by Hanley, Don;
My discomfort was eased as the friendly waiting area guard, Dan McGuire, greeted Rebecca with a warm, "Good to see you back, Ms. Brady." He held out his hand to me and added, "You must be Ms. Brady's husband."
"Yes, Dan, I am. It's good to meet you." I squeezed Rebecca's hand as she headed to her designated door and I was directed to the door next to hers. Jack Carroll emerged from my designated door. As I approached, he put out his hand and said, "You must be Jerry Haloran."
'You must be's' must be the local jargon, and so I responded, "And you must be Jack Carroll. I'm pleased to meet you." I had to admit, he was a very handsome and distinguished looking man.
As the metal door clanged shut, we sat down at the bolted-down steel table and chairs, Jack smiled warmly and said, "I really enjoyed talking with your wife. I think you are a very lucky guy. She's not only gentle and intelligent, she's extremely beautiful. Of course, I haven't had many women to compare her with because she's the first woman, other than my mother, I've talked to in over eighteen years."
"Wow! Eighteen years. I can't even imagine it. I thought I was deprived just being in the seminary and priesthood for twenty years. But, our time is limited, so I'd like to hear more about you. Rebecca told me most of what you two talked about at your first meeting. Of course, she couldn't get the whole story in one hour. I did some checking on your brother, the priest, and from what I learned, I did not like him at all. I'm pretty sure he was a graduate student at the seminary when I was an undergrad. I thought he was a rather uptight and rigid kind of guy. And that fits with what one of my classmates said of him. He goes by Joseph Carson now, is that right?" Jack nodded and I continued, "Would you please tell me about the family disintegration after your father died. Or maybe you'll need to start earlier. Okay?"
"Yes, to understand me and my family, we do need to start earlier. Our family was completely dysfunctional. Dad was an abusive alcoholic and Mom was very loving but also an enabler. She had been abused as a child and only began to believe in herself after I killed Dad."
I butted in, "Wait a minute. You just said 'after I killed Dad,' as if you were talking about going to the grocery store. Now, that sounds like a very big damn deal." I did not think it necessary for him to know I spoke from experience. This was about him, not me.
Jack didn't break eye-contact as he responded, "Yeah, it was a big damn deal and it did change my life. For a long time, I thought I should have done it earlier." I gave him a questioning look and he went on, "Because we had a younger sister, Sarah, who committed suicide when she was twelve. I'm almost certain Dad had raped her." Jack looked at me to see how I was reacting.
I said, "My lord, your dad sounds like a real bastard." He nodded, and I asked, "How did your mom and Joe handle your sister's death and then your killing of your dad?"
Jack filled his lungs and held his breath momentarily. "I don't think Mom ever totally recovered from Sarah's death, she was in a state of shock. She stayed in bed for three days and I finally called the county community mental health agency and they sent out a social worker. The social worker and I put her in our car and took her to the hospital. She was in the mental health unit for about a week and they gave her a prescription for depression and I brought her home. When we got home that evening, Dad raised hell because the hospital bill was over a thousand dollars. He hit me in the face and gave me a black eye. I hit him back and knocked him out. Neither I nor Mom called an ambulance. I really hoped I killed him, but I didn't—then. That was two years later."
"What about Joe, what was he doing during all this? Did he go to the hospital with you when you took your mom there? And then did he visit her later?"
"You know, I really don't know what Joe did ... he definitely did not go to the hospital, at all. I think he stayed with a friend of his. I don't know." He grimaced and looked like he was pondering that painful time in his life.
I still wanted to hear about his dad's death, but I wanted to know more about him and his brother's life together. I said, "Jack, would you please tell me what it was like growing up with Joe? I've met three sets of male identical twins and one female set, but I can't say I really knew them. So please tell me about it—especially your take on how you've evolved so differently."
