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A Thumb Nail Sketch of L Ron Hubbard

Discussion in 'General Scientology Discussion' started by lkwdblds, Jul 26, 2010.

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  1. afaceinthecrowd

    afaceinthecrowd Gold Meritorious Patron

    Thanks, MAB. I'll do it. In the meantime I'll dig up a copy of the script.:yes:

  2. lkwdblds

    lkwdblds Crusader

    Travolta's too old and Giovanni Ribisi to small- What to do?

    Travolta would have been perfect in his youth but now he is too old. Geoffry Lewis would have been great but also too old. Giovanni Ribisi is a good actor but is too small. Of course, silly me, we don't need a Scio actor, just a fine actor.
  3. Leon

    Leon Gold Meritorious Patron

    All a bit odd. There are two South African songs here - the first is given here as something like "I'm with you and you're with me. . . . " which is a poor translation of a very idiomatic Afrikaans song. The second is one composed by some unknown British soldier during the Anglo-Boer War when they were marching to Pretoria.

    From the accents one can hear that it is not being sung by South Africans but by some sort of foreigner. Sound like Germans singing in English Gawd help us.

    However, the first idomatic one, translated, would be something like "Your blanket and my mattress and there's the result . ." , which is to say, a baby. A lovely song really. In South Africa the two are usually sung together, the first in Afrikaans and the second in English.
    Last edited: Aug 20, 2010
  4. lkwdblds

    lkwdblds Crusader

    I remember Germans singing in English in the movie Das Boot about the exploits of a German U Boat during WWII. One day when the crew was in good spirits they sang, "Its a Long Way to Tipparery"

    Eat your heart out, A German U Boot crew singing in English.
  5. Mark A. Baker

    Mark A. Baker Sponsor

    That might be a little tricky. It's actually a middle "dream sequence" in a MUCH longer work "Man and Superman".

    The whole work is a satire on "The Life Force". GBS claimed Mozart's Don Juan was a principle motivation for his ideas. He includes stage directions with musical references from the opera. Of course Shaw's infamous reversal of ideas about common morality is very much at the heart of things. He has as his principle character an english gentleman by name of "John Tanner", a nod to Don Juan Tenorio. :coolwink:

    The dream sequence is commonly staged either as an independent play itself or as a staged reading. As such it is styled "Don Juan in Hell". It is a complete (and damn near perfect) work whole in itself. It is a feast of Shavian wit & satire at his finest. :thumbsup:

    There have been some wonderful recordings of the play as a "radio play". Additionally actor's workshops & small theater groups love to do it. It only requires 4 actors and each has a very juicy part. :omg:

    Besides, whereas reading Shaw is a pleasure. Hearing Shaw spoken is a delight. :clap:

    Mark A. Baker
  6. afaceinthecrowd

    afaceinthecrowd Gold Meritorious Patron

    Thank you, MAB.

    Very well said. indeed.:yes:

    Last edited: Sep 2, 2010
  7. afaceinthecrowd

    afaceinthecrowd Gold Meritorious Patron

    What I bought into and Why, Part 6

    I have also posted this on the "Apollo '73" thread, where there appears still some interest in what I have to say via my plodding process. Although it appears that this thread "LRH Thumbnail Sketch" has gone dead, I’m posting this here as I set out on this task due to dialogue here with Fisherman that stimulated me to tell this story to provide “context” as to “What I bought into and Why” re: Scn and my numerous posts on ESMB about my personal interaction with El Ron and Mary Sue on the Apollo and afterwards.

