THE DAY THE CULT WALKED INTO MY BAR
AS I HAVE BEEN WRITING ABOUT BARS AND BAR-LIFE, REGARDING OUR WRITER'S CIRCLE OF THE 1980'S, I ALSO WANT TO EMPHASIZE THAT AT LEAST PART OF OUR ESCAPE INTO THE MURKY DEPTHS OF THE LOCAL TAVERN, (THE FORMER ALBION HOTEL, IN BRACEBRIDGE), WAS ABOUT BUSINESS. WE DID HIDE-OUT THERE, BECAUSE NEITHER OUR PUBLISHER OR GENERAL MANAGER WOULD PASS THROUGH THOSE STORIED DOORS, IN CASE ONE OF THEIR BUSINESS ASSOCIATES OR CLUB MEMBERS, SPOTTED THEM IN A PLACE THAT SANCTIONED……AND ENJOYED STRIPPERS. WE DIDN'T ENJOY THEM. WE ENDURED THEIR PERFORMANCES. AT LEAST THIS IS WHAT WE TOLD ANY OF THE YOUNG LADIES WE MET THERE, TURNING OUR BACKS FROM THE NUDITY ON STAGE. "YOU CAN LOOK IF YOU WANT TO, GUYS……YOU'RE REPORTERS AFTER ALL." GEEZ, WE'D NEVER THOUGHT OF THAT……AND IF WAS PLAUSIBLE WE COULD DO A STORY OR SOME LITTLE DITTY ON THE STRIPPING PROFESSION, AND THEIR TOURS OF SMALL TOWN ONTARIO. I'M PRETTY SURE WE DID ONE, BUT IT WAS DANGEROUS BECAUSE OF THE COMPANY STRIPPERS KEEP. DOG-FACED BIG DUDES, WHO ALWAYS SAT AT A STAGE-SIDE TABLE, AND NODDED TO THE PERFORMER WHEN A MOVE HAD BEEN EXPERTLY TURNED, OR CLOTHING DISCARDED IN A MOST PROVOCATIVE WAY……LANDING ON THE OLD GEEZER'S HEAD IN THE FRONT ROW.
THE REPORTERS WHO USED TO MEET IN THE CORNER OF THE OLD ALBION, NOW A PILE OF RUBBLE, WHERE SO MUCH HISTORY WAS MADE (IN OUR JADED OPINION), USED TO BOUNCE IDEAS AROUND FOR POSSIBLE FEATURE NEWS. IT WASN'T THE MOST INSPIRING PLACE IN THE WORLD, AND THE MORE BEER WE CONSUMED, ON A HOT SUMMER AFTERNOON, THE MORE RIDICULOUS THE STORY IDEAS BECAME. THE STRIPPERS WEREN'T GOING TO TALK TO US, WITHOUT THEIR ROAD MANAGERS, AND A FEW OF THEM WERE SCAREY LOOKING INDIVIDUALS, EATING GLASS IN THE CORNER OF THE HOTEL, AND GROWLING AT ANYBODY WHO TRIED TO TOUCH HIS GIRL ON STAGE. SO WE BOUNCED AROUND A FEW MORE IDEAS, AND JUST SETTLED DOWN TO WHITTLE AWAY THE AFTERNOON IN AIR CONDITIONED DISCOMFORT. THE CHAIRS, THAT WE ASSUMED SOME FOLKS HAD DIED ON, AT SOME POINT, WEREN'T ALL THAT COMFORTABLE FOR LONG-TERM LOUNGING. IT'S CERTAINLY TRUE, THE MORE BEER, THE LESS THEY SEEMED UNCOMFORTABLE OR ICKY.
ON THIS HOT AFTERNOON, BRANT SCOTT (MY WRITING COLLEAGUE) AND I WERE GETTING READY TO PUT IN AN APPEARANCE AT THE HERALD-GAZETTE OFFICE. WE KNEW THERE WOULD BE A DOZEN MESSAGES AT THE FRONT DESK, ASKING US TO VISIT SOME LOCAL BUSINESSES, TO DO SOME FEATURE ARTICLES. SO WE SAT DOWN FOR ONE MORE PINT. BY TIME WE FINISHED IT, THE OFFICE WOULD BE CLOSED. WE'D JUST PUT THE BUSINESS FEATURES WHERE THEY BELONGED……IN THE GARBAGE NEXT TO OUR DESKS. WE HATED TO BE ASKED TO DO THESE MENIAL, RIDICULOUS FEATURE STORIES, OF BUSINESSES OFTEN ON THEIR LAST LEG. WHAT THE HELL COULD WE DO TO SAVE THEIR SHOPS AND INDUSTRIES. WE WERE PRETTY GOOD WRITERS, BUT NOT THAT GOOD.
