Free Silent Mercy by Linda Fairstein Page A

bishop’s answer was out of his mouth before I could finish the question. “I had no duties that involved me in issues of sexual abuse.”
    “Most respectfully, sir, my question was whether or not you heard any allegations, whether in or apart from your duties?” I changed the course of my inquiries, though Deegan was determined not to give me an inch. The law allowed me to ask a character witness not only about specific acts within his direct knowledge, but also the defendant’s reputation for morality within the community.
    “No, I did not.”
    “Did you ever hear any allegations that Father Koslawski put his hands on the knees and thighs of a young man in a movie theater?”
    “Objection.” Sheila Enright didn’t rise from her seat. “Asked and answered.”
    “You may respond,” the judge said.
    “I don’t recall.”
    “Let me back up a step, Bishop Deegan. Would you consider such conduct—the unconsented groping of a minor’s thigh and knees, by an adult—to be sexual abuse?”
    “Objection, Your Honor.”
    “I’ll allow it.”
    I had studied Deegan’s answer to this question in a deposition he had given in a civil case involving another priest.
    “No, I would not.”
    “Is there some other way you would describe that conduct, sir?”
    Deegan cleared his throat with a cough. “I would say that it’s improvident, Ms. Cooper. Improvident touching.”
    Exactly the language he had used in the civil matter two years earlier, which had led to a furious interchange with the plaintiff’s lawyer.
    “So, ‘not sensible or wise’ would be your conclusion about such touching. Improvident, but not a sexual violation.”
    “Correct, Ms. Cooper. I don’t consider those—those, well—areas to be sexual parts.”
    He ought to talk to women who ride the subway in New York, subject to the uninvited stroking of strangers on crowded trains.
    Enright was on her feet. “Your Honor, I think Alex—Ms. Cooper—is already venturing beyond the scope of my direct.”
    “I’m just trying to get the semantics right, Judge. I don’t want to use a conclusory term like ‘sexual abuse’ if the bishop doesn’t agree with the legal definition.”
    “Ask your next question, Ms. Cooper.” Keets stared at me over the rim of his reading glasses.
    “You were responsible for hearing complaints against priests, were you not?”
    “Most certainly.”
    “And what were the nature of those complaints?”
    The bishop smiled at me now, almost beatifically. “Some were liturgical, Ms. Cooper. Some were theological.”
    “Can you be more specific?”
    “I received complaints that a priest’s sermons were too long,” Deegan said, “or that he sang poorly. On the more serious side, there might have been a charge that a priest was promoting a practice in violation of church teachings, that kind of thing.”
    “And abuse of alcohol?”
    “Yes, certainly. Those came to me.”
    “So sexual abuse was the only parish problem that was not under your jurisdiction.”
    “Those weren’t my words, Ms. Cooper.”
    “I guess we can have your testimony read back, Bishop. I believe you said that oversight of such allegations wasn’t part of your duties as vicar of the archdiocese.”
    A less enthusiastic smile this time. “I suppose I should say there were no records of any such misconduct, so nothing came to my attention.”
    “Well, sir, were there written records of any sexual abuse allegations in this diocese during your tenure?”
    “Written, Ms. Cooper? Specifically, written?” He was speaking to me but looking to the judge as though for help.
    “Exactly.”
    “No need for that. No need for anything in writing.”
    “Why not, sir?”
    Bishop Deegan tapped the side of his head with his arthritic forefinger. “Because I kept all that sort of thing up here, Ms. Cooper.”
    “In your head?” I said. “Let the record reflect that the bishop is pointing to his head while speaking.”
    “Precisely.”
    “And neither