Jack relaxed as well as was possible sitting on the steel stiff-backed chair. I think he was glad to get away from Sarah's death and his mom's depression. "Our earlier years were great. We were each other's best friend." He looked past me as if enjoying a beautiful view, then frowned and continued, "We did everything together and because we went to a small public school, we were always in the same classroom. Only one teacher in the first eight years ever could tell us apart. Our relationship changed when we were in high school. Jack became scrupulously religious and we began to argue relentlessly. I punched him in the face once when he saw me making out with a girl and said I was going to hell. He yelled that if I didn't go to confession, God would send me to hell. So, I punched him. We hardly talked to each other after that. He went into the seminary right after high school. I saw him only at Christmas, the first summer, and two weeks of the second summer."
"Did you ever apologize for hitting him?"
"Yes, I did, but he said he could forgive me but God wouldn't forgive me unless I stopped seeing my girlfriend. Like he knew exactly how God thought about everything. I have to admit, at the time I wanted to smack him again." Jack made a kind of a smirking grin.
There was a short pause before he said, "So, back to my shooting my dad. It was in early June and Joe had just returned from the seminary. I was in my bedroom reading To Kill a Mockingbird, and I think Joe was watching television. Dad was yelling at Mom and drunk as a skunk. His yelling got louder and louder. In those days, I was constantly angry at the old bastard. I had taken a gun out of his gun cabinet. He had three or four pistols but seldom opened the cabinet. I thought that someday, he was going to go too far, and really hurt Mom, real badly. Maybe even kill her." Jack looked at me to make sure I was listening. I was horrified, but definitely attentive.
He continued, "I heard Mom scream. I got up and took the gun out of my undershirt drawer and went quietly down the stairs. I went into the kitchen and Mom was lying on the floor and Dad had his leg back to kick her. She had her hands over her face and was really bawling." Jack stopped, took a deep breath, and, sounding hoarse, quietly went on, "I lost it. My hands were shaking but I was able to hold the gun with both hands, like they show in the movies. I shot Dad in the head just as he looked at me. I shot him two more times and he fell backwards against the cabinets." He took another deep breath and blew it out.
I realized I had been holding my own breath and did the same.
Jack sort of chuckled. "You know what I was thinking?"
I shook my head.
"I was thinking I was going to have a hell of a time getting all the blood off the floor and cabinets. I threw the gun down and knelt down to hold Mom. Joe had come in and I told him to call 911."
He nodded, and yelled, "Jack, what the hell did you do?"
I yelled, "Goddammit, just call 911, that's all!" The police and paramedics came. They took Dad's body away and two of the paramedics attended to Mom. Joe never even came into the kitchen and just stood there like a statue. I told the police what happened and they handcuffed me and took me to the jail. Seeing Joe leaning against the door jamb was the last time I ever saw him." He sighed audibly again and sort of slumped back into the chair. "So that's the fucking story." He looked around the room as if he were inspecting it for the first time. "You know, Jerry, I haven't been outside of prison since—except to go to courtrooms."
I felt stunned, immobilized by the confluence of his horrid story, and my own. I forced myself to take a deep breath and relax my muscles. "Thanks, Jack, for telling me all this. It is a terribly sad and awful story."
He wearily replied, "Yeah, it is, isn't it? I felt worse about Mom. Looking back, I wish I had thought of her more, or been able to do something different to help her, rat
her than put her through all this."
"Did Joe kind of take care of her after they took you away?"
"No, the pathetic sonofabitch packed up his things and moved out of town. I don't know where he went or who he stayed with. Mom did visit me in jail and then a few times a year, in this prison, before she died three years ago. She never saw Joe again after that day. She did find out that he changed his name and had made up some cock-and-bull story that he was an only child and lost his parents in some kind of accident. He went to a different seminary in another state the following year. So, that's a bit about my saintly brother."
"So Joe just turned his back on you and your mom?" Jack nodded. "Did your mom live alone after you went to prison?"
"No, she had a spinster sister who we learned was homeless. She came to live with Mom. The only good thing Dad ever did was to keep up payments on a fairly good life insurance policy. Between that and the bastard's Social Security, and Mom and her sister's part-time work, they did okay."
