All language subtitles for The.Keepers.S01E02.HDTV.MOROSE.en

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- Hey, Tom. How are you?
- Hey, how are you?

- Come on in.
- Hello.

Good to see you.

Being Jane Doe, for me,
that was paramount.

I didn't want anyone
to know who I was, I

didn't want anybody to know my family.

For quite some time, I trusted
that I had some privacy with that.

Because I was always afraid
of what people were gonna say

and think about what I had said.

What's your view of what
most likely happened to her?

I believe that Cathy
Cesnik was murdered...

by someone she knew.

I believe that it wasn't a
stranger who killed Cathy Cesnik.

It may have been a stranger
to her who moved her body,

or a stranger to her
who cleaned up after,

but I don't believe that it was a
stranger who killed Cathy Cesnik.

Cathy Cesnik was killed
because she was going to talk

about what went on at that school,

and I believe that there
were more than one person

who was really afraid that she
was going to, um, out them.

And they used her death
to keep me quiet.

Baltimore has always been a
quintessentially Catholic city.

Baltimore is the home
of Roman Catholicism.

John Carroll founded the
first archdiocese here,

maybe the late 1700s.

Baltimore is a city of firsts.

The first telegraph...

the first streetlights...

the trains.

And it is the first diocese
in the United States.

Every neighborhood had its own parish.
Everybody went to church.

I mean, rosary,

May processions were a big thing,

First Communions.

All the Sacraments were
a really big deal.

You were not only going to school
with people that were Catholic,

going to church with
people Catholic, you

were living in Catholic communities.

But Baltimore has always
been a working-class city.

In 1969, when Sister Cathy dies,

we lived in a much more basic,
simplistic, primitive society.

This is a world of blue-collar folks,

they're working in these factory jobs.

They are living in little row houses,

they are tending little
postage-stamp lawns.

They are living for that glorious moment

when their little daughter puts on a

veil and goes for her First Communion.

I was one of ten siblings.

There were three boys...
me, then three boys,

then there were two girls and a boy.

It was a good Catholic family. Eleven

months later you had another baby.

My parents were good Catholic parents.

Everybody went to church on Sunday,

and if you didn't have a ride
because dad was a policeman

and he worked shift work,
you'd walk to church.

You know, it was unheard of

to either miss church on
Sunday or eat meat on Friday.

During the Cuban Missile Crisis,

we all knelt down and said the rosary.

The Catholic religion, the Catholic
faith was part of who we were.

We were all altar boys.

We were told it was an honor and
a privilege to be an altar boy.

The priests were the authority.

You don't question them.

Uh, you... You... Whatever they
told you to do, you did.

My mom was very devout.

It was an integral part of the
family, which came from her.

But my dad was there. I mean,
like, if we went to confession,

it was nothing like
seeing your father go

to confession first and then come out.

It was kind of like... If he believed
and trusted the confessional,

then we all did, too.

My mother was, in
fact, a true Christian.

If you lived right and you loved God,

that faith that you exhibited,

plus the love that you
had for your fellow man,

would provide the hope that
you need in order to succeed.

Got you some cereal,

put some strawberries on it
today instead of banana.

- So, there's that, okay?
- Mm-hm.

Your coffee.

We'll let that cool a little bit.

Alrighty?

This is my senior.

This was the end of a
pretty horrific experience.

And I probably was relieved
that it was... ending.

She holds memories,

and I've been afraid of those memories.

Archbishop Keough was
the jewel in the archdiocese.

It was a really nice new school.

It had that spanking-new
type of, uh, look to it.

Run by nuns, the
School Sisters of Notre Dame.

It was really a big deal to be

accepted to go to Archbishop Keough.

You had to get in. You had
to take an entrance exam.

So, the big day in eighth grade would
be when you came home for lunch

and your letter was waiting for you

that you had been admitted to Keough.

It was prestigious.

I was very excited
because that's exactly

where I wanted to go. It was within
walking distance of my house.

