Ch2 He said he would not have sex with a virgin so I…

By Kay Ebeling, "America sided with the pedophile priests, and soon after, the nation fell" is an online book in progress [this is not final draft]

I put off writing this story for decades as I did not want to hurt or embarrass my children. Today I never hear from either of them, so why not

I was in the backseat of our 1955 Ford, my attorney father bought a new Ford every year back then.  I was about age six so the front seat loomed large in front of me. I remember the hats, two men in those 1950s hats were in the front seat, one must have been my father. We were driving from Bartlett east to Chicago.

To the Cardinal’s mansion.

When I went to Chicago in 2011 to find evidence to prove my case from 1954-5, only conclusive proof I found was the Cardinal’s Mansion.

Since I first discovered other pedophile priest victims online in the late nineties, I’d been describing the trip I took to the Cardinal's Mansion where the archbishop at that time stood over me and told me to stop babbling about what Father Horne had done to me, it's even on top of the page of the blog sites I wrote about the crimes, like here at CofA3.

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CofA3 2007: L.A. Clergy Cases

Cardinal Stritch stood over me in 1955 in Chicago and said I had to stop "babbling" about what Father Horne had done to me. So I kept quiet for 40 years. Now in my late 50s -- I babble.

https://cityofangels3.blogspot.com/

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Now across from Lincoln Park, there it was, the place where the Cardinal told me to stop babbling, exactly like I’d remembered since age six.

You walk up steps to the entryway where to the right is a room, a window faces west. I was in that room in 1955 and now in 2011 I was standing outside on the street looking at the building.

Frozen.

I couldn't do any more. I wanted to knock on the door say hey let me in I need to trigger memories. But I didn't, I thought I'd come back in a few weeks. Then I had to get back to L.A. right away due to an emergency with my daughter that, now, I wonder if it was caused by the Church, but I can't prove that. 

I’d been in Chicago for almost a year, I’d gone to several archdiocese properties, trying to trigger memories. And I'd been writing about it at my blog telling everyone what I was doing.... 

When I went to St. Peter Damien church in Bartlett where Thomas Barry Horne the molester was the first pastor in 1949, I kind of went nuts trying to find the rectory where it happened. It had been covered with an asphalt parking lot and new buildings covered the lot, the church had doubled in size. I think for a while I was going around and around in circles in the parking lot where the rectory would have been.  One time I went to a Mass and I So Wanted to call out “this church was founded by a pedophile priest.” I don't think I did though.

Only thing in Bartlett / Chicago that brought up any memories was the sky, the gray overcast sky. That's about the only thing that bore any resemblance to what Bartlett and Chicago had been like in 1955.

So nothing triggered anything.

Until I stood in front of the Cardinal’s Mansion and saw through the windows into  where the meeting with my dad and the Cardinal and the other man took place, exactly like I’d been remembering it for years.

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Father Horne aroused me so much I couldn't stop telling people about it, and the way adults reacted when I spoke or demonstrated it to them confused me.  Because It Felt So Good, I wanted to tell the world.

At one point I joined the kids in the neighborhood up in a treehouse and … [deep breath] pulled up my dress and showed them how to touch themselves so they could feel this wonderful way too. So I became the kid other kids could not play with. 

At a Brownies meeting in Bartlett, we were pasting feathers on construction paper turkeys for Thanksgiving and I said something. God, I can only imagine what I said. The Brownie leader was apoplectic, picked me up and put me out the door to the entryway to wait for my mom to pick me up. I visited the park in 2011 and it's exactly like I remember it, but never got the nerve to try to find someone in town who knew me when. Because everything had changed so much.

I couldn't even find the home we used to live in on US 20. We’d owned 20 acres, our house was an old mansion, I guess, my dad was a lawyer, we were not at all poor. I asked a woman to drive me there in 2011 and even the highway had been rerouted; everywhere that might have been our old home was covered with suburban development.

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I was getting into a bathtub with my mom watching, at some point after the incidents in Chicago with Father Horne-y as I've grown to love to call him. I think it was after we moved to California. I'm pretty sure the trip to the mansion in '55 was because my dad was getting a settlement, pretty sure the pedophile priest crime against me financed the family move to California, because we ended up in San Marino and… I mean- At my settlement hearing in 2011 in Chicago, church lawyers made comments that made me think I would not get a large settlement because the Archdiocese had already paid off my father... 