"How in hell did Joe manage to get accepted into a different seminary and study for a different diocese?"
"Joe is a very clever guy. I once remember him telling me that he knew a place in Chicago where a person could get any kind of paper they wanted: driver's license, birth certificate, social security number, you name it. I'm sure he managed to get it all in order. Mom got a subscription to the seminary magazine and later, the diocesan monthly newspaper where Joe was stationed. Mom sent them on to me after she read them. The bishop there even sent the bastard to Rome to get a doctorate in Canon Law. That fit his rigid, scrupulous thinking quite well, too."
"So you learned about Joe's molesting kids from the young prisoner Rebecca is talking to now?"
"Yes. I knew Joe was an odd duck, but I thought he was too 'holier than thou' to commit sins like that. I can't think of anything worse. I just can't imagine it."
"So Joe turns out to be a pious fraud and pedophile, and you seem to be quite sensitive and compassionate and, despite your rather salty language, even spiritual. How do you explain it?"
"Thank you for the kind words. I have given our differences a lot of thought. Here's some of my thoughts on this: I spent the first two years here in solitary confinement. I was so damn depressed that I might have killed myself, if I had the means there in solitary. Then Mom sent me a book by Victor Frankl called Man's Search for Meaning. That book probably saved my life. I figured if that guy could survive Auschwitz, then I could survive this fucking place. I call what I've been doing wrestling with God."
"Joe didn't need to wrestle with God, because he married the Church and the Church already had all the answers. Why struggle when all you have to do is follow the rules?"
Just then a loud bell scared the hell out of me. "What's that?"
"That's the signal that visiting hour is over. I guess I'll have to tell you more about wrestling with God when we meet again." Jack took in a deep breath and blew it out.
I did the same. What a hell of an emotional journey I had in that hour. I am sure it was worse for Jack.
Chapter 4
REBECCA
After talking with Richy, I left the room, exhausted. I saw Jerry and rushed over to him. He looked a bit exhausted himself. We hugged and I whispered, "What a hell of a story. And what a horribly sad boy."
Jerry whispered back, "And Jack's story is heavier than I had imagined. We have a lot to talk about."
Dan McGuire, the guard, tapped Jerry on the shoulder and said, "Sorry to interrupt folks, but the warden asked me to escort you to his office, if you could spare a little more time."
I turned to Jerry and he looked a bit worried as he said, "Why does he want to see us? Did we do something wrong?"
Dan kept his prison guard face on when he said, "Oh, no, nothing like that, I'm sure. I don't know exactly what it is but I think you'll enjoy meeting him."
I thought it would help both of us if Dan would smile a little. Jerry and I followed Sergeant McGuire out of the visitors' waiting area. I could tell Jerry was more than a little nervous about the meeting by the way he held my hand as we walked to the elevator. It was marked PRISON STAFF ONLY, and Dan had to use a key to call up the elevator.
I asked, "Do all the staff people have a key to this thing?"
Dan finally smiled and said, "No, just a privileged few, about a dozen out of several hundred."
"So, you're a kind of big shot around here?" Jerry remarked. "Tell me, Dan, why is a VIP Master Sergeant guarding the visitors' waiting area? That seems a bit below your pay-grade."
"Maybe because I was seeing that two special guests would be welcomed properly." He seemed hesitant to say more. "I think the warden will tell you."
Jerry's face was still not relaxed as we stopped at the third floor and stepped into a wide hall with pleasant light green walls and a fake marble vinyl tile that looked new. It was a welcome sight compared to the rest of the prison that we had seen, but still a far cry from a prestigious office building in downtown St. Louis. We turned a corner and I was asking Dan about the décor and realized Jerry was missing. I said, "Wait, Dan, we've lost Jerry." I turned around and hurried to the corner and saw Jerry continuing down the hallway that we had just left. I called, "Hey, Jerry, you missed a turn."
