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 fiancˇ 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 cafˇ 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 the