GREETINGS FROM A SURV 3/3

[dennis....@support.com]

[ ...Continued From Previous Message ]

[By this time, I had turned white and was sure that saliva
was dripping out of my now cavernous mouth.]
DENNIS: "Uh . . you know . . . I'm going to have to re-
train you . . . don't you?" [hoping, beyond hope that it would
be ok with him]
Q: "That's fine." [zoom goes the hand in the air]
DENNIS: ". . .from the bottom up?"
Q: "Ok." [paying little attention now]
DENNIS: "Well . . .[glancing at my watch and praying it was
dinnertime]. . it's almost four . . . why don't you come back
tomorrow . . . after I've had a chance to go over the folder more
carefully, [trying to give any excuse for delaying the ethics
routing form and retrain order] . . . then we'll get you started
on your retrain." [said under my breath as he got up to leave]
Q: "Ok."
By the time this short conversation was over, I was gasping
for air and my heart was pounding so loudly I could barely hear
the thought screaming inside my head: "THAT'S LRH'S SON YOU'RE
ABOUT TO RETRAIN FROM THE BOTTOM!!!!"
I went running out of the Cramming room looking for the only
Class XII friend I had who had not yet blown, Ron Shafran. I
found him near the swimming pool and he made me calm down enough
to tell him the story. I asked him what I should do and he gave
me the type of profound and deeply meaningful answer for which
Class XII's were famous. "I d'know. Do what you hafta!" and
walked quickly away. [He and his wife Linda left within the
year.]
The next day was more or less routine, except for my
underlying dread of having to bust the Commodore's son back to
the HAS course. I went about my business and didn't notice the
day had flown by without Q reporting in, until the late evening.
I decided to let it slide.
By the afternoon of the next day, he still hadn't shown. My
conscience was beginning to give me pressure. I felt guilty
about my relief at his not showing up. Was this some kind of
overt I was committing? No doubt! Better get out and do
something about it.
By now Quentin's retrain was the talk of the Tech and Qual
divisions. I knew most people were betting he'd get off scot-
free. He seemed to be in no trouble at all. But I had a job to
do and policy to follow. I'd get it done.
I went looking for anybody who might know where Quentin was.
Nobody did. Finally, I bumped into one of his few close friends.
I believe it was Cathy Cariotoki who finally told me: Quentin
had left for the West Coast to enroll [finally] in pilot school
to learn how to fly.
I felt cheated. How could he be allowed to just skate out
of the ethics trouble he was undoubtedly, but not visibly, in?
In the back of my mind the thought: "Get real!! He's the
Commodore's son, that's how."
I should have been screaming to the Qual Sec and Senior C/S
about Q's out-ethics. But instead I justified my cowardice in
allowing him to walk away with his certs not pulled, by saying,
"Well, he's probably not going to be auditing, anyway."
I was relieved, ashamed and shocked.
But, then, things had a tendency to move quickly from one
emergency to another on Flag. "On with life!" or so I thought.
A couple of weeks later I arrived in the crew dining room
for dinner to find the whole place quietly a-buzz with the news:
"QUENTIN'S DEAD! NO ONE KNOWS HOW HE DIED. HE MIGHT HAVE BEEN
MURDERED!"
At that moment, hand to the Lord, I thought, "Rumor has it
that LRH was really pissed at Q. It was a huge loss of face for
"the boss" having a gay son. This most recent disgrace -- the
false reporting -- was the last straw. I bet he was murdered."
We learned later that he was found in his car in the desert
near Las Vegas airport. All the windows were closed and there
was a tube from the tail pipe into the car. The car and his
person had been stripped of all evidence such as licenses, which
would identify the occupant. He was still alive, but unconscious
when he was found. Something happened in the hospital and he
died two weeks later without regaining consciousness. His death
was listed as a "possible suicide." There are obviously a few
questions still unanswered about his death.
For instance, we never did find out the cause. Neither did
the police.
But, when you think of the kind of life he was facing, with
a megalomaniac father who considered him a liability in a grand
scheme for world domination, there's one thing we do know about
his death:
"HE BETTA OFF!"

Later,

Dennis