That's my story and I'm sticking with it
- Thread starter Babycakes
- Start date
If it's not fun, it's not ESMB
Welcome aboard. No boiler suits though and the dishes magically wash themselves.Feel free to air the laundry though
Zinj
Ogsonofgroo
Crusader
Welcome Babycakes! As you may have noticed, folks look forward to other's tales, its theraptic and freeing, often give insights to other's who are unsure of their own perceptions, can be informative, entertain, and I haven't found a better place yet to getting stuff off your chest other than starting your own blog or something.
Everyone's story is important imho, it is part of history and with each view presented it clarifies and makes it that much harder for it to be re-written in a less than truthful manner.
I too look forward to reading more 
Everyone's story is important imho, it is part of history and with each view presented it clarifies and makes it that much harder for it to be re-written in a less than truthful manner.
I too look forward to reading more
Babycakes
Patron
The galley was hot and chaotic. I washed dishes and pots all day. When I finally got finished I crashed in my bunk. After maybe an hour, the galley chief was pulling on my arm and telling me to get up. Apparently I'd missed some food on a plate or something -- I scrubbed the wooden floor boards and the floor underneath until morning. Then I washed dishes for another day. Sometime in the first week a woman came into the galley and asked me if I could type. I said yes and within two days I was typing the Orders of the Day and miscellaneous other paperwork. I had been transferred to HCO and was working for Baron Berez.
Most of you have heard of the policy about musical chairs and how bad that is for an org. Well, there certainly cannot be an org anywhere on the planet that did it worse than the Royal Scotman. I was only around for a year but must have been assigned to a dozen different posts. And each one ended in disaster, lower conditions, and once, a Flag Order saying I was never to be promoted above the rank of Petty Officer. I've thought about this aspect of my experience and have decided that it's probably the worst part of it. I was never allowed to get good at anything. When I screwed up on the job de jour, I was yanked off it, given some insane task for amends and then plunked down in something completely new. I didn't realize it at the time, but what a great joy it would have been if I could have had the opportunity to really learn a post and do it well. Looking back I understand that, very likely, almost everyone there was having the same trials and tribulations. People like Otto Roos or Diana Hubbard only did one thing and they knew what they were doing and they knew they were good at it and believe me, NO ONE messed with them. How did the rest of us peons have any hope of rising out of the slime if we were never given the chance to make a mistake, correct it, learn from it, and get better at our jobs?
The posts I had (that I remember): Bosun's mate, Ship Org LRH Communicator, Cook (Avon River), Commodore Staff Steward, Commodore Steward, deckie, dishwasher, typist.
Most of you have heard of the policy about musical chairs and how bad that is for an org. Well, there certainly cannot be an org anywhere on the planet that did it worse than the Royal Scotman. I was only around for a year but must have been assigned to a dozen different posts. And each one ended in disaster, lower conditions, and once, a Flag Order saying I was never to be promoted above the rank of Petty Officer. I've thought about this aspect of my experience and have decided that it's probably the worst part of it. I was never allowed to get good at anything. When I screwed up on the job de jour, I was yanked off it, given some insane task for amends and then plunked down in something completely new. I didn't realize it at the time, but what a great joy it would have been if I could have had the opportunity to really learn a post and do it well. Looking back I understand that, very likely, almost everyone there was having the same trials and tribulations. People like Otto Roos or Diana Hubbard only did one thing and they knew what they were doing and they knew they were good at it and believe me, NO ONE messed with them. How did the rest of us peons have any hope of rising out of the slime if we were never given the chance to make a mistake, correct it, learn from it, and get better at our jobs?
The posts I had (that I remember): Bosun's mate, Ship Org LRH Communicator, Cook (Avon River), Commodore Staff Steward, Commodore Steward, deckie, dishwasher, typist.
Babycakes
Patron
There are stories associated with each job I had. The "when" is up for grabs -- the whole year is a jumble (and please, those of you who think there is a "tech" explanation and solution for this, don't chime in). I will definitely get to all those stories.
