Archdiocese Confronts a 30-Year-Old Secret A Child-Molesting Priest Cycle of Abuse Must Be Stopped, Says Woman Who Broke Decades of Silence in the Church By Carol M. Ostrom Seattle Times May 24, 1988 The wine had just been wiped from the communion cups and the incense still lingered in beams of light from the church windows when the priest stepped purposefully toward the altar, taking the microphone firmly in his hand. It was a serious matter he was addressing, he said, having to do with another priest - one who lived there and had ministered to many of them the past year. "Father - - - is a pedophile," he began, his soft voice wrapping itself around the hard words. In the pews, faces crumpled. A young woman, sitting arm in arm with her husband, stared with wide eyes at her pastor. An older couple gasped and looked at each other. The pastor continued talking at the service last weekend, explaining that the priest had been under very strict supervision in the Roman Catholic parish, including curtailed contact with children, was in a treatment program and had not had" any deviancy" in the past year. "His is really a success story," the pastor said, knowing only too well that his reassuring words would be lost in the emotional turmoil that was engulfmg his parishioners. There would be counselors available after the service, he told them, and they were all invited to a parish meeting Thursday to share their feelings. After the service, people streamed out of the sanctuary. "I'm still in shock, I'm just in shock," said one woman, the mother of teen-agers. Among priests, pedophilia - a sexual preference for children - is not new, nor is it unique to the Seattle archdiocese. Across the country, angry parents are suing dioceses, claiming that their church has ignored complaints, disregarded victims and transferred pedophile priests to unsuspecting parishes. One 1986 church report, which documents 200 cases out of approximately 53,000 priests nationally, estimates that the church's liability could reach $1 billion over the next decade. Because this particular priest has not been charged with any crimes and is in a treatment program, The Times agreed not to name him or his parish. Members of the parish, a large, active church near Seattle, have heard plenty about pedophilia among priests, most recently in the case of a Port Angeles priest charged with molesting young boys. But the issue hadn't really come home until last weekend. Several days earlier, the pastor told the parish council of' 'Father Doe's" past: a long history of sexual contacts and attempted contact with young boys, several attempts at treatment and, most recently, counseling in a long-term program. The councilleamed, too, that for at least 30 years, through 10 parishes and two hospitals, this priest's secret had been kept from most people around him, even after it was known by the church's administration. This parish might also have been kept in the dark about' 'F ather Doe's" history. But Maryalyce Ebert, who knows firsthand how the ripples from one instance of abuse can rock many lives, decided last week she would help stop that cycle and tell her story publicly. As a child, Ebert was abused by a relative, who as a teen-ager had been abused by Father Doe. "It was all done so secretly, and with abuse, as long as the secret is kept, the abuse can go on," she said. Breaking the silence, though, brings strong emotions. After the pastor told parishioners Thursday night about Father Doe, they unleashed their hurt, anger and fears at the church, at Father Doe, and at the pastor himself. How could the pastor, a celibate priest, understand the love and protectiveness a parent had for a child? they asked bitterly. Why had he and the archdiocese betrayed the parish council by keeping it in the dark? How could they ever trust the church again? And they struggled with many of the tough issues of pedophilia among priests: What would happen to the priest, by all accounts a competent, sensitive man, if they kicked him out of the parish or out of the church? Could their decision place other children at risk? What should they do for victims? But most of all, not surprisingly, the parishioners were worried about their own children's safety. "They don't have a right to jeopardize our children," said one angry father, who, like others, asked that his name not be used. "I believe when a priest has violated this trust, they should no longer operate as a priest," said another parish member, a woman. "Who do you go to when you're in trouble? Who do you bare your soul to? That's a priest." When a priest breaks that trust, she said, "more often than not, it turns the child from God." At the Seattle archdiocese, officials admit candidly that they are on a steep and somewhat painful learning curve. A policy recently released by the archdiocese promises to respond promptly to victims, suspend an accused priest pending an investigation, protect the community, notify authorities, counsel the priest, and avoid transferring him to another diocese without its bishop's knowledge. In Port Angeles, police and community members praised the way the archdiocese handled the case of the Rev. Paul Conn, recently charged with five counts of indecent liberties with young boys. The church quickly reported a complaint of alleged abuse to the police, removed the priest from his parish duties and provided counseling for the parishioners. Legally, church officials are not required to report suspected child abuse. In Father Doe's case, no criminal charges have been filed, but he has been removed from at least two parishes and a Catholic hospital in the archdiocese for pedophilia problems since 1977, according to the Rev. Jack Walmesley, clergy personnel director. In at least two of those instances, there was no actual incident, but instead apparent "grooming" behavior: He was getting progressively closer to a young boy, typically the way he started a relationship with a victim. Altogether, the priest has served at 12 parishes or hospitals, all in this archdiocese, since he was ordained. They include: St. Patrick in Tacoma; St. James in Vancouver; Holy Rosary in West Seattle; St. Mary in Monroe; St. Michael in Olympia; St. Catherine in Seattle; St. Anthony in Renton; St. Joseph Hospital in Tacoma; St. John Bosco in Tacoma; Providence Hospital in Everett; Queen of Angels church in Port Angeles, and this parish. In July last year, under an agreement worked out with the archdiocese and Tim Smith of Northwest Treatment Associates, a sexual deviancy treatment program, Father Doe was placed at his current parish, with supervision by the pastor. It was decided that the priest, who is retired, would be allowed to say Mass and to work with parishioners, as any other priest in his position would do, as long as he had no contact with children, or families with children. About two months ago, when several people in the parish found out about his problem, he was removed even from that limited ministry, although he still lives at the church. The priest is considered to be a "low risk" pedophile, explained the pastor, who has steadfastedly supported Father Doe. Although pedophilia is incurable, it is treatable, said Smith. "I'd never been involved in a case where I thought the guy was doomed to reoffense." "I'm more and more convinced that it's