Authors: Jenna Miscavige Hill
Beyond Belief (12 page)
Rebecca and I were not allowed to attend the screening of the international Scientology event. All the kids were informed that it was because of us that the beginning of the performance had not been taped, and the kids who were in attendance told us that we were severely booed after that announcement.
For most of the next week, Mr. Parker kept her distance from me, but that Friday when my dad came, she told me I needed to tell him what I had done. I said I would, but of course, I really didn’t want to—I was too afraid he’d be ashamed of me. When Dad arrived, we walked to the playground, which was normally only used during break time, to meet Mr. Parker. “Hi, sir,” she greeted him.
My father was a senior executive of the Church, so that was how he was addressed. To me, it was always weird to hear other adults call my parents “sir,” because it seemed like they were the boss of everyone.
“Did Jenna tell you what happened this week?” Mr. Parker asked Dad.
My father was clearly baffled. “What is she talking about, honey?” he said to me.
I couldn’t keep myself from bursting into tears. “I was gonna tell you how mean everyone here is to me,” I burst out. This was not what I had agreed to tell him, but I couldn’t bear to tell him I had done something wrong.
Mr. Parker’s face tensed—she was clearly irritated by that. She quickly told him exactly what had happened, as I continued sobbing. My dad thanked her and told her that he would take care of it, then dismissed her. As broken up as I was, I couldn’t help but notice how strange it was to see her dismissed. I was so used to her being the one in control and dismissing other people. The sudden shift of power was intriguing.
At that, my dad hugged me and asked me why I had tried to run away. I looked at him, thinking about everything I’d been through at the Ranch. I thought about telling him how hard it all was for me, but I just couldn’t. I was too afraid that I would disappoint him. Yet there was something else that prevented me from telling the truth: Maybe he already knew how bad things were there, but he believed that what we were being asked to do was in line with Scientology’s goal of saving the planet.
Finding that out would be almost too much to bear, so instead I told him I had been sad and wanted to see what it was like in the Wog world. He was smiling, as though he thought my plot had been a cute and a funny idea, which was frustrating. I had been completely serious in my attempt to get out of there. He didn’t pry deeper into my reasons and I didn’t offer them, and after he left that day, it didn’t come up again.
After his departure, Mr. Parker gave me a dirty look, but that was it. I wasn’t even really in trouble anymore. I wasn’t sure if it had been because I had done enough on the amends, or because my dad had said something to someone in charge. Either way, I did what any good Scientologist was supposed to do: I didn’t question it.
T
IME PASSED SLOWLY ON THE
R
ANCH.
G
RADUALLY, THOUGH, DUE
to the work done by our deck projects, it was barely recognizable from the place it had been when I first arrived. The Big House was now home to the mess hall, the canteen, the offices of the adults, small offices for each of the Cadet division heads, and the Communications Center, where we would receive letters, copies of reports that had been written about us, and commendations.
Along with the physical progress on the Ranch, I made progress in my studies, graduating from one course to another. After my failed attempt at running away, I became more complaisant, but that didn’t make the work any easier. However, because I recognized that I had no real choice, I focused on completing my courses and keeping my ethics file as clean as possible, so that one day I could graduate and leave the Ranch behind for good.
I was seeing less and less of my mom. Most of our communication was either via weekly phone calls or, more often, through letters. Her letters in particular were usually newsy and sentimental, and I saved every letter from her in a box in my bottom drawer. Whenever I was lonely, I’d pull them out and read them over again. Seeing her letters, no matter how brief they were, always made me feel like maybe there was somewhere outside of this Ranch where I belonged and someone loved me.
Dearest Jenna-bean,
Well it’s Saturday morning and I’m sitting on my back porch. I thought of you about 100 times so I decided to write you. You are hard to get hold [sic] of on the phones. I miss you so much. I realize I’m not the typical mother who is always around—In fact I’ve been gone most of 2 years. But do not for a minute think that I love you any less. You mean everything to me! You are the brightest spark in my whole life. You are growing up to be better and smarter than I ever hoped for. To me you are so smart and perceptive that it amazes me. Your Dad and I are very proud of you.
Things are going good here. It is getting pretty humid but that is Florida.
I sent some pictures of me to Dad—they suck. But you can look at them to at least see what I look like.
I will call you tomorrow.
I love you!
All my love, Mommy
Words like these always offered comfort. While it was true that she was not a “typical mother,” she also hadn’t had a typical mother herself. My mom had been only twelve when she was brought into Scientology by her mother, Janna Blythe. A chain smoker, Janna was more intellectual than maternal, with an extremely dry sense of humor. She had jobs teaching English, and when she wasn’t teaching, she made money underwriting insurance documents. Because Janna always worked, my mom and her many siblings were cared for by babysitters until they were old enough to care for each other.
Janna had an English degree from the University of Illinois and was an avid reader. To be rebellious, she read science fiction books, which at the time were considered trashy literature. L. Ron Hubbard’s science fiction impressed her so much that she looked for other books by him, and took to Dianetics in 1957, the same year my mom was born. After reading
Dianetics
, Grandma Janna started using the new-age healing techniques outlined in the book on all nine of her children—Griffee, Jennifer, John, Mickey, my mother, Teresa, Mary, James, and Sarah. The family was very poor, and by using Dianetics, she seemed to save a lot of trips to the doctor. Janna loved the rational approach that it offered, as well as the fact that it seemingly put people more in control of their lives and helped them to deal with the past, regardless of how old or young they were.
