By the age of 12, Maureen Powers, the daughter of a professor at the
local Roman Catholic university, played the organ in the magnificent
hilltop Catholic basilica here and volunteered in the parish office.
But, she said, she was hiding a secret: Her priest sexually abused her
for two years, telling her it was for the purpose of “research.”
By
her high school years, she felt so tied up in knots of betrayal and
shame that she confided in a succession of priests. She said the first
tried to take advantage of her sexually, the second suggested she
comfort herself with a daily candy bar and the third told her to see a
counselor. None of them reported the abuse to the authorities or
mentioned that she could take that step.
So when a Pennsylvania grand jury revealed in a report
in March that the Diocese of Altoona-Johnstown, which includes Loretto,
engaged in an extensive cover-up of abuse by as many as 50 church
officials, Ms. Powers, now 67, decided to finally report her case. She
called the office of the state attorney general and recounted her story,
including the name of her abuser, a prominent monsignor who was not
listed in the grand jury report.
“I
just felt like now, someone will believe me,” said Ms. Powers, who
retired after 30 years in leadership positions at the Y.W.C.A. in
Lancaster, Pa.
She
was not alone. Ms. Powers was among more than 250 abuse survivors and
tipsters who called a hotline set up by the Pennsylvania attorney
general, Kathleen G. Kane. Twenty agents were needed to answer the
phones, and a voice mailbox was set up to handle the overflow.
Nearly 15 years after Boston suffered through a clergy abuse scandal dramatized in the recent movie “Spotlight,”
Pennsylvania is going through its own painful reckoning. From the State
Capitol in Harrisburg to kitchens in railroad towns, people say they
have been stunned to read evidence that priests they knew as pastors,
teachers and confessors were secretly abusing children — findings the
grand jury report called “staggering and sobering.” Victims are coming
forward for the first time to family and friends, and alumni of
parochial schools are pulling out their yearbooks, marveling at how
smiling faces hid such pain.
Multiplying
the outrage, the grand jury report supplied evidence that the police,
district attorneys and judges in the Altoona and Johnstown area colluded
with bishops in the cover-up, quashing the pleas of parents who tried
to blow the whistle on priests who sexually abused children. Some of
those officials are named in the report, and some still hold public
office. [...]
The legislator leading the charge to extend the statute of limitations is State Representative
Mark Rozzi, a Democrat from
Berks County. Still boyish at 44, he is haunted by memories of being
raped by a priest in middle school — a priest he later learned went on
to sexually abuse some of his friends. He said he decided to run for
office in 2013 after the second of those friends committed suicide. On
Good Friday a year ago, a third friend also took his own life.
“If
I had spoken up when I was 13 or 14, I probably could have saved a lot
of my friends. I feel a lot of guilt,” Mr. Rozzi said. “I came here to
do this.”
He
did not speak about his abuse until he was 39, and since then he has
not stopped. He ran for office campaigning to change the statute of
limitations, which imposes deadlines on when victims can bring civil
suits or prosecutors can press charges. Victims of child sexual abuse in
Pennsylvania can file civil suits until they turn 30, and criminal
cases until they are 50. [...]
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