What was so alluring about Reverend Paul to Catholics was his slick, hippy-like tendencies and college education. People loved that he was not just an ordinary priest, but instead an outsider. Father Paul was making waves in honor of the rejected people in the church and some saw him to be a hero for his work. In south Boston, he was well known as the “street priest” and he was seen roaming the street like a caseworker looking to tend to kids from broken families. Actually, he was busier than the average caseworker. To attract the younger crowds, he carried around a guitar and swayed children with popular rock music.
After mass ended, Mea Mea went up to Father Paul and introduced herself. She was so excited; you could swear she was talking to a celebrity. When she came back all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, she told us, “May I tell you all, Father Paul is the best thing that has ever happened to the Catholic Church. I invited him over for a cocktail party we’re going to have in benefit of the Catholic Church!”
My father shook his head in disbelief.
On the car ride home, my father began to vent about Mea Mea to my mom. “Jane, why is it that your mother is so eager to help strangers over her own family? After your father passed away, she has not reached out to help us at all and I know she has plenty of that old Yankee money. If it’s burning a hole in her pocket so badly, why is she trying to help Father Paul’s kids? What about these kids?” as he pointed his thumb at us in the backseat.
“I cannot tell her how to spend her money,” my mother explained.
Jason cupped his hand to his face in a whisper and said, “Old man’s just a drunk. Why would she give him money? To buy more booze?”
That Saturday, Mea Mea invited the whole family to her fancy cocktail party benefit. My mother dressed us up in our finest clothes and said, “Listen kids, important people are going to be at this party. Politicians and clergy. This is really important to Mea Mea so please behave.”
When we got there, I recognized a familiar face. It was Father Paul. He seemed to be the life of the party, as he was telling jokes and everyone was laughing with him. Also I saw him pouring drink after drink for everyone including Mea Mea, who was half in the bag at this point. Suddenly, he got serious.
“There is an important announcement I would like to make. I have a vision I would like you all to be a part of. I am creating a ministry for troubled teens and this could be the difference between life and death for some of these children. When these kids come to me, lost and broken, I help nurse them back to health through the power of God. When they practice their faith with me, they get better and lead productive lives.”
Not one ear in the room wasn’t listening to him speak of his greatness.
“Any donation to my ministry will do; it’s for a greater good!”
Mea Mea was one of the first in the room to pull out her checkbook. She was so proud to be helping Father Paul’s heroic vision.
Half slurring her words, she said, “Two thousand five hundred dollars for the troubledddd teens!”
I looked up at my father, whose jaw nearly dropped to the floor, but he didn’t ruin the moment. Instead, another whiskey went down the hatch for Joe.
On the car ride home, my father said to my mother, “You know Father Paul is stealing! How does anyone know what he is doing with those donations? He’s a crook and a liar. But everyone believes everything he says because he has the church behind him.”
“Why do you think that, Joe?” my mother asked.
“I am in sales. I can tell when people are full of it. And this guy is a phony.”
“Give him a chance,” my mother asked.
“Hey, he might not be all bad, but I think he’s scamming your mother and the rest of the suckers in the room.”
Not one week later Jason started acting funny. He ran out of the bathroom screaming because he thought he saw spiders climbing all over the walls. When Janie and I went in to check, there were no spiders.
“Is he messing with us?” I asked Janie.
She said, “Probably.”
Then we saw him rock back and forth, curled in a ball crying on the kitchen floor. Jason was pulling his thick brown hair out of his head, while clutching onto his dungaree jacket for dear life. Usually he was clean cut with his hair parted really slick on the side, but right now he just looked like a mess.
Terrified, Janie called Mike downstairs to help calm him down. “Mike, get down here. Something’s wrong with Jason!”
“Are you doing drugs again Jason? Relax. It’s okay. You are just in the kitchen,” Mike said as he crouched down to check on him.
Then Jason got hysterical and started crying just in time for my parents to walk through the door and witness the scene.
“He’s hallucinating,” my father said, shaking his head as Jason continued to freak out.
My mother went straight for the telephone to call Mea Mea. “Jason’s using drugs again. I don’t know what to do with him. I’m afraid he’ll hurt himself or someone else.”
Then there was a pause.
“You’ll come over later? Thank you. I really could use some advice.”
Next thing we knew, Mea Mea was at the door with Father Paul. Not five minutes into their visit, Father Paul began his sales pitch.
“Jason needs rehabilitation. I run a really strict program. He will come back clean and closer to God. We have a cabin in the woods of Milton where we treat and detoxify drug addict teens,” Father Paul told my parents.
“Jason needs God right now,” Mea Mea said, concerned.
My parents had no idea what to do so they decided the best option was to send him away to get rehabilitated with a priest for a while.
A week had gone by before my mother, Janie and I went out to the cabin to visit Jason. We entered a dirt path and drove for miles out in the secluded woods. When we arrived to the cabin, I was instructed to sit at the kitchen table while Father Paul talked to my mom and Janie in the other room.
I waited at a small kitchen table when a strange teenager sat down next to me. He was a boy, but dressed like a girl. “Get lost, freak,” Jason said as he pulled the teen up out of his seat and shoved him out the door.