    “Know this: that whatever situation you find yourself in, it is what is necessary for your development.” Edgar Cayce

    “Truly, no thing in this world has kept my thoughts thus busy, as this my very own self, this mystery of me being alive, of me being one and being separated and isolated from all others, of me being Siddhartha! And there is no thing in this world I know less about than about me, about Siddhartha!” Hermann Hesse, “Siddhartha”

    The vertigo went on for weeks and weeks, the ear ringing for months and months, the headaches for nearly a year. For months I had trouble concentrating, felt “detached” and disinterested in my life and life in general. It was two weeks before I was allowed to return to school and nearly 6 weeks before the Doctors said I could return to work. In early December the Doctors told me that, as far as they were concerned, my football "ticket" had been punched and was no longer was over. They thought although my symptoms were improving and would eventually subside, that the risk of permanent damage was high if I had another concussion, due to the fact that this was my 3rd concussion since I was 5 year old and this one was bad, real bad.

    During this time, for reasons that are still inexplicable to me, I was taken effortlessly to intense interest in the world of Spiritualism and “Other Realities”. I began reading Edgar Cayce, Ernest Holmes, Buddhism, etc from what small selection there was in my “Tabernacle”, the local library. When I returned to school things were different—I was different. I was not interested in my classes, social scene or much of anything. In that first semester of my Senior year I went from my customary A’s and B’s to one “A” and the rest B’s and C’s. Outwardly, I "kept my chin up”; inwardly I was drifting, detached.

    My Mother’s life was consumed with her budding “Church” and her reaction to my injury was that it “served my right”; that God was punishing my for my having “spurned” Jesus; that she hoped that I had “learned my lesson”.

    My Father and Stepmother wanted me to spend part of the Christmas Break with them and I agreed to go there for a week. They (she) had a large, beautiful home in the hills overlooking the valley and town below. To me, it was a mansion (probably at least 6,000 sq ft), swimming pool, color TV’s, Stereo, expensive furniture, 4 car garage with two Cadillac’s and my Father’s new Bronco, the works. There was a cottage on the property (larger than the house I had grown up in, until my Mother added on) where an older couple lived that were the caretakers of the estate (maid, cook, gardener, maintenance, etc.) and they were very nice folks that I actually spent nearly as much with as my Father and Stepmother during that week.

    My Stepmother had one child, a married daughter that was in Grad School at an Ivy League University. She also had 2 brothers that were married with families and lived in a small city about 100 miles away. Everyone was going to be there for Christmas so that I could meet my new “family”. My Sister had opted to spend Christmas with her boyfriend and our Mother and would spend the second week of Break with them. So, I was on my own with our new Stepsister, Aunts, Uncles and 5 step cousins, the oldest of which was 5 years younger than I.

    I had never seen a house so resplendent for Christmas. Everything was beyond beyond. There were nearly more gifts under the tree for me than I had received at all my previous Christmases. I had been in a few fine homes of friends but this place was wealth and extravagance on display and I felt out of place and uncomfortable and, for some reason, embarrassed. Every meal was of the finest foods and preparation, served to a huge formal table with china, silver, linen and crystal. At every meal, as my Father sat at the head of the table, I thought how out of place he was…my Stepmother was the one that should be sitting there. Everywhere in masse, just for the taking whenever one pleased, were the things I had been raised without—chips, pastries, soft drinks, candies and snack goodies of all kinds and sorts. My bedroom was huge with a door opening onto the veranda, a color TV, fancy AM/FM radio, big closet and its’ own full bathroom. It took me days to get use to the softened water and learn how not to use so much soap that it took forever to rinse off. It all made me feel like Mark Twains’ character Tom Canty (the pauper in, “The Prince and the Pauper); this was not where I belonged.

    Over that week I gradually sensed a “theme” developing that was to become fully manifest on my last day there. My Father had spent much of his time during the days leading up to Christmas busy with the business of setting up his new operation that my Stepmother’s money was bankrolling for him. I spent time with my Stepmother, helping the caretaker and, once my new “Uncles” arrived, going on some outings with them. They were nice fellows and sportsmen so we had something in common, however, they were also “Born Again’s” and true to all that ilk, must “Witness” at every opportunity and, if there is no apparent opportunity, they must invent one. The conversations also were increasingly coming around to, “How much your Dad loves you,” and “your Dad really wants you to come and live with him,” and how my Mother was responsible for the divorce and how much she had mistreated my Father and was mistreating me. During the time I spent with my Stepmother it was the same litany and it became obvious to me I was being “worked” and “tooled” in a team effort. I decided to remain demure, let all this pass and return to my “world” when the week was over. But, alas, old habits are hard to break and on my last day there my Father pushed on me until I pushed back.

