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THE PRISONER OF SAN JOSE: HOW I ESCAPED FROM ROSICRUCIAN MIND CONTROL

FOUR: Haiti: The First Crucible

In alchemy, substances that are scheduled to be treated or melted by strong heat are put in a bowl or pot, usually of stone, called a crucible. In some cases, the word crucible is interchangeable with mortar, and the substances can be ground up by pounding them with a pestle.

In many cults, the first material, the raw recruits, need to be transformed into a substance that is useful for the cult. To this, recruits' personalities must be thoroughly pulverized.

In my case, the environment I grew up in was the wonderful, though sometimes frightening, magical world of Haiti. As someone who was struggling economically, determined educationally, but naive metaphysically, I was an ideal candidate for recruitment.

According to experts, a typical prospective member of a cult is going through an important transitional period in life. He or she may be failing school, having critical family problems, enduring the consequences of a broken romance, or experiencing a protracted period of unemployment.

Cult recruiters, for instance, may hang around the university offices where students are dropping classes to locate those whose college careers aren't going well. Or, conceivably, recruiters might watch for people coming out of state employment offices. Wherever they are, cult recruiters are trained to sniff out self-disenchantment, to find people smart enough to work for them but who have all the earmarks of becoming programmable assets to their purposes.

In order for you to understand me and my suitability for AMORC's purposes, I need to tell you about how and where I grew up. AMORC, like other cults, must have a crucible, a place of residence, to grind up or melt the human personality with its pestle of dogma, ritual, and forward-looking promises of personal power. For me, my first crucible was Haiti.

I was born in a remote town about 120 miles from Les Cayes, the third-largest city of Haiti. My place of birth, Les Anglais, was so remote that public transportation only came there about once every two weeks.

The public bus took about twelve hours to cover the distance from Les Cayes to Les Anglais. The bus fare was so high that only well-to-do businesspeople in the village could afford such a luxurious means of transportation.

My father, Marc-Aurele Freeman, came from one of those well-to- do families. His father had died when he was a child, and he, his brother, and two sisters were raised by their uncle, Raphael, who was a very influential, well-educated politician and businessman in the village.

Raphael's influence extended all the way to Port-au-Prince, the capital of Haiti, where he had well-connected friends. He used his political influence to keep his nieces and nephews from making any claim to their father's share of the wealth, which had now become part of Raphael's estate. Any attempt to fight him would have been tantamount to suicide. My father was the second oldest sibling of the four.

My mother, Annette, came from a more modest family and was filled with dreams of a better life for herself and her children. Since my father was raised in a wealthy family, he was quite satisfied with his life, but my mother was anxious to move up the ladder.

I was the first of four children. My two sisters were named Jacqueline and Lucie. My brother was Abel. By the time I was completing my elementary education, my father was not faring well financially. He was also abusive to my mother.

My father bought a large property in the forest and focused entirely on cultivating his land, rarely coming to town. My mother, on the other hand, dreamed of living in a larger city. She sent us kids to elementary school and did not take any part in my father's farming life. She was a dressmaker.

As I was finishing elementary school, my mother did not know what to do. She had no money to send me to a larger city where there was a secondary school. The only options available to children from poor families who could not afford school past the elementary grades was farming or pursuing trades such as carpentry, shoemaking, or tailoring.

My mother wanted better for me but did not have the means to send me anywhere. She often talked about mothers who had left town and gone to Les Cayes to work as seamstresses or maids and raise their sons. In fact, we knew about a very successful man in our town whose mother had done exactly that.

The First Miracle

Every year in Les Anglais, about ten boys and twenty girls completed elementary school. In the year I graduated, exactly ten boys got their certificates. My teacher, Micheline, was a devoted Catholic who had gone to the convent but had not stayed to the end to become a nun. She was the greatest religious teacher I ever had.

Our curriculum included an hour-long class on religion every morning. For reasons unknown to me, Micheline talked to me about becoming a priest. It is possible that she observed how compliant I was in the classroom and how intently I listened to her when she was teaching religion. Then, too, I was an altar boy at that time. I attended church activities regularly, even when it was not required by my duty as an altar boy.

