Ruben Rosario: Archdiocese's New Vicar General Took Unusual Path to Priesthood
By Ruben Rosario
Little Charles Vincent Lachowitzer believed nuns had no legs and were celestial beings who could fly like angels. He was sure Sister Mary Timothy would just grab him and float up in the air as the then-second-grader mightily bolted one day toward her for safety to escape a boy chasing him in the playground of St. Pascal Baylon Catholic School on St. Paul's East Side. So he was shocked when he ran to her at full tilt and knocked her on her butt, revealing stocking-covered gams under the ground-hugging habit skirt. "You have legs!" he cried out. Sister Mary Timothy patiently explained after she got up that priests and nuns are human, like him, except that they dedicated their lives in obedience and servitude to the Lord.
That's the day he decided that he wanted to become a priest. That resolute pledge, though, would take a decidedly varied and unconventional detour that would first lead to jobs as an educator and superintendent, logger and fisher of fish before he became a fisher of men. Now, five decades later and long removed from that playground discovery, Lachowitzer finds himself chief deputy of the embattled Archbishop of St. Paul and Minneapolis. He is squarely thrust, whether he likes it or not, in the middle of a simmering, publicly embarrassing clergy sex abuse scandal that shows no signs of letup. "No, I really wasn't ready for this," Lachowitzer admitted Thursday after he decided to talk publicly for the first time since taking on the role in November of Archbishop John Nienstedt's vicar general after 23 years as a parish priest and church pastor. "It's been a steep learning curve," he added. No kidding. JEWISH ANCESTORS Now Father Charlie -- as I refer to my former church pastor, who presided over my son's communion and broke bread at my home -- knows I've been as critical of the local, national and international church hierarchy's decades-long mishandling of clergy sex abuse as anyone out there. Abominable. Shameful. Criminal. Those are some of the words that pop into my head about the practice of covering up misdeeds and shuffling pedophile priests from parish to parish. But I cut Lachowitzer, who was summoned to "The Hill" -- as the chancery office at the Cathedral of St. Paul on Summit Hill is known among the local clergy -- some slack. He is as outraged by the scandals as anyone -- perhaps more, because he wears the collar of faith around his neck as well on his sleeve. "There were times as a parish priest when I read the newspaper in the morning and uttered to myself what the heck was happening up on the Hill," he said. "Now I'm here on the Hill." Lachowitzer drips Saintly City blue-collar cred. He is the son of a World War II veteran and railroad/steel worker and a stay-at-home mom who went to work as a First National Bank keypunch operator in the 1960s when family finances got tight. His paternal ancestors were mostly Jewish gypsies who hailed from the mountains of Bohemia. Most family members who resided in the village that bears his surname were wiped out in the Holocaust. An indelible childhood memory was the day he was about 11 and sat in a car as his dad unsuccessfully implored a parish priest to allow a great-uncle who committed suicide to be afforded a Mass of Christian burial and interment in a Catholic cemetery. Both requests were denied at a time when suicide was considered an unforgivable sin. LOGGER, FISHER, TEACHER, PRIEST He vowed after eighth grade to enter the seminary, but his parents enrolled him at Harding Senior High School and encouraged him to date girls and taste the secular life as a teen to make sure his desire was genuine. He graduated from the University of Wisconsin with a bachelor of science degree in social science and secondary education. He briefly taught in 1977 at Stillwater High School and completed a graduate program in public school law a year later. He landed a teaching job at two Indian reservations in North Dakota while working on a post-graduate social science internship to study human behavior. Somehow, the Pacific Northwest and a break from education beckoned. He spent time in the logging industry in Washington state as a "choker setter" -- the bottom-rung grunt who secures cables before logs are cut and chugged down mountains. To make extra dough, he joined crews on salmon, crab and shrimp boats along the visually stunning inlets along British Columbia and Washington state. Something told him to go to New Zealand to help find himself. He hiked the beautiful land, and it was there, he says, that God tapped him on the shoulder. He returned four months later to Washington, but a twist of fate had him land a job as superintendent of an Olympia-area school district at age 26. He worked 42 months before the seminary and the priesthood back home beckoned. He stepped down this year after 11 years as pastor of St. John Neumann Church in Eagan, a month after news stories about mishandled clergy abuse cases captured headlines. 'I CAN'T SAY SORRY ENOUGH' He was the church leader, accompanied by a church lawyer, who met with St. Paul Police Chief Tom Smith and sex-crimes investigators this week after Smith, a former altar boy who grew up Catholic, publicly expressed frustration that the archdiocese was not cooperating with cops looking into alleged child abuse. Smith's objections were directed specifically at Kevin McDonough, who served as vicar general for many years handling child sex abuse cases and allegations from the mid-1990s until the mid-2000s. "(McDonough), although he is clergy, is also an individual who should also be afforded his constitutional rights," said Lachowitzer. He admires Nienstedt's quick decision to temporarily step down from his public ministry duties after an allegation surfaced this week that he inappropriately touched a minor's buttocks during a confirmation group photo session four years ago. I give victims the benefit of the doubt, given my own similar victimization and how long it took -- more than a half-century -- to come forward publicly. But this allegation against Nienstedt frankly smells fishy to me, given its timing and vagueness. In fact, it was Lachowitzer who was told of the allegation by a mandated reporter within the church. He told the person to immediately call the St. Paul cops. "Don't call us first, call the authorities" is his mantra. He has met with numerous child abuse victims and relatives over the years. He apologizes, even though he had nothing to do with the abuse. No matter. "They know that there is not anything we or they can do to erase what happened to them," he said. "That is the tragedy. What also grieves my heart are those victims who will never come forward. I pray for them. "Although people have told me that it is not my fault, it really doesn't matter to me," said Lachowitzer, whose only vices I know of are that he can be refreshingly temperamental like me, talks bluntly like an East Sider at times and roots for the Packers. "I can't say sorry enough," he added. "I hope that it is never taken for granted." Ruben Rosario can be reached at 651-228-5454 or rrosario@pioneerpress.com. Follow him at twitter.com/nycrican. Contact: rrosario@pioneerpress.com
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