Accused priests stay close to Rome
One in an occasional series ROME — Pope John Paul II summoned U.S. cardinals to the Vatican two years
ago, at the height of the church's sex abuse crisis, and made a stirring
pronouncement. "People need to know," he stressed to them, "that there is no place in the
priesthood and religious life for those who would harm the young." Yet today, one block from the Vatican, a fugitive priest lives in a church
building with rooftop views of St. Peter's Basilica and the pope's apartment.
The Rev. Joseph Henn's superiors have let him stay with them, even though they
say he has refused their instructions to go back to Phoenix and face charges
that he molested three boys. A short cab ride north, the Rev. Barry Bossa, an ex-con and fugitive, has
found similar sanctuary in a leafy neighborhood of sidewalk cafes and low-rise
apartments. His religious bosses hastily moved him out of the United States two
years ago as his criminal record and new allegations began to emerge. Here in the heart of Catholicism, church leaders are giving refuge to priests
who face allegations of sexual abuse in other countries. The Dallas Morning
News located the men – some of them admitted abusers – as part of a yearlong
investigation into the global movements of accused priests. Some are stationed in the comfort of their religious orders' world
headquarters. One strolls by St. Peter's Square en route to his job. Another
leads English-language tours at ancient church burial grounds. And until
recently, one man was serving his house arrest across the street from the
Vatican. The priests would not discuss their cases at length. Their supervisors said
they did not assign the men to Rome to help them elude law enforcement or
victims. The goal, they said, was to give the priests a place to live and work
away from children. "It's not the worst place in the world; that's true," said the Rev. Michael
Higgins, the Passionist order's American leader. Last year, he sent to Rome a
priest who had been investigated, but not prosecuted, on abuse claims. "But it's
not a reward." A former top administrator at a Catholic college near the Vatican said
placing accused and even fugitive priests in Rome was "very detrimental" –
especially at a time when the church is trying to restore its battered image.
"I don't think they understand taking those people over there is a scandal,"
said the Rev. Lawrence Breslin, a retired priest who was the second-in-command
at Pontifical North American College. "Rome is the center of the church. People
see it as a holy place. It is not a place for harboring criminals." Several of the priests' superiors said they did not notify the Diocese of
Rome about the men and were not obligated to do so because they were not
staffing parishes. The bishop of the diocese is Pope John Paul II. Of the seven accused priests The News located in Rome, Father Henn was
the only one registered at the diocese's offices, according to the Rev. Marco
Fibbi, a diocesan spokesman. Neither Father Fibbi nor Father Henn's bosses would
say whether the diocese was told about the criminal charges, which were filed
after Father Henn arrived. Father Fibbi referred further questions to the pope's chief Vatican
spokesman, Joaquín Navarro-Valls. He did not respond to interview requests. Dr. Navarro-Valls previously declined to comment on The News'
investigation, which found more than 200 accused priests, brothers and other
Catholic workers hiding across international borders and living in unsuspecting
communities, often with the church's support. About 30 of the men were wanted by
law enforcement in another country. Prosecutors filed charges against Father Henn and Father Bossa last year and
are seeking their extradition from Italy. State Department and Italian officials
would not comment on the status of the requests. The extradition process can
sometimes take years to complete. One of those prosecutors, Maricopa County Attorney Rick Romley of Arizona,
was rebuffed last year when he asked the Vatican to order two other fugitive
priests to surrender. They had fled Phoenix for Mexico and Ireland. The prosecutor's letter to the Vatican secretary of state, Cardinal Angelo
Sodano, was sent back resealed, along with a note: "The item, here enclosed, is
returned to the sender because refused by the rightful addressee." Mr. Romley said he saw no point in writing to the Vatican when Father Henn
was indicted about a month later. He understands that the Vatican has no
authority to extradite Father Henn, but he believes it could use its church
power to pressure the priest to return to Phoenix. "Clearly there are formal charges here," said Mr. Romley, who was raised a
Catholic. "They [priests] give a vow of obedience. It seems like it is real easy
to say, 'You shall return, and if not, we defrock you.' " President Bush's chief representative to the Vatican – the only religious
institution recognized as a sovereign nation – refused to comment on its
handling of clergy abuse matters. Ambassador Jim Nicholson "does not comment on
church business," his spokeswoman said. Slow to act Despite the pope's tough talk, the Vatican has moved slowly in dealing with a
scandal that has cost the church hundreds of millions of dollars in payments to
victims and led to the resignations of several bishops who sheltered priests.
Shortly after the pope met with the cardinals in spring 2002, leaders of the
U.S. church gathered in Dallas and passed an aggressive "zero tolerance" policy
for molesters. But the Vatican balked, saying several parts of the policy were
not in line with church law, and ordered changes. Among them: imposing a
deadline for complaints, which in effect allows many abusers to go unpunished.