So she told my mother that I wanted to be a priest. Then she took the initiative in writing the first letter to Catholic school, which was then located in Maznod, near the city of Les Cayes, and signed my name to it. Before long, my mother and father were called to the presbytery of the local Catholic Church to have a meeting about my vocation.

Acceptance into the Catholic seminary was an almost-perfect ticket out of poverty and into an Ivy League school. Many young boys and girls were coached by their parents into claiming that they wished to be a priest as a way to get into this exclusive school, where the church prepared and groomed prospective priests and nuns at no cost to their parents. This school was popular with affluent families from Les Cayes as well as the smaller towns surrounding Les Cayes. My mother, at one point, questioned me to ascertain that I was sincere in my claim of wanted to be a priest, I told her yes, I want to become a priest.

Once I completed my elementary exam, the priest of Les Anglais set a date for my father to report to Maznod for me to take my entrance exam. More importantly, this occasion was intended to give the officer of the church an opportunity to evaluate my candidacy and make sure I really had the divine calling to become a priest.

As we got deeper into the process, and many letters were exchanged between Maznod, my parents, and myself, Micheline changed tactics. After she wrote the letters, she gave them to me to copy in my own hand. One of the last was to be written at the office of the Catholic Church in the presence of the priest. For that, Micheline wrote a letter and had me memorize it. I then went to the office of the priest and wrote what I had committed to memory.

I went to Maznod for the exams and stayed on the campus for five days.

After the written exams, all the candidates had an interview with the priest in charge of the seminar. There, we were questioned in front of our parents to detect possible fraudulence in our assertion that we wanted to become a priest. During the interview, the priest asked me whether I had written all the letters that were sent to Maznod, and I said, "Yes."

He then showed me two clearly different styles of handwriting. I claimed I had forgotten that the first letter was written by Micheline, my teacher.

He did not accept me, but he did send me to a secondary school that was run by the nuns in a town not far from Les Anglais. The plan was for these nuns to observe me and make sure I really had the calling to become a priest. If they were convinced, after I completed three years at their school, I would be brought to Maznod to continue my secondary education en route to becoming a priest.

I quickly fell out of grace with the goods sisters of the new school. Clearly, they figured out that I was not a priest-to-be. I also got sick that year and had to repeat the sixth grade, my first year in this new secondary school.

Although I failed that first year, I was awarded a certificate of recognition for my performance in math.

After I completed my second year in the sixth grade, I passed with high marks. By then, my father had lost his land in the forest. He sold part of it to pay for my entrance to secondary school and lost part of it to another ownership claim.

My father and mother had also separated by then. My father was living in a small farmhouse that he rented. From time to time, he bought farm produce and traveled by mule to resell the produce in a larger city and make a profit. The summer after I completed the sixth grade, my father bought a lot of beans to resell. Due to unexpected changes in the market, the price of beans went down, and the only chance my father had to recover his initial investment was to go to a very large city, such as Les Cayes, and resell them there.

When I was visiting my father one day, he said, "If you were a man, I could send you Les Cayes to resell the beans for me."

Without thinking, I told him I would go. The only time I had been to Les Cayes was when I went to Maznod for my examination in the seminary. I had arrived at night, and the very next day my father and I had taken the bus to Maznod, so I really had not seen that much of the city.

My father explained to me how to take care of the merchandise and make sure that gangsters did not take my money. Then he sent me to talk to one of his friends who had a truck used for transporting merchandise. The owner of the truck readily agreed to take me, because my dad had been his good friend since childhood.

I told my mother that my father was sending me to Les Cayes to sell his beans, and my mother and I thought -- almost simultaneously -- that I should take my report card to show to my uncle, Eric Simon, who lived there and was married to my father's oldest sister. I thought to myself that perhaps he would consider registering me at the Lycee Philippe Guerrier, a prestigious public school in Les Cayes. Uncle Eric was a very influential manufacturer who was well connected politically and had strong ties to some of the biggest politicians of Port-Au-Prince.

