For the first part of the trip, I caught a ride with a fellow student, driving from Houston to Norman, Oklahoma, and learning more than one lesson about human nature I would have preferred to have deferred. Once safely in Norman, with my former friend on his way, I visited with some high-school chums and stayed the night in one of the University of Oklahoma dormitories. Bright and early that Saturday morning my friends dropped me off at the nearby highway, so I could hitch-hike the remainder of my way.

I wasn't by the side of the road for more than 5 minutes when a big old beat-up "boat", a Lincoln I think, pulled over to offer me a ride. In the front were two well-dressed middle-eastern looking men, while in the back sat a battered-looking scarecrow of a man, dressed in dirty military fatigues with a knapsack sitting beside him - obviously a fellow hitchhiker. Without thinking much about it, I got in the back seat myself.

I had barely settled in and the car was just beginning to roll when the front-seat passenger leaned back and said, "You may call me Ali. My friend is Muhammed. We are PLO. And who are you?" The thought was crossing through my mind that I was not going to mention being in Naval R.O.T.C. (that's Reserve Officer Training Corps for you un-non-Americans out there), when my fellow passenger popped up with "I'm Delbert. I used to be in the Marines, but now I'm just tryin' to stay ahead of the law." I was pretty sure they were all just bullshit-artists, but I decided I was going to be very quite and very polite nonetheless. Fortunately, the three of them soon became engrossed in a conversation about where the cheapest place to get laid (without getting the clap) in Oklahoma City was . Since that city was where they were all going, they dropped me off on the highway to continue my journey.

Again I stuck out my thumb and trusted to fate - this time a small freight truck pulled over, and a stereotypically "okie" truck driver offered me a ride. I breathed a sigh of relief and climbed on in. The driver (who's name is far adrift on the seas of my memory) was a talkative, curious sort. He told me about his regular driving route and asked me what I did. He told me about his family and asked about mine. He asked about the classes I was taking and how I was doing in them. We stopped at convenience store where he insisted on paying for my sandwich and asked what I planned to major in. We hit the road again and he told a story about being a file clerk in the Navy and asked me whether I planned to go on active duty when I graduated or stay in the Reserve. About this time, some part of my brain told me I was being abnormally garrulous, telling this stranger things I hardly discussed with friends, no doubt as a reaction to the tension from the previous ride. Just in time my wits starting kicking in, because my new-found friend brought up religion.

He asked me what church I went to and I told him, "I was raised Unitarian, but I've stopped going to church". (I had long since learned that declaring oneself a Unitarian in Tulsa, the "Buckle of the Bible Belt", could lead to nasty arguments with religious zealots, so hedging was automatic.) However, instead of argument or disdain, the driver proceeded to tell me how wonderful Unitarians were, so intellectual, so tolerant, and how if he hadn't found Dianetics, he would probably have become a Unitarian his own self. It smelled like bait and I refused to bite.
"So you've attended a Unitarian service? What did you think?", I asked, trying to put up a little offense.
"Well, I've never been to a service," he said, "but I have friends who told me about it, they used to go to that church downtown. They like Dianetics better though. Have you ever head of it?"
I was silent, feeling more than a little nervous, because there had never been a Unitarian church in downtown Tulsa. Perhaps my reaction showed on my face because he added, "in downtown Oklahoma City, that was."
I think he knew I thought he was lying, but he plowed on.

"So have you head of Dianetics?", he pressed.
"Yes", I said, "I've seen a book around, I've seen a few leaflets. I hear it has something to do with that science-fiction writer, L. Ron Hubbard."
"So you read science-fiction?"
I nodded. He seemed to get excited, squirming a little and practically glowing.
"What did you think of Mr. Hubbard's books?", he asked.
"I'm afraid I don't remember any of his science-fiction", I replied. "I know I haven't read any of his novels yet, and if I've read any of his short stories, they didn't stick."
He seemed a little deflated, but zapped back with "Oh, you'd definitely remember them if you had read any. Of course he hasn't written many stories lately, his new work is so much more important. You said you'd seen some Dianetics leaflets, what did you think of them?"
I paused a moment, trying to think of something discouraging without seeming rude. "Well, I don't remember too much. There's so many leaflets that get handed out around school."
He then launched into a spiel about the "new science of the mind" and what someone could accomplish through discipline and study. It sounded like a rehearsed performance to me, and the though that crossed my mind was, 'if it's so wonderful, why are you still driving a truck?' (I was still a bit of an elitist then.) Then he started on "the close", telling me I should take this free test, it would help me find out what Dianetics could do for me, what could it hurt?

