Troublemaker: Surviving Hollywood and Scientology

by Leah Remini

During my thirty-plus years in Scientology I spent close to $2 million for services and training, and donated roughly $3 million to church causes.

Most members, regardless of their income, over a lifetime in the church spend upwards of $500,000 to get to the highest levels, which often takes more than twenty years. During this time, they are required to purchase roughly 300 books, 3000 lectures, and 100 courses.

The Sea Organization was founded by L. Ron Hubbard in 1967 to staff his three ships, on which he’d taken up residence after the UK denied his visa extension.

I forgot about this!!

By this time I was going through a combo package RunDMC/Puerto Rican phase where I wore only Adidas, had a mullet, sang Menudo songs (even though I didn’t speak Spanish), and hung out in Cropsey Park with a bunch of break-dancers. At least that’s what I thought they were. As it turned out, they were also part-time drug dealers. But I didn’t know about that. Back then everybody carried a fanny pack.

Our room, one that would normally accommodate one double bed, was crammed with three bunk beds, which slept six girls. In our tight acid-washed jeans, cropped shirts, mullets, Nic wearing a puka shell necklace and me with a rope chain featuring a charm that read “Little Brat,” we definitely didn’t look like any Scientologists they knew.

The head of recruitment put down on the desk a white piece of paper with two sea horses flanking the words “Sea Organization Contract of Employment.” “You have to sign a contract to be here,” the officer said. I looked at the contract and was baffled. I was asked to pledge myself for an eternal commitment to the Sea Org for a billion years in order to bring ethics to the whole universe. In accordance with Scientology beliefs, members are expected to return to the Sea Org when they are reborn over time in multiple lives.

After we signed our billion-year contracts, Nicole and I were put on the EPF, or Estates Project Force, part of the basic Sea Org training for new recruits. It was a lot like boot camp. All EPFers spent twelve hours a day doing hard labor, like pulling up tree roots with our bare hands, working heavy machinery on the grounds of the Fort Harrison and the Sandcastle, or cleaning bathrooms and hotel rooms. Then for two and a half hours each day, we would do the basic courses for the EPF, in which you learned the Sea Org policies and rules and what it meant to be a member.

Mike kept trying to get me to say “Yes, sir.” But I couldn’t do it. Then he picked me up and before I even realized what was happening, he threw me overboard. The shock of the moment and the freezing water took my breath away, and for an instant I thought I was going to drown. But I sputtered and began frantically dog-paddling. “Yes, sir!” Mike shouted. I couldn’t do it. The words just wouldn’t come out.

“How the fuck did you get off the EPF?” I asked him. “You have to complete the courses and show up to study time,” he replied. Nic and I had been taking the opportunity of study time to hide in the bathroom and take a nap in the tub or take the hotel shuttle buses back and forth from the Fort Harrison to the Sandcastle, enjoying a break and some air-conditioning.

And on top of this, during the brief time we did spend with my dad, we lived in fear of his violent episodes. To us, the thought of living with him was worse than joining a “cult.” We realized now, more than ever, that we didn’t have a choice but to stay in Florida. We had nowhere else to go. We couldn’t leave our mom there to raise a baby on her own.

Scientology abided by the idea that as long as you were on course, getting an education in Scientology, going to traditional school was not all that important. Your education in Scientology—the main goal of which was to teach you how to learn Scientology—was the imperative. We were taught that getting a Scientology education was the equivalent of getting a doctorate in the real world. Who cares about calculus when you’re clearing the planet? So because attending school wasn’t enforced, the motel room at Flag that was designated “Schoolroom” was usually empty, and although I was still technically in eighth grade, I hardly ever went.

My epiphany was that I was the person taking the tickets! That meant I could easily go into the Lemon Tree and the Hourglass, the public restaurants, or the canteen where they served snack food, and order a chicken sandwich or a piece of chocolate cake under a phony account name. Then in a couple of days, when my tickets came into the office, I could take them to my room, burn them, and flush the ashes down the toilet. And that’s exactly what I started doing.

The recruiter, reviewing my Ethics folder, which contained reports on all my “crimes,” had a different take. My record showed that I had a “problem with authority” and flirted too much with boys. “If you are pristine for six months, I will reevaluate you,” he said. I accepted his review and vowed that he would see me again and that I would get in.

I mean, she is a teenager

The Ethics Officer told me that he had a Knowledge Report that a friend of mine had written up about me. Knowledge Reports are a system of Scientologists reporting on one another, basically setting up the idea that not telling on your friends bars their freedom as well as makes you an accessory to the crime. It’s like systematic tattling.

Nicole had been mouthing off to the MAA earlier and was being accused of upsetting him with her “hostile communication.” I guess “Fuck you” could be interpreted that way.