I had no training in tech (I don't count the dianetics course because I truly didn't get it), admin, ethics, etc. None. I was brand new and had gone as far as OT I (1967 version). While on the RS, I did further OT levels under the supervision of Guy Eltringham -- what a good man. I distinctly remember how I felt when I read the OT III BS. My mouth would not close, it just hung open and my eyes were wide with disbelief. All I could think was, "Are you kidding me? This is a joke, right?" I told Guy how I felt and I've told many, many auditors since then. Not one of them helped me understand. But I digress.
Part of my story, and here I'm jumping ahead 30+ years, is that I left scientology TWICE. Yup, got in, got out, years passed, got in again and got out again. HOW IS THAT POSSIBLE? That too will be answered, in time.
So here are a couple little anecdotes about the "Commodore." As his steward, it was my responsibility to clean his big office every morning before he started work. Every surface was wiped clean. The top of the desk was tidied. The windows had to be open, but no breeze could cross the desk. Hmmm...That was a time-consuming puzzle every day. In the bottom right-hand drawer of the desk were 10 packs of Kool menthol cigarettes. If I had to add one or two packs, I had to make sure that the newest ones were on the bottom -- rotate the stock so to speak. He said he knew if the cigs were too old. Hubbard drank his coffee from a big glass bowl. He claimed he could tell if the coffee was made with cold water to start or hot water. The hat write-up for the post of Commodore Steward was written by Mary Sue, of course. It was the size of a biiiiig book and I never read it all -- talk about minutiae. I think my undoing on that post was the incorrect washing of his underwear. I was never actually told what I'd done wrong to get busted down to deckie. Arghhh.
I had no training in tech (I don't count the dianetics course because I truly didn't get it), admin, ethics, etc. None. I was brand new and had gone as far as OT I (1967 version). While on the RS, I did further OT levels under the supervision of Guy Eltringham -- what a good man. I distinctly remember how I felt when I read the OT III BS. My mouth would not close, it just hung open and my eyes were wide with disbelief. All I could think was, "Are you kidding me? This is a joke, right?" I told Guy how I felt and I've told many, many auditors since then. Not one of them helped me understand. But I digress.
Part of my story, and here I'm jumping ahead 30+ years, is that I left scientology TWICE. Yup, got in, got out, years passed, got in again and got out again. HOW IS THAT POSSIBLE? That too will be answered, in time.
So here are a couple little anecdotes about the "Commodore." As his steward, it was my responsibility to clean his big office every morning before he started work. Every surface was wiped clean. The top of the desk was tidied. The windows had to be open, but no breeze could cross the desk. Hmmm...That was a time-consuming puzzle every day. In the bottom right-hand drawer of the desk were 10 packs of Kool menthol cigarettes. If I had to add one or two packs, I had to make sure that the newest ones were on the bottom -- rotate the stock so to speak. He said he knew if the cigs were too old. Hubbard drank his coffee from a big glass bowl. He claimed he could tell if the coffee was made with cold water to start or hot water. The hat write-up for the post of Commodore Steward was written by Mary Sue, of course. It was the size of a biiiiig book and I never read it all -- talk about minutiae. I think my undoing on that post was the incorrect washing of his underwear. I was never actually told what I'd done wrong to get busted down to deckie. Arghhh.
Touchstone
Patron
A fair amount, actually. Thank you for telling your story; please continue at your pace, even if you feel you're including details that others have already covered. "That happened to me, too!" is highly validating for all concerned.
Nicole
Silver Meritorious Patron
Babycakes,
I find it very important that you tell your story and write it here. It is good to see the truth about the "early time". I think it is wrong to glorify Hubbard. He made Scientology to that what it is. Better to say: He created it!
If you like. I want to hear more!
I find it very important that you tell your story and write it here. It is good to see the truth about the "early time". I think it is wrong to glorify Hubbard. He made Scientology to that what it is. Better to say: He created it!
