“I used to know exactly what I wanted to do, but Boys Town sounds good too. I liked it when you said this is my new family. You teach music and singing, right?” Manson asked.
“We have a wonderful choir, they sing on the radio coast to coast. I’ll make sure our choir director talks to you when the tour ends. Meanwhile, I’ve assigned you to a dormitory where many of our musical students live. Many of the boys from your dorm are on tour with the choir. They’re in New York this week.”
Charlie did not like the thought of singing in a choir. “I’m thinking something more like Bing Crosby or Sinatra. You know, show biz training. You got anything like that?”
“We’ll see what we can do,” Gallagher answered. “We’ll try to make this a good place for you to live and learn. Over the years, Father Flanagan developed a Christian formula that has seen few failures. Most boys respond well to our structured environment. They flourish in chores, rules and academics.”
Charlie smiled like a man who had heard the line a hundred times too many and suddenly returned his focus on the painting. Afflicted with neither cleric awe nor political astuteness, Charlie posed a question.
“These priests in the painting with Jesus, do you think any of them are the same ones who had him arrested, tortured and crucified?”
“I suspect that’s very probable,” Gallagher said with a confident nod.
Where’s he going with this?
“I’d say your temple painting is not a big trust builder for priests, Father. Things didn’t end very well for ‘ole Jesus from his dealings with priests. Kinda makes a guy worry about trusting priests, wouldn’t you say?”
Ignore the question. He’s already established good relations with priests. He’s baiting me.
In the pause, Charlie continued.
“God sent me here for a reason, you know. I’m not sure what the reason is yet, but I’m sure I’m not here by chance.”
“God may have sent you here, but the police say you worked awfully hard helping Him get it done. They said you talked your way out of an Indiana reformatory. They believe you told the right officials everything they wanted to hear. But I say, perhaps God did send you here. Maybe he wants you to find salvation at Boys Town. You can’t imagine how good salvation feels.”
Charlie turned toward Gallagher and zeroed in with eyes ablaze.
“Or maybe God sent me here to save someone. Wouldn’t that be a kick? What if God sent me here to be a Savoir? A Messiah. That would feel good too. Stranger things have happened. What if God sent me here to save you, Father? You know, lead you to the Promised Land.”
Father Gallagher said nothing. The boy was getting under his skin.
Is this blasphemy? Disrespect? Or simple arrogance! I should not feel anger against a new boy who speaks of saving people. What do I say? What do I say?
Gallagher looked at the boy in front of him. As irritated as he was with Manson, he knew he would do his best to guide the boy toward a productive life.
Charlie again turned to the painting.
“I wonder what Jesus said that got the priests in such a dither. They weren’t there to help the boy, not like you, Father. It’s no secret, of course, that the things they did to Jesus, they did for selfish reasons. It’s just like when I left Indianapolis, all those men who sent me here did it for their own reasons, not for me.”
Careful. Don’t lose this kid in his first fifteen minutes here. Monsignor would be furious.
“How so, Charles?” Gallagher asked.
“The judge got his picture in the paper. Front page news! He almost thanked me for giving him that opportunity. The juvenile officers looked good for their kind hearts. Ha! My friend Father Powers sold the whole deal by making people realize how good they would look for sending me to Omaha. And Father Powers? He’s a smart man, but even he got to feel good too by earning a second chance for a dead end kid.”
Get this back under control. The kid is jaded. Give him the rules. Get him settled. Don’t match wits with him. He’s crafty, but let him know you’ve got his number.
“You’ve got quite a record, Charlie. The police told me about the store robberies and stolen cars. That’s all behind you now.”
Charlie looked wryly at the priest and said, “God provided for me pretty well, met my every need whether it was food or clothes or a car. I made a lot of stupid mistakes, mistakes I don’t plan to repeat. I’ll be smarter in the future.”
Gallagher saw the possibility of a double entendre.
“What do you mean? Are you saying you will be a better person or a better outlaw?”
“Oh, I’m going to be a better person,” Charlie answered, but the accompanying smile confused the priest even more. “Why do you bring up my court-sealed juvenile record?”
“I’m just saying that your slate is clean here. Charles, you seem to have knowledge of the Bible. Tell me about it.”
“When my Ma went to prison, I went to live with my Grammy. She was a real Bible thumper, beat scriptures into me, almost like a punishment, just like she had done to Ma. I might have been a preacher sooner or later, but Grammy got sick. I went to live with Aunt Joanne and Uncle Bill. They liked the Bible too, but nothing like Grammy.”
“It sounds like you have a good family,” Gallagher said. “Do you have any questions before your roommate gets here?”
“Sure,” said Charlie. “I’ve got about a million questions, but only a few for now.”
“Shoot,” said Gallagher, believing he was making progress.
“Why does God let kids starve alone in places like Indy? I’d really like an answer to that. I know kids who were lucky to live through the winter.”
The question bore at the root of Gallagher’s faith, but he delivered the Church response.
“We cannot question the things that God allows. Man has suffered since the original sin in the Garden of Eden. Suffering shapes us and strengthens our faith.”