There were many other merchants on the truck en route to Les Cayes. They were surprised to see a child going to sell beans in the big city by himself and quickly offered me a price for them. Since my mother had instructed me not to bargain about any reasonable price and to sell the beans as quickly as I could, I sold them on the truck.

My mother and I agreed that if I were going to go to school in Les Cayes, I would live with Juliana, her cousin. So when I got to Les Cayes, I went to Juliana's house, took a shower, and walked to my Uncle Eric's vacation home, a two-hour trek on foot.

When I finally got to see my uncle, I did not tell him that I had come to the city to sell beans for my father. I told him that my father sent me to him with my report card so that he could register me to go to Lycee Philippe Guerrier, the biggest public secondary school in Les Cayes.

Most people had to stand in line for days to get a chance to register for that school, but not Uncle Eric. He simply began to move forward, regardless of the line. I watched in fascination as people respectfully moved out of his way, and he seamlessly worked his way toward the director of the school. It was obvious when he approached the director that the man was ecstatic to be of service to such an influential politician. I walked behind my uncle and was indeed proud of the privilege.

With Eric's help, I was registered at the Lycee Philippe Guerrier. Incidents like that played a major role in boosting my self-esteem, so that I was blind to the social reality I would later face in Miami.

When I got back to my town, I gave my father the money but did not tell him that I had sold the beans on the truck. He was very proud of me. I also told him that my uncle had seen my report card and decided to register me at the Lycee Philippe Guerrier.

My father asked me why I had taken the report card, and I told him that my mother had told me to. I did not tell him that I had been part of the plot. My father had been put against the wall and had no choice. As my father was very mindful of our relationship and cared very much about me, he did not show me how angry he was, but after I left, other people told my mother how my father had become angry and said that she was the kind of person who would make me do such a thing. The truth is that I had been much more involved in the planning than my mother had been, but I was good at pretending to be naive.

Now, my mother and I expected that once I got into school in Les Cayes, my well-to-do Uncle Eric would have to help me out. But we were in for a big surprise. We quickly realized that he was not going to help. My mother ended up heavily in debt in order to support me in school in Les Cayes. And my father's financial condition worsened, so he was unable to help either of us.

By May of 1974, my Uncle Eric became prefect of the entire region of Les Cayes, which included not only the city of the same name but also many other smaller cities. This was equivalent to someone assuming the position of governor in a state, with the qualification that this position was not elected but appointed by Baby Doc Duvalier, the president of Haiti. At that time, Eric's children, my cousins, were in school in Port-au-Prince, and his second wife, their stepmother, was taking care of them. Eric's first wife had passed away years ago and left five girls and two boys. One of these boys, Arthur, was living with Eric in Les Cayes.

It wasn't long after Eric was appointed to his new position that he realized he had been left with no time to raise Arthur as he wanted to. So he took me into his house to be a mentor and tutor to Arthur, and in this way, he relieved me from hunger and abject poverty.

An Event Without Equal

When my Uncle Eric took me in, I was, in truth, desperately hungry every day but still remained in school. I only had one school uniform and one other pair of pants and shirt. On Sunday afternoons, when all the other boys were out showing off their beautiful weekend clothes, I had to literally hide.

My mother usually sent me some food via the local bus driver's helper. The bus arrived around 4:00 PM on Sunday. In order for me to get to the driver's home, I had to cross some major streets, where the only movie theater in the city was located. All the young boys and girls of my age were out. So I developed the habit of pulling my shirt over my head and running so no one could see my face. Strangely enough, I would later be forced into adopting similar behavior in Miami and Brooklyn after my initial indoctrination into AMORC.

My Uncle Eric took me in on a Wednesday. The very next Sunday was May 26, both Mother's Day and First Communion in the Cathedral of Les Cayes, the biggest church in that whole area. The archbishop of the Catholic Church there was personally presiding over this great occasion, which was by far the biggest social and religious event of the city of Les Cayes.