I really was excited about going.

I remember my freshman year, I was
very, very happy to be there.

My parents worked hard
that I could go to it.

It was very exciting...

but really strict.

There was order, discipline.

You know, you had nuns all over the
place. There were a lot of nuns.

Our administrators were nuns,

our principal, our assistant principal.

Joseph Maskell was the chaplain.

There was also a priest by the
name of Father Neil Magnus.

He was responsible for studies or...

Christian education or something...

I never saw the man, that I remember.

They had language labs and

really state-of-the-art equipment.

They had a science room.

They had a large gym.

It had a large outdoor field
for different sports.

They even put "we are
women of a new age" in their song,

and it was just supposed
to be women being

able to reach their full potential.

It was supposed to be a safe place.

My life would have been very different

if I had not gone in that confessional.

I was at Keough.

I was a freshman.

I went to confession there.

It took me five tries to
get to the confessional.

I got in the confessional...

and I told the priest something that
I was feeling very guilty about.

I had been abused by an
uncle when I was younger.

He was a pedophile and he
was sexually abusing me.

That had ended, there was some guilt.

And I always remembered it was Magnus

and always remembered that he said:

"Can I look at you, and
what is your name?"

"And I always thought," God,
this must have been so terrible

that he had to look at
me and ask my name."

And at the end of it he said:

"I don't really know if
God can forgive this.

I'm going to have to pray more on
this and I'll get back to you."

Probably a couple weeks later,
the same priest, Magnus,

walked up to me in the hall...

and he said he wanted to
see me in his office.

And Magnus was there...

and he proceeded to just
reiterate that I was so bad...

that it was going to
take a while before

there was going to be a real answer

to whether God could forgive me.

And that if I emptied
myself of these behaviors

that were so sinful, so bad...

that it would make room for God

to be able to fill me
with the Holy Spirit...

and that I could be forgiven.

The things that he was
doing was "sacramental,"

you know, quote-unquote.

Um...

That, you know, he talked about, uh,

his come as the Eucharist, you know.

He was doing symbols on me
of the crucifix with it

as if it was, uh, sacred.

He was also saying that his come was

the Holy Spirit that I was to swallow.

I was very naive.

I was extremely innocent.

I had no idea that
this was, um, abusive.

I felt that it was a man of...

Of authority, of faith,

who was helping me become a good person.

He was reminding me that the
things that I had done were...

weren't done to me. That I
made those things happen.

After a couple of my
therapy sessions with him,

I went into the room...

and then Maskell came in.

From the beginning, I
was afraid of Maskell.

He had no qualms being angry with me.

He started very early
on calling me a whore.

They would pray in Latin over me as

they were having me do things to them,

or they were doing things to me.

Or one would be praying over me in Latin

while the other one would be,
you know, kind of saying:

"Take the Holy Spirit," and, um...
You know, through his penis.

So, it is a very interesting dynamic

to feel both of them in the room,

to be cornered by them both,

to feel two men of not only great size,

but that they were powerful
because they represented God.

I... I wanted to get out of that room,

and yet I felt that I had to
be in the room in order to...

to... be a good person.

It was... It was the beginning of
some of the thickest confusion

that, um, probably could be imagined.

At a particular point...

I went to the room and it
was just Maskell there.

And it was a very scary point.

He was angry at me because
I wasn't getting better.

I remember one time he was real
angry and he was raping me.

And I can remember my head
hitting the... the wall.

He was really upset and
angry about something...

and he was really taking it out on me.

I couldn't figure out what I could do

because I kept feeling like every
time it was over, I thought:

"Well, maybe this time God forgave me."

I had never been in a school
where a priest had a presence

like the priests had there, because
they had offices at Keough.

Father Maskell wielded a lot of power

and fear in people

because you didn't wanna be called
to his office or get in trouble.

He was chaplain and
school counselor at Keough.

The building itself was a very long...

rectangle with some corridors that
went off in different directions.

