OGDENSBURG (NY)
Watertown Daily Times - NNY 360 [Watertown NY]
December 1, 2025
By Alex Gault
More than a dozen people described during testimony Monday how being sexually abused as children by Catholic priests in the north country has had long-lasting and often ruinous impacts on their lives.
The people who told their stories in a federal courtroom in Albany have all sued the Diocese of Ogdensburg, the Roman Catholic organization that oversees parishes and churches from Watertown to Plattsburgh and down through the Adirondack Mountains. The survivors contend that the diocese failed to properly prevent and respond to reports of sexual abuse of children by priests in its employ over multiple generations.
Those suits, filed under New York’s Child Victims Act, were authorized by a state law passed in 2019 that briefly authorized people who had been sexually abused to seek civil judgments against their abusers and the organizations that empowered and failed to stop abuse. The Diocese of Ogdensburg is facing 138 such lawsuits.
Many of the allegations of abuse leveled against north country priests date back decades, well into the 1950s and 1960s, but some are as recent as the 1990s and 2000s. Men and women alike accused north country priests of abusing their positions of authority and close proximity to children to groom them, ostracize them from their families and support systems, and sexually abuse them in some of the most intense and violating ways.
The volume of lawsuits accusing the diocese of some culpability, for ignoring allegations and failing to punish or report reliable reports of assault to the authorities, have prompted the organization to file for Chapter 11 bankruptcy. The process, known as reorganization, allows the diocese to restructure, sell off assets and answer debts to the best of its ability without completely liquidating all assets or shutting down.
In a 2023 video message, Diocese of Ogdensburg Bishop Terry R. LaValley said this was being undertaken in an attempt to preserve the Catholic church in the region while also effectively answering the civil penalties brought upon by the Child Victims Act lawsuits.
On Monday, in a federal courtroom in downtown Albany, a few of those 138 victims described the abuse they faced and how it negatively impacted their lives, some for more than 60 years, and many directly addressing the bishop as he watched from the counsel’s tables.
Men and women, and a few who chose to submit their statements through their attorneys, described in sometimes exact and graphic detail how they had been abused by priests within the Catholic churches and schools of the north country and how the institution failed to penalize their abusers and moved instead to protect them.
Some stories dated back to the 1960s. Many of the men who spoke had been altar boys or part of families who they described as deeply connected to the Catholic faith. Some of the women said they had hoped to get involved in the church in later years, as nuns or active members of their parish. Almost everyone who testified noted that after they’d been abused, they turned to drugs, alcohol or other addictions like gambling or pornography. Many spoke of mental illness diagnoses in the years since their abuse. A majority said they had complex post-traumatic stress disorder, and many victims shared diagnoses like anxiety, depression and substance abuse disorder. Many also spoke about making attempts to end their lives.
One person who spoke on Monday, who was from Massena, remarked on those similarities that tied to his own story.
“I am blown away by the similarities, in these stories and in their outcomes,” he told the court.
Many victims reported they had come from large or impoverished homes, broken families or other home situations that left them ignored or ostracized. A number said they had viewed church as a safe space, and that being involved in church ceremonies and acknowledged by their priest made them feel special.
All described how those priests, and in one case a “brother,” some who ran churches and others who worked in the schools, used their positions of authority to prey on children. Many stories started with a priest calling a child to a private room, for “help” or “guidance.” Some described the abuse as immediate, in some cases violent and aggressive. In others, the abuse came after years of subtle grooming, where the abuser would worm his way into the child’s life and become a figure respected by their family before starting to sexually abuse them.
In one case, a sister and her younger brother both described how the same priest had abused them in nearly identical ways at nearly the same time.
And in some cases, the victims described incidents where someone else in the church, sometimes even a family member, had been made aware of the abuse or even witnessed it. But in no cases were the priests actually punished, charged with a crime or taken to court. Sometimes, they were abruptly re-assigned to another church in the diocese or elsewhere. A number of people testified that their abuse only ended after their abuser suddenly disappeared, only for them to realize years later that the abuser had been sent to another church nearby, or another Catholic school in the state.
