Scientology
Bob Minton: Will he rouse the gorilla?
But over time it grew, and grew some more. And as it grew,
it became stronger. And although its needs grew ever
larger, its strength kept pace, and it continues growing
unchecked.
And, except for a few gnats now and again, and maybe the
occasional dart, the beast largely has been left alone
and become more docile, or seemingly so. Residents today
go about their daily lives giving hardly a thought - OK,
maybe there's the faintest anxiety pang - to its hulking
presence.
But now, a loud if unimposing parrot is building a nest
in the great beast's backyard. And the carping bird is
bringing a half-dozen similarly inclined parrots with him,
and one weapon that could at least annoy the beast.
Before we descend too deeply into parable hell, we should
explain to those who've arrived since Lisa Marie left,
we're talking here about the Church of Scientology, owner
now of 37 properties in and around downtown Clearwater,
valued at $40.1 million by Pinellas Property Appraiser
Jim Smith.
Of that, Smith figures $23.7 million worth are exempt from
taxes since they are being used solely for religious
purposes; another $16 million worth remain on the tax rolls.
By paying just under $400,000 a year in taxes, Scientology
is one of the city's top five taxpayers.
Ah, but the newest taxpayer will soon be one Robert Minton
of New Hampshire, Boston and London. He's buying a residence
here as well as a building hard by Scientology headquarters
for his Lisa McPherson Trust Inc.
Closing is set for Jan. 1. On that day, things are going to
get a whole lot more interesting around here.
Ever the peacemaker, City Manager Mike Roberto says he'll
gladly meet with Minton, and work to make him a part of this
One City's One Future.
Minton is going to make his six- member McPherson leadership
group, four of them former top Scientology officials,
available to counsel members of the church ready to leave
and members' families eager to initiate ``interventions,''
to pull them out.
And the foundation is going to try to get information to
Scientology initiates who come to Clearwater and are
cloistered, Minton says, to keep them from hearing the truth
about their church - especially from critics.
He'll also attempt to publicize Scientology's practices -
guarded ferociously as ``trade secrets'' - so those who would
join the church know what they're getting into, emotionally
and financially - in advance.
And he's going to bankroll it all himself, at least at first.
If McPherson's family wins its lawsuit against the church,
and collects, it will share it with the foundation, he said.
He's already spent $2.5 million fighting Scientology, and
he'll spend more to check an organization he believes ruins
the lives of adherents - as well as critics, their friends
and families.
Minton swears he is not out to destroy Scientology. He
concedes he couldn't do it if he tried: ``But if they want
to be treated like a church, they should start acting like
one.''
Scientologists shouted to him when he arrived earlier this
month: ``Hey, what are you doing in OUR town?''
Well, if this is Scientology's city, he said: ``We're going
to liberate this town.''
Saturday, December 11, 1999
Column by Rick Barry/of The Tampa Tribune
CLEARWATER - There's been a truce in this city, albeit an
uneasy one, between residents and the 4,000-pound gorilla
that plopped itself down in their midst 25 years ago, and
started rearranging the Tonka toys to suit its growing
needs. Fighter airplanes circled for a while, and little
squads of soldiers tried to tie it up, slow it down and
examine its leavings to divine its intentions, and maybe
some vulnerabilities.