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[The evidence portrays {L. Ron Hubbard} as…virtually a pathological
liar when it comes to his history, background and achievements.
The writings and documents in evidence…reflect his egoism,
greed, avarice, lust for power, vindictiveness, and aggressiveness
against persons perceived by him to be disloyal or hostile. Paul
G. Breckenridge, Jr., Judge of the Superior Court of Los Angeles,
June 20, 1984]
After his wedding to Nicole Kidman, Tom Cruise was the guest of
honor at a dinner party given by the powerful Creative Artists
Agency at the trendy DC3 Restaurant, overlooking the Santa Monica
Airport. Cruise sat at a table with CAA kingpin Michael Ovitz,
often called the most powerful man in Hollywood. Right next to
them sat David Miscavige, often called the most powerful man in
the Church of Scientology, the self-help religion that promises
"auditing" will "clear" its followers of the
fears and traumas blocking them from total success - at a typical
cost of $300 to $400 an hour. Nearby were two full tables of Scientologists.
According to one of the guests, the Scientologists around Cruise
were "like they always are - very direct, very attentive,
very protective - hovering over Tom. And shaking a lot of hands."
Across town, a former Scientologist named Nan Herst Bowers was
agonizing over a letter she'd recently received from her 23-year-old
son, Todd. "Dear Mom," he wrote, "I am sending
you this letter to let you know that I have to disconnect from
you…I just can't see you, the babies, or Jim until this is
all over and handled."
A Hollywood publicist, Bowers had been a Scientologist, and had
raised three sons in the organization. Although she had been drifting
away for years, she was still officially a member when an article
appeared in the Star about Cruise's involvement with Scientology.
Almost immediately, the tabloid began getting strange calls. The
callers "started harassing me to find out who my source was,"
says Janet Charlston, the reporter who broke the story. "People
in the [Tarrytown] New York office, the reporter who worked with
me, the front office all got fake calls, trying to find out my
source, to get the phone number." When that didn't work,
Charlton says, she got a startling call from the phone company.
"They told me there were people calling from different places,
from new York and the West Coast, trying to get copies of my phone
bill, pretending to be me. Then someone called me pretending
to be a lawyer from my own magazine."
Shortly afterward, Bowers says, she also got a strange call -
from a man claiming to work for the Star and the National
Enquirer. He said he had talked to Janet Charlton, and she
said I was her source for the Tom Cruise story, and if it wasn't
true, she would be fired."
Bowers insists she wasn't a source for the Cruise story. But Charlton
is a close friend. So, Bowers says, under pressure from "Goldman,"
she finally made the statement that tore apart her family. "I
lied for Janet," says Bowers. "He said, 'Did you get
paid for it?' and I named a figure I thought was right."
It turned out that "Alan Goldman" was lying. In fact,
as Scientology officials readily admit, the caller was a private
detective working for Scientology attorneys. Three days later,
Bowers says, a Scientology official named Philip Jepsen paid her
a visit. "He comes with two people in uniforms - very intimidating
- and he asks me about Tom Cruise," Bowers recalls. "It
became obvious he knew everything I had told 'Goldman.' He grilled
me for two hours. At the end, he handed me a Declare."
The charges listed in Bowers' "Suppressive Person Declare"
- essentially an order of excommunication - included "writing
anti-Scientology letters to the press or giving anti-Scientology
or anti-Scientologist data to the press" and "engaging
in malicious rumor-mongering to destroy the authority or repute
of higher officers or the leading names of Scientology."
The Declare meant that, in general, no one in Scientology should
speak to her again, including members of her family. It was followed
by "Disconnect" letters from her sons and ex-husband.
When Bowers tried to contact her sons, she got letters back from
Jepsen. "Dear Nan, I just received a letter from Todd, enclosing
a card you sent him for Valentines Day," Jepsen wrote. "In
the card you suggest to him that you and Todd see each other without
telling anyone. I think you realize that this would not help Todd
in any way in his auditing, and he would at best have a withhold
that would keep him constantly out of session and unable to make
any gains. Todd has asked me to let you know that he is now enraged
and that he is giving you a year's warning in which to handle
your situation so that you will not miss out on something you
really want to be a part of." In other words, recant or miss
your son's wedding.
Scientology officials respond to Bowers' charges by accusing her
of being in league with the Cult Awareness Network, an anticult
group whose members they call "thugs" and "kidnappers."