My cousin, Arthur, got dressed and was ready to go to church. As he was leaving the house, my uncle asked him, "Where is Pierre? How come he does not go to church with you?" Since I was in earshot of his question, I replied that I did not have good clothes to wear to church. He asked me to put on the dirty little clothes that I felt embarrassed to wear even on a weekday and told me to go to church with his well-dressed son.

Arthur loved me very much, but he could not realize, at his age, that his father was humiliating his cousin. He stopped to talk to every friend he could find. I followed him, because I frankly did not want to raise any problems with his father. All I really wanted to do was hide from any churchgoer who might see how I was dressed. When we finally arrived at the church, I was absolutely appalled. There was no dark comer where I could hide, and almost everyone had a flower in their lapel. I had to force myself to pretend I had physically risen above the congregation to retain my peace of mind.

When I wrote to my mother and explained the event to her, she cried. This was probably one of the reasons she decided to leave Les Anglais and go to Port-au-Prince in quest of a better life.

When Eric's other children returned from Port-au-Prince, my uncle told me that he had to send me back to my father. Why? Because I did not have the proper clothes to stay in the same house with my cousins. Of course, he did not tell my cousins why he was sending me away. This was the reality I had to face about my so-called benefactor.

When I returned to Les Anglais, my mother had left two weeks earlier for Port-au-Prince, so I went to my Aunt Selita's house, where my two little sisters and grandmother, Alcine (my mother's mother), were living. The next day, I went to visit my father and told him what Eric had done to me. My father told me to come and help him with his farm work.

I went back home and told Grandmother Alcine that my father had asked me to come and help him with his farm work. Within the next few days, my grandmother gave me five gourdes (the currency of Haiti equivalent to one US dollar) and told me I could not go to do the farm work and that I must join my mother in Port-au-Prince.

My Grandmother Alcine and I decided to tell my father that I had received a letter from my mother asking me to come and see her because she needed to talk to me about something. When I told my father the story, he said, "What does your mother need you for?" I told him that I didn't know, pretending to be innocent of any deception.

I asked him if I could find his cousins, Bob and Ghuslaine, and give them a letter on his behalf. My father agreed and dictated a letter to me, asking his cousins to send him some old clothes because he was not doing well.

Both Bob and Ghuslaine felt indebted to my father for his unsuccessful efforts for so many years to procure their inheritance from Uncle Raphael. He had, indeed, risked his powerful uncle's wrath on their behalf, a fact that earned him a lifetime of enmity from his well-connected and wealthy uncle. In fact, Raphael had even blocked my father's attempt to join the military, a role in Haitian life that would have significantly elevated his status and financial well-being.

One of my mother's friends asked someone to help me with a ride out of town. So, ultimately, I got a ride and left my hometown on August 7, 1974.

When I got to Port-au-Prince for the first time in my life, my mother was surprised to see me and did not have a place to put me. She and my little brother, Abel, were living with a lady who owned a restaurant across from the football stadium (Stade Sylvio Cator). My mother worked as a waitress there, and she and my brother were allowed to eat for free. Finally, my mother found a woman who agreed to take me into her little house for the summer while her niece was away on vacation.

Without wasting any time, I started looking for my father's cousins, Bob and Ghuslaine, and for a Saint Jude church. I had adopted Saint Jude as my patron saint the year before, and I asked every one in Port-au-Prince where I could find a Saint Jude church. After much perseverance, I was able to locate a Saint Jude convent in a remote location near Port-au-Prince. That was a great surprise to my mother and her friends, because no one suspected that a church even existed in that location.

Finding my father's cousins turned out to be a challenge, because my father had lost contact with them fifteen years earlier. Bob and Ghuslaine were doing well financially, but other members of my father's family who knew where they lived hid the address from us. Eventually, I found Ghuslaine and met her at her workplace (SNEM, an agency of the Health Department). I gave her the letter that I had written on behalf of my father that asked for used clothes. When I was about to leave, she said, "What about you?" I said my father had sent me to find a job so that I could work and go to school at night.

