Chapter Five: Musical Chairs, Broken Marriages, and the Applause Metric

Miscavige's Reactive Core, Understanding What Drives Him

Prologue

In some ways, it was still hard to admit to myself that I might’ve wasted 30 years. Hard to accept that everything I’d done had been for nothing. Harder still to face the fact that, now over 40, I had nothing and nowhere to go.

But all of that was easier to swallow than the drive inside me: I refused to be torn down, manipulated, and rendered null and void by Miscavige. I didn’t care how painful it had been up to now, or how painful it might become. I didn’t care what he threw at me. I would not crack. I would not let him have the “last laugh.”

More specifically, I could not allow myself to be lumped in with the rest, just another member of the “mob.” I would not become one of his zombies. I would not be locked behind the god-forsaken walls of that trailer. Right, wrong or indifferent, this alone is what drove me now.

It wasn’t that I hadn’t considered throwing in the towel. In some ways, I already had. But I was still “in the game.” And now, it was between me and David Miscavige. Nothing else mattered.

I knew my own breaking point, and we hadn’t reached it yet. And it was clear he wasn’t done toying with me either.

The Musical Chairs, As I Saw It

There was a lull between Events, and we were back in the Hole again for more “programming.” I was allowed out occasionally to check on my Landlord staff and the progress, what little there was, on Dave’s Ideal Org Strategy.

My recollections coincide with many others, but they differ slightly. Mainly, I guess, because each of us looked at it and experienced it from our own vantage points.

It was not a single round of musical chairs, but many.

Queen’s Bohemian Rhapsody wasn’t the only music played, and I, for one, don’t associate that song with The Hole. There were other, eerier tracks, I believe even a couple of children’s songs and some classical, played during the many rounds.

The whole thing seemed to give Miscavige a disturbing level of enjoyment. He acted like an entitled little brat who got off on bullying and persecuting his peers, just to make sure they knew he was superior. That he controlled the purse strings, not them.

The background on why musical chairs was even a thing in Scientology is important and pretty extraordinary when you think about who was supposedly “teaching us a lesson.” For years, Miscavige had canceled all org boards and removed everyone from any post. He used people like me on “projects.” Like using the entire crew on a job to clean up the sewer. There was no semblance of ordinary, no routine, no stability. It was, as he called it, a “mob,” and he kept it that way.

You see, in Scientology and Sea Org administrative policy, “musical chairs” is considered a management failure. Hubbard, LRH, saw the rapid, constant reassignment of staff, especially in executive posts, as a sign of poor leadership and a lack of proper training. He pointed out that constant movement between posts prevents staff from becoming competent in their roles and creates instability throughout the organization. Hubbard directed that people be left in a job long enough to become effective, rather than being yanked around like chess pieces or used in some twisted game.

Miscavige turned it into a blood sport. A punishment. A lesson.

Coming from COB, this wasn’t just a mind-fuck. It was a spit in the face.

He watched. He clapped. He acted like a little boy and got visibly excited when he got to announce who lost, who was still standing. It was almost like he was having an orgasm each time it played out.

His perverse attitude and shenanigans became something of a hobby of mine during that period. I watched him like a hawk, in total disbelief at how much fun he was having. It was very telling.

Dave, in turn, was watching the group. And once the initial rounds stopped upsetting people, he got bored. So he turned up the juice.

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Musical Chairs – Off-Load Version

I’m trying to recall exactly how this worked, but before the next round, Dave’s own RTC staff were brought in to watch. Some of them even participated in the final game. Marty, for sure, ended up in the Hole for an extended period afterward.

Dave came up with a new version of the game, which he giddily announced. I don’t believe he was even aware of himself and how childish he came across.

A long briefing followed. We were all to be off-loaded. Surprisingly, lists were generated of the “small and failing orgs,” and the Hole was shamed for their existence. Of course, no one in the Hole had managed orgs for years. These were Dave’s orgs now.

Seeing a problem with the fact that the list was quite extensive, Dave changed the definition of “small and failing” multiple times to decrease the number. The new Ideal Orgs —which also qualified as small and failing aside from having a nice building were more in debt than when they started. But Dave made it clear that no one from the Hole deserved to work at one of those orgs.

Starting from the worst and most far-reaching small and failing orgs, with the coldest and most miserable living conditions, the last person standing in the musical chairs game would be assigned accordingly.

Absurdly, it should be noted that Dave announced he “reserved the right to reassign anyone to whichever org” he pleased before the game was over.

This game went on for hours. Painfully, not playfully. Some of the hole took it seriously and others not.

At some point, Dave shouted at Shelly, “Go get flights booked! I want all of these fuckers shipped out of here by sunset tomorrow!”

He flipped out repeatedly in the middle of rounds, yelling that he’d finally decided,“Fuck it! You’re all gone!” Then he launched into a rant about how he’d kill anyone who spoke out against him.