As soon as the strange boy was gone, Jason started talking to me in private. “Sean, I don’t have a lot of time to tell you this. They will be back soon and I'm scared he will hear us. Can you tell mom and dad I need help getting out of here? This isn’t a good place. Weird stuff is happening and they need to get me out.”
I asked innocently, “What do you mean weird stuff?”
He replied, “Sex. And they are doing weird stuff with sheep and things. I can't explain it to you. I think they are going to get me tonight. They almost got me last night but I have been blocking my door at night with furniture so they can’t get in. I’m not sure how much longer I can hold them off. Make sure you tell Ma and Dad what's happening.”
Confused about everything, but trying to help, I nodded my head in agreement. Then in came Father Paul with my mom and sister.
Boisterously, he said, “Look! He's improving already! Okay Jason, it's almost time for bible study so the family has to leave now.”
Before I got up from my seat, I saw a look of desperation in Jason’s eyes as he whispered, “Don’t forget.”
I was very confused about what they were trying to get him for, not understanding sex at the young age of seven. Regardless of what I understood, I knew my big brother was in trouble.
When I got home I told my mother what Jason said and this concerned her. My father was on a business trip and it was just us at the house. My mother called Father Paul on the rotary dial and I overheard them speaking on the phone. Sounding concerned, she asked Father Paul, “Why was Jason so afraid today? Is everything safe for him there?”
Father Paul replied, “Oh, nothing to worry about. He is just hallucinating from the drug withdrawal.”
My mother believed Father Paul hook, line and sinker. No one would ever expect a C
atholic priest to lie - especially about something this twisted. The next week Jason came home. I barely recognized him. Something terrible had happened to him, as I noticed he was not his usual self.
The following week Father Paul called and said he was going to pick Jason up again for follow-up overnight counseling. Jason hid in the bathroom, screaming hysterically as he held firmly to the sink plumbing for dear life. When Father Paul arrived, he dragged Jason out the door. Unfortunately no one saw this as a warning sign.
When Jason came home, he was not done experimenting with drugs, especially after dealing with some of the trauma he went through from Father Paul’s therapy retreat. This was the start of his selling drugs for an income and drinking like my father.
Chapter 4
Stranger arrives out of the blue
My whole family was sitting out on the front porch getting relief from the heat on a quiet Sunday afternoon, when a peculiar looking young man wandered into the yard alongside Jason. He carried a guitar around his shoulder and had curly dark hair on his head. He had a mustache, a beard, glasses and rotting teeth. A six-inch knife protruded from his belt. “I’ve never seen anyone as cool and strange looking as this guy,” I thought to myself.
“Hi, I’m Jason’s best friend Marc. Pleasure to meet you lovely folks,” he said. We all exchanged skeptical looks since none of us had ever seen or heard of him and he was my brother’s “so-called” best friend.
Jason broke the obvious skepticism to tell us, “His real name is Marc but people call him Ziggy because he looks just like the guy on the zigzag rolling papers! Can’t you see it?”
“Oh, yeahhhh, I can see it!” Mike said squinting, with his hand on his chin.
“I would love to show you folks some songs I have been working on!” Ziggy said to my parents.
“Let’s hear it,” my father said.
My parents nodded along and smiled to the music. After one song, everyone clapped for more.
“My, Ziggy, you are really talented with the guitar,” my mother complimented.
“I’ve just had practice and a few good teachers,” Ziggy said.
After hanging out for a few hours, Ziggy decided to wrap it up.
“It was lovely meeting you nice folks! Thank you for letting me play for you all.”
“What a lovely young man,” my mother said to Jason after he left.
After that day, Ziggy started coming by regularly. We heard him before we saw him as his motorcycle keys produced a jingle when he walked. We figured out that he was homeless when we woke up one morning and saw him sleeping in Jason’s car in our driveway. It was pretty weird that my parents allowed that, but the Murphy house was anything but ordinary. Since he kind of lived in our driveway, we got used to him hanging around and spending time with us.
One day Ziggy got really sick. He was throwing up, looked as pale as a ghost and was shaking uncontrollably. We were not sure what was happening to him but my mother pitied him and let him in like a stray dog.
The beginning period of Ziggy living in the house was quite innocent. When my sisters were not around to watch Janie and me, he volunteered to watch us and taught us card tricks. There were no obvious red flags that my parents or anyone else picked up on right away. Ziggy also worked for my father’s memorial company with Jason, so he did contribute some.
One night my brothers went down to the plaza to meet up with a group of friends. Ziggy rolled up in style on his motorcycle and started showing off. His attempt to jump the grass embankment resulted in a horribly bloody crash. By the time the ambulance, the fire department and the cops all arrived, he had been unconscious for about thirty minutes. He was taken to the hospital where he received x-rays and stitches for his grandiose demonstration.
The very next morning I walked up the stairs to see him with a swollen face and a golf ball-sized black and blue left eye. There was a disgusting road rash exposed on his skin but fortunately for him, his leather jacket protected his upper body. The helmet he wore saved his life but did nothing to protect him from a broken arm. Ziggy’s motorcycle was trashed and he was not happy to say the least.