Scientology organizations and individuals have lodged more than
40 lawsuits against CAN, which counts among its members the wife
of Supreme Court justice Clarence Thomas, and Patricia Ryan, whose
father, Representative Leo J. Ryan was killed by Jim Jone's followers
in Guyana. CAN officials say their only service is to provide
information, and they adamantly deny Scientology's charges that
they are involved in kidnapping or any other illegal acts. Scientologists
also say Bowers tried to get one of her sons "kidnapped"
by deprogrammers. Bowers admits trying to get her son to talk
to two "exit counselors" - who say they don't use force
and only talk to people who are willing to speak to them - but
the son ran away before she could even bring them together.
Since her Declare, Bowers has been trying to contact Cruise. He
has a reputation for being a good guy, she says - surely he wouldn't
want her family split up on his account. Maybe he would intervene.
"I sent a letter to his assistant," she says. "I
said, 'Listen Tom, the church went out of its way to protect you,
and in doing so they ruined my relationship with my three boys.
I wanted to know if you could help.'"
Bowers never heard back.
Celebrities have been part of Scientology founder L. Ron Hubbard's
strategy for success since 1955, when he launched "Project
Celebrity" by printing a wish list that included Orson Welles,
Danny Kaye, James Stewart, Greta Garbo, Walt Disney, Darryl F.
Zanuck, Cecil B. DeMille, and many others. Scientology's Ability
magazine printed detailed instructions for hunting them down.
"If you want one of these, write us at once, giving ONE
celebrity you have selected. We will then allocate this person
to you as your game. Having been awarded one of these celebrities,
it will be up to you to learn what you can about your quarry and
then put yourself at every hand across his or her path…"
The order concluded: "These celebrities are well guarded,
well barricaded, overworked, aloof quarry. If you bring one of
them home, you will get a small plaque as a reward."
Nearly 40 years later, Scientology has arrived in Hollywood in
a big way. The list of celebrity Scientologists now includes Cruise,
Kidman, Priscilla Presley, Lisa Marie Presley, Anne Archer, Juliette
Lewis, Kelly Preston, John Travolta, Mimi Rogers, Karen Black,
and Kirstie Alley. There are dozens of lesser-known Scientologists
in show biz as well: Lee Purcell (big Wednesday), Jeff
Pomerantz (General Hospital), Geoffrey Lewis (Juliette's
dad, who was in Every Which Way but Loose, among other
movies), Judy Norton-Taylor (The Waltons), Nancy Cartwright
(the voice of Bart Simpson), child TV actor Vonni Ribisi (My
Two Dads), Michael Wiserman (Predator 2), Kimberly
Kates (Bill & Ted's Excellent Adventure), Michael D.
Roberts (Rain Man), and Gary Imhoff (the forth-coming Thumbeliina).
Then there are the behind-the-scenes talents: Dick Tracy screenwriter
Floyd Mutrux; composer Mark Isham (A River Runs Through
It); actor and acting teacher Manu Tupou (Hawaii);
and director Dror Soref (The Seventh Coin), who cut his
teeth on Scientology films and now has a deal with Paramount.
Scientology even claims one of Hollywood's most successful acting
teacher, Milton Ketselas, who heads the Beverly Hills Playhouse.
People who have drifted trough Scientology include Jerry Seinfeld,
Patrick Swayze, Top Gun producer Don Simpson, Harvey Heber
(brother of CAA cofounder Bill Heber), actor Brad Pitt, and Ernest
Lehman, screenwriter of The Sound of Music.
Scientology's physical presence in Los Angeles and Hollywood is
massive. It owns at least seven large buildings, staffed by 2,500
members, and is associated with a wide array of local organizations
- "front groups" to their detractors. Some are directly
affiliated with the Church of Scientology, like the Citizens Commission
on Human Rights, an antipsychiatry group, and Author Services,
which represents Hubbard's books and hires actors like Roddy McDowall
and Bruce Boxleitner to read the Scientology founder's books on
tape. Others have Scientologists on staff and use Scientology
methods; HealthMed Clinic offers a drug treatment developed by
Hubbard called the Purification Rundown, the Gentle Birth Center
offers a Scientology-compatible quiet birthing technique, and
the Delphian School and Apple Academy use his "study tech."
Then there's the Foundation for Advancements in Science and Education
(FASE), which used funds from the U.S. departments of Energy,
Education and Labor - as well as IBM, ARCO, and the National Science
Foundation - to produce a PBS motivational math series that featured
Arnold Schwarznegger, Leonard Nimony, Ted Koppel, and Edward James
Olmos. FASE has also promoted Hubbard's Purification Rundown.
Some are run by Scientologists and may have no other connection
to Church of Scientology activities, such as the Shaw Health Center
and American Premiere magazine, which is distributed free
to all members of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences.
(For the record, PREMIERE and American Premiere were in
a trademark litigation several years ago. The dispute was resolved.)
