Len Prazych, a survivor of clergy abuse, shared his experience of parental denial and healing.
Len Prazych, an 11-year-old survivor of clergy abuse, shared his experience of parental denial and healing. He believes many male victims, like himself, delay reporting due to shame. Prazych emphasized the importance of discussing abuse openly and offering support to those affected, especially men reluctant to come forward.
Scott Douglas Jacobsen: I am with Len Prazych. This is a recommendation of a mutual woman colleague who is involved in deep research into clergy-related abuse. So, thank you for coming forward.
I know that these particular cases are probably more difficult than for women. One, there might be fewer men and boy victims. Also, as far as I know, more women tend to come forward. That's only a qualitative analysis, not a formal quantitative analysis. So, you wrote a book.
You are a survivor and coming forward to report on this from an American orientation. So, how old were you when this happened?
Len Prazych: I was 11 years old at the time of my incident. And if I can make a point and that is I believe there are more boys and men who experienced abuse. I believe fewer come forward because of the shame, guilt and pain associated with it.
Also, I learned at the recent SNAP (Survivors Network of those Abused by Priests) Conference that men often wait decades before admitting their abuse, if they do so at all. In some cases, it may be 10, 20, 30, 40 years. In my case, it was 50-plus years before I came forward with it and wrote my memoir.
I got up in the middle of the night and told my mother that Father Duncanson had his hand in my underwear. The following morning he was gone. So somehow, as an 11-year-old altar boy, I could make a priest disappear? I was both confused and sad, and the fact that no one wanted to speak about it ever again only added to the confusion, the anger, the frustration, the shame, the guilt, and the ultimately ruined relationship with my father for the next 50 years.
So yes, many men are reluctant to come forward. But sometimes, it's not their conscious choice. Sometimes the abuse is so traumatic that the brain suppresses those painful memories or incidents. They consciously do not remember it happening.
And it usually comes out later in life when there's a problem with anger, alcoholism, addiction, relationship issues, or something else that triggers the memory of the incident. It's not until decades later that they may remember, wow, I was abused and then they have to come to terms with that.
I'm in no way comparing my one-time incident of what was essentially a fondling to the horrific abuse that others have suffered. I think this is another reason I remember the event as if it happened yesterday. It was a one-time event, but I remember the details clearly, and that's likely because I've been writing about it, talking about it, and thinking about it.
I've largely healed and forgiven, but I will never forget. It's something I don't want to see repeated with anyone. I believe it's important to say something if you see something, and we need to talk about these things because, for the most part, we don't -- especially men.
Jacobsen: When you told your mother, did she recall the context or her response? Did that help with future conversations around this subject when you started discussing it more openly and publicly?
Prazych: No. Both my parents denied it ever happened. I can only speculate that decades later when I brought it up that it may have been just a blip in their life, something to bury and forget. But at the time of the incident, my mother was the one who took action, so I thought she would confirm that it happened, even decades later. I suspect she supported my father in his adamant refusal to acknowledge the abuse and perhaps, keeping his pact with the church to stay quiet. From what I've read, the practice of having parents being paid by the parish or the bishop to stay silent about their boy's abuse was common back then. I have no reason to believe that it doesn't still happen. In my case, my family never really had money so the incentive of a cash "settlement" to stay silent was probably very strong. My parents were raising three boys in Catholic school, so perhaps they received free tuition, but again, I can only speculate. It's unlikely that I will ever know.
Jacobsen: That sounds like an incredibly difficult experience, and how these situations were handled is troubling.
Prazych: Yes, it was, and I still think about it, but I've come to terms with how things were dealt with, even though I believe it was wrong. Maybe they got some help otherwise. Whatever the case, my parents never discussed it again and took the secret to their graves.
Jacobsen: So, when it came to this particular case, has this methodology been corroborated by future reports from other survivors, as well as official church documents about a policy of silence and shuffling priests around?
Prazych: I can reference accounts in the literature, which is widely available, about families being paid off to keep their stories quiet. If not, lawyers may have to get involved and perhaps, the case is settled out of court.
Jacobsen: What themes have you noticed in male survivor stories, particularly after attending the SNAP conference or potentially others? What are some of the thematic threads that run through them?
