Scientology’s founder in King Arthur’s Court: When Ron ran for the hills!

In Chapter 20 of his epic biography of L. Ron Hubbard, Bare-Faced Messiah, author Russell Miller tells us that after running Scientology from a ship for eight years, Hubbard was more than ready to move back ashore.

So in August 1975, under a fake name — Southern Land Sales and Development Corporation — the Neptune Motel in Daytona Beach was rented for three months at $50,000 for the crew. Hubbard stayed in another beachfront hotel nearby, and his location was supposed to be kept a secret.

But Daytona Beach was only temporary. A more permanent location was found in a town on the gulf side of Florida named Clearwater.

Southern Land purchased the iconic Fort Harrison Hotel and the Clearwater Bank building, and then announced that it had leased them to something called the “United Churches of Florida,” hoping to keep the secret that it was actually the Church of Scientology that was moving in as long as possible.

Meanwhile, as the Fort Harrison was being prepared for Scientology’s move-in, Hubbard rented four apartments in a condo complex called King Arthur’s Court in Dunedin, which was about five miles north.

Hubbard and Mary Sue, accompanied by a discreet entourage of messengers and aides, moved in on 5 December 1975. That location, too, was supposed to remain a closely-guarded secret.

Miller explains that there was a good reason Hubbard wanted to stay out of public view. The Snow White Program was in full swing at that point, and Hubbard knew that he could go to prison if its various operations became known.

By the beginning of 1975, the Guardian’s Office had infiltrated agents into the Internal Revenue Service, the US Coast Guard and the Drug Enforcement Agency. By May, Gerald Wolfe, a Scientologist working at the IRS in Washington as a clerk-typist, had stolen more than thirty thousand pages of documents relating to the Church of Scientology and the Hubbards.

But in Dunedin, hidden at King Arthur’s Court, Hubbard was confident, Miller writes, that the Guardian’s Office would keep him safe as he posed as a local photographer in Clearwater.

“My portrait of the mayor will hang in city hall never fear.” Hubbard boasted in a letter to Henning Heldt.

Miller describes how Hubbard did end up taking part in the ploy by “United Churches,” directing the taping of a radio show featuring local clergy.

But by January 1976, Clearwater Mayor Gabe Cazares and local reporters were close to the truth that United Churches was really Scientology. So on January 28, Scientology made the announcement itself.

Hubbard’s secret, that he was ensconced in Dunedin at King Arthur’s Court, was still safe, at least for the moment.

But then, it was Hubbard himself who blew his own cover.

Hubbard thought it was unlikely that his own security in King Arthur’s Court had been compromised, since his location was known to so few people and all of them were well-trained and fanatically loyal. But there was a kind of perfidious inevitability that he would eventually be wrong-footed, as had happened so often in his singular career. This time it was no one’s fault but his own. He decided he needed a new wardrobe for his new life on shore. His usual habit was to order what he wanted from a tailor in Savile Row, via his secretary at Saint Hill Manor, but on this occasion he was impatient and decided to call in a local tailor from Tarpon Springs, the next town up Route 19A, north of Dunedin. The tailor turned out to be a science-fiction fan and while he was measuring his new client they got talking about science fiction. Hubbard let slip his identity and the tailor was delighted to be able to shake the hand of the great L. Ron Hubbard, whose sci-fi stories he had for so long admired. Back in Tarpon Springs, he told his wife, ‘You’ll never guess who I was just measuring for a suit . . .’ News travelled fast thereabouts and it was not long before a reporter began knocking on the doors of King Arthur’s Court in Dunedin.

Hubbard bolted. ‘We’re leaving right now,’ he shouted at Kima Douglas, then head of the household unit. ‘What do you want to take with you?’ Kima, who was accustomed to handling crises, suggested her husband, Mike. Hubbard agreed he could be their driver. ‘He was more agitated than I had seen him for years,’ Kima recalled. ‘We did not have time to do anything but pack a small bag.’ Hubbard had five suitcases already stowed in the trunk of his gold Cadillac and they swept out of King Arthur’s Court as the sun was setting in the gulf. With Mike Douglas at the wheel, Kima on the front seat beside him and Hubbard cowering in the back to avoid being seen, they headed across the Florida panhandle on Route 4 in the direction of Orlando.

Ah yes, it’s one of our favorite little anecdotes about the Great Thetan from Russell’s wonderful book, and now we have an added bonus that came to us from sources that have direct knowledge of these events.

And so, behold: The very condos at King Arthur’s Court in Dunedin where Hubbard and Mary Sue were living in 1976 when Hubbard blurted out his identity to a local tailor…

It’s always fun to put a visual together with a good tale, isn’t it?

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Chris Shelton is going Straight Up and Vertical

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

Avast, Ye Mateys: Snapshots from Scientology’s years at sea

Overheard in the Freezone: Indie Hubbardism, one thought at a time

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