For years, her casual use of Dianetics was just that. Then one day in 1969 she saw a copy of the book displayed in the window of a Scientology mission and went inside. From then on, she was hooked. She began taking classes at the mission and two years later she, along with my Grandpa Bill, decided to move the Blythe family to Los Angeles. There, the entire family joined the Sea Org and took up residence on the Sea Org ship called the
Excalibur
.
It didn’t take my grandparents long to see that the level of commitment that the Sea Org demanded was substantial. After only a few months, they decided it was not for them. My grandfather, in particular, didn’t like the accommodations provided for his children, including the fact that everyone had to sleep on mattresses on the floor. As Bill and Janna prepared to leave, they were surprised when my mom told them that she had no desire to leave with them. She loved that in Scientology, children were treated like mini-adults, with lots of responsibilities but also respect. More than that, though, she was part of a worldwide movement that was gaining momentum; Dianetics and Scientology were so new to the spiritual landscape that they was barely older than she was, and she was growing up alongside them.
My grandpa Bill tried hard but with no success to make my mother come with them. He refused to sign away legal guardianship of her. Many years later, my mom told me how, when authorities investigated the office after reports alleging the mistreatment of children, she was hidden away. Authorities also investigated reports of young kids on the base not attending school, so my mom was sent overseas to Portugal to join her brother on the
Apollo,
at port in Lisbon, because she wouldn’t have to go to school there.
Being apart from her parents had not been hard for my mom. Maybe being separated from me was easier for her because of the separation that she had experienced. As a teenager, she’d craved the distance, and on some level, perhaps she felt I’d feel the same way, even though I was younger.
As cherished as my mother’s letters to me were, they could not make up for her absence. They lifted my spirits, but they also served to remind me that she wouldn’t be back to see me for months:
Dear Jenna,
Thank you very much for your letter. I just got it today and I was very happy to receive it.
The paper you are writing on looks like special printing paper that people use to learn how to print better. And I can tell from your handwriting that you are definitely learning to print better which is good. I will definitely call you sometime this week. . . .
I’m glad Sarah Kitty is doing well. I sometimes worry that she doesn’t have anyone to play with since I’m not there but I’m sure that you and J-birdy play with her on the weekends so that is good. Does she still like her grass that you guys grew for her? Does she need any more of it?
I was really surprised when you wrote in your letter that Sterling is only 1 inch shorter than Justin. That means Sterling must have grown a whole bunch which is really good.
What kind of haircuts did they cut? Did Justin get the same kind of haircut that he had last time where the side-burns are really really short and the top part is long?
I was looking at a magazine the other day and I saw a haircut . . . a hairstyle actually that will look very nice on you. You need to grow your hair out so it reaches your shoulders including your bangs in front and at that point we can get it styled at a beauty shop and it will look very beautiful. . . .
You asked me if I live in an apartment and yes I do. It’s called the Hacienda Gardens and I live in a room in an apartment at the Hacienda . . . The apartment is very pretty and is renovated. . . .
The office I work in is also very nice. . . . So the one thing good about being in Florida is that I do have a nice place to sleep and a nice place to work. But I would give all that away just if I could be with you. Maybe when you go to New Hampshire you can stop back here on your way and see me for a couple of days? That would be really nice. I don’t think you’ve ever been to Florida but Justin was born in Florida and he could come too and see all the places he used to go when he was little.
I hate to tell you but I will probably be here for a bit longer, maybe even months. But I will set up a line so I can talk to you several times a week at the Ranch—in other words I will call you there. I can also set up that sometimes during these few months that I will be out here that I will be able to come up and see you (fly on an airplane) at the Ranch every once in a while. This way we’ll be able to see each other and it won’t be bad.
I miss you very very much and I love you even more.
I do look at your photos and I do read your letters as they mean more to me than anything. However I know that you understand that I have to do some very important work here and therefore it is important that I stay here and do it. . . .
Lots of love, Mommy
All this long-distance communication meant that the times when I did get to see her were incredibly special. On the rare occasions she was back at Int for a special event, I would have to file the necessary paperwork to get permission to leave the Ranch to see her. Frustrating as this process was, I always managed to get approval somehow.
Usually the times I saw her were during days off for special Scientology/Sea Org occasions, like Sea Org Day, which took place in August. When that happened, I would get to see her for a whole day.
Sea Org Day was quite a spectacle. People would spend weeks getting ready for it. Sometimes our decks would be working in the galley at the Int Base, preparing the special meals. We would work with the galley staff, slicing cold cuts and baking bread. We’d also help bus the tables and clean the dining rooms. I would help Tammy, the executive steward, set the tables; she taught me how to do fancy folds with the cloth napkins. She also let me draw on and decorate the vote sheets, which were ballots distributed at the end of each meal. Diners were supposed to vote for service and food, the service vote being the statistic for Tammy, and the food vote being the statistic for the galley staff. Uncle Dave and Aunt Shelly knew I was the artist for the vote sheets, so they liked to put in a vote for my artwork. The highest vote possible was a seven, but their votes were always really high numbers, like two million.