High profile couple
never pairs church and state Greta Van Susteren and her husband, John Coale, rub shoulders with notables in the nation's capital, they involve themselves in controversial legal cases, they like Florida living. But you rarely hear them speak of their religion, Scientology. © St. Petersburg Times, published December 13, 1998
And what about the fact they
belong to a religion that teaches of Xenu, evil head of the Galactic
Confederation? Who flew people to Teegeeack (Earth) 75-million years ago in
space ships, chained them to volcanos and blew them up with hydrogen bombs,
releasing exploded "thetans" that are now the source of most human
suffering?
Well, it's not something
savvy insiders would normally emphasize.
Van Susteren and Coale are
Scientologists. But unlike members of established religions, whose own
beliefs might seem improbable if they weren't so widely held, these
part-time Clearwater residents are not exactly eager to draw attention to
this fact.
"Washington is an extremely
conservative place. Anything that starts to go out of the ordinary in one's
personal life doesn't make it," said Coale, dressed in a green knit vest and
red-striped tie. Van Susteren declined comment.
Van Susteren and Coale
straddle two worlds: the capital's high-powered media and political milieu,
and the close-knit Scientology community around the church's spiritual
headquarters in Clearwater, where they own a home on Clearwater Beach.
Yet these worlds mix about
as well as oil and water.
Xenu and his blown-to-bits
thetans aren't something you'd want to drop casually into a cocktail
conversation here, the way other people might mention a Harvard degree or
friendship with Senator so-and-so.
And as a celebrity legal
commentator in a town brimming with lawyers, Van Susteren also has to
contend with a perception that the church is out to destroy its enemies at
any cost. As Scientology founder the late L. Ron Hubbard once wrote, the
church should use the legal system to "destroy and harass" its opponents and
"ruin them utterly." In other words, there's a clear culture clash between the conventional, gray Washington establishment and the controversial, Hollywood friendly Church of Scientology. And those contradictions meld in Van Susteren and Coale. * * * Van Susteren, the straight-talking 44-year-old former criminal defense lawyer with the blond tresses and slightly askew smile, came to prominence in 1995 with her provocative CNN commentary on the O.J. Simpson trial. (Double murder? Prosecution didn't make its case!)
She now spends her days
dissecting the presidential sex scandals. Burden of Proof, the daytime legal
affairs show she co-hosts, has plowed the ground endlessly on Monica
Lewinsky, Paula Jones, Kathleen Willey, and all things impeachment-related.
Her husband has been less
visible but just as colorful. Known as "Bhopal Coale" for swooping into
India after the 1984 Union Carbide Corp. poison gas leak that killed more
than 2,000 people, Coale, who turns 52 this month, is an unabashed
"ambulance chaser."
Train wrecks, plane crashes,
fires -- you name it, the avuncular Coale has been there, trolling for
business among grieving survivors. Valujet's plunge into the Everglades in
1996 gave him several cases.
More recently, he has
handled politically charged suits against tobacco companies and gun makers.
He was a key negotiator of the now-defunct $360-billion federal settlement
that was supposed to end cigarette makers' liability for smoking deaths in
exchange for cash payments to the government.
Coale became a Scientologist
in the early 1980s. "I did a lot of drugs back in college," he explained.
"Into the '80s, I didn't do a lot of them, but I felt that I wanted to
handle this problem, and Scientology handled it."
He and Van Susteren married
10 years ago (his third, her first). On the inside, they are soul mates. On
the outside, they're the odd couple: the diminutive 5-foot-3 Van Susteren
with her fast-talking, tomboyish manner, and the heavyset 5-foot-9 Coale
with his more measured, deliberative style. For years Coale and Van Susteren practiced together in their own law firm, specializing in high-dollar personal injury cases. Along the way, she became a Scientologist, too.
In Clearwater, the couple
cuts a wide swath. Coale tools around town in a vintage red Cadillac (until
a recent paint job, it was pink). Van Susteren zips through their Carlouel
neighborhood in a 1987 Mercedes sport coupe. They are major donors to a
church expansion project and have reached the upper levels of Hubbard's
"Bridge to Total Freedom."
But Florida also has given
Coale his first taste of discrimination. "This was all new to me. When we
went down to Clearwater and saw there were people who didn't like us, just
because we were people in the church."
When they built a new home
on Clearwater Beach in 1995, Coale recalled, neighbors urged them to join
Carlouel Yacht Club. Then a profile of Van Susteren in People magazine
mentioned her Scientology connection. "All of a sudden, nobody was saying
anything like that anymore," Coale said. "It came back to us . . . that they
didn't want us in the club because we were Scientologists." Their connections to prominent church members are many. Loretta Miscavige, mother of Scientology head David Miscavige, is their law firm accountant, working out of Clearwater.
Actor Tom Cruise, a
Scientologist, once flirted with making a movie based on Coale's exploits in
India following the Bhopal disaster. And Coale represented fellow
Scientologist Lisa Marie Presley in her divorce from singer Michael Jackson.
In 1993, the
husband-and-wife legal team played a small role in Scientology's campaign to
take over the Cult Awareness Network, or CAN. Church-backed lawsuits
bankrupted the organization, which helped people leave Scientology. Van Susteren and Coale represented an Ohio woman who sued a cult-deprograming organization called Wellspring, whose executive director also sat on the CAN board. But their real target was CAN, which at the time was Scientology's public enemy No. 1.