Prazych: As I've shared, one is the reluctance to come forward and share due to the shame and the perception that it's a weakness. It affects a man's life and his relationships, and it may manifest in addictions, anger, abuse, and more.
Jacobsen: Did any men report substance misuse as a way to cope with emotional problems?
Prazych: I'm confident hundreds have done that and support groups are full of individuals who have suffered tremendous abuse.
Jacobsen: When you write a full book, it becomes a project. It could be 60,000 words or 120,000 words. Either way, for most people who don't spend time writing, that's a huge amount, especially when typing each letter on the keyboard. So, why did you write a full-length text describing this context for yourself?
Prazych: I am a professional writer. I publish a weekly trade publication so getting the words on the page never a problem for me. I've also always been a journaler. I believe in journaling and note-taking as a regular practice, it's my meditation and one way I cope, organize my life, express feelings, etc.
It was during the period after my father passed -- a three-year period of helping him die, after spending three years helping him help my mother die -- that journaling became tremendously important to me. I was essentially grieving both parents after six years. During one of my entries, I stumbled onto writing a letter to my father.
Jacobsen: And where were you going with that?
Prazych: So, I wrote this handwritten letter and felt like, wow, that came out pretty easily. Let me keep going. Then I had another letter and another. The memories started connecting so I added some elements of literary interest. There was no shortage of things to write about and things I wanted to ask my father, though obviously, some questions never got answers. There were also things I just wanted to say, and it felt good to say them.
As a first-time memoirist, 60,000 words is about the low end of where you want to land for your readers, and you better have a good story to tell within those 60,000 words. So, I was aiming for that amount. I had a great editor who helped me with many things we all need editors for. So, getting it done wasn't an issue.
A few obstacles, however -- and this relates to one of your earlier questions about men wanting to share their stories, not necessarily about priestly abuse, but any abuse -- stem from unconscious reasons for not writing. Because they're unconscious, you don't always know why. Still, after working through them, you realize that some of the same messaging initially prevented you from sharing your story.
For me, as an 11-year-old, the messages for me were:
So to speak about being abused by your beloved priest in your parents' bed? There was no way that was going to be talked about! So, the message was always to stay silent and repress those feelings. Not an uncommon thing, I've discovered, especially in Catholic families. I often say that the incident of abuse itself wasn't as bad as the 50 years of betrayal and gaslighting by my parents, the priests, and the Catholic Church. That was the real trauma for me, and it's what still lingers in my thoughts and from what I've heard, in the stories of others.
Jacobsen: Was this a one-off event, or did you have recurring memories? Did it happen two or three times?
Prazych: Yes, it's been out for a year. I self-published and, for the most part, have been self-promoting and advertising. If you check my website, I've been doing media appearances over the past few months, which I'm very pleased with. Every time I do a radio interview or a live TV spot, I notice a small bump in book sales. It's available on Amazon by contacting me directly via my website at LenPrazych.com.
Jacobsen: So, how did this affect the arc of your position on the tenets of faith and the religious community over time? An important point isn't discussed enough: less about the incident and more about the fallout -- the narrative built around the Catholic Church or churches in general. How has your relationship with the church been since that time, since being 11?
Prazych: Well, I've always had questions and a natural curiosity about the mysteries of not only Catholicism but all religions. But from the age of 11, there was still the mandate:
I did this with a very dubious perspective, even as an 11-year-old. I thought, "All right, I think I see how this works now," but I wasn't sure. I was 11! But it did spark my curiosity about the bigger questions -- why do we listen to these people, the priests, that is? But I couldn't take it seriously after that because they couldn't answer the questions I had, questions I couldn't articulate at the time -- like, why do priests abuse children? I couldn't wrap my head around that.
I also attended an all-boys Catholic high school, which was generally a positive experience. But at some point, during religious education class in sophomore year, I believe, when I rebelled and shut out anything related to organized religion. That pretty much marked the beginning of my separation from both my parents and the church but became conflicted when I was going to marry
In the Catholic tradition, when a man and a woman are getting married, they go through something called Pre-Cana, a weekend moderated by a priest -- because, of course, who else would know best about a healthy relationship between a man and a woman? That forced me to confront my own biases and I wondered, "Am I going to let something like a single incident of priestly abuse stop me from moving forward with my life and living as a good Catholic family?" I couldn't say no at the time. And then there was the expectation of raising my children in the Catholic faith. But that only lasted for so long. My children saw for themselves at an early age -- maybe with some urging and teaching from me -- to avoid that.
