Holding hands and smooching, Canada’s prima ballerina, Karen Kain, 31, and little-known actor Ross Petty, 36, announced their formerly secret month-old engagement in Toronto last week. “When I met this lady, the light went on,” said the Winnipeg-born New Yorker, who has admired Kain from the wings for some time. Kain confided that she agreed to go out with Petty only because she trusted the mutual friend who arranged their first date six months ago. Besides, she “liked Ross’s voice on the telephone.” As soon as Kain
saw him, she says, “I -
knew this was the person Hubbard: wanted I wanted to spend the rest of my life with.” Although Petty’s career does not equal hers (he is currently starring in a late-night TV soap aptly called Loving Friends and Perfect Couples), the possibility of being called Mr. Kain does not concern him. “I am a strong person, and my strength allows me not to think in those terms,” he says. Instead, he and Kain are thinking of a traditonal church wed-
ding next May, a honeymoon in a sultry tropical hideaway and children—“12,” according to Petty.
he reclusive science fiction writer whose ethereal imagination brought earthlings such classics as Typewriter in the Sky, not to mention the five-million-member Church of Scientology, is back. Or is he? Shortly after Battlefield Earth, L. Ron Hubbard’s first novel in nearly 30 years, hit the stratosphere in October, his son, Ron DeWolf, filed a petition in a California superior court claiming that his 'I father is either dead or S mentally incompetent. I DeWolf, who has not I seen his father for 23 5 years and insists that no one else has seen him sfor two, is attempting to gain control of Hubbard’s estate and prevent Scientology officials from benefiting from the church founder’s $100-million empire. The plot follows a peculiar orbit. In November the Scientologists countered with a lawsuit of their own against De Wolf’s lawyers and announced that they were searching for their leader, who was last seen in public in March, 1980, at a Scientology function. Shortly thereafter, Mary Sue Hubbard, L. Ron’s third wife, who has not seen her husband since 1979, filed a motion to kill her stepson’s petition, arguing that this is not the first time that her spouse has disappeared. Meanwhile,
_ a fresh manuscript, 12
volumes and 2lh million words long, has been deposited with Hubbard’s publisher. L. Ron, it is time to call home.
'he face has changed, but the message remains the same. Sporting a surgically reduced nose, an emblem of his days underground, Abbie Hoffman, the former FBI fugitive, Yippie leader and political radical, is still touting activism. “There is more to life
than watching General Hospital, throwing up on your T-shirt every Saturday night and playing Pac-Man,” the 46-year-old Hoffman informed a group of students from McMaster University in Hamilton, Ont. “We have to use the language of confrontation and guerrilla theatre tactics to stir things up.” The ex-Chicago Seven member is heeding his own counsel during a current tour of Canadian and U.S. colleges, admonishing onlookers to take up the fight against acid rain and toxic waste. Commanding $3,000 to $5,000 an appearance, Hoffman offers a treatise on the participation principle and hawks $10 memberships for his environmental group, Save The River, along with copies of his 1980 autobiography, Soon to be a Major Motion Picture. Still, Hoffman maintains: “I’m perpetually and gloriously poor. Most of the money I raise doing this goes to solving these heavy-duty problems.” What Hoffman provides for free are applications for Grassroots You, a school for budding
environmentalists due to open in Fineview, N.Y., next June —with Dean Abbie at the lectern. What will the tuition be? Hoffman does not know yet. However, he is certain about the kind of people he wants as students: self-sufficient, unstructured and action-oriented. Presumably, Hoffman, who is still on parole after a 1981 conviction for selling cocaine to FBI agents, will not find many students of his choosing here. “You guys think it is rude to challenge authority. Canada is just too polite. You’re even afraid to shout,” he says, his voice rising obtrusively.
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