With apologies to the late Helen Reddy for, I don’t know, something…
Let’s talk about the title. Earlier today I was perusing a blog I read frequently. If you’ve never checked out Dymphna’s Road, I suggest you give it a gander. In her most recent piece, the author drops a little nugget at the end about the repulsive reprobate faggot Theodore McCarrick.
Let me state this again in case anyone reading this page doesn’t know. From 1996-2001 I was a seminarian of the Archdiocese of Newark where old Teddy was the Archbishop. I have heard the line tossed about before: “Everyone knew!” And I can assure you on my twin sister’s grave that some of us definitely did not know. I was 18 when I entered and 23 when I was given the boot just two days after 9/11 for, as near as I can tell, not being a friend of Dorothy? Oh sure, the stated reason was that I had refused an assignment. You’re damn right I did. I had been sent to serve in a parish with a priest-supervisor of a more-than-shady reputation. I turned in my keys within the hour and walked away. You see, when I clearly recognized a dangerous man I immediately determined to have nothing to do with him. I did not care about my future ecclesiastical career nor about what others thought of me.
And that was because of one low-level priest!
My friends, believe me, if I had known about the boss, I would have blown the whistle. I don’t front and I never have.
But how, you ask, could you not have known?! Everyone knew!
Again, that statement is true enough but not 100% accurate.
You know who knew? I’ll tell you who.
Fr. Boniface Ramsey knew and he tried to do something but the Nuncio (at the time, I believe it was Archbishop Gabriel Montalvo) did nothing.
And you know who else knew?
Friends of mine, brother seminarians.
They told me after the fact about things that Teddy had done to them.
Creepy things like requesting them specifically to serve as his weekend driver and then, when they pulled up to the residence at 89 Ridge, Teddy would creepily put his hand upon their knee, complimenting their appearance.
What did those friends do?
Nothing. Although, not long after, they “left formation” (dropped out of the seminary), presumably disgusted by what they had witnessed and probably a little unsure that anyone would ever believe them. See, these were the guys who were genuinely shocked and probably a bit embarrassed.
And then of course there were those who, in hindsight, were absolutely gaming the system. They were in bed with him in every sense. They knew and they were never going to spill the beans, let alone to little old me who they knew to be as straight-laced as they come.
But me?
I like to imagine that I was just too innocent. Perhaps naive? I could explain it from a two pronged front.
1). McCarrick knew of my family. In fact he knew everything about everyone if it interested him. He knew that my dad was the real deal. In other words, I had been raised in a stable, two-parent home where my father protected us and my mother stayed home and all that jazz. I had no underlying pysch issues. No divorce, no abuse, no nothin’. And I also didn’t have a questionable immigration status like half of the sems. No, sir. I was born in New Jersey and thank God for that.
2). On the day I entered formation, my mother took me aside. “Son,” she said, “Promise me you’ll pray a Memorare every day for the rest of your life. Blessed Mother will protect you.” I didn’t know what she meant and I’m not sure how she would have known what I was getting into, but I kept my word – even to today. And Blessed Mother kept me safe.
So the crux here is that if Teddy didn’t want you to know, you didn’t know. I’m not complaining. I made it through relatively unscathed.
Ooh! I forgot the best part!
3). I was a smoker. Rebel homeschooler here… When I started college, I decided making friends with Joe Camel would boost my image. Then I realized that I like the stuff. McCarrick detests smokers. Apparently we’re not fit for his consumption. Again, in the summer of 2018, Mom told me that she always knew those cancer sticks would come to good use. “Smoking,” she said at the time, “appears to have saved your ass.”
So is Teddy suffering from dimentia? My strong suspicion is that he’s pulling a Chin Gigante. Is it possible he’s actually lost his marbles? Not likely considering Bobby McElroy got a red hat just a year ago and there’s no way that happens without Teddy’s seal of approval. Folks, I have come to believe that he is the most destructive force in the Church short of Bergoglio since Martin Luther. I believe he’s made literal deals with Satan. So no, I don’t think he’s lost his mind. So what’s going on?
Oh yes, Helen Reddy. Best I can figure, he listened to that old Helen Reddy song Angie Baby one too many times.
“It’s so nice to be insane. No one asks you to explain… Teddy Baby.”
St. Joseph, pray for us! And men, stay strong, stay with your famlies, love your wives, be there with and for your kids. Vermin like Teddy might just get the hint. Thank you, Dad!
Harvey Millican's Blog: Musings of a Trad Dad 