By Arielle Levin Becker
Hartford Courant
April 29, 2010
http://www.courant.com/news/connecticut/hc-reardonfile-pg,0,1372042.photogallery
Pete had gone to Reardon's office with his three brothers that day in 1968. Reardon, head of endocrinology at St. Francis Hospital, told their mother that the boys would be in a growth study. He took them into the room one by one, then drove them all home. When they got there, the boys told their mother they did not want to go back.
But for nearly 40 years, they never spoke of what had happened inside that room, not even to one another.
"It's too painful of an experience for all of us to even think about talking about," Pete, now 53, said recently. "None of us felt comfortable."
In recent weeks, state lawmakers have been contemplating child sexual abuse and just how long victims should have to come forward if they wish to file a lawsuit.
Inspired in part by more than 140 lawsuits involving Reardon, state legislators introduced a bill to give victims more time to bring civil cases involving child sexual abuse, exploitation or assault. Currently, they have until they turn 48 — 30 years after turning 18. The bill would allow those 48 and older to sue, with two conditions: Someone under 48 must have also filed a lawsuit with the same defendant and similar allegations, and there must be physical or documentary evidence to support the claim.
If the bill passes, it would be the third time in 20 years that state lawmakers have extended the statute of limitations for sexual abuse of children.
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| West Hartford Police were dispatched to a residence on Griswold Drive for a report that the homeowner found a large quantity of child pornography. The resident had been renovating the household basement, and while removing paneling from the wall, a secret storage area where thousands of slides and video containing images of child pornography was found. The pictures belonged to a previous homeowner, Dr. George Reardon, now deceased. |
Opponents of the bill, including representatives of the Roman Catholic Church and St. Francis Hospital and Medical Center, have questioned the need to extend the time limit again. Connecticut's statute of limitations is among the most generous in the country, they say. Some critics have wondered why victims need more than 30 years to come forward.
Counselors and others who advocate for victims say that child sexual abuse is a unique crime, often rooted in the perpetrator's ability to keep a victim silent. Most victims know their abusers, and many feel ashamed, embarrassed or worried that no one will believe them, feelings that may carry into adulthood. Some victims never come forward, advocates say.
Pete and his brothers might have been among them, if not for a gruesome discovery. In 2007, nearly a decade after Reardon died, the owner of his former West Hartford home found more than 50,000 slides and 100 movie reels of child pornography hidden in a wall.
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| West Hartford Police were dispatched to a residence on Griswold Drive for a report that the homeowner found a large quantity of child pornography. The resident had been renovating the household basement and found a secret storage area where thousands of slides and video containing images of child pornography had been hidden. |
One hundred forty-three people have sued St. Francis since then, accusing the hospital of negligence for failing to stop the abuse. Pete and his brothers are among them. Although the four boys were abused on the same day, only the youngest was under 48 when the pictures were found. The other three are legally too old to sue. Their cases, and those of 53 other plaintiffs who are past the age limit, are moving ahead, but could face a challenge.
Pete says it's not money they are seeking. He wants to make sure nothing like it can happen again, to give potential abusers a reason to think twice.
"I wouldn't want it to happen to my worst enemy's children," Pete said. "It's such an unbearable crime."
The Courant does not identify victims of sexual abuse without their consent. Although Pete agreed to have his full name used, The Courant is not using his last name to avoid identifying other family members.
Reardon drove the boys home that day, stopping for ice cream. Pete remembers feeling befuddled, confused. He wasn't entirely sure what had happened.
"I was so young," he said. "I really did not know what the hell was happening to me. I had no idea what was going on."
He thought he was the only one.
"I just assumed that he had selected me for some ungodly reason," he said.
And he wondered why. Was he the vulnerable one? A willing participant?
Whatever it was, he knew it wasn't supposed to happen in a doctor's office.
But still, it was a doctor's office, in a hospital. This was the late '60s, when doctors were trusted and nurses stood when they entered a room. Their mother had the utmost trust in St. Francis. Reardon was a respected figure.
How does a kid in grade school reconcile that with the strange, scary thing that had just happened?
The mind protects itself, Pete knows now. It finds reasons to explain what happened, even if they make no sense.
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| In Horicon, New York is the former seasonal home to Dr. George Reardon. |
Like that it wasn't as bad as he thought. That it wouldn't happen again. That he should just forget about it.
That maybe it was his fault.
"I had a feeling of guilt that I almost allowed it to happen," he said. "I wasn't 5 or 6 years old. I was taller and you would think that I would be able to stop something like that and I just always felt that it was partially my fault that I allowed it to happen."
He knows it's not rational, that he was a child, not the one in control. That even if he tried to forget, it stayed in his memory, buried, but there.