And his office was far from
the administrative offices.

He was down at the far corner
where there was an exit.

You used to see a lot of girls
coming in and out of his office,

which was kind of strange.

But then I learned that:

"Hey, you know what?"

If you wanna smoke, you... You can
go in Maskell's office and smoke.

"Just go in there, talk to
him, just hang out and talk."

Maskell was an Irish priest

right out of the traditional
working-class Irish-American community.

His mother often dressed
her boy in Mass vestments.

She used to sew him vestments
and he'd dress up in them and...

Mm-hm.

...call the neighborhood kids over
to say Mass for them.

She went and bought NECCO Wafers and

she segregated the white ones out

so that they could serve as
imitation hosts for Communion.

While the other boys were
playing football and baseball

down two blocks away at the park...

he would say Mass in the yard.

From 15 years old,
he was priest-in-training.

In '65, he was ordained.

And then his first
assignment from 1965 to 1966

was at a Baltimore parish
named Sacred Heart of Mary.

In '66, he was transferred to St.
Clement Parish, which is adjacent

to Archbishop Keough High School.

He was made associate pastor there.

And he supervised the
Boy Scout troop there.

This is my, uh...

I guess... My wife calls it
a dust collection room.

That was my retirement certificate.

There's my grandfather. The
great-great-grandfather

I was telling you about, Southern
District policeman in Baltimore,

and there's a picture of him later.

Me and my brother worked

in the police station
he worked out of, so...

Kind of like family tradition.

When I started Catholic
school in the early '60s,

it was a pretty harsh environment.

We were paddled.

I mean, the nuns... We
feared the nuns and...

Not only the nuns, but the priests,

they were on a whole different level.

The priests were... more
like godlike figures, and...

I mean, they'd walk in the room,
it'd just be silence, and, um...

But this priest, Father Joseph Maskell,

there was something about him.

He had a... coldness about him.

And I've served Mass
for different priests.

And one day, we were
getting ready for Mass...

You know, the altar boys, we'd
get there a little early.

He'd come into the sacristy and, um...

He takes a handgun out of his
pocket and put it on the...

the counter in the sacristy.

And being a street-smart kid,
you know, from the city,

growing up watching Adam-12 and
things like that, I mean...

Probably most kids wouldn't
have questioned him, but...

I just let it go.

And I asked him, "Father,
why do you have a handgun?"

"You're a priest." And
I'll never forget that.

But I'll also never forget
the look he gave me.

I mean, he... Like as if
he looked through me:

"How dare you question me."

I didn't get a look like that...

until years later interviewing
violent offenders...

talking to someone who
had murdered somebody,

looking in their eyes.

That's when I got that look again.

One time I went
into the room and he said,

uh, that it was time for
me to participate in this.

And he went over and took
something out of the drawer,

and it looked like a penis.

And I was, like, not sure

what in the world he was
doing or what that was.

He said, "So, now, you're gonna be
participating in your therapy."

And so he began to use it, and
I remember crying and saying:

"Please stop that, please stop that."

And as it began to take effect...

he came down real close
and, you know, he was like:

"Okay, let's see how much the
whore likes it," you know.

Um, and so then I had an orgasm,
not knowing what that was.

He came in close. He always
liked to come down close.

"And he said," You hated that...

and I'm glad."

And he said, "Get back to class.
Don't be late."

He never gave me a napkin.

He never would hand me a handkerchief.

He never told me I could
use his bathroom.

It was always...

Uh, "Pull yourself together
and get back to class."

And I'd hear the click of the door,

and it was like I forgot
everything that had happened.

I was walking in the hall...

and I couldn't figure out
where I was supposed to be.

"And Cathy Cesnik looked down and
she said, "Jean, where are you...?

Where are you supposed to be?"
And I said, "I don't know."

So, she told her class to...

She'd be a minute and she
went across the hall

and she asked the teacher, "Is
Jean supposed to be in here?"

