Cultic Studies Journal, Vol. 11, No. 1, 1994, Page 30
From Tel Aviv, I made more than a few long-distance calls to my shrink in which I accused
him of being a cult leader, of trapping people with the promise of psychic or spiritual freedom
just so he could rob them of their money. He was pretty silent on the other end of the line.
The truth is, shrinks don‟t like being called cult leaders. Anyway, I felt better. I felt righteous.
I would never, ever, give a single penny to another human being in exchange for a good
feeling.
This was a major mind-kerflooey moment. At some point, you eschew all your past ties--fire
your shrink or your family or your church or your friends--and wipe the slate clean, making
sure your snoozing old brain has no chance of waking up.
Many people who are getting drawn into cults make desperate calls to their loved ones,
maybe without even knowing why they‟re calling and maybe saying stupid things. If you‟re
lucky, you call someone who knows the signs and will call you back. If you‟re really lucky, you
call someone who knows how to awaken your old brain. It will be like someone slapping you
and waking you out of a nightmare.
You will say “Whew.” You will say “What happened to me?” Like everyone else, you will be
stunned and amazed and 100 percent dumbfounded when you realize that you, too, are
vulnerable to the seduction of a cult.
No one wakes up in the morning, looks in the mirror and says “Hey, I think I‟ll join a cult
today.” It doesn‟t work that way at all.
Ambush happens.
***
I flew home from Tel Aviv, got my brain unwashed, made some calls and then headed for
Scottsdale, the CBJ Mecca.
To help gain some perspective, I met up with Rick Ross, a cult deprogrammer. I visited him at
his Phoenix condo. He did not try to hug me. It was a relief. He explained that he specializes
in Bible-based cults --most notably (and formerly) the Branch Davidians of Waco, Texas --
but he also happens to be an expert on CBJ, since it is right there in his backyard.
We sat in the living room, and he popped a tape into the VCR. “When deprogramming,” he
said, “I use this one for comic relief.” He clicked the remote, and there on the TV appeared
Chuckbernieandjim, trinity of coordinated outfits. They were talking about cells and
intercourse and penetration and immortality. “People coming out of cults usually feel kind of
humiliated and depressed about what they got sucked into,” Rick said, “And then they see
this and they go “Oh, that would be even worse!..” And they crack up, laughing.” He said CBJ
is fun to study because “it‟s a good example of how ridiculous a cult can be.”
I did hear of a more ridiculous cult. It was affectionately termed “the Two-Dollar Haircut Cult-
-by a lawyer I met. Some lady in the Midwest goes around pronouncing that she can teach
you how to perfectly cut a head of hair in two minutes. If you charge $2 for the haircut and
work full-time at this, you can, she claims, become a zillionaire. So you pay your money and
go to her seminar, ostensibly to learn how to cut hair. Once in, you learn that you have to
free your mind before you can achieve the knowledge of the $2 haircut. Can‟t free your mind?
Come to the next seminar, and the next. Before you know it, you‟re two years into seminars
and she still hasn‟t gotten around to talking about hair. But it doesn‟t matter--you‟ve long
forgotten your original purpose for attending.
It reminded me of CBJ. “Charles Paul Brown, BernaDeane and James Russell Strole are like all
the other cult leaders,” Rick said emphatically. “They‟re feeding off of their followers, taking
advantage of them, luring them with the promise of eternal life and then turning that into a
way to suck them into the group and exploit them, take their money, take their time, take
From Tel Aviv, I made more than a few long-distance calls to my shrink in which I accused
him of being a cult leader, of trapping people with the promise of psychic or spiritual freedom
just so he could rob them of their money. He was pretty silent on the other end of the line.
The truth is, shrinks don‟t like being called cult leaders. Anyway, I felt better. I felt righteous.
I would never, ever, give a single penny to another human being in exchange for a good
feeling.
This was a major mind-kerflooey moment. At some point, you eschew all your past ties--fire
your shrink or your family or your church or your friends--and wipe the slate clean, making
sure your snoozing old brain has no chance of waking up.
Many people who are getting drawn into cults make desperate calls to their loved ones,
maybe without even knowing why they‟re calling and maybe saying stupid things. If you‟re
lucky, you call someone who knows the signs and will call you back. If you‟re really lucky, you
call someone who knows how to awaken your old brain. It will be like someone slapping you
and waking you out of a nightmare.
You will say “Whew.” You will say “What happened to me?” Like everyone else, you will be
stunned and amazed and 100 percent dumbfounded when you realize that you, too, are
vulnerable to the seduction of a cult.
No one wakes up in the morning, looks in the mirror and says “Hey, I think I‟ll join a cult
today.” It doesn‟t work that way at all.
Ambush happens.
***
I flew home from Tel Aviv, got my brain unwashed, made some calls and then headed for
Scottsdale, the CBJ Mecca.
To help gain some perspective, I met up with Rick Ross, a cult deprogrammer. I visited him at
his Phoenix condo. He did not try to hug me. It was a relief. He explained that he specializes
in Bible-based cults --most notably (and formerly) the Branch Davidians of Waco, Texas --
but he also happens to be an expert on CBJ, since it is right there in his backyard.
We sat in the living room, and he popped a tape into the VCR. “When deprogramming,” he
said, “I use this one for comic relief.” He clicked the remote, and there on the TV appeared
Chuckbernieandjim, trinity of coordinated outfits. They were talking about cells and
intercourse and penetration and immortality. “People coming out of cults usually feel kind of
humiliated and depressed about what they got sucked into,” Rick said, “And then they see
this and they go “Oh, that would be even worse!..” And they crack up, laughing.” He said CBJ
is fun to study because “it‟s a good example of how ridiculous a cult can be.”
I did hear of a more ridiculous cult. It was affectionately termed “the Two-Dollar Haircut Cult-
-by a lawyer I met. Some lady in the Midwest goes around pronouncing that she can teach
you how to perfectly cut a head of hair in two minutes. If you charge $2 for the haircut and
work full-time at this, you can, she claims, become a zillionaire. So you pay your money and
go to her seminar, ostensibly to learn how to cut hair. Once in, you learn that you have to
free your mind before you can achieve the knowledge of the $2 haircut. Can‟t free your mind?
Come to the next seminar, and the next. Before you know it, you‟re two years into seminars
and she still hasn‟t gotten around to talking about hair. But it doesn‟t matter--you‟ve long
forgotten your original purpose for attending.
It reminded me of CBJ. “Charles Paul Brown, BernaDeane and James Russell Strole are like all
the other cult leaders,” Rick said emphatically. “They‟re feeding off of their followers, taking
advantage of them, luring them with the promise of eternal life and then turning that into a
way to suck them into the group and exploit them, take their money, take their time, take
