A Story of Scientology and the
Mental Health System Connection

GILDED CAGE

Unlike the pampered, well heeled clients of my "faith", I didn't enter the Fort Harrison Hotel via the opulent main entrance. I made my appearance through the back. The garage entrance was less than hospitable. And, I noticed, there seemed to be people *living in the cold, drafty motor housing! When I asked about this strange berthing, Noah was much less than forthcoming. "RPF", he mumbled. Well. What's an RPF when it's at home? Then I saw a few of the denizens of said "RPF". I knew very little about it. Only that it was punishment. For people were "out-ethics". WOW. The RPF "sleeping quarters" had bunks three high, and was protected only marginally from the winds that swept through that garage.

There was an RPF person who was coming through the breezeway as I entered. He stepped aside very deferentialy, and said, "Excuse me, Sirs!" to Noah and I. WOW. I'd never had THAT kind of treatment in my life! I guess I was someone important! This bubble was burst immediately. I met the I/C of the FRU.

She was not in a good mood, as I recall. But, then, who ever really was in this Organization? She DID TRY to be nice. Greeted me clammily, and put on a spurious smile. She recognized I needed sleep, at least. Upon walking through the building, the rooms got more and more posh. I was to get to my berthing through the hotel lobby, apparently. It was grand! But in a sort of an outdated way. I really don't remember much else. Except for the conditions in my sleeping quarters. Only marginally better than the RPF! bunks three high! Junk everywhere (some of the new recruits had yet to figure out that they should cull their possessions to a minimum). Guess who was designated the top bunk? You got it. And moi was not a happy camper! As I climbed the rickety ladder to the top bunk I remember thinking, "How much lower can a person go?"

*I WAS, EVENTUALLY, TO FIND OUT.