Wrestling With God Read online

  "I'm thinking about visiting Joe in the hospital in Belleville. Now I'm thinking about also visiting this Sheridan guy. Jerry, would you mind if I went to Illinois on Sunday and visited these two stellar citizens? Julie and Kathy could help you with April and other stuff."

  He thought that would be okay. So I turned to Jack and J.J. "Do either of you want to join me?"

  J.J. immediately said, "I would. I want to learn everything I can about this cracker." She playfully punched Jack on the arm.

  On Sunday morning early, I picked Jack up at Agnes' house next door. J.J. didn't think her kids were ready to have Jack stay over and sleep in their mom's bed. Jack and I picked up J.J. I had never known where J.J. lived and found her apartment near my old condo, more toward downtown and the inner city. Most of the front yards had green grass and flowers and looked cared for. J.J.'s apartment house was next to the black neighborhood of St. Louis. As we approached her address, we saw many folks of various ethnicities who looked like they were headed for work on a Sunday morning: nurses, bus drivers, waitresses, and a few who looked like they were heading for church.

  J.J. was waiting for us and Jack got out of the car and held the door for her. He climbed in the back seat. We headed for Springfield. The plan was for us to meet Sheridan that morning and Joe Carroll in the afternoon on our way back to St. Louis. Both of my passengers were loquacious so I wasn't surprised when we hadn't even crossed the Mississippi before J.J. said, "Rebecca, tell us a little more about Jerry's ideas on becoming or discovering our 'true selves.' He says he always wants to choose people who are in touch with their true selves or are on the way to being in touch."

  "I'm sure that Jerry would say that both of you already know intuitively because you were right on in choosing participants in the prison program. Also, he chose you, J.J., because he thought you were in touch. I remember him saying how thoughtful you were toward the waitress when the two of you went to lunch for the interview. The day before he took one of your male classmates to lunch and he rejected him because he treated the server like shit."

  J.J. immediately responded, "Sam Shriver, a real asshole. I thought at the time that I'd cancel my interview if Sam had been accepted. He complained that the interviewer rejected him because of the way he treated the waitress ... and called Jerry a real jerk. I, then, looked forward to meeting Jerry."

  I chuckled. "After I met you and saw how beautiful you are, I kidded Jerry that he chose you because of your good looks. I knew that couldn't be all, but I got a kick out of how defensive he became. Someday you'll have to get him to mimic a Loyola professor who introduced him to the concept of true self. The prof is from Holland, and Jerry tries to speak with his accent. I tried to mimic him: 'Say, you meet this guy, Steve, and he is only a simple adult, a dasman, a Dutch or German word that means some kind of herd-man, or follower. Steve is only interested in himself and in you as a possible customer or consumer of some kind, and he does what everyone else is doing - making money. He wants to know where you live, what you do for a living, how much money you make, what kind of car you drive, and stuff like that.

  "But you meet Steve ten years later and he has grown, he is in touch with his deeper, true self. He is dasein, a mature man. Now he meets you and doesn't care about all that other stuff and says, 'Rebecca, it is so good to see YOU, how are YOU?' You know he is interested in you as a person. He talks about love, relationships, life's challenges, and maybe even spirituality. Jerry does this with his delightful Dutch accent. You know, Jack, he is involved in the prison project because of you. He was so excited to have met you that day in Warden Bonhoeffer's office. On our way home, he said, 'Now that Jack Carroll really is in touch with his true self.' Oh, and Jerry pays attention to a person's eyes. If a person's eyes reach out to you, Jerry says, then I can work with him or her, or feel close to them. But if they seem to reach out a little from their own nose, then I don't want anything to do with them. I've been paying attention to people's eyes ever since and I agree with him. So, J.J., does that answer your question?"

  "Yes, thank you. I think we did pretty well with our selections, except for a guy named Sergio."

  "Jerry told me about him." I glanced back at Jack and said, "Hey, Jack, are you awake back there?"

  "Yes, smart ass, I'm with you all the way."

  J.J. changed the subject, "Rebecca, who is Kathy whom Julie introduced me to last evening. She sure seemed uncomfortable with Jack. She looked like she had to be on guard around him."

