Excising the Demon of Silence
Ann Jyono never spoke a word of what her priest did to her in the middle of the night - until now. She's not alone.
For over 20 years, Ann Marie Jyono's secret burned in silence: the Catholic priest who was a fixture in her family's life had sexually molested her for seven years starting when she was only five years old.
It began the first time he spent the night at the Jyono's Lodi, Calif. home in 1971. Father Oliver Francis O'Grady convinced Ann's devoutly Catholic parents to let him tuck in the children. From there, bedtime stories turned into nightmares. Her parents, Sansei Bob and Maria, who is of Irish descent, had no idea a monster was feeding on their innocence - and Ann kept quiet until one day she screamed it from the rooftops.
"He was a man of God telling me something bad was going to happen if I told anyone. We were taught to believe him because he was the direct extension to God," said Ann, 40, in a phone interview. "I thought I would probably die with that [secret] in me."
In 1993, Ann testified in the criminal trial against O'Grady brought forth by two young brothers. Yes, there were other victims - about 25 in total. O'Grady was sentenced to 14 years in jail, but was deported to Ireland after serving only seven years. On the Emerald Isle, he roams free - last seen at a children's store in Dublin - so Ann is speaking up again.
A 'Happy' Childhood
The path that led O'Grady to the Jyonos is filled with chance. In 1961, 24-year-old Bob was stationed in England with the Air Force when he met Maria Condon, 19, over coffee. He was a non-practicing Buddhist from Lodi before his family's internment at Tule Lake. She was "100 percent Irish" with strawberry color hair from a small village in Southern Ireland called Churchtown.
Back then, discrimination against interracial marriages was not as prevalent in Europe as it was in the United States, so the couple married in 1964 in a Catholic church in Ireland. For the special occasion, Bob took religious classes and got baptized.
"It never entered my mind that he was Japanese," said Maria.
The newlyweds got along famously and after Maria graduated from nursing school in 1965, they returned to Lodi in 1966 pregnant with a little girl they would name Ann, who would grow up to learn Japanese American culture and history from her "Bachan" Miyoshi and grandfather Matsuo. During the summers, Ann would live in Ireland with her mom's family.
"I had an exposure of both cultures," said Ann. "My home life was happy. I had great parents. I always felt loved by them. That's totally separate."
His Pious Facade
Unhappiness walked into their lives as their community church's newest priest, fresh from Ireland with a heavy lilting accent that sounded like music to Maria's ears.
"I was so homesick when I got here," she said. "I met [O'Grady] at church and I found out he was from Limerick, which was 45 minutes away from my hometown. It was so wonderful to meet someone from home."
They hit it off immediately and soon O'Grady was spending nights and holidays at the Jyono home and even visiting Ireland with the family. Allowing a good Catholic priest into your home was a normal occurrence back then, especially for a man they affectionately called "Ollie."
"He used to help out with the kids. He stayed and gave them baths and stuff. We didn't think anything of it," said Bob.
"I was really proud to have a priest in the family," added Maria.
But the man they trusted so much would later confess in a 2006 documentary "Deliver Us from Evil" that Ann was his first victim in his Central California reign of terror. "Ann Jyono," O'Grady said breathlessly onscreen stretching out the vowels of her name. Under a cloak of darkness, he would use God's name to scare young Ann into silence and when she screamed out in pain, he used a pillow to smother her face, said Bob, his voice cracking in pain.
Looking back there were some warning signs: they discovered her sheets wrapped around the mattress handles, and on another occasion, a thin piece of foil hidden inside of her after she complained of pain.
"I always told her if anyone hurt her, I would kill him," said Bob. Little Ann took these words literally and asked a friend what would happen if her father killed someone. Her friend said she would never see her father again, so Ann embarked on her long journey of silence.
"I would've killed him. I would've snapped his neck just like that," said Bob, sobbing. "In a sense, she saved my life ... saved me from spending a lifetime in jail."
'The abuse of kids thrives in secrecy.'
Asian Pacific Americans make up four percent of the 65 million Catholics in the United States, according to the 2000 Census. Clergy abuse should be a concern for the APA community because bishops continue to shuffle sexual predators around into minority communities, said David Clohessy, national director of the Survivors Network of those Abused by Priests (SNAP).
"There are thousands of silent victims especially APAs and other minority communities where there tends to be less talk and support," said Clohessy. "The abuse of kids thrives in secrecy."
In 1993, O'Grady was charged with 21 counts of lewd and lascivious conduct involving two San Andreas, Calif.-based brothers. He admitted guilt to four counts as part of a plea bargain. In the trial and in the documentary, there was evidence of cover-ups by several bishops - including now Cardinal Roger Mahony - who O'Grady said knew about his crimes, but just moved him from city to city.
The L.A. Archdiocese did not respond to the Pacific Citizen's request for comment.
"You go through all the guilt. How could we be so fooled by someone? You think you do everything right, but it still happened," said Maria, who was diagnosed with Lupus soon after the horrible revelation and forced to quit her job. Bob underwent open-heart surgery. The human toll that deception and betrayal has taken on one family is not just skin deep.
O'Grady and the bishops involved also stole Bob's faith: "I have no God," he said. "I'll meet [O'Grady] in hell."
But no matter how painful, life goes on.
"My journey is not done yet," said Ann, who currently lives in Orange County, Calif. "I see light now at the end of the tunnel when in the past I lived in darkness. I just don't know where this is going to end."
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