And Scientology's celebrities work for their church. When one
stage of a court case in Oregon went against Scientology, Travolta
flew up to speak at a news conference. Alley is the international
spokesperson for Narconon International, a Scientology-inspired
drug rehabilitation program, which she promotes through interviews,
speeches, and public appearances. Magazine covers of Cruise, Travolta,
Archer and others are displayed outside one of the Scientology's
New York centers, along with the slogan: I AM A SCIENTOLOGIST…COME
IN AND FIND OUT WHY. Travolta's films have been made available
for Scientology benefits: Chains of Gold premiered - at
the Directors Guild - for Scientology's Ability Plus schools.
Look Who's Talking Too raised a reported $100,000 for Narconon.
In 1991 Black lent her name to a benefit for the Gentle Birth
Center. Celebrity Scientologists frequently extol the benefits
of Scientology courses in Celebrity magazine, which is
distributed free at Celebrity Centers: "It was just after
auditing that I got the role in Fatal Attraction,"
says Archer. "The tech that has helped me the most in acting
has been Mood Drills and TR's" says Alley. "I guess
you could say that is my acting technique." Hubbard's name
even made the 1975 Oscars, when producer Bert Salzman said in
his acceptance speech, "I want to thank…[my] dear friend,
and [a] wonderful human being, and a man who helped me pull it
all together, Mr. L. Ron Hubbard."
While many Scientologists are certainly sincere idealists - even
the most bitter ex-Scientologists say there are many fine people
in the group - there is no doubt that Scientology has mastered
the art of associating with good causes. Case in point: The Earth
Communications Office (ECO) is Hollywood's leading environmental
group, with a board that has included such luminaries as Schwarenegger
and Michael Keaton - as well as Rogers, Alley, Preston, and Cruise.
R. Michael Wisner, a FASE official and administrative director
of HealthMed, was also on the board. Alley helped arrange a premiere
of Look Who's Talking to benefit ECO. Scientologist members
suggested that Author Services develop an environmental booklet
for ECO. The booklet, called Cry Out, ended with a poem
Hubbard had written before he died in 1986.
The association between ECO and its celebrity Scientologists began
to backfire: When the Sherman Oaks Elementary School planned a
program of skits and songs based on Cry Out, complaints
from worried parents and administrators about the Scientology
connection became so strong that the school canceled the event.
Soon afterward, ECO founder Bonnie Reiss brought up her growing
concerns with ECO's Scientologists, at which point Cruise and
Alley left. But before they did, Alley appeared under ECO auspices
on The Arsenio Hall Show with fellow Scientologist Edgar
Winter, who performed Hubbard's Cry Out for an audience
of millions.
Since he went public, Cruise has been Scientology's most glittering
advocate. He says Scientology helped him with his learning disability,
and he also reportedly urged studio executives to rent an expensive
sound machine developed by Scientologists; it was used on Far
and Away. (Some associated with the production later noticed
it did prove useful.) And he has introduced major Hollywood players
to church leaders, in one case flying producer Brian Grazer and
screenwriter Bob Dolman by helicopter to Scientology's desert
complex for a story meeting. Director Ron Howard was waiting there
with Cruise. "The surreal thing about it is it's in the desert,
and part of the office is built as the replica of a ship,"
Dolman says. "And the idea of going to a place that has its
own compound in the desert and being flown in a helicopter is
exotic."
Dolman found his hosts "so security-conscious, so military
- there was a car waiting for the helicopter, people wearing brown
khakis." At the end of the story meeting, in walked Scientology
leader Miscavige to shake hands. Miscavige also came to the Far
and Away location for Cruise's birthday. "I know he's
one of Tom's closest friends," Dolman says.
At first, none of the well-known Scientology celebrities would
agree to be interviewed for this article. Cruise's publicist,
Pat Kingsley, insisted that writing an article about someone's
religion was "un-American." Alley faxed this response
"If I ever met a journalist who I felt had the intention
of representing this religion in its true vein, I would never
hesitate to do the interview. My instincts tell me you're not
the one, Pass-adena."
Scientology leaders later agreed to a two-day interview with this
reporter, which they began by saying they weren't surprised that
no Scientology stars would talk to PREMIERE because Cruise's former
publicist, Andrea Jaffe, said "you wanted to get some juicy
stuff on Scientology." PREMIERE interviewed Jaffe shortly
after she left her job with Cruise to become head of marketing
at Twentieth Century Fox. She denies saying anything like this
but admits following up her interview with calls to both Cruise
and Scientology spokesman Mike Rinder.
Subsequent to an interview with the Scientology leaders, we received
letters from several actors: "Scientology is a brilliant
technology that I have used for many years to make my life more
insightful and richer," Archer wrote. "As an artist,
I have felt more and more creative and find myself constantly
expanding. Those things that one wishes one could change about
oneself just fall away and there you are - more truly yourself."