  "She's one of Joe Carroll's victims." I pounded the steering wheel with both fists as I realized for the first time that Kathy was Jack's niece. I shouted, "Oh, my God!"

  Almost simultaneously both J.J. and Jack asked, "What's the matter, Rebecca?"

  "Jack, do you realize that you are Kathy Brassley's uncle?"

  "Didn't I tell you that Kathy told me that her mom, the night before she died, said, 'Kathy, you mean to tell me you've been fucking your own father?' Kathy thought she was saying Father, meaning a priest, but I thought that her mom said something about Father Joe molesting her too. I got samples of Kathy's mom's DNA and had the DA get a comparison of the DNAs on all three—Joe, mom, and Kathy—and Joe is a match as Kathy's father. So Joe, you are an uncle. I just thought of that. Didn't I tell you about the DNA tests?"

  "Damnit, Rebecca, you sure as hell did not. Did you tell Kathy about the DNA match?"

  "Damn, I'm sure I haven't. I don't know what's the matter with me. I've been thinking of the two of you as having such different lives and being so different, I just didn't put it all together until just now. I think Kathy just looks at you warily because you look like the person who hurt her." We spent the rest of our trip to Springfield mulling over the implications of this realization. Jack got even more quiet and pensive. I hoped he was not too upset with me. I was upset enough with myself for both of us.

  I had given my GPS system the address for Sheridan's senior housing in Springfield and it led us into a very poor neighborhood. I was very surprised that Illinois's capital would have such a slum. It seemed that every house had a rusting car up on blocks in the front yard, no flowers or greenery anywhere. Even the trees were droopy and depressed looking. The number I was looking for was on an old clapboard two-story house that looked like it was about to collapse. I took another look at the number because I was sure this couldn't be the place. I said, "This is the address I wrote down. It must be it. Being the old grouch called me, why don't I go in first and see if Sheridan lives here, okay?"

  "Are you sure you want to go into this dump by yourself ?" Jack asked.

  I just nodded and said, "I've seen worse." I really couldn't think of any except possibly Kathy and her mom's trailer park. I carefully climbed the three steps up to the porch because they looked like they would fall apart. When I got to the porch, I noticed that the door and windows were closed but still the smell of urine, garbage, and shit almost made me vomit. Maybe I hadn't seen worse, but I couldn't remember smelling a worse place.

  I decided to just open the front door of this "nursing home," if it was unlocked. It was, and the stench inside was terrible. I opened my purse and pulled out a tissue and held it over my nose. The front room and hall was stifling hot; it felt like it was nearly l00 degrees. A tired looking elderly woman was sloshing brown water around the dark linoleum.

  I said, "Good morning. I'm looking for a Father Sheridan. Do you know where I could find him?"

  The old lady perked up and said, "Sure I could, dearie. You'll find Sam Sheridan up there," pointing at the stairs. "I've heard some folks call him 'Father', some call him 'Sam' and some call him, 'Sheri'. Funny name fer a man."

  "How many folks live here, ma'am?"

  "Right now, there's nine women and eleven men, and I know all their names. Kinda a hobby of mine. Just go up them stairs and go in the room on the right. Sam is in the bed near the window."

  "Thank you very much. I'm Rebecca. What's your name, ma'am?"

  "I'm Mary. Nice to meetcha, Rebec
ca."

  It was hard to understand how anyone could live or work in a place like this. I trudged up the stairs and sweat was dripping off of me when I reached the second floor. I took off my coat, scarf, hat, and entered the room. There were three single beds with someone sleeping on each one and facing away from me. The man facing the window had on a hospital gown that exposed his backside. He had huge bedsores on his buttocks, back, and thighs. My hand would fit into the sores on his bottom. With my tissue still on my nose, I approached the man and said, "Sam Sheridan?"

  Surprisingly, a rather loud voice responded. "Yeah, I'm Sam. What da ya want?"

  I was sure it was the same gravelly and grumpy voice that had called. "I'm Rebecca Brady and you called me. I'm the one who is writing about Father Joe Carson. Will you talk to me?"

  He turned over and thankfully had pulled his gown down to cover his genitals. "Of course, I will. That's why I called you. Find a chair and sit down."