And she said, "Yes." And she said,
"Jean, you belong in here."

Then I went in and I sat down in a desk.

Sister Cathy was the type of
person that was approachable,

and you knew that you could talk to her.

You didn't get that all the
time from the older nuns.

You didn't feel like you
could connect with them.

They were more authoritarian.

Sister Cathy was my favorite teacher.

I played guitar, so I had my
guitar with me all the time.

And Sister Cathy played guitar, too,

so I did a lot of practicing with her.

She had more energy than
any person I've ever met.

Very upbeat and happy.

You could talk to her about anything

you wanted to talk to her about and...

Sometimes she would give you advice

and sometimes she would just listen.

She just had a way of
soothing your soul.

At Keough, she was
probably around... 25.

So young.

All through elementary school,

the majority of the nuns
that taught you were older.

I mean, I had the same second grade nun

that my father and his brothers had.

So, she must have been a hundred.

When we got to Keough,

there were a lot of older ones.

But there were a few young ones, too.

Cathy was the standout
beauty of them all.

Physically beautiful, and
her spirit was beautiful.

It was like, "Why would you be a nun?"

She approaches the altar
to become the spouse of God,

promising to serve God
faithfully until death.

These are calendars
called Nuns Having Fun,

and they're absolutely fabulous.

This is called Sisters
on the Dock of the Bay,

instead of Sitting on
the Dock of the Bay.

Oh.

This is called Mass Transit.

Mass Transit.

Get it?

"I'd yell, too, but I
took a vow of silence."

My very first day of
school, two nuns came out.

I'd never seen a nun
before in my whole life.

Immediately, I thought, that's
what I'm gonna be when I grow up.

I had no idea what that meant.

I'd never seen a nun
before in my whole life.

I just knew in my heart
that's what I wanted to do.

I loved elementary
school and I loved the nuns.

They were mentors to us.
They were other mothers.

So, I decided that if I wanted to
do something special with my life,

I could go into the convent.

So, I decided to enter the
School Sisters of Notre Dame.

We had 51 girls that entered.

You're measured for a habit.

And then the habit is sent to you,

and then you go to the motherhouse,
and I can see it in my mind.

That day was so happy.

I waited for that day since
I was in the first grade.

For me, it was a real honor
that they accepted me

and that I could get... I
could begin that journey.

There's, like, over 150 people

that were between the ages of
18 and 21 that were there.

It was very, very inspiring.

We became canonical novices,

which meant that we were cloistered.

It's exactly like military boot camp,
and it's pretty, uh, rigorous.

I call what we had to go
through spiritual boot camp.

We'd get up in the morning at 5:15,

we'd go to Mass,

we'd have meditation.

We'd go to breakfast,

and after breakfast, you
would have your chore to do,

whatever you were assigned.

Then we had classes.

And we had to learn how to walk
with our hands in our sleeves.

We had great, big, giant sleeves
and our eyes mortified, cast down,

and our shoulders back and very
erect, and without looking about.

Cathy Cesnik was definitely not
one of the dominant postulants

in the beginning days.

She was like a rosebud
that gradually opened.

She was kind.

She was very spiritual.

And when I got sick,
she was there for me.

We had what was called the
Great Silence at night.

We were not able to speak.

And so it was a big deal
to speak to somebody.

But Cathy could see that
something was wrong with me.

She would just knock on the door and

come in and ask me if I was okay,

and ask me if she could
do anything for me,

and she would sit on the edge of the

bed and just hold my hand and say:

"You're gonna be all right."

She was so full of compassion
for everyone and everybody.

She had compassion for the Earth,

and I think that's one of the
reasons we entered the convent.

Remember, it was the '60s.

There was a complete change...

in our society,

in our culture,

and in the Church.

Vatican II was a big
calling together of all leadership

at the Catholic Church at
the Vatican by the pope

to look at religious life

and to look at life in the Church
and how it can be renewed.

There were a huge amount of changes.

