Editor's Desk: The Cruelest Blow

By Michael F. Flach
Herald Editor
(From the issue of 7/29/04)

Kids grew up quickly in the Olney section of Philadelphia during the 1960s and 1970s long before the advent of the Internet, MTV and daycare. Olney was a typical working-class neighborhood found in any big city — street after street of tiny row homes and at least one bar on every corner (sometimes two or more). In the summer we played outside all day on the street or at the playground. The sports changed with the season — baseball and basketball in the spring and summer, football and soccer in the fall, more basketball and indoor hockey in the winter.

The time we spent on the streets and playgrounds was survival of the fittest. Any weakness, either athletically or psychologically, was exposed quickly by older companions. You didn’t last long if you weren’t street-smart at a young age. You had to make the right friends and the right choices to survive.

I can remember playing Little League baseball as a 12-year-old and seeing teammates —perhaps emulating older siblings or friends — smoking cigarettes and drinking beer. Most families felt the impact of drugs, especially LSD, amphetamines and heroin. Older siblings returning from Vietnam were especially prone to this scourge. The loss of life and/or mental stability due to drug abuse was staggering. Jail time was commonplace. Rehab and AA are now ways of life for many of the people I grew up with.

Every neighborhood had its share of "suspicious characters," namely those adults who you instinctively knew were giving you too much attention. Most kids were mature enough to police themselves, whether in school or at the playground. When friends were approached with a sordid proposition they threatened the perpetrator with physical violence. No lawsuits or parents were involved. No police reports were filed.

Nearly everyone was Catholic and the church was within easy walking distance for thousands of children. Parents viewed the Church as an oasis of safety and security amidst an otherwise dangerous and troubled world.

So it is with a sad heart that I read Sunday’s Philadelphia Inquirer, which details an investigation by the Philadelphia district attorney into the misconduct of archdiocesan priests and officials. The most public and graphic accusations are directed toward a priest who taught at my high school. The charges were made by a woman who graduated from school with my younger sister. It remains to be seen whether the investigation will lead to criminal charges. The legal system will decide the priest’s guilt or innocence. A Higher Authority will sort it all out in the end.

I know the Philadelphia cases are a microcosm of what’s taking place in dioceses across the country, from Boston to Portland and nearly every city in between. The news last week about the rampant abuse in an Austrian seminary is equally disturbing as it appears to be institutionally ingrained and ignored by the local bishop.

It doesn’t make it easier to accept. We like to think of our childhood nostalgically as a period of playful innocence. The reality is none of us were saints growing up. For the most part, our innocence was lost long ago.

I spent five years as an altar boy and 12 years in Catholic schools. I was lucky that my experience was devoid of harm. Other kids in similar neighborhoods apparently were not as lucky. The violation of trust by some in the Church is the cruelest blow of all. — M.F.F.

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