Walking Through Walls (24 page)

“The Scientologists. I think it's kind of interesting. Maybe you would like it. It's all about one's potential. Their goal is to make you a clear. You should come by the Org sometime. They do this thing called ‘assist'; it's like your healing. When someone has a cold or something, they put their hands near the person and send energy just like you do.” I thought this would convince my father that Scientology was a good thing. It also made me feel a bit comfortable in that I was doing something that was similar to but different from what he was doing. “They also have a way of explaining how the spirit survives death, sort of like reincarnation. It's kinda what you do.”

“Let's see…” My father picked up his pendulum and watched it for a minute. It swung in a counterclockwise direction. He looked at me. “No good.”

“What?”

“This is not the place for you. There are a lot of people with negative vibrations at this place. They don't know what they're doing. Unintentionally, they hurt a lot of people. They open them up psychologically, get in there, and fool around, promising them something they can't deliver. Also, certain people there are on a power trip and use that to control some of the newer people. I'm not saying that's true of the entire organization, but this particular place is really low. Some of the people in charge have dark forces in them.”

“You sure? I kind of liked it over there.”

“Well, you haven't met everybody yet, have you? Go. It's up to you. You may spend a few months there, but that's it. There's nothing there for you. There are other places for you to learn. Besides, it's going to cost you a lot of money that you don't have.”

“No it won't,” I said smugly.

“Why?”

“Because I'm going to work there, and all my lessons will be free.”

“Well, maybe that's what they told you.”

“Pop, I really think I should do this. It'll be my own thing.”

“I understand. Just be careful; there are some strange, unhappy people over there.”

Of course, I had no interest in listening to my father. I was determined that Scientology would set me free.

While other kids at school spent their weekends hanging out at the beach or just driving around getting into trouble, I went to work at the Org. At seventeen, I was the youngest person in the place. My duties included basic filing, answering phones, handing out free lecture tickets, and straightening up the
Dianetics
books. Occasionally I would complain to Toni that I wanted more important work. She always convinced me that I was making an invaluable contribution to the Org—that I was part of a larger mission to propel humanity into the future and as far away from 1969 as possible. Toni reassured me that my being around the Org and all the clears was what was really important for my growth. I usually got home from work about eleven at night, grabbed some cold soybeans from the fridge for dinner, and went to bed.

It was extremely difficult to balance school and a full-time job. My grades were slipping. I was now averaging Ds in most classes. The guidance counselor had warned me that I was no longer college material and that I should consider attending a trade school. After weeks of research into suitable careers for me, she suggested that plumbing might be an ideal choice, since I was good with my hands.

As a Scientologist, I considered her advice and the rest of my schooling irrelevant. After all, I was on the path to the ultimate truth. I envisioned myself at the Org for the rest of my life, eventually becoming best friends with Ron, hanging out with him on his yacht, known as
Sea Org,
and bringing his science-based enlightenment to the world. Toward this goal, I had quickly developed an ongoing correspondence with L. Ron Hubbard, sharing my various thoughts about making the Miami Org more visible and spreading the gospel of Scientology worldwide. He would write back and encourage me to disseminate my ideas throughout the organization.

Toni was not interested in hearing about my correspondence with Ron. She was too busy telling me about her traumatic romances (“Oooh, he's so fine” and “Boo-hoo-hoo, he beat me last night”) while asking me to marry her. This was a huge compliment because Toni had a well-known policy of dating any black man who even looked at her. She drove an aging Volkswagen bug and lived deep in Liberty City, the poorest black section in Miami. The one time I went to visit her, I could not help but notice that the presence of a 350-pound white woman wearing Indian print muumuus created some hostility among her single black women neighbors. They loudly accused her of bringing nothing but trouble to an already troubled neighborhood and trying to steal their men. Back then a black man having sex with a white woman was, if not punishable by law, certainly considered grounds for an arrest and a beating by the Miami cops.

Toni's talk of marriage abruptly ended with the arrival of Florence, a clear and an auditor from England. I think Florence was sent over by headquarters to get the Miami Org in shape. Possibly my letters to Ron had set off alarm bells at Scientology HQ. Obviously my father wasn't the only one who felt the place was less than top-notch.

A petite woman with a Mia Farrow haircut, Florence emulated the Scientology fashion code of white turtleneck, blue blazer, and beige Sansabelt trousers for men and women. She spent her days barking orders and screaming at me. Her favorite refrain was, “Philip, pull yourself up by your bootstraps and get back to work.” My previously flawless filing was suddenly deemed inferior, I never handed out enough tickets, and my phone manner was less than satisfactory. After about a week of Florence's nonstop abuse, I asked her when I was going to be audited. I was anxious to get on the road to becoming clear.

Florence responded icily, “What are you talking about?”

“I started working here to pay for my auditing. I've been working almost every evening for the last several months, and I thought—”

“I don't know anything about that. For this to happen, I would have had to authorize it, and I didn't, so let's just forget about it.”

“Um, I think Toni authorized it.”

“Ton-eee?”
she exclaimed with real disdain. “What business does Toni have making such authorization? I'll have to have words with her. Toni has had only a few hours of auditing. She has a long way to go before she even thinks of going clear. This is ridiculous. Now get back to work.” With that, Florence walked away to attend to more important business. I was more concerned about having gotten Toni in trouble than not getting my auditing. As instructed, I pulled myself up by my bootstraps and returned to work.

