TIME PASSED SLOWLY ON THE RANCH. GRADUALLY, 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.
Aunt Shelly had really taken a liking to me, and I liked her, too. When we would talk during the meals or out by the pool during the festivities, she would always ask me how I was doing. She taught me about nutrition, something she was very much into, which helped me at my post as MLO. She was a no-nonsense type of person, but was also caring and loving and had a good sense of humor.
When I was working in the galley with Tammy, I got to watch the rehearsals of the Sea Org’s Honor Guard. The members dressed in full white uniforms, similar to those of the U.S. Navy. The uniforms included a hat, gloves, a lanyard, campaign bars, and rank. They marched in time to music coming from the sound system, twirled batons, and did choreographed steps. Some of them carried flags with the Sea Org or Scientology symbols on them. Others stood in two rows and crossed their swords, forming an archway for the senior executives to pass under. It was really cool to watch. Professional and inspiring, the performance never failed to excite me about becoming a member of the Sea Org.
The day following the Sea Org Day ceremony was a day off, filled with fun activities. The base had a full-sized clipper ship built into the ground. The ship, the Star of California, had a pool, palapas (tiki huts), changing rooms, and a smoothie bar. This pool was actually for my uncle Dave’s use, but on Sea Org Day, he opened it to everyone for swimming competitions and other activities.
It was a great time. Besides the races in the pool, there were soccer matches, basketball games, free swim in the lake, and a picnic with hamburgers and hot dogs. The base had plenty of fields and courts for all the sports, but Sea Org Day was the only time they were used.
In the evening, everyone would return to his berthing to get dressed up. Then we’d come back into the base for a long, delicious dinner. I would always sit with Dad at his table; if Mom was there, she’d join us. At my parents’ urging, I’d chat with Uncle Dave and Aunt Shelly at their table for twenty minutes or so while they asked me questions about my studies and told me jokes. I was happy that Aunt Shelly took such an interest in me. With my mother gone so much of the time, it felt reassuring to have an older female relative who gave me sincere attention.
CHRISTMAS WAS ANOTHER TIME I LOOKED FORWARD TO, BECAUSE we would get two or three days off and my mother would be able to leave Clearwater to be with us. My family did not celebrate Christmas as a religious holiday. It would start with the kids going to the Int Base for the Sea Org’s traditional Beer & Cheese Party. The kids, of course, weren’t allowed to drink beer. In fact, the adults in Sea Org never drank, except at this party. Beer was alcohol, which affected the mind, which would then have to be dealt with in the future by using Scientology. In addition, you could not attend Scientology studies for at least twenty-four hours after alcohol consumption, so it was definitely not condoned.
Even at the Beer & Cheese Party, most of the adults would drink non-alcoholic beer. Uncle Dave liked to point out the people who were drinking real alcohol and getting drunk. One time, he signaled to someone who looked a little red in the face and brought him to the table, where Mom, Dad, and a few other execs were sitting.
“Russ!” he said in his normal booming voice.
“Yes, sir?” I could see the color leaving Russ’s face.
“What are you drinking?”
“Irish Cream, sir,” Russ answered, looking a little sheepish.
“Ah-hah,” my uncle replied, before instructing Russ to keep walking, as though he had no idea why Russ had stopped at our table in the first place. “Well, I really missed his ‘withhold’!” Uncle Dave then exclaimed, and the adults agreed in unison. I could tell it was a demonstration of power.
“How many people do you think are actually completely shit-faced right now?” Uncle Dave asked. Then he remembered that I was at the table. “Oh, sorry, Jenny,” he said, turning to me with a huge smile. He usually called me “Jenny” instead of Jenna; it was more familiar and what my brother called me as well. “I shouldn’t say that bad word,” he said apologetically.
“Do I owe you a quarter for cussing?” he asked. I told him he didn’t. We swore like sailors at the Ranch. Most Sea Org members did. But I wondered about this bad word.
“What is shit-faced?” I asked, and everybody laughed, except for Aunt Shelly, who took me aside and explained that alcohol was bad and that sometimes it could make you drunk.
The day after the Beer & Cheese Party, the crew at the Int Base would have the day off. Almost everybody used the day to take their family to Big Bear ski resort, which was in California, about an hour and a half from the base. Most people took buses hired for the trip, but we would drive up separately because my dad had a car. Not many crew members had cars. My dad had his BMW and Uncle Dave had a Mazda RX7. I had no idea why people were really impressed with that, but they were. My dad loved his red BMW to the point that, at times, I thought he loved it more than he did me. Once, I even asked him if that was true, and he seemed quite offended by the question and assured me that was not the case.
