One day last February, the Rev. John Norman looked out his office window to see television crews setting up. He knew why: His place of work, the school he has loved since he was a student here, had just become the focus of an $80 million lawsuit alleging sexual abuse by a priest during the early 1970s.
The suit was filed by Judge Memorial Catholic High School alumni Charles M. Colosimo, now 41, and Ralph L. Colosimo, now 49. Since the brothers speak to the media only through their attorney, the TV reporters wanted to come into Judge Memorial and interview today's students. Norman, the school's president, said no. This is a learning environment, not a media feeding trough, he told them. The students are too busy with classes to speculate about something that may have happened three decades ago. "Those were profoundly different times," Norman said: The priest named in the lawsuit, James F. Rapp, left about 30 years ago. His superiors, also named in the suit, have long since been replaced.
If, on the other hand, you wonder about life at a modern Catholic high school, and you want to know what students have been told about the church's sexual abuse scandals, Norman will open his doors. Before walking through, brace yourself. He'll run you up and down the stairs, into classrooms and studios and introduce you to random passers-by who seem not in the least nervous in his presence. He'll politely look away while you're going through culture shock. This 82-year-old school has a few surprises for visitors carrying old Catholic school stereotypes.
Snobby rich kids are apparently all absent. No nuns prowl classroom aisles, poised to rap students' knuckles with rulers. The windows are clear, not stained glass blocking light from the outside world. Perhaps most startling: The teenagers spend almost no time gazing out those windows, chatting on their cell phones or fidgeting. Teachers actually hold their attention.
In Tom Bettin's art studio, statues of Jesus and Mary share space with students' projects. "Mr. Bettin makes you think outside the box and try new things," says ninth-grader Kelly O'Neill, as she works on her final project. "Don't be afraid to make mistakes," reads a message painted on the floor. Grinning down from the wall is an irreverent painting of Father McHugh, Judge's only full-time teacher with a Roman collar. In the campus newspaper, the Bulldog Press, McHugh reappears. This time he's wearing a big, round wig, above the caption "Fr. Fro."
In the dance studio, boys and girls are moving to "All that Jazz," an exuberant number from the musical "Chicago."
Check the choir room. Surely we can find some solemnity in there. No, teacher Ramona Mayer is whooping at the piano as her students belt out a popular song, tossing arms around each other's shoulders.
The library isn't a hushed sanctuary, either. It's full of students discussing what one teacher calls "prom drama." Computer terminals with Internet access share the room with the Catholic Encyclopedia; Seventeen magazine sits next to the National Catholic Reporter.
Tony Killinger, a 17-year-old junior from Magna, chose to return to Judge Memorial after attending public high school. The work here is harder, he says, but the school's small size makes it manageable. "I can walk into a class and know everybody." What about the requirement of four years of religion classes? "I love it. There are a couple of LDS kids here. And it's great to get into, not arguments, but let's say heated discussions. And right now we're learning about Zen Buddhism. That's interesting."
News of the lawsuit, Tony said, had little relevance to his life at Judge. "Thirty years ago? I never wanted to hear about it."
Norman, however, said his students did need to hear the school's response — to the Salt Lake case and to the church's ongoing struggle to deal with pedophile priests.
When news of the Colosimos' case surfaced, Norman used the school's public address system to inform students of diocesan policy. All Judge's pupils have been reminded during the past year that priests accused of misconduct are investigated and removed from ministry. They are not reassigned to other schools or parishes as was done throughout recent decades, Norman says. And if a student observes inappropriate behavior by anyone, he or she is to report it to a counselor or other trusted adult, whereupon there will be an investigation.
"We expect, hope and encourage that you would report anything that has occurred," Norman told students. Ensuring that their school is a safe place is paramount. Just as students are taught in advance what to do in case of fire, they have discussed openly what to do when threatened by a teacher, priest or anyone else.
Students cannot learn unless they feel safe, Norman said. He also emphasizes respect for victims of abuse. If there were others hurt by Rapp, "they have every right" to come forward.
