Houston Chronicle Sunday

‘Ruthless’ spurs rancor

There’s no quiet life for the Church of Scientolog­y leader’s 80-year-old father

- By Kim Christense­n LOS ANGELES TIMES

LOS ANGELES — After leaving the Church of Scientolog­y and its secretive internatio­nal base in the desert, Ronald Miscavige Sr. settled into small-town life in Wisconsin, his 40-year ties to the religion cut once and for all.

Or so he thought, as he spent his time hawking exercise equipment online and playing trumpet with Dixieland bands in the Milwaukee area. His suburban tranquilit­y was shattered in July 2013, when police told him that two private eyes had been watching his every move for months — and that the church, led by his son David Miscavige, was behind it.

“I don’t know if you’ve ever hit your thumb with a hammer, but when it happens you go numb: It takes a little while for the pain to set in,” the elder Miscavige said in an interview. “I thought, ‘You have got to be kidding.’ ”

Miscavige, 80, has chronicled his life before, during and after Scientolog­y in a book, “Ruthless: Scientolog­y, My Son David Miscavige and Me.” It paints an unflatteri­ng portrait of his son and the church, and it echoes the views of other disaffecte­d ex-members.

“David runs Scientolog­y with an iron fist and, to my mind, it has become a cult, pure and simple,” he writes.

Miscavige’s book includes no blockbuste­r revelation­s, but it has evoked an unusually vehement response from the church, which has mounted an aggressive­ly negative publicity campaign, including a website dedicated to discrediti­ng him.

Dozens of testimonia­ls and blog posts by Scientolog­ists praise David Miscavige and lambaste his father for everything from his musiciansh­ip to his morals. He is cast as a liar and an opportunis­t, on the website and in a church lawyer’s letter to the Los Angeles Times.

“That is a father who is a despicable human being, simply trying to make a buck off of the good name, fame and kindness of his son,” attorney Monique Yingling wrote.

Peter Schless, a longtime Scientolog­ist and composer who worked with Ron Miscavige, used some of the same language in a 12-minute video that castigated him as “vile and disgusting.”

“I know him inside out and that’s all he’s doing is he’s figured out a way to make a buck off of selling out his own family,” Schless said in the video.

Miscavige said he expected the intensely personal criticism posted on the website.

“Clearly, all it is is a character assassinat­ion of me,” he said.

Other ex-members say the website is yet another example of the church’s long-standing efforts to dissuade current and former Scientolog­ists from publicly discussing their experience­s.

Ron Miscavige has been singled out for particular­ly harsh treatment because of his relationsh­ip to David, said Mike Rinder, once a top church official and now one of its staunchest critics. He said the elder Miscavige also has been targeted by an email campaign and negative online ads.

“This is stuff that is even beyond the normal smear tactics,” Rinder said.

Church beginnings

Founded in 1954 by science-fiction writer L. Ron Hubbard, Scientol- ogy has its own “study technology,” vocabulary and long-held secret story of Xenu, a soul-stealing galactic overlord.

The church teaches that spiritual freedom — the state of “clear” — can be reached through one-on-one auditing, a form of counseling aided by a polygraph-like device called an e-meter and expensive training courses.

David Miscavige, 56, became the head of Scientolog­y after Hubbard’s death in 1986. As chairman of the board of the Religious Technology Center, he is the church’s ultimate authority and its ecclesiast­ical leader. He also is its most controvers­ial living figure.

Ex-members, including Rinder and other top officials who told their stories to the St. Petersburg Times in 2009, have accused him of physical assaults and bizarre behavior — all of which he and the church deny.

His father’s book details the family’s history, some of it fondly remembered, some of it anything but heartwarmi­ng.

David and his three siblings were introduced to Scientolog­y by their father, a musician and cookware salesman. At age 16 David left their home near Philadelph­ia to join the Sea Organizati­on, Hubbard’s religious order.

Years later, in 1985, Ron Miscavige was accused of an attempted rape. He denied the allegation and, after his son sent lawyers to defend him, the charges eventually were dismissed, according to the memoir and the church website.

Soon after, the elder Miscavige also joined the Sea Organizati­on and he and his wife divorced. He spent 27 years at the sprawling “Gold Base” near Hemet, where Golden Era Production­s makes videos, audio recordings and e-meters. Miscavige played trumpet in the Golden Era band.

He and other ex-Scientolog­ists describe long hours and low pay for “Sea Org” members there and demeaning punishment­s, including stints in “the Hole,” for those who upset David.

“It’s a dark world,” Miscavige said. “It’s a grim existence, buddy.”

Quick departure

In March 2012, Miscavige and his second wife, Becky, drove off the base while pretending to run errands, and eventually wound up in Wisconsin.

Life there was unremarkab­le until July 2013, when West Allis police arrested private investigat­or Dwayne Powell on obstructio­n and prowling charges and found firearms and a homemade silencer in his rented SUV.

For more than a year, Powell told detectives, he and his son had followed Miscavige, eavesdropp­ed on him and spied on his emails. They were paid $10,000 a week through an intermedia­ry, he told police, explaining that David Miscavige was the “main client.”

On one outing, Powell told police, he saw Ron Miscavige clutch his chest while loading his car and thought he was having a heart attack. He called his go-between for instructio­ns, and minutes later a man who identified himself as David Miscavige called back and told him that “if it was Ron’s time to die, to let him die and not intervene in any way,” a police report states.

Scientolog­y attorneys noted that they sometimes retained private investigat­ors in “matters related to litigation” and have since acknowledg­ed hiring Powell.

Church attorney Yingling said in her letter to the Times that he was hired to follow the elder Miscavige but that it was for his own well-being and “out of concern that people with hostile intentions toward Scientolog­y” would harass him.

“It would be naive to think that the father of the leader of a worldwide religion would not be at risk of harm from people inimical to Scientolog­y,” she wrote.

Hoping for reform

Ron Miscavige spent much of his summer promoting his book. He said he wrote it because his son and the church, through a form of shunning called “disconnect­ion,” had turned his family against him.

“Even if I can’t help myself,” he said, “maybe I can help hundreds of others forced to disconnect.”

In response, the church has posted a joint statement by his two adult daughters accusing him of “a pattern of physical and emotional abuse” against them and their late mother. “We know what is right and moral, and what is evil,” they wrote. “Evil is Ronald T. Miscavige. We reject him.”

Miscavige said he hopes his story will help “reform” Scientolog­y. He also hopes to someday reconcile with his son.

“I will always hold that hope in my heart,” he said. “Would I put much money on it? No.”

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