I was raped and assaulted over 30 times in the span of 2 years by a Jesuit priest and a trio of monks. Ignatius Loyola in Manhattan and made me join the choir there. One of my music teachers brought me to the Church of St. I couldn’t find refuge at school, at home, or even at church. I was 11 and remember saying, ‘I don’t like this.’ He replied, ‘Just be a good boy and relax.’ Between that night and the year of 1979, I was raped hundreds of times by eight faculty members at Horace Mann. when a teacher-chaperone stuck his hands down my pajamas shortly after I had gone to bed. In 1972, I had gone on an overnight trip to Washington, D.C.
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My parents had little time for him, or me. My brother, who was also adopted, was always fighting, screaming, slamming doors, breaking things, putting his fists through walls, getting kicked out of school, and in and out of the psychiatrist’s office. They were always too busy screaming at each other and eventually split up. No one will ever miss you.’ Courtesy of Jon Seiger They’ll go out to that store and find another kid to replace you. I remember him telling me, in the most vicious way, ‘If you tell, I will cut you up into a million pieces and throw you in a lake where no one will ever find you.’ Since I was adopted he added, ‘Your parents got you from a store. There were several incidents where my uncle had assaulted me, beginning at the age of 6. Members of Congress, scientists, and Pulitzer Prize-winning authors were among its alumni.īy this point in time, I was no stranger to abuse. At the time, Horace Mann was one of the most prestigious private schools in the country. As I became increasingly intoxicated, the men hired two male prostitutes to go back to the house with us.īack at the house, the two hustlers raped me while the two men watched, eventually joining in on the assault. Instead, they stopped at a bar and ordered more drinks.
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I accepted.Īfter being given several strong drinks, all three of us got into a car and they drove into the city, supposedly to get me something to eat. I was flattered to be included in such grown-up activity, and naïve to their motives. The year was 1975 and I was 14 years old. The other one was his lover, a history teacher and swim coach named Stanley Kops.
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One of the men was the Headmaster of Horace Mann, my high school. I was surprised to be greeted by two smiling men who didn’t offer me a Coke, but real alcohol. I entered a Tudor-style house on Tibbett Avenue in the tree-lined street of Riverdale. “It was a warm Friday afternoon when I put on my backpack, left school, and walked across the street.