Big Suprise

Shocking Test Scientologists show their stuff at the Sheraton Newsday Tuesday May 23, 1995 By Ellis Henican

"Take off your ring," the woman with the E-meter said.

Off came the ring.

"Now take these, one in either hand." She held out a pair of hollow metal cans, about the size of paper-towel tubes, but not quite as long. An electric wire was clipped to each of the cans, and these wires were connected to a shiny, gold-colored device called an E-meter. That stands for electropsychometer, and it is one of the most revered gadgets in the Church of Scientology.

"This sends a slight electrical current through your body," explained the woman, whose nametag said Debbie Indursky. "The meter will indicate your response. Now, I would like for you to think of something you really don't like."

That was easy. I thought about angry telephone calls - all the angry telephone calls I figured I'd be getting if the Scientologists didn't like the column I wrote.

The needle leaped like Baryshnikov.

"See?" Debbie Indursky said. I saw.

The Scientologists have gotten some awful publicity over the years. They've been accused of looting their members' bank accounts, of burying their critics in lawsuits, of launching endless campaigns of harassment against people they do not like.

The church has been targeted by the Cult Awareness Network. "The Thriving Cult of Greed and Power" is the way Time magazine once described the group - an article that, to no one's surprise, was greeted with a bitter libel suit.

The Scientologists deny all the allegations against them. They are being persecuted, they say. And after years of this terrible publicity, the church is on an openness campaign, just in time for its 40th anniversary.

Which is how I happened to be standing on the second floor of the New York Sheraton yesterday morning, gripping two metal cylinders, watching a little needle dance.

The church was holding a public demonstration, and anybody could come.

"Now," Debbie Indursky went on, "think that same thought again."

"Angry calls, angry calls." The words were racing around in my brain, revving up quite a bit of energy, I thought. But this time, the needle barely budged. Compared with the grand jete of a few seconds ago, this was no movement at all.

But Debbie Indursky looked pleased.

"Did you notice how slightly it moved?" she asked. "That's very good. The first time, it's a high dose. The second time, a lower dose. The thought is not so upsetting to you the second time. That's what we do in counseling. We go over it and over it and over it, and you begin to discharge some of that feeling."

Well, OK. I don't mind discharging. Anything that works, I say. But I don't think my feelings have changed at all: I still don't want a bunch of angry people bothering me on the phone.

Yesterday's get-together was a repeat of a gathering at the National Press Club in Washington, and it drew some Scientology heavyweights.

L. Ron Hubbard, the Scientology founder, wasn't there, of course. He died of a stroke in 1986, although his book "Dianetics" is still a big seller.

But the crowd did include Scientology President Heber Jentzsch, in from Los Angeles. And it included New York Vice President John Carmichael, who smiled a lot and seemed extremely friendly. "Have you gotten all your questions answered?" he asked more than once.

None of the church's A-list celebrity members were on hand. No Tom Cruise. No John Travolta. No Kirstie Alley or Nicole Kidman or Lisa Marie Presley. But the jazz musician Chick Corea was there. So was Eduardo Palomo, who had long, wavy hair and was identified as an "award-winning Latino star."

"People have all the answers inside," Palomo confided.

The church takes these celebrity affiliations quite seriously. The movie-faces were all over television monitors in the hotel yesterday. There's even a Celebrity Center up near the Metropolitan Museum to cater to their East Coast needs.

But who had time to name-drop? I wasn't done with the E-meter yet.

"Sure, you can try again," Debbie Indursky said, agreeably, I thought.

So I picked up the canisters one last time. Again, the Scientology electricity went shooting through my hands. But this time, I made a conscious effort not to think anything at all.

A mind totally blank.

But the needle went crazy this time. Right across the dial. Then, just as quickly, it settled down. "You see?" Debbie Indursky asked.

Well, actually I guess I don't. A blank mind, a seething mind, who can tell anymore? Just save me from all those calls.