Even after Rome and the U.S. bishops hashed out the policy's details, the
Vatican continued to employ an acknowledged abuser as a foreign diplomat. The
Vatican had promoted the Rev. Daniel Pater despite his 1995 financial settlement
with an Ohio victim and two warnings from Monsignor Breslin. Then in late 2002,
it moved him up again, this time to temporarily run the papal embassy in India.
He stepped down last year, as The News was preparing a story about the
case. And the Vatican has kept former Boston Cardinal Bernard Law, the U.S. church
leader most associated with protecting priests, on several decision-making
panels and recently gave him a job leading a historic Roman basilica. "There is this gulf between saying the right thing but not appropriately
following through with the right actions," said Brother Barry Coldrey of
Australia, a church historian who has written extensively about clergy abuse.
Four years ago, the Vatican made Brother Coldrey, a member of the Christian
Brothers order, remove from the Internet his book, Religious Life Without
Integrity: The Sexual Abuse Crisis in the Catholic Church. A Vatican letter
to Brother Coldrey said: "We question the prudence of publishing such a
document." "The response should be cleanup," Brother Coldrey said, "but it is still all
too often cover-up." The Vatican has long refused to address why it has not acted on numerous
abuse complaints made against a close ally of the pope, the Rev. Marcial Maciel,
the revered founder and leader of the Legion of Christ order in Rome. Two of his nine accusers appealed several times to the Vatican in the 1970s
and 1980s, with no results. The Vatican finally agreed in 1999 to review the
alleged incidents, which the men said happened in Spain and Italy when they were
young boys and seminarians. But a few months later, the Vatican mysteriously
suspended the inquiry without ever taking testimony from the men, according to
Vows of Silence, a new book by Jason Berry and Gerald Renner,
investigative journalists who first reported the Maciel saga. Alberto Athié, a former priest who had worked at a charity run by Mexico's
bishops, told The News that his career stalled after he notified Mexico
City Cardinal Norberto Rivera and Vatican Cardinal Joseph Ratzinger about the
allegations against Father Maciel. The cardinals wouldn't comment. "I was told that Maciel was very beloved of the pope, that he had done a lot
of good for the church, and that it wasn't convenient to do anything to look
into the accusations," said Mr. Athié, who subsequently quit the priesthood.
Father Maciel, who has repeatedly declared his innocence, continues to enjoy
support from John Paul. The pope celebrated the Legion's 60th anniversary in St.
Peter's Square in 2001 and told a crowd: "I extend a particularly affectionate
greeting to your dear founder, Father Marcial Maciel, whom I heartily
congratulate at this significant juncture." 'Lost in the crowd' The sidewalks and streets around the Vatican are brimming with clergy,
seminarians and Catholic pilgrims of all nationalities. Cardinals and bishops,
in their scarlet and purple vestments, meander through the scores of people.
Police cars whiz by occasionally, escorting limousines with foreign dignitaries
into the Vatican. "You can stand out there in St. Peter's Square and hear 50 languages spoken.
You're just lost in the crowd," said Monsignor Breslin, the former college
administrator in Rome. "No one will look at you and think you're a criminal."
One sunny day this summer, the Rev. James Tully navigated his way past
tourists in St. Peter's Square without interruption and headed for a yellow
Vatican postal box on the side of St. Peter's Basilica, where the pope regularly
blesses the faithful. Father Tully dropped in a couple of letters, then walked
on to a nearby bus stop. Father Tully, who declined to be interviewed, was moved to Rome two years
ago, about a month after he was accused of sexual misconduct for the third time.
The priest had pleaded no contest to disorderly conduct in 1992 for giving
three boys alcohol and grabbing one of them on the inner thigh during a baseball
game in Milwaukee. Father Tully's therapist wrote a letter during that case in
which he said the priest "had never denied responsibility for his sexual
behavior." An official with Father Tully's Xaverian Missionary Fathers order said his
transfer to Rome had nothing to do with abuse allegations. The priest was
recovering from the stress of working in war-torn parts of Africa, the official
said, and was not ready for parish ministry in the United States. A few miles south of the Vatican, the Rev. Richard Mataconis works as an
English-language guide at the Catacombs of St. Callistus, a popular stop for
Catholics visiting Rome. He mingles with the adults and children on his tours,
talking them through the ancient burial sites of popes and Catholic martyrs.