  "I have two people with me who are also interested in meeting you. Is it okay if I ask them to join me? One is Jack Carroll, Joe's brother, and the other is a co-worker with us on a prison project. Her name is J.J. Jackson."

  "Sure, bring'em up if you think they're tough enough to stand my palatial abode."

  I called J.J. and told them where to find us. I saw three hard-backed kitchen chairs around the room. I dragged them close to the old man's bed. I asked him, "How long have you been living in this, uh, palace, Sam?"

  "Six years, I think. I'm eighty-two years old and I came here when I was seventy-six, I believe."

  I looked over at the other two occupants of the room who hadn't stirred. Their backsides and bed sores were exposed too. Jack and J.J. staggered into the room—Jack with a handkerchief over his nose and J.J. with a tissue. They were sweating. They took one look around the room. I motioned to the chairs.

  Sam growled, "Welcome. It's been a long time since this room has been graced by two such pretty women. And, by God, it's good to see you, Jack." He growled out a chuckle, "Remember me?"

  "I do, Father. It was a long time ago. You've grown a bit older, I'd say, but you still sound like the grouch I remember. I never could see how my brother could stand to be around you, but he seemed to like it."

  "And it's been a long time since anyone has called me 'Father.' I called Ms. Brady here to come visit so I could tell her a bit about me and your brother." He suddenly teared up and changed. He lost his gruff expression and was crying as he said, "Yeah, I really loved your brother Joe. He was such a sweet boy and he loved me back. The three years I loved Joe were the happiest years of my life. I guess I ruined his life but he really saved mine." He looked up at me, J.J., and then focused on Jack. "You know, Jack, I was planning to kill myself when I began talking to Joe and he was so kind to me. I tried to talk to you once but you seemed to dislike me. I put my hand on your shoulder and you said, 'Don't touch me, you old bastard.' Do you remember that?"

  "No, I don't." Jack curled his upper lip, like the idea made him sick.

  "Yeah, well, it was a long time ago." He looked pleadingly at me and said, "Ms. Brady, I hope you can write something about Joe in your papers that will help the world forgive him for molesting these other children. It is all my fault." Tears continued to fall as he added, "I tried to find other children to love and who would love me like Joe did, but I never did. I'm so sorry for what I did. I went to a shrink once and he said that, in a way, I was just a child myself." He looked pleadingly at all three of us. "Do you suppose God will forgive me?" His face questioned the three of us.

  It was at least one full minute before Jack said, "Sam, Joe has to take responsibility for his own actions. And it isn't God who needs to forgive, it is you who needs to forgive yourself. In my view, God is always available and open to us, in all of our weakness, but we must be open to God and to use the power He has given to love in a life-giving way. You did not do that with my brother and to whoever else you have hurt. Right now, I'm having a helluva hard time forgiving you, but if I believe in a loving God, I do need to forgive you, too. I hope you can forgive yourself, Sam, before you die."

  "Me, too. Jack, you sound like a priest. Did you become a priest too?"

  "No, I didn't. I didn't much like priests. They all seemed like phonies. I'm afraid that would have included you. You probably knew that Joe and I didn't get along very well in the years you knew us."

  "Now I remember that Joe wrote to me. He told me that you went to prison soon after high school, but I can't remember why ... if he had told me. So, were you in prison, Jack?"

  "Yes, Sam, I was. I shot and killed our dad when he was beating our mom. And I can't say I'm sorry, and I hope to be able to before I die."

  "How come you talk kind of like a priest? You been studying?" "I say, I've just been wrestling with God." "What does that mean?"

  "I'll just let you figure that out. You might start by re-reading St. John's Letters in scripture, especially the passage, 'God is love and he who lives in love, lives in God, and God in him.' Oh, and you might think of Mary, downstairs, and these two guys." He motioned toward the other two occupants of the room. Jack turned to me, "Rebecca, I'd really like to leave. Do you have the information you need?"

  "I think so. Sam, is there anything else you'd like me to consider when I write about Joe Carroll?"

  "No, just be as kind as you can. I am the one who put him on the wrong road. I am glad that you all went to the trouble to come and see me. And I'm sorry that you had to see me in this terrible place."