"We wanted to get CAN in
there, but we didn't have the evidence," Coale said. "We thought they were
behind it." Van Susteren won't talk about her relationship with the church. She declined an interview, citing privacy concerns. "The thing about Florida, it's like my home town. I can walk into the Beachcomber (restaurant on Clearwater Beach) and people treat me as a regular guest. I like that." In Washington, though, there's little doubt Van Susteren stirs emotions, mostly among conservatives, who accuse her of a pro-Clinton bias.
Writing in the National
Review, Jonah Goldberg called her the "high priestess of Clinton
apologists," and Clinton's "chief cheerleader."(Goldberg is the son of
Lucianne Goldberg, the mischiefmaking New York literary agent who encouraged
Linda Tripp to tape record Monica Lewinsky).
Indeed, Van Susteren is
frequently in touch with White House officials. And in her on-air
questioning, she often seems to repeat the official line.
"If one side gets two hours,
why not let the White House have two hours? At least, you know, appear to be
. . . fair," Van Susteren said on CNN last month, referring to the House
Judiciary Committee impeachment hearing.
She has since branched out
into quasi-political commentary, appearing on CNN's Inside Politics during
the impeachment hearings. When the White House released a 184-page rebuttal
of impeachment articles, Van Susteren told viewers, "It's a plea to the
Congress. "Please, just read the records. Don't rely on what everybody's
saying.' . . . I've actually gone through them, and I'm not as horrified as
most people."
A CNN spokeswoman said Van
Susteren appears on Inside Politics as a legal analyst. "Those comments are
based entirely on her interpretation of the Constitution and the law, not on
her personal political beliefs, which are private," Maggie Simpson said. Meanwhile, Van Susteren's pro-Clinton voice hasn't gone unrewarded. In May, she sat with First Lady Hillary Rodham Clinton at a state dinner for the Italian prime minister that Coale also attended.
For his part, Coale has
taken on a case dear to the Clintonites. He represents a woman who is suing
Newsweek investigative reporter Michael Isikoff.
Isikoff exposed Monica
Lewinsky's affair with Clinton, and he broke the story of former White House
volunteer Kathleen Willey's charges that the president had groped her
outside the Oval Office.
Coale's client is Julie
Hiatt Steele, a former friend of Willey's who is suing the Newsweek reporter
for allegedly breaking a promise not to quote her in an article. In
conversations with Isikoff, Steele initially backed up Willey, then changed
her story to say Willey had asked her to lie. "It puts me in the game" of Washington, Coale said of the case, which is still is preliminary stages. "Besides, I'm outraged at what has happened to Julie Steele." His political donations also put him in the game. In 1998 he gave $20,000 to various Democratic party arms, including the Democratic National Committee and Vice President Al Gore's political action committee. * * *
Despite their contacts with
the White House, Van Susteren and Coale do not seem to be lobbying for
Scientology, unlike John Travolta, who met Clinton to discuss Germany's
hardline policies against the church. "It's not like I'm standing on the corner of 16th and Pennsylvania handing out Dianetics books," Coale laughed.
So while the church trots
out its celebrity members for maximum P.R. effect -- beside Travolta, Tom
Cruise, Kirstie Alley, Chick Corea and Lisa Marie Presley all have promoted
Scientology -- a Washington celebrity like Van Susteren keeps a low profile.
Even church documents refer
to her by less well known names. A Scientology brochure lauding top
contributors to a Clearwater building project lists a "Greta Conway" in a
category of people who donated $100,000 or more. Conway is Van Susteren's
middle name. Another brochure lists a "Mr. and Mrs. John Coale" in the same
category.
Coale said his wife isn't
trying to hide anything. "Her affiliation with the church has been all over
the media for years."
Scientology spokesman Mike
Rinder added that the church has never asked Van Susteren to publicize her
membership. Celebrities who speak out for Scientology make a "personal
decision," he said.
It's also true that
Hollywood actors don't have to worry about Scientology's undermining their
credibility in the same way that a Washington figure would. "In Hollywood? They do whatever they want to do," Coale said. "It's just not what kind of people we are," he said.
Rather, the couple's
contribution to Scientology comes from setting an example among skeptics in
the nation's capital, he said. "People who've worked with me, who've worked with Greta, know we're successful, we have a great marriage, [we're] people who deal honestly, so if that's a reflection of the Church, that's how we help."
Still, in a
religion-besotted town where politicians seek out churches for photo ops and
one of the top lobbying groups is named the Christian Coalition, it's
curious that few people know of Van Susteren and Coale's Scientology
affiliation.
"I had no idea," said Chuck
Conconi, Washingtonian magazine editor at large.
"Washington is a town where
you don't want to stand out. You could become a target," Conconi said. "And
Scientology is considered, by and large by anyone here, to be a wacky cult."
Concluded Rob Boston, who
monitors the political activities of religious organizations for the
D.C.-based Americans United for Separation of Church and State:
"It certainly speaks to the
fact that the church has a long way to go" in terms of how it's perceived in
Washington. "If these two were Methodists, I'm sure they wouldn't hesitate
(to publicize it.) But saying you're a Scientologist raises red flags."
Times writers Thomas C.
Tobin and Lucy Morgan and staff researcher Kitty Bennett contributed to this
report. http://home.snafu.de/tilman/prolinks/greta.html
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