I was so small that she looked at me and said she would talk to Bob, her brother, my father's other cousin and good friend -- to see what they could do. I told her I was living with my aunt on my mother's side. I did not want to tell her that my mother was separated from my father. I assumed if I told her she would realize that I was on my mother side and would not be interested in helping me.

When I gave my mother the news that I had found Bob and Ghuslaine, she was happy and excited, and most of all, her trust in my ability to survive increased.

When I went back to Ghuslaine two days later, she told me that her brother Bob had decided to pay for secondary school for me, and that he wanted me to go to a school called Classique D'Haiti, located at 179 Lalue (near the Sister of Lalue), a prestigious address in Port-au-Prince, to register.

When school was in recess, I was to go with Bob to work. I would also go to work with him every Saturday and Sunday. Bob was an electrician and had big government contracts.

When I gave my mother the news, she became as ecstatic as I was. This event further reinforced my mother's trust in my diligence and the power of my faith.

Bob also bought all of my books, paid for me to buy a uniform for school, and gave me a small allowance of ten gourdes (about $2 U.S. dollars) every Saturday, which I used to supplement my mother's income as a seamstress. I also did some private tutoring of math to earn extra money for my family.

For most of the time I went to school, Bob thought that I was living at my mother's cousin's house. My mother's cousin was called Madame Guillaume, and she was rather well off. Although I stayed with her for about a year, at one point I was forced to leave but did not tell Bob. Here is the reason: the following year, I secretly brought my two other sisters to Port-au-Prince. They had been living in Les Anglais. Now, all four children, including myself, and my mother were living in one little room, but Bob thought I was living with my aunt Madame Guillaume.

What Bob gave me in the way of pocket money and what I earned tutoring math was therefore actually the primary income for a family of five. My mother was a dressmaker, which was not a lucrative profession in Haiti at the time. But she also waited tables near the football stadium and was sometimes able to bring food home from the restaurant where she worked.

In the private school I attended, the Classique D'Haiti, I was a gifted student in every subject, but especially in math and the sciences. Our students carne from many different backgrounds, but most were from families that were well off financially, professionally, and politically. They thought I was one of them.

I quickly earned respect from my peers, who thought I was living with my Uncle Bob, a well-to-do man who lived in a very rich neighborhood. Because I was so good at my studies, these rich children invited me to their homes to help them with their math. I gladly accepted every invitation and became known as someone who was willing to help anyone who asked for help.

In reality, I was following a calculated schedule to feed my family and myself. For example, I made sure that I went to their houses at a time that corresponded to their family's dinner schedule. So I always had a nice meal with a rich family. The parents were always pleased to have me near their children to help them with school assignments.

What worked in my favor was my physical size. I was actually two or three years older than most of my peers, but they and their parents thought that I was two or three years younger. My intelligence became a legend.

At the Classique D'Haiti, I was indeed doing very well, and by the time I got to my senior year, I was beginning to be concerned about living a multiple life. Bob thought I was living with Madame Guillaume and that he was paying for school and giving me an allowance for myself. My school friends thought I was living with my well-to-do uncle and thought I was one of them. I felt I was getting to the point where I might be discovered, and I was tired of living a double life. In addition to this, I wanted to find a way to substantially upgrade the living conditions of my mother and my brothers and sisters. I started thinking of an exit strategy, a way out.

In earlier years, I had successfully managed to keep friends away from my house by being busy and going to their houses instead. By this time, my strange schedule had become a subject of jokes. People wondered how I had the time to study and get an A in every subject.

The Second Miracle

My mother knew about my plan, but all we knew to do was pray, so'! kept on going to St. Jude's and other churches to pray.

One Sunday, I went to visit Ghuslaine in Petionville, a town near Port-au-Prince noted for its affluent residents. After dinner, I was on the patio relaxing between the plants when an idea struck me. There had to be a way for companies that needed people to work for them to identify the skills of prospective employees.

Given the social structure of Haiti, I figured it must be the case that affluent, successful people networked among themselves about job openings. And if I was right that such a thing existed, Niton's father would know about it. Niton was one of my friends from school, and he came from a well-to-do family in Haiti. So I decided to ask him how to get a job. At that time, I had absolutely no idea what Niton's mother, Ritz, did for a living.