“I figured that’s what you’d say,” Charlie said gravely. “What time is lockdown at night?”
“There is no lockdown here. We have a lights-out policy at ten o’clock. Father Flanagan always insisted on no locks, gates or fences. That was a rule carved in granite.”
“Yeah? I kinda like that.”
“As long as a boy wants to stay here and follows our rules, he is welcome to live and grow and learn a trade in a caring facility. Or, he can leave any time he wants.”
“What about the guards? You have them under control here? I’ve never enjoyed having to watch the goons over my shoulder all the time. And prisoner rape ain’t so fun either.”
“We have no guards. Father Flanagan left a legacy of Christian mercy and compassion. You won’t find a focus on sins and punishment here.”
“Perfect. It sounds like this place will make a pretty good nest, Padre. I’ll try to make a go of it.”
“Good,” the priest said, smiling.
Gallagher reached across the desk to hand Charlie a folder.
“These are the Boys Town rules and policies. You will want to read them carefully to become familiar with acceptable behavior. Until you get a chance to learn them, you’ll be fine following Jake’s lead.”
Charlie stuffed the papers in the paper bag with his new clothes without so much as glancing at them.
“I generally make my own rules. I have better luck doing things my way, but sure, I’ll look them over.”
I have never seen such disregard for a priest’s word. And Father Powers has placed such faith in me. I can’t let him down. I must save this boy. Start easy.
“Charlie, we have a wonderful outing scheduled tomorrow night at Ak-Sar-Ben. I think it will be a good opportunity for you to meet some of the boys and have a good time.”
Charlie stared blankly at the priest.
“Ak-Sar-Ben. It’s a huge public auditorium in Omaha. Patrons donated tickets for us to see the Ice Capades. The outing is optional, but you will enjoy the show. Even Sister Mary Agatha is excited to make t
he bus trip with us.”
Charlie turned his studied attention back to the painting.
“You say my roomie is on the way here?”
Chapter 10
Charlie Meets Jake Bowden – Boys Town, April 1949
Jake Bowden bolted out the dormitory door and set course for the high school. In blue jeans and a plaid shirt, he was almost indistinguishable from any of the other boys. Only the worried look on his face and his fast gait set him apart.
It’s got to be Father Gallagher wanting me. But I haven’t had to see a priest in weeks. I haven’t fouled up any work assignments. No missing homework. No one could ever find my dirty magazines. What have I done?
In the conference room, Charlie sat looking at the priest and listening with feigned interest to stories about boys with worse plights than Charlie who had made good because of Boys Town programs. Charlie was memorizing every detail of the room with quick glances every time the priest looked down.
A light knock sounded at the door, interrupting the tale of another sinner turned saint at Boys Town.
“Enter,” Gallagher called out.
Charlie watched as a thin boy, taller than himself, entered. His movements were gangly and uncertain, almost awkward, but the look on his face showed unmistakable reverence and curiosity.
“You called for me, Father?”
“Yes, Jake. Thanks for coming so quickly. I want you to meet your new roommate. He just arrived from Indianapolis. This is Charles Manson.”
Jake immediately broke into a wide smile and shook hands with the newcomer.
The priest continued the introduction.
First to Charlie, “Jake is about a year older than you. He knows the ropes here and can guide you through orientation.” Then to Jake, “How does your schedule look for the rest of the day?”
“No more classes today, Father. I’ve just got homework, but it’s not so pressing. I can get it done anytime.”
“Very well. Take Charlie with you. Get to know each other. Go to the dorm first and help him get settled. Then I want you to take a tour around the campus. Boys Town can be a little overwhelming to a newcomer.”
“Yes, Father.”
“I’ll try to see you boys tonight at dinner.”
Charlie gathered his paper bag and guitar case and walked to the door for the priest’s final remarks.
“Charlie, come by in the morning about eight o’clock. My Saturday mornings are fairly relaxed. I want to learn more about you and tell you more about our educational programs.”
“Eight sounds great,” Charlie answered and then flashed a smile with sparkling eyes.
Watching the boys leave, Gallagher observed that Charlie projected an image of normalcy. Yet, he felt a nagging feeling in his gut. So what was the problem?
Charlie and Jake began their Friday afternoon tour of Boys Town in perfect weather. It was the kind of spring day that invigorates life and points to the less demanding days of summer ahead.
“Where are we headed?” Charlie asked.
“Let’s stop at the garage first. One of our roommates should be there.”
Charlie shrugged agreement.
Maybe, just maybe this place will be right for me.
Alone, Father Gallagher analyzed his meeting with Charlie. He had concerns about Manson. His gut instinct was still registering in the “warning” zone. Boys regularly arrived at Boys Town full of resentment, defensiveness, and bitterness. They never wanted to show vulnerability, none of them. Charlie was that way too. Yet, this strange sensation was there, a feeling that reminded him of the first nibbles a rat takes on a grain bag.
Be cautious of hasty first impressions. Consider them. They bear important clues, but give the boy a chance.
Charlie had none of the outward appearances of having experienced a rough early life. He was, as Father Powers’ letter had said, a beautiful young man, yet a mystery to be solved.