Pricilla Presley wrote: "Scientology is the only religion
I know of that still maintains integrity, values, and delivers
what it says it will. I have had tremendous gains from applying
Scientology philosophy to my life, and things have changed for
the better as a result…People who drop out of Scientology
or have a problem with it obviously can't maintain the ethics
involved, which is the same reason why our society is in the condition
it's in. If we don't have a sense of ethics in our lives and get
back to the basics, where is the future for our children?"
Finally, just before this story went to press, actor Michael D.
Roberts called and offered - demanded, actually - to be interviewed.
"I've had many wins in Scientology, and I've been a member
for twenty years," he said. But he insisted on meeting face-to-face
and said he wasn't available for "several weeks," repeatedly
refusing to be interviewed on the phone right there and then.
Ex-Scientologists were also reluctant to talk - out of fear. "I
have kids, I have an ex-husband who is still way, way involved,"
said one. "Everybody I know has been investigated." A
Hollywood publicist also refused: "I don't have the lawyers
or the bodyguards." Emilio Estevez was reported to be the
target of a Scientology recruitment attempt; he said he supported
PREMIERE's efforts but declined to be interviewed: "I just
don't want to end up with my phones tapped."
Such fears have considerable foundation. The worst incidents come
from the 70's. Scientologists are known to have framed the mayor
of Clearwater, Florida, in a trumped-up-hit-and-run accident.
They also framed a journalist named Paulette Cooper, alleging
a bomb threat, and sued her seventeen times. Hubbard's wife, Mary,
and ten other leading Scientologists were sentenced in 1982 to
five-year terms in federal prison for breaking into government
offices and stealing thousands of official documents about Scientology.
During their trial, several Scientologists leaked damaging information
to the press about the presiding judge's sex life. In a 1977 raid
on Scientology's Los Angeles offices, the FBI found lock picks,
pistols, ammunition, knockout drops, a blackjack, and bugging
and wire-tapping equipment, as well as church memos on how to
launder money, tail enemies, and blackmail people.
The current leaders of Scientology insist that the acts of Mary
Hubbard and her coconspirators represent a dark side of Scientology
that is all in the past. They dismantled the unit that was responsible
for these activities, and attack a reporter as "a bigot"
for raising the issue. But they admit without hesitation that
they still use private detectives to investigate their enemies,
including Bowers - they even provided documentation of Scientology
detectives videotaping a sting operation against a hostile former
church member. "I have no problem with that," says Martin
Rathbun, president of the church's Religious Technology Center.
To this day, people who tangle with Scientology find themselves
subject to aggressive efforts at intimidation. Mike Farrell, who
played B.J. on the television series M*A*S*H, crossed paths with
the church when he contacted the Cult Awareness Network for information
on a film project about child abuse. After gaining great respect
for their work, he attended a fund-raising event at a private
home in Beverly Hills, where he was confronted by angry picketers.
"There were people taking photographs, being very obvious,
getting video footage of the [guests] as they went in and out
- obvious harassment," he says.
Farrell says he asked one of the pickets if he was a Scientologist,
and the man said yes. In an effort to be fair, Farrell had lunch
with Reverend Heber Jentzsch, president of the Church Scientology
International, and investigated Scientology's charges against
CAN. The actor says he found them to be based on "sham, invective,
and distortion." Later, at a CAN convention near the L.A.
airport, Farrell encountered more angry Scientologists. "Not
only did they picket, but they sort of got in my face and give
you this load and incessant spiel that doesn't allow for dialogue
- it's just a kind of attempt to intimidate."
In the last few months Farrell has gotten numerous strange phone
calls, one telling him (falsely, as it turned out) that an old
friend had died. There have been so many that now when he gets
calls after midnight at his home, he answers, "Hubbard was
crazy." Sometimes, he says, there's a long silence before
the caller hangs up.
Scientology's mean streak is deeply rooted in church doctrine.
Founded by pulp novelist Hubbard in the 1950's, Scientology promises
to heal the psychic scars caused by traumas in present or past
lives through auditing, a therapy aided by a simplified lie detector
called an E-meter. Excited by the rapid progress stimulated by
the E-meter, many students eagerly begin the climb "up the
bridge," course by course (costs range from $30 for introductory
audio tapes to more than $14,000 for the Hubbard Key to Life/Life
Orientation Course special package). According to former members
and press reports, the few who attain the highest level of instruction
learn the following secret theology: 75 million years ago a tyrant
named Xenu imprisoned other aliens near volcano's on Earth and
then nuked them, leaving their spirits, or "thetans,"
to wander the planet and attach themselves to humans - to be purged
through further courses. While Scientology officials dispute this
account of their beliefs - spokesman Rinder calls it "garbage,
completely untrue" - they refuse to provide a more accurate
version, saying upper-level church beliefs are for insiders only.
