lovely night out, I knew that the very next Friday night, I would be in my work clothes spending these same extra hours and part of the night scrubbing walls and floors.  It got to the point where I was unable to enjoy the good times, because I could anticipate the down that would follow. 
There were bright sides, however.  I absolutely loved the personal counseling I received.  I would go into a small safe room with someone trained as a Scientology Counselor.  This counselor/auditor would ask specific questions, and listen attentively while he wrote down my responses.  The auditor would help guide me through what I felt was a confused maze of jumbled thoughts, to end up at a point of clarity.  The purpose of these counseling sessions was to help me uncover forgotten memories that may have been blocking me from enjoying the world, the people or myself.  Some of these memories could have been from what I thought of as a previous life of mine.  
I remember coming out of one session, where we dug into personal areas that had deep meaning to me.  I left the session feeling like I was walking on clouds.  I was speaking to a person and felt that I could truly see him and his infinite spiritual energy.  As I uncovered and cleared away confusions and pains in my personal life, I gained confidence, both in myself and in the people around me.  I felt I could see things much more clearly than ever before.  I felt that the troubles of the past no longer interfered with my actions and creation of my present and future life. 
The courses I took covered specific things, like how to improve my communication, or how to use planning to accomplish things in my life, how to really be honest with myself about what my intentions truly were.  I found them helpful and I felt strongly that they would be helpful for others as well. 
One class especially had tremendous impact on me. It was similar to the drills I had done on the Communications Course, except these drills involved groups, and how one individual can get another person to do something, either directly or through a middleman, how a person can get a group of people to follow their lead.  
My first contact with the class was not as the student, but as an extra for the final drill, the student needed to pass.  This final drill involves two tables of at least 4 or 5 people each seated.  The student is only allowed to speak with the people at the first table.  The student has a coach to help him through the process and to coordinate the level of difficulty, so that the student was always gaining in some way.  I was asked to be one of the people at one of the tables.  The student then gave the command to table #1 - "Give that Book to those people table, and have them place it on their table".  Those were the only words the student was allowed to use.  The groups at the tables, on the other hand, could say and do just about anything.  The idea was to give the student resistance to his orders, until he had a breakthrough.  It was one of the most fun drills I got to work with, because we could laugh and joke among ourselves.  We could and would talk back to the student as he continued to repeat his command.  This could go on for hours and hours, with ever increasing levels of resistance from the group.  
The final point, though, was the most amazing to me.  The change in the student was palpable.  There was no more effort, or straining, or force in his command.  It simply came across as pure intention.  Even I, as one of the students at one of the tables who felt it was my job to create resistance, could not think of any resistance to put up.  I wouldn't even want to.  The book would practically float from one table to the other.
When I finally was the student myself, I learned that the course started out at much easier levels.  I would be speaking to one person and try to get him to get the person next to him to put the book on the table.  I could not speak to the third person, only the second.  I spent hours and hours on this drill, most of the time spent laughing, because it was so much like life.  I would ask the person I had contact with to ask the third person to place the book, and the responses would be things like "he can't, cause he's upset from a fight with his girlfriend.," or "he doesn't think his mother loves him.", or any other ridiculous reasons why they couldn't do what I was asking.  
My job was to persist.  My job was to really listen and help fix any valid problems, but to ultimately persist in getting my intention across.  In the process I went thru periods of personal frustration, anger, and wanting to just give up.  When I finally finished the drill, I found myself in a place of centeredness, just like in the original communication course.  I found myself, simply "being there", but now I had the additional ability of being able to get things accomplished while remaining centered.  No matter how many times I was told "No" or "It can't be done", I could still hold my center and persist to a point where I would achieve what I set out to do.
When the level of training got to the point where I was the student in front of the two tables of people, it was the same, only on a much more intense level.  I discovered that place of intention within me.  That place that would allow me to accomplish things and persist through the many roadblocks that life and other people could put in front of me.  Just as with the first student I worked with, when I reached that point, not one person at either table could put up any resistance and the book practically floated from one table to the other.  It was moments like these that I experienced for myself, that drove me to attempt to share Scientology with others, it gave me the ability to sell Scientology, without feeling like a used car salesman.  I had really experienced some very magical things. 
In retrospect, the lightness, and smoothness of intention that I learned while doing those drills, was hardly ever used in the day-to-day running of the organizations.  Instead I received and gave a lot more pressure and yelling.  The exact opposite of what I had learned in doing those drills.  The lack of force and respect was what I learned worked when dealing with people, but was not what I experienced in the day-to-day life of a working staff member.
There is a concept called "Cognitive Dissonance", it is when a person cannot hold onto the paradox of two opposing realities.  The individuals fight within themselves to somehow make it make sense.  For me, the wonderful snippets of courses and counseling, added to the camaraderie with fellow staff members are what kept me there.  These islands of goodness that were all to few and far between, were what kept me involved despite deep harassment and other forms of degradation.  Instead of seeing the reality of the chaos and harassment of people for what it was, I instead saw the hope of what could be.  I felt that the bad times were only temporary, and that soon our group would be filled with the kindness and compassion that I had glimpsed in some of my courses and interactions with fellow members.
Days turned into Weeks and Months and before I knew it years had passed, yet still the promised and hoped for making the world a better place is what I held onto.
I worked in smaller, lower level scientology organizations for several years, both in New York and in Boston, before I got transferred to the International Management of Scientology.  When I arrived, International Management had just left the ship called "Flag" and had opened their headquarters in Clearwater, Florida.

  
CHAPTER FOUR
INTERNATIONAL MANAGEMENT

It was in the summer of 1976 that I came to work at the International Headquarters, the Flag Organization, in Clearwater, Florida.  
My first job was in the International Marketing Area.  It was the Sixth Division in the Scientology Org structure and called "Div 6" for short.  It was the Division responsible for the expansion of Scientology though an increase in members and in parts of the world.  On the international level, it was not just selling an individual a few courses or counseling: it was getting Scientology Groups, Franchises and Organizations opened in cities, and often countries where they had not existed.  
My duties included helping the Division 6 personnel at organizations around the world to increase the numbers of Scientology members and income.  Division 6 did contain sales personnel, but as these personnel mainly dealt with newcomers, the expectations for income were not as high as the sales personnel that dealt with long time members. 
The international management level supervised the work of the current Org Div 6's across the world.  Our unit would help create programs or promotion to help staff in their work.  
My first day on the job, I answered many letters from staff all over the world.  I was told that all my communications had to go through AVU (the Authorization and Verification Unit) to ensure they were correct before they were mailed.  I was very proud of myself as I dropped my first pile of letters off on my way to lunch.  I returned from lunch an hour or so later, only to find my entire morning's work back on my desk, rejected by Phoebe in AVU.  Phoebe had noted that I had not referenced specific L. Ron Hubbard quotes or Policy letter in my responses.  I realized that I could not simply write something from myself to a staff member; it had to be part of the larger body of policy that made up the organization.  Communicating any of my own thoughts was not allowed, unless my thoughts specifically referred to already published materials written by L. Ron Hubbard.  
Luckily, I had an excellent memory and could find a Hubbard quote to cover most anything I wanted to say.  It was a steep learning curve and left me with an abundance of thoughts from L. Ron Hubbard co-mingled with my own.  It has taken me years to untangle those co-mingled thoughts and separate myself from Hubbard.  Years to acknowledge that there were some things he wrote that I agreed with.  Some things he wrote that I later found had been written by others many years ago, and some things I simply couldn't abide by.
The first thing that struck me was how much better the living conditions were at the International base compared to the New York outer office I had just left, or the Boston Organization I had been at previously.  Not only was there good food each day, we even had servers who would come around the tables and give us drinks and extras as asked for.  This was for regular international staff like me; the international Executives got an even higher level of service.  The International Center was located in what was once a large and plush hotel.  The rooms kept some of the Hotel feel, with matching curtains and beddings.  Each room had its own television and bath.  In those first months, the Organization was not crowded and I only had one or two roommates.  
This was a vast improvement over the triple-decker bunks I had slept in and the beans and rice I was lucky to eat in New York.  That past winter in New York, we had no money for heat.  Arnie Lerma broke up furniture and stuffed it in the furnace so we could get warm.  I did not understand how such a difference in life style could occur by simply moving up one level, but that was the way it was in the organization.  The staff higher within the organization got a piece of all the money made by the lower orgs, this gave them a vast base of income at the expense of the smaller orgs that worked so hard to pay their "tribute" money to the higher levels, while struggling with their own weekly and monthly bills.

               ____________________

 	It was at the International Center that I remember first learning about the RPF (Rehabilitation Project Force).  Members of the RPF wore a navy blue or black boiler suit as a uniform.  It was a one-piece jump suit with snaps up the front commonly found for sale at hardware stores.  The uniform was intended to make it known, at a glance, that these individuals were not members of the group, that they were being rehabilitated and not to be trusted.
I cannot recall the first RPF member I saw, but I do remember that they were just a part of day-to-day life.  During my first year or so at the International Base in Clearwater, Florida, I personally knew no one in the RPF, so there was no recognition as I saw the blue suited people moving around the base doing chores.
  Although; I never did see an RPF member alone.  They always seemed to have their heads down and to be in a rush, literally running from place to place.  I remember one early morning I entered the women's room near the auditorium to find a group of four female RPF members cleaning.  I was surprised and about to leave to find another bathroom, when the leader barked for the women to leave.  The women scooped up their cleaning supplies and quickly left, passing me silently with their heads down.  
	"Sorry, Sir," the leader said as she backed out of the bathroom herself. I imagined they were running off to whatever their next job was.  
   When I stepped out of the bathroom, I realized they did not have another job.  They simply were not allowed to be in the same room with me.  The three women were silently standing in a line with their metal buckets of cleaning supplies and their heads down.  I nodded to the leader as I passed and she opened the door and guided the women back to their toilet cleaning jobs.
As time went on, I knew a few people who were ordered to this project force to get rehabilited.  I could not easily pick them out of a crowd of blue suits, but I knew they were there somewhere. One of the regular duties of the RPF members was to set up the chairs for large auditorium events and then restack them when the event was over.  They arrived as a group, without any talk whatsoever; the chairs were quickly set up in straight lines.  During the event, they sat on the floor, wordlessly in the back, while the rest of us - normal staff - sat in chairs and laughed and socialized.
They were a presence in the daily maintenance of the hotel grounds, but for the most part they were kept to themselves in the back corridors of the large Fort Harrison Hotel.  They were forbidden to ride elevators, or use the public toilets, only those that were specifically assigned to them.  The bulk of their maintenance of public spaces occurred when the staff and public who were there for advanced services slept.  Sometimes, if I entered the hotel from a late work night, or an early plane arrival, I could see them rushing around doing their daily cleaning chores.  The eerie point I remember most clearly was that they made no noise or eye contact. 
  Once I personally knew some of the members, seeing the group was a bit different.  I would wonder of that person, and look perhaps a bit more closely at the blue suits.  However, I knew it would be an embarrassment on both our parts to see each other in that changed form.
It was around 1977 that a witch-hunt called the "List One Era" began.  "List One" was the title of a list of important scientology people and words, like L. Ron Hubbard, Mary Sue Hubbard, Scientology, Dianetics just to name a few.  Individual people were asked the words off this list one, while holding the metal cans connected to the e-meter.  The E-Meter is scientology's version of a "charge detector".  It cannot tell specifically if the person is lying or not, only that there is something there.  Counselors noted on worksheets reactions of the needle to each of these words.  If the needle did what was called a Rock Slam  (a specific motion of the E-Meters needle irregularly slamming back and forth across the dial) that meant the person had evil thoughts and had committed evil acts against the group, individual, or word on the list.  If a person Rock Slammed" on a List One item, they had to be immediately quarantined from the group and sent for rehabilitation.  Supposedly the discovery of such a hidden evil person in their midst would bring great relief to those left behind.  The difficulties they had been having on their jobs were explained by their close connection to someone who was so secretly evil.  These secretly evil people were called Suppressive, because that is what they were thought to do, suppress the group and individuals around them.
  I flew from International Management to Los Angeles on the very first List One "Mission".  My partner, Chris Wrightsman and I were sent to find out why the organizations in Los Angeles were not doing as well as expected.  Hubbard had sent a telex about these things called List One Rock Slams, saying that perhaps we would find some of these people in Los Angeles.  Chris was sent with me because he was trained in technical matters and was an expert in the use of an E-Meter.  We got to LA and found evidence of List One reactions in many of the staff members counseling folders.  We discovered that this was not going to be as simple as we first thought.  Previously in Scientology's counseling Rock Slams were a needle phenomenon of upset in an individual that could then be corrected and provide spiritual relief.  As a result, many of the longer term Sea Org Members had List One Rock Slams in their Pre-Clear Folders.  Many of these reads noted in years past might not have validity, and may have been noted in error.    
   We returned overnight to Flag Management with that information.  Program's and future missions were established to search through people's pre clear folders, culling the folders for Rock Slams.  Once a person's folders were searched through, and potential List One Rock Slams had been listed, the individuals were scheduled for a special session that would "verify" the reported rock slams. 
This project took on a life of it's own and grew exponentially.  It became a very large part of our lives during this time.  During those months there is not a person in the Sea Org it did not touch in some way, directly or indirectly.  From my International view of Flag Management, I witnessed the effects of this witch-hunt throughout the advanced Scientology Organizations across the world.  
  I did an evaluation (a full administrative review) of the Org in St. Louis Org and felt I discovered that the Executive Director just MUST be a List One Rser.  Those of us working in management at the time had become cocky, feeling we had gotten so good at discovering these types of people that we could even spot them at a distance, with no verification at all.  The Executive Director of the St. Louis Org was immediately removed from his position and sent to the RPF in Los Angeles.
	The first person that I was close to who was found to be a List One Rs'er was Tom Atlee, the Survey Officer at Flag.  He did many surveys for LRH and helped define the direction that International marketing was going.  His being a List One Rs'er, certainly explained many poor results on the lack of our International expansion.  The problem was, I knew him personally and found him to be a very nice person.  I simply could not reconcile his niceness with his supposed suppressiveness.  Tom had been one of the first people to welcome me from New York to the new and larger world of International Management.  He was always kind to me; never made me feel stupid when I asked questions that clearly showed my inexperience.  I never saw him engage in office gossip, of any kind.  He worked long and hard hours and always had such attention to detail.  When I made errors in my work and he had to correct me, he never ridiculed me; it was just that I needed to learn more.
He had a wife and a new daughter that he doted on as much as he could.  He was the type of co-worker that I loved to work with; never shirking work, but at the same time, when things got too serious he could always be counted on for some dry comment that would just break the ice, and make us laugh.  I kept these thoughts to myself, because at that time, there was no questioning of the findings of a Rock Slammer.  Once a person had the label of   "List One", everything they had done contained a double meaning and an evil undercurrent.
  Meanwhile the numbers of blue suited people grew and grew, not only in Florida but also in the lower level Sea Org units in Los Angeles and in Denmark.  Culling and Auditing teams were established and sent throughout the world to locate and isolate these evil personnel.  It was done in a specific sequence, beginning with the top positions of the organizations and working downward.  Every single day at least one person was found to be a suppressive person and sent off for Rehabilitation.  More and more of these were people I personally knew.  
  There was a period of about one week during which the American Saint Hill Organization in Los Angeles (one of the most advanced Scientology Centers in the US) sent the Commanding Officer (the Sea Org's title for an Executive Director) to the RPF, having been found to be suppressive, with many List One RS's.  Several days later, his replacement was also found to be a List One Rs'er and she also was removed from her position and sent to the Rehabilitation Force.  I think four Commanding officers of that senior organizaton were promoted to replace the 'bad Executive, only to be found to be suppressive themselves, and sent for rehabilitation within a two-week period.
A sense of gallows humor crept in. It go so bad that it was the kiss of death if you happened to be promoted or assigned to that job, no one wanted it.  My two roommates and I had our sneakers at the ready in our closet.
A couple of times I woke up at dawn and looked out the window next to my bed.  My view was clear to the top floor of the attached garage.  The RPF would be having its morning roll call, and there were so many staff in there, well over a hundred.
  Finally, they came to me.  It was time for my own List One check.  I was nervous in each counseling session, not knowing when it was coming.  Then, in the middle of one session, I realized that this was it; this was my List One session.  I was petrified. What if I was evil and didn't even know it? 
I waited nervously, but after a couple of days I realized I must have passed.  No one in the blue suits had come to take me away; instead they sent me to attest that the security check was complete. I couldn't believe the relief I felt.  I wasn't evil after all, thank God. 
The witch-hunt continued.  There were daily reports of new discoveries being made, either in an outer org or at Flag.  Hubbard had said that we should find 2 1/2 per cent of the population at large to be suppressive, but the percentages we were finding were much higher.  What did that mean?
I remember there was a one-week period in which several people I was very close to got sent to the RPF as List One Rs'ers'.
I was aware that Hubbard had stated that List One Rs'ers hung out in a group; that was why some places would have such a high incidence of them.  I couldn't take it any longer, people who were by friends, whom I loved and admired.  People who I worked side by side with for months, all of them were suppressive people.  I couldn't see that evil, what did that say about me?
I was a friend with the person who was in charge of isolating or clearing the names of the staff at Flag who were List One Rs'er.  I went to see her and told her they must have missed me because so many of my friends were in the RPF.
She laughed out loud.  She said that I had already been checked and, besides, if I were one, I would not have come in to her to turn myself in.  A suppressive person was incapable of looking at his or her own mistakes.
Then it was discovered that L. Ron Hubbard's son in law, also a friend of mine, was a List One Rs'er.  Now, that was quite a shock.  It was decided that they could not very well send him to the RPF, it might upset his wife; Hubbard's daughter, especially since she was newly pregnant at the time.  He was given special treatment.  He was put to work, cleaning, and doing plumbing.  He was given his own private RPF.  I did not think that was fair; it certainly was a double standard.
I don't remember exactly when, but sometime in l978 the list One Era was over, simply over. We were told it was a person by the name of Paulette Ausley's entire fault.  I never found out the real story behind Paulette's new status of scapegoat, but she took the blame for all of it.  I did not know her.  I had rarely heard mention of her prior to finding out that she - and she alone - had caused so much pain and confusion within the organization.
	It also seemed convenient to me that this discovery and the disbanding of the RPF occurred at the same time the renovations of the new Scientology Complex in Los Angeles was complete.  The RPF had provided the manual labor for the extensive renovations of these new buildings and now their work was no longer needed.
Those falsely accused of being List One Rs'er no longer needed rehabilitation.  The RPF went back to its lower peopled time...  The recently freed RPFers were welcomed back into the group "I always knew you weren't suppressive!!!!"
But, not surprisingly a new evolution began, this one much more secretive.  It was aimed at only the most advanced organizations and at the highest-level personnel.
By 1978 I had been promoted to a senior position in International management.  I was in daily touch with Hubbard working on many matters, from promotional planning, the establishment of the secular organization WISE (World Institute of Scientology Enterprises) to the investigation of why the Scientology Guardian's Office was spending all the church's reserve money on legal fees, and why the Scientology network was not producing enough income.
The FBI Raids of Scientology Organization in both Los Angeles and Washington D.C. had occurred on July 9, 1977.  The legal cost of defending the staff members involved was getting very high, and L. Ron Hubbard did not like to spend that kind of money, especially since it was coming out of reserves at an enormous weekly rate.
During these few years, I helped research and get Scientology opened up in Japan.  I researched an earlier attempt in Japan, as well as successful operations in Mexico and Israel.  Religions could not be legally set up in any of those countries, so the organizations had to be listed as non-religious.  I studied what had been done in Mexico, and Israel where Scientology operated in exactly the same way as in the United States, but was simply not called a religion.  
That didn't appear odd to me at all, because even though I had belonged to the organization for over six years and was operating as an International Executive, I still didn't see or participate any religious aspect in the daily life.  I had been to one Church Service, put on as a Public Relations action for the local people of Clearwater Florida.  I thoroughly enjoyed it and actually thought it would be nice to have some aspects of regular churches as part of our daily lives. 
My personal experience with Scientology up until that time was that it was a spiritual self-help group.  There were many of those in the late 70's and early 80's, and they were not churches.  The fact that Scientology was legally recognized in some countries as a church did not translate into the dogma of traditional religion.  There was no prayer, church services, when performed, were performed as Public Relations for the community and our religious garb was naval uniform, replete with gold lanyards and mission ribbons.
L. Ron Hubbard discovered what he felt to be companies owned by Scientologists and other individuals ripping off both staff and customers from our Orgs, he was incensed.  There were Scientologists (not staff members) who either hired Scientology Org Staff to work for their companies on their off hours, or hired them away from the Scientology Orgs when their contracts were complete.  Hubbard felt that this was just like stealing money from our coffers.  He felt that he and the organization of the Sea Org and Scientology had spent much time and money training these people, and now others were reaping the financial benefits.
Hubbard and I had many lengthy conversations by telex and dispatch regarding this situation of these commercial entities.  He asked me to establish a corporation that would corral them all up and put them under our control.  By charging these members a percentage of their gross income, we would at least be collecting some financial benefits.  The question of profit vs. non-profit incorporation came up. Hubbard expressed to me the thought that going with the Church angle in the first place might have been a mistake.  He felt that the trouble we were currently having with the IRS would not exist if we had just stayed as a for-profit and made more money to pay the taxes.  This conversation with him was not upsetting to me, or out of the ordinary. I myself had often wondered why we were pursuing the church status.  Self-help was big business in the late 70's and I felt that if anyone had the best self- help around, it was Scientology.  This questioning of Hubbard's' was also published from other sources in a 1982 Forbes article written by Richard Behar.  These thoughts were definitely on his mind.  
  Of course, the other side of being a for-profit organization would be that staff would have to receive at least minimum wages.  That would cut into the profits flooding the bank accounts of Scientology International reserves, those very same reserves that the Guardian's Office was now draining with their legal troubles.
In the end, we did incorporate WISE as a Delaware corporation and it was incorporated as non-profit.  In his final decision, L. Ron Hubbard told me that WISE should be incorporated as Non-Profit because it went better with the church mock-up we already had.
              ________________________

In the late 70's I was unmarried and would sometimes moan on the shoulder of my good friend Pat Gualtieri.  With my job hours (almost 24/7) and my limited access to eligible bachelors who ALSO were members of the Sea Org and lived in Clearwater, did not give me much hope.
"Chris Many" Pat said, without a moment's hesitation.
"Who is Chris Many?"  I asked.
"He's the perfect guy for you.  He is currently running the Celebrity Centre in Los Angles, but I know you both and he is perfect."
Pat's complete certainty did bring a smile to my sad face and soon after that my job duties expanded to supervising all the Celebrity Center's around the world, including the Los Angeles one Chris ran.
The first thing I noticed about Chris was that I would have a direction or idea for something  Celebrity Center should do, and after I sent it to him, but before he had time to receive mine, I would receive a dispatch from him saying almost exactly the same thing.  This happened between us several times.  I had never worked with someone that I was so in synch with.
I started to wonder, "Who is this Chris Many?"
Within a few months Pat Gualtieri and I were sent on mission to Los Angeles Celebrity Center.  I finally got to meet this guy called Chris Many, and Pat was right, there was an instant connection.  It was so obvious that Chris and I even spoke of it.
 I returned to Florida and Chris remained in Los Angeles.  We corresponded for some time, till it became obvious that I never wanted to live in Los Angeles and he never wanted to leave Los Angeles.  Chris had a son in Los Angeles and even though he had been divorced for many years, he did not want to break up the stability his son Corey had.  We were at a standstill and our letters dwindled away.  Chris got engaged to a woman in Los Angeles and I began dating in Florida.
One day at the end of summer 1978, my roommate, who was also in charge of international personnel, laid out all the personnel File information on Chris Many, she laid them out on the floor between our desks.  She commented on how well Chris was doing as an executive and she put together a package that would involve several people changing jobs, but would include Chris being promoted to International Management in Florida.  I tried not to get excited.
Chris was asked over to the liaison office in Los Angeles and presented with the promotion.  Chris was very polite and said that he was honored, but did not want to accept because he loved his job, loved his son and loved Los Angeles.
When my roommate, (the person responsible for Personnel) received the news, she was angry.  Once again she pulled out all the information on Chris.  She laid out the graphs that had been kept of his tenure as the leader of Celebrity Center Los Angeles, and now she found them to be lacking.  Two days had passed, and the person that had been great, and now, by looking at the same information but from a different angle, he was found to be lacking.  He was removed from him position of running Los Angeles Celebrity Center and now, suddenly, it was not a request; it was an order to come to Clearwater.
Chris arrived and we saw each other and talked a bit, but neither one of us came right out and said how we were feeling.  I was sitting at breakfast one day when a friend, Franny, asked, "Why don't you go after him?"
Now I had never made the first move with a guy before, and Franny had been married several times and obviously knew her way around these waters.  I looked over at the other side of the dining room and Chris was sitting there, and my attraction was very strong.
"But he's engaged", I said
Franny quickly responded with, "Engaged is not married and you will never know until you try"
There was a rule in Florida that for safety reasons, no woman could walk the streets of Clearwater alone after dark, we needed escorts.  So, I made a plan.  I had never been the aggressor in a relationship, but our connection was so strong and he was here in Florida now.  Franny was right, he was not married.
I planned a piece of business to do with Chris at the end of the work night, and then felt I could ask him to be my escort from the office over to the hotel.  I planned that I would make the first move during our private walk.
	We finished our business and I was just about to ask him to walk me home, when someone came up to him and said "Chris we need you to go on a Mission to Los Angeles, we have you booked on the Red Eye flight out of Clearwater, come now, we have to get you up to speed, there is little time."
I was crushed.
Chris went to Los Angeles, where his fianc� and son were, and I had missed out on my opportunity.
The next morning I decided that I would give it one shot.  I wrote him a letter, just a chatty letter, nothing deep or personal.
He wrote me back and asked me why I had really written him that letter.  He then took some risks and communicated how he really felt about me, and did I feel the same?
I was walking on air and we continued with daily love letters during his time in Los Angeles.  When he returned to Florida he asked me to marry him, and I accepted.
I remember the night we had decided to get married feeling that I never wanted to go to sleep without him at my side.  It has been 28 years now, and it is the one thing that I can say with a true heart was worth all the pain and degradation I experienced within my years with Scientology.  We have Corey, Chris's first son, who is now married to a beautiful woman, they have two beautiful daughters.  We went on to have two children together, Carey, who is engaged and doing very well in life.  And then there is a Taylor a sweet soul, who at 20, has not yet settled on his place in the world, but he will.
For all that love and family, which I now have, I have to say that my time on the dark side of Scientology was worth it.  It was a rough journey to get here, but we have had a good and loving life.
   _________________________________________


Early 1979 was stressful for me personally.  Chris and I had married in the fall of 1978 and I became pregnant with Carey shortly after.  I did get healthcare for my pregnancy, but my job was so high-pressured that I did not get time off, nor did I get good nights of sleep, much less needed naps.
I got myself into a position of 'messing up" anyway I looked at it.  Either I was staying up all night, not taking care of my baby, or I was NOT staying up all night and therefore not completing all the work I was supposed to do.
Being pregnant was looked upon as Dev-T, (Dev-t is Scientology slang for Developed Traffic, unnecessary things that get in the way of the true goal and growth.)  Anything not focused on the complete dedication -24/7 to the group was considered Dev-T.
     I found myself in a quandary.


CHAPTER FIVE
March 1979 REHABILITATION


	I looked up from my desk and noticed the two men from the Rehabilitation Project Force coming my way.  They looked straight ahead, as they entered my husband's office.  At first, I wondered whom they were coming for this time.  This was the procedure played out each time a staff member was assigned to the RPF.  The guards would come to inform the individual and 'escort' him back to the RPF space. I had witnessed this scene many times before; the worn out people in the navy blue boiler suits, silently arriving on a mission of a dark future for someone.
My husband Chris held the job of Commodore's Staff Captain and had many senior Scientology management executives under his supervision.  In keeping with our naval atmosphere L. Ron Hubbard was called "The Commodore", so Chris was one of the highest officers in the Scientology hierarchy at that time.  He was basically in charge of the worldwide management of Scientology and worked directly for L. Ron Hubbard.  So, I assumed they were paying a courtesy call to let him know someone in his supervision was being removed from his job and sent to the Rehabilitation camp. Minutes later the guards came out of his office on either side of Chris.  It had never occurred to me that they would be there for him.  It took a few seconds for me to catch my breath.  I got up from my desk walked toward them.  One of the guard's stepped in between Chris and me, not allowing us to get close.  One of them put his arm up to stop my forward motion and said with steal in his voice "You can see him during the dinner hour".  Chris and I locked eyes.  He continued to look at me with his head turned, as they walked him out of the area. 
I returned to my desk and put my head down pretending to work.  My long hair offered a shield for my red and watery eyes.  I knew I was being watched for a reaction from the other staff in the room, but I attempted to show none.  There were only a couple of hours until dinner; I could wait.  
Dinnertime finally came and as I made my way down the street from the office building we worked in to the Hotel where we ate and slept, I realized I didn't know where to go to find Chris.  Fifty people dressed in navy blue boiler suits may sound like a group easily found, but these people were members of the "Rehabilitation Project Force".  They traveled the stairwells and back hallways of the 10-story hotel.  They lived in the garage.  I could see them working the gardens, cleaning the bathrooms or sweeping the grounds before daylight.  But otherwise, when the sun came up and the hotel guests were about, they disappeared back into the woodwork.  These RPFer's were almost an invisible group, kept out of sight while they worked through their correctional program.  
	So, at dinnertime, I found myself wandering through the back halls of the kitchens and dining rooms of the main hotel until I found them.  I asked a young man dressed in his blue boiler suit standing by the door if I could speak to my husband.  He pointed to the dining table at the back and told me to sit there; he would get Chris.  Chris was escorted to where I was.  If he had been brought out in handcuffs, I would not have been surprised, but there were none, at least nothing physical.  He had already been transformed into a member of the RPF, wearing an obviously well worn blue jump suit.  He sat in front of me and held my hand while I cried.  He assured me everything would be OK and not to worry.  A tear or two escaped his eye, and after what felt like 10 seconds, the guard stepped back in and said our ten minutes were up.  I noticed that Chris's handler was wearing a black armband on his dark boiler suit.  Scanning the room, I saw quite a few black armbands, and even noticed a few more gold ones.  I wondered what that meant.  I was told I could return to the same place tomorrow during dinnertime.
	I slowly made my way across the few blocks to my office building.  Climbing the stairs to my office felt like moving through molasses.  I sat at my desk and pretended to work, but I could not make sense of the words on my dispatches through my tears.  My child kicked in protest, and I became aware.  Some primal instinct moved over me and I knew I had to care for my baby.  I had to force some food into my body. I would have to sleep.
	Later that evening we were introduced to the woman who took over my husband's job, my new boss.  She called me and the other Aides into her office.  At the end of our "summary meeting", she asked me to stay behind.  Thinking she would offer some kind words for my predicament, I looked up expectantly.
	She informed me that I too was being removed from my job.  Kim Anderson, an assistant of mine, was replacing me.  Now while Kim did good work, it was ever so slow in coming, causing deadlines to be missed routinely.  I was a bit taken aback by the choice of replacement, but then again, so many things had happened this day that were out of the ordinary, why not this as well?  The new Staff Captain told me I was being sent to work in the Galley (Kitchen).
	The shock had dried up whatever feelings had been welling inside and I was an empty shell by this time.  I packed up my bag with a couple of personal possessions and made my way out of the office building.  I took some small comfort in the warm hug of Florida's darkness and made my way back to the hotel.
	How sudden one's fall from grace, I thought.  I had seen it happen to others before.  One day I would be sitting next to a woman at a board meeting and the next I would see her dressed in a boiler suit leaning over the toilet she was scrubbing.  Now it was my turn, my fall.
	The baby started kicking again and my thoughts turned to the immediate survival matters at hand.  I had not eaten since breakfast and knew this was not good.  I headed for the snack bar to buy myself a protein shake.  I had barely five dollars, but I knew I had to eat.  Composing myself as best I could, I entered the circle of light.  The caf� was filled with out of town visitors who were staying at the hotel while they received advancement counseling and training.  I knew very few of them and those I did would not have heard of my recent demise.  The people I worked with would still be at their desks; they would not be here this early.  
	This was a relatively safe place.  I would not have to speak or think about any recent events and concentrate on forcing the needed, but undesired protein shake into my body.
	The baby was awake and flipping around as I sat in a booth and drank sip by sip, congratulating myself as each unwanted gulp went down and stayed down.  Poor child, I thought, I bet you didn't plan on being born to such losers.  I looked around at the other people in the snack bar; I saw only unknown laughing faces.  No one I knew; I was safe for now.
	I made it onto the 10PM bus to the QI, which was about 10 miles from the main hotel.  The QI used to be a Quality Inn.  Scientology bought it and used it to house married couples and children.  The back units had been transformed into a nursery for all the children.  Chris and I had only recently moved there in anticipation of our baby's birth.  I wondered if I would lose our private room now that I was no longer a couple.  Chris now lived in the garage.  Private space was at a premium, and now I no longer qualified.  The thought of moving back into one of the crowded dormitories while being five months pregnant filled me with dread.  I tried to shift my thoughts.  I looked out the bus window at the streetlights and store signs. Colors danced as they reflected in the raindrops beading on the glass and glistening in the puddles we passed. This was surreal.  People sat in small groups, and I was surrounded by their laughter.  I wondered if any of them knew and just how fast the rumor line was.
	News in a close-knit community travels quickly.  Who the latest addition to the Boys in Blue is something discussed over granola and coffee in the morning.
	No one on the bus spoke with me and I was happy to have the solace of solitude.  I knew this oasis would not last.  I was certain to bump into someone I knew, someone who had heard.  Then, I would have to speak it; speak the tragedy and injustice that had befallen our lives.  The speaking would shatter what buffer I had left.  What had happened would then be true, it would then be real.
	I was exhausted, but did not know how I would sleep.  I had already decided I would take my time in the morning.  I would take the later shuttle to the Fort Harrison Hotel to report to the kitchen duty I had been assigned.  I did not want to run into people I knew. I did not want their pity, or comfort, or even the gloating from those who felt we deserved our fall from grace.

                _________________________
	The next morning, I arrived at the main hotel by 10AM.  On my way to the food services area I passed the office of a special project unit that had been under my supervision until reorganization a few months prior.  These staff were dear friends.  As I passed the small office, I caught Pat Gualtieri's eye, that was all it took, not a word had to be spoken.  He took me in his arms and as my body was overcome with emotion, he walked me to a chair.  Richard and his wife brought me water and comfort. I felt safe; there was relief in their friendships.  I had not eaten breakfast and a protein shake soon materialized.  Richard said I could use their hotel room in this building for some rest during the lunch break.  I agreed I would return for the key.
	The galley steward I reported to looked me up and down, I knew he did not expect a woman five months' pregnant.  He put me to work setting tables, laying out the silverware at hundreds of seats in the largest dining room.  As I placed the forks and spoons in their proper places, I held onto the knowledge that I would at least get to see Chris at supper, only eight more hours.  I could last till then.
	As soon as the staff began arriving for lunch, I retreated to the special project office.  I sat in a corner chair and listened to their plans for a San Francisco seminar.  When they finished their meeting, Richard walked upstairs with me so I could rest.
As soon as I closed his door, the tears began to fall.  I curled up on the bed and sobbed.  My belly was huge and the force of my grief scared me, rippling through my unborn child.  "What must he think of this?"   I tried to calm myself by watching the breeze move the orange and yellow curtains, back and forth, back and forth. 	I had not allowed myself to feel much since the shock of my husband's removal from his job the previous afternoon.  Now it was pouring out.  "Stop it, Nancy," I mentally shouted to myself.  "This helps nothing and can't be good for the baby."  
	I went into their bathroom to attempt to correct my appearance.  I glanced in the mirror and saw myself, my skin looked pasty white, but my eyes and the area around them were so red I looked like I was wearing a mask.  I saw myself alone.  Chris was not there.  The crying began again, a real 'ugly cry' that I couldn't even witness myself.  I bent over the sink and scooped cold, then colder, water over my face.  I remembered reading somewhere that the most effective cooling method was a wet cloth on the back of your neck so I tried that.  Every time my thoughts would drift to the situation Chris and I were in I would stop them and work hard to come back to the moment, the moment with the cold water on my face and neck.  I looked at my watch and realized that it was almost 1:00 PM and I would soon be late in returning from lunch break.  What did that matter now, what else could they do to me?  I was already working in the kitchens.  I took some deep breaths and rubbed my large belly.  I was not alone in this, and had to be strong for our child.  When I felt calm enough, I made my way back down to the Kitchen.  
Charles, the head steward, put me to work at dishwashing.  He gave me a rubber apron and showed me how to work the huge metal monstrosity that ate large green trays of silver and glasses.  My job was to rinse them off with a hose that dropped down from the ceiling.  My body was unwieldy at best, and I was not yet used to maneuvering around with such a large stomach in front of me.  The floor was slippery even with the rubber floor mats; I had to watch my every move.  I worked silently for an hour; thankful my tears had dried up.

             __________________

	I looked up and noticed two people in boiler suits, one a woman with a gold armband, both making their way towards me.  I had a stab of fear that something was wrong with Chris, but the tall woman with the South African accent assured me he was fine and handed me a black and white mimeo sheet.  It was my very own assignment to the Rehabilitation Project Force; they had come to get me.  It was dated April first and being April Fool's day I thought this must be a joke.  I had never known a pregnant woman to be sent to rehabilitation, never.  I looked from one to the other and asked.  They assured me it was not a joke
	They walked me through the back corridors of the hotel to the garage. The office of the Rehabilitation Project Force was not really a formal space, it was a walled off part of the existing garage.  Large sheets of plywood and 2x4's outlined the space and created a cubicle of sorts, making a room used as an office.  The room where the members studied and slept was also jerry rigged like that.  I was later told that such spaces were illegal and that when local building inspectors would come, several mattresses would be placed in front of the entrances, and the spaces would be labeled storage.  No official had ever doubted the story.  Who could imagine fifty of sixty or even a hundred people living in a garage like this?  The Five star hotel was 12 stories tall; it's attached garage facilities four.  After midnight Scientology security guards locked all doors between the main hotel and the garage.  I wondered how I would get to a bathroom; pregnancy had made me very aware of remaining close to a toilet for middle of the night relief. 
	My husband was waiting for me in the RPF office.  That was the one shining moment in this.  Now that we were both at the bottom, we would be together all day, though we would not be allowed to spend much time alone and of course we would not be allowed to sleep together while we were undergoing our rehabilitation.  Men and women had separate sleeping areas. 
	Soon, I began my orientation into the inner workings of Rehabilitation.  Hanna, the blond woman, handed me a small packet of orders that were written as policy covering the rules and regulations of being a member of my new group.  She told me to begin studying it, as I was expected to know the rules.
	"RPFer's are allowed to clean buildings, toilets, stairways, garages, elevators and elevator shafts," I read.  I couldn't imagine cleaning an elevator shaft.
"RPFers cannot handle any vehicles, have no time off, are restricted to the hotel at all times unless accompanied by a security guard, may not speak to or approach staff or public or any outside public unless spoken to, has to use the bathroom facilities only as designated."
	Now I understood why those women were so startled with me in the bathroom that day. 
I continued to read: "May not enter staff or public areas, or elevator except when on assigned cleaning projects," and then in capital letters, "MAY NOT USE THE SWIMMING POOL AT ANY TIME."  As I read these rules, it was sinking in that I could no longer freely go anywhere.  There would always be guards, or an assigned buddy watching.  The clothing I was going to be wearing would make me stand out to all members of the group if I was ever in a place I wasn't supposed to be.
	"You are going to have to finish reading that later," said Hanna, the woman who collected me to the RPF.  I discovered she wore the gold armband because she was close to getting out and returning to the main group of Staff in Clearwater.
      "We are gong to have to dash to the mall and get you some navy blue outfits.  There has never been a pregnant woman here, and none of the boiler suits will fit.  I've called Motor Pool and we have to leave now."
   We sat in the back of the blue hotel van that carried guests and staff with time off to the area malls in Clearwater.  I glanced over at Hanna.  She sat with her head held high, making no eye contact.  Her silence was very focused.  We arrived at the mall, and got out of the van.  
"We have to hurry, the driver will be back to get us in an hour."  I had a difficult time keeping up; Hanna was almost running through the mall.  I had recently passed that pregnancy signpost where even walking was not an option; waddling was my form of movement.  I struggled to keep up with her; she was silent, eyes straight ahead.  She asked a sales girl for the maternity department at the JC Penny's and we found two simple tops that looked like they might work, they were in navy blue with the smallest of ornamentation on them. I tried the tops on.  Hanna looked me up and down and nodded.  "These will do fine," she said.  We also bought a pair of maternity blue jeans. Hanna paid for the items and hurried us out of there.  There were no social graces between us.  We had a mission and our job was to complete it in the fastest, most efficient way possible.
We made it back to the point where the motor pool would pick us up early.  Even though we were alone, Hanna did not interact with me.  She felt cold and serious. The reality of the new personae I was taking on began to sink in.  I was no longer a social person with a personality, or anything other than the focus of a job to be done. There was nothing funny about the situation, so the lack of laughter was unstated.  What social things could we chat about anyway?
	Hanna and I returned to the RPF office an hour before dinner.  Hanna said she would show me around before we would join the other members of the Rehabilitation unit for dinner.
The Fort Harrison hotel had an entrance to the parking garage on each of the four connecting floors.  The entrance to the RPF portion of the garage was on the second floor.  Two wide doors opened from the garage into the reception room for the large auditorium.  If you entered the garage from these two fire doors, you would notice plywood walls on either side of the entryway, extending almost to the ceiling.  They jutted out to form an entryway about 12 feet from the door.  To the right was the RPF office; to the left was the Rehabilitation berthing space and course room.
I had already been in the Rehabilitation office.  Hanna now took me to the other side to show me the course room.  The course room contained four folding tables with chairs around them. It also contained the usual makings of a Scientology course room: clay for the clay table demonstrations, demonstration kits to demonstrate how well you understood something, and dictionaries.  The main difference was that this was the shabbiest course room I had ever seen.  The floor slanted in a low grade as all parking garages do.  To the left of the entrance was a small doorway that opened to a dark dormitory for the women.  There were several triple bunk beds.  "Oh, no," I thought",not the dreadful triple bunks."
	Hanna said that due to my pregnancy and size, she had assigned me the bottom bunk near the doorway.  Members had one drawer in which to stow their clothing.  I placed my newly purchased navy blue clothes in mine.
  We then returned to the course room from the darkness.  She pointed to the doorway at the other end and informed me that that was where the men slept.  I never saw the inside but could assume that the men's dorm was no different from ours.
	She said that in the next day or so, Chris and I would go to our room out at the Quality Inn and pack up all of our personal items for storage.  Now that we were in the RPF, we only needed two changes of clothes and a few toiletry items.  There would be no time for anything else.
 	Hanna looked at her watch and said, "Time for dinner, let's go join them."

____________________
 	We went through the doors to the main part of the hotel and made our way to the side entrance of the auditorium.  The staff at the Flag Land Base had grown to such a size that the auditorium doubled as a cafeteria for staff.
   Members of the RPF could only eat after regular crew ate and could only eat what the staff, the leftovers, had not consumed.  If it had been a particularly good meal, the offerings were slim.  
   I entered the large carpeted room filled with round and rectangular tables.  The regular staff had left without clearing their tables, so the room was a hodgepodge of chairs in disarray and tables full of half-eaten food and drink.  
	Small groups of RPFers were clearing several tables near the door, so they could have a clear space to eat.  Another group was going through the buffet line, to see how much food was left over in the serving pans.  Some staff went back into the kitchen area itself to see if more leftovers could be found.
   I noticed some individual people wandering through the tables looking carefully at each one.  I saw someone pick up a dessert plate and after a perusal at the state of the slice of pie, he smiled and carried it over to his place at one of the RPF tables.  The food was not yet in the trash, so it was not as demeaning as digging through garbage.  However, it was clearly garbage to the faceless staff member who had left it on his plate.  I thought how I would never do that. How disgusting it was.
	But, time and hunger have a way of helping a person do what they need to do to survive.  Within two weeks, I joined the scavengers; I was trying to survive for two.  
Some days there would be many leftovers and I would not have to search, but often there was not very much.  On those days, I found myself joining the members searching around the tables trying to find food that looked untouched.
If the food left on the tables was scarce, and no uneaten portion could be found, then the next best thing would be some that had only a bite or two missing.  After several weeks in this degrading environment, I found myself doing just that.  I would throw away the portion near the bite, and then I would eat the rest.  Being pregnant drove me to do things that I would not have normally done, and forced me to work towards a better nutrition than just the leftovers.
That first night, sleeping in the narrow bottom bunk was frightening.  I not only had the normal rush of hormones of a woman in her fifth month of pregnancy, but I was now also in a state of shock.  I felt void of feelings; I was frozen in place.  Just a few days before, I had been holding a job at the top of International management.  I was working on important and world changing projects directly with the Founder (L. Ron Hubbard).  I had a secretary and personal staff assistants.  I was responsible for a network of staff in many countries and managed the marketing and expansion of Scientology across the world.  The change was sudden and devastating.
During my first week I had a dream that I died.  I could sense there were a couple of people (or spirits) with me, ready to take me onto whatever the next step after death was.  They informed me we had a bit of time before we had to go.  For that brief time, I walked among the living.  I went to all my familiar places, but I was unseen.  I had what I imagined to be a body but no face.  I was invisible to those still living.  I could see and hear them, but could no longer communicate with them.  The sudden loss of what had been my life was irrevocable. I realized that this time of walking among the living was intended to help me comprehend how final my separation from life would be.
  That was how I felt that night. I was 5 months pregnant and taken away from all that had been my life and sent to live in a parking garage with fifty other discarded souls.
   After a few days in my new blue uniform and with my newly acquired prisoner status, Chris and I went with an escort to pack up our room in the Quality Inn.  The staff member was with us, not only to give us a ride, but also to supervise us, ensuring we would not leave, disappear, or get lazy with the job at hand.  We owned no furniture.  Our belongings consisted of clothing, a few books, and several other small items.  It didn't take us more than a couple of hours to box all our possessions in the world.  
The guard left us alone in the room for part of the time.  This was the first moment that we were alone and unsupervised in the past three days or that our conversation was not under the watchful ear of someone else.  We made a joke about Chris's 5-year-old son Corey.  Corey had been staying with us in Florida, but had left about a month previously to go on a vacation with his mother.  Corey had called his dad two weeks before and told him he wanted to stay with his Mom.  Chris was upset with the change of plans at the time, but now we could laugh at how Corey must have had a good sense of his own survival.  He must have known at some level of the storm that was headed our way.  We no so thankful that Corey had decided to go back to LA with his mom.  We knew that we would not be able to have cared for him from the Rehabilitation force.
I knew I would be physically restrained if I had attempted to leave rehabilitation permission.  At that time there were no fences with barbed wire, and the security guards did not carry guns, but the specific training of the group was to physically restrain anyone who attempted to leave without permission.  
Looking back on it from the distance of years, this "assignment" marked the beginning of my long road out of Scientology.  It was the beginning of my deep questioning of what type of group was I involved in. I can see now, that some deep, survival part of myself woke up and recognized I was trapped, and knew I had to extricate myself very carefully.

