Walking in Another Man’s Shoes by Michael Fairman

 

The old saying goes that one can’t really begin to understand what difficulties a man or woman is going through until one walks in his or her shoes. That “stroll” took place for Joy and me on Tuesday, August 23, 2011, in Orange County California.

 

On the previous day, I received a call from Marty Rathbun, asking me if I was still wearing my “racing driver” hat. I told him no, I was pretty calmed down from my extreme driving habits, thanks to him. It was an intriguing question and I told him I wasn’t wearing that hat anymore, “Why?” His answer was even more intriguing.

 

Marty told me he was coming to Southern California on a mission of mercy and needed to escape from the constant harassment by Miscavige’s goons and their vehicles in order to accomplish that mission in peace. If there were a welcoming party, we would have to lose David Lubow and his hired thugs in the rush hour traffic. Were I and my car up to the task? I told him my car was, and asked if I could bring Joy along and then we’d both be up to the task. He said he would welcome her.

 

Joy decided to drive her muscle car and we arrived at John Wayne Airport about half an hour before Marty’s arrival. There were a few people scattered around the baggage claim area, but no blue-shirted morons. We both had cameras and I had a fuzzy bear hat with pom pom ties to do a little “Squirrel Buster” ditty if they or any church zombies showed up. Joy spotted two men hanging around, she thought might be “them”. But they turned out to be benign — ordinary passengers.

 

Then a burley, powerful looking man in his sixties walked by, pot-bellied and wearing a short grey beard, He had on a baseball cap and a wire curled out of his ear. He was very solid, granite-like, and his body language and expression definitely said “retired law enforcement”. Pointing to him, I whispered to Joy, “There’s one!.” He moved away to another part of the terminal and began chatting with a slim woman in her mid twenties, who was wearing a striped polo shit, had a back pack on her shoulders and carried a bowling bag. Joy then said, “He’s talking into the lapel of his shirt!”. We had found our PI’s.

 

Marty arrived scanning the terminal as he moved down an escalator, but the beard and the bowling bag had disappeared. We wanted to rush Marty to our car and get away, but he stopped when we hit the street. After hearing our description of the burley guy he knew “they” were around and wanted to see what developed.

 

Sure enough a few minutes later, the bearded one and the young woman arrived. Marty recognized him as Bill aka “Bubba” a retired cop (served as “enforcer” to Jim Lynch last LA trip), and they began to talk. Joy began to film and after I donned my fuzzy bear pom pom hat, I also began to film them. The gist of the exchange was that Marty wanted to know if he was going to merely be followed, or followed and ambushed by vans full of lunatics at every stop like last trip to LA. Bubba said he didn’t know. Marty asked that we work out a deal so that the “church” P.I.’s don’t go terrorizing and endangering innocent bystanders. He told the PI that if they just want to know where he is going he can tell the guy in exchange for not having to put lives at risk on SoCal freeways and streets. The PI said he would check with his boss, whom Marty got the PI to identify as Lubow, and proceeded to chat into his lapel. Then the PI indicated he was having communications problems with Lubow. The PI and his assistant. whoever she was, went one way and the three of us headed to the parking structure to get our car. When we got to the vehicle, Marty saw Bubba’s running shoes, visible behind an SUV not five cars away from where we were parked. As Marty walked up to the vehicle, the ex-cop was reporting into his I-Spy gear. Marty asked him if Lubow agreed to make a deal so as to protect the general public. Bubba indicated Lubow declined. Marty then said, “I’d like to talk to Lubow.” Bubba asked Lubow then relayed that Lubow wasn’t willing to talk. Marty indicated to Bubba that Lubow is a coward, and obviously afraid of Marty. Bubba tried to suppress a chuckle, but didn’t do so well at it.

 

Marty slid into the driver’s seat of Joy’s car and we started out of the parking structure onto the roadway to exit the airport. Looking into the rearview mirror, he told us that there were four PI vehicles already behind us.

 Since Marty had grown up in the area, he knew the lay of the land, and began a series of evasive driving maneuvers to lose what were now six cars following us. For the next hour or so, Marty, driving according to the rules of the road tried to evade the six vehicles. Unable to lose them because Lubow and his cronies would run red lights, make u-turns in the middle of heavy traffic on major boulevards, abruptly switch lanes, which endangered the drivers around them, we finally pulled into a gas station, immediately followed by Lubow in his SUV.

 

Marty got out of car and video camera in hand, walked up to Lubow, and asked him why he and his cronies were following us. Lebow refused to answer, and when Marty persisted with his question, Lubow made like a cornered rat and moved his vehicle backward hitting Marty in the arm and chest with the left side view mirror. Marty shouted at Lubow to stop as he had hit him. Lubow then put the car into “forward” and moved the car door into Marty’s chest. Marty had had enough and called the Santa Ana police, reporting what had just happened. Joy and I both witnessed Marty being hit and, and now this was far from fun and games. It was deadly serious shit.

 

Several minutes after the phone call to the cops, another vehicle pulled into the gas station. It was Bubba. Marty explained that the ex-cop probably had “friends” in the Santa Ana force (since Marty had earlier gotten Bubba to admit he was a former Orange County Sheriff deputy) and a series of lies spewed by Lubow and Bubba was probably about to take place, starting with Bubba being a witness – when Bubba showed up to the scene several minutes after the incident in question.