What distinguishes Scientology is Hubbard's bile and paranoia,
which is clearly demonstrated in much of his writing. Representative
is the "policy letter" written in 1969: "We must
ourselves fight on a basis of total attrition of the enemy. So
never get reasonable about him. Just go all the way in the obliterating of him." There are many other examples.
Furthermore, one of the central tenets of Scientology philosophy
is that 20 percent of mankind is "suppressive," a Scientology
term that seems to mean "evil" and "meanspirited."
Of that 20 percent, Hubbard wrote, 2.5 percent are "truly
dangerous." Such people, Hubbard wrote, "should not
have, in any thinking society, any civil rights of any kind…"
As a consequence, Scientologists are always on the lookout for
suppressives. "When we trace the cause of a failing business,
we will inevitably discover somewhere in its ranks the antisocial
personality hard at work," Hubabrd wrote - and to Scientologists
Hubbard's writings are considered scripture. "Where life
has become rough and is failing, a careful review of the area
by a trained observer will detect one or more such personalities
at work."
As Cruise has told Entertainment Weekly, "I look at
certain people that aren't doing well and say, 'Well, who's around
him? Do they want to see this person do well?' And often I might
find one person that really doesn't want to see this guy succeed."
Hubbard left little doubt about how suppressives were to be treated.
Consider rule number twelve in Scientology's official code of
honor: "Never fear to hurt another in a just cause."
And Scientologists take their code of honor very seriously. "I
remember having a choking anger against anyone who ever said anything
against Scientology," says actress Diana Canova (Soap),
a former member. "I would get crazy, I was just so angry.
I would have done anything for them."
Some of Scientology's most frequent efforts seem to go toward
preventing - or quashing - bad publicity. In 1990 Universal Pictures
made a film with John Candy called Delirious, directed
by Tom Mankiewicz and produced by Richard Donner, director of
the Lethal Weapon series. In it, Emma Samms mused to her
screen brother about Candy's "strange power" over her.
"It's like I don't have a will of my own," she said.
"Do you think he's a Scientologist?" the brother asked.
"After the first rough cut Tom and I started getting letters
and phone calls," Donner says. "They were saccharine,
but there was an underlying threat."
"It was clearly orchestrated," Mankiewicz. "One
letter to Dick, cc: Tom Mankiewicz. Then the next day, one to
Tom Mankiewicz, cc: Dick Donner. Then two a day. They never stopped;
they got worse. The tone got angrier, to the point of 'How would
you feel if he was a Jew?"
Donner has a few of the letters still in his files. "You
may be aware of some of my books on films and the film industry,"
one begins, "including Directing the Film and Selling
Your Film. Also, I have been directing my own pictures for
twenty years, including upcoming PBS twelve-part series Futures
featuring Jaime Escalante. I'm writing to you because I've heard
that in your new production, there is a reference to Scientology,
my religion, which is derogatory." The letter ends by invoking
the names of Scientology celebrities: "I'm sure my colleagues
- Kirstie Alley, John Travolta, Milton Katselas, Floyd Mutrux,
Anne Archer, Chick Corea, and others - will join me in thanking
you for taking this step on behalf of intellectual honesty. Sincerely,
Eric Sherman." The other letters are strikingly similar.
One from Moc Howard's grandson Jeffrey Scott (who helped develop
Jim Henson's Muppet Babies) begins with this introduction:
"You do not know me directly, but indirectly I am responsible
for approving the use of Three Stooges clips in your Lethal
Weapon series…"
"It finally got to be something really strange - they just
wouldn't stop," Mankiewicz says. And when he and Donner ignored
the letters, there was concern about a lawsuit. "The lawyer
said, 'They have no case, but the chances are fifty-fifty they'll
take you to court. How important is this to you?'"
Donner and Mankiewicz still stalled, testing the film, feeling
"First Amendment outrage." But gradually things began
to escalate, initially with threatening, anonymous phone calls
- "then Tom's house was broken into," Donner recalls.
"Nothing was taken, but things were moved around, drawers
turned upside down. It was like, 'We can get into your house.'
He went to the police, told them about the threats, but there
was no way of pinning it down." Mankiewicz refuses to comment
about either the threatening phone calls or the break-in, saying
there was no evidence to link them to Scientology. But Donner
and Mankiewicz decided to lose the gag.
"We all felt a little cheaper for having cut the line,"
Mankiewicz says now. "It was such an innocuous little joke
- a tiny pinprick. God help you if the Catholic church felt like
that and you made Sister Act."