  Both J.J. and I had tears in our eyes as we stood up. I felt compelled to say, "Sam, this is a terrible place. People should not have to live like this. I've met the Bishop of Belleville and he is a good man. I don't know the Bishop of Springfield, but I'm sure he would not approve of this place. Would you mind if I took some pictures of this room and show them to the Bishop of Belleville in hopes he will implore the Springfield Bishop to do something?"

  "I don't mind but I've been thinking that this place is the kind of hell that I deserve to live in."

  I took a bunch of pictures by just turning around the room. It took only seconds. I couldn't bring myself to even kiss Sam's hands or forehead, but I did touch his forehead and say, "Sam, I don't agree with you about deserving this kind of place. Thank you for talking to us." I felt like there must be something more I needed to say but couldn't find the words, I simply said, "Goodbye, Sam."

  I led the three of us out of the room and the house. As soon as we climbed in, J.J. said, "That has to be the most uncomfortable 30 minutes I've ever experienced."

  Jack exhaled loudly, "Uncomfortable is too weak a word. I can't remember being so conflicted. Part of me wanted to choke the hell out of that old bastard. The other part feels really sorry for the pathetic old jerk."

  I felt more than a bit exhausted but I didn't want to make another trip to Illinois, so I asked, "Are you two still up for a visit with Joe Carroll in Belleville?"

  J.J. asked, "Do you think it will help me feel better?"

  Jack choked out, "Probably worse, but let's get it over with."

  Chapter 22

  REBECCA

  We arrived at the Belleville Mercy Hospital at 3:00 p.m. Both Jack and I knew where the Intensive Care Unit was located. Joe Carroll was in Room 2 and, as expected, he was all bandaged up and we could barely see his eyes, his nostrils, and his lips. There were no visitors. His eyes were closed and I quietly said, "Joe, I'm Rebecca Brady, and your brother Jack and I are here to see you."

  He opened his eyes as much as he could. "What da ya want?" "Thanks for the lovely welcome. The DA called and told us you were hurt, and wondered if Jack and I would like to visit you in the hospital. We said we would, and J.J. here volunteered because she wanted to see what kind of brother Jack has. So, I guess she's seeing that his brother is a jerk." I had broken a vow to myself not to get angry at this guy.

  "So, I'm supposed to be grateful that you two angels took the time to visit with me. Is that it?"
/>   Jack answered this one, "Yes, we are angels, and we needed to do our good deed for the day. In fact, we are doing our second good deed today. This morning we visited your old pal, Father Sheridan. Remember him?"

  "Of course, I remember him. He is one of the most wonderful people I ever met. I hope you were nice to him. I lost track of him. I thought maybe he died. Where is he?"

  "He is in a hell-hole of a so-called nursing home in Springfield. He is dying, Joe."

  "Why did you go see him?"

  "Because he heard of Rebecca's project of researching your life and writing about you. He said he wanted her to know that he had seduced you as a kid and sent you on the road to being a pedophile. He hopes that she will write something positive about you. Is there anything positive about yourself that you would like her to know? So far, you've only shown her your insensitive, miserable self."

  Joe ignored Jack's question and turned to J.J., "J.J., are you seriously interested in this holier-than-thou asshole?"

  "I am. And I am altering all I am learning about identical twins. They might be alike physically, but from what I am observing, they can be diametrically opposite psychologically and spiritually. You didn't answer Jack's question. Do you have any positive traits that you would care to share with us?"

  Joe croakingly said, "Yeah, I have more loving ability in my little finger than he has in his entire body. You know that he spent almost twenty years in prison for murdering our father, don't you?"

  "Yes, I do know that. And he told me that he did that after years of both you and he standing by and letting your dad beat your mother nearly to death."

  "And don't you truly think that killing your father is worse than my showing a few youngsters how to love?"

  I just had to jump in. "Joe, do you truly believe that what you were doing was showing these children how to love?" I didn't give him a chance to respond and went on, "I have interviewed six of these children and you hurt them deeply. Only one has done well and that is because she resisted your advances and never put herself in danger of being hurt by you. One of them, Lorraine, mothered a child by you and then twelve years later, you molested her—your daughter. And that mother killed herself when she learned that you were raping her, your own daughter. And you dare call all of this love?" I was fuming.