|«I met my first picketer. An old guy in sandals,
beard, thin... and worn was standing just under the
front awning and called out to me in a calm but
insistent voice that the place was a 'criminal cult' or
Myself generally being open... especially
with a genuine looking person, this guy was at least
70... I walked over to him and congratulated him on his
courage and told him that indeed the place was a little
dark around the edges...
He was holding a well worn wooden cross he had made
from drift wood and leather ties and took great pains to
show it to me and tell me how long he had carried it...
decades... and telling me things I've since forgotten,
Hubbard's satanic aspects...
I had to agree, I had already some insight into the
larger mess but at the time had rationalized it.
After a time I think I was retrieved by the scnists
[scientologists] and the guy run off... I waived I'm
sure and thanked him for his openness again... he left
somewhat doubtful... probably thinking I had shinned him
on... when in fact the meeting chain-reacted to shake
the criminal cult to its knees.
One man... and old man... in torn clothes and a