The Delirious campaign was not an isolated incident. When
L.A. Style magazine ran a small item listing Scientology's
Hollywood Boulevard Christmas display under the heading "Things
We Hate," the magazine was the target of regular calls and
visits from outraged Scientologists - for the next three months.
"It was intimidating," says reporter Richard Natale.
And recently, Scientologists picketed outside the Hollywood branch
of the Jewish Federation, which runs a cult clinic. The head of
the clinic, a woman named Corey Slavin, has been named in nine
lawsuits brought by individual Scientologists - and therefore
says that, on the advice of her lawyer, she cannot be quoted in
this story. (Scientology leaders dismiss Slavin because she is
a CAN board member.)
When Time magazine's Richard Behar wrote a highly critical
story in 1991, calling Scientology the "cult of greed,"
Scientology sued not only Time but seven people who spoke
to Time, as well as its own (former) PR firm, even the
CEO of the company that owns the PR firm. When Reader's Digest
reprinted the article Scientology sued the Digest in five
countries. Scientology official Marty Rathbun denounces Behar
as "a criminal of the lowest order" for referring people
to the "kidnappers" at CAN. L.A. Times reporter
Robert Welkos says that while he and colleague Joel Sappell were
reporting their impressive 1991 series on Scientology, they were
the targets of a variety of dirty tricks, including investigations
by "three separate teams of private investigators" (Scientologists
admit to only one) and a lawsuit for false imprisonment by a church
paralegal that was later dropped. Former Scientologist Hana Whitfield
wrote a letter to PREMIERE saying that after an interview with
this magazine, she'd been followed by private detectives for three
months, 24 hours a day. Rathbun and Jentzsch responded by calling
Whitfield a CAN operative and an accomplice to a 3-year-old murder,
a charge PREMIERE could find absolutely no evidence to support.
"It's totally bogus," says Whitfield's lawyer, her voice
trembling with outrage. "They know it's false."
The ads appear regularly in Variety and The Hollywood
Reporter: "Want to make it in the industry? Learn Human
Communications Secrets in the Success Through Communications Course."
"Can Toxins Destroy Creativity? Attend a Free Lecture."
The ads rarely mention Scientology itself, instead steering readers
to a place called Celebrity Center International, a lavish multimillion-dollar
training complex on Franklin Avenue in L.A. Restored with 1 million
manhours of labor to a rococo finish heavy on gold leaf and trompe
l'oil paintings, the CC offers elegant suites, luxurious theaters,
and state-of-the-art music facilities. Love flows like warm maple
syrup the minute a person walks in the door. Life there seems
to be much like the CC's elegant restaurant: The food isn't much,
but the service is great. During her seven years in Scientology,
Canova experienced the Celebrity Centre from both sides of fame.
"When I started, I wasn't in television yet. I was a nobody
- I'd done some TV, but I was not one of the elite, not by a long
shot - until I did Soap. Then it became…I mean, you
really are treated like royalty."
Although current Scientology leaders insist the Celebrity Centre
is nothing more than a clubhouse cum church for show-biz members,
Hubbard himself was more straightforward: "The purpose of
Celebrity Centre is to: Forward the expansion and popularization
of Scientology through the Arts."
Begun in the late '60s, the Celebrity Centre started in a rented
building at 1809 West Eighth Street, with five or six members
headed up by a charming Australian named Yvonne Gilham. One of
the early converts was Bobby Lipton. At the time his sister Peggy
was the hot star of The Mod Squad, and at the Celebrity
Centre he definitely felt "the reflected glory - I was the
brother of…" To alleviate the expense of taking courses,
Lipton says he was pressured to proselytize - including to his
sister. "Yeah, they were after her," he says.
Screenwriter-director Ernest Lehman was another early student,
drawn to the group after directing Karen Black in Portney's
Complaint and finding himself impressed at how imperturbable
she was during tough spots in filming. At that time, the Celebrity
Centre "was like the Friars Club, with cocktail parties,
art exhibits," he recalls, "If you had nothing to do,
you'd drop in. I was more of a social thing than anything else."
Lehman found the Scientologists refreshing. "It was nice
being around a lot of people who felt it was bad form to be gloomy
and self-absorbed," he recalls. "They were very cheerful,
upbeat, which is not something you see much of in the film community."
Screenwriter Floyd Mutrux wandered into the Celebrity Centre in
the early 70's after reading Hubbard. "I thought, this guy's
writing is terrific, this might be it," Mutrux says. Still
a Scientologist, he found auditing immediately useful. "I
was able to find things that completely freed me from conceptions
and concepts," he says. "I discovered points of view
that were completely senior to any that I'd had before and took
command."