Religious communities decided to
change their religious habits

that they had been wearing for
hundreds and hundreds of years.

The pope said you've
gotta get involved in injustice

to be a part of these great movements,

the civil rights movement,

stopping the Vietnam War.

This was the role of us as religious,

to be a part of changing the world.

We'd be sitting there. All of a

sudden, you'd hear Maskell's voice:

"I'd like to see so-and-so..."
And he would say their name

and he would have... "Have them
come to my office immediately."

And then he'd click off like...
There was no if, ands, buts.

You just sent them right away.

It was almost like he had the
teachers afraid of him, too.

I was standing at Joseph
Maskell's door and I knocked on it.

And Cathy walked down
the corridor behind me,

"and she said," Hi, Jeannie.

I didn't know you
needed these services."

And he opened the door,
and he looked at me,

and then looked over my head at
her, and I went into the room.

And she said, "I didn't know
Jeannie needed these services."

And he said, "Oh, yeah, yeah. It's"

been very effective, real effective."

And he closed the door.

She had the courage to
not only address me,

but she also addressed him.

It was almost like she
was letting him know

that she was also observing.

I think that she was
watching a number of us.

His sessions would be
supposedly guidance sessions,

'cause he was the
counselor for the school.

He started asking personal questions

that were really something
you didn't wanna talk about.

And he says, "You're gonna
have to be punished for this,"

because it was a sin.

Just getting called to his
office was pure trauma to me.

I could be anywhere in the building
and hear my name overhead.

And I remember, like, one
time I was in Spanish class,

and he called my name again,

and I, um... would start crying
and telling the teacher:

"I don't wanna go. I don't wanna go."

One teacher, uh, said:

"I know he's weird and
all, but you have to go."

When you were called over the

loudspeaker to report
to Father Maskell,

a dead silence would
come over the classroom,

and other, um, girls would
look at you with sad eyes.

And the teachers, they... They would

just, you know, look down or whatever.

It was like...

They knew something was going on.

They had to.

At a certain point...

could've been more into
my sophomore year,

he would bring other
people into the room.

I would get there and there would
be someone sitting in a chair,

and I didn't know who it was.

There were things that Maskell
had gotten from me...

about what had happened
between my uncle.

One of the things that my uncle would do

is, um...

There was a bar that he would frequent

and he would take me in the back room.

And when he would let people
do things to me there,

he would be stand by the door.

And I always thought that it was,
uh... Like he was my protector.

So, what started happening was
Maskell would stand by the door

while other people were
doing things to me.

So, it was as if Maskell
became my protector.

One time, it was this person, and he

referred to him as a Brother Bob.

I don't know that Bob
was his real name...

or if it was just a pseudonym
that Maskell gave him.

Brother Bob was more
like a loose cannon.

He was violent.

So out of control.

And he proceeds to rape
me from the back...

and isn't pulling out.

And Maskell comes over and he,
um, grabs him, and he said:

"You need to be careful."

This is a pup of a whole litter of pups.

"We can't have that."

So, he's very aware that my
parents are very fertile

and there was a lot of kids.

And so I understand now
what he's referenced to.

I see myself leaving the room and I

wonder if they just sat and laughed.

I talked to Sister
Cathy after school one day

when we were playing guitar.

I told her that Father
Maskell was not very, um...

religious.

I think that's how I put it.

And she asked me, "What do you mean?"

And I told her that, um...

he gets a little physical in his office.

She acted like she didn't know, but
yet her face said she did know.

Joseph Maskell also was the

chaplain for the police department,

for the Air National Guard,

for Maryland State Police.

Maskell was covered because
his brother, Tommy,

was a respected Baltimore
city policeman.

And just over the city county line,

he was chaplain for the
Baltimore County Police,

and he was close friends
with several of the police.

Maskell had access to
a lot of protection,

and he also could maybe provide
men with what they wanted.

One of the persons who was
standing in the room one time

was a policeman in full uniform.

