MONTANA
Missoulian
RICHARD GEARY
I was 12 years old when our local priest molested me. I thought I was younger at the time, but the lawyers who deposed me said he arrived in Helmville in 1959, so I had to have been 12 when it happened.
I had already spent two summers working on the hay crew, doing adult work for adult wages, but it was a big deal when he asked if I wanted to paint his kitchen. Working for the family was one thing, but getting a real job working for an authority figure like the priest was a big step toward adulthood. I took the job.
He was always touching and hugging the altar boys, rubbing his hands under our shirts as he gave us a hug when we arrived to help at Mass. Often, he loaded us into his car and took us to dinner in Helena or Lincoln. None of us liked to sit beside him in the car, because he was always rubbing our legs in a playful manner. Just naive country kids, we didn’t have a clue about his intentions, but it was still uncomfortable.
As I was painting one afternoon, he called me into the guest bedroom of the rectory. I thought he wanted help moving something, so I put down my brush and went to him.
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