If you like. I want to hear more!
Babycakes
Patron
Telling my story
I want to give credit to the folks who frequent the blog "Leaving Scientology." I've lurked there for about a year and have been fascinated, inspired and rejuvenated as a result of their discussions. If you want to enjoy another place for lively discussion, I recommend it -- particularly the post "The Bridge to Nowhere." I have also been affected and impressed by Just Bill over at Ask the Scientologist.
The information on these sites was not new or startling, it was the discourse, the community, the openness. I've become a very isolated person since leaving scientology (the second time) and want to trust other people again. I didn't even realize that I wasn't trusting other people until I started to read these discussions.
I intend to keep adding to my story, bits and pieces as they occur to me. All of the encouragement and the thank yous help a lot. It IS fun and it IS therapeutic. Thanks.
Now, where was I? Oh yeah, commodore's steward. Before I was given that job, I was the steward for the commodore's staff (except Mary Sue). So, CS1, 2, 3, 4, 5 and 6. I cleaned their cabins, served their meals, did their laundry. I don't remember who was who, except of course Diana was CS6. The names of the big mucky-mucks that were around at that time were Otto Roos, Alex Sibersky, the Dunleavys, Hana Eltringham, the Jessups and Baron Berez. I was woken up in the middle of the night and told that I had been promoted to Commodore's Steward and that I had to get busy and learn what was expected of me before the old man woke up (which wasn't until about 11 a.m.). It turns out that the person who had been his steward had suddenly disappeared from the ship. Her name was Julia Migenes. We were in Italy and she took off to sing opera. I never knew the true story -- some said hubbard had given permission, others said she blew. Interesting that her picture is on one of those awful IAS posters that feature celebrities -- I saw it in 2004 at AOLA. I'm pretty sure she doesn't associate herself with scientology in any way.
My first job was to be ready with tomato juice to take into his cabin when he "called" for it. His "call" was a red light that would go on in the hallway. The light went on, I fetched the juice, and in I went. *gulp* He seemed surprised that Julia wasn't bringing his juice and asked where she was. I said I didn't know. At this point in my story, I'd been on board for a while and had been in and out of lots and lots of trouble. Of course, he'd known about most of the problems -- one way or another he was connected to all of them. That morning he put his hand on my shoulder and said, in a very kind way, "You've had a rough time of it, haven't you? Well, you're going to be okay."
Not so much.
I want to give credit to the folks who frequent the blog "Leaving Scientology." I've lurked there for about a year and have been fascinated, inspired and rejuvenated as a result of their discussions. If you want to enjoy another place for lively discussion, I recommend it -- particularly the post "The Bridge to Nowhere." I have also been affected and impressed by Just Bill over at Ask the Scientologist.
The information on these sites was not new or startling, it was the discourse, the community, the openness. I've become a very isolated person since leaving scientology (the second time) and want to trust other people again. I didn't even realize that I wasn't trusting other people until I started to read these discussions.
I intend to keep adding to my story, bits and pieces as they occur to me. All of the encouragement and the thank yous help a lot. It IS fun and it IS therapeutic. Thanks.
Now, where was I? Oh yeah, commodore's steward. Before I was given that job, I was the steward for the commodore's staff (except Mary Sue). So, CS1, 2, 3, 4, 5 and 6. I cleaned their cabins, served their meals, did their laundry. I don't remember who was who, except of course Diana was CS6. The names of the big mucky-mucks that were around at that time were Otto Roos, Alex Sibersky, the Dunleavys, Hana Eltringham, the Jessups and Baron Berez. I was woken up in the middle of the night and told that I had been promoted to Commodore's Steward and that I had to get busy and learn what was expected of me before the old man woke up (which wasn't until about 11 a.m.). It turns out that the person who had been his steward had suddenly disappeared from the ship. Her name was Julia Migenes. We were in Italy and she took off to sing opera. I never knew the true story -- some said hubbard had given permission, others said she blew. Interesting that her picture is on one of those awful IAS posters that feature celebrities -- I saw it in 2004 at AOLA. I'm pretty sure she doesn't associate herself with scientology in any way.
