Blown for Good Behind the Iron Curtain of Scientology (19 page)

At 17 years old, after having spent close to a year at the base, I had no idea what I should do. I was not able to talk to anybody and it was up to me to decide what I was going to do. It seemed like no matter what door I picked, I was going to be walking into a nightmare. I had no idea what I was going to do. I figured I would just go along and see what happened. Maybe an opportunity would present itself and I could miraculously escape the pain and suffering my future had in store for me.

I had to go into the garage to get another broom. On my way in, I had to stop and help a guy move some stuff in the garage. We were down behind a large table and were pulling out some stuff when we saw Dave Miscavige come in. He was with a security guard. As Dave walked in he took off his Ray Ban sunglasses and handed them to the security guard. He walked across the room towards another guy that was in the garage. It was Mark Fisher. Mark Fisher had been in Religious Technology Center just a few months prior. Mark did not stop to show that he saw Dave was there. He just kept doing what he was doing. Dave started yelling at him.

Mark Fisher looked back at him and said “What do you want, Dave?” Mark was much heftier than Dave and at least a foot taller as well.

I had never heard anybody ever call him “Dave” to his face. It was always “Sir.”

Dave did not like being talked to in any other way than as if he was the most important guy in the room. Mark just scowled at Dave. He did not care who Dave thought he was, he was talking down at Dave and telling him he did not care what he thought or what he did. Dave started punching Mark with the guard standing right there. Mark did not hit back, he just put his arms up to block as many punches as he could. Dave hit him over and over again. When Dave was done, Mark just stood there, bloodied a bit by all the punches. Mark, although physically attacked, maintained his composure and attitude.

“Make sure the medical officer sees him and gets him patched up,” Dave said to the guard as he took his sunglasses back and walked out.

Mark Fisher went back to what he was doing like nothing had happened.

I got my broom and got the hell out of there. I was already in enough trouble without getting involved in this mess. Guess it was not a good day to be called “Mark” no matter how you spelled it.

Later that day, Greg Wilhere came to see me while I was sweeping leaves behind the mess hall. Greg seemed like a nice guy. Besides being the guy that hung out with Tom Cruise a lot, I knew him as one of my close friend’s dad. Darius, his son, had gone to Delphi in LA with me years before and now that Darius and I were both at the base, we would hang out sometimes. I had no idea if Greg knew that Darius and I were friends.

“Hey, Marc,” Greg said as he approached.

“Hello, Sir,” I replied while continuing to sweep.

“Go ahead and take a break, Marc, and talk to me for a second,” he said, and motioned me to sit down on a nearby bench.

“What’s up?” Greg asked.

“Well, I am supposed to get declared an SP and as long as I am getting declared, I want to leave,” I answered.

“You are getting declared an SP? I don’t think so. Who said that?” Greg asked, half laughing.

“Jason Bennick.”

“Not gonna happen,” Greg said. “I am running this organization and I say what goes and what doesn’t and I say that ain’t gonna happen.”

“What about the production line violations?” I asked.

“What violations?” Greg said, “The faulty tapes were caught before they went out, right? Maybe you could not see properly or maybe you were tired and missed those two that were bad. Who knows? But no harm was done. The only thing that I can see that was done wrong is that you were taken off post for no reason.”

“Maybe,” I said, still wondering how this would play out.

“How long did it take for you to get trained to do your post?” Greg asked.

“I don’t know, a few months at least.”

“Well, do you think everybody in Gold wants to wait a few months to get out of lower conditions because they need to train up another quality control to replace you because you could not see a few pancakes that were barely out of spec?” Greg said.

“Okay? You wear glasses. We are going to get your eyes tested and make sure your prescription is correct. If not, we will get you new glasses and get you back on post. Go get cleaned up, you are going back to work. I will talk to Jason and tell him not to give you a hard time. Okay?” Greg knew I did not want to get declared. He knew I did not want to be cut off from my family permanently.

