In Clearwater, Fla., Grudges Against Scientology Are Slow to Die

[New York Times 1 December 1997]

December 1, 1997

In Clearwater, Fla., Grudges Against Scientology Are Slow to Die

By DOUGLAS FRANTZ

CLEARWATER, Fla. -- In 1975, L. Ron Hubbard, the flamboyant founder of the Church of Scientology, was intent on finding a home base for his religion, which had come under criticism in several countries. The result was Operation Goldmine.

Late that year, a dummy corporation paid $2.3 million in cash to buy the Fort Harrison Hotel, a historic building that was the symbolic heart of downtown Clearwater. The buyer was identified as the United Churches of Florida, an unknown organization.

A reporter for The St. Petersburg Times discovered that the true owner was Scientology and the disclosure started a battle that echoes today in the suspicion surrounding the death of Lisa McPherson while she stayed at the Fort Harrison.

It turned out that Scientology had come to Clearwater with a written plan to take control of the city. Government and community organizations were infiltrated by Scientology members. Plans were undertaken to discredit and silence critics. A fake hit-and-run accident was staged in 1976 to try to ruin the political career of the mayor, Gabriel Cazares. A Scientologist infiltrated the local newspaper and reported on the paper's plans to her handlers.

The full scope of Scientology's deceit in Clearwater was not revealed until the late 1970s, when records seized in an FBI raid on church offices in Los Angeles were released by a federal judge.

In 1982, the City Commission held four days of televised hearings on Scientology's tactics in Clearwater and then passed an ordinance imposing stiff record-keeping and disclosure requirements on charitable and religious groups.

Scientology sued the city, and in 1993 a federal appeals court overturned the ordinance as unconstitutional. The city had passed the measure, the court said, with "an underlying objective to employ the tax laws to discriminate against Scientology, a purpose that is patently offensive to the First Amendment."

In recent years, Scientology has tried to be seen as a good citizen in this city of 100,000. The church is most visible downtown, where it has spruced up its buildings. Its security patrols have been credited by some with helping to deter street crime. Plans are under way to build a 26-story training center across from the Fort Harrison Hotel.

The church has also sponsored political forums for local candidates, and one of its members serves on the Downtown Development Board, an elected body that oversees attempts to revitalize the business center.

Yet some officials still see Scientology through the dark lens of its past deeds. Many candidates refuse to attend the church's political forums and some business people blame the church for downtown's sluggish economy.

Others argue for more pragmatism, contending that accepting the Scientologists is the only way to revive downtown.

"They are not going to go away," said Elise K. Winters, a lawyer and former chairwoman of the Downtown Development Board. "You can either treat them like a boogeyman and give downtown to them or you can treat them like any other property owner. You've got to decide if you want downtown to succeed or you want to nurse old grudges."