         _________________________

Personnel in the RPF spent five hours daily in study and counseling that mostly involved a procedure called "Security Checking" or questioning into our deepest, most personal thoughts and intentions.  Even though I can see now that those thoughts were there, at the time I was under such scrutiny, I kept myself unaware on a conscious level.  I know now that these thoughts simmered under the surface, at some primal survival level.
I got more sleep in the RPF than I ever did on my job.  I was allowed to take the naps I needed for my pregnancy.  I never felt guilty going off to the scheduled Doctor's visits or the birthing classes at the hospital with my husband.  
Personally, I could not believe that I had been sent to the RPF to live in a garage while five months pregnant.  I could not believe that I could go from one of the highest positions in the organization, with daily correspondence and work with Hubbard himself, to living in a dirty and filthy garage, just that quickly, with virtually no warning or steps in between.  The sudden shock, the unexpectedness, and sheer injustice of it, was something that caused a mental shutdown in my personal world
During the years since I have studied the power of groups over individuals, and the mindsets and peer pressures that got me to that place, but the finality of it, and the knowledge of who had sent me there, is something I live with, but it is not something I will ever "get over."
During my first week on the RPF I was shown the exact text of my new assignment. Originally the order had come down that I was to be taken to the RPF at the same time as my husband.  This original order had to be approved by LRH, because both Chris and I worked directly under him and others did not have the power to remove us.  Someone, though I never found out whom, questioned the part of the order that had to do with me.  That person thought that since I was 5 months pregnant it might not be appropriate to have me living in a garage with carbon monoxide and other noxious fumes.  The question was sent directly to L. Ron Hubbard.  I saw the answer, which was an affirmation of my assignment to the RPF.  The Messenger on duty signed it.  Hubbard had a group of messengers who acted on his behalf and spoke for him.  If he was too busy to sign a dispatch himself, the M on D could sign it for him.  The Messenger would never sign something that was not LRH's express command.  They couldn't act independently.  Speaking to a Messenger was meant to be the same as speaking to LRH himself.  The knowledge that LRH, himself, had sent me here was almost more than I could bear.  
That LRH would send a pregnant woman to a garage to live, but could not send his own able-bodied son-in-law when he was thought to be a suppressive person was unbelievable.  My assignment was not due to being found Suppressive, which is the worst thing you can be found to be in any Scientology group.  I was deemed in need of rehabilitation because of a project I didn't get done on time.
It made me begin to question for the first time, the group to whom I had given so much allegiance and loyalty.  I buried these questions deep inside; I did not allow myself the luxury of spending time with them. I knew that this assignment was too harsh and unjustified.  I may not have been perfect on my job, but I certainly had not been doing bad enough to deserve the upheaval to my life I was now faced with.
   It was at this point, my husband told me he wanted to leave the Rehabilitation Unit, which meant leaving his career and life in the Sea Organization behind.  He missed his son, Corey, who was back in Los Angeles with his mother.  Chris desperately wanted to be reunited and was obviously unhappy with our current situation. 
He talked about it at length, but I knew I could not leave.  I knew no one in Los Angeles and we had no job opportunities.  Currently Scientology was paying for my health care, and would pay for the delivery of my child, how could be possibly do that ourselves.  At five months pregnant, who would hire me.  We had burnt our bridges with both of our families, and non-Scientology friends.  We literally had no money even to get to Los Angeles, let alone get an apartment and medical care we'd need for the birth of our child.  I saw no opening.  
  Another big part of my decision was the twisted group dynamic I had been taught and was knotted in my head.  I knew that my being sent to the Rehabilitation Unit was incorrect. I knew that at some point down the road, I would be vindicated.  A committee or individual would do a review and it would come out that this RPF order was not the correct action.  However, I also knew about the way my group thought.  I knew that if I voiced a desire to leave because of this perceived wrongness, then that would cement it for the group.  People would then conclude, "See, sending her to the RPF was correct all along, she must have always wanted to leave underneath.  It's a good thing we uncovered her true intentions."  
I simply cared too much, about what others thought.  People I knew, people I didn't, friends, acquaintances, strangers.  I cared what they thought.  
 Additionally, the reality was that we had no friends who were not Scientologists.  By simply walking out the door, we would be forbidden to speak or work for anyone who was a Scientologist.  Even though in my secret heart of hearts I wanted to leave, not Scientology itself, but certainly the militaristic, aspects of the group known as the Sea Organization.  I did not see it as a realistic choice. 
So, after much soul searching, Chris decided to stay.  He would never abandon his unborn child or me and despite the conditions we were faced with, he decided we would have to get through this together.  I needed him and he needed me.  We would face it both together.
Ironically, there were some things that were better in the RPF than being a regular Sea Org Member: more sleep, Doctor and other medical care without hassle or feeling guilt for taking time off the job, but on many other levels and many other ways, it was horrific.

___________________________________________
The RPF is organized into units of 5-6 people, with one being the leader.  Projects are assigned to each group.  Sometimes several units would work together on a larger project or all the units will work on a very large project.  Chris and I were in different units.  His unit would work on things like "Rat Patrol"; they would go around the back hallways, stairways and attics of the Fort Harrison Hotel, and set and handle traps.  Sometimes his unit would be assigned to unload the trucks of food regularly delivered to the hotel kitchens.
The labor that the people on the RPF were allowed to do was always manual in nature.  In fact no RPFer was allowed to work with any machinery of any kind.  The reasoning was that they were so off and that they could harm themselves or others; machines were too much for someone rehabilitating his spiritual and mental abilities.   
	I was given the job of watering the lawn and gardens of the main hotel in the early morning hours before breakfast.  I would stand near the pool with my hose in hand and spray the water in what I thought was an even, yet saturating method.  As I stood there with my hose in hand, I would some times look up at the windows of the hotel and imagine all the normal people sleeping in their beds in the various rooms.  One morning I saw a mother and daughter, who appeared to be about ten, come out of their cabana room.  They were smiling and engaged in some conversation that I couldn't decipher from my distance.  I thought of how wonderful their lives must be, how simple, to be coming here to downtown Clearwater for some sun and Scientology services.  I knew they had to have money because the cabana rooms were more expensive and the services available at the Flag Land Base all cost tens of thousands of dollars.  I looked down on my massive belly and wondered if the baby was a boy or girl and how I hoped that when he or she was ten, we would be going out to breakfast, just like this little girl and her mom, just like normal people. 
I had drifted so far in my imagination that I had lost track of the watering I was supposed to be doing.  Had I already watered this section enough?  Should I move onto another section?  I took the hose with me to the area beside the pool and began to water the flowerbeds there.  In those early morning hours, I would often imagine what it would be like to be normal, to live my life as a public Scientologist and have a life outside of the dedication of the Sea Org.  
I was always a bit nervous on my early morning watering job.  I was the only person in the garden and with my belly I was not hard to miss.  I was afraid I would run into a fellow staff member.  I was still numb to the concept of the RPF.  I was having a difficult time being present with it; I was bouncing back and forth from being so numb I felt like a robot, to getting glimpses of the horror that was my new predicament.  I felt that if I saw one person I knew, giving me even an ounce of kindness, I would lose it.
One morning, I had finished my watering chores and after returning the hose, I turned the corner into the breezeway to the garage.  Sandy was just standing up from the water bubbler when she saw me.
"Nancy, what are you doing here?" she asked.
I stopped in my tracks.  I knew I was not allowed to talk unless spoken to and then only to reply with the briefest of replies.  I looked around to see if there was anyone watching us.  When I was confident the coast was clear, I turned my head towards her to speak.  I looked into her eyes, and felt the deep compassion there.  She knew by my navy blue outfit exactly what had happened.  I could not speak. My throat was frozen.  Tears began to streak my face.  This was so embarrassing.  Sandy came close to give me a hug and a pat on the back.  I snuffled up my tears and said, "Thanks, but I have to get going."  I turned back to make my way through the breezeway, mentally trying to get the wall of numbness back up.  I felt it was better for my health and that of my baby if I did not dwell on my situation too much.
Soon after that, I lost my watering job.  My watering was found to be poor.  Patches began to appear in the grass where I had watered unevenly.  There was not much that I could be given that I would be physically able to do, so after a few weeks I was assigned to the technical Unit within the RPF.  This was the unit that delivered the courses and helped with the needed personal counseling to the other members of the group.  It contained supervisors and coaches, and they needed a Case Supervisor.  I had never really even been an auditor and yet here I was assigned to be the case supervisor on all of these other RFPers.
  The RPF kept a very strict schedule and had several roll calls during the day to count all the people and make sure no one was missing or unaccounted for.  The person who was the Ethics Officer (also called the naval equivalent of Master of Arms) would call out names and we would answer "Aye, Sir," Or "Here, Sir", after our names were called.  While the Sea Org was modeled after the Navy and used a lot of Naval language, both men and women of higher rank were addressed as Sir, instead of Sir for men and Ma'am for women.  Being in the Rehabilitation Project Force essentially made everyone higher than you, and that was why the people in the RPF addressed everyone as "Sir".
   We woke up at 6 AM and put in a couple of hours of work before breakfast at 8.  8 AM was after the last of the regular staff was gone and we could eat in the dining room.
Meal breaks were brief, 30 minutes, and that included the time to put the meal together.  We would have a roll call first thing in the morning, after breakfast, after lunch, after supper and then again at 9:30 during the final muster before lights out at 10PM.
   The final muster was in the classroom.  We would all sit around the tables in the various wobbly chairs.  Announcements would be made of upcoming projects we were working on and of completions of courses and auditing that people had done.  Our leader (called the Bosun) opened the floor to the members.  RPF'ers shared any wins or successes they may have had during the day, wins like: "I really have gotten it," "I was able to stay in PT (present time) all day as we carried those boxes from the truck to the freezer," or "We caught three on Rat Patrol."  Sometimes people would thank LRH for allowing them to do the Rehabilitation Project Force.  At the end, we would have the obligatory clapping and cheering to a large picture of L. Ron Hubbard.  That always got to me, the thanking of LRH for being sent to live in a garage and being degraded as we were.  I could never voice those thanks with any feeling because I did not have any.  
  I always felt surreal listening to people thanking LRH for these wins they were having in the middle of a garage, and how happy they were to be there, how they needed the supervision and were being made better persons by it.  I wondered if these people truly meant it, or were simply saying it because they knew they would get out of the garage more quickly. I didn't voice those thoughts; I barely voiced them to myself in my head.  I had already decided that I was going to get through this the fastest way I could.  I was not going to have a baby while living in a garage under guard.  In the one-on-one counseling that people received in the Rehabilitation Project Force, individuals are probed for evil thoughts or actions that they may have kept secret from other members of the group.  The only way to get through it was to accept it for what it was and to not rail against it.  All railing against it did was prolong the process of getting out.
   It was a Catch 22.  To get out, you had to exhibit change, whether you had needed change or not.  To get out, you had to act as if it were a needed action, whether it was or not.	My survival was to simply sit and take it.  Make the best of the circumstances, but be on guard for any thinking outside of the box rather than approved methods of thinking.  If I actually had unfolded any of those thoughts buried deep inside, they would only have increased the attention of the people probing my mind to go deeper, and that would only prolong my existence in the garage.
Chris and I were allowed to continue with our birthing classes at the local hospital during our stay in the Rehabilitation Project Force.  One week we learned that it was in the third trimester that babies developed their brains.  Protein was needed to grow the brain.  Eggs were a good source of that, and Chris made it a point to scrounge up from leftovers or, sometimes steal eggs, so that I could have some protein every day.  Chris and I would laugh along with the staff seated at our table about the eggs I would have to eat.  I would always attempt to put a bright face on it, but seated in a room full of messy tables among piles of leftovers was a truly sad state of affairs.
   I was allowed to ride in the hotel van to my doctor appointments.  At first, I was not allowed to go alone, but once it was clear that I was quite pregnant, not moving very fast, and they had my husband as collateral, I was allowed to travel on my own.  The van would drop me off at the doctor's office, where I did not mind having to wait.  
  It was one of the few times I was allowed to dress in clothes other than the regulation navy or black.  I would sit in the waiting room and pretend that I was as normal as any of the other women there.  I would read magazines, and rub my belly. No one here knew I was walking back to live in a garage.  They looked at me as if I were like them.  It felt good to be thought of as normal.
The weigh in was always of concern to me, because I was not gaining significant weight, but I somehow kept the weight within the range of average.  I always walked back to the garage on Fort Harrison.  Several nurses in the doctor's office saw me and offered me rides.  It was two miles, usually during the mid day heat.  This was the Florida summer and the temperatures went over 100 regularly.  But I always turned the rides down.  The staff of the Doctor's office could not understand why I would turn down a ride on such a hot day, or why anyone would let me walk at all.  They had no idea it was the only time I was alone and walking as if I were free.
  I also felt a sense of normality with the baby classes.  Every Tuesday night, Chris and I would be allowed to go to our baby class at the nearby hospital.  We would walk the two miles each way.  It was a time when we could be alone, hold hands, and be around regular people.  I could just be a pregnant woman with her husband, like all the other pregnant couples in the class.
The walk back would take us through a neighborhood of single-family homes.  I would ask Chris is we would ever have such a home.  From where we were right then, that thought itself was quite a leap.  He would always comfort me with the thought that someday we would have a house of our own.  We discovered we both liked Tudor style architecture.  I remember there was one large Tudor house behind a black wrought iron fence that always sparked my curiosity, I wondered about the family living there.  Did they appreciate all that they had?  One week I saw teenage boys playing ball in the front yard.  I rubbed my belly and wondered if my child would ever play basketball in the front yard of a house Chris and I owned.
   If we had time, on the way back to the garage we would sometimes take a short detour and walk to a gazebo at the end of a dock.  It was our private spot where we had become engaged.  The water from the bay gently lapped against the pilings in a soothing rhythm.  Occasionally we would see the shadow of a person walking down the street, but more often we were just alone in the dark, seated on the wooden bench close to each other.  We would speak in whispers, giving comfort and hope for the years to come and the baby I carried.  Life would get better than this.  It had to.  It would.
		After I had been in the RPF for about a month, I was asked to go to a private area in the dining room and speak with a Commodore's Messenger.  Hubbard had young people, many young teenagers and mostly girls whom he utilized as his personal messengers.  They were trained to deliver his wishes or questions exactly as he wanted them to, and to gather the information he requested as truthfully and straightforwardly as they could.  Sea Organization staff were taught that all Commodore's Messengers were extensions of L. Ron Hubbard, and we were to treat them with the honesty and respect that we would if it actually were Hubbard in front of us.  I didn't personally know the Messenger who sat down with me with her pad of paper, but I did know that I had to be careful of what I did or didn't say.  I knew my facial expressions or other subtle communications would be noted and relayed.  I had no idea if this was a friendly visit or a visit meant to revise my rehabilitation. 
"How are you adjusting to life in the RPF?" 
  I thought for a moment of exactly how to respond to this and then decided short and succinct was safest.  I said "Fine."  She noted that I was in the blue uniform of an RPFer even though I was pregnant and that seemed to please her.
"Is there anything that you would like to let LRH know?"
My mind went to the relationship I had had with him over the past two years, and how supportive and kind he had been to me.  My mind swept over our first communication when I took over his daughter, Diana's job, while she had her maternity leave.  He was initially quite stern with me and sent an angry telex asking if I wanted to be the villain in the next movie for destroying the progress of the world.  After he investigated and sent messengers to write and report on all my conversations and actions over the next few days, he then sent me a telex saying he was going to make me the heroine in his next movie.  From that point on, we had, what I thought had been, a good relationship.  He mentored me, he corrected me, but he was overall pleased by my actions and accomplishments.  So much so, that when his daughter, Diana returned from her Maternity Leave he promoted me to her Deputy, and when she was awarded the opportunity to train on courses full time, he promoted me to her position.  I was his personal Aide for all things to do with the expansion of Scientology across the Globe.  These memories and more skipped across my thoughts.  I began to cry, not understanding what I had done that he felt was so horrific. I felt so saddened that I must have let him down so much that he had to send me to a garage.  
"Tell him I'm sorry," I answered, though I knew not for what.  The messenger noted my words and my grief and said good luck and good by.

          __________________________

As my pregnancy progressed, some accommodations were made for my state.  I received approval to ride the freight elevator, instead of walking the 12 flights to the offices I needed to carry folders back and forth to.  My need for the bathroom increased.  I received special approval to use the staff and guest bathrooms, but only if I was not near the RPF bathroom.  At night this was difficult.  For the security of the hotel, all the doors from the garage to the main hotel were locked nightly.  The garage had no bathrooms, so I had to make my way down the circular garage ramp to the bottom floor of the garage and out to Fort Harrison Street. I often made this walk after midnight in my nightgown.  I had to take care because the ramp was steep and my balance was constantly shifting with my gaining girth.  The more pregnant I became, the more frequent the trips.  The security guard at the front door of the hotel would give me a nod, as I would make my way into the women's facilities.  Sometimes cars would drive down Fort Harrison Boulevard during a 3 am walk from the garage to the front door, as they passed, I would wonder what that person thought, of a waddling, obviously pregnant young woman making her way down the street in her nightgown.  Once as I was carefully making my way down the circular garage ramp when I heard a car coming up it.  I was a very slow walker at that point and it was too far for me to make it to the safety of either the level I just left, or the level I was headed to.  I stepped into the concrete alcove on the side and hoped I could fit with my protruding stomach.  The car made its way past me; I kept my head turned so I wouldn't have to have eye contact with the driver.  It was simply too embarrassing, I was ashamed at what my life had become.

         _________________________

As May turned into June and my belly got larger and larger, I found sleeping in a non-air-conditioned garage in a stuffy wooden shelter to be unbearable.  Along with another female member, I took a broken pool lounge chair and a pillow and sheet and went to the garage roof to sleep.  I still could not be with Chris at night, but I finally found a place where I could breathe.  Since we woke before dawn to get on with our duties, the hotel guests or regular staff usually never saw us.
  One morning I was awakened by the sound of an engine being turned on in a nearby car.  I sat up with a lurch.  The driver saw me and paused for a brief moment, but said nothing.  He simply backed his car out of his space. I wondered what he must have thought - a large pregnant woman sleeping among the cars.  I was embarrassed and made my way back downstairs.
During the four months I spent in the clothes marking me as unworthy, I learned how people treated those who were down.  It was as if by being on the outside of a society, I could see into its deepest hearts. Some individuals shunned me; some took pleasure in their supposed 'higher' spot on the pecking order.  On the other hand, some people went out of their way to treat me like a human being.  A smile snuck my way, a nod of the head, and bits of compassion in the midst of a cold hard group.  Those small bits of humanity meant so much.
     I knew I was getting a few extras for my condition - I didn't have to run laps, I had use of the bathrooms, I could take trips to the doctors and have baby classes.  The local staff who supervised the operation of the RPF allowed me these small exceptions to the Rehabilitation rules. I was always circumspect with these bending of the rules.  I knew someone higher up could find fault this and easily get these few special privileges taken away.  I always took care to use them with the least amount of attention from others.  
                      _____________________
   Each person entering the RPF had a series of steps that they have to complete to get out.  There was no time limit, no specific sentence so to speak; instead, there were milestones that had to be reached.  These milestones involved both the ability to work within the group and personal movement on what Hubbard called the "Bridge to Total Freedom."
As a group member, the milestones involve proving that you can work in a diligent manner and produce a product (like a clean toilet) that does not require being redone.  The RPFer would then graduate to more and more skills signifying an increased level of trust the group could have in him or her.  Colored armbands worn over the blue or black boiler suits signify two of the milestones.  The first level is the black armband and means that the member has earned some trust.  The second armband is the gold armband and signifies that the individual is close to graduating from the Rehabilitation program.
These armbands could be rescinded, however.  Like the game of Chutes and Ladders, you can lose both your gold and black armband and be sent back to the bottom of the ladder for any one of several violations of any one of the many rules.
   Members of the Rehabilitation Force worked for nine to ten hours, studied, or had personal counseling for five hours a day.  Three thirty minute meal breaks were allowed, as well was one thirty-minute break to shower and tend to personal hygiene matters.
	 Part of the rehabilitation back into the group meant that you not only had to increase your own abilities, but you also had to increase that of your partner's (called twin in the RPF).  People worked in pairs and were completely responsible for each other.  If one person made a mistake, the twin would get the same punishment.
    The main punishment during the time I was in the Rehabilitation Unit in Clearwater was the running of 'laps' around the garage.  It would be "take a lap," or "take three laps," much as the army would use push ups.  In my personal case, laps were out of the question, so we devised a punishment that would also serve a purpose for my pregnancy training.  I had a series of physical exercise that came from my doctor and my birthing instructor; these were approved to be used as my "laps".
Scientology has a series of Spiritual Levels that one passes through.  In addition, there are specific counseling techniques meant to uncover and confess to evil acts one has done or may have felt embarrassed or ashamed about.  They call this type of counseling a Confessional.  During a Confessional the Auditor (Counselor) asks the Pre-Clear (person being questioned), a series of questions while the pre-clear holds the cans and the auditor notes the reaction of the meter.  The E-Meter runs a very low level of electricity through the body of the Pre-Clear; any resistance will show up on a needle measuring resistance that the Auditor watches.
In order to graduate the RPF, one has to pass - as evidenced by a free or floating needle, several confessionals, containing hundreds of questions.  The questions were formulated by L.Ron Hubbard to allow the individuals answering them to unburden themselves of things they might have done or not done that they or the group felt were wrong.  In some ways, it was like Confessions in the Catholic Church, in that the person would feel better making a clean breast of these things he or she didn't feel comfortable with and hadn't shared with another.
However, unlike the Catholic Church, or other groups that use confession as part of their treatment, every word the Scientology Pre-Clear says is written down and kept in a folder with the person's name on it.  Scientology tells the press and public scientologists that the information told within the confines of these Confessionals are confidential and would not ever be seen or used by anyone other than the person's Auditor and the Supervisor assigned to this persons personal case.  I don't believe this to be the truth.  I have personally scene Intelligence Reports created by someone culling and individual's Pre Clear Folder for possible crimes or embarrassing action.
Questions like "Have you ever had thoughts you were embarrassed about?"
These sessions always ended with a double check, by asking a series of questions to ensure all was divulged in the session.  Questions like, "In This session have you told all?"  "In this session have you told any half truths?" etc.  
If any of these questions elicited any motion of the needle, the auditor would probe deeper to discover what information had not been shared.
These series of confessionals would take as long as needed.  The pair of rehabilitation members, each of whom had to get the other through them, would have to learn the techniques of how to be an auditor.  To be an official, licensed auditor in Scientology, a person had to take many courses and be certified in many different areas of techniques to dig out the full information wanted.  In the Rehabilitation Project Force, however, the procedures was   changed and the rule became "Read it, Drill it, Do it".  Meaning that if your twin needed to have some counseling on "apples," you, as his auditor, would only study the few written bulletins pertaining to "apples', not the entire course.  You would then practice with a doll or another person acting as a coach until you felt confident and then you would go and carry out the action on your twin.  This sequence would be repeated until both you and your twin were complete on all the confessionals required for your graduation.
Within the RPF, there was a supervisor who supervised these sessions by the twin ships.  This RPF Case Supervisor was a member of the RPF, but all his or her work was double-checked and supervised by the Senior Supervisors for the entire Scientology Complex.  These Senior Case Supervisors had done the full training required, and could guide the less trained twins through the "Read it, Drill it, Do it" process.  There were three Senior Case Supervisor's who monitored the personal folders of all members of the RPF.  While these senior case supervisors had regular contact with us, it was only in written form through notes placed inside the pre-clear folders.  These Case Supervisors were not members of the Rehabilitation Force, they themselves were regular members of the staff.  
One of these Senior Case Supervisors found a Bulletin written by Hubbard that stated that the husbands of pregnant women should give some simple assist processing to their wives daily during the final trimester of the pregnancy.  I had never heard of the Bulletin before, and I have always wondered if the case supervisor dug this out of some long forgotten archives as a special kindness to Chris and me.  She placed it in the official folder of things I had to complete to get out of the RPF.  It was a welcome respite for both of us as now we could have some time alone together each day.  We found a section in the garage that honestly was the storage section.  One corner contained stacks of mattresses and offered some privacy.  It was a bit of an awkward climb for me to get to the top of the stack, but once we settled down, we had some space and privacy.  Chris would do the assists he was required to do, but they would never take the entire hour we said it did.  We would spend the spare minutes talking, holding each other, or just lying there with our hands on my belly feeling our child move and kick and swim.
           ________________________
After a couple of months on the RPF, perhaps in late May, Hanna and Clint - the head or Bosun of the RPF and his deputy, called me into the RPF office.  I was informed they had received an order that I was to be assigned to the RPFS RPF.  I was shocked, but soon realized that this was really happening.  The RPF's RPF was a level even below the RPF.  The individual assigned to the RPF's RPF is isolated, not only from regular staff and public, but also from the members of the RPF.  This was the lowest of the lows, complete rock bottom.  I asked where the RPF's RPF was, and they explained that it was in the boiler room of the basement.
The Ft. Harrison did not have a basement like most people think of a basement, but when you enter the main building, there is a split level, with a set of stairs going up to the main lobby and a corresponding set of stairs that go down.  Under the lobby, to the right, there is a bathroom, and a connection to the Galley and a few small offices.  To the left is where the boiler room basement is.  It is a dark, humid, dank space, frequented by RPFers and Estates personnel.  As I remember the space, it was not even spacious enough to stand up.  
   This is where I was expected to go.  As a member of the RPF's RPF I would remain in that crawl space for days or weeks at a time.  I would eat and sleep there.  There would be no contact with any person at all, and all the time would be spent cleaning the boiler room.  I started to panic, looked up, and could tell that both Clint and Hanna thought that this was an insane order.  Hanna was actually quite upset about it, and she said that she refused to do something like that.  
    Watching Hanna spit out her anger and her refusal to obey was beyond comforting to me.  Hanna was almost out herself, almost free of the life in the blue boiler suits and hot, stuffy garage.  She was risking all of that to protect me from a fate worse than the one I was already in.  In that moment I felt some protection for the first time in months.  I will never forget what she risked that day on my behalf. 
While Hanna and Clint discussed the options available to avoid implementing the order, I reread the order.  I had originally been removed from my position because one of my staff, Kim, had failed, and I had failed to get him to complete the new series of courses for people new to Scientology.  Even though he was directly responsible for the failure, I was the one removed and ordered to the RPF, and he, in a bit of group irony, had been promoted to take over my job.  Now in some kind of further insanity, the courses had still not been completed (during the three months I was in the garage), so the solution to the continued lack of courses was to punish me with an assignment to the RPF's RPF.  I knew I was way down the rabbit hole, but would not even allow those thoughts to be fully formed.
    A friend of mine, years later, told me "when you wake up with your head inside a tiger's mouth, you remove it very slowly".  At the time, I didn't know that that was what I was doing, but in hindsight, I had some deep survival instinct that knew I was in deep danger and knew that it was dangerous to attempt to fight.  I needed to back out slowly, ever so slowly.
     Hanna and Clint and I decided to "query the order"'.  There is a policy by Hubbard that states that if anyone receives an order that would cause more harm than good, you have the right to question it and give an alternative solution.  I did write a query to the woman in the position of Commodore's Staff Captain.  She was one of the highest positioned people in Clearwater at that time, and the woman who had taken over Chris's position.  I would be returning to her office upon my graduation from the RPF.   I did not know if it would work because the order had come from someone higher in the organization, perhaps she did not have the power to change it.
  I appealed to the fact that I was almost off the RPF and would be coming to work with her.  Wouldn't it be more helpful for her to have sn extra staff member, than to send me to the RPF's RPF?  The RPF's RPF would only extend the time I would spend on the RPF and therefore delay my ability to contributing to the work in her office.  We waited, and waited.
Finally I was called into the boson's office and told my RPF's RPF assignment was cancelled.  The query had been approved.  I never did attend the RPF's RPF.

     ____________________________________
In early June of l979, I received a letter that my parents were coming to Florida and were coming through Clearwater to see me and to meet my husband.  They would have a couple of days to spend with us.  I was happy to be able to see them and happy for them to meet Chris, but I was ashamed of the situation I had gotten myself into.  Even if I had not been too proud to ask, I knew they didn't have the kind of money we would need to get out of our current fix.  Besides, I felt a bit of the "You made your bed, you have to lie in it."  I knew I was in a corner, but I did not feel I could ask them for assistance.  Where would I begin?
    Since it was known that my parents had been antagonistic to Scientology, the Scientology authorities did not want this to become a further problem.
    My parents were going to want to see where we lived and showing them around the garage was clearly not an option.  It was arranged that we would stay at the room of some Sea Org Members who were off on vacation.  They lived at the Quality Inn.  I do not even know who they were, and I doubt they were ever asked, or possibly ever told that another couple had used their room.  Chris and I were given the keys to their room and told to make my parents think it was ours.  We pretended that was where we lived.  My parents dropped us off and picked us up there.  They were probably not happy to find their daughter pregnant and living in what essentially was a motel room, but compared to where we really lived, it was heaven.
We got several days off to be with them to go to the beach and out to dinner.  Again, ironically, if Chris and I had been on our regular jobs, it would have been very difficult to get that time off.  Since we were now being rehabilitated, our work was of very little value, in the big picture of things.  
   I remember one afternoon during this visit.  My parents came to pick us up in the lobby of the Fort Harrison Hotel.  Hanna was just then getting out of the RPF.  She was standing on the landing handing something called her Liability Formula' as essay written a member writes detailing what they have done, what correction they've undergone, and realizations they've had and a personal request to rejoin the group.  Hanna was requesting signatures from staff allowing her to return to the world of regular Sea Org staff.  My father asked who she was and what she was doing.  It was so strange... knowing that soon I, myself would be standing on that same landing, asking for those same signatures.
	My mind raced to find a sentence that would communicate truthfully an answer to his questions, but at the same time not raise more questions that I couldn't answer.
  "She is asking to get her old job back." I felt that was an honest answer, and shifted their attention to where we would be going for the day.
	My parents were staying at a hotel on the Clearwater beach and we spent our few days with them, talking, eating, and enjoying the weather and the companionship.  We talked about the lives of my many brothers and sisters.  My parents got to meet Chris, whom they had never met, and learn more of his background.  We spoke of my impending birth and the marriage of my sister Jean to a "nice young man" named Jim whom she had met at college.  Chris and I were able to forget, for the most part, what our lives had truly become.  My parents dropped us off at our motel room at the end of the day.
    That final night was difficult for Chris and me.  We didn't sleep much and simply held each other trying to hold off the inevitability that we would have to return to the garage the next day.  There were no RPF security guards watching us that night, only the regular QI night watch.  It would not have been difficult to make an escape, but where and how?  We had no money.  Neither of our parents had the kind of money we would need to start our lives from scratch.  We also had no means to pay for the needed medical supervision and birth of our child.  We had no place to go.  We comforted ourselves with the fact that we were both almost done with our programs and we would be out of the garage within a matter of weeks.  Our baby would not be born in any garage.  We agreed to just keep our heads down, move forward, and get ourselves in a better position somewhere down the road.

          ___________________________________

Part of the final process for getting out of Rehabilitation was the writing of a "Liability Formula".  The individual would acknowledge the bad deeds they had done that had landed them in the Rehabilitation and then list the actions that they had been doing over the past period of months or sometimes years to make up for the damage.  I wrote of how I had failed to get the needed projects of my position done on time and how I now knew how to do things better and with a higher standard.  
Finally, I was found myself standing in the lobby in my "blue suit" on a hot July afternoon, asking regular staff to sign my petition to be allowed back into the group.  It was quite intense. I noticed most staff were happy to sign and welcome me back into the group.  There was an underlying knowledge amongst Sea Org members that either that had been them at one time, or could be them at some point in the future.  There were a few people out of hundreds that gave me a tough time, reading and re reading what I had written.  Asking me pointed questions about how I had changed and what specifically had I done that showed that I should be able to return to the group.  The majority gladly signed my papers, sharing in my joy of graduating rehabilitation. My baby would not be born in the garage.
   In late July, I finally made my way out of the RPF.  A few days later, Chris followed.  Carey, our son, arrived about a week after that.  We were so happy he wasn't born in the garage.  That was a big driving push for our getting out.
I had my first birthing experience.  It was painful, very painful, but the pain melted when we got to hold him that first time and have him in our arms.  Chris was with me the entire delivery.  The nurses said he was the best coach they had seen in ages.  We were just so very happy to have each other.  We agreed.  We had graduated the RPF.  


CHAPTER SIX
 ADJUSTMENTS

After the birth of our son Carey, Chris and I borrowed some money for airfare and left Florida to visit with Chris's parents in New York and then to my family in Boston to attend my sister Jean's wedding.  
We again had several weeks, during which we were normal, just like everyone else, except that we were poor, dirt poor.  I was so excited to be a Mom and there were lots of family and friends to show off our new son Carey. 
I changed diapers, and got up in the middle of the night to feed Carey.  I got mothering advice from both my Mom and all her women friends.  It was a sudden shift to become a mother, and I was welcomed into that group of women with all the advice and old wives tales' that came with it. 
 "Let him cry a bit before you pick him up, or you will spoil him", one said. 
"Use a bit of whiskey once he starts teething," another said.
Most of these older women would talk of the changes that the 'modern' mom now has.  We had the opportunity to use disposable diapers, which seemed like a miracle to them.  "When I had my babies I had to wash three loads a day just to keep up", was a repeated refrain from several of them.  As these women welcomed me to the world of Motherhood, they also brought gifts.  Gifts I could never had afforded: quilts, and clothes, and toys.  It was a joyous visit.  Our family not only had their first grandchild, making my many siblings an Aunt or Uncle for the first time, but we were also celebrating the marriage of my younger sister.  My grandfather was alive then and able to enjoy looking into the eyes of his great grandson.  The time spent living in a garage began to fade like a bad nightmare. 
After a couple of weeks of good food, sleep and the unconditional love of family, we returned to Florida and Chris was assigned a low level job.  It at least allowed him full mealtimes and s full pay allowance of $25 per week.  I still had a few weeks of maternity leave left and spent it with our son.  Sometimes I would take a van over to where Chris worked at the Fort Harrison Hotel for a brief visit.  Other times, I would simply spend the day with him at the Quality Inn where we were living once again. 
Once our son Carey was 6 weeks old, I was expected to return to work full time while he was watched over in the day care facilities provided.
There was a woman who lived a few doors down from me who had given birth a couple of weeks before me.  When her six weeks were up she simply refused to leave her child.  She and her husband had decided that they would rather leave the Sea Org than turn their child over to a group of Nanny's for 12-15 hours per day.  As much as I supported her opinion and personal choices, I knew I couldn't do that.  I simply did not have the strength.  With virtually no money or immediate family support, it just did not seem an option that was available to me.  I watched as the group ostracized her.  When it became clear that her husband was not going to abandon his wife and new child, he too became a target of isolation.  I watched as they packed their meager belongings and left for family in England, apparently one that was more than willing to welcome them with open arms.
Soon enough, my time was up, my authorized maternity leave was over, and my final day had actually arrived.  I sat on the edge of our bed and held Carey in my arms.  I talked and rocked him gently as tears streamed down my face.  I did not WANT to put Carey in day care, but I felt I had no choice.  I talked with him about how bad I felt and promised that somehow I would make our future different.  I did not know how, but I knew someday I would.  I may have felt powerless; hopeless and without choices at the time, but I did have a deep hope for the future.  In the end, I accepted my new job assignment, working the 16 hours a day that was the routine of a Sea Org Member.  Carey went to day care, where I saw him at dinner and during the one hour family time given each day.

     ______________________________

A few months later, I was ordered to go on a special mission to England.  A small part of me wanted to get back in the good graces of all these people who had thrown me out so callously last April, but a large part of me did not want to go.
I remember the woman who was Hubbard's Staff Captain, saying "You're STILL breastfeeding!" like it was a crime and part of me was feeling bad, like I was somehow not behind all the efforts of the group 100%.
The part of me that still cared what the others in the group thought won out and I went.  I flew to England, leaving Chris and my 4-month-old baby stayed behind.
  A couple of days later, I was in England trying to go to sleep one night, when I sat straight up in bed.  It was an electric jolt I'd never experienced before, but I knew with absolute certainty that Carey was very ill.  Chris was with him, but Chris was not his Mother.  My son needed me right now and I was not there for him, in fact, I was thousands of miles away, separated by the Atlantic Ocean.
I felt trapped.  I was trapped.  I finally mentally stood up and realized I did NOT want to be there.  I recognized it was not my code of ethics that had put me here, but some set of rules that I had bought into.  I fell back in bed and wept. I cried the frustrated tears of having a sick child and being unable to do anything about it.  I was angry with the people who would separate a mother from her newborn infant and I was furious with myself for having let it happen.
I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and tried as best I could to communicate to Carey through my heart, letting him know I loved him more than the world, and I vowed never to let anyone or anything get between us, no matter what the consequences.
As the sun rose the following morning I called my husband. Carey had been very ill, just as I had known.  Chris had been up all night with him, but the fever had broken and he was now doing much better.
 Carey continued to have respiratory problems for months after that.  He spent some weeks at the local hospital in Intensive Care, under an oxygen tent, slowly healing his tiny lungs.  I don't know if the cause was my sleeping in a garage inhaling carbon monoxide and gasoline and oil fumes during the last months of my pregnancy but I certainly thought about it and wondered if I had crippled my child for life.  At least three times he was hospitalized, in addition to several visits to the Emergency Room. 
          ___________________________

Suddenly, one day in December I was removed from my position working with Staff Captain in the International Management Bureau.  I never questioned the removal; I was so relieved they had not attempted to send me back to the garage, that I didn't want to risk anything by questioning my removal. 
To my amazement, I was transferred to the Child Care Organization.  It was supposed to be a huge demotion - childcare workers were not considered high up on the pecking order.  I was thrilled.  It was not demoralizing or degrading like the RPF.  It allowed me to spend the remainder of Carey's first year with him.  I cared for him along with the children of other Sea Org parents.
When the functions of my job entailed shopping or other errands, I would bring him with me.  I adjusted the phone in our room so it worked like a baby monitor and I would let him sleep in mornings while I did paperwork in my office.  Incredibly, I felt I had the best of both worlds.  My life was in balance.  I was still a member of the Sea Org, but I was also able to be with my son all day long.
However, I also lived with an underlying fear, the knowledge that at any given moment, there could be a series of events that could thrust me once more into the position of unbearable choices.
I wanted to leave the Sea Org, but to get out with my friendships intact and my dignity secure.  I tried to discover a middle ground where this might be possible.  During Carey's first year, the moments I was ready to walk away, Chris was not, and when he wanted to leave, I saw hope in staying. Therefore, we struggled thru.  It was tough for both of us, for our family.
One day, during that first year, I experienced a wave of utter hopelessness.  I was home with Carey and desperate to leave the Sea Org.  I wanted out so badly. I called Chris that afternoon and he told me that we would talk when he got home, but he was not prepared to walk out just then.  I lay in bed and hugged Carey tightly.  Soon, I began to cry.  I gently rolled him off my stomach where he had fallen asleep and onto the middle of the bed so I would not wake him.
I stood to go to the bathroom when another flood of overwhelming emotions washed over me.  My frustration was enormous, my future uncomfortable.  I slid to the floor and continued to sob.  In my grief my thoughts ran in an endless loop - I didn't want to be in the Sea Org any longer, however, my husband did.  Should I leave and lose the love of my life, or stay and lose myself?
 I couldn't stop thinking that we should have left months ago when Chris has wanted to and if I'd only listened to him then I wouldn't be in the situation I faced today.  But then I realized that even if we had left then it was still hopeless; we had absolutely nowhere to go and no means of support.  Neither of us had any credit cards, we had no assets or even anything to sell.  We were trapped with no discernable way out.  I cried every tear I had and felt totally drained.  I was locked in a corner.  I finally stuffed all those thoughts back in the closet I'd built in the farthest reaches of my mind.  I would attempt to make the best of the situation and put a smile on my face, I would. 
A day or two later, I was walking across the same room when I had a vision.  I was in the future.  It was years down the road and I was in a Doctor's office.  I was WORKING in a Doctors' office. Chris and I seemed to have a home, to be with Corey, Carey, and incredibly another child.  I remember wondering how I would ever end up working in a Doctor's office, but I snapped back to the present with a certainty that things would not be as they were.  That in the end we would be free and on our own, TOGETHER.  And, we were going to have another child in that future.
So, no matter how dark things got after that day, and there were many dark moments, I never lost faith, for I had been shown that it would all end up right.
   Prior to that turbulent year (1979) I had had a fairly smooth time of it as a staff member, Sea Org member, and Scientologist.  I had begun in Boston and worked my way up through several positions to my final position as a personal aide to L. Ron Hubbard.  My personnel files during those years were not really worthy of note.  The Ethics File that is kept on every Staff and Public Member of Scientology was likewise minimal.  In it are filed reports of either good actions taken, or failures to measure up.  I was not the kind of person who got in trouble or did not perform well on the jobs I was given.  There were a few bumps and minor troubles, but, overall, my experience was positive.  
The most consistently bad habit I had was showing up late for roll calls or musters.  There was often little compensation, despite working long hours, but that was made up for in my mind by the compassion and care I had with my fellow staff members and the thought that I was doing good things for all mankind.  I had had taken some Scientology courses and counseling myself and found them helpful.  I wanted to share that with others and I felt that was a good thing.  I was aware of mistakes the group had made, or was making, and instances of misconduct, but since I never had expected a perfect group, that did not sway my loyalty.  I knew LRH had a dark side and could get angry and vindictive, but since I had never looked upon him as some God upon a pedestal, when he would fall or fail, it did not sway my feelings about him.  Prior to 1979, I had considered him someone just like us, a human being with both strengths and weaknesses. 
After my experiences in 1979 and 1980, however, my view began to shift.  I realized that there were, in fact, things I would not do for Scientology.  I would never again place Scientology above the proper support and care of my own child.  I was no longer the fully dedicated member I had been before.  I was a Mother now, and that, for me, was far more important than being a member of any group.




CHAPTER SEVEN	
CELEBRITY CENTRE LOS ANGELES

A year later, someone did a review that found the removal of Chris as Captain of Celebrity Centre Los had been a mistake.  It was decided that he would be returned to this job as the organization had not done well without his leadership and that his reassignment would benefit Scientology's Celebrity position.
Chris could have responded with bitterness over the years he had been separated from his son Corey, or the months spent in the degrading conditions of the garage, but that is just not the type of person he is.  Chris doesn't stay in the past; he moves forward.  He was simply so happy to be going back to where he felt he belonged that he was not going to waste anytime with past mistakes. 
Besides, his detour to Florida and to the ranks of International Management had put the two of us together, not to mention our young son, Carey. 
   Of course, I wanted to go with him.  This was not a given; the group is of more importance than any familial ties.  I knew of many couples that had been separated for years, with one being sent to a different continent while the other remained behind.  
I was very determined that the group would never again take importance over family, at least never again with mine.  I arranged it so that I was sent to Los Angeles at the same time as Chris was.  My sole purpose in Los Angeles of was to locate a person who would replace me at my job in Florida.  That way a 'trade' of sorts could be made.  The new person would take over my functions in Florida and I would be free to bring my son to Los Angeles and work with Chris at the Celebrity Centre.  
Chris was very excited about finally being reunited with his son, Corey, who had remained in Los Angeles with his Mom for these past couple of years.
	Chris was assigned to his old job of running the Celebrity Centre.  My job soon became the President of Celebrity Centre, dealing with the celebrities directly.  I had the job title of "President", so people would come to me, rather than Chris and he would be free to run the organization, helping it grow and make money each week.
We remained at Celebrity Centre for almost two years. I was the President (or Commanding Officer) of Celebrity Center.  My work involved a lot of direct contact with celebrities, both Scientology celebrities and non-Scientology celebrities.  I worked with them helping to strengthen their careers using sections of Scientology courses I had studied.  I also helped budding actors and other artists in the entertainment field build their careers and reputations.  
I had already supervised the Celebrity Centre network from a distance, so was not unfamiliar with how Celebrities are taken care of as members.  During these years, and subsequent years, I learned a lot more of what is means to be a Celebrity or to have a degree of fame or notoriety.  It is not always the walking dream most people think it is.
One Celebrity struck me deeply as an example of this.  He lived in the San Francisco area and we had sent a trained counselor to his home to work privately with him through several of the beginning counseling levels.  I went up for a weekend and spent some time with him.    
He spoke of troubles he had with "never being seen", in that when people 'saw' him, they didn't see HIM.  They saw the persona that had been created through his years of entertainment work and through the publicity machines around him.  When he went out in the world most people could not see past the fa�ade of him they had created in their minds.  He felt the few people who did get close to were often there for the money or the cachet of being close to such a big star.  With no reflection of his true self in the world or in the people close around him, he was having a hard time staying grounded.
This is a key vulnerability many Celebrities and the lifestyle they adapt.  I will say that in some ways, famous individuals can be more vulnerable to the siren call of Scientology than even I was in my youth.
Most of these stars do not know it, but prior to their first contact with Scientology they are often "targeted" as a potential recruit.  A person who is a Celebrity or a Scientologist, who is close to a specific celebrity, works with the organization to plan and slowly introduce Scientology to him or her.  Personal problems shared by the unsuspecting non-Scientologist with his Scientologist friend of peer, are relayed to trained Celebrity Centre personnel.  Sometimes a plan is worked out to arrange a party in which a Celebrity Centre staff member would attend and an introduction was made.  The staff that worked directly with celebrities were well trained and groomed.  They were extremely experienced in how to properly introduce someone to Scientology.  Sometimes, it was more straightforward with the Scientology coming right out and asking his Celebrity friend or acquaintance to meet in private with a trained Scientology.
I myself attended many parties with the intention to make a connection with a specific person, or had Celebrities brought to my office.  The person introducing us and I always had a plan and I was always briefed on this particular Celebrity's strengths and weaknesses.
I do know that as recently as several years ago the process got more streamlined.  There was a list of Celebrities compiled who were targeted for recruitment.  Celebrity Centre in Los Angeles was required to send a weekly report to International management listing progress that had been achieved during the previous week to inch along the targeted celebrity into Scientology's fold.  Whether this program exists today, I don't know, but I have little reason to think it's been discontinued.  The woman who became Katie Holmes BFF (Best Friend Forever) is actually a high-ranking Sea Org Member assigned to her, which would indicate that program's like this to continue to be the norm. 
Once a Celebrity has expressed an interest in Scientology, their initial service is chosen and delivered to them.  It is important (for all people introduced to Scientology, not just Celebrities), that these first courses or counseling are extremely effective in giving assistance to the individual in an area of his life he is having some or great difficulty with.
Some people introduced to Scientology, go no further than this introductory level, but if they are Celebrities, they are kept close track of and checked on periodically through the organization's contact person.  The person being introduced, may or may not know at the time that the 'friend' or acquaintance bringing him into the Organization gets a 10% commission on all monies paid for counseling, and a 15% commission on all monies paid for training.  This has actually been a program run by all Scientology Orgs and franchises for years, and has been a fundamental means of rewarding adherents with bringing in more and more potential recruits.  
It is important that someone new to Scientology does not hear negativity, or if they do, it is important that that negativity is handled quickly.
I found that most Celebrities have difficulty with the process of hiring and keeping their personal staff, especially in maintaining privacy.  I (when during the years I was directly on the lines) and of course the rest of Scientology Celebrity Centre staff will step up and offer assistance in the hiring and checking out the backgrounds of staff working closely with the Celebrity.  Sometimes even placing Scientologists within the Celebrities staff.
The celebrities may or may not be aware that while this may have protected them from the prying eyes of paparazzi, these staff are loyal to Scientology first and will report any negativity the Celebrity has received about Scientology so that it can be handled, or they would take care of it themselves.  While Celebrities can bring a lot of attention and good press to Scientology, if they fall away from the fold, they can bring just as much negative attention. 
 I enjoyed my work as the President of Celebrity Centre very much.  I learned much about the entertainment business and got to use the skills I had learned while working at the higher levels of Scientology with individuals desirous of expanding their careers. 
I remember one actor in particular, was hitting a slow period in his career and his phone had not rung for several weeks. We sat down to do a series of steps called a Career Consultation after a couple of hours we felt we had discovered the things that needed to be changed to get his career back on track.  Within minutes, his phone rang with a call for an audition for a good part.  Over the two years I worked there, this sort of result happened several more times.  I felt I was helping some good people get better, so they could do more good for others. 
It was these satisfying actions I was allowed to make during my stay in the Sea Org that would keep me there.  These happy times would almost make up for the time spent in the garage, or the nights spent cleaning walls and floor.  I was really out of step with the real world and had no concept that I could be doing these helpful things without the verbal abuse, lack of decent food, minimal sleep, and minimal time with my children.  
My stepson was now a regular part of our lives and that made both my husband me very happy.  My young son was growing, he was almost three, and for those few years I felt a career/motherhood balance that was working.  
Towards the middle of 1982, my two year old's day care situation became unsafe.  He would run away or climb the fence to get to me in the next building where he knew I worked.  His caretakers would not be aware he was missing for several hours.  The leaders of the Day Care Center would always communicate that they simply had too many children per caretaker.  I still felt strongly about my commitment as a member of Scientology and of the Sea Org, but I also knew that in any choices that may come my way, I would choose my son over the group.
In the fall of l982, communications, and activities from management started to become erratic.  I did not know it at the time, but there was a huge power struggle for the ultimate control of Scientology.  At our level in Los Angeles, we could only see the fallout: long-term Sea Org executives were removed from very high positions and Scientologists who had been active in orgs and franchises for years were declared Suppressive people, losing any and all Scientology assets, not to mention their personal friendships with other Scientologists. 
We began to hear of a new form of counseling, it was nicknamed "Gang Bang" security checking.  The person under question was placed in a small room, he was handed the cans of an E-Meter so areas of charge so he could be questioned vigorously.  Using the E-meter, Areas of disagreement or upset were supposedly detected by specific movements on the Meter.  But instead of the counseling being a safe procedure in which one could confess and better one self with the help of one counselor, these suspected individuals were bombarded with accusative, demeaning questions by several people at once.  In these counseling sessions, the person on the receiving end was not allowed to leave the room until the procedure was finished.  Stories were reaching us of friends we knew who had been treated like this.  People were being thrown out of the organizations and being declared suppressive left, right, and center.  There was a group established call the International Finance Police, and it was on a rampage. 


