A good priest undeservedly presumed guilty
11 February 2005
The Rev. Charlie Murphy had just finished celebrating a funeral Mass when a teacher gave him a hug and asked, "Are you going to be all right?" He had no idea what she was talking about.
A few hours later, a church secretary, tears in her eyes, showed him a small news story about yet another allegation of clergy abuse. She explained, "You were accused."
"I went numb," Murphy says. In a voluminous set of
complaints filed by 18 plaintiffs against the old
That was in May; in August the archdiocese suspended him from all priestly duties.
Ordained in 1960 and now age 71, Murphy has spent his 46
years as a priest in an exceptional ministry. Hearing impaired from birth, his
deafness grew more profound during the 1960s. It was a liability he turned into
an asset, for two decades serving as counselor at the School for the Deaf and
becoming the church's point man for the needs of the deaf. A vigorous athlete
and - despite his disability - well spoken, Murphy easily impressed. The school
closed in 1994. Other assignments took him to parishes in South Weymouth,
All of that has come to an end.
The original charge seemed tissue-thin: 28 years ago, while stationed at the School for the Deaf, Murphy allegedly walked into the room of a student - Violet Guertin - and saw her undressing. Last month her lawyer, Mitchell Garabedian, amended the complaint, saying that Murphy also once picked up Guertin, touched her inappropriately and kissed her on the cheek. Garabedian says he believes Murphy molested others too and intends to file even more lawsuits.
Murphy is unequivocal in his denials. "The whole thing is a lie," he says. "I have never - never - done anything to hurt a child, teenager or anyone. My priesthood has been celibate; it's been chaste."
Quite frankly, we've heard this stuff before. With the conviction of former priest Paul Shanley fresh in our minds, the automatic reaction is not to assume innocence but guilt. Priests once could do no wrong; now, it seems, that's all they can do.
But in Murphy's case, the charges met not with sad resignation but disbelief. A small circle of supporters has grown to hundreds, and they are forcefully defending a man they not only believe to be innocent but deeply wronged. Three co-workers at the School for the Deaf give him their "unstinting and unconditional support." A parent and her daughter, a one-time student of his, think Murphy "falsely accused." Hockey legend Stan Mikita, who worked with Murphy for 15 years at the American Hearing Impaired Hockey Association, expresses his "complete confidence and trust." Last month more than 100 held a fund-raiser on his behalf. We remain "unequivocally loyal," says Paul Kingston, a lawyer.
That loyalty does not come from the church, however. Intellectually, at least, Murphy understands that allegations can be made and courts exist to try them. What he and his backers cannot fathom - and what has devastated him - is the archdiocese's response.
An allegation, of course, is not the same as guilt, yet the church has virtually severed ties with Murphy. Where once cases of abuse were covered up, now, Murphy's supporters argue, the pendulum has swung the other way.
Murphy's treatment "has had a chilling effect on each of us," write nine priests, all of whom have known him for over 40 years. "If his life and work can be cast aside on 25-year-old unsubstantiated charges," asks Joseph Corcoran, founder of the real estate firm Corcoran & Jennison, "Who will be left to care for those who desperately need someone to care?"