Swimming against Scientology’s rip current: Lessons learned the hard way

Val Ross has enlightened us with tales of her career as a Scientology spy and victim of domestic violence. We’re so glad she has another memory to share with us about her days in this controlling, absurd organization.

When I was 18 or 19, I remember going swimming at a private beach at Palos Verdes Estates, California. I was a strong swimmer because I had been swimming since I was a toddler in the private indoor Olympic sized pool that was built specifically for the “science brats” whose fathers worked at the Bluewater Anaconda Uranium plant. I swam in rivers, ponds, and oceans most of my childhood. I had zero fear of the water.

In that secluded cove, I discovered that sometimes something you don’t fear can be your greatest enemy. It’s a shame that lesson didn’t stick with me.

On that private beach, I was swimming happily in the ocean when suddenly I was sucked into a rip current. I was young, strong, swimming as hard as I could and the ocean didn’t care. I was powerless against it. None of the people I was with on the beach noticed I was in trouble it happened so fast. I was sucked under and slammed against the ocean floor. I knew I wasn’t supposed to be scared but I was terrified. I couldn’t get off the ocean floor no matter how hard I fought to come up.

I fought for a minute, then I don’t know why, but for some reason my mind went to my driving training. I remembered that if a car was skidding out of control, you took your foot off the gas and steered into the skid. I thought “well I’m going to die anyway, I may as well try it,” so I relaxed totally then slowly steered my body in the direction it was being pulled. The ocean spit me to the top and I swam to shore about the time people started to notice I was struggling. Uncle Vern was the first to ask if I was OK.

Swimming in the ocean at a private beach in Palos Verdes Estates, California and Scientology seem like odd bedfellows, but they are intricately entwined in my mind, because my Uncle Vern lived there.

Several years later, I was in Sea Org. I was at ASHO, Senior Briefing Course Supervisor, walking the floor being my chirpy Sea Org persona while struggling with being abused sexually by my senior any chance he could get me alone. This was the 70s. Everyone smoked and we had two smoke breaks per day during course.

This was my chance to talk one on one with a few of the students. It was also a good way to be in a large group and not get harassed. I was able to avoid my abuser to some degree by hanging with the students during break.

Although a large majority of them smoked, I didn’t, but I did try to blow a smoke ring once. After my first puff on a cigarette and the ensuing laughter from the entire group, I determined smoking was not ever going to happen for me.

There were vending machines in the Org too. A coffee vending machine and a cigarette one, the coffee machine spat out lukewarm swill and, if chosen, non dairy creamer and sugar. Two out of three times it managed to dispense a cup as well. Students got in the habit of carrying an empty cup in their pocket and slamming it under the spigot when the cup didn’t dispense. We weren’t allowed to accept gifts, but there was a group of five students (three girls, two guys) who would rotate days having two cups of coffee sitting with them when they got back from break. They made it clear that was my cup. I objected once and a girl laughingly responded “you’re even worse at suppressing a yawn than I am, drink it.”

Therefore, while hiding and doing my best to avoid my abuser, there were also moments of light in my day. I had been pretending nothing was wrong for about three months when it all came out to Heber and Yvonne during one of our weekly dinners. They promised to handle it.

A couple of days later, I was called into CO Irene Howey’s office after course ended for the night and told I was beached for “out-2D” (in Scientology-speak, violating rules on the Second Dynamic, or intimate personal relationships). No reasons, no explanation, not a chance to ask questions, This was my first and only ethics handling at ASHO; being thrown out on the street. I was told to come to the Hollywood Inn at 10 am and meet with Heber to collect my belongings.

Some students were still milling around on the sidewalk when I walked out and one of them offered to let me stay at her house for that night only, making it clear that I had to be out the next day or she would lose her right to be on the Briefing Course. I sneaked into her car which she drove around the side of the Org so no one saw us leaving.

After we got to her house that night, I called my mother collect and gave her the number there. Within three minutes, Uncle Vern called. He offered to pick me up right then and offered me a place to stay in his palatial home in a gated estate as long as necessary.

I told him thanks, I needed to get my stuff the next day and would let him know after I got it. The next day, I went the opposite direction, right back into the belly of the beast. When I look back at my time in Scientology and the opportunity my Uncle Vern gave me at that juncture, I sometimes can’t help but wonder how things would have turned out differently.

My uncle was a multi-faceted man and a prominent scientist. He was shot up into space on his death, and is still orbiting there. He and Aunt Glenna generously offered me a leg up when I had been unceremoniously dumped on the streets of LA. They were my only family who lived close by. Uncle Vern worked at JPL (renamed to Aerospace Corporation). He had connections. I could have gotten a decent job. Yet, not even being dumped on the streets with no money, food, or clothes was enough to make me rethink my choices. I just hadn’t gotten any better at recognizing a rip current.

Sure, I had a briefing course student who was kind enough to feed and house me overnight but that was temporary and we both knew if it was found out she had done it, she would be in big trouble. I did not know until 2012 that another of my students spent quite a bit of time trying to find me so he could offer me a place to stay. This was an unheard of kindness in Scientology circles. Even in my own mind, I understood I was a pariah.

The next morning, I woke up at 6 am and had some coffee and a real breakfast. We discussed the logistics of getting me dropped off and decided that it was best if I just went back to ASHO and walked to berthing so it didn’t look suspicious. I couldn’t get there that early because staff would be there and she couldn’t be seen dropping me off.

So I rode to ASHO and she handed me $50 and a handful of dimes for pay phones as I got out of the car. I slunk away, taking back streets to avoid being seen by anyone who might recognize me. I had an hour and 45 minutes of walking from ASHO to the Hollywood Inn in yesterday’s clothes to contemplate just what I was going to do and came to the conclusion that I had truly and thoroughly failed in life. I saw going to stay with Uncle Vern as a surrender, not a lifeline. I couldn’t figure out a way to avoid the inevitable. I was going to have to do that.

Imagine my surprise and, at the time, utter joy, when I showed up at the Hollywood Inn to collect my meager belongings at the appointed hour of 10:00 am and Heber told me the secret that I wasn’t really in trouble, even though I couldn’t share that secret, I was just going to be a Scientology spy. Damn undertow.

Just for the record, when I called Uncle Vern to let him know I wouldn’t be staying with him, he sounded disappointed, but was gracious. He and Aunt Glenna even attended my wedding with my parents when I married Mark.

— Valerie Ross

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