CHAPTER EIGHT
Rehabilitation Revisited

	I found myself sitting in the large reception area of the Liaison Office for the Western US.  Three of us had been called over to this senior management building from our work at the Celebrity Centre in Hollywood; Chris, Pam and I.  Chris and I ran the Celebrity Centre, and Pam was one of our divisional directors.  My heart was racing and adrenalin had started to rise when we got a call to report in the middle of a Friday afternoon.  There was work to be done, the evening's production to be organized.  Why would management want all three of us to leave immediately and go to a meeting?  
My husband told me not to worry and attempted to calm me down.  He tried his best, but I had years more experience with management than he did.  I knew a meeting like this, timed on a Friday afternoon, was never  good for someone.
They asked to see Chris and Pam first, leaving me in the lobby under the watchful eyes of a uniformed receptionist. I watched people moving in and out of the building.  The air in the lobby was charged with change.  I was aware of at least four Los Angeles area executives that had been removed from their positions in the preceding six weeks.  This new group, The Finance Police, had members here in Los Angeles turning over anything they perceived as questionable.  I was more confused than worried.  Celebrity Centre had, so far, been immune to their bullets.  Of the many Scientology organizations in Los Angeles, Celebrity Centre was running smoothly and having good success.  It was making money and had just received a high commendation from L. Ron Hubbard himself.  Still, I had worked in International Management for several years and knew how quickly the winds shifted.
A young uniformed girl with an emotionless face came to the doorway.  She motioned for me to follow her to a room down the hall.  I entered to a semi circle of serious uniformed officers.  I noticed Chris was not there, but Pam was.  No one said a single word.  One of the uniforms handed me a piece of goldenrod paper.  It was an announcement to all Sea Org members that both my husband and I had been removed from our positions at and were assigned to the Rehabilitation Project Force in Los Angeles, which was located somewhere in the basement of the large blue complex.
The uniformed man in the center of the semi-circle asked if I had any questions.  I stared back at him and said "No".  
The young woman, who had escorted me into this room, now motioned me to follow her.  We walked down the hall to a smaller room. The room contained two wooden desks and a uniformed guard sitting in a chair in the far corner.  Chris was seated at the desk next to the window and the guard.  I was told to sit down at the desk nearest the door and write up things that the person replacing me on my job would need to know.  The guard was there to ensure we neither talked with each other, nor attempted to leave.  I sat and began to write.
My mind was a swirl, moving from my now three-year-old son, to my ten-year-old stepson, and to my adamancy about never going back to this rehabilitation program again.  My hands began to shake as I realized that this might be the end of my marriage.  If I refused to participate the rehabilitation they had planned for me but Chris was willing to go, we would be forbidden to be together ever again.  What would happen to our son? I snuck a peak at Chris bent over his paper and tried to gauge his views; the guard noticed and told me to get back to my write up.
Chris got permission to go to the bathroom.  During his absence I pretended to write while I attempted to corral my mind and think of a plan.  I had to know where Chris stood.  I heard his footsteps coming down the hall and stood to leave for the bathroom myself.  I was facing Chris as he walked in.  With my back to the guard, I silently mouthed, "I'm not going".  He nodded and whispered "Me neither". 
I left for the bathroom with a lighter heart, I still did not know how we would get out of this, but at least I would still have a husband and not be alone.  I also knew we would not be going through the degradation of the Rehabilitation Project Force again.
I crossed the empty hall to the women's bathroom.  I didn't need to use the facilities; I needed to be alone.  Tears streamed down my face.  I saw in the mirror that I was becoming a visible mess, but I also saw something else; the strength of knowing that this time I was not alone. Finally, this time Chris and I both felt the same way at the same time.  We were not going back to any Rehabilitation Program.  I splashed cold water trying to regain my composure.  I attempted the cool the back of your neck trick by wadding up some paper towels and doused them in cold water, making a cold compress for the back of my neck.  I held the towels there and glanced in the mirror.  It simply brought more tears.  
I knew I had to get back to the little room or they would send someone after me.  I didn't want to be seen like this.  I wanted to at least show I still had some dignity.  They may have kicked me, but I wouldn't flinch.  I tried one final time to splash my face and took several deep breaths.  I could do this.  I had Chris slong with both Corey and Carey to think about now.  The thought of my three-year-old son almost made me tear up again, but I held it down.  I took another deep breath, smoothed my skirt, and tucked my shirt in. I felt somewhat presentable.  I would keep my head down and let my hair fall to cover my face; they wouldn't know I had been crying.
I returned to the room; the guard was still sitting on his stool reading a book, Chris was still writing, but he snuck a small smile my way.  I could feel his calm energy spreading through me.  I didn't know how we would get out of this, but I felt comfort knowing we would get out of it together.
  Someone brought us a tray of food to eat.  Since we had been removed from regular staff we weren't allowed to eat with them anymore, but we weren't yet within the confines of the Rehabilitation Unit.  We were in a sort of limbo.  I looked at the food and knew I couldn't eat a bite.  At least, I thought, this time I am not pregnant.
We continued to write down all the projects and things we had been involved in.  This would give the people taking over our jobs something to go on.  I knew from times past, however, that whatever we said would be given no credence.  The removal made everything we had to say untrustworthy.  
  Someone came to the door and asked the guard to step outside.  I could hear loud whispers through the door, but couldn't make out the words.  Chris and I used this opportunity to look at each other directly.  
"You really won't go?" I whispered.
"I really won't go."
"Thank God I was so worried.  I can't do that again."
"I know", Chris answered.
"What are we going to do?" 
"I don't know.  We'll work it out."  
The door opened and I turned back to my paper, hoping that I had not been seen speaking with Chris.
Our guard (he never introduced himself, and I had no idea of his name) said, "We are going to wait till the Celebrity Centre Staff have eaten and left the Wilcox.  (The Wilcox building was where the Celebrity Centre Staff ate and slept).  Then we'll take you over there to get some clothes for tonight.  We'll handle packing and storing the rest of your stuff over the next week or so.  So, let's see if you can finish up these write-ups now."
    We nodded and went back to our papers.
Several hours passed and someone else came to the door.  He introduced himself as Mike and said he and Gary would be driving us over to the Wilcox to get some of our things.
We asked about our three-year-old son, Carey and were told that Chris's assistant, Joanne, had taken care of him during dinner and he was back in the day care center.  He would spend this night with her.
"We will deal with that tomorrow," I thought.  I gathered my purse and we left for the Wilcox with Mike.
The drive was silent.  Mike was driving and the guard, whom I now knew to be named Gary, were in the front seat.  Chris and I were in the back seat.  In the shadows of the backseat, we held hands, but did not speak, not even a whisper.  
At the Wilcox we were taken to our 6th floor room and told to pack up the simple essential items we would need: toiletries, underwear, sneakers, and pajamas.  Mike kept looking at his watch.  We pulled as much as we thought we could into bags.  Chris also took the opportunity to get a stash of cash he had been saving.  It wasn't much, but it was over $100, a veritable fortune in those hand-to-mouth days.
Chris needed a few more items so we stopped at the local K Mart on the way back for him to buy some socks and a toothbrush.
    They drove us back to the large Scientology complex and brought us down to the basement where the Rehabilitation Offices were.  I knew this was a lot larger than some other RPF's; definitely larger than the one we had been in at the Fort Harrison in Florida.  Mike and Gary turned us over to the Bosun and left.  No good lucks or handshakes.
The Bosun is a member of the RPF himself, but he is in charge of it.  He sat us down and handed us a packet of papers.  He told us they contained the rules of being a member of the RPF as well as some legal documents for us to read and sign.
I asked her about the legal documents right away.  In 1979 we had been given forms to sign that said we were insane and wanted to do the rehabilitation of our own free will, with no coercion.  I signed them in l979, even though it was not the truth.  I felt stronger now and knew I would not be signing any such paper.
Just as I had thought, the legal papers were worded to attest that we were joining this Rehabilitation Unit because we wanted to; that we saw were messed up and wanted this chance at redemption.
   I read it and said I was not going to sign it.  Chris said exactly the same thing.  
I asked about our son, Carey.  My stepson Corey's mother Ronnie was not in Rehabilitation; I knew he was being taken care of.  Carey was three years old and had no other family than Chris and I.
We were told that although it was unusual for married couples to get assigned to the RPF together, it had happened before.  The Bosun informed us that if we were good for the initial transition of about 2 weeks in terms of the rules and regulations of the RPF, we could then get a special OK to go and visit our son twice a week for an hour each time.  The hour would include 40 minutes of travel time (which was 20 minutes in each direction).  So, essentially we were told we could not see him for two weeks, maybe more, but  "if we were good", we could have two 20-minute periods a week with him.
I said, that was not acceptable and was not going to happen.  I was not going to sign the papers saying I was there on my own will.  I was not there on my own volition.  Neither was Chris. 
My protests that Carey was barely three years old and already his supervision at the day care center was not suitable fell on deaf ears.  The fact that he would sometimes escape by climbing the fence and wander around looking for me was something I would not tolerate. 
 A succession of people took turns attempting to change our minds.  I remember one woman in her forties, telling me that children are Thetans (spiritual beings), that they are responsible for their own conditions, and that my son would make it.  She had a daughter who had gotten into poison; the mother blamed the child.  Her child may have had a five-year-old body, but she was a timeless spirit and knew what she was doing.
I looked at this woman and felt like I had arrived in the Twilight Zone.  I thought of how I could escape but realized that even if I could get through the people that were between the door and me, I did not know this large building and had no idea how to make it back to the outdoors.  I was trapped.
Finally, the verbal handling stopped at 10PM.  The Bosun came back in the room and said, 
"That's it. We have to assign you to your units and get you moving forward on the RPF program." 
Chris looked up at him and said, "The form says that we have to sign these legal documents before we can do the next step".
"We'll just pretend you signed them," was his response.
I couldn't' believe he actually said that.  Chris squeezed my hand again and whispered, "It's going to be all right."
We were assigned to two different units.  I was taken to the women's dorm.  It was a small room but contained at least four triple bunk beds.  I was given a middle bunk in one of the beds near the wall and far away from the door.  I got into my pajamas and crawled under the covers.  The room smelled of 12 women, and the night creaked with beds moving, sneezes, and coughs.  I knew I was not staying in the rehabilitation unit; I just hoped I would never have another night in that room.  I fell into a fitful sleep.
We were awakened at dawn to do chores before breakfast.  Chris and I were sent to clean a large empty hall.  We needed to move the chairs and sweep under the tables and then replace the chairs.  A young tattooed man was already working there.  We spoke with him, even though it was against the rules.  He was not in the Rehabilitation unit, and should not have spoken to us, but he did.  We learned he was new to staff. He had been a drug addict and was fresh out of jail and a homeless shelter.  He was hired a few days before; he did not know what Scientology was, but he liked the people, the food was good, and the bed was better than at the shelter. 
   I went back to work wondering what kind of a group this was becoming.
  Chris and I went back to sweeping until we were gathered for breakfast.  The Los Angeles RPF contained about 75 people at that time and ate in a long narrow room near the kitchen.  Since Chris and I were in different units, we could not sit together; we were at opposite ends of the room.  I pushed the food around my plate, but could not eat a bite.  I surveyed the motley group I found myself with.  There wasn't anyone that I recognized.  Although I'd been in Los Angeles for about 18 months, Celebrity Centre was located at a distance from the other organizations.  There was little interaction.  I could hear chatter around me, but none of it registered.  
	When the meal ended, several people were assigned the job of clearing the tables.  Both Chris and I got the job and it gave us a few moments to pass some whispered communication.  Chris told me he had a plan.  After our morning chores, we would once again help set up the dining room.  He told me that we should wait until everyone was seated and focused on eating their food, and then separately mention that we forgot something in the galley.  The room was long and we were at opposite ends, with different doors.  The hope was that no one would notice we both were leaving.  We were to meet up in the galley by the large dishwashing equipment.
	The rest of the morning, I was filled with nervous energy.  I was put back to sweeping the floor and tried to just keep my attention on that, while I nervously chewed on our escape plan.  What if they noticed?  What if we couldn't find our way out of the building?  What if a guard stopped us?
  After what seemed like hours and hours, it was lunchtime.  Just as we had thought, Chris and I were part of the set up.  When everyone was seated, chatting with each other, passing condiments and sandwiches, I saw Chris leave the door at the other end of the room.  I looked to my assigned  'buddy' on my right and said, "Oh, I forgot something in the kitchen, I'll be right back" and headed out the door at my end of the room.
I saw Chris standing by the dishwasher waiting for me.  There was no one else around.  
   Chris grabbed my hand and we started quickly walking out of the kitchen.  I had absolutely no idea where in the building complex I was, much less where the closest exit would be.  Luckily, Chris did, so I just followed.  We were careful to move quickly, but not so quickly as to draw attention to ourselves.  
We snaked our way through several underground halls and finally Chris pushed open a door and we were outside.  We were on the east side of the building, a block from the Los Angeles Children's hospital.  There were still a lot of Scientologists around so we acted as normal as we could as we made our way up the street and headed past Sunset Boulevard and up to Hollywood Boulevard.
	When we were about a block away, we began to run.  We made it to the bus stop on Hollywood Boulevard and hoped that we could navigate a bus to the day care where our younger son was being kept.
  I had never ridden a bus in Los Angeles before, but Chris seemed to know what he was doing, and it was not too difficult to find the day care; it was a straight path down Hollywood and up on Franklin.  We worried that someone would catch up with us while we waited at the bus stop, but there was nothing we could do at that point.  
	The bus came and as it pulled away; we both took a deep breath and held hands.  We got off the bus about a block away from Carey's day care center.  We went into a donut shop and sat down with a cup of coffee to collect our thoughts and plan what we were going to do next.  I usually picked Carey up from daycare, so we decided that it would appear more normal for me to be the one to go in and get him.  I was to act calm and nonchalant, like nothing was out of the ordinary.  Chris would remain in the donut shop and serve as back up in case anyone had called ahead or RPF members had been sent there to stop us.  If the plan went as we hoped, I would just collect Carey and meet Chris back at the donut shop.  
	I walked toward the childcare entrance slowly.  The Child Care organization had its own entrance, but it was connected to the Celebrity Centre.  I was not only concerned about people having been sent over from the Rehabilitation Unit, I was also concerned about being seen by anyone from the Celebrity Centre, since it was well known what had happened to us.
    I made it through the front doors without being noticed.  The few adults that were around were busily involved with the children in their care.  I headed down the hall to the room where Carey was usually supervised.  I could feel my deep breathing; I was praying for no interference.  "Please, God; Please God," was my simple refrain.  I found him in a large group of children.  His nanny was covering for another nanny's lunch break, so she actually had thirty kids in her care.  My urge was to run to him, he was playing, but as soon as he saw me he flew into my arms.  I glanced at the nanny and said, "I'll bring him back later."  She nodded and went back to cleaning the mess on the floor. 
   It felt so good to hold my son. His eyes lit up as soon as he saw I was his mom.  He snuggled into my neck as I carried him back out the door.  I felt safer now, because I knew that if I were stopped at this point, they would never get Carey away from me.
    Carey and I made it back to the donut shop without being noticed.  Now the three of us sat there.  Carey was happy with a donut and some juice while Chris and I looked at each other and wondered what to do next.
   We had the clothes on our back and about $100.  We decided we would go to the movies.  It would be warmer, and would give us some time to think of what to do next.  We saw the action movie Tron.  
  We sat in the darkened movie.  Carey was the only one watching the movie, enjoying the bonus time with his Mom and Fad.  My thoughts were wild and random.  We had very little money and nowhere to go.  I remembered when Chris had wanted to leave the RPF in Clearwater, and I felt we had no options.  Now, here we were, in Los Angeles, just as Chris had wished, but with no money and still no options. We didn't have family with resources to bail us out, even if we could get over our sense of injured pride.  We made our mess, and it was ours to sort out.
   The movie ended and we went back out to the now darkening light of Hollywood.  It was then that I realized it was Halloween.  The streets were filled with costumed people on their way to celebrate.
    We walked to the Wilcox building, where all the staff at Celebrity Center ate and slept.  By the time we got there it was dark.  We sat in the shadows across the street and watched the staff make their way to their jobs at the Celebrity Centre.  By seven PM, the majority of staff had cleared out and we made our way across the street.  We could already see through the plate glass windows that there were people from the Rehabilitation Force waiting for us. Chris's son Corey was sitting in the lobby visibly upset. 
We found out later that the people from the RPF had been telling Corey about how bad his dad was and that his dad was in big trouble.  Corey was nine years old.  Ronnie, Chris's ex-wife, and Corey's mom stepped in and stopped the attacking chatter.  She told Corey, that no matter what happened his dad was still his dad and was a good person.
     We finally stood up and made our way across the street and entered the Wilcox lobby.  Chris refused to speak with the people from the Rehabilitation Project force and went straight to Corey.  While Chris and Corey talked I sat in a chair in the lobby with Carey in my lap.  Chris comforted Corey until he felt calm enough to go off with his Mom.  Only then did Chris turn his attention to the people from the RPF.  He said, "We're not going back. We need to go upstairs and pack our things."  Chris and I and Carey got in the elevator and the two guards from the Rehabilitation Force got in with us.  We made our way back to the sixth floor in silence.  We walked down the long narrow hallway to our rooms at the end.  Most married Sea Org members lived in one room, with one private bath, but because Chris was the Captain of the Celebrity Centre we had more of a small apartment.
	We had a small couch in the living room and a couple of chairs.  The two people from the RPF and Chris and I talked briefly.  Chris re-iterated that we were not going to the Rehabilitation Project Force ever again.  I left to put Carey to sleep in the bedroom.  I could hear bits of the conversation.  The gist of what I was able to make out was that Chris was still saying No, we are not going back there, and the two people from the RPF were trying to talk him into it.  When I re entered the living room I saw that Chris had tears streaming down his face.  I went to sit beside him on the couch, held his hand, and joined him with tears of my own.  It was heartbreaking to see that over ten years of each of our lives had been given to this group that we were now being forced out of, with nothing to show for it.  We felt we were left with no choice but to leave.  We were not in Clearwater anymore, and now there were two children to think about.  The coldness with which these people attempted to change our minds, to allow our young son to become parentless for an undetermined amount of time made my blood boil.  They might have thought we would eventually see the light, but that was never going to be acceptable compromise when it came to our children.
	I realized that I had changed a lot since I had become a Mom.  In my commitment to care for my son and in the deep love, I felt stronger, I had actually become stronger.  I could say No to this group, no matter the consequences.  I had come a long way since the garage in Clearwater.
Finally, at midnight, with both sides at an impasse the two people from the RPF left.  They made it clear to both of us that if they left the room, this night, without us, that we would both be declared Suppressive People.
   Suppressive people are outcast and shunned by all Scientologists.  Even Scientologists who did not work for the Scientologists were forbidden to speak with us, let alone hire us to work in their companies.
	The three of us, Carey, Chris and I slept in our bed together that night. In the morning Chris went to speak with Ronnie, Corey's Mom.  He told her of our decision and that once we were settled we would be back to either get Corey or work out how they would share custody.  Then Chris went down to the payphone to make a few phone calls to people he knew who used to be in the Sea Organization, but had left some time before us.  These old friends were now established out in the real world with apartments, cars, and jobs.  One friend offered us her couch to sleep on.  We packed up what we felt was important to bring with us, within the limits of what we could carry - along with a three year old.
    We rode a city bus to our friend Kathy's house.  By car, the trip would have taken thirty minutes, but we had no car and had to use public transportation.  There were several changes of buses.  With our bags of belongings and toddler, we looked right at home with other Angelino's on the bus.
   We finally made it to our friend's apartment.  It was a very nice town home in the middle of the Los Angeles Valley.  I thought it was a palace.  Jaimie and Kelly, the kids, could simply sit in their own kitchen and eat snacks or meals of whatever they chose.
   Al was another old friend, no longer in the Sea Organization, who came to our aid.  He called Ken Lipton.  Ken had once worked with both Al and Chris and knew them very well.  Ken now held a high position in the Commodore's Messenger Organization (CMO).  Lipton was senior to the International Finance Police and he was able to get approval for us to come back to the Scientology complex to work in the kitchens, and sleep in a room there while we got a committee of evidence.  A committee of evidence is like a jury trial, where it would be determined if the orders to be removed from our jobs and sent to rehabilitation were correct.
	Our only other option was to be declared Suppressive Persons.  If we did not take the option to go back and work in the kitchen, we would instead got declared suppressive, even these good Celebrity Centre friends, Kathy, Al, and Kenny Lipton would be forced to disconnect from us and to withdraw any aid whatsoever.
     It was not much of a choice.  If we could get out of the group without getting on the list of people declared suppressive, we could at least get jobs with those we knew who owned or ran companies outside of Scientology.  In addition, we would not be separated from Carey, and we would be able to see Corey and make a real home for him.  We would not return to the RPF and would have the freedom to wear regular clothes and no longer be under guard.
    Al picked us up from Kathy's town home and drove us over to the blue Scientology complex.
   We had our various bags of clothing and were shown to where we would sleep.  It had originally been a high ceiling hospital room, with large windows overlooking Hollywood.  It now held about five of the triple bunk beds, but for the moment was empty of people.  Perhaps the people that used to live here had been sent to the RPF.
  We were also introduced to our new boss in the kitchen.  We were going to be assigned to running the dishwasher.  I actually found it to be not unpleasant work in the large kitchen, now that I was not a waddling pregnant woman.  
     Chris and I took turns playing with and taking care of Carey while the other one of us worked.
   Occasionally we were summoned to the office taken over by the International Finance Police.  We could see tacked on bulletin boards the daily list of those declared suppressive.  We watched the names of long-term members of the group as they were added.  It was surreal.  I personally knew and was friends with about half of the people being declared suppressive.  I no longer had the cognitive dissonance of my early days when I struggled with Tom Atlee's kindness vs. his suppressiveness.  I knew these people were not suppressive, any more than Tom Atlee had been.  This was something else, this was an internal power struggle, and the nice guys were not winning.
During this time the International Finance Police held s huge meeting in San Francisco.  They took over several privately owned Scientology franchises, demanded money from others, and declared suppressive right on the spot, several franchise holders.  The Franchise Holders were declared suppressive on the spot for things as simple as questioning the actions of David Miscavaige and the International Finance Police.
David Miscavaige and Bill Franks had had a show down with L. Ron Hubbard's wife, Mary Sue Hubbard, and after much drama, Mary Sue (the wife of L. Ron Hubbard) even backed down.  From the highest to the lowest levels of Scientology, chaos reigned.
	Meanwhile my father was retiring from his job as school superintendent back in the small New England town I was raised in.  My mother had paid for my airline ticket to go back for the celebration and there was no longer a high-powered job that I couldn't be spared from.
  A day or two before I left Los Angeles for Boston one of the assistants to the International Finance Police asked us into his office for a meeting.  He showed us a telex order from the highest levels of Scientology.  This person had commanded that Chris and Nancy Many be gotten out of Los Angeles immediately.  Our very presence in the city was upsetting to the staff at Celebrity Centre.  We were to be sent back to Clearwater, Florida for our committee of evidence.  It was a surprising order, but no more shocking than the other things that had been going on.  The assistant told us privately and off the record that we were going to have a better chance for justice in Florida anyway, because the committee in Los Angeles had already been set up with a minimum of two International Finance Police, so the findings of guilt was a sure thing.
	I left for my pre-scheduled trip to Boston.  My father had been an educator for many years and had run the school system of the same town for twenty years.  Given the usual four to seven year life span of a school superintendent, this was no small feat.
 It was wonderful to be around my family once again.  Of course, I said nothing to them of the drama circulating in my life.  How could I even begin to convey the experiences?  They were unreal even to me.
   I watched and listened to what the people of the community had to say about my father, both as an educator and as a leader of other educators.  I listened to them speak of how he had changed the town for the better, helped grow a tiny town community into a small town by its reputation for an excellent school system.  The town honored him in many ways, one of which was to name a school after him.
    I thought of the difference between this man and L. Ron Hubbard.  Not just the Hubbard that the public saw knew and read about, but Hubbard the father, Hubbard the husband.  I was kproud of my father that day.  I felt that he represented how individuals could bring change and good things to the world through their honesty and good works.  I listened as teacher after teacher spoke of my father and how his confidence in them and encouragement of them had driven them on to higher achievements.
The words of Ralph Waldo Emerson came back to me "To Laugh often and much, to win the respect of intelligent people and the affection of children. ...To find the best in others, to leave the world a bit better, whether by a healthy child, a garden path... to know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived.  This is to have succeeded!"  It was clear then, in my mind that my days in the Sea Org were over.  I just hoped I could get out without the dreaded Suppressive declare.
    Prior to leaving Boston, I met with my dear friend Joanna Atlee and her husband Tom.  They had left the Sea Org several months before and were living in Boston.  Joanna was back in college pursuing her degree.  They were putting their lives together.  Joanna had run the Child Care Org with me at Flag for that first year of Carrey's life.  She had previously been a cook for L. Ron Hubbard.  Cooking for L. Ron Hubbard had a very high turn over, but she had survived longer than most.  
   Just meeting with them gave me hope for the future.  I knew I still had to go back and complete this Committee of Evidence thing, but at least I felt that life on the outside was survivable.
  	Chris, Carey and I arrived back at the Flag Land Base in Clearwater, Florida.  We were given a room at the Quality Inn, where we had lived just a few years earlier and where the nursery and day care center for the children was still established.
	We were housed in the room that belonged to Dave and Tina Meyers.  Tina had been declared suppressive, so was not allowed on the premises.  Her husband wasn't declared, but somehow had gotten permission to speak with her while she got a committee of evidence to either clear her of the suppressive declare or to confirm it.  I never saw them, but was told they had rented a trailer in the trailer park next door and that is where they lived.
    Our three-year-old, Carey, was not allowed to enter the Day Care center.  Not only did they not have room for him, but, we were no longer official Flag Staff, so he was an unauthorized child.  Chris and I took turns watching Carey while one of us worked.  Chris worked in the kitchen located at the QI.  It fed adults and children both breakfast and dinner, but fed only the children and Nannies at lunch.  I operated the small switchboard in the front office, when I was not caring for Carey.
   We would call the International Justice Chief who was responsible for putting together our Committee of Evidence in Florida, but progress was slow.
   Meanwhile from our position in the outer realms of the Scientology world, we watched and heard of the turmoil that was going on.  One Committee of Evidence found a person innocent.  David Miscavaige did not like that finding, so he sent all the members of the Committee to the Rehabilitation Force themselves and convened a new set of Committee of Evidence members.  These knew better than to find the interested party innocent.
  I heard of entire departments being removed from their position and sent to the Rehabilitation force en masse.
   I heard of a woman who was an executive in the Estates Organization.  She had a three-month-old baby.  After a grueling interrogation by some of the Finance Police, I heard she, along with her baby were ordered removed from the building - at 2AM, in the middle of a rainstorm.  That was the worst story I heard.  I heard she had no money and nowhere to go.  I do not know what happened after that night.  
	We watched as this chaos brewed around us.  I asked how the organizations were doing internationally and, as expected, they were plummeting.  It is difficult to achieve a productive organization when personal vendettas are ongoing.
   We finally had some visitors, two people from the Rehabilitation Project Force at Flag.  They arrived at our door one morning to let us know that it had been decided that we could still get our Committee of Evidence on whether our assignment to the Rehabilitation Project Force was correct or not, but we would have to get it while being members of the RPF.  We refused.  We asked what our other options were and they said that we could get a form and leave the Sea Org in such a way that we would not be put on the list of Suppressives.  We decided to do that.
 	We would owe huge amounts of money to the Sea Organization, but would not be shunned.  We would be able to find some sort of work from people we knew.  They would not be forbidden to speak with us.
    We had a few people we knew that we could borrow money from.  I celebrated my thirtieth birthday on December 10th and two days later we boarded a bus in Clearwater to take us to Chris' parents in upstate New York.
	Chris and Taylor and I sat in the longer rear seat.  I remember the tightness in my gut as I sat in the back of that bus.  I was afraid that we weren't going to make it away, that someone was going to arrive at the bus station and tell us that it was all a mistake and that we had to come with him or her.  Finally the bus driver closed the door and pulled out of the station.  Chris and I watched out the back window as Clearwater slipped into the background.  With each mile that passed between our bus and Clearwater, the knots in my stomach lessened and lessened.
The bus ride took days. Two days on a bus with a three year old is a bit stressful, but we were so happy to be getting away.  The further we pulled away from the state of Florida, the greater the relief.  I was leaving ten years of my life behind, yet I hadn't felt such peace in a long, long time.  I was also so grateful that Chris and I had made it out together.  I had kept the vow I had made in England to Carey.  I would never again put the group above him, his care, or our family.


CHAPTER NINE
CHRISTMAS 1982-EARLY 1983

Our plan was to spend Christmas with Chris' parents in New York, then see my family in Boston and hopefully join up with Chris' brother Steve in New Hampshire.  Steve, his wife Bonnie and young daughter Vanessa had left the Sea Org months before we did.  They had an apartment and both had jobs and were creating a future for themselves.
  We had hardly any money left after buying the bus tickets we needed to leave Florida, maybe a hundred dollars we'd somehow borrowed to start our new life.  For Christmas, we went to the Goodwill store and found ourselves some warm winter clothing.  Carey got a new winter coat and a couple of Fisher Price toys.
   We did not know what lay before us, but we enjoyed this first Christmas outside of the Sea Org as a family with all the hopes and dreams for a new future. After the holidays, we visited with my family in Boston for a week before making our way up to Manchester, New Hampshire to move in for a while with Bonnie and Steve.  They themselves were still struggling to get established in the real world.  If we could help them with the rent for a while that would give them a boost, as well as giving us a much needed beginning.
	They had a small apartment with 2 bedrooms, so they arranged for their daughter to sleep wit them, while, Chris, Carey and I used the second bedroom.  Despite the cramped quarters, it was wonderful.  We were living with our family, without the intense stress and pressure we had been under for the past four months.  Despite having nothing but the clothes o our back and the love of our families, we had a life of our own.  We felt free and happier then we had in years.
	Chris has never had a job outside the Sea Org except as a musician.  In his youth he'd made money as an organist for five local churches, played in house bands (in the Catskills) other than the Sea Org, he was a street musician in New Orleans.  There wasn't much call for that in the winter months of New Hampshire, so he got his first job as a vidjeo clerk in the Mall.
  I got a job as a waitress, not only because I had experience, but also because I knew there would be some money each day as well as food, which could sometimes be brought home.  
   We muddled through for several weeks.  The day we broke into our children's piggy bank for food money was when I felt we had hit bottom.  I picked up the phone and called some people I knew in Los Angeles to see about borrowing some money.  Chris had a close friend, Bill Yaude, who not only was able to help us with money, but arranged jobs for us back in Los Angeles.
Chris' job was working for a wealthy Scientology investor and real estate broker, who also owned several apartment buildings.  Part of Chris's payment package would be a rent-free apartment in one of his complexes.  I got a part time job working as an assistant for a lawyer we both knew, another close friend of ours.  We said our emotional goodbyes to our East Coast family and flew back to Los Angeles.
   We found a beat up old white Toyota sedan and bought it with $500 borrowed money.  We eventually dubbed it the Death Car because the hood had the habit of flying up and covering the drivers' sight of all traffic in front.  This happened to me twice on the Los Angeles freeway.  I was lucky to be able to squint through the little opening between the hood and the top of the car to maneuver off to the break down lane.  We kept the hood chained down after that.
  Chris took buses, but was soon able to afford a cheap Moped, which, while slow in the hills of Los Angeles streets, got him back and forth from his job.
   We found day care for Carey and were able to have Corey move back in with us once again.  We worked out a plan with Ronnie, Corey's mom, that Corey would change schools and move in with us during the week as soon as his current school year was over.  The public school for the neighborhood we were in was one of the better ones in Los Angeles and had highly tested students.
   We were so involved in the day-to-day challenges of simply surviving; we really didn't have much time to pay attention to the many changes occurring within Scientology.  We would hear bits and pieces, but nothing definitive.
   One day I saw an order that declared David Mayo - the senior most technical person in all of Scientology- a Suppressive Person.  A Scientology issue was released entitled "The Story of a Squirrel". (A squirrel being a derogatory slur from Scientology meaning that he altered the steps of true Scientology.  It went on for pages and pages and was ruthless in its trashing of him and his actions.  He was accused of everything from having a sexual affair, to stealing money and keeping the cash in a shoebox in his closet.  I decided to reserve my personal opinion until I heard David's side of things.  He was a person I knew and respected.
   Soon, David Mayo published an issue of his own.  In it he announced that he was opening up his own center, would be using the copyrighted materials of LRH, and would deliver these materials in a safe environment. This, obviously, was unsanctioned by the owners of the copyrights, but was a splinter group and in the big picture, not unusual when it comes to a new developing religion.
 I felt very strongly about copyrights, and while I felt it was David Mayo's right to leave Scientology, and certainly to even publicly state all the reasons for his leaving, I did not feel he had the right to take and use someone else's copyrights without licensing.  I felt that David's intentions and fight against the tyranny, some of which I had experienced, were correct, but I also felt that the way he was going about it was very wrong and could only cause further damage to the group.  I still felt that Scientology had some shreds of usefulness in it.  I could not at that moment support the splintering of the Scientology as a whole.
      I had worked for Scientology for ten years, operating at the highest levels.  I knew all the players in the battle for control, but didn't really have a clear side for myself.  After years of living the structured life of the Sea Org, my husband and I were busy getting situated in our new life.  We needed jobs, cars, a home, furniture, and childcare for our son.  I did not have time to think this breach through.  I honestly did not take a clear side until David Mayo opened his alternative center in Santa Barbara.  The fact that David Mayo and his group were violating copyrights owned by Scientology did piss me off, and to me they were taking advantage of the knowledge and experience they had for heir own personal gain. 
So, when I was asked to make a visit to his facility, undercover and on behalf of the Scientology, I willingly agreed.  Part of me was naive and felt that this was a simple misunderstanding and that if I could help repair the breach that would be a good thing.
Another part of me had already had quite a lot of experience with deep undercover work performed by the Intelligence Bureau of Scientology.  I felt fine about doing this work, as long as I was not going to be required to do anything actually illegal.  In my previous experience with the Intelligence Branch of the Guardian's Office, I had at one time been asked repeatedly to either commit or organize a break into Paulette Cooper's Psychiatrist's office in Boston and remove a copy of her psychiatric file.  The pressure for this operation was immense with daily telephone calls coming to Boston from higher ups asking that her psychiatric records be gotten.  I refused to do it, as it would have involved breaking the law.  I learned a basic thing about morals of a group that is not entirely ethical at the top.  I was quickly removed from my job and other people more willing to turn their heads to committing criminal acts in the name Scientology were put in my place.  The file was eventually removed and copied.  Several weeks later and another break in was done to return the file. 
Within a week of that special operation being completed, the Team in Boston got a letter of High Commendation from L. Ron Hubbard himself.
The new regime of Scientology expressed the view that they were not like the old Guardian's Office, and I was reassured that this was going to be very different.  With that agreement, I arranged to go up to Santa Barbara and pay a visit to David Mayo's new, unsupervised, and unlicensed endeavors.

 h
CHAPTER TEN
ESPIONAGE
  During my first visit to David Mayo's centre in Santa Barbara some old friends welcomed me with open arms.  I spent a wonderful afternoon at the pretty center in Santa Barbara.  Part of me was happy to see the relaxed atmosphere of the center, a much different flavor than the driven, controlling, military like pace of the Scientology Orgs.  I had to remind myself that this might all be well and good, but that these people were selling materials and services that were copyrighted to another.  That was not right in my book, no matter how well justified the reasoning was.
I returned to Los Angeles to report in to my handler, Gary.  Gary was the lead Missionary for the Religious Technology Center (RTC).  He ran all the attacks on the factions that had drifted and splintered from Scientology.  It was made clear to me in that very first debriefing phone call, that I, myself, had been being watched.  There were obviously other people that had already been positioned there.  They had been watching me and reporting on all my actions.  I never knew the identities of all the people that RTC sent into the 'other camp', but I knew they always covered their bases with more than one, watchers watching watchers.
The fact that I had private and personal meetings with the people running the center prompted RTC to ask me to continue.
Over the next several years, I did many covert projects for the internal and hidden intelligence department of Scientology.  I would meet with various people, gather information, and report what was found.  I befriended people close to the leaders of the several independent groups. 
Those that left mainstream Scientology educated me as to why they had chosen the path they had.  I learned of horrific abuses heaped on executives in Scientology who had not wanted to support the drive of David Miscavaige to take over leadership of Scientology.  These abuses truly happened, causing me to rethink the 'rightness' or 'wrongness' of each side.  Was I on the wrong side?  I would discuss these concerns with my handler, Gary, very frankly.  He never backed off from admitting that these atrocities had indeed happened to some of these individuals, but he also admitted that it had been wrong and that the new leadership was trying its best in these trying times.  The fact that he did not back off from the admission of faults on the new regimes, hands did much to assuage my concerns.
  In addition, the fact that David Mayo and his group had no legal right to the materials they were promoting and selling, kept me in the fold, spying and reporting back to RTC on a variety of subjects and areas.
I was taken into the confidences of RTC, in that they had two agents working at David Mayo's center full time, Bob Mithoff and his wife, Sammy.  Sometimes actions would be coordinated between the three of us, or information freely given back and forth.  I was sometimes present for Bob's weekly meetings with Gary, his RTC handling and the payment of his support money.

      ______________________________

There came a point where my support for RTC's actions began to plummet.  RTC was in litigation with David Mayo's center and had just come under a restraining order concerning contacting or coming within a certain number of yards of the building.  I knew this was in place, yet I was still asked to go up that weekend.  I questioned this, citing that this in itself would be illegal.  I was not pushed or coerced and did not go myself in violation of the restraining order, but the entire time that court order was in place, Scientology continued to violate it with at least the undercover spies Bob and Sammy, and possibly others about whom I was not directly aware of.
I was involved with some things directly, but with other thing actions, I was only privy after the fact.  Often I heard the story from both sides, each with their own spin on it.
  Alex and Maude Castillo were two very good people I had known during my time in the Sea Org.  I had worked directly with Alex Castillo and always found him to be a straight up, sweet person.  He was a Mexican national; his wife, Maude, was an American citizen. Scientology arranged for Alex to be arrested by the Immigration authorities to be deported to Mexico based on some minor discrepancies in his paperwork.  I was told this by members of RTC who were happy with how upset Maude and Alex had been.  Maude was crying as she watched the bus carrying Alex pulled away, Alex with his hands reaching out the window.  The individuals relaying this scene to me were laughing at the pain they had inflicted on these two people, the pain they had been put through.  This action by RTC, along with the violations of the court order, slowly made me suspect their real intentions and made me question my support of them.
On the other hand, being within the inner confines of the splinter organizations did not create a desire to join them either.  I was at the home of a witness against Scientology in a court case when she returned from spending an afternoon in deposition.  She bragged about how she had lied to the Scientology attorneys and laughed about how there was nothing they could do to her.  She said that she could not remember things, and how could they prove the fact that she recalls or not.  She was very proud of her dishonesty and how she had easily gotten away with it and perjured herself.
	I learned how two people from one of the splintering factions had dressed up in Sea Org Uniforms and simply walked into an advanced Scientology Center in Europe.  They then requested copies of Scientology's confidential materials.  They acted with such an aura of authority and confidence that the materials were simply handed over.  Copies of these ill-gotten gains were then shipped anonymously to ex scientologists all over the world.  The people, who took them or received them, could not stop laughing over how easy it was to accomplish the theft.
I was present when several people were fired from a software company because they were on the wrong side of the division within Scientology.  The company executives had quietly left mainstream scientology and were now supporting the splintering factions.  They fired every employee and outside provider who was loyal to mainstream Scientology.  They did not tell them the truth as to their firing, because they knew that that was illegal to do and they did not want to be sued.
	Jon Horwich (L.Ron Hubbard's son-in law, the same one who had been spared the assignment to the Rehabilitation Project Force) had been sent to meet with a former member, Alan Buchanan, to attempt to bring him back into the fold, or, at the very least, to lighten the attacks.  Instead, Jon listened to what the departing factions had to say and found much to agree.  I was told it took major efforts from the top echelon of Scientology to get Jon back within the group. 

       _______________________________________

   I was feeling confused, and uncertain about both sides when I invited Abigail to my home for a weekend.  Abigail was someone I knew from the Sea Org, though not well.  She had sometimes acted in a callous manner in her position in L. Ron Hubbard's Personal PR department.  Several close friends of mine had been the recipient of her harsh handlings.  I did not have any qualms about spending time with her, gathering what information I could and relaying it back to the Scientology Office of Special Affairs.  She and I had met at David Mayo's Santa Barbara Center and had kept in touch.  She lived an hour or so south of Los Angeles, and the idea of a weekend was arranged.  We could spend some time together and go shopping.
My handler at this time was Donna Fifield who worked at Scientology's International Office of Special Affairs - in the Covert Intelligence Unit.  A few days prior to the weekend, we met so that I could be briefed on what was known and what information was sought after.  Abigail had testified against Scientology in some major law cases.  She had also cooperated with the IRS and the FBI in their efforts to gather information on illegal Scientology activities.  Abigail had had a very high position, working directly and indirectly for years with L. Ron Hubbard, so the information she could and did share was harmful to the Scientologists.  Donna briefed me on certain things they already knew about Abigail.  I was amazed at the depth of personal information had, down to her personal sexual practices.  I was surprised, yet also felt it a violation that so much had been gathered on this one person, knowing that if they dug this deeply with her, they would and did dig deeply with anyone, myself included.  I was uncomfortable but didn't express any reservations.  I felt in some way that Scientology was justified in attempting to curtail Abigail.  She was, after all, betraying L. Ron Hubbard personally and taking actions to assist in the demise of Scientology.  I felt that even with all its flaws, it was still a group with something valid to offer and didn't deserve to be destroyed.  
Scientology was especially interested in an upcoming television show they had heard that 60 minutes was doing.  They had heard that Abigail was involved and wanted me to find out as much as I could about the questions asked, the direction the story was taking, and possible timing and airing of the show.
Abigail came to my door with her suitcase.  She seemed like a normal person, but at the forefront of my mind was the fact that she had worked in the personal PR office of L. Ron Hubbard.  Some childhood imprints of "Tattle tale Tattle Tale, hanging on a cow's tail" ran through my head.  She had been in a position of trust and had betrayed that.  I was never comfortable with people who did that: I was never comfortable when I had done it myself.  
Growing up in a large family, its funny the dynamics that develop and in mine a Tattle Tale was not welcome.  Even if you were telling of the most heinous of crimes, a tattletale was somehow worse than the culprits themselves, and yet here I was, faced with the biggest tattletale Scientology had ever had.  
She seemed nice though: beautiful, sure of herself, put together.  She seemed like a person I could have as a friend. I pushed my different thoughts aside and welcomed her into my house hoping she would tell me many juicy things that I could then relay to OSA.  Somehow that tattle tale connection of what I myself was doing was not clear to me.  
We had dinner; we talked of mundane things and of not so mundane things.  She opened up to me about her journey out of Scientology and how she had felt so lost and traumatized at first by the treatment that one night she just lost it, and was lost in uncontrollable grief, spending the night being comforted by a friend.  This touched a chord of empathy inside, because I had also withstood that treatment.  By now, I had heard enough horror stories of what Scientologists did to people who were not totally with the program that I believed her.  I started to feel for what she had been through.  I found myself walking in her shoes a bit. I quickly caught myself; reminding myself of the friends she had been mean to and had harmed.  This brought me back to the reality that she was an enemy and that she had crossed a line that should not have been crossed.
But still, Abigail was not what I expected.  The division in Scientology had created several camps, none of which I found fully appealing.  She did not fall into any of those.  Instead, as we discussed things, I found that she had an entirely different point of view, one that echoed back to my Christian upbringing and my spiritual and mystical explorations.  She took a larger view of the situation.  People were people, including L. Ron Hubbard.  They had their positives and their negatives, just as we all did.  She had been reading books by Shirley McClain and others from a Los Angeles Metaphysical Bookstore called the "Bodhi Tree."
We went shopping.  We went to shops in Pasadena that I had never been to but that I found I enjoyed.  We had things in common.  I asked her about her philosophy of life and found that what she said touched my deepest self.  It reminded me of how I felt many years before, before Scientology, and even before my hippy days.  She felt that life was a school, that we are all here to teach and to learn, and that we all have to take the consequences of our actions.  She said that L. Ron Hubbard was just a person who had his positives as well as his negatives and that he would have to stand for what he had done, the good, and the bad.  The fact that he had done some good did not, in her mind, outweigh the harm that he had caused some people, real harm.  Some of the activities he had been involved with were illegal.  He would have to stand up and be held accountable at some point, just like the rest of us.
What struck me was the absence of malice, the lack of hatred, or any frothing at the mouth.  She did not take a black and white view.  She was so different from any of the anti Scientologists I had met with and been with up to this point.  It was so different from the vicious attitudes that Scientology had perpetuated towards people who were not with the party line.
She was speaking to me.  She was speaking to the me who had felt many of these things before my years of Scientology. 
We were driving back from shopping in Pasadena and she told me that she knew that RTC had sent people to spy on her.  My heart went into my mouth.  "Does she know that I'm undercover, that I am one of those people sent to spy on her?"
I also remembered the personal things that Donna had briefed me on before I met with her.  I suddenly walked a few more steps in her shoes and saw how her life had been since she decided she wanted to do something else other than Scientology.  
"I gave her something," Abigail said.
"What?""
"I knew that she really wanted to collect brownie points with Scientology so she could get back in their good graces, so I gave her some information that would make her look good."
"You helped her?" I asked
"Sure, what I told her wasn't that big of a deal and I knew that that little bit of information would really help her to get what she thought was most important thing in her life."
"That was really nice of you."  I said, and this time I really meant it.  
I wondered if she also knew that I was a spy and was 'helping me' as well.
The kindness she was showing me, in the face of my own betrayal was electrifying.
I was finally with someone whose path I wanted to be on.  I wasn't comfortable with the hatred that spewed out of both the anti Scientology and the Scientology camps, but until Abigail, I had never thought that there was a third way. 
Abigail held a bigger way of thinking that encompassed this paradox.  She could see all the evil Scientology promoted while, at the same time recognizing the inherent goodness of intentions of most people involved.  She did not show viciousness or hatred at all.  As I got to know this tattletale, this big betrayer of the salvation of humankind, I found myself resonating with her and what she had to say.
My thoughts then leapt to the position I was currently in.  I was a deep cover spy for the highest level of Scientology, I had pretended to be on the outside of Scientology for several years, gathering information and reporting it directly to Scientology.  Here in two short days, Abigail, who I expected to be the most hate filled of them all, had shown me that there was a third way.  It was a way of non-violence, both in word and in deed.
She had knowingly helped an enemy.  Holding to the truth that we are all humans in the same boat, she questioned how could your brother or sister be your enemy.  He may do bad acts, but he is forever connected to you in the mysterious and large world we inhabit.  She also believed that there was something larger than this life that we see and live.  She didn't name it specifically.  Somehow, she was comfortable with the mystery that we might never know for sure the nature of God, the divinity or eternity while we inhabit this life.  She also held to the truth that while we are here, our acts have consequences and create ripples.  We are responsible for the harm we bring to others, as well as the good.
I realized that she was one of the few people in the world I could ask about the Messianic Surveys, and the larger Messianic Program. 
           _____________________

 In the late 70's I worked on a series of surveys for L. Ron Hubbard entitled the Messianic Surveys.  There were several of them, and some involved research and finding information on specialized information.  I did the parts that I was handed, going to the library to dig up information on how individuals and some small groups made it to the international stage.  How did these obscure individuals actually make it to the forefront, seemingly overnight?  I had found that while the public seemed to see them appear overnight, there had actually been a lot of behind the scenes work to create that impression.  
Sue was a member of Abigail's staff who worked in Clearwater.  She had a private office, no windows, but very nicely decorated.  It was just large enough for her desk and a file cabinet, not the clunky metal ones like the rest of us had, but a credenza that matched her desk and gave her space for decorations and another lamp.  When you worked directly for L. Ron Hubbard, image was important, so money was allocated.  She had a lamp giving soft light to her desk instead of the overhead glare the rest of us had.   The privacy was impressive.  Space at the Clearwater base was at a premium and few people had private spaces.  Even though I was working at the Senior Levels of Management, I had to wear headphones and listen to music to block out the ambient noise around me all the time.  But Sue, she, could just close her door and concentrate within the silence of her small oasis.
I was called to her office and took the seat opposite her wondering what the topic of conversation would be.  The last, and only other time I had been here, was when she had sat me down and said, 'Yes the rumors are true, Quentin is dead."  Just like that. She informed me that L. Ron Hubbard's son Quentin's had died in Nevada.  I had not even heard any of the rumors, so it took me a while to catch up with her thoughts. She knew I worked closely with two of Quentin's sisters and did not want me to make some uneducated question that might upset them.  
But, here I was again, sitting in the same quiet office, wondering what she was going to enlighten me with this time.
She informed me she was going to brief me on the overall picture of these surveys I had been working on.  They had been part of something called the Messianic Project.  She handed Project Orders that covered the overall program.  It was based on briefings that L. Ron Hubbard had had with Abigail, one of his PR's.  I read the pages and saw that the intention of this program was to create the image of L. Ron Hubbard as a Messiah, just like Christ, Mohammed or Buddha.  I had not been involved with all the Messianic surveys or research, so this was the first time I was able to see the entire picture.  I suddenly saw that the direction Hubbard wanted to go with the organization was that of his being the next spiritual Messiah, the new savior of mankind.  As I sat in the chair in front of Sue reading this material, I tried to hold onto the appearance that all was well with me; that I was taking this in stride.  Meanwhile within the confines of my head, I was screaming: "He thinks he's on the same level as Jesus or Buddha!  This is unreal.  "He is soooooo completely unlike those holy men, he can't really be serious."
    I took a break from reading, looked up at Sue, and saw from her face that she believed it.  She was not only of the opinion that he was as great as Jesus and Buddha, and all the other major religious figures from history, but she was going to work very hard to make sure the rest of the world saw him that way as well.
I continued to pretend to read the paper, madly working to control my galloping emotions.  I had no doubt that L. Ron Hubbard had something to offer the world, there was much that had helped me in my life and much that had worked for others.  But to think of him on a level with Jesus and Buddha; I was reeling.
	I flashed at his treatment of his family; his own son had just killed himself!  His daughters hardly ever saw him.  I had just finished listening to a private briefing tape where he had been yelling so loudly that I had to put the headphones down on the floor and I could still hear the screaming.  I could make out what he was saying with no extra volume.  No, this man was nothing like my idea of Jesus or Buddha.  I didn't know much about Mohammed, but I knew Jesus and Buddha.  
I knew this was not the time or place to discuss this. I had always heard L. Ron Hubbard speak of himself as a normal man, a person just like the rest of us.  That is who I saw, warts and all.  But, this program showed that he had a plan to take over the world and have an impact like Jesus and Buddha.  LRH always said, "What's true for you, is true for you", and this was never going to be true for me.
   Sue let me know she had briefed me on this and the importance of this project because she needed help from me to staff this major program so we could get the rest of the surveys and research done.  Then they would move forward into the more active forms of creating L. Ron Hubbard's Messianic image.  The image was to be based on the nine consistent qualities that had been found to exist or were perceived by people as qualities of a Messiah.
  I told her I would do what I could do to help her and left her office.  Back in those days of early 1979, I was busy from morning to night. I never had time to fully think through what that knowledge meant to me.  I was sent to the Rehabilitation Project Force shortly after that meeting with Sue.  No one I knew had even heard of this incredible project.  Whom could I discuss it with anyway?
	My knowledge and feelings about this knowledge were buried so deeply, I honestly did not give it a passing thought for years.  My disagreements were especially buried deeply during my months on the RPF while pregnant.  If my disagreements had hovered anywhere near the surface of my thoughts, they would have been brought out for analysis.  So, instead some part of my primal survival instinct, kept that knowledge and my disagreements with it buried deep in the land of denial, hidden even from myself. 