And then he came up with another idea.

“Oh,” he added, “no couples! No one is allowed to go with their spouse. They are to go to separate orgs.”

It was particularly hard to watch Yager, Ingber, and Lesevre go along with it. That’s exactly what they were doing , playing along like it was business as usual, just another day at the nursery. I doubt they actually believed Dave was shipping anyone out, but the way they indulged him was disturbing on too many levels to count.

Could they really be that far gone? Or were they just professional, long-term Hole survivors who knew how to play Dave’s game?

I’ll admit, a part of me wished we might actually be shipped out the next evening. I was okay with going to some one-or two-person org in Alaska with no heat. That actually sounded like fun to me. But I knew it wasn’t going to happen.

Some of the younger staff cried. They’d had it easy compared to what Dave was telling them it was going to be like. Their upset seemed to excite him. I’m sorry to sound crude or vulgar, but I’m just telling you what I saw — and I’m sure anyone else who was there would back me up.

By the end which was early the next morning everyone had been assigned to orgs. Tickets, according to Dave, had been booked. We would all be leaving by the end of the day.

It was time to get an hour or so of sleep before we’d be bused out.

Of course, none of it happened.

The next day came and went.

The reason?

Simple.

None of us could be trusted to leave the base. All of us might go out and ruin his reputation or worse, create a PR and legal nightmare for him.

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Musical Chairs: Finale

By now, Lisa Schoer, who had previously been protected from the Hole because Dave needed her for Events was thrown into the mix. Other Gold executives were brought in as well.

And Dave came up with a finale. He was very, very excited about this one.

The last man standing in this round would be reprieved from the Hole, never to return, and would work directly for Miscavige. The second part of that wasn’t much of a draw for most, but I seriously considered it. I knew I had a chance and I decided on a course of action. My motivation wasn’t so innocent.

The first part of it, a reprieve from the Hole, was possibly the greatest thing anyone could imagine. Why anyone thought they might actually be rewarded with it, I have no idea.

The competition would be fierce, and Dave knew it. If the executives didn’t play hard, they’d be called out. The lower-level staff would fight hard just because. Anyone trying to side with Dave instead of the Hole would fight hard. And some might just fight to fight.

And it was ferocious. The closer it got to the end, the worse it became. Not only did chairs fly, but bodies flew. It got ridiculous. Dave stood there with his arms crossed like he was Caesar, watching his gladiators tear each other apart for his amusement. He showed no emotion, no reaction. Just a smug, calculated stillness, like this was all going exactly how he wanted.

Lisa Schoer worked very hard to stay standing. She’d aggressively rip anyone out of a chair if she had to. She played dirty.

I had purposely targeted Yager and Ingber, and took them both out. I noticed Marty had already taken out Rinder and Guillaume. Greg Hughes seemed to be on the same page. If I remember right, he tactfully took Jenny out. Without saying a word, we eliminated the ones we thought should go, for whatever reasons we had. Mind you; none of them really fought back.

About halfway through, the work was done. Marty turned to me and whispered, “Okay, I’m out.” Greg Hughes was next. I nodded and continued. I knew Miscavige might have wanted me to win, and I wasn’t going to give him that. But I was going to toy with him. Shelly and Lou were making strange faces at me, clearly trying to egg me on.

When it was close enough that I didn’t care who was left standing, I very obviously got caught out and left the game too. I turned to Dave, hoping he’d noticed and he had. Then I turned to the camera that was recording everything, flipped it the bird, and mouthed “fuck you.” I hoped he’d catch it later.

I walked over to Marty to make it even clearer. We weren’t playing his game we were playing our own. Greg Hughes stood with us.

When the game finally ended, predictably, Lisa Schoer was the last man standing. An outcome that would have happened no matter how the game played out. A lot of us knew it.

The musical chairs weren’t some serious internal strategy. They were carried out purely for Dave’s amusement.

The stated purposes and supposed end results were never real. He never planned to send anyone to the small and failing orgs. Lisa eventually blew anyway.

The whole musical chairs incident wasn’t just sadism. It was a live demonstration of power designed to fracture bonds, crush trust, and keep every one of us guessing. That was the point. If you could still think for yourself after that, you were a problem.

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New Rules and Forced Separations

Slowly, surely, in a systematic and seemingly carefully planned way, Davie came up with another way to break everyone. This time, he claimed that fraternization with lower-organization personnel had ruined RTC and was one of the causes of the collapse of International Management.

As if no one realized that he was the cause, not his imaginary, mind-fuck concepts.

With RTC now in the Hole as well, he announced a new policy.

There were to be no marriages allowed between staff across organizations. RTC could only marry within RTC. CMO Int only with CMO Int. Gold with Gold. And so on.

And then he announced that all existing marriages that violated this new rule would need to be terminated, at once.