Okay? If you can imagine having
to do something to a policeman,

your father is a policeman.

I remember them walking
in through a back door

and me laying on the black couch.

And I could see the shirt
and pants of the officer

with the very bright light
coming in the back.

And that's when I heard
the police officer say:

"I don't want to," and
Maskell encouraging him.

I was sitting across
the table from him...

and he had a gun.

And he's taking the
bullets out one by one.

And he's saying that if my father

ever found out that I
was whoring around...

And then he took the gun, he
put it up to my... my temple,

and he pulled the trigger, and he
said he will do the same thing,

but he'll keep the bullets in.

I was terrified.

He used my father against me a lot.

My father was a policeman, my
father carried a gun every day.

He was very aware of the families
that were in the school.

In my case...

there was a lot of abuse in my life
prior to meeting Father Maskell.

He would find out what
happened in your life,

find out your personal life and what...

what was going on...

and then he would use it against you.

Did I get chosen by him

because he knew I had
been previously abused

and the relationship with
my mother and I was broken,

I would be easier prey?

And, you know, I thought about that
in nursing school years later.

I entered Keough in 1967,

and I was doing exceptionally
well at school.

My father was an old-fashioned man

who believed that girls really
shouldn't go to college.

And so, even though I was
getting really good grades

in, um, academic subjects,

he wanted me to take shorthand
and business courses as well.

So, I did that.

And in my junior year, I suddenly
got a call from the school office

to go see Father Maskell.

And he told me that he needed
someone he could trust,

someone that would keep absolute

confidentiality about my classmates...

that would be typing notes on
their psychological counseling,

and that I could get out of...
tests, classes, you name it.

I jumped at the chance.

I already had two jobs.

I wanted a car just so badly
and I was saving up for that.

I would just suddenly get a
call over the loudspeaker:

"Lil Hughes, report to Father
Maskell's office immediately."

You know, and there I would go.

He would always give me a Coke in a...
a paper cup.

So much of what I was typing
was almost all sexual.

It involved incest, it
involved bestiality,

it involved girls having group
sex, venereal disease, on and on.

And these are people that I was
sitting right next to in class.

And so many of the records
that I did type were about him

helping the classmate by
taking them to a gynecologist.

I must've been so totally naive,

because it didn't dawn on
me that this was something

that was totally inappropriate.

At the time, I just was taken in
by his flattery, his attention,

and the fact that I was being,
uh, made to feel very important

by someone who was very
important in the school.

Joseph Maskell, he
earned a master's degree

in school psychology from
Towson State University.

At some point after that,

he went to Hopkins for a
counseling certificate,

they called it, from Johns Hopkins.

Having the psychology
certification gave

him access to all these young people.

Maskell was heavy into psychology.

He knew how to manipulate
people, I think, from that.

And I forgot to tell you about Marnie.

Marnie was a movie that was part
of the religion class curriculum.

If it had anything to do
with religion, I don't know.

The whole point of it was,
she had repressed memories.

And one of them in the white suits.

- Shut up, Marnie.
- No.

Remember, Marnie.

Sean Connery grew to love
her despite her problems.

- What happened to you?
- Happened? Nothing.

Nothing happened to me.

I just never wanted anybody to touch me.

You ever tried to talk about it?

To a doctor or somebody
who could help you?

It was suggestive, you know,
that maybe I have... things

that I should talk to a counselor about

so I don't turn out like Marnie.

And eventually, he helped solve
what had happened in her childhood

that she had repressed.

I won't let anything bad happen to you.
You're all right.

And then it all came out and...

"Do you think I'm gonna be all right?"

"Yes, Marnie, I think you're
gonna be all right now.

Yes, you are."

And then, Maskell was our
school psychologist,

how convenient that he picked that
movie for us to go and watch.

He was a psychologist.

He would hypnotize me sometimes.

Sometimes it was with a
pocket watch he had.

There are blocks of time when
I have no idea what happened.

He did do psychological tests on me.