         ___________________________________

  Now, several years had passed and here I was with Abigail.  As I grew more comfortable with her, I felt I could reach out, get those thoughts out on the table, and see what else was there.
She confirmed for me that L. Ron Hubbard truly did believe he was as great as Jesus, Buddha, and Mohammed.  He had plans and programs in place to create that appearance in the world. I knew from my research, and from my years of working at the Celebrity Centre, that the celebrities and other opinion leaders were a major factor in this plan.  If Scientology could get one major celebrity to speak of L. Ron Hubbard as if he were the Messiah, many other people would begin to follow that thought and it would take on a life of it's own. I knew from my own Public Relations studies that people don't often think their opinions through: they have people that they look to, who tell them what their opinions are or should be.  The public relations and marketing world call them "Opinion Leaders". 
 Celebrities are the most coveted Opinion Leaders to have in your corner.  They earn their positions by pure popularity, so they can have the power to sway many people.  That afternoon Abigail confirmed for me that L. Ron Hubbard really did envision himself as the next Messiah, on the level of Jesus, Buddha, and Mohammed, and that the organization had many plans and was geared to bring about that reality. 
On Sunday afternoon Abigail and I listened to some metaphysical tapes she had brought along.  My mind, however, was unable to keep fully on track with them; it was racing with what she had uncovered deep inside of me, and the position I found myself in.  
	My husband and I stood in the doorway as we said goodbye to Abigail.  Abigail had spent the weekend with us, and unbeknownst to her, it was a planned set up that I was supposed to spy on her and gather as much information as I could, to report back to the top levels of Scientology.  The television show 60 Minutes had a show in the works and Scientology already knew that Abigail had been interviewed.  One of my targets was to find out what she had told them, the slant the story was taking, and if she got any compensation from them for doing the interview.  
	I felt so unsettled by her visit that as the door closed, I turned to hug my husband and said, "The only person I trust, and care about is you.  I no longer care about sides, and fights, and who is right and who is wrong".
He held me for a while and said I did not have to do anything I didn't want to do.  I said that I did not want to report on Abigail.  He said I did not have to.
I was so confused.   
"I don't care about sides...  I do not care about the Scientologists, I don't care about the anti Scientologists, all I care about is you and the kids; that's all.  In addition, I don't want to report in on Abigail.  She's been through enough and is a good person."
"Listen to me, you don't have to."  He said as he held me.
	I didn't "phone in" that Sunday, or the next day, Monday.  I replayed my weekend with her over and over in my head.
On Wednesday, I got a call from Donna (my case officer) at my office.  I knew she was on the phone and I had butterflies when the receptionist told me.  I thought at first of just saying I was busy, but I knew she would just keep calling.  So, I walked into a private room and took the call.
"Hey, kiddo, how are you?"
"I'm OK," I mumbled.
"How did the weekend go?" she asked.
"It went fine.  But I really have nothing to say to you.  I don't want to talk."
Donna was silent for a bit.
"OK, well you want me to call you later?"
"Yes," I said.
"OK, I'll call in a few days."
We hung up and I went back to work.  I didn't know what I was going to do, but I knew I wasn't ready to see her or talk with her.  I went back to my desk to work.
Several days passed, and my mind was still not clear. Donna called me and I gave her a brief overview of my meeting with Abigail.  I told her 60 minutes was going to do a double segment on Scientology, not just a single segment.  I don't know if Abigail told me that to feed it back to Scientology, or if at one time that was really the plan, because that is not what happened.  The piece was the usual 20 minute segment.
Several days after that, a week after my meeting with Abigail, I got a call from Donna and was told that they wanted to meet with me in the main big Scientology building.  It was with her higher ups and she did not even know the details.
I was scared.  I was shaking; I knew I was on unstable ground, personally, uncertain of where I stood and what was to come of me.  It was a big moment when I parked my car and went in the doors and up to the RTC space.
I was brought in to meet with the top Scientology lawyers.  There were several other people in the room.  I realized that they wanted me to be a witness in the case they were having with David Mayo.  I wondered why, because I really didn't have much information for them.
Once you are part of in the legal machinery, everything moves at a rapid pace.  They put together a statement for me to sign and placed me on the witness list.  I was brought to another room and briefed as to what I should expect as a witness.  All the while, I nervously sat and wondered what I would say on the stand.  I wondered if I would actually lie for Scientology.  There was a time when I had no doubt I would have done anything lied for the group.  I was so dedicated that I would have gone to jail or thrown myself on the proverbial sword to protect them. However, I had grown up, I had learned a lot, and I did not think that was true any longer.
Over the next few days the conversations I'd had with Abigail rumbled through my head.  I knew that Scientology had at least two long-term spies in David Mayo's center, reporting every minute bit of information, including any legal strategy that they could gather.  
If I lied for them, how could I live with myself?  Moreover, did they deserve to be lied for?  Scientology always tells its members that they have to take responsibility.  Doesn't that apply to them as a group as well?  But, I also realized that if I told the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth I would find myself a target of Scientology.  I would become the traitor that they placed in the center of the bull's eye.  I knew first hand what they would do to people who crossed them.  Was I ready for those consequences?  
In the end I never got called to the stand, so I never had to deal with my answer to the question of honesty.  To this day I don't know for sure that I would have lied for them, but I'd like to think that I wouldn't have.
Years later, I found out from someone who was present at the meeting, that my handlers had doubts about me.  They had noticed the signs that I was burnt out and possibly could turn to the other side.  That was the real reason I was openly disclosed as an undercover agent for them.  I wasn't needed as a witness; they had wanted my road to any anti scientologists to be closed.


CHAPTER ELEVEN
BECOMING A PUBLIC SCIENTOLOGIST

My re-entry to the world of Scientology was complex.  My experiences in the world of the anti Scientologists and Scientology critics had changed me.  Much of what they said I knew to be true.  But I did not find their methods or attitude much better than those of Scientology Executives and leaders I was so familiar with.  I was still considering the possibilities that Abigail had opened up in me about seeing the bigger picture and the larger worldview, but I was unable to find a way to activate that direction in my life.
By bringing me forward as a witness for the Church of Scientology, I had been touted as a spy overnight.  No ex Scientologist would ever trust me again.  
It was not that I didn't live with my doubts about Scientology; it was that when the questions bubbled to the surface, there was nowhere or no one I felt I could go to help sort them out.  
I was pregnant with my second son, Taylor, during David Mayo's trial.  I worked at my job at a computer company until it was time for my maternity leave.  I knew I would have some time to think and plan things for our future.
I spent these days nursing and caring for my son while my son slept, I reviewed where I had come from and where I wanted to go.  I took stock of what I had gained from my years on staff in Scientology and the fact that we now had three boys to raise and take care of.  My husband's job as a music composer demanded odd hours, and his income was irregular.  I wanted a job where I would have flexibility with my hours, but a stable weekly income.  I wanted to be there for my children and attend their school functions, but I also knew the reality of needing both our incomes to support our family, not to mention making up for the many lost years of financial needs income while Chris and I were in the Sea Org.  
I felt very strongly that I had learned a lot about business while in Scientology.  I had quite a bit of experience with a large number of organizations, both nationally and internationally.  From my work with artists and celebrities, I gained experience working with people in all areas of the entertainment field, from writers, to actors, and even to set designers.  I knew what it took to build a career, and I felt very comfortable with helping small businesses grow.  
Over the years, Scientology seemed to be separating itself into a more religious entity and expanding its business elements under the umbrella of WISE (World Institute of Scientology Enterprises).  I was adamant from the beginning that I would not want, and would not mix Scientology the Religion with Scientology's secular theories of organization that appeared to work in the secular business world.  In the years that followed, I worked with businesses using the knowledge I had gained in all my courses and experience that were not spiritual in nature: I never mixed the two.  If a businessperson I was working with was interested in the more personal (and spiritual aspects) I would refer them to someone else.
I also did want to help people who were already Scientologists to continue in their studies and personal counseling with Scientology.  Despite everything I went through, and the confusions I might have been facing, I still believed that there was some help to be had from Scientology.
I could join Scientology's sales program where I could act as a Field Staff Member and receive either a 10% or 15% commission on all the money the people I was working with paid to the Church for servicing and counseling.  I disagreed very strongly with some other Scientology Field Staff Members who pushed their clients to max out their credit cards, or to borrow off of someone else's line of credit in order to pay for these services.  In those years of the 80's the practice of borrowing from someone else's line of credit had become so pervasive that some Orgs were banned by American Express from using their cards, due to the amount of reported problems from the original owner of the credit card.  Too much fraud had been occurring.
I realized that there were three separate avenues of income that I could develop.  I could work as a Business Consultant for an already existing Consulting Firm.  The company I worked for would do the marketing and sales needed to get the clients.  I would deliver whatever advice, training, or reorganization was needed for their clients to improve their businesses.  I could also build my own business of consulting individuals who worked in the entertainment industry, or needed help as an individual in sorting out their future job and career strategies.  The third avenue of income was to work as a Field Staff Member and collect commissions.  All three of these areas were things I had experience in, and knew I could do well.  I decided to use my experience and knowledge I had gained from working in the Sea Org and use it to help others.
  I became an FSM, short for being a Field Staff Member; as well as began business and career consultations.
  I raised my children.  I was busy with babies and PTA, Cub Scouts, and work.  My life was full.  While the questions of the alternate third direction brought up by Abigail bubbled up now and again, life would come and carry me away before I had time to truly unfold those thoughts.
I felt certain that the Sea Org was not a good place.  I had no doubt that the Rehabilitation Program was wrong and possibly illegal in and of itself. Even though I called continued to be called by the Scientology Intelligence Branch in the years following, I was free to say no, free of the obligation to help Scientology's International branch out with their spying.  I had never been simply a public Scientologist.  I thought that perhaps that would be where I could just take advantage of what I had felt was beneficial and leave the rest behind.
 Chris and I had been deeply involved in Scientology for over ten years.  We were starting out in the real world, in our thirties, with no savings, no home that we owned, and three sons to raise.  That was enough of a challenge to keep me focused and busy.
I calmed my doubts and confusions about Scientology with the thought that I had never simply been a public member of the group.  While I felt that the Sea Org was a totalitarian organization that caused me and others harm, perhaps these other islands of Scientology would be immune to that inhumanity.  I certainly had never seen public members or especially Celebrity Scientologists treated the way Sea Org Members were.  
So, it was with a mix of both anticipation and trepidation that I set out on my three avenues.


CHAPTER TWELVE
BUSINESS CONSULTING
	Business Consulting came under the umbrella of a division of Scientology called WISE (World Institute of Scientology Enterprises).  Much had shifted since the original organization that I had been a part of establishing.  When it was registered and conceived in 1979, it was mainly intended to be for Scientologists who owned businesses, hence the name - World Institute of Scientology Enterprises.  Now, many years had passed and what was originally a small aspect of the group; exporting the business paradigm that L. Ron Hubbard had used to build Scientology to non- Scientology businesses had become a major source of income for Scientology.  Courses had been created in which Scientology policies were edited to adjust the "Scientology" phrases for the broader public, though in fact not much had to be edited: most of Hubbard's writings spoke directly to a business environment just as they were.
   The WISE center in Los Angeles was expanding.  Not only did they license Consultants, but they also opened up a "College".  Given my extensive experience and training, it did not take me long to become a licensed Wise Consultant.  This allowed me to use the material I had learned through my experiences and prior training to help improve other businesses.  I, or the company I was hired by, simply had to send in weekly reports and pay 10% of the gross income.
  Once licensed, it was not difficult for me to get a job as a consultant for one of the WISE companies operating out of the Los Angeles area.  The one I worked for specialized in the consultation of medical Doctors.  I enjoyed the work tremendously.  I traveled, met lots of wonderful people and I learned a lot about the inner workings of small businesses, as well as Doctor's offices.  
    Finally, I felt free to apply the good and stable business knowledge I had learned, while at the same time helping people that were helping other people.
    I was fluid in my use of what I had learned.  In Scientology, expansion is calculated in terms of income, delivery and the numbers of people serviced.  I found many of my clients considered different things desirable.  Some of them wanted the freedom of time.  They wanted to be there for their children or to pursue other interests.  Several wanted to build up their practices so they could travel and speak, teaching others the techniques they had mastered.  It was both refreshing and exhilarating to assist my clients in accomplishing what was important to them.  
There came a point when I decided it was time to open a small consulting firm of my own.  This consulting business became my main source of income.  The clients I worked with and the projects we implemented together gave me a lot of satisfaction and joy.  
Because I refused to mix the spiritual side of Scientology with the business side, I got a lot of business from seminars given by a firm called Sterling Consultants.  Sterling was a large Consulting group that made no secret of their connections with Scientology.  In fact for some time, as correctly reported in the Time Magazine expose called the "Cult of Greed" (which was also the cover story the week it ran).  Sterling actually kept a full time staff member of Scientology on their premises.  Business owners and professionals would come to Sterling expecting to receive training to become more proficient at running their businesses. 
During the first day of arrival for business consulting, these clients would invariably be found to be lacking in personal skills.  As a result, they were quickly sent over to the Scientology registrar to be sold additional services with Scientology that would then resolve any personal issues.
Sterling would collect the business-consulting fees, as well as a percentage of whatever the person paid to Scientology.  The company Sterling was considered an FSM by Scientology and was entitled to the 10 or 15% commissions the church paid out.
Some individuals would become interested in the business practices Sterling promoted in their workshops but did not want to get involved in Scientology's spiritual aspects at all.  These potential clients simply wanted the business techniques being offered, even if they were based on Scientology's administrative principles.  I earned a reputation as a private consultant who would teach clients the Business techniques that were helpful without pushing spiritual beliefs on them or insisting they enrolled in basic Scientology courses. 
Scientology did appear to me to be taking steps to become more of a real Church than when I had first joined.  The separation of the business side of things showed me that it would like to function as a church.
 I felt that Scientology should make the administration of running a business and the spirituality that was the basis of their religion into two separate entities.  I never felt I had to use "bait and switch" techniques by promoting for business consultation as a ruse to sell Scientology.
Consulting was enjoyable to me.  I felt I was using all I had learned in working and studying Scientology, but I was able to use it to help people who were out there doing a good job every day to make their little part of the world better.  
To be honest, when I joined Scientology I never saw it as a religion.  In fact, I don't know if I would have joined the group if I had been told it was a real church.  In later years, it appeared that they were attempting to shift more into a mainstream religion; WISE itself was supposed to be the secular arm of their organization, positioned as the business side of things.  Since, the administrative area was what I had most enjoyed; becoming a secular consultant seemed like a perfect fit.
It worked remarkably well for both my clients and myself for several years.  My purpose for being a consultant was to help better the world.  I felt that if good people, doing good acts, could get more training or knowledge to do that better, then the world would be a better place.  People did not have to become Scientologists to do that.
That all changed in 1990.  I had a meeting with one of the Senior Executives of WISE.  I was briefed on some changes that had been made to the internal structure of the organization.  The purpose of WISE had been changed from a beneficent, secular group that disseminated the non-spiritual aspects of running a business that Hubbard compiled while creating Scientology to one that gathered new people to join Scientology itself.  It was, to my mind, a bait and switch process, clear and simple.  Unsuspecting business owners would contact WISE business consultants for help with their businesses, but the real intention of those consultants was to recruit and turn them into Scientologists.
This did not sit well with me for many reasons. I felt it was deceptive, and a mixing of religion and the work place.  I felt this was just plain wrong, and it was motivated by money, not to mention all the other statistics Scientology could increase by adding to the number of new adherents.  I had thought I was working with a group that was dedicated to bettering the planet.
Now I was confronted with the fact that one of my three final areas of agreement with Scientology, which I thought had tremendous value, was being shifted into something that went against everything I stood for.  I had no problem introducing people and getting them into Scientology, having done that many times over the years, but I never felt I had to lie to them to do it.  I never felt I had to create an elaborate outreach into the business world and then surreptitiously transfer the focus to join Scientology.  I actually felt it demeaned the spiritual aspect of Scientology, as if no one would be interested if they were just straight out told about the spirituality of Scientology.  The thought that they were resorting to smoke and mirrors to get people into Scientology was repulsive to me.
Over the years the number of consulting groups had grown exponentially.  Not only was Scientology receiving 10% of the consulting groups income; they also discovered that these professionals receiving the consulting had income and assets.  It had become a very large cash flow into the organization. Now, it was clear to me that this is what Scientology wanted from the consulting companies - both new members and increased income for Scientology. 
With this realization, I felt like I was the odd one out.  I had thought the purpose was to export business techniques LRH had developed while putting Scientology together and therefore broadening his image and helping people and the planet along the way.  As I reviewed the material I had been given by the Los Angeles WISE chapter, I realized this was not going to be changed.  The promotional materials for this shift-over were many and they were printed on beautiful and expensive glossy stock.  In other words, I saw in an instant that the International Management of Scientology had invested a lot of money in this shift, and any queries from me, were not going to change a darn thing.
	Nonetheless, I still attempted to get a variance for my own consulting firm.  The addition of yearly fees that were now mandatory on top of the required 10% of the gross made it impossible for me to operate in the smaller, part time manner that I had developed for myself.  To make a profit I would have to expand my organization to a full time endeavor.  I would have to give up the work I was doing as a Scientology Field Staff member and as a personal Career Consultant.  After much discussion with my husband and personal review, I finally made the decision to end my business consulting with WISE.  It took me until early 1993 to wrap up all existing clients and sell my business to a trusted friend who did want to make it work on a full time basis.  As a result I continued to concentrate my time and efforts on my final two corners of deep connection with Scientology, work as a Field Staff Member and a Career Consultant.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN
FIELD STAFF MEMBER
In 1987 I attempted to do the Field Staff Member job full time; I lasted one week.  I quickly realized that as soon as I needed the commission to live on, to pay for groceries or other immediate bills, I was no longer taking care of the person in front of me and what was best for him or her.  I was looking at getting the sale so I could pay for my groceries.
From then on, I practiced as a Field Staff Member on a part time basis.  That way, if a person did not need to spend a lot of money on a course but could make progress by buying a book or implementing some changes in his business or personal life, he could do that, and I did not feel any pressure otherwise.  In fact, I felt that I was a buffer between the individual and the high-powered registrars at the organization.  
The registrars were the sales force for Scientology Organizations and I knew from my years on staff, and from having been a successful registrar myself, that they received tremendous amounts of pressure each day to ensure that the income for the organization increased from week.  I wanted to ensure that when I was working with someone as a Field Staff Member that I had his best interests at heart, not my immediate need for income.  In the end, it worked out to be a prosperous sideline for me, but it was never an income source I counted upon.
I worked as a Field Staff Member for over eight years.  My work as an FSM ended when two separate things occurred during a period of a month or so.  I, along with other Field Staff Members, was offered free personal counseling in Clearwater Florida, at the Flag Land Base; The Mecca for Standard Technology.  I was excited about this, because I had hope that it would give me more tools to help people.  I also hoped that it would help quiet the doubts about Scientology in general that were always hiding beneath my conscious mind.  
I went to Florida and stayed in one of the Cabanas.  Ironically these were the exact same Cabanas that I had seen the little girl and her mother come out of years before, when I was pregnant with my first child and as I watered the lawn while being in the Rehabilitation Project Force.  I was happy to see that I had traveled so far in my life, just as I had wished that I could.  I still had hope that life as a public Scientologist would allow me to access all that I felt was worthwhile about it, while not having to partake in the totalitarian regime of the Sea Org.  It was with great hope that I started my special auditing as an FSM.  
The first Session was disappointing, to say the least.  I soon realized after several questions that the purpose of this counseling was not necessarily to help me improve my skills with helping people, but rather, to enable me to generate more money towards Scientology.  The questions were all geared as if I were just another registrar working for the Organization whose main focus was income.  I wondered if my view that the job of a Field Staff member to help public people improve their lives and work situations with basic Scientology was, perhaps, not the full job.  Perhaps the real intention was simply to sell services and increase the weekly income of Scientology.  The series of questions I was asked made it very clear to me that the help the organization wanted to give me was in terms of how to get more money from my clients to give to Scientology.
This all gave me pause.  I knew several people who worked as Field Staff Members full time, I knew that their personal income and rent and food depended on what Scientology services their clients bought.  It was the first time I felt that perhaps I had been the one to misinterpret.  Perhaps I was the odd one.  It didn't change what I felt I could do using Scientology with individual people, but it did change what support I felt I would get from Scientology itself.
Within a week of returning home from Florida, I had a problem involving one of my FSM clients who had paid a tremendous amount of money to Scientology.  He had supposedly bought everything offered by the church which cost well over $100,000, but that had turned into the $200,000 level over the course of just a few years.  He had received plenty of services, and still had enough money left over, unused, in his account to complete the more advanced OT levels, given at the Advanced Org.  His name was Jeff and he was a client I had worked with for years.  I received a call from Enid Byrne, one of the registrars at the Advanced Organization in Los Angeles.  She told me that Jeff, despite all the counseling, training and attention he had gotten, was in horrific shape and would need to pay in at least another $50,000, just for the preparations to get to the higher OT Levels, which he had already paid for.  Jeff had recently graduated to the Advanced Org in Los Angeles from the lower org where he had received what they considered all that was needed to start these higher levels.  
After $200,000 investment, of which about $150,000 worth of services had been received, I was now being asked to tell Jeff he needed to pay an additional $50,000, just to continue on Scientology's Bridge to Total Freedom.
I called Jeff, but didn't mention the extra $50,000 he would need to spend.  I simply listened as he told me how frustrated he was that he had spent all this money, and received all these Scientology services and honestly couldn't see where he had improved or felt better off than before.  He listed some of his current complaints and they were the same ones he had spoken to me of years and years before.  I told him I understood and would speak to him later.
I hung up the phone and tried to collect myself.  I thought about the upper middle class neighborhood I now lived in.  I knew of no one who lived nearby who would be able to afford $250,000 to buy his or her spiritual freedom.  I had always been told that the goal of Scientology was to achieve the aims of Scientology I had read on that poster all those years ago.  If they intended to bring Scientology to the world it meant all my neighbors would receive the counseling that Jeff had gotten and more.  How could Scientology Clear the planet, any planet, if only the richest could afford it?  Was it even right to charge someone money for a promised spiritual freedom?
That same month, I had three other clients, all at different Scientology organizations, voicing similar complaints.  They did not feel they were getting what they paid for.
I sat down and wrote a long report to Scientology's Executive Director International about the different problems my clients and friends were having in these different Orgs.  
I knew I could not ask Jeff for any more money.  I could not relay to him what had Enid had told me.  I knew, at that moment, that my days as a Field Staff Member for Scientology were over.
I didn't stop talking to him or to my other clients with whom I was working as a Field Staff Member, but I stopped taking on new people.  I made a list of all the individuals I was working with and things we were in the middle of and began to transfer their care to other Field Staff Members.  It took me more than a year before I was able to phase out of being an FSM for Scientology.  
 During this time of my being a public Scientologist, I encountered many conditions and situations within Scientology that I disliked or disagreed with.  However, I rationalized them and placed them into perspectives that allowed me to feel I could and should continue as an active member.  I felt hope that these conditions would eventually be changed for the better.  
	I now know more about this  condition called "cognitive dissonance." It is a very uncomfortable place for any human to be.  We want our thoughts and actions to be in harmony and will grasp at the most outlandish explanations, or ignore the most ridiculous situations, simply to be able to continue.  It is easier for a battered wife to think about the good times of the past, and to hold onto those, with hope for the future, than to confront and really have to deal with the radical changes she should make in her life for the safety of herself and her children.
By the mid-90's I found my hopes were wearing thin and my doubts and disagreements weren't as easily put to rest.  While working as an FSM, I learned that not everyone got the same benefits from Scientology counseling that I did.  They just didn't.  The cost in terms of time and money it was taking those people to 'get up the Bridge' was getting much higher; and I found I could no longer rationalize it away.  
I knew I was having severe doubts about my membership in Scientology.  It was a different group than the one I had joined.  L. Ron Hubbard had died in 1986 and while the Orgs may have looked better and their magazines were glossier, my personal connection to it was getting weaker and weaker
I had invested many years and felt that I personally had gained some positive things, so I was not quick to abandon it.  I sought out several Scientology staff members to talk over my doubts and questions.  I took additional Scientology courses in an attempt to resolve the questions and disagreements that were slowly wearing me down.



CHAPTER FOURTEEN
DOUBTS AND THE INTERNET
   Towards the end of l994 I received a call from someone in Scientology's Intelligence Bureau.  She wanted me to join this new group that "Wolly" had started on the Internet.  ("Wolly" is the name that staff at Scientology's Office of Special Affairs use for Larry Wollersheim).  Larry had won a civil suit against Scientology many years before, and had yet to see any of the money awarded.  Scientology continued to investigate him and appeal his judgments.  They had a saying "Not One Thin Dime for Wollersheim".  Scientology would spend millions to ensure he didn't get a dollar.
 	The woman from the intelligence department wanted me to spy on him so they could know what he was up to.  I turned her down, saying at the time that I did not know my way around the Internet
	Her call made me curious and I quickly learned how to get online.  That was how I discovered the Internet.  
During the year of l995, I found and read many court cases, decisions, affidavits and press information that others had so painstakingly put up on a variety of Internet sites.  While this information answered many questions for me, it neither eased my doubts, nor made me a stronger Scientology member.  I took a few trips into AOLA (the Advanced Scientology Organization in Los Angeles) and CCLA (the Celebrity Center in Los Angeles) to get some further help in sorting out my conflicting feelings.  These actions did not help either.
These were some of the questions I could not resolve:
a)  If Scientology was supposed to Clear the planet, why did it cost so much?  Most of the people that I knew in the regular middle class world, couldn't afford the lower levels of Scientology, much less the higher levels of Clearing.  Because of the prices it seemed to be more of an elitist group, than one that was working to help all Mankind.
b)  Where was all the money going?  It looked to me like a huge portion was going to lawyers to handle court cases from the people who were hurt by the exorbitant amounts of money being charged for Scientology's services.  Did they need to charge those exorbitant amounts of money because the legal fees ran so high?  It seemed like a vicious endless circle to me, one in which only the lawyers benefited. 
c)  Was it really a religion? When I first joined I was clearly told that the religion aspect was for taxes and legal reasons and that no one had to change their personal religion to be a member. This was even written in a policy letter by L. Ron Hubbard. I knew that after twenty years as a member I had only been to one Church service.  Once I tried to find a Scientology service to take my children to.  One organization told me that they conducted a small service WHILE people were eating lunch, which was during a break in a Scientology Course room.  Another organization spent their Sunday mornings putting on a very large social brunch, which they advertised and promoted every Sunday.  It wasn't a religious service, but simply a brunch held at their organization.  Then I did hear that one organization had services on Sunday nights.  I packed my children up one Sunday evening and went.  When we arrived there was one other person standing in front of the building where we had been told the services took place.  It was a dark and locked up tight.  We both went into the main lobby of the Scientology Church.  After asking several staff, none of which knew anything about a Sunday service, we finally found one person who casually said, "Oh, no, that was cancelled tonight".  That ended my foray into looking for Scientology Services for my children.
d)  If Scientology was a religion, what were their beliefs on God?  I had thought that my Scientology counseling would bring me a better understanding and a closer relationship with God, the divine, universal, whatever you want to call it.  But here I was, twenty years later, having experienced the highest levels of Scientology counseling and I didn't feel any closer to God.  Most of the Scientologists whom I knew personally did not believe in God.  Were they in the minority or was that the group belief?  I attempted to find a straightforward answer, that shouldn't have been too hard to do.  That was when I discovered the editing, which was being done on Scientology materials.  There was one book where I found some clear LRH references to the religious basis of Scientology, THE NOTES ON THE LECTURES, I had to buy a copy in a used bookstore because the Church had "cancelled" the entire book.
e)  Why there were always these enemies?  I had done some intelligence projects for both the Guardian's Office and it's later incarnation as the Office of Special Affairs.  During those projects, I had the opportunity to spend time with some of these enemies.  I did not find them to be the ogres portrayed to the group at large.  In fact, most had some valid point regarding outrageous behavior by the group itself that led to the creation of their discontent or anger.  In other words, from my point of view, Scientology itself had created many of these enemies; the very group that held itself up as a 'victim' was creating these enemies.
These were a few of my feelings and concerns, as I wandered about the Internet.  I worked to sort through my own doubts and find out where I belonged in the Organization of Scientology of the 90's, I would sometimes write my thoughts in a journal.
JOURNAL ENTRY FEBRUARY 20,1992
Some things will just have to take time.  Some things make me angry; people have been kept under guard (myself included) and probably still are to this day.
Many staff are denied sleep and decent food.
Some people sleep in disgusting places - garages and storage closets.
Scientology is a land of dichotomies for me because I also felt that some of the personal counseling was helpful to me.  The structure is one of greatest good: oppressive to the individual, but good for the overall group. 
I need to have the balance I want in my life and go forward in the direction I want to go.
JOURNAL ENTRY 3/12/93
I had lunch with a Scientology Celebrity today.  One of the points she brought up was a public school - she felt they have all been falling apart for years and years.  She would never put her kids in them.  She took her children out years ago.  It made me feel bad - because I do not agree and I started to feel "alone" for those feelings.  I don't know any Scientologists who felt as we (Chris and I) do about public school education.  It does not change how I feel.  It just makes it difficult for me to communicate openly with some members of my group.
I find the greediness of Scientology beyond my level of acceptance.  I have not ever been a "True" Believer; I guess I have always tried to be an open and searching member of Scientology.  I took to heart the quote by L. Ron Hubbard of "What is true for you is true for you."  Some things "they" (members of Scientology) do are beyond me.  
Celebrity Centre Los Angeles recently did building renovations.  The building and furnishings are beautiful, but did they really have to spend that kind of money? 
JOURNAL ENTRY MARCH 28, 1993
Another celebrity friend of mine was very sick all last week, it was quite a scare.  His prostate enlarged so much he needed a catheter.  It is not cancer and he doesn't even need an operation.  That was a big relief.
I did not like the comments I overheard from other Scientologists in his life, which came up from others as a result ----
"Well, he hasn't moved forward on the Scientology Bridge."
"His wife is not a Scientologist."
"He has no Scientology training."
If it is cancer, they will shut him off from auditing.
It is not something I am surprised about; these are the thoughts most Scientologists have.  Scientologists feel that a person is responsible for EVERYTHING that happens to them.  I am just disappointed.  I guess I expected more.  
If I ever get sick, I do not want to tell any Scientologists.  I need to make Chris promise me that.

During the spring of 1993, we began to search for a private high school for my son Carey.  Because I was a Scientologist I decided to put some Scientology Schools on the list.  I had not examined Scientology schools for  some years, perhaps they had improved.  We were very happy with the public education in our small city of Burbank but we wanted something smaller than the large public high schools Burbank offered and began our search. 
I called the largest, most well known Scientology School that taught a high school curriculum - Delphi.  I asked the admissions person there for some statistics on their graduates: what their SAT scores were, what sort of colleges they got into, what percentage received college scholarships.  She didn't know what I meant by SAT scores, but she said that a large majority of their high school graduates joined the Sea Org and they were very proud of that. This was definitely not what I was looking to hear about the education of my children.
I continued investigating our options and the school my son Carey liked the most was the Catholic School within a mile from our house.  It had a small student body.  It was clean, and 99% of graduates went onto higher education, most of them to four-year colleges.  The average SAT score was high as well.  The tuition was about half the price of the Scientology schools I had looked into.  The Catholic Church helped to defray the cost of tuition with their students to better the world whereas Scientology schools were charged a fee of 10% of the gross income, thereby increasing the tuition for the parents.
In speaking with my 14-year-old son Carey, I realized that he had not had any religious education.  He didn't even know the basic Bible stories.  I decided that my younger son was going to be raised with knowledge of religions.  He would not arrive at the age of fourteen this uneducated about religions and the beliefs that many people felt.
Scientology had been talking more about its religious status and its efforts to be seen more as a religion, but did not have Sunday school for children.  There were no regular services in the Los Angeles area, so I knew I would have to go elsewhere.  Since Scientology claimed to be a non-denominational religion, it wouldn't matter what other church we joined, it shouldn't affect our status within Scientology.
My youngest son, Taylor and I, began our tour of churches hoping we would find a fit.  We went to several churches and experienced a variety of approaches in faith.  After several months, I was surprised to find that he enjoyed most the Catholic Church.  I could see his point.  The Catholics included children throughout the service.  The other churches we'd gone to allowed the children to participate in the beginning, but then they would go off to another part of the building for their own education.  They were not treated as equals.  The Catholic Church has many rituals, its Mass was the same through out the world, and actually seems to move rather quickly.  Instead of at least an hour of speaking from the minister, the homily in the Catholic Church was relatively short.  The Catholic Church had involvement from the congregation, kneeling, standing, and then kneeling again.  Catholic Mass was a participatory service.  The parishioners had parts and lines of their own.  There was private time for personal communication with God, but there was also the sense of community.  Along with him and with my older son in a Catholic high school, I began to feel my way around the changes that had taken place in the Catholic world since I had left it.  Some of the changes were welcomed.
One day in the middle of a Mass, I realized how my fall into Scientology from Catholicism made sense.  As a Catholic, I was taught to treat Priests and Nuns as special souls, who knew more than I did; just as in Scientology, those on the higher levels were to be respected and followed with little question.
Confession was an act that occurred in both, though as in Catholicism it was kept private and was never written down, nor did I ever have to worry about it being used against me.
I could see the path and the consistencies that allowed me to move from one highly structured group to another.  

APRIL 28, 1993	
I have a deep dark fog over my head and inside my universe. I have been trying to spot where it has come from and how I can kick it back out of here.
It could be several things.  I have been doing a lot of soul searching about Scientology and if it is fulfilling my needs or not.  So far, it seems like the only communication I get from any of the staff at the Scientology organizations is for $ $ and more $.
I just talked with Barry, my Field Staff Member and he helped me find the underlying cause of my feelings.  I have seen both sides of the game and I do not want to play with either on of them.
   This is a very HEAVY cycle for me.  Chris feels that I put too much significance on it --- well, I cannot help it.  That is what it is
Moreover, it IS a very heavy area for me.
I HAVE participated with both sides and I cannot be stuck into one side OR the other.  It is like being above or OFF the playing field.
I guess you cannot go back INTO a game once you are out of it.  You can never go home again.  
JOURNAL ENTRY SEPTEMBER 8, 1993
We had a small bar b Q at our house the other day, it went off without a hitch. We had the perfect amount of food, and great weather.  I had fun and I think so did others.  Two Scientologists showed up on my small-minded list - Martina and Kathy.  Martina asked - "Is Harrison (another guest at the Bar B Q) GAY?"  I said yes, his lover was coming but changed his mind."  She said, "Well, that's 1.1.  He's 1.1."  She was accusative.  (in Scientology the emotional level labeled 1.1 is the equivalent of Suppressive, all gay people are operating at the emotional level of  1.1., therefore they are suppressive) I was too tired. I did not have a good come back.  I wish I could have said something slicing, but I didn't.
Then Kathy made a few comments, also about Harrison.  Boy - they both completely missed the ex LA Times Reporter and the lesbian!!!!
I guess I feel more comfortable around non-Scientologists.  Anyway - I need to get involved in more and bigger things.
I need to get my life focused on other things.  I need to be so involved with these broader issues that these particular small-minded Scientology issues fall away. Scientologists consider a gay person is at the emotional tone level as 1.1 (the same level as a Suppressive), and reporters are considered "Merchants of Chaos".
JOURNAL AUGUST 10, 1994
I was on the Internet board again today.  Maybe I should stop for a while.  It truly is a shame that most everything bad I read being said about Scientology "has happened".  That it is true.  It is not just that I have heard it true, I saw Annie Rosenblum (and others) under guard.
I saw every supposed confidential preclear folders at Flag being picked through for crimes or high crimes the individual may have done.
I have seen Intelligence summary reports of crimes found in someone's counseling Folder.
I remember the briefing at Flag when the Senior Guardian's Office Executives were sentenced to jail.  These Executives included Mary Sue Hubbard, L. Ron Hubbard's wife.  The staff was told that it was a conspiracy by a few evil suppressive persons.  Scientology was innocent. It was all justified - all the actions had a reason to be.  These were the enemies.  This was war.
If I go to Scientology events and hear the PR, I am reminded of the truth behind the curtain, which is not so pretty.
JOURNAL NOVEMBER 21, 1994
I feel like I am distancing myself from Scientology even more - I wonder where the sense of community is.  I wonder where the care is.
I just found out an old friend, Share Jessup, died.  She died while on staff in the Sea Org.  I did not know.  I heard she went quietly; she did not want her dying to disrupt the production of the Scientology Org she worked at.  I wonder if anyone prayed for her.
If a person gets ill in Scientology it has been my experience that "what the person has done or not done to pull it in" becomes the object of discussion.
  As opposed to group prayer to help the person overcome what is going on.  The drive for money is amazing, unbelievable and never ending.
If someone was deathly ill - registrars have said, "Oh good, this is an easy reg cycle.  $ $ $ and more money.  I cannot fault Time Magazine for its title - "Cult of Greed" That is a pretty succinct description of the subject.
JOURNAL Sat Feb 4, 1995
I had those nightmares again last night. Chris (once again it's Chris) re-joined the Sea Organization and I was trapped.  I was put under guard, but kept trying to escape.  It was awful, pretty traumatic chase scenes, fear scenes.  
The trauma of being on staff runs deep.  It was exciting and oppressive at the same time.  A jumbled mix of things, people and times I loved, then other things and times that were almost unspeakable.
JOURNAL Feb 22, 1995
Chris and I had a long talk yesterday - to help me with my mental confabulations about Scientology.  The thing that is weird to me - is that I do not WANT any auditing!  The Advanced Org has an offer of some free counseling to help people get to where they feel better.  I could go in and get a counseling session today, but I have no interest.  None.  
I don't have any urge to attack Scientology, but I now know that if I was ever called to testify - I would simply tell the truth - the truth is what I would say.
A couple of months ago I re-read the Scientology "Credo of a Group Member" --- Hubbard said that a group member should never be required to give more than he gets.  So that is what I decided, I would keep that code.  Since then, I have noticed that I do not get much from this group.
I get what I pay or exchange for.  They do ask a lot of their group members.
Anyway, Chris and I talked.  He does not go through any of these ups and downs.  He just does not expect more, and then he is never disappointed.
JOURNAL ENTRY FEBRUARY 27,1995	
I just finished reading my second "Moonie" book.  It is amazing to me, the similarities between Scientology and the Moonies.  Granted there are many differences too, but the all encompassing group focus things, like the five-year plan, poor food quality, little sleep are almost identical.  Both groups have two main products - money and recruits.  There is a big difference in that the Moonies do not seem to also have a large public that works in the real world yet is still are members.  The Moonies also do not have courses or auditing to give in exchange.
 I also could see that I had been very vulnerable to recruitment by Scientology those many years past.  I was dissatisfied with the drug use I saw all around me.  I was searching for structure and purpose.  I was not finding it in my college classes.  Funny how my life has unfolded; how the years just build one on top of the other.
  I did many things for the group, when I envisioned that the group would be there for me if I needed them.  Little did I know how quickly people could and would be cast aside.
I am so happy to NOT be on staff.  The freedom I have.  I can go to sleep when I want.  I can go the grocery store when I want.  I still cannot feel completely free, because the fear was ingrained so deeply.  
JOURNAL MARCH 18, 1995
I have been having those nightmares again - the Sea Org ones.  How could I not have been impinged upon by the experience?  I definitely felt trapped by it.  I can remember wanting out - sometimes wanting out so badly but feeling utterly trapped.  Friends I didn't want to abandon, a lack of money, and nowhere to go, trapped me.
I made a list of like/don't likes about Scientology.  Pretty much covers all the "religious practices."  I just do not agree.  I do not have to agree, and I do not.  What I do agree with is most of the counseling I received and most of the business policies.  I do tend to agree with most of the spiritual philosophy and that is what attracted me there in the first place.
  JOURNAL ENTRY April 5, 1995
I am finally coming to some real feelings of Peace concerning the subject of Scientology.  There are two areas.  One is my personal benefit, which is mine and mine alone - it is there, there is no question of it.  Has the auditing and training I have received made a difference in my ability to help others and myself?  YES!  Is it something I can and always will use?  YES!
Do I feel a need for more?  Certainly not $20,000 worth of need!!  Not $30,000 for my next counseling level, certainly not even $7000 for one 12.5 intensive of my next needed counseling.
It does not mean I am belittling its worth to others, I am simply saying that it is not worth that to me! Not at this time.  I have enjoyed reading some Hubbard books, but I have realized a few things on my own - I do not feel Hubbard is a greater person than I am.  I do not feel Hubbard was better than me.  I do feel all the beings on this planet are unique and special.  Always have.  Are people using their individual talents for the good of themselves and others around them?  I certainly never looked up to Hubbard's abilities as a Dad or Husband.  He was just not a man I admired for his role as husband and father. 
In business L. Ron Hubbard could be very vindictive, he was prone to anger, he was demanding, he was always well cared for, but did not ensure that for his staff.
He had some very simple good things to offer people.  These are wonderful, but other philosophies have and do offer a lot too.
FRIDAY April 14, 1995
I am very saddened by the new perspective I feel about Scientology.  I guess disappointed is more the right word.  Things I did that I did not think twice about.  Stealing library books that were negative towards Scientology, I never even thought twice about it.
I wonder what other little things I used to do, that I have yet to examine.  I never would have physically harmed someone; at least I know that.  I would and did manipulate people, I would lie, and I would say or do things for my group.  I knew of outright illegalities going on around me, but I would not do them myself.  I would do things that were thought to be for the "Greater good".
MAY 18 1995 JOURNAL
In a few weeks I will go in to the Advanced Organization.  I will give it an honest effort and see if they have anything to offer me.  I will speak my mind in a very forthright manner.  There are points and issues I simply do not think they will be able to fix.  There are points of personal certainty based on personal experience that I'm never going to see eye to eye with people on.  I come from certainty and knowledge that is mine.  I feel Scientology does not work on everyone, it is not the right time or place for everyone.
The simple truth is that I feel differently than some people.  I guess that could be equated to a divorced Catholic who practices birth control and does not attend church on all holy days of obligations.  Are they still Catholic?
  It comes down to the simplicity of things.  I have major disagreements. Maybe I was partly a true believer.  I thought the group cared more for helping the world than itself.  I guess, similar to the disaffected who were surprised to find LRH was human, I have been surprised to find my group is still "selling things"... instead of helping the world.  The "Cult of Greed" attitude is choking the church from true wealth.
JOURNAL THURSDAY MAY 25, 1995
The future feels so wide open.  I, personally, feel like I am getting bigger and bigger each day. I called my own FSM, Barry, to tell him I was doing better.  He said to call him when I felt ready to go to the Advanced Org.
I started the Philadelphia Doctorate Course and actually feel pretty good about that.  I have wanted to do all the drills for that course for a very long time.  It's very peaceful being in the course room on a weekday morning.
JOURNAL June 25, 1995
I had a major recovery of myself and how I was before Scientology.  I was much more a person of "Do Unto Others" I was not a person of the "ends justify the means" or "Greatest Good for the greatest number" or "never fear to hurt another in a just cause."  These are Scientology precepts that are not mine.  I don't think they were ever mine.
JOURNAL July 7, 1995
I went in and got an interview at the Advance Organization today.  The clouds opened and I felt a window.  It was smoother than I expected.
JULY 10, 1995
I actually still feel good from that interview.  Claire happened to be the perfect person to have done it.  She not only understood where I was coming from, she had some similar realities to mine.  That was very nice.  It was difficult for me to communicate all those feelings, - but I got them off my chest, and felt understood.  I don't know where it is going from here.  I do not know where they are going to send me next.  I do not mind actually if nothing happens on it.  I feel so much better. 
Chris said I simply need to find my own peace - I sort of feel that now. 
JOURNAL July 13, 1995
I got a note from the Case Supervisor that he has a few things that will help me figure things out for myself.  He wants me to finish the write-up I had started on my own, and then we will take it from there.  So, now I may go in for a counseling session this afternoon.  He said he has a few actions that will help me sort things out.  Those made me feel hopeful.  He said he understood where I was coming from and that was good to hear.  I am feeling stronger with some of my thoughts, even those that may be considered renegade by the group, but there are still a few areas where I just fall apart in the confusion of it all. 
During the Summer of 1995 I took several basic courses in Scientology.  I felt that I wanted to go back to the simple things I had originally studied and compare it to my current point of view and work out what I agreed with and what I didn't agree with.  What parts were workable and what parts were not.
The first speed bump I hit was the religion issue.  Was it or wasn't it?  I knew they had won their case with the IRS, but really, did that suddenly make them a religion?  I was told, and told people new to it that you could be any religion you wanted to be and also be a Scientologist.  This was written in the book  "WHAT IS SCIENTOLOGY".  Yet in a policy by Hubbard, called "Student's Guide to Acceptable Behavior", it said that students of Scientology could not mix their classes with anything else, including religious rites, or meditation.  I went to see the person in the Corrections Department for help in getting this confusion sorted out.  He told me frankly that it was an issue that shifted, that sometimes beginners to Scientology would be allowed to practice other religions and sometimes they wouldn't.  I knew he was speaking the truth to me, because that had also been my personal experience over the past twenty years.  It just meant I wouldn't get a clear answer, because the group didn't have a clear answer,  because the group didn't have one and the winds would shift to suit it's needs.
I also reviewed one of the early courses I had enjoyed in Scientology called the Philadelphia Doctorate Course, which was a series of taped lectures by L. Ron Hubbard.  I got to tape number three where he speaks of his great friendship with Aleister Crowley, the head of Black Magic in England and the writer of many Black Magic books.  In the very first lecture, Hubbard mentions that people worry about the 'Prince of Darkness' and he says, "Who do you think I am?  ha ha ha..." I had listened to this tape before, but it hadn't upset me as much as it now did.
	During that summer, I also found a copy on the Internet of what was purported to be the materials of OT Level Eight.  Scientology denies that this is the actual OT Eight course, but several ex-members who had gotten to that level within Scientology have stated categorically that it was what they read, and that it was changed at some later time to be less controversial.  This written version included things like LRH's admission that he was the promised "Anti- Christ".  He spoke of his mission here on earth as the individual who was L. Ron Hubbard.  He said that he had his next mission was to come back in a healthy body and join politics.  I found it disturbing on many levels.  Whether it was true or not, I have never been able to find out.  The Church to my knowledge never claimed it as their copyrighted article, but it certainly fed into my personal knowledge of his Aleister Crowley comments, and L. Ron Hubbard's Messianic leanings and desires.
JOURNAL Sept 4, 1995
I still have the nightmares, the ones trapped inside, can't get out.  
Before I was in Scientology, I believed that people should make their own choices about religions, and have their own personal connections to God.  I never thought mine was better than anyone else's, I just knew what was mine, worked better for me.
Scientology, in the broader, picture is a lot different than I thought it was from my perspective.  What I never noticed was that my view was colored by ME.  It contained what I brought to the table.  I did not realize my own power.
  When I started off on my own consulting I wanted to simply use what worked and get rid of what didn't.  I DID that.  I was able to discover that there are many basic simple tools that are very workable.  What I did not realize was the octopus of the group was getting bigger and bigger, and going in a completely different direction than I was.  Scientology running the world is a very scary concept for me.
JOURNAL WED 9/13/1995
A bit better today.  Some simple chores have put my feet back to earth.  I'm still a bit unsteady.  I had a thought last week; I once thought that Scientology had the answers for me.  For 20 years, make that 23 years... I thought I had my answers, I thought I had found "IT", the road out, the Holy Grail.  Any question would have an answer.  The questions did not swarm through my head any longer.  For most of my past 23 years, I had the peace of certainty and stability.  I may have disliked many methods.  I may have disagreed with individuals and policies, but it never affected the umbrella.  The umbrella was safe and secure.  Until one day (a couple of months ago) I started to think about that, how could that umbrella be safe if there is so much shit raining down?    You will know them by the fruits of their trees.  I've always known many of the fruits to be rotten; I just never made the connection that it may be due to the TREE.  However, honestly, what else could it be?  If Scientology is the truth, then why has it broken the law?  Why doesn't it treat its people with compassion?  Why does it care for its children the way it does?  Why is it always attacking strangers; people who do not even know what they are stepping into?
JOURNAL Sept 25, 1995
Chris had a good point that my problem is in making things an all or nothing proposition.  Scientology is hardly all good, but it is hardly all bad either.  I just don't feel comfortable in either place.  I can't support the closed minded, zealous behavior of so many Scientologists I see.  If that's what "it" is, then I do not want to be a part of it.
But at the same time, auditing has helped me with so much, I have a lot more certainly than before.  I have a lot more faith in myself.   
JOURNAL OCTOBER 6, 1995
I spent 20 years of my life, thinking I had found the answers.  Answers to questions I did not even ask.  It is difficult to realize I only had the answers to some.  I lied to myself.  I ignored some truths I knew were there.
JOURNAL OCTOBER 31, 1995
The counselor who did my interview (Claire) called again.  I should call her back.  I don't really know what to say, and I don't know how to say it.  I guess I know how I FEEL - how I feel is that I do not want any further auditing.  I have had enough (thank you very much) I have had more than enough.
I am no longer going to live a strict, blind-sided life.  I am no longer going to close my mind off from certain places/people and things.
I do know that I do not feel comfortable not having a sense of a Higher Being, God, or something.  Perhaps I got all the gains from scientology I was meant to have and it's now time to more on and move forward
JOURNAL November 9, 1995
I woke up a few weeks ago feeling angry with LRH.  Angry that he had promoted and made me feel that there was no other game but his.  I had to play his game and if I didn't, anything else was purposeless and "other - intentioned" I have learned that groups do tend to mirror their leaders.  Even though so much of this came from people on down the line, it starts from the top.  The bottom is a reflection of the top.  Not the other way around.  
It really started to change for me when I had children.  Suddenly things that had been acceptable for me - I would not put my children thru.  It started to wake me up.  
JOURNAL  November 28, 1995
I have been reading the legal stipulation in the Guardian's Office case from when the FBI raided the intelligence bureau of Scientology.  Nine senior executives were indicted and found guilty of breaking the law.  There, but for the grace of God go I.  I do know that when I was involved in the things that I knew of in Boston, I did them from a sense of belief and faith.  I truly felt that what I was doing was the right thing to do.  I thought that I was backing up power for the "greatest Good."  If I had been discovered to be an agent of Scientology, I would have gone down alone.  I would have denied any attachment or affiliation.  I would have protected the group. 
   I read these admissions, and see what was going on at a national and international basis.  It boggles even my mind.  These guys were really doing criminal actions on a day-to-day basis and thought nothing of it.  
JOURNAL NOVEMBER 30, 1995
The church put out a 4 part series of articles concerning deprogramming; how CAN (the Cult Awareness Network) is connected and pushes that.  What we are talking about is kidnapping which I can't agree with.  There has to be other ways.  My father made a comment to me once.  He said that he understands Scientology helped me, that it helped when he and no on else could have, but that I did not owe it my LIFE.
It made an impact on me because it was subtle.  It was from his heart.  He was also not ignoring the fact that there were some good things about Scientology.  Obviously, they were good, at least from my point of view.  Otherwise, why would I have given it my life?
So, no, I do not feel that kidnapping and violent deprogramming works.  I look at how many people slowly drift away from Scientology, or other similar groups.  Some individuals run from the oppressiveness of staff.  I would like to point out that I've been off staff for 13 years now - 13 pretty wonderful years - and I still have nightmares.  I still carry that stuff with me.  Stuff I did - stuff done to me; those swarming pictures; the ones best kept locked in a box.


