From http://www.akpcep.com/?pid=news&start=5

Just staring into the abyss gets boring after a time.

Posted 31 January 2003, 4.17 am by The_Roach

I've never been more terrified in my life. Not twenty feet from where I stand writing I can see an enormous display giving information on various charitable organizations. Drug rehabilitation, educational and literacy programs, that sort of thing. It's a little odd because this is an affluent part of town, generally speaking. Even so, this shouldn't be some horror-inducing spectacle... but it is.

The display is constructed out of particle board, but has been covered in a rosewood veneer to give it more credibility. They'll need a shitload more than it's giving off in order to convince me of any good deeds being handed out, however. I know what's on the other side of this display, the side I can't see from this vantage: over fifty-five framed photographs of L. Ron Hubbard.

. . . .

Oh shit... one of them has caught my eye. They want me to take "the tour". In the spirit of journalistic enterprise and out of a downright morbid sense of curiousity (I could be a fucking Lovecraftian hero in this scenario), I'm going to accept it.

My tour guide's name is Linda. She's wearing a button-up sweater and has a gold pin that reads "Friends of Ron". I introduce myself as David, and the tour begins. We start with a brief amount of general chit-chat where she explains that she and all the people who are there with her today giving tours think that the late Mr. Hubbard was just a "super guy".

As we pass along the first row of photographs, I learn fascinating bits of information. He was able to ride a horse and was an avid reader by age three. He was not only the youngest person ever to have achieved the rank of Eagle Scout from the Boy Scouts of America, but he'd managed to do it in an astounding 75 days.

This woman is talking to me like I'm a 4 year-old, and this is Sesame Street or maybe Ron and the Big Blue House. She has astonishingly good eye contact or they've completely glazed over in the light and the glory of LRH. Either way, it's creeping me the fuck out.

. . . .

"I think at the moment this--the organization, the cult-- is in the hands of the most fanatical followers, adherents of Mr. Hubbard, who you could equate with the, the followers of Ayatollah Khomeini." - Omar Gooding, author of The Hidden Story of Scientology, 60 Minutes, December 22, 1985 . . . .

Linda and I continue on, covering this great man's deeds, including his admission into The Explorer's society and a tour of Alaska in which he not only carried Explorer Society's flag 105 into the northern frontier, but was commisioned by the United States government to map out the western coast, a deed that quite possibly saved the lives of thousands of sailors on trade ships.

Some woman with the organization is taking photographs of us talking, and this is only increasing my discomfort. I'm not generally a paranoid person but these assholes could already have a profile on me, and that just doesn't sit well at all. I grit my teeth and continue to smile and nod as Linda describes the injuries that Ron had recieved in World War II which blinded and crippled him and forced him to a hospital in Oakland, placed on inactive duty. It was there that he first put to use his theory of mind over matter not only curing himself of all ailments, but roughly one hundred other patients there, allowing him to return to active duty in 1949.

It was at this point that L. Ron Hubbard realized what incredible potential his discovery had and what a wonderous gift he would be able to bestow upon the world. Linda explains how he spent several years in California talking with various people who were experimenting with self-power in an attempt to further his concept.

"People like Jack Parsons," I say.

. . . .

John Whiteside Parsons, also known as "Jack" was a rocket engineer who had an infatuation with Aleister Crowley. In 1946, with guidance by one L. Ron Hubbard, Parsons undertook a magickal experiment known as the "Babalon working". A complex ritual, it involved unusual (for the time) sexual activity as well as more violent behavior. It also induced hallucinations in Parsons and, ultimately, destroyed his life as Hubbard ran away from the mansion in Orange County, stealing Parson's yacht, wife, and a considerable amount of money in the process. For a more in-depth account, see Sex and Rockets, The Occult world of Jack Parsons . . . .

"Yes! People like Jack Parsons," Linda replies.

I proceed to tell her the story of Parsons and Hubbard and... wait a second... did she just blink? I don't think she's done that the entire twenty minutes we've been talking. She doesn't seem terribly pleased at the accusation that her "super guy" was a thief and a liar, but she's handling it well, even laughing about it. I'm laughing too, but it's all on the inside.

It's so satisfying, in fact, that I wonder why I hesitated to point out some of the other, more blatant mistruths that had been placed before me. Maybe next time. Now that the little joke is over, I tip my hand a bit and inform her that I actually know a considerable amount about Hubbard already, that this was more to get the point of view of the Church of Scientology.

I think I've said a dirty word.

"I feel that I should, at this time, point out that this tour is being managed by 'Friends of L. Ron Hubbard', a not for profit organization unaffiliated with the Church of Scientology," Linda says with almost robotic precision shortly before giggling to remind me (and possibly her) that she's human. And we're suddenly back on track, talking about Engrams and the publication of Hubbard's most recognizable book, Dianetics.

Now, we're nearing the end of the tour of LRH's life, covering the years that he was living here in Phoenix (1952-54 assuming anything that's been told to me can be believed, of course). During this time, he gave a series of lectures called, appropriately enough, "The Phoenix Lectures". Linda informs me that if I'm interested in reading them, they'd all been reprinted in Scientology book 80-800... and promptly shuts the fuck up. Big no-no Linda, you're not supposed to talk about the church. You're especially not supposed to talk about the content of church related literature. Tut, tut. It's a minor offense, especially considering the circumstances, and I just nod my head and tell her that I understand completely.

As my joyride through the Wonderful World of Ron comes to it's conclusion, I'm invited to take some literature home with me. I accept a couple of paperbacks, smiling all the way. At the guestbook, I sign "David Robinson" and stare for what seems to be an eternity at the comments line. Not just the blank one, but all the others on the page.

Nothing but incredible praise. I'm stymied. I want to write something horrible, profane. I want to put down something that they'd look at and remember.

"I simply don't know how to respond."

. . . .

Hours later... I still don't. These people are not only completely blinded, but it's totally evident to me that it's happening... and there's nothing I can do about it. Maybe I don't want to. Maybe they deserve it. More than likely, I'm just pissed off about being too poor to buy into a faith like these people. Maybe.

Go Back