I went over to the garage and turned in my broom. I got a shower and changed back into my uniform. I went to see the medical officer. As soon as she saw me approaching the building, the medical officer grabbed me and said that I was supposed to be in town getting an eye exam! She told me that I needed to go to a specific address, it was already paid for and I just needed to get the exam. The phone rang and she picked it up and shooed me out of the office.

I knew the address. It was in Hemet off of Florida Avenue. It was not far from the Kirby apartments. But how would I get there? Right outside the medical office there was a small parking area where people parked their motorcycles and mopeds. Tom Pope’s moped was parked right there. It was small and could do maybe 45 mph, it worked, it had some gas in it and I could probably get all the way into town with it. I grabbed a helmet from inside and got on the moped. I put the helmet on, started the moped and slowly crept towards the road leading to the motorized security gate. I waited until another car was driving out the gate and then took my chances on sneaking out right behind it. Chances are that with the helmet on they wouldn’t have a clue who was driving out.

I went out the gate and down the highway! I was out and no one was following me. Hah! I made it all the way into San Jacinto before I saw the security rover bike coming up behind me. I had a 50cc moped. The security bike was 650cc dual sport. There was no chance I was going to out run him. I pulled into the ARCO gas station, pretending I had not seen him.

“What the hell are you doing?” the guard asked. It was Bob Champagne.

“I’m going into town to get an eye exam. It was just ordered by Greg Wilhere,” I said with a straight face.

“No way, you have to come back to the base,” he said, not believing me for half a second.

“Well, I have to get gas to make it back,” I said.

Bob got a call on the security radio. He answered it then put his helmet back on. “I have to go back right away, you better come straight back.” He drove off towards the base.

I went in to AM/PM. “Can I get one dollar on pump #4?” I handed over the dollar.

The clerk looked at me then turned his head towards the pumps. He saw the moped, gave me a receipt and shook his head.

I pumped the gas. Decisions. Decisions. I had made it this far. Should I go to the optometrist? Should I make a run for it? Should I just drive back? If I take off with the moped, are they going to throw me in jail for grand theft auto? I don’t have any money to get a hotel, food or cover any sort of living expenses for more than a day or so.

I decided to get the eye exam. It was paid for and it was my only chance out of this whole mess. I drove the rest of the way into Hemet keeping an eye out for any security guards who never appeared. Maybe they would be at the doctor when I got there. They weren’t. I went in, filled out some paperwork, gave them my glasses to test and then got the exam. They gave me a prescription and I picked out some glasses I liked. I also picked out some contact lenses and they gave me some samples on the spot. The doctor showed me how to put them in and explained that my eyes would have to get used to them.

When I put them in, I could not believe how much better I could see. Wow! My eyesight had really gotten a lot worse since I had first started wearing glasses. The doctor told me my prescription was double what I had before. Twice as bad. Wow.

I thanked the doctor and left. I went next door to In-N-Out burger and got a bite to eat. As long as I was out I might as well live it up. I had $4 to my name. I got a Double-Double and a coke. It was pure heaven. There was something about In-N-Out, either it was the crap food on the base or because I had not been properly nourished in the last few weeks. Whatever the reason, the euphoria I felt while eating that burger was memorable.

I got back on the moped and headed back. I knew that security would be steaming mad when I arrived. I had blown the base and taken off without okay, without a license, without okay to drive and against orders to return immediately. As far as they were concerned, I had probably blown and was on my way to Mexico!

I pulled into the main gate. Danny opened the window. “You are toast, dude!” He said it with a smile.

“Go ahead and meet me in Tapes,” I said as I squeezed through the slowly opening gate.

I drove over to Tapes, took the helmet off and headed inside. I could see Danny rounding the corner as I walked in the building. Greg Wilhere was in Tapes as I walked in. Danny was now just a few feet behind me. He looked pissed and ready to lay into me.

I walked up to Greg Wilhere. Danny had just made his way in and was approaching me.

“Did you get your eye exam, Marc?’ Greg asked.