CHAPTER FIFTEEN
INTERNATIONAL INTELLIGENCE OFFICE 'HANDLING'
Around New Years 1996, I realized that I had to tell my husband how I felt, even though it was considered a High Crime in Scientology to tell another Scientologist about one's disaffection with Scientology.  When I told him I might not consider myself a Scientologist any longer, he was visibly upset, and he was very clear with me that this would be a problem for him.  I realized that if I continued in my current direction, my marriage and children could be at risk.  I stopped talking with him about my feelings.
On Monday February 5, 1996, I received a call from Donna, a member of the Office of Special Affairs (International).  Donna worked in Intelligence and was my last Case Officer during the time when I was doing deep undercover work for their Intelligence Bureau.  She wanted to meet with me and I arranged to meet with her and her associate in the boardroom of OSA International on Hollywood Blvd.  To my amazement they handed me a private E-mail message I had sent to someone in South Africa several months earlier.  Scientology had declared this person a Suppressive Person, meaning the Church had dismissed him from membership and severed his ties to the Church and to active Scientologists.  No Scientologist was allowed to have anything to do with him.  The person, in his message to me, marveled that I, a Scientologist in good standing, would trust and communicate with him. In my reply I told the person that I did not distrust him personally, but that I was concerned about the spies that I was certain the Scientology had close to him.  
    The two women at OSA International never admitted how they obtained a copy of my private E-Mail message.  The irony that it had to have come from some covert agent Scientology had placed next him was not lost on me.  I told them I was not hiding anything, in that I had signed my real name and knew they had observers and spies everywhere.  I also told them about my visits to both the Celebrity Centre and the Advance Organization in attempts to sort out my thoughts and feelings about Scientology, including some thoughts I had recently resolved.
 I mentioned that I disagreed with many operations that the Intelligence branch of OSA International instigated against its so-called "enemies", as I found the actions to be unethical.  I disagreed with the Scientology mindset that "the end justifies the means" that governs these decisions including those I had personally been involved in, or had personal first hand knowledge of.
They really didn't seem interested in my point of view, but instead seemed to zero in on specific names I had mentioned, wanting to know if I had talked with this person or that, all of who were on their enemies list.
They offered to help me out in sorting through my doubts and confusions.  They said that a wonderful auditor, whom I had known but had not seen for many years, had been studying my folders and that she wanted to help.  I was not adverse to such an offer: I had been struggling with these confusions for so many months that I welcomed an offer of assistance.  I agreed to have the interview.  
It was not like any interview I had ever had, it was more like an interrogation.  I was asked if I knew people who were off the Bridge (meaning not actively pursuing the courses and counseling of scientology).  Did I know anyone who is a Suppressive Person?  How about people I chat with?  How about what I think?  The auditor, Joan, was difficult to read, as she seemed nice one minute and antagonistic the next.  I could tell from the direction the questions were going that this was considered serious.
I returned home NUMB.  I didn't want to talk about what had happened.  I knew if I refused their help I would be declared Suppressive.  I knew my marriage, and many other facets of my life, were at risk if I got declared a Suppressive Person.
  I happened to get a call that night from a Scientology friend of mine.  She was deeply troubled.  She had been ordered to disconnect from her best friend, who was disaffected as a Scientologist, but not a declared a suppressive or an enemy.  Her husband told my friend that if she did not disconnect she wouldn't be moving on the Scientology Bridge and if she was not moving on the Bridge, he could no longer be married to her.
I felt I was in a similar corner and felt I had no choice but to appear at the scheduled session the next day.  This is what I wrote in my journal that morning before driving to Hollywood for my appointment.
 JOURNAL February 6, 1996
OK, so I went in to see Donna (she had called yesterday). I realized going over that I had wanted to talk to her - in a way - but not like this.
Donna talked me into coming inside (damn) the building.
  Then she brought another person into the conference room, some one named Kirsten.  At one point I had to go to the ladies room, I was not allowed to use the ladies room on the 12th floor (security reasons), so we had to go to the tenth.
Donna escorted me, "You know this is not normally a public place," she said.  Anyway, we finally all arrived back in the conference room and Donna handed me a copy of the email I had sent to Kim in September.  They thought it was odd.
I just looked at it.  A PRIVATE E MAIL I had written months ago to another person was staring me in the face on the 12th floor of the Scientology International building.
It was ironic.  I had told Kim it wasn't HIM I didn't trust, it was the pretend friends Scientology would put around him, and here - right here was my private email.  All tied up in a neat little bow.  Now I had two OSA people confronting me with it.
What did I mean?  Do I talk to these people?  Who?  Do they call me?  Anyone else?  What do I think?  How have I been living my life?
My friends?  Who are my friends?
Does Chris know?  What does he think?
What have I been doing?  Am I on the Bridge?
Who am I?
Then I was told I would have an interview, but it wasn't really an interview - it was an investigation done on an E-meter.
Do I know people who are off the Bridge?  Do I know anyone who is Suppressive?  How about other people I chat with? 
How bout what I think?
Breach, you called it a BREACH, what did that mean?  What did I mean by that?  
I told Donna that if I did run into Abigail I would apologize.  I'm glad I got to tell Donna that.  She wanted to know if I saw Abigail or talked with her.  I told her no.
I told her Arnie Lerma and I had not communicated for ages.
I felt so set up.  I felt like I was being carefully watched for any misstep, but I really didn't have anything to hide.
I returned home NUMB, physically, emotionally, and mentally numb.  I didn't really want to talk about it.
What's to talk about?
I could not sleep.  I was tossing and turning, very upset.
Headache, I awakened to a headache, however, if I take aspirin they will know I had a headache.  They might think I did it to avoid auditing.  (If a person takes an aspirin they cannot receive any auditing until it has passed through their system - at least seven days).
  The next day I was walked back into the auditing room to meet Joan, the auditor, by the two OSA International women (Donna and Kirsten).  They both followed me into the tiny counseling room.  At first I looked at these three women and their stern faces, and wondered if this was about to be one of those Gang Sec Checks that I had heard about from years ago.  It was not. After sternly informing me that this was my "golden opportunity," Kirsten and Donna left me alone with my auditor, Joan.
   The room was small, just enough room for a small desk and two chairs.  The security camera was in the upper left corner of the room.  I had no way of knowing if it were on, or off, or if it was simply intermittently on.  Joan sat in the chair by the door, and I was aware that she had been trained to stop any unauthorized attempts by myself to leave the room.  My chair was right up against the one window in the back of the room.  
What transpired over the next several days was like no "auditing" I had ever experienced.  "Grueling" is a word that seems to fit. "Mental Torture" is another word that could fit.  The sessions were hours long and went on for  days and days.
I remember on the second day, the auditor had me read these different writings by L. Ron Hubbard to show me that this was truly for my benefit and that these sessions were not meant to be an inquisition or to 'attack' me.  The auditor said that she really cared about me and that was why this was being done to help.  However, within an hour or so she was yelling at me over something I said or that she disagreed with.
I remember confessing to her something that I had done to a suppressive person that I considered to be an Overt, which is a bad action or inaction done to another person or group, only to be yelled at.  Joan screamed at me that what I had done couldn't possibly be an overt.  
I told her I felt these actions were not good.
Joan shouted, "You can not commit overts (bad actions) on Suppressive People." 
We had several disagreements about the definition of an overt.  I said that I did not agree with one of the definitions Scientology has for a harmful act, the definition of "Greatest Good for Greatest Number".  I felt that it had been used to justify many wrong actions that others and I had done.  If the "greatest good for the people of this planet was for Scientology to be expanding and in control, than most anything could be justified to forward that agenda, even the most cruel of actions.  I felt that "Do unto others" (or 'what goes around comes around) had validity for me, and I used that definition of a bad act (Overt) to decide if I transgressed.  Joan vehemently disagreed with my point of view as it did not comply with Hubbard and Scientology's beliefs; this led to several more of the yelling episodes right in the small auditing room.
Another topic we delved into was my feelings about God and his place in Scientology.  I told Joan that I had gone to the Catholic Church down the street from my house and lit a candle before coming for the first 'session'.  Joan seemed surprised and wanted to know more.
I told her of my confusions with Scientology and God over these last few years, and how I knew many Scientologists that were atheists, but I wanted to know if that was their personal opinions or if that was the view of Scientology.  That was when I had found several writings by Hubbard that had been re-written by others, leaving God out of the writing.
Joan really became upset when I told her that I knew that the Hubbard's children had gone to parochial schools in England, and that supported my feeling that Hubbard himself did have some non-atheistic views.  She was very angry that I said that, and yelled that Hubbard had only done that because we had no Scientology schools back then.  I then pointed out that Hubbard could have sent his children to non-parochial schools.
Joan moved on to another question.  Who had I spoken these doubting thoughts of Scientology to?  What had they said in response?  
These 'session days' lasted almost two weeks.  When I wasn't in session, I talked very little.  I felt numb all the time.  Although I tried, I slept fitfully at best.  I had to force myself to eat, as I was not hungry at all.
 At night I would feel these sessions repeating constantly.  It was like the session never really ended.  I brought the auditor home with me.  She was in my mind, disagreeing with me, screaming at me, and digging into my head.
February 9 or 10, 1996 was the longest session I had, about 6 hours.  I remember desperately wanting to leave, hpowever, I was on one of the upper floors of OSA Int.  When I pictured the difficulties in getting past my auditor as well as the hallways and stairs that had cameras everywhere and were always full of staff and security guards trained to prevent someone leaving such a session, I ended up remaining.  I spent most of those six hours sitting in the stifling auditing room sobbing, or doubled over a trashcan with dry heaves.
I was holding the auditing cans in my hands and was across the desk from Joan, but when she gave me the trashcan I turned my body sideways.  I found I could see my car parked in the lot below.  I would look from the car in the lot to the camera up in the corner above Joan, and just know it was hopeless.  A wave of nausea would roll through my body again.
   "I'm not going to make it," I cried.  "I know I'm just not going to make it."
  "Enough of that," Joan snapped.  "Let's get back to the question." 
  Somehow we got to an answer that Joan was happy enough with that we could end for the day.  I was able to leave, the building and get into the safety of my car.  I cried the entire drive home.
Sunday night February 11, l996 I went to sleep.  Around 2 AM I was awakened with the cracking of my mind, my self, my soul.  I do not know how else to describe it other than my mind broke, and there was an actual audible sound that accompanied it.  I was driven to do something, I did not know what. 
   As I was leaping out of bed, a voice shouted at my husband, "You better get up or you're going to lose your wife!"  I knew the words had come out of my mouth, but it did not feel as if I was yelling the words. It felt as if someone else was in my body attempting to communicate with Chris.  
I left the house running.  My husband ran after me and caught me before I left the driveway.  I paced around the car and tried to touch one of the trees in front of our house.  I felt I needed to do three things; touch the ash tree in front of our home, find my Helen O"Brien book Dianetics In Limbo and a third action, which to this day eludes my memory.  Chris calmed me enough to go back into the house.  I failed to notice that he was trying to corral me back into the house dressed in his underwear.
Deep inside, I was scared to death.  Something had happened to my mind and I knew I was now in a different place. I had no idea where that was and could not hold onto reality, it kept shifting each time I looked at it.
   Chris called OSA Int and spoke with Joan, my auditor who happened to be up at 2AM. She spoke with him and then he passed the phone to me.  All I remember of our conversation was her saying, "There is no technology to fix this."    I remember those hopeless words seeping over to where I was in the distance and I remember thinking, "she could at least have lied to me..."  
It was either on February 12th or 13th that someone arranged another session with my auditor.  As soon as she started the session, the auditor pulled out the "Security Check Correction List," an auditing action that was supposed to detect and resolve the difficulties so often encountered in Scientology Security Checks.  Most of these difficulties were thought to come from some sort of secret that the person being interviewed had not divulged.  I immediately felt devastated.  My Case Supervisor and Auditor thought that this problem with my mind was nothing more than some secret evil deed I had failed to disclose.
I knew that this was not what was wrong with me.  I also felt that these people were capable of correcting what had happened to me and I could not understand why they had not.  L. Ron Hubbard had spoken on one of the upper levels that sometimes a higher level Scientologist could go into a mental spin, called a "freewheel."  If this freewheel was not stopped the person would die.  I knew my mind was in a freewheel, just spinning on and on, and I knew Hubbard had written a special correction list for this.  It did not have anything to do with any undisclosed evil deeds on my part.  Joan (the auditor) talked with me for a while and then ended the session.  I remember asking her, "But what about fixing what's wrong with me?"    She never answered me. I was sent home and told they would call me.
Over the next few days, I stayed home.  I was extremely anxious, fearful, and unwell.  I would try to fall asleep, but would soon be awakened by things going on in my mind.  It is difficult to communicate what those shadows and demons were.  I just wanted them to stop; I just wanted my clarity of thought back.  I increased the dosages of vitamins my auditor had me taking -Melatonin, Calcium and Magnesium, and vitamin B1.  But, the condition worsened and I found it harder and harder to maintain my grip on the world.  
I spent the night of February 13th pacing in our garage so as not to wake any family members.  I was trying to keep my racing thoughts calmed down, trying to keep the world from melting around me.  My husband did not understand what was happening to me, and I felt very, very alone.  I discovered that pacing back and forth, back and forth, seemed to calm the inner turmoil.  Years before, I had worked in Mental Hospitals and knew pacing was a common activity of people who were crazy.  Now I, the Me who was somewhat still there far in the background, understood why.  The pacing did help.  It gave a focus and slowed down the swirling turmoil of demons and thoughts.
  At 5:00 that morning I called a public Scientologist, Bill Yaude, who was both my friend and a trained, experienced auditor.  I thought he might be able to give me the help I needed. He was a great comfort; he likened what I was experiencing to a very bad LSD trip he'd had many years ago.  It was a comfort to know that someone had been where I was, but at the same time, I was perplexed, as I had not taken LSD.  I paced while talking with him on the portable phone.  I didn't want to stop moving, because the mental whirlpool would get worse.  I didn't want to stop talking to Bill because then the world would start melting.
  Bill knew the people at the Scientology Intelligence bureau and promised to find out why they weren't fixing me.  He gave me enough assurance that I finally felt that some help would be forthcoming and I could hang up the phone.
From the time that my mind broke, till this phone call (about four days), I was aware that I had had a breakdown.  My mind had cracked wide open, and it had broken in the middle of a Scientology Counseling session.  I remembered what L Ron Hubbard had said, "The Way Out, Is the Way Through" and also "What Turns it On Will Turn it off", so I was waiting for the intelligence unit to fix what they had broken.  I felt they had the tools to fix my broken mind.  However, each hour things just got worse.  It had been days, hours upon hours and I was beginning to feel that they were withholding their help on purpose.  I began to get paranoid.
On February 15, someone from Intelligence called Chris and told him that I was being ordered to see a Scientology doctor.  I knew enough about the Scientology techniques to know that they wanted a medical opinion about my condition.   
By this time I was starting to wonder if Captain Bill was really right after all.  Captain Bill had been a high-ranking Sea Organization Executive.  He had gone off the deep end back in 82, when he left the Sea Org.  He spun stories of how the higher echelons of the Sea Organization had been taken over by the aliens from the planet Marcab, called Marcabians.  I had never given his stories a second thought until now.  These International intelligence Staff were acting so cold hearted, they appeared to be alien.  
"What if Captain Bill had been right all along?" 
  The doctor I was sent to was an OT8 (the highest level of Scientology counseling which was available at the time.  I thought perhaps the OT8's were involved in the alien mind control program and that is how my mind had gotten broken.
Despite my fears, Chris took me to the recommended Scientology doctor.  She told me to continue with the Melatonin, vitamin B1, the Calcium Magnesium that my auditor had me taking.  She additionally recommended that I get some other herbs and she gave me a prescription for Chloral Hydrate.  She said that Dr. Denk (her partner, (the Doctor who had been caring for L Ron Hubbard when he died) had done research and found that Chloral Hydrate was the best "psych" drug that I could use. 
Over the next several days, I continued to deteriorate.  I was hallucinating more often now.  I was still pacing. I was not eating.  I felt the universe slowly disappearing on me.  Constant movement kept the world present and the demons at bay. 
 The only helpful advice that Joan my auditor from Scientology International gave during this time was to tell my husband not to let me drive a car.  
I felt as if I was on a Ferris wheel.  I had periods of partial clarity, where I would know that I was insane, but these were brief and did not last.  Each time I came out of my delirium, I knew the moment would not last and that the frightening power of my broken mind would soon suck me back under.  I was drowning, and felt that the people at Scientology's Intelligence Bureau were happily watching me disappear.
I tried many things over the next few days in an attempt to fix myself or get these Scientologists to help me.  I spoke with people at the Intelligence bureau repeatedly and even gave them my personal diaries and other personal papers thinking that they might help the Case Supervisor understand what I was experiencing.  
I was in hell and I told them so.  It was like Dante's Inferno in my mind.  I told them I really needed for them to give me a correction of what had gone wrong and to put my mind back together.  The only response I received was that my pre-clear folders were at their highest levels for a technical review.  I would have to wait until the folders returned to Los Angeles before any correction could be done.
 During this time, I religiously took all vitamins and medications that were recommended.  Thinking it might help, I increased the dosages and started taking handfuls of Vitamin B1, but I still could not sleep more than brief bursts of 30-40 minutes.  I would awaken from a dream and think that what I had dreamt had really happened. The division between my dream state and my waking state was practically gone. 
My husband did not understand what was happening with me.  I felt truly alone.  One day I went into my tiny closet and slid down the wall to the floor beneath the clothes, curled up in the corner, sobbing, and began hitting my head against the wall.  I just wanted my mind back.  I hurt so badly.  My mind was broken - I would think eggs or breakfast, but what would come out of my mouth would be 'chickens.'  Even though I knew what was saying was not was I intended, I could not get the thought train back on the tracks.  As soon as I would start, spirits, voices, and thoughts that seemed to be sudden realizations would bombard me.  My mind was wide open to forces way beyond my control.  
   I would wake up to find myself at my computer emailing who knows what to who knows whom.  No sooner would my awareness come back to my body in the chair in front of my desk, than I would find myself standing in front of the stove in the middle of the night making tea.
   So I returned to my little closet, not caring for the clothes that fell around me, not caring about the darkness.  I was trying to find a safe place, a place where my mind would work, Perhaps the four walls of this small room could hold my mind and would stop the wild galloping thoughts that went out from me in all directions.  But as I sat there I realized that there was no relief.  A wide-open broken mind does not heal in a dark closet; it came into the closet with me.  There was no relief, nowhere to go.  I cried and once again banged my head upon the wall hoping the pressure or pain would close the hole.
   This was the exact moment when I gave up.  I surrendered.  I believed that dying would not make any difference.  In fact things could be worse, because then I would still have this broken mind, but no body to contain it.
 During the night of February 20th l996, I didn't sleep at all.  I was now certain that Captain Bill had been right in his theories. The Marcabians had taken over Scientology's top management.  That was the day I untied myself from Chris and made my plan.  This was the day the firemen took me to the hospital in restraints.


CHAPTER SIXTEEN
SHATTERED

After I was released from the hospital, I was carefully watched.  In Scientology slang it is called a  'babywatch.'  Mine was informal because I was allowed to remain in my own home, the people who watched me were people I knew, and people were not forbidden to talk with me, thought they were not supposed to speak much.  Once my husband was home, they would leave.   
     On the 22nd of February, Kirsten from the Scientology Intelligence Bureau came to my house to give me a note from the Case Supervisor.  The note was something like, "Perhaps it would be a good idea if you left town for a while."
  I remember it sent me off into a long babbling tirade about how I had discovered that David Miscavaige had deleted all references to God when he did his rewrites of Hubbard's policies.  Adding to my mental strain was the fact that there were "others", also an invisible group of beings.  Occasionally one of those spirits would take over my body and begin using it to yell at a particularly annoying spirit standing behind Kirsten.  Kirsten left rather quickly and never took a phone call from me again.   
February 23-March 1
   My memories of this week are a jumble.  I can remember waking up in the middle of the night to make a cup of tea.  I would turn on the computer and pace.
   Over the next week, I rarely slept.  The hallucinations and paranoia continued, however, I was no longer alone.  The only way I can describe it is that Chris got inside the insanity with me.  He saw what I saw and heard, or, at least he made me feel he did.  He helped me calm down.  At night, when the waves of terror where the worst, he stayed with me.  It was as if he created a lighthouse in my shattered and drowning mind, and I followed his beacon back out of the terror.
My husband likens it to the movie "Poltergeist" where the father goes into the "other universe" to rescue his daughter who had been sucked in through the television.  That's what my husband basically did; he came in the psychosis, found me, and got me out.  
My son Taylor had an uncanny ability to know when I was losing it.  When my mind would open wider and begin to once again seep beyond my control, he would arrive, from whatever part of the house he had been, and begin to play with me.  He had some balloons and we begin hitting them back and forth to each other.  The game was to keep them from hitting the floor.  How did he know just when to come?  
I would tap the balloon and focus on it as it floated back up in the air.  I concentrated as he sent it back my way, attempting to judge just the right time and place for me to tap it back.  Concentrating on a brightly colored balloon brought focus to my scattered mind and helped me back to a sense of balance.
I needed to keep moving.  Pacing helped.  When my spiritual self was floating out in a 360-degree angle, the pacing kept the demons at bay.
Silence and stillness, would bring the demons.  But it was difficult to hit a moving target.
 I remember running - fear - pressure - demons, things that did not belong there.  I remember the cacophony of spirits attempting to take over my body, to use my identity to further their own ends.
I wrote a letter to the Case Supervisor and as soon as I finished with it my auditor Joan called on the phone and shouted with intention, "What are you doing NOW!".  I knew it was a trap to get the mind control back in and I was very proud of myself that I was able to resist her powers and lie to her.  I told her I had just finished breakfast.
     One long night I felt as if Chris and I were in a play and there were hidden cameras in the living room.  We had to get all of our lines correct before we could go back to bed.  At least a half an hour worth of dialogue was involved in a scene we had to do.  If one of us flubbed a line, we would have to go back to the beginning and repeat it until everything was exact; the exact inflections of voices, the exact words, and everything in a certain order that I was being fed.  Somehow, Chris was connected to me and knew the lines he was to say; it took us over three hours to make it back to our bedroom.
    The night that has the clearest memory for me was the one when Chris and I were not in our own bed.  For some reason we were asleep in one of our sons' twin beds in their bedroom.  They were not sleeping there, and I have no idea where they were.  I was so tired of this.  I was tired of my body being taken over; I was tired of watching from a distance as this turmoil took place in my mind.  Chris was holding me close in his arms.  He was trying to get some sleep without my wandering around again and needing to get up with me. 
   I noticed a light begin to glow in the darkness of my mind.  I saw angels coming down, many angels; and there was a leader who spoke to me.  With a wave of his sword of light, his energy washed through my mind.  I watched as the huge masses of darkness I had been grappling with were being swept away by the light.  I could see a battle involving hundreds, if not thousands, of warriors. A battle between the demons and the light filled angels.  It was then the battle shifted and it moved and was swept from my space.  It was as if the cavalry had arrived.  The dark forces that had inhabited my world were being attacked by light from above.  I watched as the cavalry chased the darkness miles and miles away.  I knew the fight would continue, but it was now at a distance from me.
    The leader angel remained with me along with three others.  I was told that my part in the fight was over.  The battle would continue, but my part in it was done.  I was told not to worry any longer and that all would soon be well. 
   I was wrapped in a blanket of peace as I watched the clouds of darkness moving off, further and further away. The leader left with to join behind but left behind three spirits of light. 
   I nudged Chris and asked him what had just happened.  He said "Nothing."  I asked him what he had been thinking of.  He told me he had been praying that I would get better.
I felt he had called on the angels.
  Chris went back to sleep and I laid in the peace I could finally feel.  Soon after, I climbed out of bed to go to the bathroom.
  As I left the room, I noticed the streetlight reflected in the multiple panes of glass of the front window.  I had looked out this window many times on previous nights, but this night I noticed that the steam had created angelic shapes in each of the individual panes of glass. They were just like snow angels we make in the snow.  Now, I knew that the window probably made that scene every time the temperature dropped, but that night, on that night, I took it as a sign that we were no longer alone, that we had protection.
Everything shifted after that night.  Slowly I began to sleep more.  Slowly the terrors dissipated.  The hallucinations were still there, but they became gentler.  The voices I heard were nicer.  I now felt angels surrounding me and buffering me from the demons.  They told me things and they gave me comfort that my mind would heal, that I would heal from what had gone on.
  During this time period of initial slow healing, no one from Scientology called.  At one point, I felt an urgent need to get back my books and journals.  My husband called Kirsten and did in fact get bunches of my personal things returned.  The journals had been opened flat, as if they had been Xeroxed and certain pages where I had mentioned Scientology had been dog-eared. But at least I had my originals back.
  	I kept trying to 'put normalcy there'.  In the past, I used to get up in the morning, have juice and coffee, and read the paper.  Therefore, I started going through the same routine - getting up, getting my juice and coffee, and opening the paper.  My mind was still broken; I was unable to concentrate and could not read more than a word here and there.  I focused on two small concepts -"Act as if" and "Fake it till you make it."  I stayed on a newspaper page about as long as I thought it would take if I were really reading it, and then turned to the next one.
  I was struggling to get my mind back in order, to arrive back in the real world and live day to day.  Every night I slept a little bit more, and every day I was a little bit better. 
On March 6th, I got a call from Bill, the auditor friend, who had helped me with his LSD story and other actions before my husband understood what was happening.  He wanted to interview me and record my experience.  
  I had already decided that I would never go into a Scientology counseling session again; never pick up the cans again attached to the E-Meter.  However, Bill was a friend and I trusted him.  Bill pointed out that if I did not document what happened with me, then the people involved would never be held responsible and it could happen to someone else.  I finally agreed.  I wanted MY point of view documented.  I did not want my pre-clear folders, that Scientology would never permit me to possess, to be the only record of my experience.  We met in a private, safe location. 
Afterward, Bill stated that as a trained auditor he could see there were misapplications and errors in the techniques I had received.  His statement did not fix anything for me, nor did it tell me anything new, but it confirmed for me that I did not lose my mind through my own fault.  
On Friday, March 8th, I got another call from Bill.  This time he told me that a woman from Scientology's International Legal Department wanted me to sign some affidavits.  He told me that he had originally been asked to help have me to sign these documents.  Scientology had not cared for my information, and had no interest in interviewing me for my feelings about what had happened.  Bill told me that it was he who had demanded that the interview be done for the record. 
   I was upset.  I took the phone number of the person from Scientology's International Legal Department. I was angry that this legal person didn't even have the decency to call me directly.  In fact, my husband and I had received NO phone calls from Scientology after the day when he realized that Office of Special Affairs and Scientology would not assist us.
  When I called the woman from the legal department, she told me that she had a short affidavit and a longer waiver for me to sign.  I told her I wanted copies and the time to read them first.  As I talked with her, it hit me that after all I had gone through, this was all I would get as a response from Scientology.  When my non-Scientologist friends found out I had not been doing well, they sent flowers and good wishes.  Scientology wanted me to sign legal documents to protect themselves.  Tears filled my eyes and I hung up on her.  I called her back a while later and she agreed to mail the papers to me.
     I was saddened and deeply disappointed by this turn of events.  I knew this was all I would get from the group I had given so much to for the past 20 years.
My husband, on the contrary, was not sad but incensed that all they cared about was covering their own Asses.
The documents never did come in the mail.  Even so, I wondered about signing them or not.  I knew that if I didn't sign them, the Intelligence Bureau would consider me a threat and would more than likely take further actions against me.  
  I was doing better, but I was still very unstable.  There was a part of me that worried about the alien takeover and those tepaphones the alien Marcabians had placed atop the blue Scientology complex.  I knew Scientology could send me right back to the hell I had just begun to climb out of.
On March 13th, the Scientology legal woman called and said she couldn't mail them, but would like me to read them in her presence and sign them.
  My husband was unavailable that day.  The only friend I could contact recommended I sign them so that Scientology would leave me alone.
  I would not meet the legal woman in the Scientology building.  We agreed on to meet in a restaurant.  I was too upset, however, to get out of the car and we made it no further than the restaurant parking lot.  It was only a bit more than one month from the beginning of my ordeal and only a week since I began to pretend I was normal.  Not yet having anchors in to the real world, I was pretty shaky.  I still saw things that weren't there, but I was well enough to know not to share that fact with others.  
I sat with her in the car, in the parking lot, while she read the two documents to me.  She said that normally a lawyer would explain them so I knew what I was signing, but, as I was in no shape to go into her building and meet with her attorney, I couldn't.  
 	We changed some wording.  They called what happened to me my "stressful period".  They wanted me to sign that I knew that this was not their fault and that Scientology had actually helped me.  
  The other thing I was asked to sign was a waiver.  She said it was signed my many people every day now.  It was a very common act.  Everyone leaving staff signed one.  Scientology's legal department keeps them stacked in boxes in a closet.  She said they hoped that the leaving staff left would never turn into enemies and that these waivers would never have to be used, but just in case they get them signed before letting anyone leave the Sea Organization. 
She agreed to changes some of the wording.  She was going to make clean copies and arranged for a time for us to meet again for my final signature.  I was about to turn on my car to leave when she turned to me and said, "Oh, one more thing.  I would like you to sign these on video. That way if Arnie Lerma ever finds out about this, we could prove that they weren't signed under duress."
  The irony of sitting in a car, in a parking lot, tears streaming down my face, unable to make it into even a restaurant due to the stress I was feeling, was unbelievable.  I told her I would not be in her video.
I tried to call my husband Chris again, but he was still in a recording session and I couldn't reach him.  .  I wasn't sure what to do.  I did not want to become involved in a war with Scientology over signing the documents; I just wanted my mind back. I reasoned that if signing these papers would keep them from harassing me and aiming those tepaphones at me, I should do so and get on with my life. 
  I went back to Hollywood to meet with this legal department woman and a notary public.  I picked them up in front of Scientology's main building on Hollywood Boulevard in Hollywood.  The building houses Scientology's International Legal and Intelligence Department, as well as the Organization that manages the Scientology around the world.  We went around the corner and parked.  I signed the documents in my car.  I got my copies, which she cautioned me to keep safe and not to show anyone.  The way she said it made it seem as if it were unusual for people to get copies. 
When Chris found out, he was very angry, especially when he found out Scientology had arranged this on a day he was unavailable.  He took a deep breath and gave me a long embrace.  What's done is done.  
Life goes on.  Life went on.  I continued to slowly mend.  I remember the end of June, or early July l996, was when I felt the 'walls' return to my mind.
In those months, I never spoke of what happened, even to my closest friends and family.  I did not discuss it even with those who knew what happened.  At that point it felt better to just live each day and act as if it hadn't happened.  The more I pretended to be normal, the more normal I became. 
  Early in the summer, a friend told me she had seen my counseling folder at the Advanced Org.  I was pleased to hear that at least my folder had moved out of the Office of Special Affairs and the Intelligence and Legal loop.  I called Claire, the same person who had given me the interview months before, and asked her if she could look inside the folder and see if there was a note for me from the case supervisor.  There were no notes, and the interview done by my auditor-friend that documented all the errors was also missing.  In fact, several things were missing.  There was nothing in my folder from the time I had been ordered to see the Scientology doctor - no information about my collapse, or the ambulance, or the hospital visit, or the hell I had been through - zero.  It was as if none of it had ever happened.  My folders had been "Vetted."  Any and all incriminating evidence removed.  The people that manage international Scientology do not like the lower Scientology organizations knowing their business.
 On August 14, 1996 I got a call from a very young guy who said he was calling from the Office of Special Affairs.  He said he wanted to schedule me to come in and complete the auditing action that they had started in February.  I was shocked beyond surprise.  I thought I was not hearing him clearly.  Then he said that my auditor, Joan, told him to call. He said that I "hadn't gotten very far in the security checking program written out for me."  I asked him if he knew anything about what had happened to me.  He replied just that I had not gotten far and it needed to get finished.  I told him that I ended up in the hospital after the last thing we did.  He batted back my comment as if it were entirely my fault saying, "I've never heard of Scientology giving a bad result." 
 Overhearing the conversation, Chris grabbed the phone from my hands and took it into the other room to have a few words with the caller.  I don't know what my husband said, but the young man never called back.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
THE HEALING BEGINS

For the first year after my psychotic break, I did not speak of it.  I would 'act as if' all was well, even when I knew it wasn't.  I was unable to work at any sort of job.  Thankfully Chris was working and we could get by without my income.  The boys were in school most of the time and also of an age where they didn't require constant care from me, which was good because I was incapable of giving it.  I think my 9 year old cared for me more than I for him that first year.
I would start the morning with a challenge to do some laundry.  There were days in which even that could not get completed.  I spent a lot of time walking on the treadmill, in the dark.  I would just cry and cry as I walked, wishing I could have my mind back the way it was.
During that first year, I knew I could appear normal, but the reality was much further than appearances.  I was thankful each morning I woke up to find the walls were solid and the floor did not move beneath my feet.  But I also could feel any slight drift in my mind and knew things could begin to melt again at any time.  I struggled to keep my thoughts away from anything that would bring me closer to the edge.  Thinking about the things that occurred, the wild carnival my mind had turned into, was something I wouldn't go near.  I couldn't think the thoughts, let alone speak them.  
I lived my life mostly among the non-Scientology friends and activities I had built up over the years.  I was very practiced at changing subjects or locations if need be, if I felt things in my mind that began to be triggered. 
It was always worse at night.  I was often afraid to go to sleep and Chris would comfort me.  We did not talk about 'it'.  I had a talisman of sorts, some special wooden runes that were made by an Indian and were in a deerskin bag.  They had been with me when the angels had come to rescue me, and they gave me comfort.  I slept with them under my pillow, and when my mind would begin to drift to the precipices that were unsafe and not solid, I would hold them and be reminded of the love and hope that had been brought to me by the visitors.  I would feel once again a protective cocoon instead of the licking flames of a hellish abyss.

               _______________________

After a year had passed, I felt it might be time to begin to tell a few close friends what had happened.  Scientology's Intelligence Bureau, my two sons who were living at home at the time, and perhaps three Scientologists had known what had happened.  It was my first anniversary of that awful cracking in my mind, and I wanted to mark the day in some way.
The first person I called was Mick Wenlock in Denver, whom I had been in communication with prior to the interrogation.  Mick looks all biker tough, with his colors, tattoos and all, but really is a gentle guy.  Even though the church had declared him a suppressive, he still wanted to keep up with old friends and know what was going on.  He was not vindictive, or what could be considered an anti-Scientologist.  But since he was on the list of 'Suppressive individuals' just the fact that he had been in touch with me made him part of my interrogation.  The fact that I had sent him copies of recent Scientology brochures so he could keep up to date on some old friends was considered criminal on my part.  I was obviously aiding and abetting the enemy.
When I was psychotic, he had gotten somehow mixed up in my irregular and paranoid thoughts.  I knew I had sent him some nonsensical emails, and we had not spoken since.  It was a difficult call to make, just to speak the words out loud, and to let him know what had happened to me.  It was the first time I shared my experience with anyone who wasn't present for the actual events.
Mick and his wife, Nancy, were very understanding and their compassion gave me strength.  He was not angry about the email I had sent him, nor my sudden disappearance from his life this past year.  I actually spoke the words of what had happened and the walls were still there and the floor hadn't melted.  It was a major turning point for me, to speak of "it", and still live and breath.
I remembered when I saw the spirits trying to come in thru the back of the house.  The dogs could thee them, too.  What had always appeared to me to be a random snapping at the air by them, I now saw as my three Siberian protectors guarding the parameters of our home by charging away attacking demons.  
 These aliens could shape shift - they could do remote viewing and temporarily take over someone's body and to use them as their of the pawn.  I had seen them do it.  I had.  I began to write down the experience. 
I called my friend Victoria to take Sasha to her apartment.  At one point she said, "You're scaring me, Nance", and I could feel her fear as if it were my own.  I had always known we were all connected here in this universe, but incredibly I could feel as if I were she; as if I were walking in her shoes.  I realized I had to calm down because my fear was contagious.  I pretended to be normal and relaxed and pulled back.
Victoria took my dog home to her small apartment with her cat Orville.  What could I tell her?  How could I have explained to her that there was an alien plot to take over the world and that they were using Scientology to assume world domination?  Besides what would that do except put her in danger.  I felt better pretending all was well and that she simply needed to help by getting the dog out of the house for a while.
I had another close friend, Mary, who was a part of the Hubbard Family.  She had actually spent some time during this first recovery year staying my home.  I was unable to speak of "it" during that first year.  She had enough troubles of her own, and simply to think of sharing with her, would bring me back to the brink.

             ___________________________

During this time I was aware, from visits to the Internet, that non - Scientology people were looking for her along with other Hubbard Family members.  These non- Scientologists had come across information from staff members leaving Scientology that L. Ron Hubbard's will might have grounds to be contested.  Apparently the new will was signed after he had had a stroke and a few days before his death changed everything and left very little to the Hubbard family members and almost everything to the people that were there in front of him at the time of his death. 
I knew these non-Scientologists had some valid points.  I knew from my friend, that no family had been informed that Hubbard was even ill, let alone deathly ill, let alone on his death bed.  He died with no members of his family at his side.
My mother-in-law had suffered a stroke so I had seen, close up, how a stroke ravages a person physically and impairs their ability to speak and think clearly for several weeks.  Hubbard's' stroke had proven fatal.  I can only imagine his state of mind at the time of the purported "new will".  It is odd that the new will gave custodianship of his assets to people present at his death, and very little for his immediate family.
The Scientology hierarchy was aware that these ex-Scientologists were looking for Mary, and other members of the Hubbard family.  They took Mar to a sequestered location.  I knew where she was; she had even visited me (accompanied by a security guard) during this time.
I was still very unstable mentally.  I was uncertain of what to do.  Should I tell her what I knew?  Should I tell the ex-Scientologists anything?  How could I sit here in the middle of everything, and do nothing?
I felt very strongly that the new 'regime' run by David Miscavaige had tremendous ill will for the Hubbard family.  A vast majority of my interrogation by the intelligence unit was spent digging into private conversations I had had with Mary or with Hubbard's' daughter Diana.  The attitude towards the surviving Hubbard Family members was not one of good will, but more of distaste, with a reluctant tolerance thrown in.  I knew that Scientology was being nice to Mary at this moment because they feared what she had the power to do, not because they really cared for her.  I personally felt that it was not right or fair that the family be so removed from the inheritance of even his personal effects.  At the time, an official biography of L. Ron Hubbard's life had been begun.  The family was left out, as if they had never been there, right at his side, during all those years.  I needed some help and guidance.  I not only was fearful of my mental stability, I also cared deeply for Mary.  I had been Catholic and still had some contact with a local parish.  I arranged for some spiritual counseling on what course of action to take.  After much review with Sister Margaret, and personal soul searching, I decided that the Scientology hierarchy did not have Mary's best interests at heart; they had their own ulterior motive in keeping her tucked away.  The ex-Scientologists also had their own ulterior motives.  While they held no disrespect for the family directly that I was aware of, the ex-Scientologists were not looking for Mary or other family members not because they cared for them as people, but rather, for what they represented as colored by their own motives.
So, I decided that first and foremost, I was her friend.  So, as her friend, I should be looking out for what she wanted in her own life.  I did nothing either way, I was simply there as a friend for Mary as she went through this turmoil.
I felt comfortable that this decision was not being made because I had also feared for my mental well-being. It was not because I was afraid to rattle the cage of the new regime, or afraid of letting the ex-Scientologists down in what I felt was a valid point.  I felt comfortable that it was in the best interest of Mary at the time for me to simply be a friend.
In the end, she did get some support and money from Scientology; the ex Scientologists would never have been able to offer her that.


CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
LISA MCPHERSON

It was in early l997 that I first heard about Lisa McPherson's death.  Lisa had died after having a mental breakdown while being cared for and was then kept on the premises of the Scientology Fort Harrison Hotel in Clearwater Florida, the very same hotel where I had lived in the garage.  It was very sad, and it struck me very hard.  Like me, she had been a long term Scientologist.   I found many similarities between us.  When I read the daily notes that her caregivers had written, I understood exactly Lisa's seemingly crazy comments and actions.  I knew precisely what was going on in her mind.  It was where I had been and was not a place I would wish on anyone.
I did not make a connection between the drugs, vitamins, and herbs that Lisa and I both took until I stumbled across a TV show in the summer of 1997.  I had already studied sleep deprivation and its effects on mental stability.  But, in this television story, the Doctor laid out that it wasn't that all the medications and mega doses of vitamins each by themselves would have worsened Lisa's condition, but it was the combination of them all that furthered her deterioration.  I remember sitting on my bed watching him list the same vitamins and medications that I had been prescribed, and knew that I too had been getting progressively worse each day I deteriorated, until the day of the collapse and restraints.
But that day was also the day that Chris told me he was with me, as well as the day I overheard the nurses laughing at the medicine.  Since I was certain the Marcabians had taken over Scientology and they were after my family, and me I knew we had to do the opposite of what I was being told to do.  Over the following weeks of NOT doing what the Scientologists recommended, I improved.  I started to get better.  I could actually sleep.  The angels arrived and I began to heal.
I had not yet decided to continue or not as a Scientologist.  I had hoped that the help I had been promised by the international Scientologists would have helped to settle that question, but it did not.  During my first year, part of the healing was not to think about Scientology one way or the other.  Thinking in that direction only made the walls of my mind thinner.
I wrote to David Miscavaige, the head of Scientology about what had happened to the similarities and me with Lisa McPherson.  I wrote of how it was only after I STOPPED taking the mega doses of vitamins that I had improved.  I was not certain if he would get my letter, and I didn't know how it would be received or if it would bring about any changes, but I felt I had to write it for myself.  If there was a future Lisa McPherson, at least I had attempted to get the information out there.
I never got an answer from David, but my neighbors mentioned to me that within the week there was a woman in a white Mercedes taking pictures of my house.  Was I selling my house and leaving the area?
I knew from my work in the covert intelligence area of Scientology that one of the first things that gets done when a person is being looked at as a possible or suspected threat is to take pictures.  That way in the future, they can show their agents pictures of the targets and the targets' places of business and home.
Part of me knew this could just be my simple paranoia from my psychosis, but sometimes there really is someone out to get you.  Although I never did get a direct answer from David Miscaviage or his office I have always felt that white Mercedes was the only answer I would get.

             ________________________

During this second year I felt strong enough to share with a couple more of my close friends what had happened.  
	One friend I had known for years asked if I could please wait before telling her my story.  She was a Scientologist and in the middle of her own Security Checking to see if she would be accepted to do her next levkel.  She knew without me having to say a word, that what I was about to tell her would not shed a good light on Scientology.  The eligibility counseling alone cost about $400 an hour and I knew my friend well enough to know if and when I sat down with her she would become very upset with Scientology and this would therefore cost her a lot of money.
  "Oh, sure, Understand," I said, and I did.
Months later, I finally told her what had happened to me.  Her response surprised me.
"Of course, that happened.  Those people over at OSA International are suppressive."
"What?"  I was a bit surprised by her knowledge of interrogations performed at the Office of Special Affairs.
"Sure, we public Scientologists know that they are nasty and not applying Scientology correctly, but what can we do?"
She took another bite of her salad, and I nodded my head.  These were things that were spoken of in private moments to private friends, but there was always the risk that the information would come up in an interview or someone else's counseling session.  If such thoughts did get reported, the public person would be sent to "an ethics counselor" to get their viewpoints back in line with the groups.  The public Scientologists did not have to fear being sent to Rehabilitation, but they did have to worry about being declared Suppressive or being ordered to spend a lot of money on "Security Checking" to get themselves back to thinking in the right direction.
                _______________________

     In September of l998, I finally made the leap out of any doubts I had about Scientology.  It happened when Chris and I were on a vacation and watching television in the hotel room.  The Dalai Llama was speaking about the relationship between Tibet and China, and why he would not promote the Tibetan people to raise arms against China.  He explained that Tibet and China were neighbors and lived in this same world. As neighbors, they had to learn to live together.  Violence would only breed more violence.  He was basically saying, turn the other cheek, which was a mainstay of my Christian upbringing.  In that moment, I finally was not lost among the trees, but could see the forest.  I no longer had to go back and forth with "this part of Scientology is good and was helpful" and "this part of Scientology was bad and harms people" that had been the see saw of my condition of doubt.  Suddenly I saw the bigger picture.  Scientology, as they have often said to the media, is not a turn the other cheek religion.  In fact, I had studied numerous articles by Hubbard wherein he had written that Scientology procedure was to  "attack the attackers".  He had established the rule that we sue those attacking Scientology, not to win lawsuits or to get justice but to get them to shut them down, or at least get them to stop saying bad things about us.
	I thought back to the fight I had had with Joan during my interrogation, where I td her that I believed the definition of a bad act as one you would not want to have done to yourself, the golden rule that runs through most religions and philosophies in the world.  Rather than Hubbard's additional definition of a good act as being one that "was the greatest good for the greatest number."  I felt that it was this "Greatest Good Measuring Stick", that had allowed myself and other Scientologists to break the Golden Rule.
   In that moment, listening to the Dalai Llama, I realized I could not be a Scientologist.  I believed the golden rule was a greater truth. 
   It was that simple.  However, it had taken me years and a lot of pain to get to that one simple point. 


CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
MY INTERNET POSTING

	In the fall of 1998, almost three years after my incident and Lisa's, I wrote a story under a pseudonym, Kathryn.  It is still available on the Internet on several web sites, one of them being Operaton Clambake.  My husband had read that sometimes the simple act of writing about negative incidents could help with the healing and suggested I try it.  I left out everything about my son and the McDonald's ballroom, and some of the ins and outs of the insane days, but it was the basic story of what had happened to me.
   I no longer felt an obligation to keep their secrets.  That was a good feeling.
	I e-mailed it to Arnie Lerma (as Kathryn) and asked him to post it to the Internet for me.  I had not spoken to Arnie since before his home was raided.  I decided I felt safer if Arnie placed my story.  Scientology had lost a court case against him, and had been afraid that he might think I was asked to sign those papers under duress.
   Arnie uploaded the story and I waited to see how quickly therer would be any effect from it.  Within 24 hours, Bill Yaude, the same friend I turned to for help in my mental crisis, and was also a Scientology Intelligence volunteer who knew all about my incident, phoned me.  He wanted to see me and talk, so we arranged a lunch meeting.  
It was good to see him; he had been a friend to me during my turmoil.  
"So, did you read my story?"  I asked.
"Yes, OSA International had me read through it to see how accurate it was."
"and?"
"Well, I told them it was a pretty accurate, and honest account.  Your story laid things out like who, what, when, where".
"I'm glad you thought that.  That was what I tried to do."
  I wasn't out to embellish, but I was not going to hide the kinds of things they do.  At one point in the conversation Bill asked,
"Do you talk to Arnie much?"
"Is this you who wants to know or your intelligence handler?  I shot back.
Bill was silent for a moment, "You know, I used to know Arnie, he was a pretty good guy."
"Yeah," I said, "He helped me out of some rough times in New York."
We talked of other things, my kids, how Chris was doing.
  And then the conversation circled back. 
"You know Kirsten and Joan really care about you and how you are doing."
"Really?"
"No, really they ask me if I've seen you, or how you are doing."
"Bill, they only care about whether I am going to cause trouble or not, they care about what I might do.  They don't care about me."
"No, seriously, Nance, they do care."
"Well, my phone number is in the book and neither of them have called to see how I was doing these last few years.  The only call I got was from someone who wanted me to come back in to finish what they started.  That's it.  If they really cared they would have called and said so."
Bill nodded.
"Tell them they can call me any time they want, they have my number."
Our lunch ended.  I do not know what Bill had expected from our little meting, but I left knowing that the personnel at the Scientology Office of Special Affairs had read it and knew I hadn't lied about the events that had occurred.  They were not disputing my side of things.
I felt sad about Bill and the friendship that was rapidly drifting away.  I did not understand how someone could know, as intimately as he did, what was done to me, and have his own support for Scientology not even miss a step.  In addition, the information on Lisa McPherson was out on the internet, and she had died.  She had died.  It didn't seem to cause a blip on Bill's feelings about Scientology.  As a friend that hurt, not that I expected him to give up his life's beliefs in what Scientology promises, lord knows that hadn't been easy for me, but I would have expected at least some questions raised in his mind.
           _________________________

Not one of my Scientology friends (once they found out) questioned Scientology due to my experiences.  They felt that what happened to me was an anomaly.  There is a part of the Scientology philosophy that always will assign the cause of anything that happens to the victim.  Scientology takes the idea of being responsible for your own life to the fullest imaginable effect, believing that you are in control of every single thing that happens to you.  If you get cancer, you must have done something for that resultant effect to occurred.  If you break a leg, have a car accident, are in a building that explodes; the Scientology credo is " you are responsible for your own condition.
When the case supervisor in Lisa's Case was interviewed by the police, he felt strongly that what had gone wrong was that he had failed to find the suppressive person in Lisa's life, and because Lisa was connected to this unfound, unnamed person, that is why she died.  If she had discovered and disconnected, she would not be dead.  It was that simple, she was responsible for her own death.
       ________________________________
Some press and legal representatives contacted me, indirectly, after my story hit the Internet.  I was still withholding my real identity from the world at large, although of course I knew that Scientology knew who I was.  I wasn't ready to speak and I certainly wasn't ready to publicly testify.  I was tempted many times to contact the District Attorney in the Lisa McPherson's criminal case in Florida, I was simply not healthy enough to do so.
                   _____________________
On June 12, 2000, the criminal charges were dropped against Scientology.  The medical examiner had changed her original findings to that of accidental death.  The Prosecutor attempted to question the Medical Examiner on why she made the changes.  Even though he was not in an adversarial role at all, he felt she could not stand up to questioning in the case.  She had been his key witness and he felt he had no choice but to withdraw the criminal charges.
However, the Civil case run by Florida attorney Ken Dandar continued.  He had asked me to be a witness for him in the civil case; I found I was still not strong enough to come forward with anything.  If I had been a witness in a criminal case, I would have been offered at least some form of protection, but civil cases are different.  I would have felt more exposed and putting myself out on a limb, so I withheld any decisions other than "not now".

March 28, 2001
I guess the thought that my words may be taken out of context really do bother me.  I do not write near as deeply much as I used to and I don't journal as often as I used to.  I think I have to get over this feeling that it's not safe... that I am not safe -- I mean, granted, I am not safe.  I need to notice deep inside myself that things are not safe and that that's OK.  Perhaps this is where my higher power comes in and my faith that everything is happening for a reason.  Things seem to be shifting in my universe again. 
As time would have it, there was a retreat for women offered at my Catholic Church.  The theme of the retreat was "Forgiveness" and it was a silent, contemplative retreat.  I knew that I needed to dig deep within myself to be able to let this area of my life go.  To allow myself to go forward without feeling there was this undropped shoe.  I spent time reading, meditating, praying.  I was seeking guidance for what I needed to close that chapter and open new avenues in my life.
March 31. 2001
  I'm at the retreat house.
Kindness, that's what the guy at breakfast was talking about... and it's true that's what it comes down to - kindness.  I was so starved for kindnesses while I was in the Sea Org.  A simple kindness sent my way could send me into tears.  I do feel this other direction building within me and that is good.  
I had thoughts of suing the Scientologists for what they had done to me.  I am certainly not the person I used to be.  I have been damaged in some unspeakable ways and I do worry that this may be permanent.  When the thoughts of suing them arose in my mind, they would be held in check by my husband's feelings.  Chris felt very strongly that we had already given them so many years of our lives that we didn't need to give them any more.  I had lived and we were coping.  "Let's take what we have and go on."  I knew that was his point of view.  I also knew there was some truth to it.  Scientology had pockets full of money and would throw all they could at anyone attempting to speak out against them.  If I did initiate a lawsuit over what they had done to me, it could drag on for years.  It could get ugly. 
I never allowed the thoughts to go further than "Chris won't let me sue."  One day I was journaling on this matter and realized that Chris and I had been married for a long time, and that there was nothing that either of us really wanted to do that the other would stand in the way of.  I knew that if I truly thought it out, and felt I HAD to sue them, he would be right there with me.  He might disagree, but he would be right there with me.  I realized that I always stopped the thought with a "Chris won't let me," because it was easier to blame him for my inability to sue Scientology, than to really think the thought through for myself.  If I decided to sue or not sue, I would have to be responsible for that decision.
So, I spent some time weighing my options and desires.  I realized that what I really wanted was an apology.  I really wanted the people directly involved and the hierarchy of Scientology to communicate some compassion for me and some recognition that they had done me harm.   I realized that if I had to instigate a lawsuit to get that, it would not be heartfelt, and therefore would not be what I wanted anyway.  So, I was able to freely make the decision not to sue them.  I did not want their money.  I already felt that they were in an endless cycle of overcharging people for the payments they had to make to attorneys and injured people for the overcharging and pain they caused people.  I did not want to contribute to that any longer.
March 31, 2001	
Had a great retreat day.  It has been good for me so far.  Very restorative, nourishing, peaceful.
Great gardens, great weather and good prayers.
By the end of the weekend I had composed a letter to Mike Rinder.  Mike Rinder was and still is the head of the Office of Special Affairs Internationally for Scientology.  The Office of Special Affairs contains both the intelligence and the legal branches.  I had known him personally many years ago, and I knew he was well aware of the incident that went down with me.  I wrote him that I knew of Lisa's death,  that I know he knew what happened to me, but that I did not think that the people involved had done it to me on purpose.  However, I did mention that I had several close friends who thought otherwise.  I told Mike that after much soul searching, I realized that I needed and wanted to get on with my life and that I needed some closure.  I needed some communication from their side of the table.  I wanted to understand why they had treated me as they had.  I wanted to understand why they had so quickly abandoned me.  I had been a hardworking and dedicated member for over twenty years and I felt that I deserved at least that.
I felt very good about that letter.  I knew not to be optimistic for a response, but I did have some hope.
I felt good the week after the retreat.  I felt that I could get on with my life.  I felt that, yes, they had made serious mistakes with Lisa McPherson and she had died as a result, but just six weeks later there were already some differences in how I was handled.  I felt that Scientology had learned its lesson and there would be no more cases like Lisa or myself.
k
CHAPTER TWENTY
JEANNINE AND GREG
Within a week of my silent retreat, with my decision to forgive and move on the families of two separate individuals contacted me: Greg Bashaw and Jeannine.  Both Greg and Jeannine had been long-term members of Scientology, over twenty years each the same as Lisa McPherson and me.  They each had also suffered mental collapse and psychosis.  Each situation happened differently, and separately, but both happened within the past few months.  The families had read my story (Kathryn's story) on the Internet and contacted me for help.  I felt like the universe (or God, depending on your beliefs) was clearly telling me that my connection to this area was not yet done; that I could not leave this alone.  How could I not attempt to help these people and their families?
Greg lived in Chicago. The first time we spoke on the phone was moving for both of us.  I had never spoken to someone who knew the place I had been to, and we both knew in an instant we had been to the same hell.  I told him I was compelled to call him, that I wanted to give him some hope that things would get better; it would just take time.  I said I was someone who had been where he was and had come back.  He almost cried. He said he had been hoping so hard that he even put a prayer out to God to send him something, some sign.  Then, within 24 hours, I had called him.
We agreed that we understood why Christopher Reeve fought so hard to stay alive, that life was worth it when you had your mind, but that when you didn't have your mind, there was no quality of life.  We both agreed we would rather have completely broken bodies than the broken minds we were experiencing.
Greg and I had other similarities.  He had also done some volunteer espionage work for Scientology.  He had been one of the key people in the conspiracy to close down and take over the Cult Awareness Network.
Scientology had also abandoned him, the group that he had given so much time and money to over the years.  Greg told me that he had been on one of the upper Scientology levels, OT 7, for some years and that he had gone down to Florida for his mandatory six-month check regularly.  On the last trip, this past November, he commented to a counselor that he felt mentally unstable.  He said, "They packed my stuff and had me off to the airport and back to Chicago so quickly it would make your head spin".
We spoke of the pain this had caused our children.  Both of our young boys had found us in such horribly negative situations.  He had a son close to my younger son's age, so we could relate to the pain we were causing, but we both felt unable to stop it.  The feeling of helplessness was so strong.
Greg wanted to get better NOW.  He wanted a way that his healing could take place quickly so that he could go back to being the breadwinner of the family.  I didn't tell him that it took me years to get to where I was.  I didn't tell him that I still was not back to where I had been before it happened.  I just gave him the hope and truth that each day things were getting a little better and that if he worked he would get through to the other side.
We both spoke of how it wasn't so much that Scientologists had messed us up and broken our minds, but that once they had made the mess they ABANDONED us.  That was the most shocking concept how quickly they disappeared.
We spoke of how help had come from where we least expected it, from the non-Scientologists.  Greg spoke clearly of the assistance he had gotten from the Christians in his life.
The last time I spoke to him, he was still not in very good shape, but said he was taking it day by day.
          _________________________
Jeannine's family contacted me after reading my story on the Internet.  Since Jeannine was still in contact with her Scientologist Field Staff Member I did not want her to know my real name: she could speak to me as Kathryn.  Though her non-scientology sisters had my real name and phone number and we spoke freely.
Jeannine had been the top salesperson for the WISE consulting group, Sterling Management.  She kept feeling that her mind had broken because of something that she had done wrong.  That there must have been some bad thing she had done and hadn't fully confronted, or some piece of Scientology technology she had not fully applied.  Somehow, she knew it was her own fault.  By that time, I, myself, had read the notes kept during Lisa McPherson's breakdown (that were now available on the Internet), as well as knowing my own thoughts when I was trapped in my mental turmoil.  It was painful to listen to Jeannine continually blame herself for the broken mind she now had.  I would often find myself getting off the phone with her and crying.
    Jeannine had the support of her family.  I knew from my own experience that things were worse off inside her head than anyone in her family knew and that she should not be driving a car.  Just as I had held back and tried to pretend to be normal, Jeannine was doing the same.  Her family wanted to see her as better, so they were not seeing the danger she was becoming to herself and others.
June 10, 2001
I heard that Greg might sue; he may have a civil law suit going.  He may want to settle for lots and lots of money.  I didn't sue.  I wonder sometimes if that was a good decision.  I know lawsuits aren't fun, but at least it would have given me some closure.
June 20,2001
What a great day.  I am just opening up to the comfort and letting go.  Just doing what I should be doing and not overstressing myself.  I am feeling calmer and filled with more faith than before.  I have to feel that I am part of some larger play, and we have a director --- and it is not me.   I need to create to the best of my ability the one or two things in front of me and know that all will be well.
June 24, 2001
Greg killed himself.  He actually committed suicide.  He felt it was a way out that he felt he would get relief...  I hope he did.  I hope he was welcomed to the other side with open arms and healing comfort.  I hope his pain and confusion are gone.  He just didn't see another way out.  He just could not see one.  He felt suicide was his way out.  I hope it was.  I hope and pray it was.
   I feel so bad.  I feel so saddened, and I feel so helpless. 
I am going to still take things a bit at a time.  I still feel very certain that now is not a good time for me to come forward with the ongoing legal cases.  But, I am open to that changing.  I know of a few things I need to do, and as I do each of them the next will become clear.  I don't need to jump to step 10, I only need to do step 2.
   Of course I am not ready for step 10 --- I haven't done steps 2-9, and when I do, things will be clear.
"In Every Moment, there's a reason to carry on."
    When I heard the news that Greg had died, I was devastated.  I hadn't talked to Jeannine for a week and was actually frightened to call her.  She was still alive, and I was thankful for that.  She actually sounded somewhat better.   She, like Greg, wanted to be better quickly, and she was frustrated, she was in mental anguish because she was so incapable to doing even the simplest of tasks.  At least she was still alive.
June 27th
Jeannine seems to be doing better.  She went down to her sisters' in San Diego
     I am going back to college.  I am going to complete the college education that was interrupted with my drift into the world of Scientology.  Vermont College has a great program wherein you attend their sessions for 8 days, and work out your coming semester's work, then you go home and do it for six months, under the close watch of your advisor.  It involves a lot of work and a lot of writing, but I will earn 15 credits each semester.  This will work out better for me.  I only need three more semesters for my BA and I can get it in Writing and Literature.  Vermont College also has Graduate Studies, and their MFA program for writers is one of the best in the country.  I hope to benefit from some trickle down effect into the BA program.  I am excited; this is the future for me. This was my personal future; not one that anyone else chose or directed me to.
July 2, 2001
I would like my own room in the dorm in Vermont.  I am not going to like not having ANY alone time.  I do enjoy my alone time.  I did not used to like it.  I used to work at doing anything so as not to be alone with myself.  That was the scariest.  It was also very painful; the voices in my head were relentless and negative.  Just so negative.  I would keep busy just to shout them out.  They were not there when I was a child.  I enjoyed myself when I was younger.  Now once again it is ok to be alone with myself.  Now I can welcome myself again.  I've been thru lots and I'm sure I still have more to learn and give and do.  I think and pray that I will be able to maintain my balance during that time.
July 4, 2001
I am so anxious.  So, pit in my stomach nervous I am going away from Chris and the boys for almost a month.  It has me scared.  I am shaking just thinking about being away from home for so long.  I am worried for my mental stability.  I know I need to quiet the turmoil inside.  It is a swirling rise of panic; uncomfortable in its fearfulness, just a swirling mass of unresolved and irresolvable fears.
   Grief about Greg being dead; while also knowing that if I had needed to work, or make money for my family, it could have been way too long a recovery for me to handle either.  I would have had that added pressure to get better faster.  Trying to get better faster would not have worked; it would have made things worse.  I too would have wished for release - relief - I would have, just like Greg.
Her mind was broken and they slapped it together with crazy glue.  The cracks showed like ugly purple scars.  I have to dig deep in here and get it out, the un-inspected fears and feelings, who would want to look at all the feelings, they contradict each other; happiness-sadness,
Joy-despair, Anxiety - relief.  I get very productive physically when I have a pot of unresolved stuff.  I have to keep moving.  There is motion and it keeps the ocean from rearing up its tidal head.
It feels like an ocean with an unfathomable depth of unspoken feelings.
July 11, 2001
I've made it to Boston.  Tomorrow is my long drive to Vermont.  I called Bob Minton (the Millionaire) and Stacy, his partner who had been a long term Scientologist.  I am going to stop and visit with them tomorrow.  Just a brief visit, so we do not have any more Greg's.  I am afraid to call Jeannine, I know I shouldn't be, but I am.
   Speaking with her is draining on me; it takes me a while to recover from each call.  I feel so badly about Greg. 
                ___________________________
	Over the past few years, I had kept track of the work of Stacy Young and Bob Minton.  Bob Minton was never a Scientologist; he was simply a lover of free speech.  He was a millionaire and had some free time when he came across various Internet sites devoted to Scientology and Ex-Scientologists.  He especially read the information regarding the death of Lisa McPherson while under the care of Scientology at the Fort Harrison Hotel in Clearwater, Florida.  He had joined in the fray.  He had donated his own money to individuals who were in litigation with Scientology helping to level the playing field.  Stacy Young, along with her husband Vaughn Young, had been a high-ranking Scientology member.  They had left the church and were speaking out to the press, in the courts and on the Internet.  Bob Minton funded the opening of a "Lisa McPherson Trust" in downtown Clearwater.  He opened it as a clearinghouse of information and possible assistance for people leaving or desiring to leave Scientology.
     Up until this visit in 2001, I had kept my direct contact with them to a minimum.  It wasn't that I didn't like them, or had any strong feelings against what they were doing; it was that I knew how the espionage branch of Scientology worked.  They not only put the person they felt attacking them into the center of the target, they also worked to collect the names of friends, families and other connections to get to the targets through them.  I was still not well enough to withstand such an onslaught.
   But, at this particular time, I was more concerned with the possibility of additional people dying, than I was for my own mental health.  I stopped for a morning at Bob's farm in New Hampshire for some communication and coordination as to how we might possibly help prevent another Lisa or Greg.
   Bob and Stacy welcomed me with friendship, comfort, and the best scrambled eggs I'd had in years.  We spoke of Greg, Lisa, Jeannine, and what had happened with me.  
Since Lisa McPherson died on the Scientologists property, Scientology vowed never to have another such incident.  With regard to Greg, Jeannine, and I, it was becoming clear that it wouldn't happen because they were going to distance themselves from such damaged individuals: not because they were going to stop creating them. 
We knew that there would be more people harmed in the way that we had been.  Scientology was not changing its operating basis, and therefore the same horrific results would occasionally happen.  
For the first time I spoke openly to Bob and Stacy about what had happened to me.  Stacy and I analyzed all that we knew about the differences in my care and Jeannine's (who were alive) and Greg and Lisa's care (who were dead).  
   We knew that whoever came out of Scientology in that unstable state of mind would also be coming out with intense phobias against Psychiatry.  In addition, traditional Psychiatry would not know what to do to handle such a situation.  They, perhaps, would treat the person as a schizophrenic or in some way, mishandle, and possibly lock in the psychosis and mental difficulties.
   When I left that afternoon, we made an agreement that we would search the Internet and use all our resources to somehow find an alternative form of mental healing that would be available for people in this situation.  We knew there would be more, and we felt we should be prepared for them.
I made the drive to Vermont smiling at the serendipity: that I had arranged for myself (who lives in Los Angeles), to meet with Bob and Stacy, who normally live in Florida in the state of New Hampshire.  I had confidence that we would find some help.
         _________________________
  Over the next several days the serendipity continued.  In order to graduate from Vermont College one needs to publish a final paper that is called a "Black Book", so called because the binding of the book is black.  The college maintains copies of these books in its library. During my first day on campus, I went to the library to read a few of these books.  I wanted to see for myself what was going to be required of me to get my degree.  
I entered a room filled with shelves of the black volumes from floor to ceiling.  I chose a book at random and read the title: "A Compassionate Handling of Psychosis" by Ben Bashore.  I was stunned.  I began to read.  The first section was a well-researched briefing on what it was like to be psychotic, what happens inside a person's mind when they are in that state.  Tears were streaming down my face.  Here I was, face to face with someone who had put words to my pain.  Someone truly knew where and what that living Hell was that Greg, and Lisa, and Jeannine and I had gone to.
    The second chapter delineated a series of steps on how one might help a person come back from such a state.  As I read, I was amazed at how intuitively Chris had done each one of these steps with me.  I could finally see, what I had been unable to clearly see in New Hampshire.  I could see where my mind broke and how Chris helped me back to reality.
   I carried the Black Book to the librarian and asked for the email of the author.  I wanted to have an electronic copy of the paper.  She said she was unable to do that due to confidentiality requirements.
   I asked if there was any way, I could get in touch with this author.
She looked at the book's title page.  "Oh, Ben, he lives in town.  I bet his phone number is listed in the directory."
It was. I called him and arranged a meeting for that night.  
Ben is a Buddhist.  In line with his letting go nature, he had not kept a copy of his dissertation.  There was no electronic copy to be had.  I copied the master copy in the college library and over the years, with Ben's permission, have sent numerous copies out to people and the families of people in similar straights. The paper includes an in depth annotated bibliography, which gave exactly the sort of resources that I had been hoping for.  I was surprised at how quickly it had fallen into my hands.  
I knew Vermont College was right for me, but not that semester.  I took a break with a promise to return in January.  I brought my treasured copy of Ben's thesis with me to Los Angeles.
August 9, 2001
I spoke with Jeannine - she seems to be doing so much better.  She can now talk about her "crazies" and have more awareness about them. She just got a car, so she is definitely better.  She is still having her episodes and her 'floating.' She was concerned about 'floating' while driving.  I told her to listen more to herself and that her floating was a sign of herself saying something.  She is still not ready to give up on all her Scientology friends and they seem to think she just needs some more vitamins.  Everyone seems to have an opinion and many of their opinions forward that person's own personal agenda.  No one in her life seems to be able to do much to understand her position.  Anyway, she is writing poetry and I told her that's good to do and to continue.  She asked me to call her in the next day or so.
                   _________________________
	Within the week, I had a troubling conversation with Jeannine.  She had driven herself to the railroad tracks to wait for a train. She was going to kill herself, but no train came.  I knew, no matter how well intentioned, her family was, they did not know how to deal with this.  Her psychotic state made her use of Scientology arcane language; confusing even to me, let alone to her family who didn't understand Scientology terms at all.
    I talked with Chris about the situation, especially my concerns that she, Jeannine, could end up like Lisa and Greg.  I could not let that happen.  I wouldn't.  I asked him if we could take her in and he agreed that we were probably the best people for her at this time; having gone through what Chris had done to help me.  Chris knew what he was in for, but agreed we had to help her.  We talked to the children who still lived at home and asked for their help in having a quiet, peaceful house.  They already knew what is was like with me in that state, so it wasn't a mystery of what was to come.  Some friends of mine picked her up and drove her to our home.  Over the next two weeks, I had numerous conversations with Jeannine's family, hours of talks with Jeannine, and calls to some of the resources mentioned in Ben's book.
   It was finally arranged that I would fly with her to Boulder, Colorado, where the Windhorse Institute; that was connected to Naropa University, was located.  It was not going to be cheap, but it was the only place that I could find that I knew had the exact care that she needed.  We flew to Boulder the first week in September.
   Jeannine's lead therapist was a woman named Jenna.  Jenna not only interviewed Jeannine, but she also spoke with me in depth.  At one point Jenna told me that there are many trails and roads in life that can lead one to psychosis, but that the things that Jeannine and I had been subjected to were like being on the Highway to Insanity.  Scientologists pushed us to psychosis through a series of missteps and introversions during their various handlings.
    Windhorse did not like to use psychiatric drugs, preferring a more holistic approach and handling.  However, they were not opposed to their use, and when they're needed they were used.
The basis of Windhorse is that the mentally ill person is so wide open to stimuli already, that being around other psychotic and unstable people will only make him or her worse.  
I remembered I had felt that way when I was psychotic, it was like my mental state was tofu.  I would take on the emotions and attitudes of whatever environment I was in.  If the energy was angry, I would become agitated, if the energy was calm and soothing, I could more easily find my balance.  I was now seeing the same phenomenon in Jeannine.
Windhorse counselors operate on the premise that people who are in a state of psychosis always have some islands of clarity.  Some period of time during which they are mentally stable and aware of what is going on; sometimes it is only for minutes, but sometimes the clarity can last for an hour or more.  The purpose of these trained individuals working with the mentally unstable person is to notice these islands of clarity and help the damaged person make them larger and last longer.  
   That was exactly what had happened to me.  I felt like I was trapped on a Ferris wheel.  I would reach the top, feeling some clarity, yet know I was about to go back down.  I would call the Scientologists in desperation during these times, begging for help and assistance, which never came.
  At Windhorse, the individual is paired up with a person whose primary purpose is to just be with the person, to communicate, either verbally or non-verbally, and to involve the person in the mundane activities of daily life.  Making the bed, doing the laundry, cooking a meal, going for a walk are all activities that may be done.  It takes a team of people to help the person come back.  No one aide is left on shift for longer than four hours.  Being around a psychotic person is very draining and, after a certain point, even the most honorable of counselors will begin to feel frustration and that energy does not help the mentally injured person to heal.
I knew how exhausted I was being alone with Jeannine for just two weeks.  I cannot imagine how my husband did it with me, as well as maintaining his full time job. I had already appreciated and been so grateful for his love and compassion, especially his patience, but after only two weeks with Jeannine, it gave me an entirely new level of thankfulness for him.  
  Jeannine and I shared a motel room in Boulder while we were working on setting her up in a temporary apartment.  There was a moment when I was dialing the long list of numbers needed to make a phone call using a phone card.  I looked at Jeannine and in that instant realized how far I had come.  I had been in that place Jeannine now was, unable to punch in a phone number.  I could see how much progress in healing I had made, and I knew in that moment that Jeannine would be able to make her own phone calls again.  She was going to make it out of her internal jungle.  We were not going to have another Greg or Lisa.
Jeannine paced, which I knew to be a calming activity.  She repeated her thoughts, over and over again.  I knew I had done that myself when I was in that place.  It was like a record or CD that skipped, over and over.  No wonder Windhorse had a limit of four hours with a client.  Once, again, I was so grateful that I had been given the gift of Chris.  Not many men would have had the patience to listen to me repeat something over and over, for days, if not weeks, at a time.
             ----------------------
   While in Boulder, I was invited to sit in on a graduate level class on the handling of psychotics.  The teacher was an experienced professional who was teaching students who were going to help heal mental infirmities.  His approach was to understand what that client is going through.  He said that while most people have never been psychotic, most have at least experienced what he called an "extreme state of mind," this could be due to some sudden shock or loss, when one felt the boundaries of life as one knew it shift.  He said, if you can recall those brief experiences of yours, you could begin to understand where your clients are, and you can then reach them and assist in bringing them back.
   I thought of Chris and how he did understand where I was, how he came to 'that place' and helped guide me back out.  I looked around the course room and wondered how many others in this room had been in that state and returned.
The professor gave some examples of clients and their individual states of mind, and how their progress back had gone.
   I understood that what was being taught here was not something that was completely new; Shamans and others had been doing it for centuries.
	It wasn't until after my breakdown that I learned of Shamans and mystics and their work with spirits and the underworld.  I couldn't help but find resonance in the writings of "Shamanic Journeys" and parts of the places where I had mentally and spiritually gone.  The difference being, that Shamans are guided on these journeys, and the way is somewhat mapped out.  There are corners and turns that Shamans are taught to just not go.  I'm sure it was because others before them had gone, and found it not a pleasant place to be.  I realized that many people over the centuries had been to the place where I had fallen into; I had just done it alone and unexpectedly.  I had no spiritual teacher to guide me and keep me from the demons.   
The professor was very clear that once a person goes over to that other side, there are no guarantees that you will be able get the person back.  Some people cannot make the journey back to a stable mind.  He told his students to be prepared that in their work with the psychotic they; could lose some.
  The professor explained that the triggering episode that dropped the person into the black hole also contained the ladder that would help him or her out.  When I returned to Jeannine I paid attention to her rambling thoughts and noticed that she would be scattered and disoriented, except when she spoke of one particular incident.  Whenever she spoke of that incident, I could see her mind clear, and was aware that she was having and "island of clarity."  She had a boyfriend who had taken her American Express Credit Card, and without her permission, had charged over $10,000 worth of equipment.  The bill came in to Jeannine, and she had thirty days to pay.  She called American Express and informed them that this was an unauthorized expense.  Several days later, she was called into the Scientology Ethics Office of the Advanced Org Los Angeles, but instead of being supported, she was berated for turning her Scientologist boyfriend in.  It is against the rules in Scientology to turn another Scientologist over to authorities, no matter what they had done.  Mistakes were only to be handled within Scientology by the organization itself.  The Ethics Officer raked her over the coals, and made her call American Express and withdraw the charges she had made against her boyfriend.  It was wrong and an injustice, but she was forced to make the call.  
  I noticed that whenever she relayed that tale to me or someone else, her entire demeanor shifted, she had clarity, and she was thinking and speaking in logical terms.  I saw that what the professor had said was true, this was one of her final breaking points, and therefore, could be her ladder out of her personal hell.
    This incident was one that I could use as a friend and helper to guide her to her ladder that she would be able to climb out of her pit of mental chaos.
We organized Jeannine's "team of therapists" and rented a beautiful apartment in Boulder for her stay.  I flew back to LA knowing that Jeannine was safe and in good hands.
Sept 8, 2001
I am just so relieved to have found "Windhorse" and to learn more about how and what they do.  I now know we have a place and a treatment to send these people to.  That is just such a relief... such a major relief.  Now when these people come across my path, well, it is very difficult.  It is so lonely to be trapped and to be so crazed.  There seems so much to write, so much to process, I feel like things are just moving forward and for the most part that is a very good thing.  I had planned on writing and writing, my gosh I have only been gone from Los Angeles for 4 nights, I just find that so hard to believe. Seems like forever and I think that was because I had been with her for so long, so very intensely.
  So, this is where we are.  Making my descent back into LA, thank God.  Thank God I can think clearly.  Thank God I am doing well.
                   _____________________________
                    
  In the days that followed, I was so thankful we had moved as quickly as we did to get Jeannine the help she needed.  Travel was restricted for some time after the horrific tragedies of 9/11.  By the time Jeannine was ready to have her sisters come to Boulder for a visit, air travel was back up and running.
   I spent that fall in a daze like most other Americans.  I had close friends in New York City and I had even more friends who had family and close friends there.  
	I continued to watch the changes in the Lisa McPherson case.  The Criminal charges had been dropped and the civil case appeared to be mired in briefs and legal maneuvers.
	I continued to stay in touch with Stacy.  I was not interested in getting involved with the "Trusts' ongoing battles with Scientology in Clearwater, but I couldn't help but care about what was happening with them.


CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
HOPES OF CLOSURE
    Jeannine returned to Los Angeles in December of 2001, in a much-improved condition.  I was so relieved.  I had spoken some with Laura Bashaw, Gregg's wife, and felt with her all the personal pain of her loss as well as the financial troubles that had been left behind.  Their credit cards had been maxed out to astronomical levels due to Greg's purchasing of more and more services in Scientology to try to help himself.  She was drowning in the debt.  She was also working hard to be a good mom, and now dad as well to their high school aged son.
                 _____________________________
	One day my husband and our two younger sons were sitting in the living room watching a show and a few funny comments were made of "when Mom went crazy" and we laughed.  I realized how far we all had come as a family, when we could laugh at the horrors we had all been through.  I also realized that my older stepson was out of the loop.  He was not living with us when my breakdown happened.
	My stepson, Corey, remained an active public Scientologist. He went to courses and was receiving auditing by our old friend Bill.  I thought it was strange that Bill, who was primarily a staff person who worked behind a desk, was the one to be giving counseling to my stepson.  Bill would make the long hourly drive over and hour back to be able to audit at Corey's home.  That too, seemed unusual and extremely preferential.  The paranoid side of me felt that because Bill did so much volunteer work for the espionage arm of Scientology, there was an aspect of this being done to keep a connection to Chris and me and to tap into our comings and goings.
But Bill had also been a very long term friend and was always very close to our son Corey, so the odds that he was doing this because he personally did not want to lose Corey was just as possible.
     I felt that it was a disservice to Corey, as a member of our family, to have Bill know what had happened and Corey not.  Especially now that we were able to laugh about what had happened.
    I was actively considering becoming a witness for Ken Dandar in the civil case against the Scientologists.  I knew that this would place me on Scientology's "Enemies list" and could cause someone to sit Corey down and demand that he 'disconnect' from us.  It was time for Corey to know what had happened to me; and to Greg, Lisa, and Jeannine.  
                  __________________________

   I had some private time with Corey and told him some of what happened to Lisa, and most of what happened to me, and bits about Jeannine and Greg.  I reminded him that I have always kept my 'step-mom' distance.  I let him know that while I wasn't antagonistic to Scientology and did not consider myself an anti-Scientologist, as in one who wanted it to completely shut down, I did have my limits.  I told him that step mom or not, if he was ever going to join the Sea Org I would be all over him about it.  I told him that if I ever saw him taking time and money away from his family for his support of Scientology, I would have a lot to say about that.  However, I told him that for now, he had a great life, a beautiful fianc�e, and a career that was growing.  He owned a home and had money beyond what he gave to Scientology.  For now, he was able to get the benefits from Scientology without paying the high personal price that so many other people had paid.
   I also told him know that because some people had died I felt that I might have to do something.  I had not yet confirmed with the attorney, Ken Dandar that I would testify if needed in the Lisa case, but I was leaning in that direction.  
  Then I said that the point that was most upsetting for me and what most concerned me was that he belonged to a group that could simply demand that he disconnect from family. Tears welled up in my eyes at the thought of it.  He patted my arm and just said, "Do not worry about it, just do what you have to do".  Despite his involvement with Scientology he had heard and understood everything I said.  I know he wasn't happy about the possibility of my testifying, but he was there for me.
                ___________________________
After a few months and more research and study, I felt confident to place a message on the ex-Scientology Message Board about having some alternative solutions to help people in the situations that Greg Bashaw, Lisa, Jeannine, and myself had been in.  I knew that staff from the Office of Special Affairs read this board and knew it would be from me, but at that point I didn't care about repercussions from them; I only cared that future people who got into my situation knew that there was some help out there.
   The next day I went to the grocery store nearby my house and when I returned to my parked car, I noticed a business card tucked in the driver's side window.  It was a Private Investigator's card, stating his specializations, including having worked for the CIA.  I thought nothing of it, and threw it in my car.
   The following day I went to a class and stopped at a mall several miles from home.  When I returned to my car, I noticed another one of the same Private Investigator's cards tucked into the driver's side window of my car.  I compared it to the one from the day before, it was the same.  Just to make sure my paranoia wasn't running wild, I drove around the lot and failed to find one other car with a business card tucked in the window.
   I was frightened and concerned that someone would have been following me in some way that I had not noticed.  This trip in the morning had not been part of a regular routine of mine, and there was no mistaking the purposefulness of the coincidence.
	I checked on the Internet and could see nothing that would arouse their attention towards me, other than my post the previous day, so I called Bob Minton (the millionaire) from a pay phone.  He was at his home in New Hampshire, and after I told him what had happened and voiced my concerns, I asked him if there was something going on that I didn't know of.
   He told me that Scientology was desperate to stop the Lisa McPherson civil case from coming to trial.  It was due to begin in a few months.  He was involved in some countersuits with them and, as part of those settlements on their part; they wanted him to get the Lisa case to stop.  I knew Bob didn't have that kind of power, but I could definitely feel the intention that the Scientologists had to make this civil case go away, just as they had the criminal case.
   After a week or so, I finally got up the courage to call the Private Investigator on the cards left on my car.  He seemed a nice enough guy.  I asked if he worked or had ever worked for Scientology and he said he didn't and hadn't.  I explained what had happened and he said that he gives many classes and that his cards are handed out a lot.  Anyone could have gotten a hold of the cards.  I told him what had happened, and he said he had been in the business for too long to believe in coincidences.  He said that someone was definitely sending me a message.  "They are messing with your head."  That was his exact wording. 
     Our home phones had been clicking a lot lately, but it seemed more often on certain calls.  When I would speak with Gregg Bashaw's wife Laura in Chicago, we would always have to talk over a series of annoying clicks.
  Much earlier, the first time I called Bob Minton in New Hampshire from my home number, I got a call as soon as I hung up.  I heard bits of a conversation, but I couldn't get over the thought that I had been an unrecognized number.  Scientology most certainly had Bob Minton under surveillance and they would want to know all of his contacts.
   I had done nothing wrong, I was doing nothing wrong, and if there was someone tapping my phone, listening to private conversations in my home, or stalking me, it was on them.  I was not going to stoop to their level.
              _____________________ 
Feb 15, 2002
I had a meltdown on Wednesday.  It hit me so hard and so suddenly.  It was like a huge return back to that time.  Jeannine was talking to me on the phone about her hearing against the Scientology Company she had worked with.  They fired her when she decided not to be a Scientologist anymore.  She told me how well it went and how great it was that she had the opportunity to sit down in front of people and confront them and what they did to her.  She told me that she doesn't want to be defined by what they did to her and I'm thinking - gosh it took me years to get to that point.  And then I thought how I would never get an opportunity to confront them face to face.
The next thing I knew I was back to that day, back to being out of the hospital and it was Ash Wednesday.  I was in the midst of my mental waterfall.  I soon realized it was Ash Wednesday again.  Today was the exact anniversary of my "peak day".  The memory was not a memory, but a trigger taking me back in that day, back in feelings of that day, and it just got more real and stronger.  I told Jeannine I had to go and we hung up. 
The pain exploded out of me in a rush of sobs and spasms.  I went to find Chris even though I knew there was nothing that could be done, just nothing to be done.
    I know Chris cared, I know he felt for me, but I also knew he was not there.  He was not in my head where I was.  He was just not there.  He just held me while I cried and cried.  
    After I felt spent, drained - that hollow feeling after you have vomited and you know that the ugliness that was buried inside is gone, you just don't know if that means you are better.  There was also a part of me in shock over the violence of the pain.  Chris took me for a walk, but I knew I could not write any more that day --- just could not, -- so here I am several days later back to my desk, back to my homework and other school work.  I have to take Taylor to the dentist today.
                   ___________________________
    I had had another lunch with Bill Yaude after my talk with Corey.  Corey was understandably upset when I told him what had been done to me and he had shared what I had told him to Bill.
  When Bill sat down for lunch with me, he said that he knew I had spoken with Corey and that Corey had been upset, but I shouldn't worry, he had "handled" him.  I wondered what that meant.
Then he said, "You and Chris have been pretty good at watching what you say to Corey, but he soon will be graduating from the smaller mission, and when he gets to the Advanced Org where they are not going to be so understanding". 
  He was intimating that Corey would have to disconnect from us.
  I was dumbfounded.  I wished Chris had been here with me to hear him say that.  As if I had to watch what I could communicate to my own family because of repercussions from Scientology....  Like they had a vote in my life.
   Bill said that he really wanted to get my situation handled before Corey hit the Advanced Organization so that that type of confrontation and demand for disconnection from his family could be avoided.  He said that Joan and Kirsten still asked about me and wished me well.  I reiterated that they cared only about what I did, they did not care about me personally, and if they really did care about me personally, my phone number is still in the phone book.  They were welcome to call me anytime.  They never had and I don't expect them to.
March 3, 2002
When I discovered the second card from the Private Investigator, I become concerned; it was a dropping in my gut, a tension behind my ears.  FEAR arrived in my body, prone to escalate to paranoia, deep, deep paranoia.  I felt an electrical buzz complete with darting eyes and sweating palms.
Creation of an effect = that's what these Scientologists want, they could have been right there watching my response to that second card.  I know from my past personal experience with their espionage acts, that the reaction and the first person called is important and I did not want to give them that.  Therefore, I waited to call anyone for advice or help in calming down.  I drove on to pick up Taylor.  I stopped at a payphone.
I felt violated.
I felt my other persona come out - the cautious, protective Nancy.
March 23, 2002
I have too many things swimming in my head - too many different parts of my self-scattered all over the place.  The individual pieces don't go well together, they are parts that are not in harmony.
    But deep inside there has to be a balance, because deep inside it's me, it's all me.  It has to be all me cause I am the only one here and I've been through everything, I've been through it all, the entire journey.
I find myself so afraid of all the judgments.  I have been brave when I should not have been.  I have thrown myself at the face of evil.  I have entered dark rooms and rattled their cages.  I have changed, shifted, and survived.  I have survived. 






CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
THEY GET TO THE MILLIONAIRE

   Within a few weeks of speaking to Bob Minton, the news became public that Bob had bafflingly changed sides.  He, who had donated over 2 million dollars to the Lisa McPherson case alone, and an additional million to individuals attempting to sue Scientology, had now become a witness for Scientology.
  This was more difficult to believe than the Florida coroner who, in changing her mind, had shut down the criminal case.  I had spoken to Bob Minton several weeks prior, and there was not a hint or clue that he felt what they had done was correct in anyway, shape or form.
   Bob Minton's defection and new allegations against the attorney's for the Lisa McPherson case delayed the trial, yet again.  There would now be hearings as to the attorney Dandar's handling of the case.  I watched from my safe distance in Los Angeles.
   I had been asked once before by Mr. Dandar to be a witness for him, and had never given him a clear yes or no.  In July, the hearings were ongoing and I was flying East for the end of semester week at my college in Vermont.  The thought of coming forward brought a cold panic to my chest.  The thought of not coming forward also brought the same sharp fear.  That Scientology could get away with it again, that they actually had a shot at shutting down the civil case, made me angry.  I had watched the materials posted on the Internet about Lisa McPherson very closely and felt so strongly that Scientology was responsible for her death, that it was hard to stomach the fact that they could get away with it, just as they had gotten away with taking any responsibility for Greg Bashaw's death, or the mental breakdowns of Jeannine and myself. 
I finally called the attorney, Ken Dandar. I flat out asked him if he thought he could use my help in these hearings.  He answered yes, and I told him I would seriously think about it and give him a definitive answer within three days.
I spoke with Chris about this before I left Los Angeles for the East coast.  He said that he was my husband and had his own opinions, but that this was my decision, and I had to make my choices and live the rest of my life with them. 
   My trip had already been scheduled to have some time with my family in the Boston area before I had to arrive at Vermont College.  I grew up in a large family and am lucky   to have two siblings that are both Attorneys.  I went to them for advice.
It was a Florida Court Case and neither one of them knew the workings of Florida law, but they knew enough to answer my questions.  They confirmed that once I was an official witness for the Lisa McPherson case, I was open to depositions by Scientology.  Depositions are not fun in any type of legal case, but I already knew that a Scientology deposition could be especially brutal.  I would need a lawyer.  And I had no written access to the 20 years of my most personal thoughts and things I shared with them, but Scientology did.  Whatever you say in a counseling session is written down, along with reactions and information as established by the E-Meter.  These documents are kept in files called "pc folders" and contain a running written account of every auditing session you've ever had and everything said or felt or confided to the Counselor. 
It was something I had to put some serious thought to.  The interrogations that they had with me, that had driven me over the brink.  They had that documented and I had no access to that paperwork.  In other words, they had it all, exactly step by step how I was driven insane.  Would they repeat those actions, causing me to lose the healing I had worked so hard to achieve?
  The best hope I was given was from the lawyer who was my sister-in law.  She had worked with a lot of sex crime cases, where the emotions are similar.  She told me that while I was in that courtroom, I would be protected, and be able to speak.  The American justice system is established in a way that the person being questioned has rights.  She said, "On that day - you would have the power." 
     Several transcripts of days of the hearing had been posted on the Internet.  I had read them and could see that this judge was in control of her courtroom and was not allowing either side to abuse witnesses.
                 _________________________
	I felt I had all the information I needed, I knew the consequences of coming forward for myself, and my family.  I now had to decide how I could live with myself, whichever choice I made.  I needed no more advice, as my husband Chris had said, this was a choice I had to make and live with the consequences for the rest of my life.  
     In Massachusetts there is a section that curves out into the ocean, it's actually where the pilgrims first landed and is a great piece of the earth that contains beautiful beaches on both sides of the outcropping of land.  Years earlier a canal was built to separate Cape Cod from the main part of Massachusetts.  There were only two bridges that spanned the canal to reach The Cape.  More recently both sides of the canal had been turned into bike/walking/running paths.  I had many pleasant Cape memories from my childhood; I had even once gone through the canal in a boat.  It was a safe place to make such an important decision.  It was also a place where I would not be disturbed, a place where I would be alone for as many hours as it took to walk the canal until the clarity of a decision came to me.
I parked my car and put my headphones on, thinking the music would help me keep focused.  The canal is several miles long; I began walking and sorting out my thoughts and options.
I knew the Scientologists had gotten to the coroner, that didn't really surprise me.  I had worked long enough in their Intelligence bureau to know how smoothly and efficiently they could work.  The personnel who worked in these departments worked 7 days a week, and often put in 24 hours a day.  Scientology had money and a large portion of that money was spent on Private Investigators to "shudder into silence" people that felt differently than they did.  I remembered reading the Florida District Attorney's decision to drop the criminal case.  He said he had no choice because one of his main witnesses (the coroner) could not even tell him clearly why she changed the cause of Lisa McPherson's death to accidental.  I could feel her confusion and felt for the pressure she had been under.  I heard that she had to go to a sanatorium to recover from a breakdown after that.  I don't know if that is true or not, but it wouldn't surprise me.  For the state of Florida, it was very costly, because her change of a cause of death ruling brought out all the people whom had been convicted based on her autopsies.  If she had made a mistake in this case, she could have made a mistake in all her other cases.  Her career was left in tatters.
Her change of heart did not shock me.  The refrain in my head that wouldn't stop was "they got to the Millionaire", "they got to the Millionaire""...  Who was I compared to a millionaire like Bob Minton?  I had no money, no protection for lawyers.  My phones were clicking and I couldn't even afford to get the lines checked.  I was still recovering from a complete mental breakdown, I felt very vulnerable.  If the Scientologists could get to the Millionaire - they could wipe me out with so much as a swat.  They got to the Millionaire, they got to the Millionaire, became a chant over and over in my head.
I would look up and look around me and notice the beauty.  I would notice the people out on their bikes or walking or running in the most perfect weather.  I would watch Sea Gulls and just take a break from these thought patterns and look at the beauty of life all around me.  The Boats on the canal making their way to the other side of the Cape, the people on them always exchanging the wave of the hand that was part of boat etiquette.
I would feel my body as it moved along the path, my hips shifting leg to leg and gave thanks that I could walk.
My thoughts drifted to the other side of the coin.  How dare they, I thought.  How dare they make me feel afraid?  How dare they have that power over me?  I survived, I am a survivor, and I have a voice, unlike Greg Bashaw and Lisa McPherson.  I wondered if I owed it to Greg and Lisa to speak for them.  I wondered if I owed it to myself because I had survived.  I had spoken to both Jeannine (who was still so fresh from her ordeal) and Laura, the widow of Greg who had lost so much.  How dare they make me feel that I can't speak, when I only want to speak the truth?
Then the fear would come back.  I felt like a rape victim, only it was my mind that was violated, and by a powerful group that didn't hesitate to use their power.  That was my dilemma; it was as if I had been raped by the Mafia.  That gave me some clarity.  If what had happened to me, had happened by any other group of individuals besides Scientology, I would not even be walking the Cape Cod Canal.  There would be no question.  I could speak the truth and justice would be done.  Being raped by a vindictive group doesn't give a person the freedom to strike back.  The backlash could be worse than the original trauma.
              _______________________________

I felt good; I had isolated exactly what the dilemma was.  I was afraid of the consequences.  I was afraid of being moved up the list of enemies that Scientology keeps and works on to shudder into silence, or do things to a persons life that take up so much time, they don't have time to fight anymore.
I remembered what happened to Michael Patterson, a respected and successful painter.  He was suing Scientology and they took him into deposition.  One of the deposition 	questions was where he got his income from, what where the names of his clients.  He answered honestly and within a very short time, each one of those clients had been given what is called dead agent packets, a pack of negative information on the person of interest, in this case Michael.  Within a month Michael had no work.  He had no money to continue with the lawsuit.  He ran out of money and was forced into bankruptcy.
Scientology Intelligence and Operations can be very effective, so brilliantly executed that they can wreak havoc without laying a finger on you.
"They got to the Millionaire", rolled back into my head, followed quickly by the fact that they even got to the IRS.  The IRS; who gets to the IRS?  That's how well oiled and experienced they can be in their operations.  They had lost their tax-exempt status and lost it all the way to the Supreme Court.  Scientology changed tactics and began using Private Investigator's to investigate individual IRS agents and gather dirt on them.
One day, David Micavige, the leader of Scientology and his deputy walked over the to the IRS building without an appointment.  David told the receptionist to tell him who he was, I'm sure he will speak with me.  Sure enough, the head of the IRS met behind closed doors in an undocumented meeting.  At the end of the day, not only did Scientology have it's tax exempt status instated in America, but the IRS was mailing letters all over the world declaring Scientology as a true non-profit religious group.  This action overrode an earlier Supreme Court decision.  I wondered what the PI's had found on the head of the IRS.
   Now Scientology still charges exorbitant rates for spiritual services, but, but it calls them "Fixed Donations", an oxymoron if I ever heard one.  They still have a tremendous sales force, they still pay commissions, and keep a Gross Income statistic by which an orgs health is measured.  This agreement between Scientology and the head of the IRS was supposed to have been kept secret, but it was leaked to and published by the Wall Street Journal.  Something I found very odd is that on the new board of directors of Scientology is now a leading ex IRS executive, never having been a scientologist himself.

    So, now I had two mantras in my head; they got to the Millionaire and they got to the IRS.
Wow, why would I ever want to think of jumping into that snake pit?  I now have a good life, a great family, yet I would be risking all that.
   The other side of the coin would then start talking to me: I survived insanity, and during that insanity I saw many things, but at the end of it all I felt protection from a power higher than myself.  I had to trust in that.  Greg and Lisa were dead and Jeannine lived by the skin of her teeth.  I owed something back.
 	I worked on silencing my mental chatter so I could return to the actual problem that needed answering.
I continued walking, feeling my legs move right/left, right/left.  I noticed the sea gulls and the fishermen on the other side of the canal.  I was walking under one of the bridges.  How do they do this?  I wondered.  I had never seen the bridge from underneath.  I looked up and was amazed at how a bridge could be built, it was incredible, and something I knew I was never going to learn to do.
   Eventually I noticed a park bench and took a seat to assess where my thoughts were leaning.  I wanted to try on my choices and see how they felt.  When I felt like calling Ken Dandar and saying, "Let's go for it", the fear welled up to a point where I felt absolutely frozen.  Would the stress drive me back to insanity?  Would they use the information they knew about me to drive me back to my mental imbalance?  I knew I almost didn't make it back last time, would I not make it back this time?  Would they destroy the life I had?  
When I felt like calling Ken and telling him I couldn't' come down to Florida, I felt that Scientology had shuddered me into silence.  I felt defeated, a coward.
Then I thought of Jeannine and Greg's wife and how they would never get the opportunity to speak.  I personally knew Jeannine, and his wife, I would testify for them in a heartbeat, why shouldn't I do this for Lisa?
The thought of me not even trying to help, and then watching this case go away made my stomach churn.  The Scientologists would have gotten away with something again.
     So, I came to Maybe.  I couldn't' get beyond maybe.
Earlier, I had felt 'maybe' about contacting the Florida DA when there were criminal charges, but I wasn't as strong then as I was now.
   I got up off the bench and went back to my walk.  I was not clear on Yes and I was not clear on NO, but I was clear on Maybe.  I walked with that for a while.  
     Maybe is the worst situation.  A yes or no gives you the opportunity to move forward, but a maybe sticks you and stays with you.  Did I want to live the rest of my life with Maybe?  Especially now that the Scientologists' had the Millionaire on their side and they were so close to getting away with the death of Lisa.  I had lived in Clearwater and knew that a person could literally WALK to the nearest hospital.  I had done it many times myself, even while very pregnant.  But instead the Scientologists drove past several hospitals while Lisa died in the back seat.  This was stated because they wanted the Scientology Doctor, and he was miles and miles away.  Lisa might be alive today if an ambulance was called, or they simply drove her to the nearest hospital.  I knew they wanted the Scientology doctor to prevent a possible PR fiasco.

  Then I realized that I had been living with Maybe ever since I learned of Lisa's case and recognized our similarities.  It all became clear to me; I suddenly had that light bulb moment that I did NOT want to live the rest of my life with Maybe.
     I thought more deeply of my yes or no choices and it suddenly became very real that this case might indeed be dismissed and with it, no justice for Lisa.  I would always regret a No.  At least with a decision of Yes, I could speak what I knew, which was both how Scientology deals with insanity, and how they then abandon those negative results.  I could also speak of how their intelligence system works; I might be able to help explain how they got to the Millionaire.

   I brightened up and my footsteps were lighter.  I had to try, or I would live the rest of my life with a question mark and that would not be a good feeling to have; not at all.
	As for the things they could or would do to me; well, I almost died.  I'd faced down insanity and here I stood.  I was still standing.  What else could they do?  I am a survivor.
It was with a much lighter heart that I returned to my car.  I had made my decision.  I would call Ken that night and we would work out the travel arrangements.
I told Chris of my decision, a few family members, and Jeannine and Greg's wife, but no one else.
  I was very nervous moving into that spotlight and stepping up to speak out against Scientology, but then I would think of Laura Bashaw, and Jeannine and her family.  I would calm down and know this was the right choice.  I would remember the night the angels came and the peace and solace they brought with them.  I knew, in some way, I had protection, and that protection allowed me to survive.  As a survivor I needed to speak for those who no longer could speak.  I felt I had to speak the truth and only the truth and not get pulled into saying Scientology was worse than I thought they were or better than I thought they were.
                   ___________________________

Thursday, 7/11/2002
Well, I did decide - I am going.  I'm in the airport with a ticket to Tampa.  I leave in an hour.  I have been going back and forth and up and down this past week.  Yes, No, Maybe, then finally Yes.  The lawyer said, let's see how things go, and then he said - come, come today - come now.  I am very much "wired" and high strung and nervous and I go from "OK, I'm going, no Problem", to "What the hell am I doing?"  How can I risk this, how can I risk my mental health, my family and my life?
I want to -
I don't want to
I'm peaceful and happy about it
I'm crazed about it.
I want to go ahead - I want to go backwards.  I want to take it back, duck for cover -
Just forget about it, let it go, let it all go.  So, I'm going, no turning back now.
   Talk about emotional - this is a ton of emotion, just a pile, a bucket of conflicting feelings
Excitement
Scared
Peaceful
Parts of myself are flying off in many directions.
Parts of me want to get out of here.  RUN they say.  Seek Safety.  Seek Shelter.
DUCK ---- Duck and Cover, crawl back home.
We, and all the scattered parts of myself have to do this.  We need to do this together.  Islands of clarity, clarity, focus, strength in numbers, closure.
I will have the power. 
  On this day I will not be ignored.  I will not be ignored.
   Gregg will not be ignored.
He will not be cast aside.  Jeannine who lives will speak.  I will let it be known that she lives.  I am alive, and I will have some power this day.  I will speak for kindness and compassion.  I will speak for love.  I will speak for those that can't.
              ___________________________

   I arrived at the airport and was met by Ken Dandar and his associate.  They drove to Jesse Prince's house where I was welcomed by Jesse and his lovely girlfriend Dee.  Jesse had been a high-ranking member of the Sea Organization before he left.  It was already late and there was no time to talk.  
I was able to read a 5-page letter that Greg Bashaw had sent to the head of the Flag Service Organization, where Greg had spent over $200,000 only to be left abandoned when he really needed help.  It reminded me of my conversations with Greg before he died.  The letter repeated many of the things that we had spoken of on the telephone.  He wrote to Debbie, the head of the Service Organization: "Do you have any idea what that is like?  Can you even imagine it?  What it's like to wake up every day to try to get through the day in a psychotic break that won't go away because you know that what caused it won't be available to treat it again?  I could try to "TELL" you what it's like, but my description of it would pale to the reality.  It has been a living hell."
He also said "In fact my auditor's suggestion was to drink some 'pep drinks'.  What an invalidating and viciously heartless statement to someone sitting in a psychotic break, trying desperately to get through the day in a psychotic break.  Drink some Pep drinks!"
He closed his letter with "I understand that the org needs to be protected from people who fall into severe trouble.  That there is worry over legal matters, public relations and other potential damages."
"But I want to you know your organization abandoned a comrade in his MOST urgent time of trouble; did NOT correct what was created there, did not listen when he said he was in spiritual agony, and did NOT take action when he said he would be completely consumed if he did not get help."
No help was given.  No hope was forthcoming.  The "never abandon a comrade" from the Scientology "Code of Honor" was broken." 
The timing of Greg's letter reaching me gave me strength and made me feel like wherever Greg Bashaw had moved onto; he was here with me now.  It gave me the courage I needed for the witness stand tomorrow.  Funny, but neither Greg nor I weren't nearly as upset about being crazy (which of course we were upset about) as we were about being abandoned by the very group that we had given our all to for years and years.
   	Reading Greg's letter reinforced my belief that I was on the right path; that come what may, I needed to speak, and I would be protected from repercussions.  There was a lot of synchronicity in my reading that letter on that night.  It made me feel that I had support.
    The next morning Ken picked me up early to go to the courthouse.  I was so nervous.  I was going numb; my fear was very loud in my head.  Ken and I saw the Scientologists and their attorney's arriving at the courthouse.  They carried boxes and boxes of material on carts with them.  I knew that they had only known since 5 PM last night about my arrival and had no idea what they were able to pull together about me overnight.  I kept making myself take deep breaths.
   Ken and I spoke briefly in the legal library above the courtroom, and then he left me while he did other things.  He would, he said, be back to get me.  I noticed I was pacing.  I hadn't paced since I was crazy.  I checked around in my head, and no, I didn't feel like I was going nuts again, I was simply filled with so much nervous energy that I had to get it out in some way.  I kept checking the clock and pacing up and down the stacks of books.  I recognized a Scientology attorney on the other side of the library reading at a table.  I made sure not to pace in his area.  I didn't want them to know how scared I was.  The minutes were moving so slowly on the clock.
   At times like this, my husband Chris says to find a way to think of 24 hours from now.  Time will march on and in 24 hours this will be over.  You will get through this.  Just take it a moment at a time and you will get through it.
I attempted to follow his advice as I paced quietly in the section of the library where the Scientology attorney could not see me.
Court began with some court business.  Then Ken requested I be put on the stand in the middle of someone else's testimony.  After a few protests from the Scientology lawyers, I was allowed to cut in.  When it was over, I felt that I had kept my integrity.  I had not stooped to their level, but I had been clear about their true lack of caring for someone in severe mental distress.  I had been clear about their years and years (not to mention millions of dollars, to intimidate and "Shudder into Silence" anyone who spoke out against them.  
One of their Scientology attorney's or assistants wished me well during the break after my testimony.  It was a heartfelt communication and in that moment I felt that I had reached the humanity that I knew was on the other side.  They hadn't all been taken over by Marcabians after all.
July 13, 2002
It is over, at least my part in the hearing is.  I was very surprised that the Scientology cross-examined me for so little an amount of time.  I don't think they knew that I was both a deep cover agent in intelligence for both the Guuardian's Office and the new Office of Special Affairs.  The Office of Special Affairs personnel feel very proud that they are not doing the same unscrupulous actions as the new Office Spcial Affairs, but I am one of the few if not the only deep cover intelligence spies who worked for both.  The only difference I experienced was that OSA now gets approval from the Lawyers for the special projects and operations, whereas the Guardian's Office did not.  Dandar questioned me for over five hours and Scientology crossed examined me for one hour and 18 minutes.  The entire transcript of my testimony is availably on the internet under my name.
Dee said I got a laugh out of one of the OSA guys, she had never seen him laugh.  I whad been asked if I thought everyone was a Marcabian, and I responded, "No, just the staff at OSA Int". 
At one point one of the attorney's for Scientology stood up and said he did not think that Greg's family would appreciate me speaking out.  I wanted to say that Laura offered to fly down and sit in the courtroom for support for me today.  But, he was overruled and the opportunity was lost.
   I hope they offer Laura a lot of money a LOT of money so she and her son can get on with their lives.
  Then she will not need to have to go through court and all that.  I do want copies of my transcript; I do want them sent to Laura and Jeannine.  I want them to hear how I spoke for them, for us.  Damages... Damages done, speaking out.
July 24, 2002
Scientology International made an appointment to seed my friend who is a Hubbard family member, to a counselor - a marriage & family therapist -during her divorce.  She said they have special therapists that are approved. It was not surprising to me that Scientology would allow her to see a therapist, but they sue to defend the death of Lisa because Scientology purports to never use a professional in he mental health field.  What hypocrites - so, there you go -I can't testify about this because it would be considered hearsay, even though I know it to be true.  So, life goes on.

                    __________________________

   I returned, first to college in Vermont and then back home to Los Angeles.  My stepson Corey was getting married on September 2.  Chris and I agreed that we would not tell him I testified until after the wedding.  We didn't want to give him anything to worry over before his big day.  There were enough things going on with wedding plans.
August 6, 2002
Tuesday, we are in Malibu at the Malibu Beach Inn.  Taylor came with us this time.  I really wanted him to experience the beauty and the calm of the ocean right out your window.  The ocean really does come crashing in & out here LOUDLY.
  Last night I had to get up to go to the bathroom.  I poked my head out to Taylor's room.  It was around 11 P.M.  His room was dark.  His TV was off and he was sitting out on his balcony, gazing out to the ocean.  I felt then that he is his own person, with a vast internal life of thoughts and feelings.  I hope that this trip does for him what it always does for me - allow the dust to settle.  Let the water achieve clarity because the sand falls to the bottom.
It usually puts things in perspective and allows my center to just arrive - to just BE.
  I can see him now sleeping on the pull out couch.  His arms stretched back behind his head.  His eyes are closed and his mouth is soft - his breathing is easy and gentle, like the waves the breath comes, one falling upon the next.  I was thinking - OK we have to stay till noon, cause we paid and we can, but then I realized that we could stay till we are done.  Until the ocean has worked its way through us, till we are so certain of our centers - that we can stand up to the onslaught of the waves of life.  There is an unrelenting drive to wear us down, to shift our shapes, to erode us.  However, it cannot happen, only our 'decorations' can be eroded.
   I would like to wish for many things.  Mostly I would like to wish for more of what I have - or for just what I have to continue forever, yes, forever.  These are good days.  These are good times.
   Our family has had drama, and adventure and excitement but also we have had peace, joy, love, and passions.
August 27, 2002
    I heard from Lisa's attorney.  He has added me onto his witness list; they will want to depose me.  I am not happy about that - being deposed - but if that is what it takes me to get in front of a jury, then I will.  I will get through it.  

               ___________________________


Corey's mom was coming out from Tennessee for his wedding.  I was looking forward to seeing her again.  We had always had a good relationship and I told her that I always appreciated that.  She said that she felt the same; she would tell people how well we got along as Mom and Step Mom and that this would be a wonderful trip.
Ronnie had been out of Scientology for sometime, but had gone a different route than I had.  Her husband, Randy, became one of the Ex Scientologists who believed there had been a coup within the church and that the deal with the IRS, struck by David Miscavaige was indicative of a government take over.
  I agreed that it was very strange indeed that the current Board of Directors of the owners of Scientology copyrights includes people who were former executives of the IRS, but   I did not see the full-blown conspiracy that Randy did.
  My testimony arrived on the Internet and Randy read it.  He ended up writing some very negative emails to both Corey and me.
  Corey arrived one morning when I had just read a copy of an email Randy had sent to him.  Randy officially disconnected from me and forbid me to communicate to any members of his family.  Then he told Corey that I had testified against Scientology.  I was hysterical by the time Corey arrived at our house, as I didn't want this to interfere or overshadow one of the most important moments of his life. 
Corey was calm, just like his father always is in these situations.  I told Corey that we were not keeping anything from him, but that we decided not to tell him about my testimony until after his honeymoon.  He told us that he had already known I had testified, Bill Yaude had called and told him as soon as it had happened.
   I had written an earlier e-mail to Ronny and Randy explaining to them my decision to testify and why I made that decision.  At this point, the milk was already spilt and I wanted Corey to at least hear my reasoning.  I gave him a copy of this email and he read it.  By now, we were a week away from the wedding and at this point Ronnie and Corey's sister half-sister Paige were scheduled to come for the wedding.  Corey's other half-brothers were not able to fly out, but everything was all set for Ronnie and Paige.
   Ronnie did have some issues.  She was afraid because Corey was still connected to Scientology, and I imagine because I had just testified, she thought that somehow made me suspect as well.  Los Angeles is a major headquarters for Scientology, and therefore there is a lot more opportunities for harassment than in Tennessee where she lived.  She and her husband Randy had already received enough harassment from Scientology.  The Scientology 'operations' had cost them their jobs a few years back.  I'm sure the pain and fear of that was still fresh.
    Corey even offered to hire a security guard for her during her time in Los Angeles, to put her at ease so she could enjoy his happy day.
Unfortunately and unbelievable, the day she was to arrive for her son's wedding, she backed out.  It is sad that she missed her son's wedding.  I have yet to speak with Ronnie about her actual final reasons for not attending, I know that her marriage to Randy and his anger played a factor, but I can also understand her fear.  
   It was a wonderful wedding.  Bill Yaude was there for the Catholic Service, and we hugged before he took off.  I did not see his wife Kathy with him, and he did not attend the reception afterwards.  
	Despite all the pre wedding drama, it was beautiful and those of us who attended had a great time.

                      ______________________

Thursday  December 18, 2003
I just spoke with Ken, Scientology is very intent on resolving things - settling, but they are nowhere near the ballpark of numbers that Ken needs and knows he can get from a trial.  All is going to come out just fine - I know it and I feel fine with that.  If things were settled right now, I would feel incomplete - I would definitely want to communicate more as to what they are doing that can harm people.  I have not spoken because I want to save it up for a trial if there is one, but if there is not one, then I will want to speak, to say something.  I don't know what, but I know the feeling is there and is still there... the need for closure; the need to tie up all my loose ends; to come to a place of Peace inside.  Perhaps my Post Traumatic Stress Workbook will hold an answer.
March 8, 2004
   I'll be graduating college this year.  I should have graduated in 1974, so I've taken a 30 year detour.  What did I do during those 30 years?  I guess I did live a lot of life and I put together some adventures.
I can remember when I first joined scientology and I had an early meeting with a high-ranking member, David Light.  He asked if I had any compulsions and I said writing and he said that Scientology could handle that.  I did not write for many years.
   I married, had children, bought houses, went to Cub Scout meetings, and made brownies.
May 30th 2004
I found out yesterday morning that the Lisa case was settled.  I am torn between two feelings.  On the one hand, I have a great relief I don't have to testify; I don't have to worry about all my private thoughts coming out.  But on the other hand I feel let down about the things that won't get exposed in front of a jury and for the public record.  A part of me is let down, hurt, maybe even harmed by this
Tuesday July 6, 2004
Corey spoke with Chris the other day and asked him about his feelings about Scientology.  I guess Corey is getting ready to move onto the higher levels.  Chris said he was amazed nothing has come up about me with Scientology and Corey said, No, it had, and Chris asked about me testifying and Corey said he heard that I was not so bad; in fact, I had helped the Scientologists' case in a way!  I could not believe it.  How could my testifying against them possibly be construed as helpful to them?  That has to be a PR spin from Bill Yaude, it had to be and it is really weird and bizarre.  Well I need to go off and do my meditation and then treadmill.
August 6, 2004
  The trauma for me was such a huge thing.  It shifted and changed me so deeply.  So deeply and I fear I can never get myself back.  But, do I even want that old self back?  I have boundaries now, isn't that a good thing?  I feel it's an important and good thing.  I don't know.  I don't have time for the whining.  I have things of my own to accomplish.  I want to complete some things before I die.  I want to have lived a full life.
    Sometimes I feel I need to do something ACTIVE about Scientology.  I cannot have them do what they did and get away with it. It is just not fair - but life is not fair is it?  Things don't always go the way you want them to.  I can remember crying and having my father yell -"What are you crying about?  You want to cry?  I'll give you something to cry about!" I think all fathers learn that line; there must be a 'father school' for toughening up your kids.
Saturday July 4, 2004
  I have books to write, but my creative self has been so damaged.  Scientology didn't damage Chris deep inside - they did not get to him, not to his internal self, not to the essence that is his SOUL.
    They got to me.  They were deep inside and cracked me apart.  The havoc was immense.  I need to make things safe for myself.  I need to feel SAFE.  

                      _________________________

    At the end of 2004 I got back in touch with an old friend from the days I had worked in Florida.  Chuck Beatty was married at one time to a friend I had worked with in Boston, so the connection goes back over 30 years.  He had only recently left Scientology and only recently begun to speak of it in public and on the Internet.  
   Chuck had been on the Rehabilitation Project Force for over seven years.  I find that so difficult to process.  I was on for several months and still carry the scars.  I cannot digest the thought of seven years.  He has communicated that things are better in some ways and worse in others.  The food is much better.  It turns out that as soon as you are found to be pregnant, you either abort the child or leave your membership in the Sea Organization.  Thus, there are no pregnant women within the confines of the Rehabilitation Project Force.  On the other hand, it can and does go on for years now.  There is no time to be had with family or spouses; in fact, many people are asked to divorce when their spouse is assigned to the RPF.

                      _____________________

September 8, 2004
  I got myself all stressed out about so many things recently.  Chuck Beatty's response to Kathryn's story touched me deeply.  Arnie Lerma asked for an update on the Kathryn Story.  Then there was my conversation with Ken Dandar on my availability to testify and/or speak to the press.  Chuck Beatty was on the RPF for 7 years.  I cannot fathom it, I really can't.  In addition, he seems so - not bitter.  I cannot imagine being under guard, behind barbed wire and unable to even see my husband for over 7 years.
 	 
October 3, 2004
   I need to get through the upcoming stressful things I have going on.  I don't know.  I have changed.  I do not have it in me to do the day-to-day fight of a high-pressured job.  I used to be up for all the challenges.  I was able to push myself beyond normal limits.  I could hold in my head many projects and their details at once.  I had drive.  I no longer have that drive.  I find I easily fall off the road.  I fall into ditches.  I spin my wheels.  I am locked into a small box of my own limitations.  I no longer am the person I was.  I am not that person.  I do not have the strength.  I have been beaten.  I have been changed.  I have been outwitted.  I have been bested.  I am a broken shell of myself.  I am no longer who I was.  Nancy is still in here someplace.  On the one hand I have to accept the devastation - the shattered battleground that was once a free mind - I have to mourn the loss of the Executive Me, I have been changed.  I do not have the resilience I once had.  I do not have the strength I once had.  I cannot take the punches I once took, I just can't.  I have to accept that.  I have had that breakdown associated with war.  Battle fatigue.  I took too many punches.  That strong, executive me is gone - dead - over.
 	  I have to let go and let God.  Sometimes it is important to let things go.  Sometimes it is time to let go of the oar and stop pulling, relax and find the deeper inner strength.  There is an inner strength that is bigger than all of this, deeper than all of this. 
  October 5, 2004
  I have been reading the stories from the RPF Insider posted on the Internet about the Los Angeles RPF.  Not only are things in the Rehabilitation Project Force still horrific, with people being treated like non-humans, things actually have gotten worse.  The story of that poor guy with lung cancer trapped in the RPF.  Stuck in a corner with nowhere to go.  I think of my friend and her lung cancer, I know how painful it can be.  Chris spent so much less of his life involved with Scientology than I did.  Some family members feel trapped because of other family members.  We are so lucky to have gotten out together.
   I do have so much wonderfulness in my life that I am grateful for.  I have people who love me, people I love, great dogs.  Life is good.  I am good.  I am a good person.  
Thursday November 11, 2004
   Veteran's day is today.  Things are so divided here in the country.  The Red States, the Blue States.  The religious right has hijacked the Republican Party.  They scare me in the same way that Scientology scares me.  The Jesus I understand to have walked the earth and preached, I don't think would have approved of all this division and anger.
   I think Scientology is listening in on Jeannine's phone calls.  If they know she doesn't really want to file suit, she has lost her leverage.  I think the phones are tapped.  I think they do keep their ears open and use whatever information they find, in whatever way they can.
November 21, 1004
  I have been thinking about seeing a psychiatrist and it just freaks me out, triggers me into a flashback.  Silences me.  I have so much I want to say, but the jumble comes out like a logjam and nothing comes out.  Not really pleasant.  
  I wish I had a deep faith in someone or something to pray to or to ask direction or counsel.  It is missing in my life and I think I need that.  I have a personal focus and I have things to say and do.  Also "Good/Bad, who can tell?"  This is a watchword for my life.  I had such turmoil in the Sea Org, but I also learned so much and got so much stronger and those good things have stayed with me.  But, was the price worth it?  It cost me a lot.
   There were times I felt connected, plugged in, energized.  Everyday Sacred.  That's what I want; I want to feel the holy in the smallest of things.  
    Funny, I got so upset about going to that party here in LA last night. I remember the party we had in Vermont after graduation in the hotel with Michael and Sandy and Terry.  It was late, it was past my bedtime, and usually I just want it to be over, but that night I wanted it to go on and on.  I was just enjoying the moment.  I enjoyed being with Chris and seeing my friends and their spouses.  I have not felt that pleasure in such a long time.  That gave me hope and gave me a feeling of goodness and that all my pieces will finally integrate.
   Chris pointed out that part of my enjoyment that night was that those people had no Scientology attachment, so there was nothing to trigger me.  I paid attention to that last night and I found myself enjoying myself.  Meeting new people, speaking about new things, that is good for me.
    Sometimes with distance and time we can see things so much clearly.

                   _________________________

   What was it like to be crazy?  It was hell a relentless, relentless hell.  A broken mind is the worst.  Paranoia, it goes beyond paranoia because you know they are there, not maybe, but for sure.
   I need a higher power because this is too much for me.  Way too much for me.  Doesn't matter if it's real; it matters that I can lay my burdens down.  I can let up on the control.  It's OK to have a higher power.
December 12, 2004
   I am so happy to have such a good family.  With lots and lots of love and care and just enjoyment of the presence of each other.  I am reading Ticht Nat Hahn "No Death, No Fear and he is making me feel better - just as the 5 years old in me is different than the 50 year old me, so I would be in a new body with a new life, still the same, but different, makes me feel lots better.
Friday, December 31, 2004
   I sent Annabelle a book and a CD.  I read the web site for her daughter Tori again last night.  And once again, I felt the grief of that loss. Tori was born the same year as my son Taylor.  The driver that killed Tori ran the red light, so he was clearly at fault.  Yet, Annabelle was able to forgive.  At least she was able to not ruin his life by pressuring the judge to send him to prison.  I have been taking my time this week reflecting and planning and organizing what I want the future to look like, for my family and myself.  Chris and I are going to break open some Champaign.  We will do our list of accomplishments for 2004 and plans for 2005, right here in our beautiful master bedroom, in front of the fire in the fireplace.  I am happy about so many things this morning, things to look forward to. 
  I will do my annual pilgrimage to the site of where Scientology caused my breakdown and feel stronger and more whole.  I would like to connect with a community that I feel I can support and a community that gives me support.  I do have support in my life, but I would like to have a community of support.  
  I need to stop striving so much and start being where we want to be.  Accepting the truth of it all.  Envisioning myself already there.  I need to keep the picture being there, not arriving there; otherwise, I will always be just arriving.	


CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
2005, INTEGRATION
    The new year of 2005 has given me a renewed feeling of freedom.  The cases and the potential cases of Lisa McPherson, Laura Bashaw and Jeannine have all been resolved.  I am no longer facing the possibility of being a witness for them in their cases against Scientology.  It is the first time in many years I have not had that worry as part of my life. 
    The year 2004 also brought many other things to a new level.  My stepson Corey and his wife Mayra had another daughter, so I now have two granddaughters, Katelyn and Jocelyn.  He is doing well enough with his work that he is able to spend a lot of time with his family.
Carey not only graduated from College but got a full time job as a teacher at the Catholic High school he graduated from and has been coaching basketball for the past six years.  He has a wonderful girlfriend, is working on his Masters degree while saving his money to buy a condo.  
     Taylor, the youngest, graduated from high school, got his drivers license and is now exploring his higher level education and working on getting himself focused in life.
The fall of 2004 was the first time in many years that Chris and I did not have to think of driving any child to school or other activities, such as soccer or high school concerts or dances.  It has been such a freedom to have a complete day, with no thoughts of how a child was going to get someplace.  I had no idea how much time that occupied in my life, until I no longer had to think of it.
     January 5, 2005
I'm going to Hollywood tomorrow, to do my annual pilgrimage.  It is my yearly anniversary of them locking me in the room and driving me psychotic.  I want pictures of that room.  I don't want to engage.  I just want to comfortably 'be' there with the scene of the trauma.  I want to just sit and be present.  Just allow my cloudy water to settle.  See what comes of that.  Just having some peace of mind and taking care to get into the right place for myself.  I need to bring my iPod and to have Chris' music on it.  I need to bring myself fully into the present with all the things I need and want to do, taking it one step at a time.  I also need to do some more writing to get this all out. 
January 9, 2005
I went by Celebrity Centre in Hollywood first.  I sat in the coffee shop across the street and simply meditated and journaled. I was sitting in a warm place on a comfortable couch, sipping delicious tea remembering so many of the Thursdays at 2 PM which took place in that building across the street.  I noted how hurried and frantic that life was and how my current life is not hurried and frantic at all.
   I think I would like to write some memoirs of my time in Scientology for the future.  I think I will feel better with them written, whether published or not.  I should like to write perhaps for my grandchildren of just for some time on down the road.  There were times working in that Celebrity Center that were peaceful. 
	I allowed the memories of the years I spent in that building (both good and bad) to wash over me.  When I felt I had gathered all I could, I left for the International Headquarters Building on Sunset Boulevard, the building where they drove me psychotic.  It still houses the International Intelligence Department of Scientology.
   I brought my camera.  I especially wanted a picture of the room I had been taken to.  I knew it was high up, in the back of the building.
     I drove around the block and ended up parking in the same parking lot I had parked in when they were giving me my interrogation.  I took the pictures I wanted, and then went to a pizza place directly across from the main entrance to the building.  I watched people dressed in naval uniform going into and out of the building and allowed the present to mingle with my memories.  Since I had only been into this building for my handling, there were no good memories for me.  But watching the staff and camaraderie between them, other memories drifted up.  I saw two women bump into each other.  They were happy to see each other even though it seemed they were passing by and only had a moment to speak.  I remember that feeling of connection and community that went deep like family.  I loved people.  As a Scientologist, I connected with lots of people. The common ground we had shared was large enough to relax into.
January 20, 2005
    Calmness came over me last night during my drive down to San Diego.  I am a survivor.  I have my angels, my guides, and my childhood that fed me so much.
  I have come this far upon my journey: this chapter is done.  I need to heal a bit more, so I can move to the next phase.  I have traveled and learned and paid a steep price.  What to do with all of this; the words still get tangled, but the words are less frozen.  I know I can do things; but now I am still a bit too uneven or pained to be able to.
   The angels, all the angels.  I don't speak of them much, but they are with me, guiding me.  All is unfolding just as it should.
This is just as it was meant to be.
Monday Feb 14, 2005
The books I read today and the silence of the day fed me.  Really fed me.  I want to speak the truth in my memoir, but I also want to give it in a way that shows the unity of our interconnectedness.
   Chris and Taylor and I were laughing the other day - Taylor should have a T Shirt that says "I survived Opposite Day." 
  I think all the Nancy's have finally arrived and we are ready to tell our story.  
   Peace - Silence- I need to take things slowly.
                  ________________________
I had a birthday lunch with Jeannine a few months ago.  She mentioned that she had read the newspaper articles regarding Jeremy Perkins from Buffalo, New York
Jeremy was born and raised a Scientologist.  A couple of years ago he developed mental difficulties and instead of treating him with standard therapy and medications, his Scientology family fed him mega doses of vitamins.  He got worse.  He eventually attempted to kill himself and when that didn't work, he was then driven to murder his own mother.  He stabbed her 77 times.
We talked of how tragic that was, and how both Jeannine and I escaped that route as we traveled through our own insanity, or the route of suicide.  Jeannine reminded me of her fascination with knives while she was psychotic.  Before she came to stay at our house, she had gone to visit her father with a very large kitchen knife in her purse.   She said she had never felt such rage.  While she was sitting, talking to him, an image of stabbing him repeatedly in the leg ran through her mind.  A part of herself realized how over the edge that was, and she did not act on the impulse, but that is how close she came to being another Jeremy.
I remembered when I was psychotic I would be driven to do a certain thing, like call someone on the phone.  If the person didn't answer my head would be a cacophony of noise and stress, until another loud voice would take over and send me in another direction entirely.  These little missions or errands would keep me focused and somehow eased the chaos that was my mind.  Jeannine felt the same.
We spoke of Greg Bashaw and Lisa McPherson who didn't make it back from their own psychosis, and of all the others Scientology may have driven that we don't know of and may never will.
I told her of watching the 20/20 special I watched about on Lisa's death.  An expert came on and explained how the mega doses of vitamins contributed to her deterioration, how none taken alone was toxic, but how the combination created a tremendous imbalance.  I knew myself that I only began to get better after I stopped taking all the pills that Scientology had told me to take.  Luckily, my mind had taken a turn and I was driven to do the opposite of everything Scientology told me to do. 
It was difficult for me to think of all this tragedy and mental anguish, knowing that the Church of Scientology places itself so arrogantly above reproach.  They ignore results like these.  Instead they have increased their attacks to destroy all mental health professionals.  In fact, they have recently begun a program where they are assigning each of the 170,000 individual psychiatrists around the world a dedicated team of scientologists to put everyone out of business.  They will investigate each one till they find enough dirt to get them to "shudder into silence" and if at all possible, uncover crimes so they can be prosecuted, convicted and sent to jail.  People in Glass Houses should not throw stones.

         ___________________________

     In early 2005, Chuck Beatty introduced me to a young woman, Maureen, who was leaving Scientology.  She had been through a rough time similar to mine.  She had been labeled "Type Three", (another label for a psychotic) and was then isolated from the group.  She actually had her breakdown around the same time I had mine (1997), but unlike me, she was located at the International compound in Hemet, California, which is replete with security cameras, barbed wire and sensor detectors placed throughout the property.  When she had her breakdown she was sent to live in a small shack.  She was not allowed to eat with the staff because she had to be isolated from them.  A Security Guard was assigned to bring her her daily meals on a tray, sometimes he forgot.  The thought of being as out there as I was, and being isolated, yet behind the fences and the barbed wire got to me.  
   She had joined Scientology when she was only 14, so she had no education and no way to get herself around in the real world.  She needed help.  When I first met her I found that while she was mentally out of Scientology, she was physically still very much entangled with them.  She had been at the highest levels: she had been David Miscavaige's personal videographer for years, so she was someone to be watched.  One friend of hers who recently left the Hemet camp once asked what was going to be done with Maureen (having noticed that she was having troubles, the security guard answered that Maureen would never be allowed to leave, because she had worked with both L. Ron Hubbard, and David Miscagaige.
She had been taken off the Hemet Base and sent with two handlers to help her.  They rented a cabin in Big Bear and were very friendly and nice to her.  She watched videos, took walks, and swam in the lake and after several months she was adjudicated safe enough to leave the care of the two Sea Org Members.  She had been removed from the Hemet Base on the same day that Moxon's daughter had died in a tragic accident in an electrical generator.  It is only natural for a company or group that has suffered a tragedy to look for other potential tragedy's.  I do not believe it was an accident that she was removed from the Hemet base the same day Moxon died.  
Instead of being allowed back into the Sea Org, she was "Offloaded" She had an assigned a 'watcher' from the Office of Special Affairs, someone who would check up on her at least weekly.  She was directed to live in a Scientologist's house and work for a Scientologist.  She had no safe point from which to grow, nor did she know where to begin.  She made a plea to Chuck Beatty and he called us.  Chris and I realized we needed to help her, we offered to help her on her journey.
     In the spring Maureen got a new place to stay, a safe non-scientology place.  Charlie, her new landlord, called me as a reference.  He asked me questions, but I could tell he had a question he did not know how to ask.  I asked him outright "What concerns do you have about renting to Maureen?"
"Well, why is she 36 years old and has nothing, I mean did she go thru an ugly divorce, or is something else going on?"
I answered that "Yes, divorce is probably part of it."
Then he explained that he's been renting the room out for years and that the last guy he rented to was not as he appeared.  He checked his references and got a response about his last employer, but it obviously was false, because right after he moved in, he lost his job and then lazed about the house.  He was also involved in theft from other people in the house.  
"I used to feel I was a good judge of people, but after that, I don't know, and I am just very careful."
"I can understand that, and I can assure you that Maureen is a good worker."  I said with certainty.  But inside I thought about the job Maureen had held for two years that she might have to leave.  Then I realized that she would never become a stay at home bum, so I reassured both him and myself that even if, for some unseen reason, she did lose her job, she would get another one.
"What could have happened that she is 36 and has nothing?"
I realized it was better for him to know the truth, and asked if he had heard of Scientology.
He said that he had bought the book once, but found it so convoluted he couldn't get through it.
We laughed.
I told him that Maureen was in the process of leaving the group and her life is in transition and that there were a lot of not-nice things that happened to her during that time.
Thoughts of her escape attempts and her resultant mental instability floated thru my mind.  I wondered if he, or anyone for that matter, would ever understand the underbelly of Scientology, the secret world that very few experience, and that most of those who get out are too traumatized to speak about.  "Not Nice" I think, that's a kind way of putting it.
He answered, "You are joking, right?"
"I wish I was."
He asked what kinds of not nice things and I told him about the rehabilitation camps where people who 'aren't' quite with the group are sent to get their thoughts more in line.  "It's like the thought reform camps they had/have in China," I said.  I know someone who recently left, who was kept in the camp for Seven years!"
I told him that I knew it was hard to believe with all those celebrities and "good works" they say they are doing.  "I don't think that Tom Cruise or John Travolta even know that it is going on," I said.
"Or, maybe they choose not to know it is going on," he replied.
The celebrities travel in a different world than the regular Scientologist, or even the regular staff.
He rented her the room.
	After a few weeks, Chris and I realized Maureen needed more help, and she needed it from people who could understand what she had been through.  We agreed to take her into our home and help her through her transition from the secluded world of the Sea Org, to the real world.  She lived with us permanently for almost a year, and still spends a night or two at our home.  It is safe for her, because we do understand both the Mental Trauma, and the Physical Trauma she experienced in the Sea Org.

