I've been thinking about writing this story for a long time. I don't know if there's any benefit in one more story -- not that they're all the same, but what can you learn from yet another detailing of the insanity? Perhaps the key is just to get it out, spill it, let it go once and for all. Well, here goes.

My mom introduced me to scientology in the summer of 1967, right after I offered her some LSD. She politely refused and said she was happy with what she was doing. I had to ask, "What?" Thus began my journey into the dark and crazy. I went down to the Phoenix franchise (before they were called missions, they were 'franchises' -- sounds kind of like a business, doesn't it?) and signed up for the communications course. I liked it. So I signed up for the dianetics auditor course. I even had an old Mark V emeter, the one made out of wood. I don't recall ever being trained how to actually use it, but it sat on my desk while I "audited" my "preclears." I got all my friends to agree to be audited. They liked it enough to get further into it. God, forgive me.

Back in the '60s there was something called "quickie grades." This means that the lower levels of the 'bridge' were being done in a quick and incomplete way. Hubbard later issued a bulletin making it a high crime to deliver "quickie grades." I zoomed through Grades 0 - IV in a few months -- totally nuts. By December I was at St. Hill doing the clearing course.

There were posters around talking about the Sea Organization and about how Hubbard needed strong, dedicated people to help him clear the planet. Hey, I wasn't doing anything, what the heck? I went home and sold everything I owned and bought a one-way plane ticket to Barcelona, Spain. It was early 1968.

Oh. My. God. See, this is what happens when you do a lot of drugs and have no future and then think someone else has a better idea of what to do with your life than you do. The first Advanced Org was in Alicante, so I took a bus to Alicante. What a beautiful place -- the city, not the org. Since I had never been on staff before, all the activities and functions were foreign to me. In fact, the only job I'd had was pumping gas. I'd never seen one of those ridiculous organizing boards before and I'd never heard of HCO Policy Letters. It didn't really matter. No one cared what you did or didn't know about how things were run. They were just glad of another warm body. I did something clerical for a while and then was told I was being assigned to the Royal Scotman (later named the Apollo).

I have to go now. This is the beginning of the story. There will be more, but I'm still dithering about putting it all out there.