Clearly, it's painful for Norman to talk about the Colosimos' allegations. But that's not reason for silence, he says; the case "demands a response. Of course, we will not ignore it."
In Corethia Qualls' classroom, teenagers study other high and low points of Catholic Church history. They read and talk about Hebrew scriptures and Christian ethics. And they explore the religions of the world, as evidenced by posters they've made and hung on the walls. One depicts Hindu deities; another lays out the "Timeline of Buddhist history." Students have also spent hours discussing Islam with Qualls, who studied for her doctorate in Baghdad during the 1970s.
"The Iraqi people were some of the kindest people I've worked with," she said. One of the most important lessons in Qualls' classes at Judge: Islam does not equal terrorism.
The "World Religions" textbook discusses what Muslims believe, noting contrasts with Christianity and Judaism as well as similarities. "Islam holds that the body ultimately belongs not to the individual, but to God," a section begins. Another article in the book is a personal account titled "My Faith Journey," by Chao Ngo, a Vietnamese Catholic.
Study of religions "gives students more strength in their own faith practice," Qualls says. Look inside others' faith, and you're more likely to explore yours, and question it. "Just going along like a sheep and not knowing why we do the things we do is not a good way to practice religion."
Sixteen-year-old Megan McDonald sums up Qualls' course: "It's a good view of the world outside of Judge."
"Students are presented with greater challenges than we were," adds Norman, as he steps inside the school library. "They go beyond the things we thought were achievable." There is not much point, Norman says, in sheltering young people from the outside world. "They've got to learn to handle themselves . . . we're not here just to get them into college. We want them to be happy. We want them to read good books," and that doesn't mean only the Bible. In the library they can pore over the New York Times, or a conservative Catholic magazine or "The Hours," Michael Cunningham's complex novel about Virginia Woolf.
For another example, "We didn't clean up the lyrics of 'Les Miserables,' " when the drama and music students staged the production last fall." Censorship is futile, Norman says. He'd rather have students, teachers and parents look at a work of art and discuss its values.
The dean's office, center for discipline, is empty when Norman walks up. He says most disputes arise from uniform skirts that are too short, pants that are too baggy, or hair that's colored blue. "You can't dye your hair a color that doesn't naturally exist. It's another rule that keeps a little bit of order. Kids push the limit; that's their job," Norman says. His job is to preserve a learning environment, killjoy that he might sometimes be. "We have a rule about how big the boys' trousers can be in relation to their waist size . . . when trousers become a distraction, that's when we have a problem."
Not that students never get into serious trouble here. The dean deals with drinking and other drug abuse on campus, Norman says.
Judge Memorial is named after Mary Judge, widow of Park City mining magnate John J. Judge. "She spent all his money," as Norman puts it. First she built a hospital on the land where the high school now sits; then it was remodeled to become the school. Judge Memorial was an all-boys institution, with its "sister," St. Mary of the Wasatch, in the Salt Lake foothill neighborhood now called St. Mary's. Judge Memorial turned coed after its sister school closed in 1970.
As president, Norman is responsible for the faith life of the school. He celebrates Mass at freshman orientation, graduation, and many ball games in between. "Hi, Father," students call breezily as they pass him in the hall. They might be on their way to class or out to the opposite side of Salt Lake City. In their senior year alone, students must log 45 hours of volunteer work at community organizations. Norman explains all this in a relaxed voice, letting a visitor all but forget he's a Roman Catholic priest.
About 70 percent of Judge Memorial's student body is Catholic. Yet the campus is one of the Salt Lake Valley's most varied environments. "We have more diversity — socioeconomic and cultural — because we're not a neighborhood school," Norman says. Students come from Ogden, Draper, Park City and Tooele. "The joke in our parents group," Norman adds, "is that if your student is from Bountiful, his best friend will be from Magna."
As newcomers arrive, "I want to watch everyone to make sure they're doing OK," the president and pastor says. "It only takes a few days; somehow, they find their common denominators . . . There's a process they go through to find the people they're comfortable with." Norman, it seems, is one of those.
E-mail: durbani@desnews.com