When I got home from my aunt's house that night, I went to Niton's, told him that I would need a job at the end of the school year, and asked him to ask his father where I could look for one. He immediately told me, "My mother will give you my job. She works for INAREM, the National Institute for Mineral Resources." I had never heard of such a government agency. He explained that his mother was the head of administration and accounting for INAREM. As such, she was entrusted by the agency to buy a great quantity of items.

Owing to the culture of the time, it was common for lower-level administrators to fabricate the true amount of their purchases to be able to pocket some extra money -- sometimes a lot of extra money. Ritz needed a subordinate that she could absolutely trust to protect her from the corruption of lower officials who put their own interests ahead of the agency's. She had hoped to fill that position with her son, Niton.

But, although she thought Niton was a good choice, she was ambivalent about putting her son -- or any close relative -- in this position. It would be easy for someone in the government to target her for nepotism. So I was a good solution to Ritz's problem. And so Niton said, "I will ask my mother to give you my job."

When I went back to his house the next day, his mother said she would, indeed, let have the position. She told me when I would begin and what my salary would be. By Haitian standards, the salary was quite large, and when I got home and broke the news, everyone started praising God. It was a miracle to us.

I completed secondary school in June, and I started my new job in October 1978. With my first check, I rented a nice house for my mother and siblings and sent my little sister, who had just graduated from elementary school, to the same school I had attended.

I hope you can understand from this why my mother would not have any doubts, later on, about my approach to spirituality. She would never have thought that any person or group could use the name of God as a tool to enslave her boy, her Pierre.

In the French educational system, the year following high school is called Philosophy, which is like a college prep year. During this time, I went to school at night and worked for Ritz during the day. After I finished that year of college prep, I enrolled in and went off to Faculte des Sciences, an engineering school, in Haiti.

The Faculte des Sciences was to Haiti what MIT is to the United States. It was the greatest and most prestigious engineering school in Haiti. Many of the professors were French. The university itself was partly financed by the United Nations through the Haitian government. All Faculte des Sciences graduates are guaranteed high-paying jobs. Most of them wind up with scholarships to attend graduate school in France.

The competitive entrance examination that candidates must go through to enter the university adds more to the prestige of the engineer- to-be. Being selected out of these examinations adds more to the value of its graduate. The entrance examination, which extends over many days, tests one's aptitude in science, mathematics, physics, and chemistry. Usually 1,500to 2,000students compete for entrance to the Faculte des Sciences, though less than 200 are accepted into the first year.

The year I entered the university, only 179 students were selected for the first year. The first-year class was commonly designated "PCM," because during this first year, students participate in a very competitive and rigorous full year of study of physics, chemistry, and mathematics.

The competition in that PCM year is as challenging as the entrance examination for the university. Traditionally, only half of those who were selected for admission will complete the first-year program and move up to the second year.

In junior high school, I founded a small math and physics study group. I selected all the gifted students in math and science, but I also included some friends somewhat less gifted, whom I tutored throughout high school. Four of us from that study group were accepted into the engineering program, and we continued studying together.

Since I was in charge of my siblings, I taught some math classes in secondary school part-time and did some accounting work on the side on weekends. With this money, I was able to meet my financial responsibilities to my family while attending the university.

Most students usually do not work during their PCM year, in order to keep up with the pressure of the program. In spite of my busy schedule, I excelled in my first year, ranking third in my class of 179. Only one hundred of us passed the class to move up to the second year.

My performance in school was great news, and anyone from Haiti who knew its social structure at that time would have confirmed that I was on my way to a successful life. In four years, I would become an engineer and be a well-connected person in the government -- a guaranteed success.

As a reward for my outstanding completion of the PCM year, the doyen (or dean) of the university gave me an internship at the Mining Department of Haiti. Of course, prior to that time, I had worked already for the Mining Department as a junior accountant when the organization was called INAREM. That internship paid a substantial stipend, and I was on a roll financially. I was taking good care of my mother and siblings.

