Scientology, abuse, and forgiveness: Val Ross on the men who did her wrong

[Valerie Ross’s story last week created such a reaction we asked her for another one, and we’re glad we did.]

When I was growing up, we used to rotate our summer vacations between Salt Lake City, where my mom’s family lived, and St. George, where my dad’s family lived. I loved my dad’s brother, Bert. We chatted all the time, or, more accurately, I prattled on and on to him and he patiently listened to me.

We had a family of semi-feral skunks who lived under our house. My dad was known as the skunk whisperer around town. He taught us how to approach skunks and pet them and not get sprayed. I kept telling Uncle Bert about our skunks and he kept asking when I was going to bring him one.

The summer I was 10, my dad and I packed up a skunk for the 550-mile trip to St. George. It didn’t spray. As a matter of fact, it had chewed its way out of its box and nested in my dad’s luggage by the time we arrived. Aunt Pat was nowhere near as thrilled as I hoped she’d be. Dad and Uncle Bert took the skunk for a walk up a canyon somewhere.

With a family reunion coming up this summer, we are making assignments for what people are to bring. The top of the list with my name is a skunk. Spoiler alert: Not bringing one.

People get known for something and that’s what they are remembered for. I noted in the comments after my first story that the things people focused on the most were the two abusing men, so I want to address that here. I am a firm believer in forgiveness and in karma.

First, my rapist. He was a charmer, and held a senior position at the Org. He targeted me because of my naivety. I was easy pickings for the same reason I was easy pickings for a body router: I didn’t know how to distrust anyone, didn’t know that you were supposed to. I was 5-10 and weighed 120 lbs soaking wet. In the intervening years, I’ve lost 3 inches in height and gained a couple (dozen) pounds.

I followed the Masterson trial intently because it was personal for me. I understood how those women kept seeing Danny, I understood how they were treated by Scientology. I felt powerless when this person forced me to go into dark closets and other vacant rooms, knew what it felt like to be told he was the good guy, that I was in the wrong.

He was a bigger-than-life person, always leaning right on the edge of crazy, and his bigger-than-life personality did not serve him well, as seems to be the case with anyone who rises to great heights in Scientology and ends up getting buried in the depths. I was told that in 1978 he jumped out of the window of the Hollywood Inn. He lived, but shortly after that, he was no longer in the Sea Org. His sister left at the same time.

To the best of my knowledge, he is still alive. His sister died in 2011, his mother and father in 2013, so there is a possibility that he has died and there is no one to write his obituary. He’s almost 80 years old. I hold no ill will towards him. I let go of my anger and resentment years ago. I do not condone his acts, nor do I think Scientology did the right thing, but I am not willing to let something that happened close to 50 years ago destroy my peace today.

Moving into Tamarind was a step up in berthing conditions. Geoffrey Lewis lived there at the time with Juliette running wild in saggy diapers, Skip Press also lived there for a time, if I remember correctly from our recent conversations,

But, that step up is not something I could conceive of living these days. I found this description of the “upgrades” we had done to our place in a letter I wrote to my mom, and, honestly, I could not conceive of living in those conditions these days.

Our apartment is starting to look better now. Art is really working with us to make it look good. The other girl who lived here was a real slob, so he’s really glad to help someone who wants to make it look good. We got new living room furniture. Then he let us paint the ugly turquoise stove, so now it’s gold, just like the refrigerator. The counter-tops were broken yellow polka-dotted Formica with green outlines, so we covered it with some pretty contact paper. Art gave us new drapes, fixed the fan in the bathroom, had some guys sew up the tears in the carpet, and caulked around the cracks at the bottom of the glass shower stall, so now it’s time for us to do something else. By the time we leave this place, they’ll probably raise the rent on us. Really though, I doubt it, because Art isn’t that way.

And Art, the landlord: He was my idea of a good guy. I baked bread once a week. Lots of bread. A dozen or so loaves. People in the complex would come by and buy it from me. Art loved my daughter. He said he was going to marry her when she turned 18. I didn’t find this creepy at the time.

My daughter subscribes to this Substack. Some of what she is reading here is news to her. I did not ever tell my children what their father did to me.

I was pregnant with a second child shortly after my daughter was born. I had gotten back from shopping with my husband’s little sister and found him in bed with a 17-year-old. His sister watched as he beat me up for the crime of walking in on them.

His sister called 911. People from the Guardian’s Office came to the hospital and checked me out of the ER. The police there just walked away when my handlers showed up. I lost that child. I had to go to ethics for that. He got off scot-free. His little sister told her then OT VII mom what she had witnessed and her mom said “well, she must have done something to deserve it.”

This is when we actually left LA. This was the trigger that got me out of the GO.

My ex was mean, with a hair trigger temper, vicious and lazy, and yet I stayed married to him for seven years. Just like being in Scientology, I was in two abusive relationships, my marriage and Scientology, and felt like I was the one who had done wrong when things went bad.

The trigger for my final beating was just before my mom died. I told him if he had any respect for me he wouldn’t go out with his mistress that night. He said “fuck you” and left. That was the final straw. I called her and told her we were still married, etc. He came home and beat me. I had already called the cops when he came to the door. They came to the house, got me to the hospital and arrested him. The police in Utah were not LA cops, I went to a safe house with my kids, I got a protective order, I had help getting out of the marriage.

He married his mistress 36 MINUTES after the judge granted our divorce. No that is not a typo.

Now, I really should hate that man. I should want all the worst for him. But, you know, life has a way of making things better. I don’t know why those two words made my
mind snap, but it’s what made me realize that my mind was being controlled by other forces and it was time to get me back.

It wasn’t an easy couple of years. My mom and dad died and I had cancer but I had my kids and the attorney who did my divorce (pro bono) had hired me too, so I had an income and insurance for my family.

I looked ahead, not behind, because I didn’t dare look behind. And karma, bless her heart, did the dirty work. My ex is two years younger than me. He has never met our daughter’s children through no fault of my own. She figured out who her dad was all on her own.

Our son pity-visits him, and he and his wife are homebound, haven’t left the house for over a year. My son takes his dad to the ER when he drinks himself into a coma because his wife is afraid to leave the house. The man has had 12 stents (how is that even possible?) and last year he had at least three strokes. He’s in his own private hell. My wish for him is that he gets all that he deserves.

It took me a lot of years to stop fearing relationships and to understand joy. I had a therapy dog for several years and after she died in 2021, I got another dog, this time, one I could heal from her traumatic first three years in a bad home.

I’m there. I’m finally to a point where I can take a dispassionate look at things that happened to me in the past and acknowledge the strength they have given me for my future.

To quote a Willie Nelson song

And I could cry for the time I’ve wasted
But that’s a waste of time and tears
And I know just what I’d change
If went back in time somehow

But there’s nothing I can do about it now
I’m forgiving everything that forgiveness will allow
And there’s nothing I can do about it now.

— Valerie Ross

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Source Code: Actual things founder L. Ron Hubbard said on this date in history

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