HALFWAY THROUGH A COLD GLASS OF DRAFT BEER (WONDERFUL ON A HOT SUMMER AFTERNOON), THE SIDE DOOR OF THE HOTEL SWUNG OPEN, AND THE SILHOUETTE AGAINST THE SUNLIT BACKGROUND, SEEMED MUCH MORE INTERESTING THAN USUAL. A FEW THAT USED THE SIDE DOOR HAD BEEN KICKED OUT THE FRONT DOOR, AND CAME CRAWLING BACK WHILE THE BOUNCER WAS LOOKING THE OTHER WAY. THIS GENTLEMAN WAS CARRYING SOME KIND OF CASE, AND HE DIDN'T LOOK THE HOTEL-TYPE. HE WALKED DIRECTLY OVER TO OUR TABLE, AND ASKED IF WE WOULD LIKE TO BUY A CHOCOLATE BAR TO SUPPORT A SCHOOL PROGRAM IN WHICH HE WAS INVOLVED. BRANT AND I WERE LIKE TWO CUNNING VAMPIRES. WE KNEW RIGHT AWAY, NO SCHOOLS FUNDRAISE LIKE THIS, ESPECIALLY IN A DEN OF INIQUITY, WITH THE SMELL OF STALE BEER AND OLD COLOGNE. BRANT SAID HE'D BUY A COUPLE OF HIS CHOCOLATE BARS, IF HE'D LET US TAKE A PHOTOGRAPH OF HIM FOR OUR LOCAL NEWSPAPER. BRANT SUGGESTED THAT IT WAS WHAT WE DID FOR ALL NEWCOMERS TO TOWN. IT WAS CUSTOM. A POLITE TRADITION, TO MAKE OUR VISITORS SENSE THE OUTSTRETCHED HAND OF FRIENDSHIP, FROM STRANGERS. WHAT A LINE. FROM THE MOVIE "ANDERSONVILLE," ABOUT THE YANKEE PRISON IN THE SOUTH, DURING THE CIVIL WAR, WE HAD OURSELVES "FRESH FISH." BRANT AND I KNEW THERE WAS A STORY HERE. WE JUST HAD TO COAX IT OUT OF THE GUY.
THE CHAP AGREED, AND WE TOOK HIM OUTSIDE TO TAKE A FLICK. BRANT POSITIONED HIM UP AGAINST THE BRICK WALL OF THE HOTEL, TO TAKE A FEW PORTRAIT SHOTS, AND I FIRED QUESTIONS AT THE CANDY BAR SALESMAN. HE SAID HIS NAME WAS "JOHN JONES." YEA RIGHT! HE GAVE THREE DIFFERENT ANSWERS, ABOUT THE GROUP HE WAS REPRESENTING, BUT EVENTUALLY, HE GAVE US ONE NAME, THAT WOULD GIVE US A GREAT BREAK, FOLLOWING-UP WHAT HE WAS DOING IN TOWN. THE SLIGHT LOOKING MAN, SAID HE WAS WITH A LARGER GROUP OF SALES-PEOPLE WORKING THE TOWN, AND THROUGHOUT MUSKOKA, THAT PARTICULAR WEEK. HE TOOK THE MONEY FOR THE CHOCOLATE BARS, HANDED THEM TO US, AND WHEN BRANT ASKED IF HE WOULD LIKE A DRINK OF POP, THE GUY BOLTED. HE KNEW HE'D SAID TOO MUCH. HE LOOKED WORRIED, BECAUSE HE WAS GOING TO HAVE TO TELL SOME ONE AT THE TOP OF THE CANDY BAR CHAIN, HE HAD SPILLED THE BEANS. I DON'T KNOW WHAT THE PUNISHMENT WAS FOR THAT KIND OF THING, BUT IT WASN'T LOVE BOMBARDMENT THAT'S FOR SURE. AN ASS-KICKING MORE LIKELY.
CULTS WERE RECRUITING IN MUSKOKA, JUST LIKE EVERYWHERE ELSE
We drank up the rest of our beer (you didn't think we were going to leave it), and followed the guy up to Manitoba Street, and he never stopped looking back, and then breaking into a little trot, in order to lose us in the main street crowd at the time. We watched him jump into a car with other people, which sped off before we could get a license plate number. When we got back to the office, Brant started making some initial phone calls to sources he knew, who might be able to fill us in, on just who was permitted to sell chocolate bars for charity within town limits. Did they have a permit to do so? Had there been any complaints from other citizens or businesses? I won't go into the gory detail of all the sleuthing and rock-overturning, Brant was able to make some important discoveries. Now it's important to know that, during this time of the 1980's, there was a lot of attention being afforded cults and their recruiting, and the problem of getting folks sprung from these mind-controlling groups, once they fall into the system. There were a number of high profile cases, of family members pulling off daring rescues of their loved-ones, who had become members of these cult organizations……of which there were quite a few, some even operating fairly close to home. De-programming the brain-washed isn't any easy operation. Many of those who were rescued, didn't want to be removed, and the cult members, didn't make it easy to extract sons and daughters……many who turned over everything they owned, and money they possessed, to the welfare of the mother ship. What we found out about John Jones, is that he had been someone's son, indoctrinated by a savvy cult program, and was reduced to a chocolate bar drone, hustling sales in towns all over Canada. There was no charity here. This was a for profit deal, and the money was going to support a scary operation with world wide tentacles.