 

A few minutes later an officer roared up on his chopper, and when he dismounted, Marty began to explain what had happened. As this was going on a female officer pulled her patrol car into the gas station, followed immediately by another female officer in her patrol car. Marty continued to explain to the three officers  the series of events  from the encounter at the terminal to Lubow hitting him and also what had been going on in Texas and elsewhere. He pulled up the Caller Times article on a phone, and read the three officers Lubow’s quote of how he is going to make Marty’s life a hell and run him out of every town he puts down stakes. He predicted Bubba would lie and say he witnessed the incident when in fact he was nowhere in the vicinity it occurred.

 

Then the motorcycle cop went over to Lubow and got his “story”. Marty, Joy and I attempted to put the pieces together for the two female officers. Several minutes later the male officer returned to our group informing us that Lubow’s story was quite different from Marty’s, and that Bubba corroborated Lubow’s assertion that he did not intentionally hit Mary with his vehicle. So much for the law and even less for the truth. The three officers insisted they could do nothing unless Marty had filed a restraining order on Lubow and the others. The futility of explaining why that wouldn’t work for a one week stay (including that he only knew one legal name – Lubow – and he knew the church would just replace him and it would immediately be business as usual, that he did not have a spare morning to fool around in court, etc) sailed completely over the officers heads, leaving Marty Joy and myself frustrated.

 

The officers “suggested” that we all disperse. Once on the road, we were again followed by the vehicles all the way to Laguna Beach, where Marty had a dinner appointment with an old high school classmate who he hadn’t seen in over 35 years. Marty’s purpose for coming to California, his mission of mercy, was to take place the next day.

 

Marty, his friend, the friend’s fiancee, Joy and I enjoyed a welcome respite in the Mexican restaurant overlooking the Pacific; and we we were treated to a narrative by Marty’s friend that had the mouths of Joy and myself hanging open for almost two hours. But all the while, knowing that Lubow and the others were outside waiting, gave dinner an eerie pall.

 

After dinner Marty developed an escape strategy. In the restaurant parking lot we placed both our cars closely parallel to each other. Hidden from most of the lot, we quickly dumpred Marty’s bags into his friend’s car and made like he was getting into ours, but he slipped into the other one. They drove off and we followed. They were supposed to lead us to the 405 Freeway but they made a series of quick turns and we immediately lost them. I was driving our car, and I guess it being dark, I probably appeared to them to be Marty, because four of them were right behind us. We were also lost in the hills of Laguna Beach. We pulled over and and got our bearings to the 5 Freeway. All the while the four PI vehicles were behind us.

 

Marty called to say that he had lost them — no one following. But the four were trailing us to Los Angeles.  

 

We arrived in Studio City near our home at about 10:45 pm. We had to pick up our daughter Sky at her dance studio at 11:30, so we drove to our favorite yogurt shop. Sure enough. Lubow and the others pulled up and sat there surveilling us. It was evident that all were busily chatting with each other and we surmised with the POB. We can only guess at how colorful that communication cycle must have been. After finishing her yogurt, Joy walked up to Lubow’s car and gestured to him. He would not roll down his window or look at her. Then she asked in mock amazement, “Where’s Marty? He’s not with us.” Lubow continued to look away.

 

This episode of was nearly over, and still having some time before we had to pick up Sky, we drove to the North Hollywood police station. There we found a sympathetic officer to whom we told out story. She was appalled at what had gone down and gave us detailed information of how to file a restraining order on Lubow. In fact when we first mentioned his name to her, she seemed to know it, and when we got into the details of the day, she nodded, that yes, she had heard of him.

 

After finishing with the police, we picked up Sky and went home without further incident.

 

Marty’s reason for being in California, on his own dime, was to help family members, non-Scientologists, get through the imminent death of a loved one. He was there to console and ease the pain of their impending loss. This is essentially what Miscavige and his Gestapo-like crew were attempting to disrupt.

 

Thousand of dollars of parishioner’s money was spent that day and all week long — to do what? To stop Marty from helping a bereaved family? That would never happen. Just as hundreds of thousands of dollars being spent in Texas will never stop him from helping those who seek him out. And the millions Miscavige will spend will never stop all of us from exposing the cancer that is now the Church of Scientology.

 

Isn’t it absolutely clear what positions on the tone scale, each of these men occupy and and in which direction each is moving?

 

To all of you who post on this blog: to all of you who read it and remain hidden: to all of you who still believe Miscavige holds the key to your eternity: to all of you who still believe in the efficacy of Scientology but are having doubts about Miscavige: and to those of you who continue to take shots at Marty and believe he deserves what he is getting because of his past, PLEASE TAKE HEED.

 

Some, like Mike Rinder walk the path of incessant confrontation in their own shoes. But I do not believe that anyone, not one of you, has experienced what Marty experiences on a daily basis. Joy and I walked in his shoes for just six hours of one day. And that left us feeling angry, bitter, and frustrated at the injustice, cruelty, and absolute insanity of what Miscavige is perpetrating in the name of religion. No one in a free society should have to endure what Marty and Mosey have endured over these past months. It has to stop. Not only for them but potentially for all of us.

 

Those who have been manipulated, intimidated, or bought into silence will not stop it . It is apparent at this time that neither the media nor the government has a firm will to stop it. Only we can. ALL those who have voices must be heard. It has gone beyond amusing videos and making “Squirrel Buster” jokes, Joy and I learned this week first hand that this is very serious and dangerous business. Probably more serious and dangerous than we know. We, all of US, are an intelligent, determined force and we must use our collective power to end this. Many are already engaged, Every single one of us must be.