June 16, 2005
I was thinking about my scattered selves the other day.  Maureen apologized for telling my Chiropractor that I was once a Scientologist.  I have been going to him as a doctor for over five years and had never mentioned that part of my life.
	My friend Marion was present for the conversation I had with Maureen.  Marion has been a friend for over fifteen years.  She knew that Chris and I had been Scientologists at one time, but she never knew about the Rehabilitation program we endured, nor the escape Chris and I had made from the Los Angeles Rehabilitation, or the trauma of my mind in 1996.  She felt so bad for even though she had been a part of our lives, she did not know, and therefore had not been able to help me.
	I explained to her that it was her very not knowing that had most helped me recover.  She was never  a part of my Scientology life, so she had nothing to trigger me with; I was able to just be myself.  The crazy elements were not brought to the fore when I was around her.
	The world is so much bigger than the small kingdom of Scientology.  It may give the appearance of being large and having lots of power, but the truth is that, in the scheme of life, it is not a major factor.
	Marion, and other friends, by their NOT knowing of my past actually helped me to gain strength in myself and in the parts of me that had nothing to do with Scientology.  My friends, who had no knowledge, actually helped the most.  When I was with them, what I had been through was a distant nightmare and it allowed me the time to get stronger, to be ale to look at what happened to me in the small details.
	I was able to slowly get stronger over the years and recover from the insanity by not being immersed in it.
Dear friends who felt it their purpose to fight the fight against Scientology's tyranny were left behind or left out of sections of my life for my own sanity and healing.  It was not that they were doing anything I disagreed with, or felt was wrong; it was that being near them and that energy would bring that energy and many triggers into my present day life.  The chaos of the trauma was too large.  When it did bubble up - it would be days before I could get myself back in balance.
As I sit and write this in my journal, I can feel the different parts of my self as they bump into each other.  The needed integration is occurring, but it is a turbulent ride.
Trauma is not an easy thing to nail down, it slips and slides.  Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome can attack from the lowest levels, making you feel you are not safe, you just have to leave, you don't know why but you just have to leave.
In the early years after my psychosis at the hands of Scientology, Chris would ask me to stop going on the Internet; to stop reading the posts about Scientology.  It took me quite a while to realize that I did not read the posts on the Internet to participate.  In fact, I hardly ever answered or engaged the participants in any way.  Instead, I realized that by checking each day I could keep track of where Scientology's attention was.  Each time I heard of some attack they were fighting in Germany or Switzerland, or with a government bureau, I would feel a little bit safer because I would know they were nowhere near myself.
I monitored them because I was afraid that they would come back and do more damage to my mind.  I monitored them because it made me feel safer to know where their interests lay, and to know that they weren't coming after my family or me.  I was not consciously aware that this was why I was doing this for several years; I simply knew that I needed to "check the Internet every day.  
I also developed other fears.  I found that I needed a good stiff drink or something stronger to make it through a long airline flight.  That was not too disconcerting in light of 9/11, but then I noticed that same fear seemed to spill over into other parts of my life.  I found myself reluctant to go out to social functions where I would feel I would have to stay, and I avoided anything but last minute appointments or meetings.  As soon as I committed to plans in advance, I would begin to feel trapped.
Last year I signed up for an all day writing workshop at UCLA on the "Art of the Sentence".  I really wanted to do this class.  I noticed myself choosing my usual position closest to the door.  I did not think much of it, because I often felt I needed to use the women's room and did not want to disturb others.  About ninety minutes into the class, I was sensing a rising sense of panic, a feeling of being trapped.  It did not seem to have any logic behind it.  I was in a class I was enjoying, the teacher was interesting and I could clearly see my exit.  As the teacher gave the next writing exercise, I decided to use the time to dig into these feelings and discover their source.  As I wrote, I found I was back to that tiny room.  I was there in one of the top floors of Scientology International; in a small auditing room with Joan seated so as to block the door.  There was a camera in the upper corner of the room and I could not catch my breath.  I felt trapped and in danger.  I stayed with all of these feelings and physical sensations as they poured from my heart to the page
I wrote "Devastation - can't get out, trapped; trapped by doors, guards, and cameras.  Stuck in a seat - trash can as a barf bucket - small space.  "Golden Opportunity" they had said to me - "This is a Golden Opportunity."  Broken mind, it cracked into shards and I slipped into hell.  I remember the sound, the unforgettable sound of my cracking mind, my freefall.
Shattered shards of myself.  I tried to pick the pieces of my mind up off the floor.  I held them up as prisms to the light, wondering where in the world the Nancy who had been here a few moments ago had gone.
 "Humpty Dumpty", can't put Humpty Dumpty back together again.  I looked and acted normally; she knew she did, until she engaged in dialogue.  She wondered if her audience could see where she was.
 She lived in this world from a place far away - she was alone in hell.
Stuff fell from the attic of her mind.
She would pause and take a step back to check for reality - did he say that, or was that imagined, real or dream?  Could he see the wires connected to his head?  Could he feel when they took over or was that just a glimmer of forgotten thought?  I could see, I knew when they were present, I knew when they were coming.
7 years ago?   96 or 97 - 7 or 8 years ago.
Get Over It
Get Over It.
How could they have that much power?  How powerful they are.  Connections - who is connected to whom.  Ominous quality, the power they have over her and me.
Trapped - I cannot leave, nowhere to go, even if you left there is nowhere to go.  Bridges Burned.
Check
Check 
Check
Check MATE
They want to destroy me.  I need to destroy those parts of myself.  Destroy and go back to where we were.  Perhaps I can go deeper now because the levels are better.
Pressure - Pressure
Squeeze it all in there...
Hammer and Hammer
Screaming and Screaming...
I look around the classroom at the students who have continued the lessons, while I was exploring my state of mind.
After the class, when I had time to digest what I'd learned, I looked back over the years since my entrapment.  I realized that about 90 minutes is the length of time I can "be" anywhere.  I realize I have not held a full time job since Scientology caused my breakdown.  I had never thought it was because I 'couldn't'.  Just the thought of having to show up somewhere and remain there for eight hours, let alone for more days than one in a row, immediately brought up feelings of panic.  I have never tried to work for someone else since I had my breakdown; I never realized that I no longer really had that choice.
It is the same with social activities.  I may be invited to a party, I may love the people and want to go, but the fear of entrapment begins to rumble.  This is further exacerbated if any of the guests are people who used to be members of Scientology.  It is not that I do not like ex members of Scientology; there are many that I love.  It is that there is an unknown of what may come up in a conversation.  I still have not mined the depths of my trauma.  Most experts do not recommend digging too deeply too fast.  I have no idea what is a trigger for me.  It is not as simple as just saying, please do not speak of 'apples' for I find them upsetting.  What is upsetting to me is a vast unknown tangle of triggers that I carry with me every day just under the surface.  I only discover them when I experience a familiar rising tide of panic.  I attempt to notice what occurred just before that so I can learn to avoid it in the future.  Over the years I have found many ways in which I change the subject, change what I was doing, or, if needed, change my location to bring balance back to my spirit.
I am giving myself time to let the trauma surface and untangle, as it will.  I try live my life in the here and now.  I have friends who joke about my desire to go to sleep at a regular hour every night, even though that may disrupt weekend party or late night' activities.  How can I tell them that this is for my mental health?  How can I communicate that this is part of how I walk the balance beam.  When I do attend a party and want to leave earlier than most others do, they would try to make me stay.  How do I explain that I have to do this to keep my self in some semblance of balance?  How do I explain that the price I pay for messing with my sleep schedule is so unpleasant?  I live with the jokes because that is so much easier than telling the truth.  Besides, the truth is so entangled; I would not know where to begin.





CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CATHOLICS/ORGANIZED RELIGIONS
    The Pope has died today.  We are in San Francisco and We stop at several churches.  The first is a Cathedral.  As soon as I enter, I notice its beauty, but I also see that it is not Catholic.  The holy water troughs used by Catholics to bless themselves with before entering the church are absent from the doorways.  The Red candle on the altar is absent.  In a Catholic church the lit red candle represents the ever presence of God.  I find some literature that tells me that this is an Episcopal Church.  From what I remember from my childhood teachings, the Episcopalians are the closest, along with Greek Orthodox, to the Catholics.  Young Catholic children were taught that if we were ever caught on a Sunday in some location without a Roman Catholic Church that we would be allowed to attend the Episcopalian.  It could serve in an emergency.  Episcopalians believed most everything Catholics did but they found they could not agree to an infallible Pope.
I walked into a small chapel at the back of the church that was dedicated to victims of the AIDS epidemic.  The church felt very ecumenical, with recognition of the many religions that the victims had practiced.  One could enter the quiet sacred corner to light a candle and meditate on the effects of AIDS on our personal lives and on those of our fellow travelers.
I also found two labyrinths.  A carpeted one located inside the church itself, and a stone labyrinth, located outside on a large patio with an incredible view of the city.  These two labyrinths were copies of the famous Labyrinth of the Chartre Cathedral.  
There was a time in history when the Episcopalians and the Catholics were one religion.  At some point, someone decided to take what they liked of Catholicism and leave the rest and start their own faction.
I thought how, in Scientology, these would be called Squirrel Groups.  Scientology has vehemently attacked anyone who has attempted to splinter off from what it considers its mainstream practice.  I bet it wasn't much different when the Episcopalians left the mainstream Catholics.
As Chris and I walked across the city, there were several other churches that I recognized as Catholic as soon as I entered: the Red light on the altar, the holy water freely available, and the statues of the saints and the holy family scattered about the edges.  The alcoves contained tiers of candles lit for blessings or special intentions.   I placed my candle in the slot that felt right.  I looked at all the candles and tried to feel the prayers they represented - people in sickness, people in pain, or some, just as I was, lighting them in gratitude for the chance to breathe, the chance to love.  I made my prayer of gratitude and saw my candle join the others.  I thought how each candle represented a person who entered and knelt here, pausing to reflect and pray.  I wished them peace, crossed myself and moved back to sit in a pew and take on the presence of the building itself, the serenity and calmness of the architecture.
I looked above at the stained glass windows and remembered the days that I walked to the Church close to my house in Burbank when I was flipped out of my mind.  I remember sitting in a pew, feeling safe in the sanctuary of the stained glass, red light and burning candles.  My mind was wide open, much too far and wide open.  It felt like a funnel that traveled from the top of my head to the largest stain glass window behind me above the choir loft.  Within that funnel was my wide open mind full of many things happening at once: thoughts, feelings, random musings, unexplainable sights and sensations.  I remembered the feeling of fear bubbling up from deep inside.    
I heard two people talking about me around the edges of my huge mind funnel, a man, and a woman discussing the state of my cracked open head.  There was no one present in the Church besides me.  I couldn't see them, but I could hear them clearly.  From the tone of their voices I felt they didn't understand what was going on with me.  My level of fear rose.  If these guides, from whatever place they came from, had nothing to help me with my cracked mind, then what was to become of me?  I felt my fear interrupt their huddled conversation.  The male directed his attention to me, and I heard him clearly tell me that all would be well, that my mind was wide open now, but that it would heal and close up.  His voice was accompanied by such a feeling of comfort that I could not help but calm down.  He said to enjoy this opening as best I could; it would not last forever.
  I left the church in Burbank that day, still crazy but with an internal feeling of comfort that things would not always be like this.  I had been given hope.
Now I sat in the pew, in the church in San Francisco, I thought of the Pope who had just died.  He was such a great man in some ways.  He was a Pope of the people, with great caring for the downtrodden, outspoken against war and poverty.  He was a Pope who traveled to the people who could not see him in Rome.  But this was a Pope who had his blind sides.  He did not measure up to what I considered a larger truth. He could not open himself or his church to the concept that there might be other correct ways for people to reach God than his one only and apostolic church.  He did not see that women were equal to men and could lead flocks of people to the way of the Christ.  He also was fixed in the view of Celibacy that the church has demanded for centuries, even in the face of abuse of children.  He refused to allow the use of condoms, even in continents like Africa which are being devastated by the pandemic of AIDS.
    I wonder how different is this Church and this leader from the Scientology that I came out of.  Scientology also feels that it is the "only way" to spiritual freedom.  
  I remember when this Pope went to prison and called his would be assassin his brother.  He spent two and a half hours at his side and spoke of their lives and the things that brought their lives to an intersection.  This was not a Public Relations stunt; this Pope, truly believed in forgiveness.
  I can't imagine David Miscavaige ever doing something like that.  He and the church that he currently runs do not practice forgiveness.  As they have stated many times to the press, "They are not a turn the other cheek religion."  In fact, they never apologize, even for the most horrendous mistakes they make.  No, I have seen and experienced Scientology as not a "Turn the other Cheek Religion", I have seen them as a "Create the Victim" and then "Blame the Victim" religion.
The Catholic Church did survive its Inquisition years, and seems to be surviving its Child Abuse years.  So perhaps Scientology can also morph into something more compassionate, more kindly. Hope Springs Eternal in my heart.
I can hope for a Catholic Pope who not only continues the presence and openness of the Pope who just passed, but also takes us into an era of respect for all faiths and an end to poverty, AIDS, and unwanted pregnancies.  I can also hope for a Scientology that lives up to its promises of a better world.



CHAPTER TWENTY-FOOUR

TAYLOR'S POINT OF VIEW


  The other day my son Taylor, now in his late teens, said to me, "Mom, you know you really were brainwashed.  In fact you are still brainwashed.  Listen to yourself.  All I ever hear you talking about is about how there are good parts as well as bad parts to Scientology.  Even now after all this time you can't just admit it.  I bet there were people would say the Nazis had good parts, too."
 	 His comments gave me pause.  Was he right?  Was I in denial?  Maybe there were good parts to the Nazis: they were pretty well organized.  But no one in their right mind would say that they were a good organization deserving of support.  I decided to take his words and let them sit in my mind for a while.  I would take some time with it.  What is the definition of good vs. bad?  At what point does a group cross that line? At what point does an individual cross that line?  How do we even know when we've crossed the line?
The next morning, I poked my head into his room.
"Taylor, I just wanted to let you know that I am taking what you said to heart and I am thinking about it."
He looked at me quizzically
"Remember, the part about me being in denial about the overall Scientology picture?"
"I didn't say denial, Mom, I said brainwashing.  I mean come on, that guy was kept in a rehabilitation camp for seven years!!!  That's like taking a grenade and putting frosting on it and saying, well the frosting tastes good.  Get a grip Mom."
I told Taylor that a reporter from England who wanted more and more of my story had contacted me.  I was thinking about it.
"You should do it, Mom, you should."
I asked about his brother Corey who was still involved with Scientology and might have problems with me speaking out.
"What problems?" Taylor asked.  "They are going to make him choose between Scientology and his family? Come on, Mom, who do you think he is going to choose?  Besides, do you think Mayra would let him get away with dropping his family?  She wouldn't stand for it."
   I know that Corey is a very strong person and his family means a lot to him, but I also know what Taylor doesn't, and that is the pressures that can be brought to bear on someone who is not quite with the party line.
"We'll see Taylor, We'll see."
April 6, 2005
	Maureen came over for dinner last night.  She saw Karen (her therapist) during the day, and she looked like a big weight had lifted off her shoulders.  She has a safe place to sleep and she told me that she realized that she had been sleeping late at her other place because her Scientology roommate would get up early and chat, asking her questions about things like her beer consumption.
Now in her new space, she woke up early and felt refreshed.  She had thought she had a sleep problem, but perhaps it was just a safe space problem.
Maureen shared some stories about her life at the International Headquarters in Hemet, CA.  They have a card system. At the beginning of each week a staff member is given five cards. 
(1)Social Card allows you to watch a movie on the weekend.
(2)Bonus Card allows you to be paid bonuses. 
(3)Pay Card allows you to be paid your weekly pay of $35 to $50.
(4)Berthing card allows you to sleep in your own bed.
(5)Food card allows you to eat with the crew.
"What happened if you lost your berthing card?" I asked.
"You would have to sleep in a shack or on the floor in your office."
"People could just walk up and take away your cards?" Chris asked.
"Well, mostly your senior, but yes, they would physically take the cards."
"How often did you lose your cards?" I asked.
"Oh, all the time.  That's why I have trouble sleeping in a bed because I spent so many years sleeping on the floor in my office".
She said that if she lost her food card she would be allowed to eat rice and beans, but she was allergic to rice and beans.
"They would let me have peanut butter."
Chris and I looked at each other.  Thank God we both left the Sea Organization before that system got put in.  Talk about control, I thought.
Before she left, Maureen and I spoke privately.  She told me some of what she talked about with Karen.   Maureen told Karen that she had started to feel that she was a dangerous person that she shouldn't be hanging out with Chris and me that she was dangerous and shouldn't be around regular people.
"Karen asked me why I felt I was dangerous, and I just started crying.  It was being kept isolated from the crew and under guard for five years that gave me that feeling.  She understood, and I felt better for just getting it out."
It broke my heart to hear this beautiful, fragile woman feeling that she could be 'dangerous' to others.  It reminded me of when I had gone psychotic and felt that I was not good.  Scientology had taken away my inner feeling of being a good person.  It had been such a deep cut, I hadn't been able to talk about it for years.  I looked again at Maureen, and took in her dangerously low body weight and her lack of self-confidence, and I thought again of what Taylor had said to me.  Was I in denial?
I am leaving in the morning for a trip that will take me to Chicago to visit with Laura, Greg Bashaw's widow.  I have no doubts as to Scientology's hand in his death, and also in Lisa McPherson's.  And here is Maureen in front of me, the damage done to her, written all over her frail body.  Taylor's words came back to me. "Mom you are more brainwashed than you even know".
"Am I?" I wondered as I walked Maureen out to her car.


CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
SPRING 2005 TRIP
   I find myself drawn to Talk Radio as I drive through New England.  It's not something I listen to on the West Coast much, but I am drawn to the familiar accents of home and immediately I am drawn into the hot topic of conversation.  Cardinal Law was the Catholic Cardinal in the New England when the child abuse cases by priests were uncovered.  In fact, the Boston Globe did the original investigative reporting that uncovered what was to become a national Catholic scandal.  Cardinal Law was found to have sent priests known to be pedophiles into new unsuspecting parishes; he sent them in with glowing letters of recommendations, even though he knew about their previous activities with children.  Catholics and non-Catholics alike were upset about the lack of accountability that fell to Cardinal Law.  No criminal charges were placed against him.  He was replaced as Cardinal of New England and transferred to the Vatican.  It was felt he didn't even get a slap on the wrist.  Now, this week, it has been announced that he will not only vote for the new Pope, but be possibly considered as a candidate himself, as well as  officiate at one of the memorial masses held in Rome over this next week of mourning.
Callers were incensed.  The announcer called Cardinal Law a pimp.  One of the callers who responded said that wasn't right, that it demeaned the Catholic religion and was a bigoted statement.  I thought of how many times I had heard any criticism of Scientology called bigoted, and the criticizer attacked, instead of a review of the issues brought to the forefront.
The announcer was very direct and polite.  He stated the facts - Cardinal Law had sent priests he knew to have been pedophiles into unsuspecting parishes, (where they molested young children again) with glowing letters of recommendation.  He said if you would not call him a pimp, then what word would you use?  The caller could not come up with a word, and could only continue to rant that the announcer was attacking his religion.  The announcer held his ground that he was not attacking the religion, merely pointing out the actions of one individual were clearly wrong and caused harm to innocent children and their families.
The remainder of the callers supported the announcer and voiced their disappointment and horror at the cover up they felt that the Vatican was doing.  Parishes in New England had to be shut down, due to the financial burdens of restitution for the harm done by the pedophile priests.  Protests and sit-ins were occurring at several shut down parishes, in an attempt of the members to maintain their local churches.
I thought of those protesters and how they still attended mass.  How they disagreed with specific faults of individuals and individual practices, yet still felt there was hope and goodness in the whole.
I doubted that these callers or individuals demonstrating at the shut down parishes had to worry about their phones being tapped, or their businesses being harmed, or other scare tactics Scientology uses to "shudder into silence.:"
When I first began to read the book put out by the Boston Globe, which included previously unpublished documents written by Cardinal Law, I found that I had to put it down.  I found one letter, in particular, to one woman to be exactly what Scientology would have said.  A mother wrote to him that two of her sons and also had molested two of her nephews.  She was asking for his help, not monetary gain, but she wanted his help so that this would never happen again.  Cardinal Law answered back that while these were not good things that had happened, but that the reputation of the "Church" was foremost and must be protected.  She must not speak out publicly about this abuse, because it would only harm the "Mother Church" and that superseded all else.
At the time, it sickened me to be reminded of all the negative things that had happened in Scientology that should not be spoken of. 
When I saw those words written by Cardinal Law, and heard in my head they were the same words spoken so many times by senior executives of Scientology and, yes, even spoken by myself, my stomach gave a swirl and I closed the book.  I was unable to read any further.   Is this the way of all religions and "wannabe" religions?  Is this the way of all groups?  It reminded me of the battered wife or a dysfunctional family; keep the secrets, whatever the cost.
Here the secrets were, finally, being spoken loudly.  Changes were being made, lives being improved.  The Catholic Church is, I believe, a much better Church in New England now that all their incredibly dirty laundry has been aired.  
I know of one ex senior executive in Scientology who had knowledge possibly relevant to the death of Lisa McPherson.  She so feared for her safety that she refused to come forward without a million dollars in protection and money to cover business losses.
I remember the magazine article "Shudder into Silence" detailing how effective Scientology has been at silencing its critics.
Yet, here, in Massachusetts, on talk radio, free speech is still alive and it is making for a better Catholic Church, for a better group.
No Catholic today would say that the Inquisition was a good thing.  Pope John Paul has apologized to the Jews for the centuries of prosecution.  It seems that the group has gotten larger and stronger by the public admission and recognition of wrong choices made or wrong turns taken, and with concurrent shifts in policy and behavior.
I've always told my children that one of the largest parts of learning something new was failing, the failing, the not making it. It was not the mistakes that were important' it was learning from the.  It was acknowledging the truth and struggling to improve oneself.
Sunday May 22, 2005
I'm in Chicago now.  I noticed the FBI building was near my hotel.  I thought about somehow getting them to listen about the Rehabilitation camps, and to go see for themselves.  Then I realized that most of the members, while still in the cocoon of the Scientology group, would say they were there of their own free will.  After all, congressman Ryan went down to the Jim Jones camp and only a very small percentage of the people took his offer of a ride back home.
Yesterday, I met with Laura Bashaw.  I knew this would be emotional and cathartic.  She is much as I expected, petite, beautiful, fair skin, but her hair, her hair hangs down her body to the bottom of her butt.  I was impressed.  I used to have long hair, but had never been able to grow it that long.  
She brought me some beautiful daffodils from her garden.  It was so special, finally meeting after many years of telephone talks, so much pain, and so many tears. 
The clicking, "Remember the clicking phones?" I asked. 
"Oh, yes, every time we would talk, as if we had the bonus listeners."  
"You know after I settled with Scientology they went away, but just recently they have started up again."
"How recently?"  I asked.  
"This past week, especially around this weekend."
I took pause to wonder about the paranoia of that.  The thought that I could be under someone's' watchful eye and devoid of privacy is not a comfortable one.
I flashed to the odd person following my car at my Dad's in Massachusetts.  He would pull over and wait for me to pass him and then he would follow a bit more only to pass me again and pull over to watch as I passed him.  I shrugged it off as odd: it was an area filled with elderly drivers after all.  Now, hearing the sounds of her clicks had increased, its significance shifted, ever so slightly, in my still unstable mind.


CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
SCIENTOLOGY CELEBRITIES
  Recently Tom Cruise has been speaking vocally and forthrightly to the press and anyone else who will listen about Scientology.  Today I read where he credited it with an improvement of his IQ and with his newfound ability to know that he can learn just about anything he sets his mind to and wants to learn.
Last month I became concerned about Oprah.  She had a run on "scientology Celebrities" coming into her life, with gifts and friendships and I am sure lots of personal chatting.
I used to run the International Celebrity Center, first from the level of International Management and then from the position of President of the Celebrity Center International.  Even after my tenure as President, I remained connected as a volunteer with the International Celebrity Centre right up to the point they drove me to a breakdown.
 Hubbard saw early on the value of a Celebrity and I have read references dating as far back as the 50's to the desire to cater to and include celebrities.  Celebrities sway public opinion and are therefore considered a significant factor in the growth of the movement.
During the 90's I was a volunteer for them and would work with celebrities who were interested in Scientology services.  I had one woman, in particular, who, while not famous herself, was well connected to big name celebrities.  Somehow, her name found its way onto the "International List."  The International List was a weekly report of the status of these 'special people' who were either targeted for membership, or were already members.  
When I first saw Tom Cruise on the Oprah show, I could tell that not only was he in love with Katie Holmes, but that this woman must also share his devotion to Scientology.  Recently press has written about Katie's many visits to Scientology Centre and her participations in courses and counseling sessions.  Her close friends have complained that they now cannot get through to her and those friends who do not share her excitement for scientology are being dropped from her life.  Tom took Katie's parents on a tour of the Los Angeles Celebrity Centre.
I am glad Tom has found something that he feels has helped him.  I'm actually happy he now has a love in his life that seems to share that belief system.  However, I am concerned that Tom is receiving and promoting a very different Scientology than the audience listening to him would receive.
Today I received an email from a person who had read my story, available on the internet, of how auditing drove me to the depths of insanity.  It also included how lucky I felt to have been able to claw my way back to a sense of normalcy.  She said that listening to Tom and John Travolta made her feel that auditing was 'awesome.'  She was wondering if I knew where she could get it more cheaply, perhaps from some other location.
I am very aware of the salesmanship and manipulative abilities taught and used in Scientology.  While I don't know Tom Cruise directly, nor do I know exactly how he is taken care of, I have had enough experience with the care and handling of other Scientology celebrities to know that they are monitored and catered to.  They have special course rooms, specially trained staff, and they are kept in a bubble.
Their bubble operates a bit like the story in the "Truman Story." Most of the celebrities are not aware that the offers of assistance and help come with a price.  If a celebrity is having difficulty with a personal assistant, the offer of help in finding an effective personal assistant is seen as some welcome aide.  In this way, the celebrity gradually co-mingles more and more of his personal life, with these special services offered by the Scientologists.
I do know that when Tom Cruise was given a tour at the
large base at Hemet, it was all set up for him.  Staff were stationed at various places with walkie-talkies alerting his next stop on the tour of his imminent arrival, and the staff where to be at their places ready to do their "scenes".  I wonder if Tom Cruise knows of the abuse, and Rehabilitation Project Forces, or the screaming and sometimes physical abuse staff is subjected to.  It is very possible he doesn't have a clue.  Most Celebrities are given Scientology in a well controlled, perfect, bubble.  
All Scientologists are given a policy early on about writing Knowledge Reports on each other.  It is expected that all 'good' scientologists' will write reports on any (perceived or suspected) behavior that is not in keeping with the "standards" of Scientology.  In this way, the Scientology Celebrities can be kept in line or at least guided ever so gently and ever so subtly to stay with the main line membership.
People who bring the celebrity any negativity about Scientology just will not get through to him or her.  If they do make it into the inner circle, 'handlings will be arranged' to get this person out of the celebrities' life.
There are people within the Scientology Celebrity Network whose job it is to do nothing but run interference and slowly create the dedication that would lead a celebrity, like Tom Cruise, to risk everything to forward the group that he believes in so strongly.  
Celebrities are specifically named and targeted to be introduced to Scientology and slowly hand fed the appropriate information and assistance till they reach a point of fully committed member.
I remember when Tom Cruise was first involved in Scientology and I was one of the few who knew.  Someone leaked that information to a tabloid reporter.  The amount of intention and interrogations that was done to find the "Who" was enormous.  The pressure to find the leak came from David Miscavaige himself.  It has been a long road from Tom being unknown as someone pursuing Scientology, to the Tom Cruise who now is so vocal and focused.  I may not know all the ins and outs, but I do know that many man-hours of Scientology Sea Org Staff went into planning, handholding, and creating that end result.
  

 

                   CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
SCIENTOLOGY AND ME TODAY

     In early July 2005, I emailed Laura, Greg Bashaw's widow, and asked if she would be willing to speak out; if she felt she were ready.  She referred me to Greg's sister - also named Laura.  Greg's sister and I got in touch and spent time catching up on each other, and talking of Laura's vulnerability and the struggle she has had to go through.
	During our conversation my phone started clicking again, so much so that Laura mentioned it.  She said that that used to happen all the time with Laura's phone when she was working on legal actions against Scientology.
	It gave me pause.  I, too, had noticed incessant clicking of late.  Are they still tapping my calls?  Do they have a Private Investigator with one of those long distance machines able to listen to my conversations in the privacy of my home?  It is easy to get very paranoid, and of course, there is an immediate adrenalin rush of fear.  However, as I take my time to analyze it, I find that it is a flimsy field of energy.  I have nothing to hide.  They know who I am.  I have given them numerous opportunities to communicate like normal people.  
I am not out to destroy them, nor to shut them down.  I simply want them to be truthful and to stop mentally harming people and degrading them in work camps they call the Rehabilitation Project Force.
I have two areas in which I now feel I have a need to speak out and do what I can to cause help to those held in the Rehabilitation Camps currently. And I need to do whatever I can to prevent any more people from entering the Type Three Zone of Scientology - psychosis, and to help those that do fall off that cliff.  I have many things I want to do with the rest of my life that have nothing to do with Scientology.
    In August, I went to the Immaculate Heart Retreat Center in Montecito, just down the Street from Oprah.  I had heard of this place over the years as an excellent place for a spiritual retreat.  Montecito is a breath south of Santa Barbara and has the same cool ocean breezes.  I didn't know much about the Sisters of the Immaculate Heart, but I do know that a developer recently offered them $50 million dollars for their property and they refused.  It is their home and sanctuary for the many thousands of souls who come there to rest, rejuvenate, and recover their spiritual center.
   The nuns who originally built this retreat center broke away from the archdiocese after a difficult time in the early 70's.  They opened up their community to men, and they opened up this retreat house to people of all faiths.  They found that their Catholicism was true for them, but they did not have to bow down to the patriarchal control that had always been there.  They splintered, yet held onto what was most true, what was at the core.
    In my room I had a statue of the female goddess of Buddhism.  The room was decorated with several crosses and the beautiful art of "Corita", who lived her life as an artist and nun within these walls.  I went there to work on the writing of this book.  I find that in its openness to so many roads to the spiritual, it touches that same self that was touched during conversations with Abigail, way back in 1986.  My spiritual journey continues, but I am now comfortable with the paradox.  I am comfortable that my relationship with God and the universe is so personal, that it may never fit inside one structured group of believers.  I can now hold many beliefs all at the same time.



CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
THE VISIT
    In September of 2005, my husband answered a knock at the door.  After hearing a bit of the conversation I joined Chris on the porch of our house.  Eugene Ingram was visiting us on behalf of Scientology's lead attorney, Elliot Abelson.  Eugene has been the mainstay of Scientology's Private Investigation team since 1982.  He said that they were doing an investigation into a friend of ours, Tory Christman.  It was a pre-litigation investigation prior to filing libel/slander charges against her.  Tory had been speaking out to the press.
    My husband had been answering him in quick and simple monosyllables - yes or no.  I realized that Chris had no idea who was standing on our porch or who the referenced attorney was.  This was not some simple $40 an hour Private Investigator.  This was their head investigator, the very one that had been working with them to gather information to destroy potential witnesses for years.  Chris also didn't know the meaning of the attorney's name, upon whose behalf he was on our front porch.
   I knew not only because of my readings on the Internet, but also because of my days as a deep cover spy for Scientology.  Eugene Ingram may have never known of me as deep cover agents identities were very protected, but I knew of him, and I knew the actions that Private Investigators were taking on behalf of Scientology back in the 80's.
    Eugene said that they were investigating Tory to see if they could find out who was funding her. "By the way you have a nice house here," he added.  
   We couldn't help but laugh out loud at that.  Tory works very hard for her money and does not get help from anywhere.  I told him truthfully that I had been out of town most of the past summer and Tory and I had not been in touch, but could he tell me what kinds of things they were exploring.
	"For example," he said, "if Tory was working with reporters and she publicly said Scientology had asked her to do illegal things and they hadn't, that would be libel."
  "But if Tory had been asked to do illegal things, that wouldn't' be libel then would it?" I rebutted.
    We danced around that for a little bit.
  "No, it wouldn't" he finally admitted.
   I assumed he had already been fully briefed on my background and me long before he came out to our house; that briefing is usually included when they do one of these 'stir up the bushes' activities.  But maybe he hadn't.  
   I told him how Tory and I had known each other from the time when she was sent to the hospital to get me out from under a 72 hour psychiatric hold by OSA Intelligence to try and help prevent a 72 hour hold.  I told him that after she left Scientology, we reconnected and she apologized for any of her part in all that.  I let him know that I had been an undercover agent for the Guardian's office in the 70's and then more recently for RTC and OSA Int.  In fact I had been one during the 80's when he was just beginning his time working for them.  I wanted him to know that I did know of some of the illegal and immoral things he and others had been involved with.
	"If we wanted to serve you guys for deposition, where would we do that?"
 	We told him, they could serve us right here.  We work at home and our phone is in the book.  He shook hands before he left.
    When Maureen heard who it was at the door, she said, "Oh, if I had known it was him, I would have come out and joined you.  He is well respected in the hierarchy of Scientology.  He's gotten medals for the Suppressive's he helped destroy.  And he would know me too, we sat next to each other at a couple of events."
	I found out he paid one other visit that day to another friend of Tory's.  He threatened her business (she works with high profile celebrities) and she slammed the door in his face.  Both this friend and I had spent many years in the Sea Org working with celebrities: perhaps that was why we were singled out.
   The visit threw me back into the mental quagmire for a while.  The timing was especially critical, because I had just spent the previous weekend fleshing out the first chapter of this memoir: "The most awful day of my life".  I had just written about things I had never really allowed myself to view in their totality; there were some parts of that day that had never been shared with anyone.
	I was very proud of myself.  It took me only four days after the Ingram visit to feel that I had rebalanced myself back to center.  The pieces of myself are finally coming together and I stand tall and certain in the belief that AI will be whole and al the stronger for it.

   

CHAPTER TWENTY -NINE
UPDATES
Lisa McPherson
Her case was settled for an undisclosed amount of money.  She is resting in Peace.
Laura and Greg Bashaw
Greg Bashaw did not make it, and also is resting in peace.
Laura had a very difficult time of it for quite some time.  She settled for a small undisclosed amount of money. She has taken back up her incredible artistic talents.  She has pieces hanging in some prestigious buildings in Chicago.  She has recently re married and is starting a new chapter of her life.
MAUREEN
Maureen is now healing from both the emotional and the physical situations she left the 'Sea Org' with.  She is now in college and also pursuing a new chapter of her life.
Myself
I finished my college Bachelors degree, which was interrupted by Scientology. I am pursuing a career in writing.
JEANNINE Jeannine has finally gotten her physical and emotional difficulties corrected enough that she is now pursuing a new career.

APPENDIX  
SOCIAL CONTROL AND CULTS


	In her Opening Skinner's Box: Great Psychological Experiments of the Twentieth Century, Lauren Slater summarizes and compiles in one volume some of the most ground breaking experiments in social psychology.  These experiments, in many cases, have caused us to re-think human behavior.  She includes in her book work by several psychologists, including Stanley Milgram, Solomon Asch, Darley and Latane and Dr. Festinger.  I found that most of these experiments directly relate to my experience as a cult member.
There is a human need to belong, an ancient "pack mentality" that is still with us to this day.  In 1961, Stanley Milgram, a professor at Yale University, conducted some ground breaking experiments into the limits a human being would go to "follow orders."  We had lived through the horrors of the Holocaust and heard from many German nationals who stated that they were "just following orders."  Milgram wanted to delve into this aspect of human behavior.  
He established a test wherein subjects were ordered to administer electrical shocks to people who made mistakes spelling words.  The subject was the only one involved who was unaware of the test, or that the 'victims' were, in actual fact, actors.  The subject could not see the actual recipient of the shocks but had met the individual and could hear the fabricated moans and screams of pain as the shocks became increasingly stronger.  One victim was screaming so loudly that the subject turned to the administrator and said, "I think this could kill him." The administrator (dressed in a white lab coat) replied that "the experiment must continue."  
When the results were tallied, Milgram, and the rest of the world, were shocked.  The number of "obedient's (65%) were surprisingly much higher than expected.  Only 35% of the subjects were "defiant," refusing to continue to inflict pain.  The subjects were so random, so mild mannered, that the results were ground breaking.  
Milgram was not the first experimenter to find such shockingly high results.  C. Landins found (in 1924, in Wales) that 71% of his subjects were willing to decapitate a rat at the experimenter's insistence.  In 1944, Dr. Daniel Frank discovered that he could get his subjects to perform the oddest acts just because he wore the white coat when he made the request: "Please stand on your head," "Please walk backward with one eye closed," "Please touch your tongue to the window."   
The experimenter who most influenced Milgram was Solomon Asch, from Princeton.  Asch was studying group pressure.  He put his subject in the midst of a group who chose obviously wrong answers.  He asked the group which line was longer and the members of the group would all agree on a line that was clearly shorter.  Most of Asch's subjects would abandon their own beliefs to conform to the group.  
Most ex-cult members, myself included, can relate to the findings of the study.  To be a member of a cult means that there is a part of oneself that is given over to the group for "the greater good of the group".  I have memories of situations in which I did things that the "group" or my boss demanded; these were not things that I would have normally done.  Yet, it is the times in which I stood up to the authority figures that most stand out in my mind.  I can clearly remember the inner turmoil that I felt when faced with an 'order' with which I did not want to comply.  I had a sinking feeling that I had reached a personal 'line in the sand' and that no matter what the consequences, I was not going to cross that line.  It was a sinking feeling because I knew that the consequences could be immense.  Yet, it was in those moments that I became stronger and more certain of myself as a person.
I read the diary of a woman, Tirzah, who was a member of the Oneida cult in the mid-19th century.  She was the niece of the Oneida founder.  Tirzah was a true group member and put up with a lot of oppression and control to remain with the group.  Her diary reflects the thoughts of a "good, true, believer."
Whenever the group asked her to give up a relationship, she did.  She may have disliked doing it, but she always put the wishes of the group ahead of her personal desires.  She was even ordered at one time to change her son's name, which she did.  She was ordered not to see her son, to let others mother him, and she did.  She was ordered to feel that the man who had fathered this son (who had left the community) was a bad bad man.  She had difficulty with that, but she finally prayed her way over to that way of thinking.
I was speaking with a friend of mine who had been a member of a cult and we called the phenomenon "clicking." As an individual you are a member of the group and you bump into something that doesn't just 'click.'  It is something that you, as an individual, don't like or disagree with.  To continue in the group you have to make it click, or it sits there in a pile which grows to the point where you leave the group.  Tirzah was a group member who could keep 'clicking,' no matter what demands the group threw in her face.
  Mary Jones was another Oneida group member.  She was a member for over 18 years and I'm sure during those years she had her share of little bumps she was able to click her way through.  But clearly there were some that began to pile up.  From information in the Diary of her lover (Victor Hawley) we find that she had given birth to a stillborn baby.  The group couldn't/wouldn't give the baby a gravestone.  Mary never got over that; she couldn't move forward.  The disservice to her child was such a personal affront. 
	The Oneida group (being the true totalitarian group that they were) felt that-well, if you are upset about such an unimportant thing as an infant's gravestone, you obviously have too much 'mothering' spirit and therefore can not be on the approved list to give birth. No more babies for you!!!
As I continued reading books in history and psychology it became clearer to me that while black and white thinking was part of my exploration, it was not my main focus.  The main aspect in which I want to delve-in my creative writing-is the line between group and individual.  How much group is too much, how much individual is too much?  In 1996 Lisa McPherson, a member of Scientology, became mentally ill.  She was kept in isolation and under guard for 17 days.  During that time, her physical condition deteriorated to the point where she was unable to walk.  While several of her caretakers expressed concern over her physical condition, none of them called 911.  Their supervisor had a medical background and the caretakers felt that if something were truly wrong, she would have done something.  The caretakers watched and took notes as the days passed.  Lisa was finally taken by the supervisor to a hospital, where she was dead on arrival.
A more famous incident took place in 1964 in New York City. At 3 AM Kitty Genovese was making her way home to her New York apartment when she was attacked.  Her screams were loud enough to waken several people nearby.  The attacker later told of seeing various lights going on in apartments above the street.  Fearing the police, the attacker drifted away, leaving Kitty to moan in a doorway.  After a bit of time, the attacker noticed no police sirens and went back to Kitty and finished the job.  Lauren Slater reports in her book Opening Skinner's Box:
This crime occurred over a thirty-five-minute period, between 3:15 and 3:50 am.  It occurred in a series of three separate attacks, all of them drawn out and punctured with screams for help.  People, the witnesses, those who flicked on their lights, could both hear and see.  They did nothing.  There were thirty-eight witnesses in all, watching from their windows as a woman was stabbed and snuffed.  Only when it was over did one of them call the police, but by then she was dead, and the ambulance came to cart her away, and it was four in the morning, and those who saw went back to sleep. (Slater 97)
Two psychologists-Darley and Latane-decided to perform some experiments to try to understand the perplexing behavior of the 38 witnesses.  They set up a situation wherein an individual could overhear a person having what appears to be an epileptic fit.  It is a "party line"; the subjects know they are not the only ones hearing the seizure as it transpires.  The subjects are also aware that the room they are in is not locked and the "authority figure" is down the hall and can be easily gotten to for assistance.  The psychologists found the percentage of people who went for help similar to Milgram's-35%.   In this experiment, another variable was further isolated: the more people the subject thought were also hearing and therefore aware of the seizure, the fewer would go for help.  There was a definite correlation between the numbers of people in the group and the willingness of an individual to step out and do something.  
Darley and Latane decided to take the experiment one step further and see how an individual would react if he or she personally was in a situation of possible danger.  Could the group override an individual's urge to survive?
The experimenters placed the subject in a room with other people.  The authority figure set the group to doing something and left the room, stating that he was just down the hall.  After he left, the vent in the room would begin to billow smoke.  Abigail Slater reports the results: 
Each time, the subject looked alarmed, looked at the smoke going from wisp to waft, looked at the calm confederates and then clearly confused, went back to filling out the questionnaire.  A few subjects went over to the vent and inspected it, and then looked at the confederates, who did not seem to care, and then went back to filling out the form.  How odd! A few of the subjects asked whether it was unusual, smoke pouring from the vent, but the confederates just shrugged it off. In the entire experiment, only one subject reported the smoke to the experimenter within four minutes, only three reported the smoke within the entire experimental period and the rest not at all.  They decided, based on the social cues of the confederates, rather than material evidence, to interpret the emergency as a harmless failure of the air conditioning system.  This perhaps more than any other experiment shows the pure folly that lives at the heart of human beings; it runs so counter to common sense that we would rather risk our lives than break rank, that we value social etiquette over survival.  It puts Emily Post in a whole new place.  Manners are not frivolous; they are more forceful than lust, than fear, more primal-than deep preening.  When Daley and Latane varied the experiment so the na•ve subject was alone in the room, he or she almost always constructed the story of smoke as an emergency and reported it immediately.(Slater 105)
In 'high control' groups, like the one I was a part of, there is a hierarchy.  The group feels that keeping this hierarchy and keeping intact the personal power of the personnel at the top is very important and, therefore, will not rail against those in power.  
In 1980 Scientology was under heavy attack in Clearwater, Florida.  There were public hearings being held daily which were broadcast on local cable television.  At the same time Hubbard (the leader of Scientology) issued a directive that he had just discovered that sitting in front of televisions was a bad thing.  He said that the staff was not socializing and they were just zoning out in front of the "boob tube."  Hubbard had all the televisions removed from the Scientology Headquarters, the Hotel, and all staff buildings.  Since staff could not watch television, members could not make the connection between this discovery and the public hearings.
Lauren Slater also reports on Dr. Festinger's interesting experiments.  In the mid 1950's, Dr. Festinger pretended to join a UFO Cult in Lake City, Minneapolis.  The UFO Cult leader, Marion Keech, predicted that at Midnight on December 21st the spaceship would land and save her group before a great flood immersed North America.  Dr. Festinger was with the group when they gathered in Marion Keech's living room on the night of December 21st.  The press waited anxiously outside.  Members had sold their homes, alienated family members, quit jobs. They were heavily invested in this group and the prediction of the flying saucers.  Midnight came and went, with no flying saucers.  Instead of skulking away in shame, the group opened the doors and invited the press in.  Marion Keech declared that it was the 'light' of the group in the living room that had prevented mass destruction.  Witnessing this event and the shift in the group led Festinger to test and discover the concept of "cognitive dissonance":
It is precisely when a belief is disconfirmed that religious groups begin to proselytize, a sort of desperate defense mechanism.  This disjunction between what one believes and the factual evidence is highly uncomfortable, like scratching on slate.  Soothing can come only if more and more people sign onto the spaceship, so to speak, because if we are all flying this thing together, then surely we must be right. (Slater 117)
	Festinger did further experiments.  One was with college fraternities where he discovered that those who went through the more severe hazing rites claimed much more allegiance to the group than those who hadn't.
Alexandra Robbins spent a year following three members of different sororities.  She published her findings in Pledged: The Secret Life of Sororities.  She found that time and again the girls would put up with abuse, yet still be devoted to their sorority.  When certain sororities forbid the practice of hazing, there were complaints from the 'sisters' that they didn't feel as tight as a group, that hazing was an important part of the sorority culture.   
Steven Hassan is a leading expert on cults and the recovery of people who once were members.  Hassan himself was once a member of the "Moonies," the religious cult led by the Korean Reverend Sun Yung Moon.  In his book Releasing the Bonds, Hassan relays the story of his personal disentanglement from the cult.  He notes that Robert Jay Lifton's eight criteria for destructive mind control helped him see the social control that he was under.  Lifton wrote that while many groups will exhibit some of these points, a group that demonstrates all eight criteria is using destructive mind control.
1. Milieu Control-control of environment and communication within that environment.
2. Mystical manipulation-contrived engineering of experiences, everyone manipulates everyone else for the higher purpose.
3. The demand for purity-establishing impossible standards for performance, thereby creating an environment of guilt and shame.
4. The cult of confession-the destruction of personal boundaries, and the expectation that every thought, feeling or action that does not conform to the group's rules be shared or confessed.
5. Sacred science-the belief that the group's dogma is absolutely scientific and morally true, with no room for questions or alternative viewpoints.
6. Loading the language-the use of vocabulary to constrict members' thinking into absolute, black-and-white thought patterns.
7. Doctrine over person-the imposition of group beliefs over individual experience, conscience and integrity.
8. Dispensing of existence-the belief that people in the group have the right to exist and all ex-members and critics or dissidents do not.  (Hassan 34)

Margaret Singer in her book Cults in Our Midst has a table where she breaks down the continuum of influence and persuasion.  All groups, and even individuals for that matter, use influence and persuasion on a regular basis. It is how they use that influence and persuasion that makes a difference.  Take for example the section of her table entitled "Type of Relationship":
 A) In education the relationship is time-limited and consensual.
B) In advertising the consumer/buyer can accept or ignore the communication.
C) In propaganda the learners' support and engrossment is expected.
D) In Indoctrination the Instruction is contractual, but still consensual.
E) In thought reform the group attempts to retain people forever. (Sanger 59)
	People slide into cult membership.  It can happen in a surprisingly short period of time.  Once inside a cult, it is difficult to leave.  Margaret Singer writes, "Because of the powerful combination of belief, loyalty, dependency, guilt, fear, peer pressure, lack of information and fatigue, all of which probably have equal psychological weight, members do not readily leave cults.  Decent, honorable people do not easily give up on commitments, and the cult environment is such that it makes leaving practically impossible.  Many cult members endure a state of mental conflict and torment for years" (274).
	I believe that cults are not going away.  I believe that almost any group can become "cultish," and that there are degrees of how destructive a group can be.  Whenever we join a group, whether it is a church, or school, or club, we agree to submerge some of our individuality in exchange for the benefits of the group.  The group may have rules and structure to which we need to abide to continue our membership.  If I want to work at Vons Supermarket, for example, I may be required to wear a certain color jacket, I may be required to arrive by 8 AM, and I may be assigned the time when my lunch needs to be taken.  I may or may not, as an individual, want to do these things, but as the group offers me money, purpose and perhaps other benefits, I choose to accept the exchange.  Sometimes working at Vons creates a conflict, in that I might want Wednesdays off to be with my child and the supervisor does not want to give it to me.  This then becomes a parting of the ways, and I may have to quit and find another work place to join.  In most work environments in America, I can simply put in my resignation and leave.  The difference with cults is that they will attempt to dissuade you from spending Wednesdays with your child and persuade you to remain with the group. And, again, it is a sliding scale, anywhere from a frown from the supervisor to threats.
	There is always some benefit to being a member of a group, but at what point does that benefit turn into something more sinister?  Sororities are not cults, in terms of the pure definition of the word.  Yet they practice coercive mind control.  Pledges will put up with emotional and physical abuse to the point where sanity and life are at risk.  Most group members do not see the harm in this. In fact, some feel that the power of the group is diminished when these rituals are abandoned.  
	
In actual practice though, this was not how it worked.  There were confessionals I received, or read the reports of others receiving, where the person was told upfront that this information would be used by ethics officers and other public people.  In my twenty or so years of involvement, the transfer of information gathered during these private sessions was often exchanged with salespeople or executives who may have found the information "useful" in the 'handling' of a person.  This would include Celebrity Pre-Clears as well as regular individuals.  
There was a time when these folders kept by Scientology were "culled" and tidbits of interest would be pulled out and placed in separate reports to either the ethics or the intelligence branch.  Scientology does say that these practices stopped in l982 with the disbanding of the Guardian's Office, but I have not found that to be true, right up till my final involvement in 1997.
When I was a Senior Executive (at the international level) and then when I was an Executive of the Celebrity Centre, personal difficulties that a Celebrity had shared would be discussed.  The intention was to 'help' get the person the proper help to assist, but I noticed, especially with the celebrities, that it had the taint of gossip.
In 1997, I was informed by a staff member of the Special Affairs Intelligence branch, Donna, that she knew exactly what had happened to me in the private counseling sessions which led to my psychotic break, because she was given copies of daily reports.  These daily reports were written up by Joan, my Auditor (counselor) summarizing things I shared in what I had thought was a private session.  These notes were passed around amongst the interested executives of the Office of Special Affairs.
I personally know things told by "celebrities" (and others) that were told in what they had thought was the safety and confidentially of the counseling room.  I found this information shared most often with the "registrars" who could and would use it to elicit more money from the Pre-Clear, as that was what would assist them in sorting out whatever private issues they had shared with their Auditor and Case Supervisor.
While in the Rehabilitation Project Force (RPF), each individual had to get both himself and his twin through a series of these "confessional Lists".  This was a major part of the graduation requirements.  Some of the questions would be deeply personal, like specifics of one's sex life, while others would be "Have you ever stolen anything?" 

At least the Roman Catholics don't take notes and share.



2