He did Rorschach tests.

Every ink blot was some
kind of sexual thing.

He did hypnotize me.

He... But he presented it more
as a challenge, you know,

and with me saying, "Oh, you can't,"

and he's like, "Oh, let's just see."

I think there was something in the Coke.

I've never been certain
of what happened.

There's so many gaps in my memory

of being with him, and
I only have fragments.

It was my... end of my sophomore year,

so the summer was starting.

I had gone back to the classroom

to get a book that I
thought I had left there.

And Cathy was in the front of the
class and she started just, kind of

light conversation with
me, you know, how...

How was I doing, what was going
on, how did I like Keough?

And I said I didn't really like it.

And Cathy said:

"Oh, no. You know, is there
something in particular?"

And... I said, "Yeah. You know,
there's different things,"

but not really wanting to talk about it.

She said, "Okay."

She said, "Well, how about if I
just ask and you shake your head?"

And I was like, "Okay."

The last time that I was
called to his office,

it was after school,

and I was in the classroom
with Sister Cathy

and my sister was with me.

Father Maskell came on the PA and
asked for me to come down the hall.

And I looked over at Sister Cathy,
and Sister Cathy looked at me.

I know that it was a look
of panic on my face.

And Sister Cathy told him
that I was leaving to go home

because it was after school.

My sister told me later on that she
saw a flicker of acknowledgement

between me and Sister Cathy.

And that's when she knew
that Sister Cathy and I

knew something about Father Maskell.

So, she asked me...

was anyone making me do something
that I didn't wanna do.

And I shook my head. I
remember looking away,

and I shook my head, and
she... She said, um...

She said, "Is it...? Is it the priest?"

And I looked up at her
and I shook my head.

And she said, "Oh, dear God."

I thought as much."

And she then hugged me.

"And she said," I'm gonna
take care of this.

I want you to go home

"and I want you to have
a wonderful summer."

And I told Cathy, "Okay."

And I left.

Like soap bubbles are we...

all echoing in an elastic chamber...

always the fear of exploding to air.

Bubbles touch.

And, true, they break...

but some are coupled in a
rainbowed joining and float,

and are, and burst together.

It is dedicated to Gerry.

We were soul mates.

I was her best friend, she was mine.

We first got acquainted
in the summer of '66.

We were corresponding in letters
by July of that summer.

And I would say that we
discovered a real genuine love

for each other at that time.

There were very few people who
knew what our relationship was.

There was no going out somewhere
to dinner or anything like that.

We couldn't do that.

She was facing a
crossroads in her life...

because she was coming up on the
expiration of her temporary vows.

The... The nuns took vows
for X number of years,

but then they reached the
point where they would shift

taking temporary vows
to take final vows,

and she was facing that.

I was still a year away
from being ordained.

We're sitting next to each other
outside Keough, it was a warm day.

And we're sitting side by side.

And I said to her:

"I feel like I'm about to jump off a

cliff, but I'm gonna do it anyway."

You're facing a decision
to go take final vows.

A year from now, I will face a
decision to become a priest.

"And I'm gonna say no to both
and ask you to be my wife."

And she turned me down.

She said, "No."

You're meant to be a priest, I'm
meant to be a nun, so we'll go on."

In spring of 1969...

Sister Cathy was still
teaching English at Keough.

Then the summer came and we were off.

And when I came back in the fall
of 1969 to start the senior year,

she was not there and she was
no longer on the faculty.

And it was not real clear to us what

happened to her or where she went.

School started up again.

Cathy wasn't there, and Maskell was.

At one point, he called
me to the office.

It was the first time that
I was called to the office

since I was back in...
in my junior year.

He was upset because, uh, he...

Someone approached him
during summer and

said that they had heard that he was...

Uh, he was, um... hurting the girls.

He was making the girls do
something they didn't wanna do.

And I'm looking at the floor,
you know, and he's, like:

"That wasn't you, was it?

You weren't saying that
about me, were you?"