The RPF mustered separately from the rest of us, so they were easy to identify. In 110-degree Florida heat and humidity, these men, women, and even children were forced to wear all black from head to toe as they did heavy MEST work (MEST is an acronym for matter, energy, space, and time) like cleaning grease traps in the kitchen or scrubbing dumpsters. And that wasn’t all they had to do for their “spiritual rehabilitation.” They also had to run everywhere they went—to the bathroom, to the galley, anywhere. They had virtually no liberties. As long as they were in the RPF they worked pretty much seven days a week, 365 days a year, and that’s not including all the time spent doing security checks for their transgressions.

RUN EVERYWHERE!!

By the time we arrived in California, I should have technically been in the ninth grade, but because I missed an entire year of school while in Florida I was enrolled at King Junior High School. Not very inspired to return to school, Nicole and I persuaded our mother to let us quit.

We spent our days working, our evenings going on course, and our nights together smoking, playing gin rummy, and scrounging for jobs, even food.

I tried to use Scientology against her and she responded less as a Scientologist and more as a mom: “Don’t use that shit against me, Leah. I’m still your mother.” Later that day, she filed a Knowledge Report on me.

omg

In the soap opera audition, one of my lines was, “Do you think I’m a whore?” In my Brooklyn accent “whore” sounded like “hoo-wha.” Pointing to the line, the casting director asked, “What is this word you are saying?” “Hoo-wha?” I asked. “What’s that?” she asked. “It’s a girl who has sex with guys for money.” “No, I’m asking in what language are you attempting to speak?” I laughed. She did not.

Cool, I thought. They see the magic before them here. I think they will have a meeting now and discuss how to add me into the show. The director called John Levey to the set. “Are you deaf or just annoying?” John said to me when he arrived. “They want to recast you, because you’re so annoying. You’re not taking direction. You’ve got to listen. This is not your moment. Steven Spielberg’s not going to see this episode of Head of the Class.” He was right.

No one could take that away—not even the casting agent, who introduced me to the producers this way: “Okay, the next actress is not a Brooke Shields, but she gets the material. She’s fresh from New York, and very funny.”

I had a new set of co-workers—my cast mates, and I loved all the girls: Alison Elliott, Vivica Fox (right after the pilot she was replaced with Halle Berry—oh, shit, we were replaceable!), and Deborah Tucker.

!!

On my first day, as I was walking to the quick-change room for a wardrobe change, Tony stopped me. “You can’t be walking,” he said. “There are two hundred and fifty people waiting out there, and once the audience is tired, that’s it. There’s no people laughing at your joke. This isn’t about you. You have to think about the audience. You’ve got to run.”

I just wanted to belong somewhere again, on a show I could call my own. I was exhausted already. I did a pilot, it didn’t go any further; I got another series, it got canceled before it aired. Each time I swore I was going to give up, but then I’d just get back up and keep going. (All told, I’ve been on more than twenty-five eventually canceled television shows in my career, and have appeared in even more pilots that never made it to air. While I would never complain, I certainly did feel anxiety. This is not an easy business to be in.)

My fascination with Scott Baio had waned in the hours we were there because he was wearing high-top Reeboks. I told you, I’m very judgmental.

(I hate when people say, “Enjoy it,” when you’re complaining about something. I am enjoying it. But I also enjoy complaining about it. It’s one of my favorite pastimes.)

Kevin told me not to worry about it. “If you ever feel bad about yourself, Leah, I need you to go to Germany,” he said. “Swear to God. We’re like the Beatles over there.”

During one of my sessions at Flag, I gave this up as a transgression and my auditor asked how much I thought I owed to make up the damage for the food I stole twenty years earlier. “I don’t know,” I said. “How much was custard and hamburgers for three months in the eighties?” “Well, let’s just round it up to forty thousand dollars. Okay?”

The real truth is that while the church would like you to believe it wields a tremendous amount of influence in Hollywood, that is simply not the case. Throughout my career I knew of one minor casting director who was a Scientologist, but other than that, no real movers and shakers. As a matter of fact, I think identifying myself publicly as a Scientologist probably hurt my career more than it helped it as far as perception was concerned.

“Why are you always questioning your church’s intention?” asked my “handler,” Shane Woodruff. (Shane had become my unofficial liaison with the church once I reached celebrity status.)

I wish she had explained how she got a handler!

It was after I made a single donation of $1 million to the IAS that I first saw Tom Cruise in the President’s Office. The mere fact that I was fit to be in Tom’s presence was a huge compliment. The actor wasn’t just an A-list movie star but a pillar of the church. Because of his good work on behalf of Scientology, he was called Mr. Cruise, which was a big deal, since in the church the honorific “Mr.” was reserved for only the highest executives, including women in the Sea Org.

Because of my record, I was approved for Tom’s entourage, a small group of heavily contributing, with-the-program Scientologists that included EarthLink founder Sky Dayton, Marisol Nichols, Ethan Suplee, and Jenna and Bodhi Elfman. (Noticeably absent from the chosen few were Kirstie Alley and John Travolta. I had heard that Tom didn’t like them.)

