Saturday, November 30, 2013


Cardinal Timothy Manning d. 1989

Seriously, I was about to give the blog a rest. Fr. Paul's case is going to Rome. Things will be decided there. But then I get things like this:

Tim we all need to just relax, let go and let God. You are trying to retaliate at something that has wronged you, but in the end how will you benefit from this? (See comment under this post)

And, well, I just get motivated.

No one has wronged me. This has nothing to do with me. The Archbishop's going to the Grand Master of the Equestrian Order  to bully me into silence means nothing. I was quite clear upon being invited to join the Order that I did not want to join, but would join if it would be of benefit to the priest who asked me to join. He said it would, and so I did. That's that. 

I find it interesting though that the Grand Master has never responded. He could easily kick me out of the Order if he so chose. He has not. Maybe it's because of what I told him (and the documentation I provided), especially in my second letter, the letter I haven't posted yet.

How will I benefit from this??? Do you think that I even think that? Benefit? Do you think I am looking for something from this? Funny beyond measure! But then you don't understand so it's not your fault. 

For now, let's just say that I am dismayed at the reign of terror.  I am sick of watching the non-neo priests live in fear,  and I am appalled at the lies.  I'm not ready to reveal those just yet, so let me tell you a story, two stories actually. 

First Story
In 1976, I was working for the pastor of our church doing small construction jobs around the church and rectory.  I was painting in the hallway when I overheard the pastor in the next room sexually proposition another man. I knew the man. He lived next to the parish, in a house owned by the church. Many had their suspicions that something was wrong. There was. 

The affair had been going on for quite awhile. People suspected but they couldn't nail it. I was there. I nailed it. I didn't want to believe what I had just heard. I froze. My stomach sank. I had spent, upon his invitation, several months with this priest, traveling Europe, Greece, the Holy Land. I had gone with him as his companion. My parents were so proud that I was invited by our pastor to accompany him. They didn't know...and I didn't either. 

We went to Rome with Cardinal Manning's party, the Cardinal of Los Angles. He and my pastor had been classmates at St. Patrick's in Menlo Park. Because they had been classmates, I got to be in the inner party. I even played the piano while Cardinal Manning sang Irish tunes at a dinner in a converted catacomb. 

But I knew something was wrong. The pastor kept touching me in ways that made me uncomfortable. Not sexual, but he would hold on a little too long, a little too close. I had no idea what was going on. But my instincts made me pull away. And now that I had heard what I heard, I knew why I had felt what I did. 

As it turned out, in addition to living free at the parish owned house and having sex with the pastor, the man in the next room with the pastor was also helping himself to parish funds. I had the evidence. I told my dad. We went to the chancery office in downtown Los Angeles. We thought the Archbishop should know. We were told to go away. 

Twenty years later, the Los Angeles Archdiocese had to cough up half a billion dollars of our money, half a billion dollars to pay not just for the damages done to the young men and boys priests like my pastor had molested, but paying for all the people they had silenced, the people they sent away, the people they wouldn't listen to. The bishop had spoken. "Go away". We obeyed. Children suffered. Billions were lost. 

Second Story
In 1981, I was teaching at a Catholic high school in the U.S Virgin Islands. A student came to me one day after school was out. He was in terror. He was going to be killed if he didn't come up with a certain amount of money by the next day. He told me why. 

A drug ring was operating in the school. A certain homeroom teacher was a member of the gang which was extorting the kids. One student had already been tortured and murdered. We knew that. It was recent news. Big news. The dead kid had been the godson of the principal. And it was the principal who had been blackmailed into allowing the ring to extort the students.

He was blackmailed because he was the town drunk and the town male prostitute. The place was small. Everyone knew this. He used to help himself to boys in the showers in the gym. People feared him. He had been reported to the bishop several times. But the bishop had his back. He told the fearful parents to go away. He was the bishop. They obeyed.

I decided to help the boy. It was a horrible couple of days.  I called the cops. The cops were in on it, paid off by the ring. I told one of the priests who taught at the school. He shrugged. He was buying marijuana from the teacher who killed the kids. 

But my "talking" had turned the light on and for a time the cockroaches scampered into their holes. I lived under the threat of death for months, and in the end, had to leave the school and move away from the island to save my life. But, with the help of another priest, a very brave one,  I  was able to get rid of the principal and broke up the ring. It would take a few more years before the bishop was replaced. His name was Harper. 

Archbishop Apuron can easily check my story.  There are only two other Capuchin bishops in the U.S.: Archbishop Charles Chaput of Philadelphia and Cardinal O'Malley of Boston. O'Malley was the bishop who replaced Harper. He was sent there to clean up the mess. 

Curiously I was able to recount this whole terrorizing episode several years later to the bishop who replaced O'Malley, Elliot Thomas. After he retired, Bishop Thomas came to Guam to visit his friend, a Navy chaplain. They both came to my house one afternoon. I have never told anyone else, till now. 

If I had kept my mouth shut that boy who came to me that afternoon would have been dead the next morning and many others after him. Let go and let God? Yah, well, sometimes God says "Do something!" 

Today, another man's life hangs in the balance. He won't be shot in the morning. But he's finished as a priest, at least in this archdiocese and probably every other diocese in the United States. Blackballed. And for what? We know "for what". We ALL know for WHAT. That's why there are 40,000 plus views on this blog in 4 months. And that's why you want me to "just relax". Too late. 

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