And I looked up at him and it was
like, "No, no, no, no," you know.

And he said, "Wow," he
said, "I hope not."

He said, um, "I think we
need to reacquaint you"

with who the real whore
is in this room."

He was done, he said:

"You get yourself together
and get out of here.

You just remember who's got the
whoring mouth in this room."

And I left the room.

And Cathy was nowhere to be found.

Cathy's dilemma was
that we are not in touch

with where these girls are coming from.

We don't know what it's like
to be living in the world.

We're protected behind
this convent thing,

which limits our understanding of

what a teenage girl is going through.

She had gotten permission
from her local superiors

to try living outside the convent
in an apartment in Catonsville

with Sister Russell.

This is what she looked
like when she left Keough

to go teach in a public
school while remaining a nun.

Cathy Cesnik and Russell Phillips
were trying this experiment.

I understood that Mother
Maurice gave them permission

to experiment with teaching
in public high school

and being nuns out in the regular world.

I was surprised that they were
the ones engaging in this.

They were compliant nuns following
the rules all the time.

Two days before
Sister Cathy disappeared,

a friend and I went to
her apartment, casually,

for a visit...

and we talked shortly.

We didn't talk in-depth

because my friend didn't
know what was going on.

Sister Cathy asked me how things
were, and I knew what she meant.

I was... hesitant to answer.

And she says, "It'll be taken
care of, don't worry."

We know of two women,
Jean and Kathy Hobeck,

who shared with Cathy that
they were being abused

by Joseph Maskell.

We also know now that
there is a third woman

who, in fact, was in
Sister Cathy's apartment

the night before Cathy disappeared.

She and her boyfriend arrived
to visit the two sisters,

Cathy and Russell,

and she was sharing with
Cathy about the abuse.

And Joseph Maskell and
Father Neil Magnus

came into the apartment
without knocking.

I asked her specifically what
expressions were on their faces,

and she said Maskell was
furious, Magnus looked dumb.

Sister Cathy sent her out, and her
boyfriend out of the apartment.

The next day, when she went to school,

he called her into his office and said:

"If you say anything, I'll kill
both of you and your families."

She never said anything.

Later that day is when
Cathy disappeared.

This woman, who has chosen
to remain anonymous,

has lived with fear all her life.

Cathy and I were
supposed to get together

the day after she was actually killed.

She said there was something serious
she wanted to talk to me about.

I thought she might... Wanted
to reopen the question

of whether or not we should
leave and get married.

But I look back now and say, if
at that time she was aware...

of priests sexually abusing the
girls at Archbishop Keough,

then maybe that's what she
wanted to talk about.

Would've been a hell of a
conversation, I'll tell you.

But it never happened.

When I was called to the
room, it was after school...

and he was frantic.

He said, "I know you're
close with Sister Cathy..."

And I just... I wanted to let
you know that she's missing."

And he said, "But I know where she is."

And I was like, "What do you mean"

you know...? You know where she is?"

He said, "I know where she is.
Want me to take you to her?"

And I was like, "Yes."

We leave his room.

I remember walking through the
corridor of the school...

and we go out, and we get in a car.

There's two unbelievable emotions
that are going on at the same time.

One was total shock. "What
do you mean she's missing?"

Like, it hit me like a...
Like, in the stomach.

And the other was, he knew
where she was, relief.

And I just knew I needed to see her.

We pull up into this kind of a...
It was a bit like a barren area.

There was grass, and dirt, and, um...

And I'm thinking, "What
is she doing here?"

And I'm following him.

And he moved over...

and there's a clump on the
ground and I knew it was her.

Before I knew it, I was
kneeling down next to her.

And there were maggots in her face.

And I was wiping her
face and just saying:

"Please help me. Please help me.
Please help me. Please help me."

And I'm, like, looking at my hands...

and he came down real close...

and he said:

"Do you see what happens when you
say bad things about people?"

Synced & corrected by PopcornAWH
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