Father Mataconis was sued two years ago by two men who accused him of abusing
them in the 1970s at the New York junior seminary they attended. The suit
ultimately was dismissed because the men had missed the deadline for filing a
legal claim. The priest, a member of the Salesians of Don Bosco religious order, would not
agree to an interview. Salesian officials said they could not discuss the
accusations, the circumstances of his transfer to Rome or his current
assignments, citing pending litigation against the order. "We trust that you understand our position," their attorney said. Not talking Father Barry Bossa was chatting in the second-floor hallway of his order's
offices one afternoon when a doorman told him he had company. "A visitor? For me?" he replied enthusiastically. His expression quickly turned sour, though. The visitor was a reporter, and
Father Bossa was in no mood to discuss the abuse complaints against him. "My lips are sealed," he responded emphatically to a few questions, before
ducking into a room. Father Bossa came to this urban neighborhood – dotted with shops and
restaurants, and buzzing with well-dressed professionals – days after he
abruptly left his parish in Yonkers, N.Y., two years ago. The New York Archdiocese had learned that the priest pleaded guilty in 1974
to a reduced charge of misdemeanor sexual abuse – a detail his religious order,
the Pallottines, had failed to share. New York Cardinal Edward Egan stripped
Father Bossa of his ability to minister in the archdiocese, and the priest
departed Yonkers so swiftly that his sister had to come retrieve his belongings.
At the time of the assault on a 12-year-old boy, Father Bossa was a lay
Catholic teacher. The Pallottines were aware of his conviction when he sought in
1976 to join the order, said the Rev. Terzo Vinci, a colleague who monitored
Father Bossa in the United States. The Pallottines accepted him because he
promised not to relapse, Father Vinci said. As his criminal record was resurfacing in 2002, Father Bossa was hit with new
allegations in Massachusetts. Several men told the Boston Archdiocese that the priest had abused them in
the mid-1970s, when they were young boys and he was teaching at a Bridgewater,
Mass., parish. Sometimes, he had sex with the boys after checking them out of
grammar school and taking them to a nearby church office, according to records
and interviews. Massachusetts authorities filed criminal charges against Father Bossa in
early 2003, several months after he had moved to Rome. Father Vinci said the Pallottines are not trying to protect Father Bossa from
authorities. They moved him to Rome to isolate him from children, Father Vinci
said, and now he is unable to return to the United States because of his health.
"It's not a promotion," he said. "Possibly some lay people have this
perception, 'He went to Rome. Oh, he's with the pope.' He went to Rome in exile.
Zero promotion. Zero anything." One of the four accusers in the Massachusetts criminal case said he was
surprised when he learned that the Pallottines had given Father Bossa a home in
Rome. "Right there, right by the pope. Nice," said the man, who spoke on the
condition he not be named. "You would think they would want them out of there."
Order lets him stay Each day, the tourists walking to St. Peter's Square pass the Salvatorian
order's world headquarters and its signature large green double doors. Father Joseph Henn, a fugitive, lives behind those doors. He comes and goes
easily, just one more anonymous person on Rome's streets. His accommodations are pleasant. The headquarters' first floor has a tranquil
garden courtyard with a fountain and begonias, a hotel and a tourist information
center. Upstairs are offices, a chapel and a large kitchen and cafeteria, where
the pope ate lunch during a visit a few years ago. And the rooftop patio offers
a panoramic view of imposing St. Peter's Basilica and other Roman landmarks.
Father Henn already was living here, doing administrative work, by the time
authorities began targeting him last year as part of a broader abuse
investigation into the Phoenix Diocese. Church officials had received complaints long ago from parents that he was
fondling their sons, records show. The diocese had even made a confidential
payout to one accuser in the early 1990s. But those allegations were not
forwarded to law enforcement, according to the Maricopa County attorney's
office. When a reporter approached Father Henn in the courtyard, he was exasperated
by questions about his criminal case and his life in Rome. "I was hoping the lawyers had worked to make sure that everything was sort of
finished," he said, declining to specifically address the allegations. "What I'm
a little bit frustrated [about] is you may be opening everything back up to
prosecution." Salvatorian officials would not agree to an interview or address when and why
Father Henn was sent to Rome. They said in a written statement that it was their
"clear expectation" that Father Henn would heed their request to go back and
answer the 13-count indictment against him. He has refused. And the order has let him stay. "That doesn't sit well with me," said one of Father Henn's accusers, Rick
Rivezzo, who is suing the Phoenix Diocese. "He knew what was going on, and he
was there for a reason – to hide." Mr. Romley, the prosecutor, said his office tried to talk Father Henn into
returning voluntarily. The costly, cumbersome process of extradition is the only
resort now. Mr. Romley knows from experience that he can't count on the
Vatican's help. "It doesn't seem like they're putting forward the very best foot to really
make a difference and say, 'You will be held accountable, and this is not going
to occur again,' " he said. "And that's the bottom line." Staff writer Brendan M. Case and special contributor Anna Zammit in Rome
contributed to this report.
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