A lot of people got angry after reading last post here, writing, My perp was a Scout leader too, and There is no justice in PA

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(The Jan. 14 post about Peter Dunne provoked a peppering of emails. Here are three letters from City of Angels readers, including an encounter with Dunne in the seminary, by author Tom Barnes.)

What the hell, Kay, you think this makes you angry! What about my story where Fr. Cotter was the Boy Scout Leader as well and he went swimming nude with the Scouts and was in charge of the altar boys and the CYO.

The Assistant Scoutmaster was also a pedophile. When my lawyers went to talk to them about Cotter the Scouts said they never even heard of him. But I have pictures of Cotter in his Scout uniform on the altar of my church. I have papers settling with the Scouts out of court. The Boy Scouts and the Catholic Church are so fucking embedded with each other it is enough to make you puke.

The church scandal has given the Scouts enough time to burn their records. It is a huge story that needs to be told!!!!!!!!!!!!! It makes me so mad I cannot even begin to tell you how upset this has made me. I have been saying this for years but to no avail. All those people who know the truth about what Cotter did are getting old but I do not think they could ever forget.

Do you know they even transferred him to another church and let him be involved with Scouting again, Fuckers fuckers fuckers.

Robert Costello
Boston
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No wonder survivors of clergy abuse in PA need to file claims in other states -

You Can't Find Justice in Philadelphia

Dear Editor,

Children never were and may never be safe in the Commonwealth of PA. With no window for the statute of limitations for sexually abused children and with PA senators and legislators more concerned about protecting dogs and cats, little wonder that survivors of clergy abuse at the hands of PA Pedophile priests need to file claims in other states and in federal courts. In PA you can’t find justice.

This message will be sent to a majority of PA State Senators (and I expect no response) as well as every media outlet in PA.

Mike Ference
Philadelphia

(COOL: He also sent the entire Jan. 14 post to all those people. Readership!)

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He had the presence of a freaking vampire

As For Peter Dunne, he gave me the willies

Dear Kay,

As for Peter Dunne, believe it or not, when I was a seminarian at St. Charles a friend of mine in that class, a guy who was two or three years older than the rest of us, spoke incessantly about how wonderful Dunne was. This guy adored Dunne. He was a real big fan and had spent time up at that summer camp with him. I only met Dunne once. I was a seminarian. He gave me the willies. He had the presence of a freaking vampire. I have to agree with you. I cannot imagine that nobody knew what was happening. The guy was weird beyond belief.

Tom Barnes,
Author, "The McGurk"

(I emailed back to Barnes, tell me more about Dunne and Barnes wrote more:)

Well I only met the guy once for a few minutes. A seminary classmate who was a follower of his introduced me to him. He gave me the willies. He looked, walked and had the appearance of a freaking vampire.

You have to understand how things were in the Archdiocese of Philadelphia in 1970. Vatican II was only over about five or six years and any clerics or nuns in power had taken vows in the 1940s or earlier. Philadelphia Catholicism is very traditional even today. One never questioned a priest or nun about anything. They were gods and goddesses. They were not to be questioned by mere mortals like you and me. They were above that. And they knew it and they played to that strong hand 24/7. That still goes on in Philadelphia to this very day.

Dunne had a following. He was seen as some sort of savior for boys who came from broken homes. The Archdiocese was quite proud of him and gave him free reign. To see these pedophiles as the monsters they are and were is a little misleading. That is using year 2009 eyes to view things in 1970 or 1960 or 1950. It is not intellectually appropriate to do that. That is not really how it was. The situation was much foggier than this. It was not clear cut. Everybody had a Boystown view of this guy. If anyone knew or suspected he was a pedophile, it was not apparent in the leeway that he was given by the Archdiocese.

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'Dunne had a following. He was seen as some sort of savior for boys'
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(Tom Barnes response continued:)

Dunne literally scared me to death when I met him. I was in his presence once for less than five minutes and I got the impression the guy was, frankly speaking, nuts. He had the cold and empty stare of a manic depressive. He actually looked like a vampire. He seemed to have a hunch, he walked with a slightly stopped gait, he was more than a tad homely and frankly he had absolutely zero personality. But the boys loved him, and I mean literally adored this guy. And my guess would be because they were all working class boys from odd families with estranged parents and Dunne actually talked to them, his grooming of these boys worked. It is really as simple as that. It was no deeper than that I would think.