By this time, we were getting well in to Tulsa, and I had decided I didn't want this man to know where I lived. I told him I was happy being a Unitarian and I wasn't going to be in town long enough to take a test, that I had had enough tests lately in school, and that he could let me off at the next off-ramp. He looked offended.
"That's not where you live. I'll take you to your house. It's on my way."
I remembered that I had told him what high-school I had attended, so he knew the rough area my parents lived in.
"I don't want to drag you out of your way. My brother lives close to there, he's probably home," I half-lied. It was only a two-mile walk to my brother's, on a beautiful spring day.
He pounced on the opening I had left.
"But you don't know for sure he'll be there, and I'm going near your folks, it's not really out of the way, and I don't mind. I insist."
I couldn't think of anything to say, so I nodded. He went back to the test.
"It only takes a little time, and it's the first step to learning so much about yourself. Don't you think you should know about yourself?"
I nodded.
"You're not one of those people who think you're better than everyone else, that only your ideas matter, are you?"
I shook my head.
"Then just try this, it's what you need, it'll only take a little while. You can spare some time today for something that will change your life?"
I said my parents were expecting me and that I really wasn't interested. Things were definitely feeling very tense in that truck.
"Well, you can take it one evening next week. It really doesn't take long and you don't want to miss a chance like this."
I lied and said I was going camping with my brother, that that was why I had wanted to go to his house, to help him with the preparations. We were a few blocks from my folks' house, so I asked him to let me out at the next corner.
"No, I said I'll take you all the way. Turn here?"
I nodded. He seemed angry. I directed him a few more blocks, another turn, in all but silence. Finally we pulled up in front of my parents house.
"Thanks for the ride", I side, breathing a sigh of relief inside as I slid out of the cab.
"You think about what I said", he called out through the cab door's window as I bounced up the yard. After sitting by the curb a few more seconds, the truck rumbled down the street, leaving me with a glow of adolescent pride at having successfully hitchhiked home and avoided a cult recruiter. I though maybe there might be a pamphlet or two in the mail, possibly even a phone call, but I knew I could ignore those.

By the time I got back to Houston to resume my studies, I had pushed that hitchhiking incident from my mind. School proceeded, with some tests, some all-night programming sessions, and probably far too much pinball, beer, and late-night games of spades, hearts, or bridge. My group of friends were also a band of pranksters, sometimes labeled "the Freaks" by the more conservative members of our dormitory. We indulged in a series of public spectacles, dining on tables stacked three-high in the air, setting a table sloped on the cafeteria stairs, and other such juvenilia. One night we played cards for hours in the dorm's only elevator.

I don't know just when after that spring break it was, but sometime thereafter I received an unexpected letter from Florida. Would I like to join the Sea Org, this stranger was asking me. There was a medium-length questionnaire included with a picture of a ship, along with the letter, which spoke glowingly about how I could help save the world. There was a lot about the questionnaire and letter I didn't understand, what this Flag was that was mentioned so often, what a lot of it meant, and why they were sending it to me. After showing these things to my friends and roommate, I threw the letter and questionnaire away.

Unfortunately, my friends had also been pulling pranks on each other, sending in "sweepstakes" entries to the local fitness center, knowing a phone sales pitch was the likely "winnings", signing each other up for free trial memberships at a lonely-hearts club, writing away for more information on Phillipino mail-order brides. We were ruthless to each other, with the only unwritten rule being the "money rule", we couldn't spend anything more than postage, nor appear to create a financial obligation for our "victim". No magazines were ordered, though one of us got over 30 responses to a Marine Corps recruiting effort, receiving letters (and free sweatbands!) to "Bob", "Big Bob", "Big Bad Bob", and to "Robert A." through "Robert Z.". In this environment, that weird questionnaire was more than tempting...

It was no more than a week before I received another letter from Florida. This was handwritten, unlike the first, in a rather dense and illegible hand. I puzzled it out, to find that this "Org", whatever it was, thought I was interested, but that they were concerned about some things from the questionnaire. The letter also went on to say how great things at Flag were, that I would love working there, etc. etc., that the few gaps in my qualifications could be filled by some brief training, but that I would have to undergo some sort of "detox" because of my drug use (?!) and other faults, and that I needed to fill out the included questionnaire so that an entry program could be designed for me. The questionnaire was a type-written two-page sheet. The first part asked me if I had completed some course with a weird name. The latter two thirds were about drugs. I filled it out, saying I hadn't had the course, but lying outrageously on the drug portion, trying to discourage interest in me. Anyone reading those responses should have known it was a put-on, as the answers described someone who should be too drug-addled to write, much less stay in college. With the questionnaire, I also included a note, saying that I was not interested in the "Org". I soon received another letter, this one a brief note in the same hand as the second, asking for my phone number so that someone could call to "help me". It ended with the chilling sentence, "Some of our Houston members have tried to locate you, but the people at Rice have been very rude to us." Praise Xenu for Post Office box numbers and suspicious college administrators!! I never replied and never heard anything more from them.

It wasn't until 1995, following the "rmgroup" event, that I started learning about the details of Hubbard's little cult. I quickly realized that "Org" and "Flag" referred to Scientology and that that was related to Dianetics. I can only presume that that truck driver had still thought I was a valuable "mark" and passed my name on to Flag. (It's possible one of my prankster friends had filled something out before the first questionnaire arrived, that the letters from Flag were independent of the truck driver, but that strikes me as too much coincidence.) I wonder why the effort was made to recruit me. Was it my age? Was it the prospect of gaining a member who was involved in the Navy? Or was I just another generic "wog" that they thought they had a chance with? I'll never know.

I also wonder what became of that correspondence. I wonder if it's filed away somewhere in Clearwater, waiting to be pulled out, with all the lies I and my prankster friends wrote, ready to be used against me. Fortunately, there's no one important to me who would believe those lies, and the passage of time makes it unlikely that anybody would think them significant even if they were believed. (I'm never going to run for public office or operate a day-care center, and computer geeks like me are supposed to be a little weird anyway.) Nonetheless, I hope I never find out.

Stuart P. Derby
August 24, 1996
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