My youngest sister was attending the same private school, Classique D'Haiti in Port-Au-Prince, that I had attended. My other sister was already attending high school at a semi-private school. My little brother was attending a vocational high school. I was caring for the entire family. My mother stayed at home to take care of us.

That summer, I became even more conscious of how God had blessed me with a great intelligence, and I started showing an even greater interest in spirituality.

As a result of the appeal of the Rosicrucian order, I signed up that summer and became a member of AMORC. I was attracted to its claims of being the ultimate path to spirituality.

I approached the Rosicrucian monographs with the same zeal that I approached my engineering studies. Little that I know that my zeal would became my enemy in the path to fulfilling my most cherished career path and dreams of a successful and bountiful future for my family and myself. I did not realize how far I had begun to stray until 2004, some twenty-five years later.

What happened next was truly frightening. As a result of the demanding schedule of my Rosicrucian studies, I actually failed the first semester of my second year in engineering school and left in the middle of the year.

A few years before I entered engineering school, Ritz had given me my first job as a junior accountant in INAREM (now the Department of Mining), working for the government. So, when I had to leave engineering school and find a job again, Ritz again helped me find one in the government financial planning agency that she had just joined. She was assisted in this process by Henry P. Bayard, the minister of culture and communication in the Duvalier government.

After I assumed my new junior accountant position, I was lucky enough to become the protege of Jacques Simeon, the minister of finance and of his sister, Marie-Therese Simeon Chanoine. Her husband, Jean-Marie Chanoine, became the new minister of culture and communication where I was working as a junior accountant. This contributed to my good fortune at the time.

Toward the end of 1982, I explained to Jean-Marie Chanoine that I wanted to pursue my engineering dream in the United States. But as the breadwinner of my family, it was difficult to leave my job in Haiti for the United States. To help me out, Jean-Marie gave me five years' leave with pay, signing all the necessary official documentation so that I could be secure about the stream of income for family while I was out of the country. However, I was to keep the department updated of my progress toward an engineering degree in the United States.

I gave my family a strict budget to follow and left Haiti in January of 1983 for Miami, Florida. I had $184 in my pocket at the time I entered the United States.

Fatal Mistake

The first time I experienced "physical entrapment" was the time when I went looking for the right incense and candle for initiation. I went with a friend, Carline Clermont, to the Martinez de Pasqually Lodge in Haiti to buy incense.

There, I met a "cheerleader," the secretary of the lodge, who asked me whether I was interesting in joining. I had answered "Yes," even though that was not part of my plan. It is quite possible that her cheerleading attitude made me forget my initial decision not to join a lodge and made me answer affirmatively.

The initiation day at the lodge was marked by an eye-opening experience that I did not fully understand at the time. One of the female members looked at me and said sarcastically, "Today a member, tomorrow a master." This lady turned out to be one of my teachers at the engineering school. Months later, she claimed that I did not turn in an important project -- whereas I know that I did turn in that assignment. She might have made an honest mistake. Nonetheless, this fellow Rosicrucian contributed to my surprising and sudden failure at engineering school.

Eventually, I left Haiti with the intent of studying engineering in the United States. As I prepared to leave, I followed the AMORC teachings to the letter: I went to the local lodge and presented my resignation from that specific lodge. The secretary then gave me a certificate confirming my continued membership and giving me the opportunity to eventually transfer to another lodge.

According to the rules of AMORC, I had to present this certificate at the new lodge I wished to join before they could admit me. As usual, the secretary was cheery and friendly. She told me that I should join the lodge in Miami when I got there, because they would help me.

A frater -- a male lodge member -- who was also in the room asked what she meant by that. She replied in her smiling, cheerleading voice, "He'll be new in Miami. The fraters there can help him find a job." The man looked at her skeptically, as though he didn't really believe it.

But I did. Those words were in my subconscious when, in Miami, one of my friends encouraged me to join the lodge. But the brother in the secretary's office had the right idea. No one in the Miami lodge was ever of any help to me.

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