This created a whole new atmosphere in the Hole. Some were terrified that he could order such a thing and get away with it. Some, like Warren McShane’s wife, wept loudly and uncontrollably. A scene that, again, seemed to arouse Dave. I was sure he was getting off on it. It was heartbreaking. They had been married, I believe, for more than 30 years.

Similar situations were everywhere. Marc and Claire Headley. Greg and Debbie Hughes. Mike and Cathy Rinder. Jeff Hawkins. Guillaume and his wife. Heber and Karen Jentzsch. Warren McShane and his wife. Marty and his wife.

This move even created tension with some of Dave’s most loyal officers.

And the work began. He actually instructed it. He carried it out. He executed his plan.

I honestly believe that if no one had cared if no one cried, or got angry, or seemed affected by Dave’s latest blow, he might not have gone through with it. But to see women cry, to see husbands enraged, to see dissent rise up that was what he craved. Dave relished every breakup. He enjoyed it in his own perverse way.

This particular angle didn’t affect me directly. There was no connection between Jenny and me anymore. We barely spoke. We were also in the same org, for now.

But to watch him calculatedly dismantle these families, some of whom had kids, was to witness a masterclass in abuse of power. He had so thoroughly broken these people that he just might get away with it.

He was also using their deep-seated faith. It may not have been at the top of their minds, but he knew, it was that faith, buried deep down, that gave him the god-like power he held over them.

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Cathy Rinder as a Weapon Against Mike

Other things come to mind now.

During one of his rages toward Mike Rinder, Dave came up with a new angle. He would use Cathy Rinder: Mike’s wife of many, many years, to tear him down.

Dave hated Cathy. She had once expressed her disdain for him and shown signs of disaffection, which he may have succeeded in crushing by exploiting her motherhood. She was also a relatively successful veteran management executive who had worked under LRH and maybe understood more than Dave did. That made her a threat in his eyes.

In front of the entire Hole, he had Cathy stand up and then tore her down. He screamed at her. Called her vulgar names. Made disgusting personal comments.

And then he turned it onto Mike, through Cathy. He demanded that she reveal their most private moments. He forced her to profess what a criminal Mike supposedly was. He made her say what a bad father he had been even though Dave knew full well that it was impossible to be a real father in the Sea Org. He made her say what a failed executive he was, how externally influenced he had become. All of it, spoken through Cathy.

Cathy had once been outspoken. Strong. But now she was just a shadow. Barely coherent when she spoke. She was already broken and now being forced to try to break Mike.

It was difficult to see. Difficult to watch her go through so much anguish.

Difficult to watch such evil being performed on others.

The only thing that made it even remotely bearable was the fact that Mike let it roll off his back like water off a duck. He had seen it all. Heard it all. And, like the rest of us, he had gone numb.

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Greg and Debra Hughes and Why they Mattered

Greg Hughes, Debbie, Jenny, and I all berthed under the same roof before the Hole.

I was never super close with them and hadn’t known them as long as I’d known many others. But it was clear that Greg had been successful, one of the few who had actually made a living outside the walls of the Hole. In fact, he had successfully founded a management consulting company Sterling, that used LRH administrative policy to help dental offices grow.

Greg was well-spoken, professional, well-mannered, and always kept his cool. He was a strong public speaker and looked the part as much as he acted it.

And because of that, he was a particular threat to Miscavige in every way.

Debbie, his wife, was much like Greg, but even more softly spoken. She was a mom at heart and a devoted wife. She also had diabetes, which required constant monitoring and insulin. She was already frail, and in the Hole, she became even more so.

Debbie became a point of control for Dave. He’d often stop mid-rant, sometimes in the middle of the night, and ask if she was okay. Then he’d push her to her limits before allowing her to sleep — but always on a different schedule than the rest of the Hole.

Dave demanded recognition from Greg and Debbie, that he really cared. That his softer, more "compassionate" treatment of Debbie proved it.

But behind their backs, Dave would say Debbie was a “DB.” Unqualified for the Sea Org. Someone who never should have been brought to Int. The only reason she was there, he insisted, was because she came with Greg. He viewed her diabetes as her own fault, something she could have and should have handled through auditing. But didn’t. So to him, she was just a DB.

Dave often targeted Greg too, though not as brutally as others. Greg rarely lost control of his emotions. He often sat quietly, not getting involved unless he was forced to.

But Greg was a walking reminder of the specific kind of person Dave couldn’t stand. Not people who fought back. Not even people who questioned him. The ones he really hated were the ones who might simply be more competent. More grounded. More respected. Greg had a proven track record outside the bubble. And God forbid, he might actually be popular.

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It’s Greg’s story that brings me back to something important, something I need to say as clearly as I can.

It’s one of my side notes, but this one matters when it comes to understanding the bigger picture.