Mutrux brought in producer Don Simpson. Then writing a screenplay,
Simpson plunged into the tech. "I'm chagrined to say I almost
went clear - did the E-meter, the whole thing," Simpson says.
Because Scientology helps people overcome doubt and ignore rejection,
it is a belief system almost tailor-made for actors. "Before
Dianetics [a philosophy of Hubbard's from which Scientology evolved],
if people said negative things to me or about me, I would cave
in easily," Travolta told Celebrity magazine. "Being
a man, that wasn't a very appealing quality. Some people would
say, 'The boy is too sensitive.' But many times I had suppressive
people around me who would cave me in on purpose. I was sort of
like a minefield."
By 1974 the Celebrity Centre was a lively concern. Everyone hustled
to bring in the famous or the someday-to-be-famous. "A friend
of mine I got in was Michael D. Roberts, who was on Baretta,"
says Ken Rose, who joined the CC staff that year and left in the
late '80s. Beyond idealism, there was another strong motive to
spread the word: "You get 15 percent of all the money your
recruits spend in the church," Rose says. "There's nothing
better than a rich selectee."
(Church officials say the maximum commission is 15 percent and
is only for the specific course sold. They also say Rose is a
CAN member. Since his interview with PREMIERE, Rose has left the
country. He was unavailable for comment.)
"There was always pressure to get other celebrities in,"
agrees Canova. "Once I got a call from this guy at Celebrity
Centre at 6 in the morning. He says, 'Diana, you've got to get
over here to the hospital. Freddie Prinze has just shot himself.'
I used to date Freddie. This guy is freaking out. 'You got to
come over, and you got to get me in to see Freddie. If I can get
in to see Freddie, I can save his life. I'll tell him to get back
into his body.' That was such a weird thing to me, the ultimate
dissemination. Wouldn't it have been a coup - Scientology saves
Freddie Prinze?"
"When I was a student at the Celebrity Centre," says
Lisa Halverson, a former Scientologist who was with the Los Angeles
church for fifteen years, "sometimes uninformed personnal
would come into the course room and ask us to write down names
of what they call in Scientology 'opinion leaders,' heavy hitters
of some sort in whatever their sphere of activity might be - in
business, politics, and arts and entertainment." It was common
knowledge, she said, that the names would be put on a recruitment
list.
Canova found the Scientologists straightforward in their lust for lucre.
"The first time I walked in those doors, they said, 'Just
give us all the money in your bank account. You'll get it back
tenfold.'" When she joined, auditing prices were about $25.
"It went up to about $175 in the early '80's," she recalls.
"That was shocking to me. I was beginning to wonder, Is it
really worth it? They're telling you 'Don't spend $100 an hour
on a shrink's couch, it'll ruin your mind.' Auditing is so much
better?"
One route to the Celebrity Centre is via acting teacher Milton
Katselas. As Archer told Celebrity magazine: "I was
having problems with my marriage, and my career wasn't going well,
so one evening Milton said, 'You have six weeks to solve your
problems.' I ended up at Celebrity Centre. I had enormous wins
right away from the auditing. I feel my life broke open in the
first six hours' it was just remarkable."
Cartwright also credits Katselas with getting her back into Scientology
when she drifted away. "One day he invited me to a barbecue
at his place, and I noticed that all eight of the people there
had things in common," she said in Celebrity. "They
were all Scientologists. They were all doing well in their careers,
they had good relationships, and they all had Milton in common.
To make a long story short, I made the decision to get back into
Scientology because of these observations. I called up Gary Imhoff
and went to the CC Int. I then started the Purification Rundown
and my life took off completely."
Actor Peter Horton (thirtysomething) didn't respond in
quite the same way. For him, Katsela's class "felt very controlling
and, I guess, culty," he says. "In an acting class,
there's a real tendency to build an image of a teacher as someone
who can give them attention and love. So when someone comes along
who happens to be a great acting coach - which Milton is, he's
phenomenal - but actually has a connection with a system of self-help
that verges on a cult, it's very easy for people to be manipulated."
In 1975, the Celebrity Centre landed Travolta, it's biggest fish
up to that time. "There was tremendous excitement about him,"
recalls Rose, who says for a time he was Travolta's case supervisor
(Scientology officials deny it) and that the star was a jealously
guarded church asset. "He's been very disaffected at times, and
it took a great deal of work to get him back in," he says.
"At one point, it was rumored that J.T. was gone, was no
longer a Scientologist, and had made public statements. And then
a bunch of people went and held his hand, and evidently he was
gotten back in." Travolta seems to be solidly in the church
now, having married fellow Scientologist Kelly Preston.