At Big Bear, our family would often spend the night at a place much nicer than where the rest of the staff was staying. Once when I was nine, we stayed at a huge house in Arrowhead with a ton of rooms, a loft, and an indoor Jacuzzi. The kids got to sleep in the loft. Lots of my Scientology relatives on my dad’s side were there: Uncle Dave and Aunt Shelly; my dad’s father, Grandpa Ron, and his wife, Becky; my parents; and a man I called Uncle Bill. He was not really my uncle, but he and my dad had been good friends since I had been little, so I called him Uncle Bill. The house belonged to a Scientologist named Paul Haggis, who was a Hollywood screenwriter and director; Uncle Bill was a friend of his, so he had gotten permission for all of us to use his house.
Christmas was unlike just about any other time in the Church. We all sat by the fire to open our presents. I got slippers, jammies, and an album from my mom and dad. My grandmother in New Hampshire sent me a bead and loom kit. It was awesome, because I didn’t really have any toys at the Ranch besides the stuffed animals on my bed. Uncle Dave and Aunt Shelly got me a porcelain Tiffany’s box, blue with a white porcelain bow. I wasn’t sure of its function, but it was very pretty.
At the end of the second day at Big Bear, we returned to the base for a big Christmas dinner and show. We sang Christmas carols, did a play, or made other entertainment, having rehearsed our numbers at the Ranch for weeks before Christmas. Even though all of the older kids acted as though they were painfully embarrassed, I loved performing, and it made me adore Christmas all the more. After the show, the crew would have a dance party. Sometimes, Aunt Shelly and Uncle Dave would sit on the side to watch people.
Aunt Shelly would frequently talk to me, whether she was touting the benefits of carrot juice or telling me that popcorn and peanuts were the worst things you could eat. She would ask about my schooling and tell me that I needed to clear my misunderstood words, because that would help me finish my courses sooner. She was interested in my school progress. More than most people were.
Sometimes, during the Christmas dance, we’d go into Uncle Dave’s billiards room, which had a pool table and all sorts of other games. There was a leather couch, comfy chairs, and a phone that looked like a mallard duck, which I always wanted to play with. The bar in the room was usually teeming with stewards attending to all of the execs’ needs. The execs were always talking, but I had no idea about what. I was just happy to be with my parents and everyone else.
Everyone at the base treated me well. When I wandered through the dance hall, people I knew grabbed my arm to say hi and give me a hug. Everywhere I looked, people were friendly and inviting—so different from the Ranch. I couldn’t wait to finish the Ranch and work at Int, where everybody liked me. My friend Jamie had warned me that people were only kissing my butt because I was David Miscavige’s niece, but I was sure he was wrong. I knew them all and believed they were my friends.
When the dance ended, the family would go to our parents’ apartment. Mom and Dad would tell me that it was really important to write thank-you notes to the people who had sent me gifts, but I knew they were referring specifically to my uncle Dave. Judging from how everyone treated them, I knew Uncle Dave and Aunt Shelly were important. There were always stewards around, bringing them food and attending to their needs. The stewards attended to my parents’ needs, too. Even Mom and Dad always seemed to be more on their toes and agreeable to Uncle Dave.
The next day, all the kids would return to the Ranch and resume our normal schedule. Returning after Christmas was hard for lots of reasons, but especially because I knew that I likely wouldn’t see my parents together for a while.
One thing that got me through this tough time of year was the thought of my birthday, February 1. Unless it fell on a Sunday, my parents would not be there, but still I would celebrate it at the Ranch with my friends. It didn’t consist of anything more than a birthday cake, which we would have at dinner, and everyone would sing “Happy Birthday.” My dad and my mom, if she was in town, would usually get me another cake on Sunday morning. They’d get me presents, too.
I missed my mother most on days like my birthday. Just before my tenth birthday, I got a wonderful surprise. My mother called the Ranch with news that I would be spending it with her in Clearwater, Florida. Getting phone calls at the Ranch was a big deal, because there was only one phone that was open to use, and tracking people down to let them know they had a call could be difficult. Then, by the time you’d finally get on the phone, it was often hard to talk because another person—usually an adult—would want to use it. So, whether I was receiving or making a call, it meant that every time I talked to my mother, which was once a week at most, I had to keep it short, unless I spoke to her on Sunday mornings in my dad’s apartment.
Thankfully, this time Mom’s news was short and wonderful. I couldn’t wait. Clearwater was where my brothers had been born, and I would be able to meet my mom’s friends and see the things she always wrote to me about.
It almost seemed too good to be true. Getting to visit her was the best present I could have hoped for. I was going to get to see her not just for one or two days, but for days on end. I was brimming with excitement just at the thought of it.