And yeah, the sheer pettiness of this might almost be laughable. If it weren’t so deranged that it ruined people’s lives:

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Miscavige’s Reactive Core and Benchmark of Success

The Applause Metric That Became the Church’s Undoing

There was a metric (statistic) L. Ron Hubbard once gave to the Apollo Troupe (a group of musicians used as a PR tool at various ports of call). It was later applied to the Golden Era musicians too. It was simple, albeit completely unsustainable:
The louder and longer the ovation, the more successful the performance.

Hard to believe this would matter at all, right?
But you need to understand this, because this became David Miscavige’s benchmark.

It became the core reactor and the driving force behind his entire modus operandi.

Over the years, I watched how deeply it took hold of him. How it burned inside him. How it became the thing he could no longer control.
And how it will, I believe, be his undoing.

It sounds petty. Unreal. Even laughable.
But I saw the early sparks of it, and how it grew into the core of who Miscavige is.

When Applause Became Power

Back in the late 1980s, when Dave was still on a first-name basis with Marc Yager, Ray Mithoff, Marc Ingber, Mike Rinder, Dan Coon, Heber Jentzsch and others, the big Scientology events were still fun. They’d come down to Flag, and I’d wine and dine them—after-parties, dinners, even beach days.

At the time, Dave had no formal church title. He was just the Master of Ceremonies; the guy who introduced each speaker with a short lead-in.

One of Shelly’s roles was to time the applause for each speaker. One of mine was to gather feedback from attendees afterward. Jenny, I, and a few from my CMO CW crew ran those surveys.

But I started to notice something.

Dave wasn’t satisfied just being the MC.
He wanted more.

Each year, the vibe shifted. Less camaraderie. More tension. Then came the shift: no more first names. Everyone now had to call him “Sir.”

He kept the MC role, but began taking the spotlight moments for himself. He inserted himself into the program, making the biggest announcements, the kind that, from a corporate perspective, should have come from others.

The applause metric remained in full effect.
And if anyone—anyone—got more applause than he did, it ruined his entire year.

Rewriting Reality to Stay on Top

It got so bad that speakers would purposely cut their applause short, by interrupting it and speaking over it, just to avoid triggering Dave.
Eventually, Shelly was ordered to stop timing applause. He claimed it was “inaccurate.”
I was expected to bring back feedback that favored him, no matter what the audience actually said. And later, he demanded I bring negative feedback on the other speakers to make his point even clearer.

If someone like Rinder, Lesevre, Yager, Weiland, Hughes, Mithoff, or Ingber got more praise or energy from the crowd, you could see the rage boiling under Miscavige’s tight-lipped smile.

He didn’t take it as a slight.
He took it as betrayal.

That obsession became the blueprint for everything that followed.

The Church of Applause

Today I use the phrase “Applause Metric” somewhat metaphorically.
But I assure you: it was not metaphorical to Miscavige.

As Chairman of the Board RTC, a position supposedly non-managerial, he had no business running events or making corporate announcements. But he did both. And more.

What began as hosting became hijacking.
He took the biggest stages. He claimed the biggest wins.
He stole the spotlight, again and again, whether or not he’d earned it. Usually, he hadn’t.

And this wasn’t just vanity.
This was the engine behind his every move.
Applause was his drug, and he didn’t just want the hit.
He needed to be the only one holding the needle.

The Disappearances and Dismantling

That’s why the most respected figures vanished.
Yager. Rinder. Lesevre. Norman Starkey. Heber Jentzsch.
Anyone who drew too much admiration became a threat.

He dismantled the corporate structure of Scientology, not out of strategy, but out of obsession. He couldn’t let anyone else share the stage, the credit, or the applause. Especially not someone with a formal title, a stronger presence, or God forbid, actual respect.

He wasn’t just removing potential rivals.
He was erasing the idea that anyone but him ever mattered.

He actually, very definitely, saw such people as Suppressive Persons. Real enemies. Enemies he believed he had to destroy not to Keep Scientology Working, but to keep himself on top.

As Chairman of the Board RTC, he was not supposed to run the Church.
But by the end, he was the only one left standing.

The man who gets all the applause.

So if you wonder why I keep saying that LRH is so vitally important to Dave, maybe now you understand this too. He’ll finally have a place where he can hear and see himself as the one and only. The last man standing.

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Chapter Five ends here — not on a personal note, but on one I hope helps anyone who wants to understand how the monster was born, and what he is truly driven by.

There may be — and probably are — earlier beginnings. But I assure you, this is where it all began for me.

And the reactor that burns within Miscavige now, unchecked, will undoubtedly be his demise. In the not-too-distant future, I’ll share a plan with you to help give it a little push in that direction.

Until Chapter Six — where I’ll finally explain how I didn’t escape…
I walked out.
In broad daylight.
And why.

But before I do — things in the Hole get worse.
Much worse.
And very personal. Sorta.