Ruthless: Scientology, My Son David Miscavige, and Me

Ruthless: Scientology, My Son David Miscavige, and Me

Ron Miscavige

Language: English

Pages: 256

ISBN: 1250096936

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub


*Now a #1 New York Times bestseller*

The only book to examine the origins of Scientology's current leader, RUTHLESS tells the revealing story of David Miscavige's childhood and his path to the head seat of the Church of Scientology told through the eyes of his father. Ron Miscavige's personal, heartfelt story is a riveting insider's look at life within the world of Scientology.

Not for sale outside the U.S.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

the road going by as you drove. The first Scientology service we all took was a study course. Then I did more advanced auditing services, while Loretta and the kids all began training to become Scientology practitioners, or auditors. In those days the place was packed. There must have been hundreds of people studying. Today I would be surprised if there were a fraction of that; press reports indicate that the 2011 British census found only 2,418 self-identifying Scientologists across England and

a store, and the cop would scold the storeowner for reporting you. (Criminals who didn’t play football, however, did not have it so good. The cops were tough on anybody messing with the hardworking people of Mount Carmel.) On Friday nights in the fall, the band and cheerleaders marched down Third Street from the high school to the stadium, and the town turned out to cheer them on and follow in behind. After the game, people would head to Mattucci’s, a bar and restaurant, to relive the game with

phone, and he told his father, “He looks like he’s having heart problems.” Dwayne relayed that information to his contact at the firm that hired him. Within minutes, David called Dwayne. This had never happened before. David’s instructions still impact me: that if it was my time to die, Dwayne should let me die and not to intervene in any way. Dwayne then said to Daniel, “I don’t care what David says, if you see the old man on the ground, and he starts grabbing his chest, you call 911. But don’t

phone, and he told his father, “He looks like he’s having heart problems.” Dwayne relayed that information to his contact at the firm that hired him. Within minutes, David called Dwayne. This had never happened before. David’s instructions still impact me: that if it was my time to die, Dwayne should let me die and not to intervene in any way. Dwayne then said to Daniel, “I don’t care what David says, if you see the old man on the ground, and he starts grabbing his chest, you call 911. But don’t

about eight I decided enough was enough. “David, come on,” I said. “We’re going to teach you to hit once and for all.” He, Ronnie and I grabbed a bucket of balls, a bat, and gloves and marched down to the park. I began lobbing him pitches. Whiff. Whiff. Whiff. Foul ball. Whiff. Grounder. Whiff, whiff, foul. It went on like this for some time. Ronnie played behind me and shagged the balls whenever David made contact. David never got discouraged and kept at it. Then, at one point, bingo! His

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