“I did even better, Sir. Even though no one could give me a ride, I managed to borrow a moped and made it into town myself. I was able to get temporary contacts and glasses ordered, Sir. My new prescription is twice as strong.” As the words came out of my mouth, I half smiled at Danny Dunagin who was ready to pounce on me and drag me up to the main booth.

“Wow.” Greg said, “See, it was your eyesight. I told you! Well done on making it go right and getting into town and back.”

“Thank you, Sir,” I said.

“Did you need something, Danny?” Greg asked.

“No, Sir. I was just passing through.”

My every fiber wanted to flip Danny off and tell him to go stick it where the sun didn’t shine, but I kept my cool and just smiled at him as he walked out.

In the meantime, Lynnea Baker was the only other person who could run the quality control station, besides myself. She had tapes backed up all around her. It was a disaster zone and she had been up for days doing both of our shifts. I could imagine she was pissed off at me, she said nothing and let me sit back at the station. I went back to work like nothing had happened. No one said anything. Even Jason Bennick managed to walk through without saying much.

“You are lucky people in high places like you, Marc.” That was all Jason said as he passed by.

I had managed not only to weasel my way out of getting in trouble, but had also made a few friends in high places. I would still be stuck in the hellhole called the Int Base but I had graduated from being the “new guy” to knowing that I could get away with a bit more if I played my cards right.

We had been running the high-speed copy line for a few months and were getting better and better at figuring out what caused the tapes not to pass through quality control. Soon, we were up to almost 40,000 cassettes a week and were able to do that week after week. It was November, four whole months since the flood and since the organization was assigned “Confusion”. It had been an extremely rough time.

We lost Bruce Ploetz to the Rehabilitation Project Force in Los Angeles. He had been up all night in Tapes on two different occasions and no one knew he was sleeping under a desk until he missed morning muster. He was sent to the RPF and we had not seen him since. We could not believe they actually sent him. There were tons of people that missed one muster and ended up staying up all night, but no one missed a second. Except Bruce. I never thought he should have gone. He never slept and was probably the smartest person on the entire base. You could explain a type of electronic device you were trying to make and Bruce could write the circuit board schematic for it right there! I think he was the smartest person I ever met in my life. He was a cool guy that was just around to help. I thought that people took advantage of him. He had helped build and wire almost all of the audio and video production lines on the base. He had also helped design the E-Meter and even held one of the patents!

Either way, we had been having a few tiny problems with a few machines that neither Luigi nor Bob Ferris (the technician assigned to our area) could figure out how to handle. If we could fix these last few machines for good, we could hit our 50,000 target.

Then one day it happened. Bruce Ploetz walked into Tapes. He was back. Bruce had lost some weight and had gotten a haircut, but other than that it was the same old Bruce. Bruce was told what problems we were having with the last few machines. He listened to what Bob told him was wrong and walked off into the technician room. He came back a few minutes later and started to tinker with one of the machines. If Bruce could fix these last machines, we might have a chance.

It was the third week in November and, within a week of his return, Bruce had managed to fix the last few machines giving us problems. We ran the line day and night and managed to reach 50,192 cassettes produced by Thursday, 2:00
 p.m.
November 22, 1990. We were pumped. We had done it. We had literally accomplished the impossible.

Mathematically it was almost impossible to do what we did. We could produce around 25 cassettes on average from a single pancake factoring a bit of loss and the few that flunked here and there. It took 2000 pancakes to produce 50,000 cassettes and it took around 5 minutes to check each pancake. That is 23.8 hours a day worth of quality control, and two staff assigned to do it. That means that there is 20 minutes each day where we do not have to be sitting in the chair checking pancakes. There are 168 hours in a week. We spent at least 120 of those working or on the way to work and the rest sleeping. Physically there was no time for anything else.

That afternoon we were all called into the mess hall around 4:00 p.m for a briefing. Hopefully we were not going to be yelled at. We were not in the mood. We had made our target. We wanted to be upgraded into normal conditions again.