The stage trial of Cardinal Law: 'adaptation' reenacts the legal drama of Boston's abuse scandal

National Catholic Reporter, April 16, 2004 by Tim Unsworth

Just the other Sunday, Jean and I went over to the tiny Bailiwick Theater on Chicago's Belmont Avenue to see "Sin: A Cardinal Deposed." It wasn't a play. Rather it was called an "adaptation." Most of the words spoken had been taken from thousands of pages of material compiled during the deposition of Boston Cardinal Bernard Law, arguably the most powerful archbishop in America, a cappo di tutto cappo, a man to whom many sitting bishops owe their beanies. ("After Boston," the Mexican-born son of a U.S. Air Force colonel used to say, "there is only heaven." Now, for this consummate careerist who insisted on being addressed as "Your Eminence," there is only hell.)

Law lives in a Mercy convent outside Baltimore. Still a Vatican citizen, he could go to Rome and manage an empty office. He holds at least seven curial memberships and is rumored to be seeking one more. And until he reaches 80, he has one vote for the next pope--real currency inside the Sistine Chapel, where the papal ballots are counted. But he has less chance of landing the watered silk contract for the next consistory than he has of getting a plenary indulgence from Martin Luther's mother.

Now, out of the bubbling anger contained in 11,000 pages of deposition testimony comes a compelling two-hour drama that left the small cast exhausted and in tears. Until the cast returned for a post-performance discussion, no one even applauded. I just wanted to pedal home and have a dose of Jack Daniels while I thought about the 90 victims in Boston alone whose lives will never be the same.

I asked the audience how many were Catholic. Most were but hadn't been to Mass that Lenten Sunday morning. It's likely that they would have gone to Mass if the truth had been told over a year ago. But following Law's evasive testimony was like trying to get the top olive out of the bottle.

I spotted at least two priests--in mufti. They left quietly, heads down, probably hoping to find some booze in the medicine cabinets in their rectories. They were older men, likely wondering how the end of their lives would play out now that Barry Fitzgerald, Bing Crosby and Spencer Tracy were in their graves. Now, they were objects of ridicule.

Much of the dialogue was adapted from deposition transcripts that took place from August 2002 to February 2003. Other material came from interviews given to The Boston Globe. Originally, about a dozen lawyers took part in the depositions. The testimony here was distilled to two plaintiff attorneys, Mitchell Garabedian and Roderick MacLeish. There were also gleanings from the book Boston's Cardinal Bernard Law and from the 2003 Pulitzer Prize-winning book Betrayal: The Crisis in the Catholic Church. The drama used some 36 ensemble characters, played by three people, and three main players.

Law's testimony was marked by a cold disregard for the victims. There was a revolting lack of remorse from a man of God who repeatedly placed the interests of the institution over those of the victims. Much of the testimony focused On two monstrous offenders, John Geoghan, who was later murdered in prison, and Paul Shanley, now in jail.

Both men abused dozens of young men. Both were exposed repeatedly and moved to other parishes where they offended again with virtual impunity. Instead, they were protected by an ageless Mediterranean (read Mafia) model that was marked by secrecy, silence, loyalty and a determination to protect the archbishop at all costs.

Time and again, the increasingly agitated prelate stated that he did "not recall." He stated that the treatment protocols for his errant priests were "reasonable and therapeutic." Again and again, he said that he did "not recall" receiving important correspondence.

Law was a man not accustomed to being questioned. Although viewed as a micromanager, he frequently transferred responsibility and, later, blame to his subordinates.

He did not send letters to the victims and classed many of the questions as "harassing." "In retrospect," he said, "I have made mistakes." But he admitted to only a few.

His lawyer listened impatiently. More often, he simply said: "I object to the form of the question."

Bit by bit, Law's impatience grew to frustration. Slowly, he found himself listening in silence. Ed Siegel, who covered the drama for The Boston Globe, described Law as "frazzled and obfuscating." One by one the witnesses took their leave until Law was alone on the stage. In Siegel's view, "There was no absolution for Law."

On May 15-22, the adaptation moves to Wellesley College outside of Boston. It's likely to draw large crowds. It will certainly draw more tears.

Tim Unsworth writes from Chicago.