My first job was to be ready with tomato juice to take into his cabin when he "called" for it. His "call" was a red light that would go on in the hallway. The light went on, I fetched the juice, and in I went. *gulp* He seemed surprised that Julia wasn't bringing his juice and asked where she was. I said I didn't know. At this point in my story, I'd been on board for a while and had been in and out of lots and lots of trouble. Of course, he'd known about most of the problems -- one way or another he was connected to all of them. That morning he put his hand on my shoulder and said, in a very kind way, "You've had a rough time of it, haven't you? Well, you're going to be okay."
Not so much.
AnonyMary
Formerly Fooled - Finally Free
Babycakes! This is so Fascinating!! It was interesting to see how he treated you on your first day, knowing your history as you mentioned it. Did the pendulum swing on his moods afterwards? Did he ever yell at you like he did with others? When you are at the point to reveal these things, they will be much appreciated
I am so glad you are posting here and that you found and lurker for a while at those web sites, too! They are some of the best on the web!
Thanks so much for sharing all this and more.
Mary McConnell
I am so glad you are posting here and that you found and lurker for a while at those web sites, too! They are some of the best on the web!
Thanks so much for sharing all this and more.
Mary McConnell
dexter gelfand
Patron Meritorious
Definitely movie material...
Babycakes, you had me at "I offered my mother LSD"
Love, Dex
Babycakes, you had me at "I offered my mother LSD"
Love, Dex
Panda Termint
Cabal Of One
Dex! Keep it coming, Babycakes. 
EP - Ethics Particle
Gold Meritorious Patron
Julia's correct move...
For the record, here is Julia - an she is truly luminous and lovely.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JDE3djFBIRk
EP
For the record, here is Julia - an she is truly luminous and lovely.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JDE3djFBIRk
EP
Babycakes
Patron
Thanks EP for the video of Julia. She sang for us a few times on the ship -- beautiful and effortless.
No, AnonyMary, Hubbard never yelled at me, but I heard plenty of his screaming, including some hollering about me. I had been on the ship for a short time and in that absolutely wonderful way they have of dropping you in the boiling pot and telling you to "make it go right," I was told to take the helm. No training, no practicing, no one behind me to give me pointers. Oh. My. God. Well, I guess it goes without saying that I made a balls-up of it. Turns out you have to be very patient when steering that much mass around the ocean. When you rotate the wheel, it takes quite a while for there to be any response. But I didn't know that. So when I didn't see any change in direction, I turned it some more. We went barreling through the Mediterranean like a giant snake -- first one way and then the other. Seems that Hubbard was trying to audit while all this was going on. He stormed up to the bridge, screaming bloody murder. He took it out on the Officer of the Deck (or Watch, or whatever), who turned to someone else, who yelled at someone else, until I felt a light tap on my shoulder and was told to get out. I waited outside for a few minutes and was told I could be a lookout. Oh sh*t. What does that mean? Look out for what? Eventually, after many tries at various aspects of seamanship, I got pretty good at it. When I was on the Avon River, which is quite a bit smaller than the RS, I had no trouble steering or looking out or even following charts. I never did learn anything about sextants and stars and so on. Oh well. I could splice heavy metal line and 3" nylon rope, I could operate a winch, I could throw a monkey's fist to the dock.
