That little house behind the school

I never realized until I went to my 40th class reunion that people were upset that Knoxville Catholic High School had moved to a new location and sold the old school. Without going into details, I know that the sentimentality of the old school is very great, and people are loathe to turn loose of those things that matter to them. KCHS matters to many of us. Rich and fond memories for most; pain, humiliation, and horror for some.

It's really all about that little house behind the school.

Old KCHS on Magnolia had become a rather dangerous place because of its location in the city. Drug dealers on the streets were far too frequent. Staying late at school for extracurricular activities had become a security nightmare. It was really necessary to move, but before all that came about, there was a danger far more sinister and more perverse than most could imagine. And it all came about in that little house behind the school.

It was the priest's house. That's what we called it anyway. If the principal of the high school were a priest, he lived there. So it was when Father Frank Richards was principal of KCHS in the mid 80s. And Frank Richards is a pedophile who preys on teenage boys.

He would ask unwitting parents to let their son come to spend the night. There were several who were going to come there, he said, and there was work to be done and fun to be had. All too soon, the fun ceased, and the shame and horror began.

It was the alcohol or the drugs or the pornography or any combination of these that started it all. Father Richards gave it to the boys so what could they say. He was cool. He let them taste the wilder side of their approaching manhood, so why not participate. "Father said it's okay" is a strong argument to the teen brought up in the strict Catholic homes of yesteryear.

And then he abused them. Frequently they were dazed with alcohol. Sometimes not dazed enough, but the results were always the same. Shame. Guilt. Pain. Despair.

"I don't think your parents would want to hear what you did." And now, years later, the horror of that little house behind the school still haunts these once-innocent boys, now men. Still brings chills and nausea and sometimes the desire to recreate those alcohol and drug-induced, mind-numbed moments so they don't have to remember.

And Frank Richards is a free man. Ex-priest. Not prosecutable because of statutes of limitations. Murderer of souls. One time occupant of that little house behind the school.

It was time to move KCHS away from the pain.

The pedophile priest and the toy train

I saw an advertisement on TV today for an upcoming toy train exhibit at the Knoxville Expo Center. Huge displays of trains with long winding tracks, landscapes, villages, imitation ponds and lakes. It looked so idealic. Like a Norman Rockwell painting. Families will go there and enjoy the day. Dads and Moms will laugh and smile as they watch their sons and daughters enjoy the meanderings of the toy trains.

Then I remembered the boys. The 11-year-old olds. The 10-year-old olds. The 12-year-olds. The ones whose parents dropped them off at Father Edward McKeown's house, the rectory where he had a huge train set up in the basement. The house where he gathered boys for sleepovers to play with the toy train set. To have innocent fun. Or so the parents thought.

But Father McKeown never had enough room for the boys to sleep. Seems like one boy always found himself sharing the bed with McKeown. And the stage for McKeown to molest was set, organized every bit as meticulously as his elaborate train set and fake landscape and sleepovers. Arranged to feed his evil predilection for these boys, whose parents trusted him. The rape of childhood had begun.

I know so many men, once happy children in small Tennessee towns, who will not attend a toy train show this weekend. They can't. The very sights and sounds of those trains will nauseate them and fill them with revulsion and despair. Their childhood was robbed from them by McKeown. The church officials knew. They did nothing.

McKeown was put in jail years and years later by an irate non-Catholic mother whose son was molested by the wicked ex-priest McKeown. In a trailer park where he lived. Long after the diocese of Nashville turned the monster loose to abuse where they could turn their shameful faces away and not see.

Clergy sexual abuse ruins lives in so many ways, hidden dreadful ways. The toy trains are dust-covered and put away in attics as grown men weep for their childhood lost.

Keep Edward McKeown in prison. Away from his toy train set. Away from the young boys. Your sons. Your neighbors.

Ask your bishop to tell us the names of all of these evil clergy predators. It's the least they could do.

Abusing a teenager

There are people out there who simply do not believe that it is possible to abuse a teenager. I've talked to them, and their logic, or lack thereof, is amazing. Their ignorance of abuse and how is occurs is even more astounding.

Apparently, when you are a teenager, you are supposed to be equipped with all the tools in a human being's arsenal to thwart any intrusion into your life. Never mind that the teenage years, as I recall, are times of great uncertainty, lack of confidence, fumbling social steps forward . . . and steps backward. Never mind that there are dozens of frightening and confusing events facing the teenager almost daily, almost hourly. Never mind that you feel ugly, fat, awkward, insignificant and a hundred other negative things.

But to this group of observers, a teenager should repel the spiritual leader who controls his or her sphere of reference, the person in charge of his or her school, church, or diocese. A teenager should readily stand up and stop abuse by his or her mentor, the person who comes to dinner, the cleric whose virtues his or her parents extol on every possible occasion so that their children will love the church, the priest who everyone says is such a holy man.

The absolute certainty that these people have that it is just that easy . . . say "No" to an authority figure of the highest spiritual stature in your life at that time. It's easy, they say. Just say "No." Just push him down and run. Just tell your parents.

The utter naivete of this view takes my breath away.

After you are plied with alcohol, drugs, and pornography or any combination thereof, the abuser will have his or her way, and you are powerless whether you are 5 or 15 or 25 or . . . whatever.

When the perpetrator says, "It's okay. This is how you receive a special communion from me." You lose faith.

When the perpetrator says, "Your mother would be so ashamed of you if I told them what you did." You keep silent.

When the perpetrator says, "It's our special secret. It's how I show you I love you." You are emotionally bereft of future certitude in relationships.

When the perpetrator says, "Now go to confession and confess to God the sin you just did and the sin YOU made me do." You leave the church or attend wounded for the rest of your life.

Now self-righteous people, is it so clear-cut now? Or have you lost all perspective on life itself that you would blame a teenager for abuse rather than the twisted pervert who is raping, sodomizing, humiliating, destroying. . . .

People get a grip. A teenager is so much a child in formation. They need our protection as children in progress.

As for the pedophile who would do this to a teenager, I cannot write what I truly think should happen to this priest, nun, brother, minister, rabbi, etc.

Read my mind.