I can't for legal reasons, name the cult. Once we had determined what the affiliation was, and made a few phone calls to their headquarters, we had their legal staff breathing down our necks, suggesting very vigorously, that we drop the story, or else. We had uncovered a cult working the streets of our home town. Not only were they fundraising for their cause, they were also looking for membership. This seemed imminently more dangerous, than getting too many calories eating their chocolate…..that actually wasn't too bad. We ignored the threats of legal action, and we had the support of our publishers to take the story as far as we could. Head-hunting on our turf didn't please them, and we had a huge following for those issues that dealt with the story. Fathers and mothers were worried about the safety of their kids. And yes, without shame, we capitalized, and broadened our approach.
Brant was a brilliant sleuth, and he wouldn't stop until he truly got to the bottom of a story…..and there was no way of going an inch deeper. What he came upon, as a critical information source to help us, was a group, calling themselves, the Committee On Mind Abuse, or "COMA". It was operating in Ontario, and was an information group on cult activities and strategies they would routinely use, to advance their missions. They knew about the dangers of these cults, and had the assistance of some former members, who had been pulled from the abyss, by their family and friends…..often times by brute force, breaking into housing compounds, to free the subject of their interest. In fact, they had a gentleman helping them, who knew John Jones, when we sent him the photograph. His name wasn't John Jones, by the way, and I've forgotten what his real name was. He told us how this cult member's mind was so controlled, and his movements so restricted, that what we had taken a portrait-shot of, was just a shell of a former self. This is what he was useful for….and he obeyed his superiors. He would have been in his mid-thirties. He was of British heritage.
Brant and I met with some COMA members, and they actually sent-up spokespeople, from their Toronto office, including the former cult member, I had mentioned who worked with them, and we were able to get these reps a speaking engagement with the local Rotary Club, to let them know what was going on in their town. We tried to convince the principal of the local high school, to let them talk to kids at a small assembly, but he outrightly refused…..believing that instead of warning the kids away from cults, they might actually get attracted to that lifestyle. I couldn't believe they would turn this down, especially, as we were obviously on the recruiting map for this organization.
Our paper had three or more issues, of huge news features, following up the story. There were a lot of new leads, and we were getting tips that they were still working the streets, but in other Muskoka towns. They weren't scared off by the stories. So Brant wanted to know the down-side, of one of us, trying to infiltrate the organization. We knew where they were encamped, and how to get inside. This was the easy part. Getting out was a different story. Members of COMA thought we were brave and stupid at the same time. I remember telling Brant, as the possibility of doing this got pretty serious, that I'd crumble if there was any of "that love-bombarding" stuff, and I'd give us up as spies…..and then I supposed they'd have to kill us. I'm weak in the love bombardment department. This is exactly what they do, and it gets pretty dramatic, and exhausting the longer you stay. I would be the weak link right off the bat.
COMA advised us not to go. They were bang-on, and yet I think we would have had an amazing story to tell. These groups still operate around here. I've met a few in the past decade. When I'm approached to buy something, like a chocolate bar, from someone I'm sure isn't from here, I always ask what group they represent, and where the sale profits will be going. I remember the various names John Jones came up with, to blow us off, until he unintentionally spilled the beans, and gave us a real name we could trace. Cults look for those down on their luck. They shop for new members constantly, and at places where lost souls tend to wind-up……like train and bus stations….airports, and all night donut shops. They look for teenagers with no place to go, or have just been booted out of their homes for whatever reasons. Some might have money, but it's not always the criteria for recruitment. Once you're in, it's damn hard to get out. Their indoctrination program is thorough, and they will use whatever approach is necessary, to make you want to stay. Forcibly. I'm sure this happens. Getting your loved ones free again, requires strong intervention, and some have turned to professional rescuers, to get their kin back home.
There are many adults who inadvertently get involved with cults, due to circumstances of friendship, and social encounters. There are many documented cases of adults and even families, getting sucked into the cult vortex, and handing over all their material and cash wealth, for the cause! Homes, investments, and bank accounts. We knew we had a story, the minute the guy lied about this name, and tried to mislead us about the group he was working for, and supplying with considerable profits.
Yup, we were just sitting in the dark corner of the Albion Hotel, and a front-pager came right through that side door, right up to our table, and bit us right on our "nose for news." Sometimes it paid off big time, hiding out, and avoiding the jobs we despised, in order to get the few we adored. It was like fishing but nicer. And we never got sunburned. Just a little tipsy.
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