    After lunch my Father and Stepmother “laid their cards on the table”. They thought I was a very bright young man with tremendous potential but I had been “twisted and duped” by my mother; that they would pay for all of my college and provide a wonderful home for me and a ”true” Christian family to be part of ; that all I had to do to get these “goodies” was to agree to cooperate with my Father’s attorney to go to court and amend the “Final Decree” for my Father to have custody of me and remove the “Child Support Order”; move in with them and go to the small State University near where they lived for two years and then, if I wanted to, go to a “Big Name” school after that; that they’d bankroll everything, including a new car. I was so unnerved by the callousness of their “offer” that my mind shut down, the pit of my stomach churned and all I could say was, “I’ll think about it…I need to get going.”

    As I packed my car with all the expensive gifts—boots, watch, sport coat, on and on—my mind came back on-line and I thought about my two older Brothers and Sister. My oldest Brother was married, had 2 children, was working 2 jobs and going part-time to finish college. My other Brother was married, had 1 child, was working full time and going part time to Grad school. My Sister was living at home with my Mother, working part time and going to college. All of them were bright, all of them were good, decent, hardworking, determined people with great potential. The more I thought about them, the pissed and more pissed I got. When I went in to say goodbye, my Father and Stepmother were “stewing”, still “on point”. Obviously my response had been unacceptable.

    My Father started in sternly and reproaching, as was his way, that I was not “thinking straight”, that my mind had been “twisted” by my Mother and that they knew what was best for me. I responded that maybe so, maybe I wasn’t “thinking straight” but that until my Brothers and Sister were offered assistance—with no strings attached—I wouldn’t consider discussing any of this further. He Laughed at me and chided that that was none of my business and I was too young and confused to understand what was going on.

    I thanked them for the wonderful hospitality and gifts, told my Father I loved him, went to hug him and he flinched, arms frozen to his side. I walked out of that house and it would be 12 years—at the funeral for my oldest Brother's son—before I spoke to or saw my Father again.

    One year later, almost to the day, I would take my first step on “The Bridge to Total Freedom”.


    PS: My Brothers and Sister are as fine of folks as have ever drawn breath and have lead exemplary lives of accomplishment, humanity and humility with earned and deserved respect. I am so proud of them, so honored to be their “Baby Brother”. We all share a bond that is singular, unique, deep and eternal.
    Last edited: Sep 2, 2010
  8. EP - Ethics Particle

    EP - Ethics Particle Gold Meritorious Patron


    That shines, Face! :yes::thumbsup::hug:

    The C/S and I are both "only children"! :bigcry:

    And having no siblings - you lot will have to do! :wink2::happydance:


  9. lkwdblds

    lkwdblds Crusader

    Nice piece of writing Face and a very interesting story

    A very interesting story, Face, and a nice piece of writing as well.
  10. afaceinthecrowd

    afaceinthecrowd Gold Meritorious Patron

    Thanks EP.:yes:

    Sibs are a roll of the dice…I was fortunate to have 3 wonderful sibs that watched out for me, loved me unconditionally…and whupped my ass and called me on my BS.:touched::blush:...:smack::stickpoke:

    You could do a lot worse than having the lot of us…and we’re better for havin’ you around the place, Bro.:coolwink:...:happydance:


  11. afaceinthecrowd

    afaceinthecrowd Gold Meritorious Patron

    Thanks Lakey…I appreciate that very much.:yes:

  12. afaceinthecrowd

    afaceinthecrowd Gold Meritorious Patron

    What I bought into and Why, Part 7

    Although it appears that I have succeeded in killining this thread I am posting this here to continue on where I started this task. I have also posted this on the "Apollo 73" thread where there appears to still be some interest in my story. I apologize in advance for the length of this post...I just could say what I'm wantin' to say in fewer words. Face:)

    “I believe much trouble and blood would be saved if we opened our hearts more. It does not require many words to speak the truth. We do not want churches because they will teach us to quarrel about God, as the Catholics and Protestants do. We do not want that. We may quarrel with men about things on earth, but we never quarrel about the Great Spirit. The white man has more words to tell you how they look to Him, but it does not require many words to seek the truth. I am not a child, I think for myself. No man can think for me. It does not require many words to speak the truth.” Thunder Rolling in the Mountains (Chief Joseph the Younger) Wallowa Band, Nez Perce Tribe

    "Religions are different roads converging on the same point. What does it matter that we take different roads so long as we reach the same goal? I believe that all religions of the world are true more or less. I say 'more or less' because I believe that everything the human hand touches, by reason of the very fact that human beings are imperfect, becomes imperfect. I may be a despicable person, but when Truth speaks through me I am invincible. What is Truth? A difficult question; but I have solved it for myself by saying that it is what the 'voice within' tells you." Mahatma Gandhi

    My Sister’s visit with my Father and Stepmother didn’t turn out well. She apparently didn’t get an “offer” like I had but, since she was a few weeks away from being age 21. I supposed that was because there wasn’t as much “skin in the game” for the happy newlyweds. After her week at the mansion she just got fed up with all the vitriol. It would be 20 years later before I told my Brothers and Sister about my “offer”…I just didn’t want to add to their hurting at that time. My revelation to them then stimulated a deeper conversation, with revelations that were most therapeutic to us all. My parents spent the rest of their lives hating, blaming and vilifying each other at every opportunity they could manufacture.

    During the last semester of my Senior year I continued to “drift”—inwardly detached, outwardly putting up a good “front”. I was selected to be the town’s Honorary Mayor for “Young Leaders Week”, was the Homecoming Queen’s date for the Prom, made it to the State Forensics Tournament Finals (3rd Place, All Around) and was voted “Best All Around” of my Senior Class. As usual, my parents were unable to attend. I finished my last semester with 2 A’s, 2 B’s, 2 C’s and a D+ that actually turned out helping me more than an “A”.

    Just after Christmas Break I started receiving letters from Colleges, including the five schools that had scouts at the “Big Game”. All 5 were interested in considering me as a Scholarship prospect but they needed a clean “Bill of Health” before proceeding with applications and consideration. I told Coach about the letters and what the Doctors had told me just before Christmas and he choked up. “You’re a winner, son,” he said, “I know it’s hard to see this now but sometimes things work out for the best and we just don’t know it at time. I’m real proud of you, Face, and I know you are gonna do great things with your life. There’s not an ounce of ‘quit’ in you, son. Anything I can ever do for you, you just let me know…you hear me?”

    I never answered any of the letters. At the time, I wasn’t sure whether or not Coach was right about “not an ounce of quit”. I hadn’t consciously “quit” but I was unsure, uncertain as to where I was going, what I was doing, what I wanted, what was my next step. Yes, I was going to go to college, one way or another but the “Jock”, “Student/Athlete” identity, and all the accoutrements thereto had become so comfortable, so “step by step” that I was ill prepared to formulate a plan or consider a design for my life other than, “Be determined, stay determined, always give your best, never quit, consistently perform and ‘it’ will all ‘magically’ happen.”

    I briefly considered joining the Air Force, doing my four years and then going to college on the GI Bill but decided I really wanted to have the taste of “Freedom” at this point in my life, which shortly proved to be a moot point anyway. When I turned 18 my local draft board classified me as 4F due to “Post Concussive Syndrome”.