He turned and gave me a puzzled look, looked around, and said, "Oh, sorry, I was just wrestling with God."
In a near whisper, I responded, "Wrestling with God. What the hell does that mean?"
"I'll tell you later."
I looked at the ceiling and all around then muttered, "I don't see God anywhere. He must have left."
"You've got to be holy like me, to see Him," he grinned.
I poked him in the ribs. "And when did you get elevated to sainthood?"
"You should remember. It was the day you blessed me by saying 'I love you, Jerry.'"
I put my head against his shoulder. "Now I understand that part of it. So does this wrestling God fight fair?"
"The devil in me says 'No', but the angel says 'Definitely.'"
Our banter ended as Dan stopped at the most beautiful door in the place. It was solid oak and varnished to a deep shine. "Here we are, folks." He opened the door for us. I entered and Jerry followed. A uniformed male secretary with corporal's stripes on his shirt stood. "Good afternoon, folks, I'll inform Warden Bonhoeffer that you are here." He opened a second door and we all heard a deep voice say, "Send them in, Harry."
Harry held the door for us and the warden, a tall, physically fit man with wavy, graying hair at the temples, stood and came around the desk. "Welcome, Rebecca and Jerry. I'm Henry Bonhoeffer. I hope this meeting is not inconvenient for you."
Jerry turned to me and I said, "It's fine, as long as we get to St. Louis in time to eat a little and get to our daughter's basketball game."
"And that would be Julie Haloran, the all-state point-guard, right?"
My mouth dropped. "How in the world did you know that?"
"My daughter plays for the Booneville girls' team, and when I told her who I would meet today, she was as excited as if I had said I was meeting with Taylor Swift. Her team hopes to make the state tournament this year and Heidi hopes to meet your daughter."
The warden then invited us to sit at the conference table at the side of the room. He sat at the end of the table and we sat on his left. I sat between the two men. The warden invited us to have lunch with him after the meeting. He seemed a bit embarrassed when he said lunch would be in his special dining room. First, he wanted to share some ideas with us.
As soon as we were seated, Jerry asked, "Henry, are you possibly related to the famous Dietrich Bonhoeffer?"
"He was my great uncle. My grandfather, Dietrich's brother, was, unfortunately, not as spiritual as Dietrich and was in the Third Reich's army. He was killed during what we Americans call the 'Battle of the Bulge.' His name was Heinrich and I was named after him, but changed it to Henry after getting several bloody noses in elementary school." Henry coughed and continued, "Dietrich h
as been my idol all of my life. Of course, I am not as spiritual as he, but his ideals have inspired the ideas that I will present to you."
Henry shuffled the papers he had picked up from his desk. "Now to get down to business. Jack Carroll confided in me about this project to somehow 'out' his brother, the priest. I okayed his project and now I'm wondering if you could help me with another project. Jack did tell you that he has earned two degrees while here at the prison. The masters is in counseling psychology and, believe me, he has done wonderful work with it. He is, as they say, 'a natural', and his fellow prisoners call him Doc, very respectfully.
"As you may have already observed, he is a spiritual man. He does not act or talk like a minister or even a counselor but seems to have all the characteristics of a good therapist. I want to expand his influence by converting more inmates into counselors. We have 3,000 inmates here in our medium-security facility, and I'm sure we can find at least ten or fifteen who would make good counselors." He had been looking at Jerry and added, "I would like you to help us."
"I'm surprised, Warden, that you are offering me this before you have even really gotten to know me."
"I hope you are not offended that I have been checking your background. First, I read the book that you, Rebecca, wrote about yourself and Jerry, disguised as a novel 'based on a true story.' I especially liked the section where a bishop condemns you, Jerry, as a 'free thinker.' That is exactly what we need here in this project. I talked to the sheriff of Paris County, Kansas and he gave me a glowing report on you and your work there. The best report came from a Father Wayne Cameron in your old diocese. He sounds like he wants to see you canonized as a saint."
Jerry leaned toward me and whispered, "See, I told you so."
