SnowWhite and the Seventh Dwarf--My Story


Patron with Honors
In order for you to understand my viewpoint and philosophy on life and Scientology, it is necessary for you to understand some of my background; who I am and how I evolved as a person. I’ll do the best I can to keep it relevant to the subject matter and not bore you. It’ll be pretty easy for the boys in the hobnail boots to peg me when I’m finished with this as I have some unique experiences but I don’t care. Many of the stories on this board have helped me and I’d like it if I can be of service to others with mine.
Besides, my confessional folders are confidential…aren’t they? :unsure:

My father was born in 1894.
He told me once when I was around 14 about all the changes he had seen in his life, that he and his family used to run outside the house to see an automobile and that he had lived to see a man on the moon. He assured me that I too would see some fantastic things in my life.
He was right about that.
I was the last of fourteen kids—he started with his first son at 18 and ended with me at 57 while married to his second wife, my mother. He was a successful man; a grade school drop out immigrant who was an aggressive hardworking businessman who did well for himself. In his own way, he was a very decent man. I wish I’d gotten to know him better but life was not to give us that nor was it ever a part of father who believed in “keeping a stiff upper lip”. I never resented that or felt bad towards him. What I knew of him I loved and respected and like any child, I wanted to please a man who I thought was worthy of my admiration.
Life got bumpy right out of the bucking chute—my parents got a divorce while I was a baby. She sick with MS (no, I never ran into a prenatal dealing with being in her while she was stricken with MS—a not ising file clerk?:omg: ) and went to a cabin in the mountains with me, and the two older and remaining sisters. My dad went out of the country for several years to recover from the nasty divorce. At five, I was alone with my mother while she died. She never left me for several years—yes, I believed in guardian angels but I can tell you they pack up and leave when a young man enters puberty.
No self respecting guardian angel will hang around for that!:whistling:
We were wild Indians! My oldest sister had a boyfriend whose mother would bring us out groceries and shake her head in disbelief whenever she came out with the supplies from town. I learned later that my mother, knowing she was dying, had taught the 16 year old how to write checks and handle the basics of survival with money sitting in the bank account.
Life was perfect for me! Sometimes we used to ride the horses into the cabin; my sisters couldn’t control me. Oh, they tried by locking me in the “community bedroom” but I’d just unlatch the window, go out the barn and grab a halter and get a horse next to the fence and hop on. Horses were my bicycles. When I got lost deep inside the mountains after riding bareback all day and it was beginning to get dark, I’d just let the horse bring me home.
Ruined a few good horses like that—running back to the barn!
I loved the outdoors, the wildlife it would occasionally offer up and the horses.
After about a year and half, maybe two, the old man found out that his ex-wife had died (can you believe that—talk about out of communication!) and set upon bringing myself and the sister who was about four years old than I back to live with him. (By that time the other sister had gotten married to the young guy whose mother used to bring us the food so there were only the two of us—people got married young back then)
So he brought us back to the big city to live with him and guess who else?….his thirty year old socialite little bride who had absolutely no intention of ever soiling her life with the “burden of a child” as our current president likes to describe the responsibility, joy and pleasure of bringing a child into the world. Yes. It’s true. Here’s the old man, 63 or so at this point and he’s found himself a little bride who not only does not know he has 14 children, she had no plans whatsoever for him bringing two of the youngest who have been out in the mountains by themselves for a few years…Cowboy Tarzan and his sister Jane!

The shit hit the fan!