immersing them in a loving community that is the answer," said the pastor. Most employers, the pastor noted, would simply turn their backs on a pedophile, and he would become someone else's problem. It's not clear just when the archdiocese knew about Father Doe. Archbishop Raymond Hunthausen came to Seattle in 1975, and it's unlikely, said Walmesley, that he was informed by the previous archbishop. Certainly, the church hierarchy knew by the late '70s. By then, the priest had already been to a treatment program in Washington, D.C. In the mid-'80s, during his year and a half as chaplain at a Catholic hospital in the diocese, Father Doe was asked to leave a hospital room by a young male patient, who complained about the priest's behavior. After the administrator determined that the complaint was legitimate, he immediately called in the archdiocese, which responded quickly and honestly, he said. The administrator was not aware of the priest's problem when he hired him, he said. "You figure they're qualified. There was just no clue." Father Doe was removed from the hospital, sent to a treatment program in New Mexico and after about six months, was placed in a parish elsewhere in the archdiocese, according to Walmesley. There, he was under the supervision of the parish priest, and several parish leaders also were made aware of his past. But after about four months, the supervising priest said he felt Father Doe was once again "grooming" a family. After again undergoing treatment, Father Doe was determined to be safe for reassignment to his present parish, with supervision. Only the pastor, those who lived with the priest and the parish's key staff members knew of Father Doe's past. And it probably would have stayed that way, but for Maryalyce Ebert. In August 1986, Ebert, now a 38-year-old mother who had been struggling much of her life to come to terms with sexual abuse she suffered as a young girl at the hands of two male relatives, confronted one of them about the things he had done to her more than 30 years ago. The relative, she said, told her that when he was 13 or 14, he had been abused by Father Doe, who had been a close friend of her family. The news astounded Ebert. "This man had been like a brother in my home," she recalled, taking her young relatives on weekend outings. "It was very much a trust relationship." When she discovered that Father Doe was still in a parish in the archdiocese, she said, she was shocked. Last week, Ebert, who had been struggling with what she felt was the church's unwillingness to break what she calls the" cycle of secrecy," went public on a television talk show. Having suffered for years from emotional and physical problems, including bulimia, an eating disorder, Ebert felt she had to do something to help other victims. "There's always that feeling that he's out there and he could do it again, and nobody's really addressing that," she said. What to do about the victims is just one of the many weighty problems now facing the parish, the pastor, and the archdiocese. This archdiocese, said Father George Thomas, archdiocesan chancellor, has given top priority to the care of victims. In the Port Angeles case, it is paying for in-depth counseling sessions for children and families, he said. But some parishioners agree with Ebert that the church should actively encourage victims to come forward for help. That notion troubles the pastor of the parish. A wholesale announcement might trigger a landslide of victims, abusers and others who all expect help, he said. The church could easily unlock a Pandora's box that it was ill-equipped to deal with, agreed Smith, of Northwest Treatment Associates. It was for that reason that Smith advised against informing the whole parish of Father Doe's problem. The pastor and the clergy personnel office say they probably would make that decision differently today. Up until very recently, child abuse wasn't handled openly by the church or by anybody else, Smith said. "Society just tried to cover it up. It happened in every institution I've ever heard of. It happened in the family. That was the advice they were given at the time," Smith said. Little was known about child abuse, explained Walmesley, and victims, especially male, rarely came forward and rarely were believed when they did. Most church leaders viewed child molesting as something that could be stopped by willpower, and, assured that treatment had "cured" the priest, were inclined to protect him and give him a chance. Such was true in the case of Father Doe, Walmesley said. "I think our decision to place him in the parish can be questioned; I don't think you can say it was reckless." Clearly, it's the secrecy that has angered many at Father Doe's parish, and the pastor knows it. "If I had it to do over again, I think it would be very important to tell at least the parish council people, to ask for their direction and counsel before bringing in a priest to minister in the parish," he admitted. Finally, there's a pressing question: What to do with Father Doe? Some parishioners think he should continue a restricted ministry in the church; others think it's too dangerous. Others think he shouldn't be wearing a clerical collar at all. Smith, at least, would rather have Father Doe stay where he is. "If he's not working there, he's working somewhere. If he's not working, he's sitting somewhere in an apartment. My responsibility is to get an offender so he doesn't reoffend, no matter whose kids." And besides, priests are no more likely than anyone else to molest children, says Smith. The pastor, a man who is referred to as "a saint" even by those who disagree with him, believes Father Doe is dedicated to changing his behavior. "Forty years of his life have been in commitment to the Lord and dedication to offering Mass and working with people. Because there's a small area of his life that's dysfunctional, I don't think you should take away his opportunities to give his gifts to others," the pastor said. And as Christians, the pastor and some parishioners in Father Doe's parish note, they believe that God can help the priest overcome his problem. "Definitely it can be controlled; otherwise we don't believe in God," said the pastor. "God can change us. God has changed me." Although they haven't made any formal policy changes, Walmesley said the archdiocese is learning fast, and likely would handle the situation differently today. "I don't believe a priest who is a known or convicted pedophile can be in a parish," he said. Besides Conn in Port Angeles and Father Doe, the archdiocese is aware of only one other priest pedophile, Walmesley said. He is in treatment, and is not serving in a parish. Although having such an uncomfortable topic out in the open hurts, church officials are taking their lead from Smith. Though he's deeply concerned about having to cope with a landslide of psychological needs, he's unwavering in his view: "Only good things come from these things being public." And the people of the parish, still reeling from the news that something so devastating could strike them, are trying to think in terms of their own growth. "This isn't the way I would have liked for it to happen," said one parishioner. "But I think there's a lot of good that could come out of this."

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