Each person who spoke described a feeling of deep shame as a result of their abuse. They described how the betrayal made them untrusting in all aspects of their lives, which damaged relationships with parents, siblings, spouses and children.
“Sex abuse victims don’t feel honest with themselves or with others,” one man said. “You can’t look anyone in the eye.”
He then directly faced the bishop, one of a number of times the victims chose to speak to the man who now runs the diocese they partially blame for their abuse, and asked him if he truly believes the church can fix what was broken.
“You always try to save souls, but if you look around at all of those in this room who have fallen out with their families, do you think the church can step in and repair it?” he asked.
In one statement, given by a woman through her attorney, she detailed how a priest had groomed her, then resorted to abuse that involved prayer recitations and repeated religious ceremonies in profanely sexual ways that blended religion with rape.
She said that level of ritualized abuse put her off her faith and instilled a deep distrust of other men that has stuck with her for more than 50 years. She explained how it drove her to be distant both from her husband and her son, resulting in her son completely cutting her off after high school and her husband’s decision to shoot himself this summer.
The weight of her story drove her attorney to cry as she read it into the record.
“This has affected me to the bone, inflicting so much pain I know I will never recover,” her statement read. “I will never forgive Father Bruce, or the Catholic Church.”
Those who spoke on Monday seemed to have widely varied views on the role of the church, and religion more broadly. Some directly blame the church, and its present leadership, for their abuse.
The youngest person to speak on Monday primarily directed his statement to LaValley.
“You guys are manipulative,” he said. “You’ve ruined so many lives, turned a blind eye to so much. I will never forgive you.”
Another person explained how religious symbols are unwelcome in his life, triggering detailed memories of the abuse he suffered as a young boy. Things like church pews, incense, and a crucifix are unwelcome. And a specific time, burned into his memory because of a broken clock in the church he was abused in, stands out too: 7:34.
Others spoke about how they remain part of the church, however uneasily. Some seemed not to blame LaValley or the church as it exists today. A few chose to shake the bishop’s hand as they stepped down from the podium, and one man hugged the bishop and asked him to get in touch.
“I could use your help,” he said to LaValley before walking back to his seat.
Monday’s testimony is part of a long-running process. The statements made were on record in the bankruptcy case for the diocese, but were sealed and will not be made publicly available or available to either party in the legal proceedings.
The names of the victims, some of which were given directly in court, will similarly not be made public by the courts. The Watertown Daily Times does not typically identify the victims of sexual abuse.
Through the bankruptcy process, the plaintiffs in the 138 lawsuits against the diocese under the Child Victims Act will potentially be able to collect a proportionate monetary award from the diocese, although it will likely be less than they would be able to get if the diocese had not filed for bankruptcy.
LaValley, in his statement to the church when declaring bankruptcy in 2023, said the bankruptcy will offer some financial awards to all people with a valid claim, and if the diocese had not sought reorganization, only those first to the court would be able to collect their awards.
The court has ordered the diocese to negotiate resolutions to the Child Victims Act lawsuits through mediation, with Delaware-based federal bankruptcy court Judge Christopher S. Sontchi mediating. While the reorganization process is underway, those cases are on hold.
Some of the abuse victims expressed distress at the way the case has proceeded.
Charles Nadeau, who leads the survivors committee of people who suffered abuse at the hands of north country Catholic clergy, wrote in a letter to the editor, published in the Nov. 29 edition of the Watertown Daily Times, that he sometimes feels the whole process is designed to wear down those seeking justice through it.
Others who spoke on Monday echoed similar feelings. And while many appreciated the opportunity to speak the truth, directly to those in power, many said that would not be enough. Some implored LaValley to ensure no abuse could ever happen in his diocese again.
“You must build a system where what happened to me and other children isn’t just condemned, it’s impossible,” one man told LaValley.