As the dinners continued and we spent more time with Tom, I came to think of him as a big kid with his loud laugh, high energy, and goofy ideas of fun. Like when he invited some Scientologists and a few other celebrities like Will Smith’s wife, Jada Pinkett Smith, to his house and announced he wanted to play hide-and-seek. At first I thought he was joking, but no, he literally wanted to play hide-and-seek with a bunch of grown-ups in what was probably close to a 7,000-square-foot house on almost three full acres of secluded land. “I can’t play—I’m wearing Jimmy Choos,” I said. “Well, good,” Tom said with his signature grin. “So you’re It, then.” And with that he tagged me and ran to hide.

“We’re getting married,” he said, “and we want you guys to come.” I was excited for them, but I wanted to prove I was theta, not a DB or low-tone—that I could be really happy and up-tone—so I started jumping up and down. (In the car, later, Angelo said, “The jumping up and down was a little much.”)

Angelo and I knew Marc way before he was with Jen. Our friendship started when the comedian Sinbad invited me to a Marc Anthony concert where I hung out afterward until four in the morning. (Angelo, who didn’t come with me, kept on texting me to come home. “It’s not like that,” I texted back. Angelo texted in return, “Get your ass home.”)

I loved Marc like a brother, and so was protective when he had Angelo and me meet his new girlfriend, Jennifer. “I want to punch you in your face,” I said when I first met her, “because you are even prettier in person. I was kind of hoping you would be uglier.” Jen, who has a good sense of humor about herself, laughed and we hit it off. We had a lot in common. She was from the Bronx, which if we were back in New York would be like a different country from Brooklyn, but in L.A. it basically made us from the same neighborhood. And although Jen is Catholic, her father is a Scientologist, so she knew all about the church.

Most Scientologists, even just parishioners, don’t really drink because they are always on course, and the rule is no drinking twenty-four hours before you are on course or going into session. Sea Org members are held to an even higher standard as they are the ones who deliver Scientology to its parishioners. To see one drinking would be as weird as seeing a priest doing a tequila shot. It’s just not done.

The guests had to hike up the hill to the entrance, and in doing so I stepped on my gown and ripped it. I was immediately taken up to a room where one of the ten in-house seamstresses from Armani, booked for the wedding, sewed it right up.

Had everyone in my church lost their minds? This was all just too weird. Top officials were here and going against everything I was taught and believed to be right. I had seen behind the curtain. There, in the role of the great and powerful Oz, was not LRH, as I had come to believe, but instead, it seemed to be Tom Cruise. All of these rules appeared to have been broken because of or in relation to him and his standing in the church.

“I think Jessica’s cheating on her husband with Tommy,” I ranted. “Norman Starkey is drinking and humping Brooke Shields on the dance floor! I think I saw David Miscavige’s assistant touching him inappropriately at the welcome dinner. And Suri was on the floor and these women were talking to her like she was LRH!”

I spent $2,000 on framing the invitation and other mementos from the Cruise wedding in a picture box for Katie, which I sent along with a note that said, “I’m so sorry that I destroyed your wedding.” Katie responded with a text: “Just handle it with your MAA.”

omg

In fact, requesting a return of money from the church is classified as a Scientology “High Crime” or “Suppressive Act,” which qualifies one to be declared a Suppressive Person. And in an even more bizarre twist, once the church declares you an SP, according to its policy you are no longer eligible for a return of your money. It is the perfect catch-22—if you ask for your money back, you will be Declared and thereby no longer qualify to get your money back.

Angelo, who was worried, said, “Babe, do you want me to go with you?” I refused. The last thing I wanted COB to think was that I needed backup. I was after all, taller than David Miscavige.

I mean, I was full on ready to be arrested; you know, I’d just put on a little lipstick, mug shot ready.

Whatever I had felt I might have lacked in a “traditional” family during my upbringing, my ideas profoundly changed when the chips were down and my immediate family had to make a decision between the church and me. There was no discussion. It was not something they had to consider—they simply chose me. To some people that may sound like a no-brainer, but where this particular church is concerned, it was in no way the norm.

That’s right, Tom Cruise’s ex was my guardian angel. Although I never met her or attempted to meet her, I thought about her a lot. While I stared at the dark ceiling at night, unable to sleep, I would say to myself, “Remember Nicole Kidman. She was declared an SP and left the church, and she’s doing okay. Her career is still going, and she has a husband and family…Just remember Nicole Kidman. She left and she’s okay…”

MOST SCIENTOLOGISTS WILL NEVER MEET Tom Cruise or David Miscavige. They will never experience seeing behind the curtain like I and a handful of others have. And that is why most of my friends found what I went through unbelievable.

Our lives have begun. Lessons are being learned, and we are healing. It’s never too late to begin again. Better, stronger, more evolved. And to all my fellow troublemakers, I say, “Carry on.”