September 20, 1997 - Deep Wog

At approximately 1997 Sep 20 7:20 pm, I aquire the target visually: the polished(?) white high-rise Hilton Hotel at the south-east corner of University and Richmond in the depths of downtown Toronto.

On the University side of the building, one could see the external elevators gliding up and down, efficiently delivering their payloads of expensive business executives, escorts, and the like.

I approached the building from the north, on the west side of University. The on-going protest was spotted as I reached Richmond St. I see Artemis [my mission profile included pictures of the main participants of the evenings festivities on both sides of this affair; I haven't met them at this point] walking to and fro along Richmond, covering the main entrance and no doubt confusing the heck out of the cab drivers parked out front of the hotel.

Next I spotted Gregg Hagglund standing on the corner, brandishing a bright yellow sign, a loudspeaker (unused), and (most sinister of all) a satchel of leaflets.

And as I crossed University, I take note of Slippery Jim patrolling the University (side) entrance to the hotel. He carries a yellow sign of his own. Whoever it was who came up with black-on-yellow for the signs was thinking well: they *really* stick out against the typical concrete and pavement urban environment.

I crossed Richmond and entered the building via the side-entrance of the hotel, pushing through the revolving door.

Once inside, all the evening traffic noise vanished. The Hilton, an up-scale hotel with frightening per-night rates, has a decor that is best described as "dark". Most everything in side is a shade of brown, and the lighting is *just* sufficient to keep people from walking into the walls.

The event in question was in the Toronto Ballrooms, which are located one floor beneath the hotel lobby. The escalators which take you down are right across from the side entrance. So within ten steps I am smoothly sliding down into The Unknown.

Below is a fairly crowded room. Which came as a surprise, me wondering if I have actually screwed up somewhat. But no: half way down the escaltor, I spot what must be a member of the "Sea Org" in full naval regalia standing near a the south-west corner of the room.

My primary mission was to get a head-count. By the time I am at the bottom of the escalator, an initial estimate is in: perhaps 30 people so far. Once at the base, I turn around and the estimate goes up to about 50 people.

The time is about 7:25pm. There are 5 minutes before the event is supposed to begin.

For some reason, most of the people are packed into the southern end of the room, crowded near a pair tables. No one looks very interested about whats on them. There is much conversation. The mean-free-path of this crowd was about a metre. I couldn't see too well, so I quickly picked my way through it, going in the opposite direction of the elevator. During this exercise, I noticed a number of tables covered with scientological items and there was another big pile of stuff under the escalators being totally ignored.

I reach the crowd periphery, spin around, notice the ballroom doors are closed, decide that 50 is probably a bit high. However, before I can switch to the secondary mission (taking a better look around), I am set upon by a couple: a tall white male, and a short white female. The conversation goes something like this:

Q. Looking for something?
A. Yeah. I understand there is some sort of scientology event taking place tonight. Have I found the right place?
Q. [So suspicious! So soon! Incredible!] Yes. Where did you hear about this?
A. Oh, I noticed the sign out front of the building on Yonge St.
Q. [the female talking now] Well, have you signed in yet?
A. [Damn!] No.

The lady points at the registration table, and while the idea of countering with a "request" to just look around for a bit first enters the brain, it is already clear I'm not going to last too long.

I squeeze through the crowd -- why *are* they packed in so? there is piles of space on the other side of the escaltor! -- and land in front of the registration table, and a young woman encourages me to fill out the Dreaded Form.

Fatal. I had debated this pre-mission and still couldn't decide if I should give a fake name and address, try to oil my way out of the requirement (which just leads to more lies) or just flat out leave.

I put up a wee bit of a (assuredly gentle) fight, but she wouldn't settle for a first-name only. It was also clear that revealing the parameters of the mission would only make the current situation worse, so the expedition is aborted. I turn to leave, but only to discover the "Rev." Buttnor [I recognize him instantly from the photographs I've seen] has been waiting for me to balk at the request for my name, address, etc, and is now waving me aside!

We hack and slash our way through the crowd to the base of the escalator. I notice that Buttnor sporting a 35mm camera, with no flash. I hope he got a good picture (without flash, high-speed film would have been essential; and if he was using colour film, did he take precautions to deal with the low temperature lighting?)! Not that it matters much: I am not very photogenic, especially in profile.

He turns to me and the conversation runs somewhat like this:

Q. I am going to ask you to leave.
A. [I had already decided to.] Oh really?! But why?
Q. This event is for scientologists.
A. Oh, now wait a minute. I called ahead, on Thursday evening, and the lady who I spoke to was quite clear and unambiguous when asked if the event was open to the public: I was told it was.
Q. [Silence]
A. Heck, she even suggested that I could bring as many friends as I like.
Q. Well ...
A. Have things changed since? Or are you going to suggest that I was mis-informed?
Q. [Silence]

Well, that was enough of that. He was polite and calm, as was I; there was no need for escalation. It *was* their event after all and if he wants to change the rules on the fly, the more power to him. And I'm certainly not going to interfere with his or anyone elses enjoyment of the evening. [My task, after a head count, was to be a quiet observer and no more. And I *was* told it was open to the public.]

So I hop on up-going escalator and leave. The time is about 7:27 pm