When I went up to see him and walked into the room, he was bandaged up pretty good. I cringed, partially in pity but also in disgust.
“Hey, Sport! Get out! I’m not here for your entertainment!” he yelled to me.
He was more upset about ruining his motorcycle than himself. I had never seen anyone that beat up before.
Chapter 5
Motorcycles
Shortly after Ziggy recovered from the crash, he and Jason started scheming different ways to make money. It was not surprising that none of their schemes were legal. Strictly criminal operations.
Jason had a friend named Teddy who owned a motorcycle shop in the center. Or at least that’s what they called it.
I overheard Jason telling Ziggy, “Hey Zig, so word around town is, Teddy is struggling to pay rent and the bike club got kicked out of their spot. We could make some real cash if we took over. Also this would make me a silent partner. The old man’s never here anyways. Whatever we do during the daytime won’t make a difference. When he comes home at night, he’s drunk. He won’t ever know what’s going on.”
Ziggy asked, “How about your mom?”
“She never comes down here anyways,” Jason said.
Without consulting with my parents, within days Teddy’s motorcycle gang moved into my parents’ basement and set up shop.
The first truck showed up with a bunch of motorcycle parts. There were boxes and boxes of motors, handle bars, frames, wheels and gas tanks. The second truck mainly had Teddy’s tools and some other motorcycles that were fully assembled but probably didn’t run.
At first I thought it was really cool to have motorcycles and mechanics around, but the business brought around a lot of sketchy characters on a regular basis. The house got rowdier than usual with day drinking, fist fights and partying. If you wanted peace and quiet, you wouldn’t have found any under the Murphy roof.
The bikers offered to teach me fighting techniques, how to ride a motorcycle and a lot about girls. This life advice was great and all, but not very useful to a seven year old.
Jason’s business partner Teddy was a short, bulky self-described all-American man who was often mistaken for having Mexican descent. His hair was slicked back and greasy, in a ponytail with an American flag bandana. He kept a neat mustache that rounded his mouth and he always had a cigarette behind his ear.
When I first met Teddy, he said, “Hey kid, I want to teach you something. Most of these guys don’t know the difference between a hardtail and a softtail Harley. Most of these guys have never worked on a pan head either. But they all act like they know everything about motorcycles. You’re here enough, you’ll know.”
If you needed to know anything about Harley motorcycles, Teddy was your guy.
Teddy assembled a badass go-kart just for me. I guess that made me the biker gang’s mascot. The go-kart consisted of four wheels, a grey plywood seat and a frame. I steered it with my feet. The bikers sat outside with beers in their hands and cheered me on while I raced down the hill. Teddy decided to spruce my ride up a bit and gave me a set of brakes, which came in handy going downhill so fast. He also put in some running brakes which were rigged up to a motorcycle battery. Now I had a fully functioning go-kart that was capable of passing a state safety inspection.
Teddy really liked me and told me, “You know, Sean, you are not like everyone else. You have a good heart and are going to do something great someday. I would love for you to marry my daughter one day.”
I laughed along. Teddy was at the house every day although he really had no work to do, but he seemed to keep busy anyways. The “motorcycle business” at the house was clearly a drug front. Even a kid could recognize that.
Teddy had been running the business for almost a year now. He was a regular around the house, drinking as much as everyone else but surprisin
gly still treated people with respect. An old-school biker type of respect, that is, if he liked you.
One day Teddy came to work and was acting very emotional because his wife and daughter left him. It was evident to see that he couldn’t concentrate on any of his supposed “work” which upset Jason.
After a long day at work, Jason agreed to take Teddy in my dad’s company’s truck to visit his ex-wife. When they got there, Teddy took a can of gas (used to clean monuments) out of the back of the truck and proceeded to pour the gas around the base of the building his wife lived in. Then he lit a cigarette and threw his Zippo lighter with the American flag on it into the gasoline in an attempt to burn the place down. Freaked out, Jason left him there.
Later on that night, the police came knocking on the door looking for Jason. I opened the door and a cop said, “Sean, is your brother here? We need to talk to him now.”
I ran up the stairs to find Jason.
“Hey, Jason, cops are here again. What should I tell them?”
“Ugh...tell them I will be right down,” he replied.
Jason opened the door and the cops explained, “Your fingerprints were found on a gas can used to burn down a building today. Did you have anything to do with this?”
Jason said, “No.”
“We’re going to have to take you down to the station for questioning,” they said as they handcuffed him.
After a couple of hours down at the police station, Jason was forced to turn Teddy in. When he got home and had to deal with my father for taking the company’s truck, he explained, “I had no idea Teddy was going to burn the place down. That’s why I left him there.”
Teddy admitted what he did and told the police he was a hopeless romantic. This act got him fifteen years in prison for attempted murder and we never saw him again.
The rest of the bikers never left even after Teddy was gone. Jason took over the motorcycle club and it actually seemed as if their numbers had doubled in size. Jason was feared and loved by these guys for reasons I will never understand. Summer ended and it was time to go back to school.
Believe what you want to believe Page 2