    During one of my library sojourns I checked out the “Journals of Lewis and Clark” and that led to a sidebar study of the Nez Perce Tribe and to the life, words and thoughts of Chief's Joseph the Elder and Younger, and Smohalla and the “Dreamers” . For some reason, I was profoundly moved by the story of the Nez Perce, the Joseph’s, Smohalla and the Dreamers and when I had finished reading everything in the library about them I was, oddly, taken by an urge to read everything about Gandhi. Gandhi and Chief Joseph, the Younger “fit” together like hand and glove and their stories and words spoke to me, disturbed me. “Where is all ‘This’ going?” “Where am I going and why?” On and on and on.

    As the School Year drew to a close I became more and more confused, drifting. More than ever I felt as though I was living in different realities. One was the reality of school, work, friends and the trappings of physical existence. Another was the growing reality of thought, meaning, spirit and finding the “Truth”; my “truth”. And then there was the reality that I was on my own and somehow out of place.

    On the physical plane I was a young adult and “going places”, somewhat accomplished and certainly “on my way” in the world. On the thought plane I was an infant and needy, uncertain, clumsy and driven more by instinct than understanding. On the personal plane I was deeply lonesome, unsettled and apprehensive. Up until this point in my life I had shared very little with anyone about my “secret self and ‘world’”. I tried talking lightly about some of what was going on with me to a few selected friends and they got a little “spooked”. I tried talking to a few trusted adults and they diffidently brushed off my entreaties as a “phase” most youths pass through. Seeking counseling was a non-starter for me as I had already concluded that if anyone, or any subject, knew what “This” was all about, the World and Civilization would not be in the situation it was in.

    By Graduation time I had formed a loose, general and near formless plan. I was going to work two jobs for 3 or 4 months, save up some money, then “take off” and “Walk the Earth” for 5 or 6 months, see some of the places I had read about and then figure out my college and future. My Mother became very concerned that I was going to move out and exercise my right to have the child support due until I was 21 sent directly to me. She insisted was rightfully her money “to provide a home” for me. I told her, "I really don't care about the money and whose it 'fairly' is, I am 18, I am about to graduate and I am going to make my own way in the World." I honestly didn’t want any of my parents precious money anyway…to me it was “stained” and “booby trapped” and I was, albeit blindly and naively, searching for “meaning, freedom and truth”. My “plan” began to evaporate at my Graduation as another “Ms. Angel” stepped forward in my life.

    My Father had 3 sisters. 2 of them lived in our part of the state and were nearly as flaky and “Born Again” as he. His third sister was married to a Dentist and lived several states away—nearly 1,000 miles—in the suburbs of a very large city. My Aunt was so sweet, very kind and full of life and her husband was a very cool guy. Although we had not spent much time together over the years, she had always really liked me and treated me with great kindness and interest. Although my Aunt and Uncle attended church regularly they were of a very liberal denomination and “laid back” about their faith—so much so that my parents really didn’t consider them to actually be “real Christians”. My Aunt and Uncle came to visit my Father, meet their new Sister-in-Law and attend my Graduation. I was so thrilled to have them there and during their visit my Aunt, as was her way, engaged me in attentive, sincere and open conversations about my plans, my hopes, my dreams and my life.

    During one of our conversations my Aunt asked me what my GPA was (darn good) and what my SAT was (very darn good). “Well Face,” She said, “have you considered ‘Ivy Halls University'? I think it might, just might, be the right place for you.” (This is a “plug” name in deference to my wish for anonymity). Ivy Halls was where my Aunt and Uncle had met, where their oldest son had gone on a Football Scholarship and was now in the PhD program at a top tier University. It was a very fine private University, founded over 80 years ago (at that time) by their denomination. Over the years it had become more secular and most of the students were not of the denomination or “Christians”. It was also very expensive but when I told her that I couldn’t afford it, she said that if Ivy Halls wanted me, which she felt they would, the school would find a way for me to go there.

    In a few months I would be living in the middle of more humanity, asphalt and noise than I ever imagined and, as I would soon learn, 30 minutes away from an “Org”.