Still, there was something there, something slightly off balance in Charlie’s tone—something just below the surface that the priest couldn’t put his finger on, maybe something sinister, even evil.
Pure evil? Maybe there is something to fear here.
There it was, the word fear. That was the feeling in his gut. As a priest, he never felt it regularly enough to know it instantly, but the word fear had just bounded from his sub-conscious. That one word said it all about Father Gallagher’s concern.
He could have lived with feeling hate, or the indifference he sometimes felt, but fear? Fear was something that reduced his closeness to God, removed him from men of God who fear no evil, reduced him to a shaking lack of faith, for Christians can stare down lions.
Gallagher turned his attention to other matters so that Charlie would leave his mind. But the feeling in his gut wouldn’t leave. While reviewing contractor bids for roofing, he suffered a troubled sort of circular thinking that brought him back to Manson every time.
These thoughts made Gallagher uncomfortable. He began to feel guilt over doubting the purity and honesty of youth. And with the advent of guilt, Gallagher turned the hot spotlight of analysis on his own sins and weaknesses and guilt.
How do we know God’s will when evil can tempt the best of men. How can we know God’s will when the wisest priests in Jerusalem were blind to the presence of our Lord Jesus Christ standing before them?
Had Charlie planted the seeds of doubt?
God’s message became confused. Gallagher worried that what appeared good in his life might actually be evil. And in the case of Charlie, things that appeared evil might actually be good.
Toward the end of the day, Gallagher prepared for his daily call to the archbishop.
Perhaps His Excellency can guide me if I can work my concerns into our talk.
Chapter 11
Spiritual Crisis - Boys Town, April 1949
The vows that tie men to God are among the most powerful motivators of humanity. Religious faith drives men to willingly accept unbearable pain, tolerate insufferable hardships, and persevere without fear in the face of certain death. Faith, Jesus said, can toss mountains into the sea.
The order of men who serve as priests are known for their faith. Yet, priests are men, like all men. The inherent weaknesses of man are not limited to everyday people. The human condition is also present in those considered closest to God.
Some priests have pure hearts, and some are immoral, but most are normal men trying to do God’s bidding. It is known that some priests smoke cigarettes, drink, lust, and harbor sinful thoughts under the protection of their robes.
Many priests eventually face a crisis of faith. When priests begin to question their commitments, when faith is weakened or damaged, there is a time of uncertainty before a path is chosen to restore faith or accept its complete loss. It is a lonely – and critical – time for a priest. The decisions he makes during this period will determine the path to the rest of his life.
Alone in the conference room of the Boys Town high school, Father Sean Gallagher felt self-doubt and loneliness such as he had never felt before.
Charlie Manson’s arrival was only the latest challenge in his life. Doubts had assailed Gallagher’s faith gradually, like weeds appearing in a healthy crop that, when left unattended, can ruin an entire harvest. The gnawing feeling in his gut wouldn’t leave as the weeds of uncertainty grew.
Why would God create man only to watch him suffer. Why do so many innocent children suffer when we can help so few? And me? For what purpose would God make me suffer through temptations before me? How can there be a God who teaches love but permits such suffering?
Gallagher’s thoughts turned to the new boy, Charlie, who had asked the haunting question, “What if God sent me here to save you, Father?”
It was as if he was Satan, possessing the power to see my troubled soul. I may need direction, but I reject the idea that this wayward boy can lead me to salvation.
As he dialed the archbishop’s office, Gallagher looked at the painting of Jesus
in the temple. A strange thought came to him.
Is my rejection of Charlie the same reaction the Jewish elders had when they heard young Jesus teaching a new understanding of the laws?
Archbishop Marc Wisnoski was a man in his late fifties, handsome and always impeccably dressed in holy attire. For his devotion, hard work, and personality, he had advanced in the church to an important position. Intelligent, politically astute, and appropriately authoritative, Archbishop Wisnoski was a good leader for his diocese.
Wisnoski’s deep voice answered the phone with practiced warmth.
“This is Archbishop Wisnoski.”
“Your Excellency, this is Father Gallagher at Boys Town.”
“Ah, Sean! How goes your day, my son?”
“Things are going well, Excellency. The contractors are making good progress on the field house. Things are going about as I expected, and yet we’re not without our daily challenges.” Gallagher couched his words just short of a lie. “Things seem quiet with the choir and athletic teams gone.”
His tone indicated otherwise, and the seasoned archbishop noticed immediately. He decided to probe further.
“Have you heard from Monsignor Wegner?”
“He called from Boston two days ago. He seemed pleased with my report and with the tour.”
“The fact that he is not calling every hour is a strong vote of confidence in your abilities.”
“Thank you, Excellency.”
“I read Monsignor’s correspondence on the new boy due from Indianapolis. Did he arrive as scheduled?”
“Yes, Excellency. I signed the court documents accepting him this afternoon. His name is Charles Manson. He was delivered by a detective.”
“His record is intriguing. Monsignor’s pet project. Do you think he will adjust?” the archbishop asked.
Before He Became a Monster: A Story Charles Manson's Time at Father Flannigan's Boystown Page 6