And it never stopped thereafter.
Within months we were shipped off in separate directions. Sometimes out of the country where they spoke another language, sometimes with completely different socio-economic demographics. I once counted back how many schools I had attended between 1st grade and high school and it was a different school and place every year and half if you just counted the number of schools and years in education. It varied from having a roommate who was the Prime Minister of Canada’s son to shirt tail relatives and family acquaintances--7 of us living in a four room dwelling.
I’ll never forget thinking back and trying to remember how many forks were at each setting one year at the PM’s Thanksgiving dinner and how different it was from where I found myself the next time around.
I was usually put in accelerated classes but never cared about school; I was my father’s son.
In one unsavory place I used to get beatings with a bull whip and from the back of my knees to above my butt would bleed. That finally stopped when I wouldn’t scream or cry—even when the whip was tossed aside and the big western buckle on the belt was used…I knew I had em then! (You can find victory from the lowest levels that people can put you in.)
One of the most enjoyable early morning kicks was to wake me up with an electric cattle prod. I was given speed so I’d work harder in the mornings before school and afterwards. One of my weekly jobs was to take the pound animals (the man of the house had a contract with the local town) and put the dogs, cats, kittens and puppies down with what was called the “green needle”. Nice job for a 12 year old
It was a life of continual motion. A few stints living with the pops and his babe. I never said a word about my experiences—I kept a stiff upper lip which is what I knew he’d want me to do. At least that’s what I thought.
Spent some time in places where troubled kids go and saw real life “Lord of the Flies”, a book, required reading at that time in school, about kids who are stranded and cook up their own society. Kind of a junior Sea Org under Slappy, I guess. :yes: I would have ended up there a lot earlier had they known about some of my stunts---try stealing an airplane with your 12 year old buddy and flying it—swear to God, the absolute truth! I could have you on the floor laughing with that one.
In those environments I saw kids singled out by their peers and literally tortured and physically beaten until with what strength they have, their body tries to involuntarily vomit while the bullies and tyrants are sneering and laughing. In other words, I know what mean, merciless tyrants are and what they try to do to others.
So the bottom-line? I was “made mean and born to be bad” from all that crap just the same way you make a junkyard dog but I managed somehow to hang onto some of the good. What the SPs (and yes, there are SPs, it’s just not nearly to the extent that a paranoid asshole like Slappy thinks there is) never realize is that there are certain qualities in certain people and no matter what you throw them into or what you do to them, they will learn from it and bounce back.
The best years of childhood for me were when I worked on a cattle ranch---80 square miles and just two of us took care of the whole place. Lived alone in a 10 x 12 bunkhouse with a wood stove and got to spend a lot of hours horseback, rode bulls in the local events and all in all, just got to get some quiet time.
Imagine that—riding bulls for quiet time—Ha! Isn’t there a tone level in which the person has a courage level reckless to self?
Before I was legal to drive a car, I knew how to communicate to every different type of socio-economic type I ever had a need to. I had a sixth sense as to who was an inherent tyrant and how to get what I wanted and not be taken down by them. When you change environments as often as that, you’re never part of an established click—you’re an outsider. I operated “outside”—still do. I was always looking in at the others who had their groups and friends who they were busy preening themselves for. (Can you say Slappy?) I had an exterior viewpoint from all of it and an uncanny sense of how to naturally communicate to whomever which in later years I found extremely valuable whether it was through dealing with a farmer/rancher or closing a deal with a Fortune 500 company.
I knew how to endure and I knew how to maneuver. Its funny how everyone gets precisely and exactly what they need to get along in the life they choose and make, isn’t it?
If those sound like good qualities to have when dealing with the likes of the Holy Mother Church, well, they are.

…but that’s for next go-around. Regretfully I have to go now and it might be 4-5 days before I can get back to this.


Silver Meritorious Patron
Wow, what an unbelievable childhood you had! I look forward to the rest of the story.


Patron with Honors
Can't wait for the part where you become the first white man to be a Blackfoot blood brother!

Oh, that’s later but that’s not exactly the way it happened. You see, I became a volunteer for the LA Police Department, assigned to study black magic in south central LA. Through my diligence I cracked the farm animal issue and was awarded the Honkie of the Year Award from the ACLU and was awarded the keys to the crib from ACORN.

Kathy (ImOut)

Gold Meritorious Patron
Oh, that’s later but that’s not exactly the way it happened. You see, I became a volunteer for the LA Police Department, assigned to study black magic in south central LA. Through my diligence I cracked the farm animal issue and was awarded the Honkie of the Year Award from the ACLU and was awarded the keys to the crib from ACORN.

You crack me up. LOL!!!

Tiger Lily

Gold Meritorious Patron
TW this is really good -- you've riveted me so far. Love the way you write and your humor. So you start us off, get us all hooked and then announce that you can't write more for 4-5 days. . . .OK. . . . I'm not going anywhere. . . but if you can sneak in a few installments in the meantime . . :prettyplease:

Great story! :drama:


Patron with Honors
Meeting Snow White

TL--I hate it when a woman starts wimpering.