During the time I was Commodore Steward, there came to pass a particularly puzzling and unpleasant event. It was my job to serve Hubbard his meals. I didn't cook the meals, I just carried them from his galley to his table. He had his own cook, who had his own little galley, tucked away from the hustle and bustle of the ship. This cook was a truly odd duck -- maybe someone remembers his name -- he was from the Caribbean and had a heavy accent and a mean streak. On the evening in question, I picked up the commodore's dinner, took it to him and removed the plate cover. IIRC, a few people around the table appeared concerned about what was on his dinner plate. I just stepped back and kept my head down. Much later, after I had gone to bed, two thugs showed up at my cabin. It was 3 a.m. and they said someone needed to see me on the aft well deck. Any logical, thinking, sane, rational person would have said, "WTF?! It's 3 in the morning, tell 'em to come back!." But no. Not me. I went with them. As soon as we got to the well deck I knew something was very very wrong. On the harbor side of the deck were two other thugs who were opening the gate. Thugs 1 and 2 each took one of my arms and frog marched me to the gate and unceremoniously tossed me into the harbor. We were in Malta at the time, although I suspect all harbors are disgusting. Dead rats, excrement, and other garbage floated by me as I struggled to keep my head up. I swam around the ship, climbed onto the dock, asked permission to board and went back to my cabin for some much needed sleep. Was I ever told what was wrong with the dinner? Be serious. I guess mind-reading is another skill I should have had but didn't.
No, AnonyMary, Hubbard never yelled at me, but I heard plenty of his screaming, including some hollering about me. I had been on the ship for a short time and in that absolutely wonderful way they have of dropping you in the boiling pot and telling you to "make it go right," I was told to take the helm. No training, no practicing, no one behind me to give me pointers. Oh. My. God. Well, I guess it goes without saying that I made a balls-up of it. Turns out you have to be very patient when steering that much mass around the ocean. When you rotate the wheel, it takes quite a while for there to be any response. But I didn't know that. So when I didn't see any change in direction, I turned it some more. We went barreling through the Mediterranean like a giant snake -- first one way and then the other. Seems that Hubbard was trying to audit while all this was going on. He stormed up to the bridge, screaming bloody murder. He took it out on the Officer of the Deck (or Watch, or whatever), who turned to someone else, who yelled at someone else, until I felt a light tap on my shoulder and was told to get out. I waited outside for a few minutes and was told I could be a lookout. Oh sh*t. What does that mean? Look out for what? Eventually, after many tries at various aspects of seamanship, I got pretty good at it. When I was on the Avon River, which is quite a bit smaller than the RS, I had no trouble steering or looking out or even following charts. I never did learn anything about sextants and stars and so on. Oh well. I could splice heavy metal line and 3" nylon rope, I could operate a winch, I could throw a monkey's fist to the dock.
During the time I was Commodore Steward, there came to pass a particularly puzzling and unpleasant event. It was my job to serve Hubbard his meals. I didn't cook the meals, I just carried them from his galley to his table. He had his own cook, who had his own little galley, tucked away from the hustle and bustle of the ship. This cook was a truly odd duck -- maybe someone remembers his name -- he was from the Caribbean and had a heavy accent and a mean streak. On the evening in question, I picked up the commodore's dinner, took it to him and removed the plate cover. IIRC, a few people around the table appeared concerned about what was on his dinner plate. I just stepped back and kept my head down. Much later, after I had gone to bed, two thugs showed up at my cabin. It was 3 a.m. and they said someone needed to see me on the aft well deck. Any logical, thinking, sane, rational person would have said, "WTF?! It's 3 in the morning, tell 'em to come back!." But no. Not me. I went with them. As soon as we got to the well deck I knew something was very very wrong. On the harbor side of the deck were two other thugs who were opening the gate. Thugs 1 and 2 each took one of my arms and frog marched me to the gate and unceremoniously tossed me into the harbor. We were in Malta at the time, although I suspect all harbors are disgusting. Dead rats, excrement, and other garbage floated by me as I struggled to keep my head up. I swam around the ship, climbed onto the dock, asked permission to board and went back to my cabin for some much needed sleep. Was I ever told what was wrong with the dinner? Be serious. I guess mind-reading is another skill I should have had but didn't.
Lurker5
Gold Meritorious Patron
Yes, lol
Very good, Dex
Babycakes, you had me at "I offered my mother LSD"
Love, Dex
Very good, Dex
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