Pete's brother Tim thought he was the only one, too. He believed it was an isolated incident.
It was hard to acknowledge having been helpless, being hurt in a way that conflicted with everything that society told him about being a man.
"You're brought up as a man, this is what men do, this is what men don't do," Tim said.
Like his brothers, Tim didn't speak about it for decades.
"I think I had just managed to put it in a box, in a compartment in my mind and file it," he said.
Tim, who was a teenager, stopped going to school and started using drugs and alcohol. He developed what he called "a complete mistrust of authority."
He became an addict and spent time incarcerated for drug use.
It wasn't until years later that he made the connection, realized that it all started in the year following his visit to Reardon's office, that he was struggling with the idea of powerful people being able to do as they please.
"There's no question in my mind that I would have been a much different person and had different opportunities," Tim said, now sober.
Pete turned to alcohol. He started drinking at about age 13 and didn't stop.
The abuse stayed buried, though, while he grew up, married and had children. He worked as a financial adviser and lived the life of a suburban dad, going to soccer games and swim meets.
He saw articles in the newspaper in the 1990s when the state Department of Public Health tried to revoke Reardon's medical license and, in 1998, when Reardon died. It didn't have much effect.
Then, in 2007, his life started crumbling.
On Nov. 29, he woke up and saw an article in the newspaper about slides found in Reardon's home.
"I said, 'Oh, my God, I hope there's no pictures of me.' But I knew there was."
And for the first time, he realized that his brothers might have been abused, too.
He called them. By the way, he told one brother, an article in the newspaper said they found pictures from Dr. Reardon. Do you remember Dr. Reardon?
The line was silent for what must have been two minutes.
Yes, his brother said.
Pete began drinking more. He stopped working and started having vivid nightmares about what had happened in Reardon's office. He wasn't eating. He got divorced. He started questioning, wondering what would have happened if he had said something back then.
"For two or three years, it almost destroyed my life," he said. "All I kept thinking about was the photos and having the nightmares."
Victims began filing lawsuits against St. Francis.
The hospital has said that it did not know of the specific allegations against Reardon until 1993, when state health officials moved to revoke Reardon's license.
In a statement Wednesday, the hospital said, "Saint Francis was and remains deeply saddened and we offer our sympathies to anyone who may have been abused by Dr. Reardon."
More than two years ago, the hospital created a confidential process for former Reardon patients of all ages to access mental health treatment for free and it continues to cover the costs of counseling and medications that therapists prescribe, the statement said.
Pete decided that he and his brothers should see a lawyer. They did not object. They had still not told each other what went on in Reardon's office.
The lawyer gave them each a form to fill out to describe what had happened. They did not say it out loud, but Pete knew from the way his brothers spoke that day that it had happened to them, too.
For the first time, he knew he had not been singled out.
"All of a sudden I realized I was not the only one," he said. "I had thought forever that I was the only one that anything had ever happened to."
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Today, the four brothers remain close, but they struggle to talk about what happened that day.
Pete has been in therapy. He attended hearings on proposals in the legislature, last year and this year, to extend the statute of limitations, and met other victims. Talking has brought a measure of peace.
The brothers are protective of each other, he said. He believes that his brothers agreed to see the lawyer because they thought it would help him, because his life was falling apart. He never doubted it, but he knows now how far they would go to support him, trudging up something they never wanted to think about, much less repeat in depositions.
Nearly two years ago, he developed pancreatitis from his alcoholism and spent 14 days in the hospital — St. Francis. He said he has not had a drink since.
Tim no longer drinks or uses drugs. He sees a psychologist and is working on trust issues. He sees the lawsuit now as a way to get answers from St. Francis.
"I want them to face an accuser in court as an institution," he said.
He has questions: How many different administrators oversaw Reardon in his 30 years at the hospital? How was he able to get away with his crimes for so long?
"Unless we get into court, there's no way I'm going to know," Tim said.
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For Pete, something else helped, too.
He had debated it in his head, back and forth, until finally he decided.
For years, he had thought maybe it didn't really happen, or that it wasn't as bad as he thought. Now there was proof, sitting at the West Hartford Police Department. He wanted to see for himself that it really had happened.
The police let him see the pictures of himself. They were horrifying. So lifelike, he said.
But it helped. He realized that it was not something he dreamed up.
Seeing it an as adult vanquished the doubts that had lingered, the things that he wasn't able to see as a child. He could tell that it was wrong, that he was a child, that it wasn't his fault.
But it had happened. And now it was over. Reardon was dead.
It was a relief to come to grips with, he said.
"But at the same time, who wants to come to grips with that?"
Watch an interview with Pete on the Fox61 News at 10 tonight.
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