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Pedophile Priests Are Monsters
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These people are monsters and evil not because they are incredibly different and outlandish. They are monsters and evil because they learned somehow to take something as mundane as slight interest in a pre-teenage boy or teenage boy and turn it ever so slowly to their sick advantage. Dunne stayed away (as far as I can tell) from the wealthy, the informed, the powerful Catholics in Philadelphia. If I remember this correctly, his whole appeal to the Archdiocese was that he worked with "troubled boys". Now, who better to take advantage of than an already half-nuts "troubled boy"?

That is pretty much how I remember Peter Dunne and the archdiocese's treatment of him. This was not secret. It did not have to be. It was typical, subservience on the part of the typical working class Philadelphia Catholic. They have no one to blame but themselves. They made a god out of a man.

Tom Barnes
Author, "The McGurk"

http://www.themcgurk.vpweb.com

(We have a reviewers' copy of The McGurk and will be writing about it soon, it looks good.)

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MEANWHILE
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Meanwhile I'm still on the space station but starting to venture out into the atmosphere more. The body they gave me for my visit here on Earth is working again, I can walk. So even though I still have problems with gaseous emissions, I am able to use the legs and arms to go out, so I can once again study the planet and its inhabitants while I am still here.

Unfortunately on a recent night I had a run in with a group of earthlings, a situation that found me under attack, by six Armenian men, some of them weilding chain saws.

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Honest, six Armenian men weilding chainsaws came after me outside my front door the other night.
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They are tenants in a unit near mine. So I’ve had to bunker down. Three couches now block the front door entrance.

I am particularly proud of one defense tactic I concocted out of packing materials that came with a recent delivery. The plastic packing stuff that cracks real loud when you pop it? I have it under each window, so if anyone tries to climb in, they will cause a cacophony.

I have also hidden scissors and knives around the rooms, so I am ready to defend myself, any time any place, even in the bath, I have a kind of pipe that can be used as a weapon if needed.

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Life in my neighborhood in LA.
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With furniture piled in front of the door and the deep red curtains closed, even if they know I'm in here, they don’t know where I am or in which room.

I remain safe for now, here in the space module. Someone from the Administration stiill brings a Meals on Wheels delivery each day, so I have fuel for this human vessel.

But this run-in with the local earthlings has brought the hostility from the street into my building. The guys who came after me with electric saws consume mass quantities of alcohol in the form of a thick malt beverage in dark bottles.

They seem to be living in the home of a relative who pays rent here. They are all from someplace that was once called Armenia, and they are part of an influx of population to the USA in the 1980s, people running away from cleaver and sword weilding Muslims.

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This Really Happened, Honest, Just Last Week
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My neighbor became hostile with me and started to follow me around the building with his chainsaw buzzing in his hands, because I asked them to stop running the chainsaws inside the patio the other night, the noise was too loud.

Five other Armenian guys weilding tools and several of their women came out.

They ran after me then stood under my window screaming, "White Trash," "I have connections, I'll get you evicted," "You and your daughter have had black men in there with you," just crazy stuff.

I do not like this group of earthlings.

This is what untreated PTSD will do. Apparently these earthlings watched Muslims slaughter their families in Central Europe. Then Ronald Reagan arrived with airplanes, and they landed here in East Hollywood, a slummy part of town that even I would not come into back in the 1980s.

The Armenians still live here in the same places the airplanes dropped them, along with people from Thailand and other US colonial conquests gone bad. Most of them did not learn English, maybe they thought they would be going back.

Now they shout all the time

they are living with untreated PTSD.

And now I live here too. The other night they yelled at me, "Get out of this neighborhood," and of course I had to yell back, "Get out of this country. Oh you don't have a country anymore. Well stop fucking up mine."

I don't think they know enough English to understand what I said. But the police came and it has been quiet here since.

I called the LAPD as it is called here, Hollywood Division. A half hour later they came and the man downstairs was indeed inebriated, but he’d hidden away the chainsaw.

So the police could only ask us to be cool.

But since I called the police, I am now even more an enemy to the armenian earthlings downstairs.

Every time I look out the window, the chainsaw weilding neighbor sits there. He is blocking my way to the trash bins. So I cannot get rid of waste products that I am producing here in this space cubicle, and the bags of refuse have joined the furniture defending the entryway.

I do have a plan for the trash. Wait until 4 AM to take it down, when the enebriated armenian is snoring inside. But I keep sleeping through the window of opportunity.

So the trash is just another part of the fortress I have put up to keep them all out.

I wish the mother ship would come to get me soon.

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In anyone has any suggestions of a place I can move to and get outta here, please email. I pay more than a thousand dollars a month for this.

Meanwhile, keep clicking the PayPal Donate button, so we can pay to have supplies delivered to the space station by guys in UPS and Postal Service uniforms. . .

The Story Goes Onward