Romance and Scientologists seem to go hand in hand. Prior to marrying
Travolta, Preston had lived with Charlie Sheen, reportedly the
target of a Scientology recruitment attempt. (Sheen was sufficiently
disturbed by his contact with his former girlfriend's religion
that he refused an interview with PREMEIRE but offers this quote:
"I have no involvement in that form of silliness.")
Cruise got in after marrying Mimi Rogers, and Brad Pitt took his
courses while dating Juliette Lewis. This seems to be something
of a tradition. As Rose describes the early Celebrity Centre,
there were always "a lot of women around. It was probably
a great draw in those days, for my generation of Scientologists
- it was a great place to get laid."
Hollywood producer Jim Jacks says one night when he was depressed
over the collapse of a relationship, he was approached by a show-biz
friend in Scientology. "It will solve your woman problem,"
Jack recalls his friend saying. "I think he was just trying
to help, but I wasn't interested."
Breaking up with Scientology can be very hard to do. "It
took me years before I decided to quit," says Canova. "I
guess finally I was so fed up with being afraid. You've heard
all these horror stories…I believed them."
"The party was over for me in 1971," Bobby Lipton says,
"I remember going to a rally at the Shrine or some big hall,
at a time when the press was first starting to get after them,
and there were people marching around with banners and signs and
screaming about getting the press. It was kind of scary, talking
about targeting different people. I thought, gee, this isn't what
it was about."
But when he tried to leave soon after, Lipton was accused of telling
the secrets of Scientology's upper-level courses to outsiders.
"The last thing they said to me is 'If you did reveal them,
you are going to die,'" he recalls. "I don't think they
said 'die' but that's the inference I took. I said 'Is that a
threat?' I think he said, 'Take it any way you want.'"
Simpson says he lost interest after spending $25,000 on Scientology
courses without seeing much improvement. "I had a meeting
with Yvonne [Gilham], and I said, 'I've now almost gone clear,
why aren't I happier?'" he recalls. "She said, 'Things
will be okay when you go through OT3 [a higher level course].'
At that point I realized it was a con." But when he left,
he took a warning with him. "Heber Jantzsch called me into
the Guardian's Office and implied that I was making a grave error,"
Simspon says. "The implication that I took away was that
I would be on their enemies list."
Jentzsch says it is an "absolute lie" that he threatened
Simpson in any way and says that Simpson was bounced for ethics
violations he could not reveal because of his "privilege
as a minister."
The leaders of Scientology insist that much of the organization's
bad press comes from psychiatrists who are angry that Scientology
is encroaching on their turf. They point to their fights against
psychiatry and drug abuse as evidence of a beneficent side of
the religion that the press ignores. "We're helping celebrities,"
says Jentzsch. "We service them - to be more capable, to be
more ethical, to be more able… Scientology celebrities are
successful, and they're not messed up! They're not messed up!"
"There's a long list of celebrities who have been devastated
by psychiatric activities and psychiatric assault," Jentzsch
continues, citing the case of Frances Farmer. "Psychiatrists
would take her out and use her for big parties, sex parties, and
stuff like that!"
PREMIERE checked into this: According to William Arnold's heart-wrenching
book on Farmer, Shadowland, it does seem that orderlies
at a Seattle mental institution allowed soldiers to have sex with
her - but then we noticed that Arnold's list of acknowledgments
makes special mention of the emotional and research support he
got from Heber Jentzsch and the Citizens Commission on Human Rights.
He doesn't mention their connection to Scientology.
But the Scientologists have other good press can point to. During
an interview, they proudly cited this quote Rob Reiner gave to
GQ: "I don't know anything about Scientology, but
if Scientology means you're the way Tom Cruise is, then everyone
should be a Scientologist."
Perhaps. Maybe Scientology has emerged from its dark past. But
if that's true, then why the use of intimidating private detectives,
why the ugly attempts to smear their critics, why the barrage
of legal threats, why the badgering by belligerent Scientology
officials who fight over the simplest questions? Theirs is a mean-spiritedness
so pervasive that we finally became convinced that when they can't
discourage it altogether, Scientology leaders want bad press,
the better to justify their own vindictive gospel.
Now when we call Bowers, we wonder if someone, somewhere is listening.
She has moved to another city, and we worry that her address will
slip through our fingers and into the fingers of Scientologists.
And we listen to Canova when she warns us: "They're capable
of doing a lot of things."
Like many of the people quoted in this article, all of whom are
well aware that people who were interviewed by Time are
currently being sued, Canova says she spoke up because she thought
it was important. "I see some of my friends having to keep
their mouths shut for personal reasons, for business reasons,"
she says. "I don't believe that's right. If it's going to
be termed a religion, or a church, then those kinds of fears have
no business being here. Nobody should be afraid. And you can quote
me on that."