Eventually I was able to convince Florence that it was in the best interest of the Org that I be audited. In this way I could describe the process to others and encourage them to sign up for this enlightening experience. Once she understood the potential business opportunity I presented her, she consented. Finally I was taken to the holy of holies, the tiny room at the top of the stairs, for my session. There, sitting atop one of those folding bridge tables, was the fabled e-meter, just waiting to free me from the tyranny of my reactive mind loaded with “engrams,” or painful memories. Sitting across from me was a very tall and extremely thin man who displayed a permanent smile and whose eyes were wide open, as if his sight had just been miraculously restored. The session consisted of the thin man asking me a few seemingly innocuous questions, consulting the e-meter after each answer, and writing something down. It was all over in about fifteen minutes and seemed to be a teaser introductory session to get me hooked on auditing. At least I had gotten a chance to hold the tin cans just like the clears, and it was a lot less painful than getting shocked.

Several months later I asked Florence when my next auditing session was. She looked at me with extreme condescension and said, “When you can pay for it.” With that, she turned on her heels and walked away from me.

I was now fully prepared to buy my way into salvation. There was no doubt in my mind that Scientology would not only release me from the restraints of my confusing life but confer on me supernatural powers that rivaled my father's. The first auditing package would run around $1,500, an unimaginable sum in those days. I'm sure Toni lived on much less for an entire year. I suggested to Toni that we create a savings plan at work where I would donate $50 a week from my savings while also working to pay for my auditing. This proposal was immediately accepted, and I happily went about contributing to my auditing fund and cleaning the floors. The truth was that no one was tracking my working hours, and I was going to pay, in full, for my auditing.

When I had contributed over $500, I thought this was sufficient to start the pay-as-you-go auditing process. I mentioned this to Florence, who pretended not to hear a word I said and simply walked away. Another month went by, and I again requested to begin my auditing. No response.

Maya had begun to wonder when I was going to have my auditing. She was eager to hear about this latest adventure in my search to become enlightened. “They have a lot of money of yours—they should start auditing you or give you your money back. I don't like these people.” Maya especially didn't like Scientology, since she never saw me anymore.

I couldn't sleep that entire week, worrying how I would get my auditing. It seemed hopeless. Maya was right; something was wrong. I wasn't getting anywhere near becoming a clear, much less my lower-grade auditing. On the next Saturday morning when I reported for duty, I told Toni I wanted my money back. Without looking at me, she said, “I wouldn't do that. Just go home and forget it.”

“But I never got my auditing, and that's a lot of money, and nothing is happening.”

“I don't think this is a good idea. Just forget it; go do something else. I wouldn't ask for your money back if I were you.”

“Why not?”

“It can get serious.”

“What do you mean, ‘serious'?”

“Go away!”
With that, Toni picked up the phone and began to dial. I noticed that she was dialing the recorded time-weather report—371-1111. She pretended to talk into the phone at the recorded message. “Hello, Martin,
hiiiiiii,
it's Toni down at the Org. Yes, that's why I'm calling…” I continued to stand there until she shot me a mean look that let me know she was going to hit me if I didn't get out of there.

I left work without saying anything to anyone. When I got home, I called Maya and told her what happened. “I have a really bad feeling. When I told Toni I wanted my money back, she got all weird and told me that something bad would happen. I don't know what to do. I've sort of heard stories about people in Scientology suddenly disappearing. Now I'm kinda scared.”

Maya always looked out for my better interest. “I think you need to get out of there. For whatever reason, they don't want to audit you. Maybe you should ask your father what to do.”

“No, I have to deal with this on my own. He warned me against going there in the first place. So what should I do? I don't think they're going to give me my money back.”

“It's a lot of money, and they didn't give you anything for it.”

“Yeah, but I'm scared.”

“You know, you should ask that guy Jerry on the football team to go with you. He's crazy enough to punch someone in the face if they give him any lip. He gets into fights all the time. Tell him you'll give him twenty dollars if he gets your money back.”

“Do you think he'll do it?”

“Jerry will do a lot of things for twenty dollars, and this looks easy. Don't forget, he's really big and completely nuts.”

“Okay.”

On Wednesday afternoon, Jerry, who weighed close to two hundred pounds, squeezed into my little Fiat and came with me to the Org. When we walked in, Toni looked away from me. I asked to speak to Florence.

A few minutes later, Florence appeared and in a condescending tone asked, “Where have you been? We need the PC reports filed. Now.”

“Florence, I never got my auditing, and I want my money back.”

“What money? You never paid for your auditing.”

“Yes I did. I paid five hundred fifty dollars so far, plus all the hours I worked, and I never got any real auditing after that introductory session. So I want my money back.”

“I think you should get back to work. Immediately!”

“Yeah, but I want my money back.”

“We'll talk about that later.” Florence turned to walk away.

Jerry spoke up. “'Scuse me.” Florence kept walking and headed toward the stairs to go up to the auditing room. “'Scuse me!” Jerry ran and stood in front of her, blocking her way. The clock was on, and he began to earn his fee. In his best threatening tone, he said, “My friend came here to get his money back. Give it to him, and we'll go.”

“I don't know what you're talking about. We don't have any of his money.”

Florence had a point. I contributed to my weekly auditing layaway plan in cash, and to my knowledge, no record was ever kept.

She continued coolly, “Besides, Philip isn't ready for auditing yet. As a PC”—preclear—“he still has a lot of class work to complete. He'll be audited when I say he'll be audited, and that will be quite a long time from now.”