"Meeting Snow White"
More bitterness set in and before long I was doing drugs. I traded in the horse for a Harley and before long had some very questionable types I was hanging with—this was long before attorneys and accountants had their electric start bikes; most of the guys I hung with all packed. I met my first wife in this drugged out state and moved out of the city and back to my beloved mountains in a small town. It was a small shack in the back of this man’s house that had three rooms to it and one of them was taken up by the bike so nobody would steal it at night.
I remember lying in the bathtub after a day of digging ditches and pouring concrete and telling her I’d be spiritually dead by the time I was 25 if I kept on doing what my life consisted of.
Exactly those words too—I guess I always knew I was a spirit.:yes:
I sold the bike and got a whooping $7500 for it. It was a masterpiece that should have been on the cover of a magazine…that was a lot of money in those days for a bike. I took the money and bought all sorts of supplies, raw materials and set aside some for living expenses for what I had decided to do.
I was going to be an artist. :buzzin:
And no, I’m afraid I’m not telling you the art—that’s all passed now.
I taught myself the skills and craft and by the time I got proficient there was a ready market for the work. Within a year to 18 months, we had moved back down to the city, opened up a shop on an exclusive artsy-fartsy street. It was a good business or maybe I was just lucky—I dunno. But I kept busy, made excellent money and before long even some famous celebrities were buying my work so I had to have a few employees building parts for me in order to keep up.
I was living large and was being the quintessential artist—stoned the whole time and making some really wild shit!
I was 21-23 around this time—a young man but in certain ways, I felt very old. My wife and I never agreed upon much—we never had and never did but somehow we kept the whole thing together…urge to survive, I guess.
Before long she was pregnant. About the time she was showing quite a bit and having one helleva time with me, she ran into an old acquaintance who had told her years before about Scientology.
I know I was the reason she was seeking solutions and got into Scientology so I’ll take the blame.
Anyway, I’ll never forget her standing there, in all her pregnant glory and telling me that she was going in a particular direction and that if I wanted to raise my son, I’d be going along too.
It was to be the gentlest act of Scientological persuasion I ever got. Fact is, it was easiest too—there was no way my son was going to have the same upbringing that I had had—things would be different for him.
I agreed to do one course and if it was bullshit, the whole thing was over, not to mentioned again.
I got the vertical nod on that.
Hmmm….so it was just a matter of “doing a course”? I knew I’d find it all bullshit because everything she was involved with was bullshit because she was bullshit soooo the whole thing would blow over and life would go on.
Easy as one, two three....&^936%!!!
So on to the HQS Course I went—thought everyone around there except just a few were…well, let’s just say I didn’t fit in very good; never was much of a healy-feely groupie. I thought the TRs were the goofiest shit in the world. What were they trying to make me into, a robot?
That wife of mine was the stupidest woman in the world! I knew I was going to kill her when I got that course done.:angry:
I wrestled around with masses in my mind and space to no end over those TRs on that course but the supervisor was not going to give me a pass until I’d done it to her satisfaction---another dumb bitch!
However miserable it was, I’d been taught to endure a lot more than some crabby-ass dipshit course sup could ever dish out and I was not going to quit and walk off so I continued.
I was going to finish the course and be done with this shit.
And then one of those evenings, I had what’s called a major stable win on TR 0. Holy shit! Everything was visually bright, I was happy, alert and had no emotional baggage—just beaming little me.
I felt like money in the bank!
I’ll never forget driving home that night and saying to myself, “If I can feel like this all the time, this is for me!”

Stay Tuned for the next draft.


Patron Meritorious
Oh, that’s later but that’s not exactly the way it happened. You see, I became a volunteer for the LA Police Department, assigned to study black magic in south central LA. Through my diligence I cracked the farm animal issue and was awarded the Honkie of the Year Award from the ACLU and was awarded the keys to the crib from ACORN.


Happy Days

Silver Meritorious Patron
Great story TW... looking forward to reading the next instalment :drama:

With ya TR0 in well it shouldn't be too far away... :thumbsup:

Tiger Lily

Gold Meritorious Patron
Aw . . .Thanks TW :batseyelashes:

I'm really enjoying it. You've had quite a life! Yep -- that "major stable win" does change things. LRH did know how to hook people. Looking forward to more. :)