As I got older, my dad always had a guilty look on his face when he realized again how screwed up my sister and I were in the ways we related to boyfriends.

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So I was likely eight years old when I was getting out of the bathtub and my mom said, “Oh Kathy, if you keep eating so much no boy is ever going to like you.”

Within months I’d gone from size 12 to having to shop at Lane Bryant’s for fat girls.

Then I reached puberty and apparently remembered what my mom had said and-

I was one of the first girls in USA to get anorexia. 

A dentist used his tool to blow on my gums and they went wobble wobble wobble. "Hmm," he said, "I've heard about this." Anorexia did not yet even have a name. My mom stood to the side with her vacant eyes and said nothing.

Seventh grade so 1961 (?). I was determined to get thin because I was ready for the boys to start liking me.

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Losing my virginity... 

I met a drummer in my junior or senior year of high school, his name was Animal. He was older, lived in a mother-in-law unit behind his mother’s house in Temple City and he often had court appointments because of something, it didn't matter, I fell in love with Animal.

I kept climbing on top of him doing what a 16 year old girl knows to do to seduce a boy but he tossed me aside, saying “I can't have sex with a virgin.”

He had a friend who lived in a tiny studio up by Caltech in Pasadena. I showed up there unexpected and proceeded to get him onto his bed or couch and … rape him, I guess you could say, forced him to have sex with me.

He was still sitting on the mattress stunned as I dressed and left and drove away.  I might have even gone straight from there to Animal’s house.

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I never would have done that if not for Father Horne. 

It's only now as an old lady I realize how much I missed out on, like the joy of romance, marriage, children, grand children now, instead I never hear from anyone in my family.

"How could you say such awful things about a wonderful man like Father Horne?" my aunt said to me. 

I would have never been that person if it had not been for Father Horne and his horny out of control behavior.

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There were many other incidents. If it had been 1980 or later, I’d have been taken out of junior high class and escorted to a mental health therapist to find out who’d been molesting this child making her behave that way.

At one point the family moved from San Marino to New York City and back again in less than a year.  When I left San Marino, they used to tease me calling “Tubby Ebolino is a fat tangerino” that's the taunt I remember most. I was a fat kid in a Southern California town full of rich snobs, it was pretty awful.

But it was in New York in 8th grade for one year that I started to drop weight so fast that by the time we came back, I was like a size two, wearing flashy clothes.

Thin now I was accepted in San Marino.

So when we all filed into the auditorium one day, I was able to sit with the popular girls first time ever.

The popular boys were in front of us.

I was wearing a straight tight pencil-type skirt.

As the presentation was taking place on the stage, I started sinking down low in my seat so I could spread my legs and I spread them.

The boys in the row saw and turned and were going wha--- the popular girls were shocked and turning beet red.

I sank lower, exposing myself to the boys, the skirt went higher and higher- I was so horny and I don't think I even knew what horny was, I had no control, it was just something I was compelled to do.

Then I was not popular anymore.

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I would have never been that person. If not for Father Horne. He aroused me at age six.

There's more shocking stuff, mostly from when I got older. I think this is enough for this chapter.

POST SCRIPT:

I'm with my sister Patricia who was also diddled by Father Horne and went on to be a topless / bottomless dancer and help run the annual Hookers and Dancers Ball in San Francisco for several years.

She’s 5.5 years older than me and in this memory I must have been starting to erupt into a monster soon after reaching puberty.

I kept bugging Patsy as we called her back then. “Do you know what I mean? When a boy touches you over the pants it feels better than when he goes into my pants. Why is that, do you know why that is?”

She got so uncomfortable.

I followed her as she abruptly got up to get away from me.

“Why is that, why do I like it better when they touch me over my pants than inside?”

She got so mad at me, glared at me in outrage, and I finally stopped asking.

I remembered later, Father Horne diddled me over my pants.

But having Cardinal Stritch stand over me and tell me to stop babbling about being molested caused me to not clearly remember what happened until forty years later.

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(stay tuned)

The sex parts are what's kept me from writing this entire project. Now I'm going to tell it all. This online book is part reporter covering the Clergy Cases, part watching USA fall apart now, and part my screwed up life. Chapter Three is next and I really need to slow down, so give me a week...