Last week I (Fr. David Nix) had a four hour dinner with Bernardin’s victim and her husband. She is now 80 years old. The Satanic Ritual Abuse happened to her about 70 years ago by Fr. Joseph Bernardin (later Cardinal Archbishop of Chicago, top-left.) The abuse happened at St. Mary’s Church in Greenville, SC (top-right.)
My mother is from Chicago (and my father is from West of Chicago) so I grew up hearing from extended family that one day Cardinal Bernardin would be canonized. Much in my life has changed since then. Another thing that has changed is Rome’s recent attempt to rehabilitate the reputation of Bernardin.
Keep in mind as you read below that I still support my article from earlier this year describing the gravity of breaking the 8th Commandment on the public reputation of another. But the sins of public members must be exposed if there is evidence. Again, I am 100% certain that I had dinner last week with Bernardin’s own victim from 1957. She now breaks her years of silence because of the upcoming attempts to “canonize” Bernardin.
Reader discretion is highly advised going forward. But I promise you the rest of this article in italics contains only Bernardin’s victim’s words:
I am Agnes. Actually, I am not. That name was applied to me by a writer, Malachi Martin, who thought my story to be the perfect overarching explanation for the conditions in the Church that he described in his novel. And, yes, it is my story. He used many details I had given him, but changed the date. I believe he did so to make the story fit better with his aim to make it the framework for his narrative. It happened in 1957, not the early 60’s. It happened in Greenville, S.C., and I know nothing of any connection to a ritual in Rome. I saw and heard no telephones.
I had been referred to Martin by a priest, who told me that Martin was the Pope’s on-the-ground source in the United States and had good access. I wanted to get the information about a Cardinal to the Pope because only a pope has jurisdiction over a Cardinal. I was leery of going through official channels.
There were several people there that night in the Fall of 1957. The apparent leader was someone still unknown to me to this day, a man who spoke German. Other than the nature of the activities, his rhyming words were what made me realize the event was a Satanic ritual. In this month of the departed, I pray for his soul, as I do for all the people there that night.
The celebrant was Bishop Russell. He was vested. I had admired him as a child. When he tried to rape me, I recognized and reprimanded him. I had just been confirmed by him a few months prior (this happened in the Fall of 1957 and I was confirmed in February, as I recall). I said, “You are the bishop! You confirmed me. You shouldn’t do this! You should be good!” He was unmoved except for a quick flash of alarm in his blue eyes, an alarm I saw again 40 years later when I visited him in his nursing home.
Bishop Russell came frequently to our parish, and with his white hair and stately bearing he was the holy card image of a bishop. I thought he looked like God the Father. When he came, Father Bernardin always came and was always at his side as MC of the Pontifical High Masses that were often celebrated in the parish.
I have described the rest of what happened that night elsewhere. I resisted and the people there tried to convince me I was evil. I said God made me and God was good, so I was good. I remember a call from Martin, when he told me that the Holy Father wanted to know something personal about the event, how I felt spiritually. Naïve, I told him this story and he put it in his novel. I will never forget the violation I felt on reading his use of what to me was a most sacred moment (when, because of Confirmation grace, I was able to resist and speak something true) to make believable his sensationalized version of the event.
After that, the people were very angry. Their plan, whatever it was, could not succeed. They needed to repress my memory of the event. One way to do that would be to make me feel complicit. Father Bernardin took me in his lap and told me I had been a good girl, that this had been a test and I had done well. I started crying and relaxed, letting down my extreme resistance.
That is when he raped me and said he was putting the devil in me, making word associations between semen and demon. He said that if what he did to me felt good, that was the devil in me and meant I was evil. Then he did something sacrilegious with what he said was a consecrated Host and forced me to take it orally, which I did because I wanted to protect it if it were indeed consecrated.
After that the light grew dim. There were lots of people in motion. I was offered something to drink and do not remember anything else. As for the dog Martin mentions, there was no dog there. Malachi Martin specifically asked me if I had a pet. I told him that I had had a dog that I loved, but that it had disappeared, and I was told it was my fault.
A few years later, we got a new associate pastor, Father Condon, who was later adjudicated on many counts of aggravated sexual assault of minors (boys, at least one of whom committed suicide). He had been Bernardin’s roommate, I read much later, and he began to give graphic mixed group sex-ed talks to our class. Within a month or two, the boys in our class, boys I had known since 2nd grade, changed considerably, becoming focused on homosexual jokes and gestures.
Russell was transferred, Bernardin didn’t come back, and my family moved to the DC area. I did not think about Bernardin until 1983. When I lived in the Midwest, I knew that a Ber-NAR-Din had been made Archbishop of Chicago but did not make the connection because his name was mispronounced. But after I returned to the States four years later from abroad, I realized who he was, and I began the journey of trying to get him stopped and disciplined by the Church.
Where there is one such victim, there are many. I wrote a personal letter to Bernardin, asking him to make public repentance. I told him that God had given him that Holy Season (Lent and Holy Week) to come out. He gave the letter to his review board and they wanted me to cooperate with their completely illegal process. I told them no, they had no jurisdiction, so they made up some new rules involving other bishops. Bernardin died before another Holy Week.
I pursued many avenues of report and exposure, risking my safely and that of my family. I could not for years get a lawyer, which anyone needed to deal with the countersuits that always came from the Archdiocese of Chicago. I submitted an amicus brief with Steve Cook’s case. I did not want to sue because I did not want even the appearance of gain. Shortly after, Cook withdrew his suit. He told me he remembered perfectly well but had decided to believe Bernardin’s eyes over his own memories. I said, “Steve, he used those eyes on me when I was 11!” He responded, “I’d hate to think I was conned twice.” Think about what that means.
At the end, my husband and I visited the Congregation of Bishops. While at the Vatican, I went to Confession, a confession of nothing related to these events. The priest told me to go home, to forget about what I had come for, to go back and be a quiet housewife. I was shocked. My husband was in law enforcement and knew what those words implied.
When Bernardin had a press conference about Cook, he actually talked about my accusations, laughing about them. Steve Cook told me that Bernardin lied about him reconciling with the Church. Cook said he had reconciled with Bernardin but not with the Church. Cook also told me he was writing a book about his experiences. Where is it?
Malachi Martin promised to get my testimony directly to John Paul II (which I assumed he already had done when he conveyed the Pope’s question to me). He asked permission to mention my story in connection with “a little thing” he wanted to publish because he thought it would help people understand the situation in the Church. I thought he meant a commentary or letter to the NYT and that he would just mention a credible allegation. I had no idea of his plan.
Over the years, I have kept my identity secret for the sake of my family. One attorney finally agreed to represent me but told me that if I went public, the life of my entire family would be destroyed. By that time, everyone who needed to know had been informed, so there was no point in going public. I have no need for publicity. I thank those journalists who have honorably kept my confidence and I ask them to continue to do so.
I write this now because I hear there is a renewed movement to canonize Joseph Bernardin. Would to God we still had a Devil’s Advocate in the canonization process.
I have copies of all correspondence, and notes of most conversations.