So, my relationship with the Catholic Church since then has been pretty nonexistent.
Jacobsen: Do you think that's a relatively normal outcome for someone who's been abused by a father or priest?
Prazych: Is it normal? I don't know what "normal" is, to be honest. The more I talk with people who've been abused, the more I see a variety of responses. For some, like myself, it's, "Yeah, I know what happened, and I want nothing to do with the Church." As long as no one's telling you that you have to go to church, many will have nothing to do with the church, priests, or religion in general. But others who've been abused for years still maintain their faith in God and continue going to church. They don't like what happened to them, of course, but they still have this faith that's embedded in them and apparently cannot let go of. There's a spectrum of experiences in between.
Jacobsen: What, in brief terms, can you share about your abuser?
Prazych: With Katherine's help, I've learned much more about him than I knew since I finished my book. I learned everything I could find out on Ancestry.com and other free websites available to the public. I discovered that Father Wesley Duncanson was born in Waltham, Massachusetts and was married at age 16, which surprised me. He joined the military at age 17, served for six or seven years, then went to college as a premed student. After that, he went to a monastery and was ordained in 1956.
With Katherine's help in accessing the Catholic Directory, we created a timeline of his life in the priesthood. And from what we can tell, Saint Henry's, my parish, was his last assignment until he died in 1979.
By speaking up and saying something, I may have ended the career of a probable serial pedophile and sex abuser. I say "probable" because although I haven't seen the records and may never see them, the NJ State Police say the records they've subpoenaed are "voluminous."
By reporting Father Duncanson, I may have prevented others from being abused -- both in my church and wherever else he may have been assigned, if the Church did send him elsewhere. More importantly, I may have protected my two younger brothers from being abused. Pedophile priests have been notorious for preying on families with multiple siblings. Once they're in the door, it becomes much easier for them to continue abusing others in that family. There are several documented cases of this, and I know someone personally who experienced it.
Jacobsen: Yeah, the state of the family structure. So, in these instances of lack of parental oversight or involvement -- whether the mom or dad isn't assertive in ensuring the child's safety, especially during adolescence -- how do you view that?
Prazych: I would hesitate to lean heavily on the idea of "lack of oversight" in a negative way. My parents were hard workers. Dad worked all day and Mom worked at night. Dad helped neighbours and did odd jobs to make extra money when he wasn't working his day job. It wasn't like they were neglecting or partying and letting us kids go unsupervised. Aside from this incident, my father was a saint, and my mother supported him.
But when a parish priest took an interest in their oldest son and offered to take him and his friends horseback riding, bowling, or out for pizza -- things we couldn't afford to do -- the influencing a priest must have seemed wonderful. It wasn't a matter of my parents ignoring us; they were busy providing a living so we had what we needed. But priests could see that, too. What hardworking parents wouldn't appreciate having their child looked after for a couple hours, a weekend, or even an overnight? I describe one incident like that in the book.
Jacobsen: What you're describing is part of the nuance in many of these stories. On the one hand, you have families of likely blue-collar parents and a dual-income household, where a priest stepping in to mentor and partially raise young boys within that community can seem like a positive thing. There are overnights, some literature is discussed, maybe even a higher education influence, and one-on-one time where social skills and norms are expressed. The kid can feel noticed and appreciated. But at the same time, those few incidents within that smaller arc leave a mark until later in life.
Prazych: Right.
Jacobsen: So, how do you reconcile these two narratives that aren't necessarily in conflict but exist simultaneously in the same lifetime?
Prazych: I'll admit, yes; I loved this priest. I loved him like I loved my father because I was getting from him what I wasn't getting from my dad -- the time and attention that a growing boy needs. That's one of the reasons the abuse was so painful. But there was also this rift developing, where I was asking too many questions of both my fathers, questions that didn't have satisfactory answers.
Jacobsen: Yeah, I can see that.
Prazych: Father Duncanson seemed genuinely curious about me -- what I was reading at age 11, my chemistry experiments in the basement. So, in a way, he became my stand-in father. He'd even come to my baseball games, games my father wouldn't or couldn't attend.
Jacobsen: He was very avuncular.
Prazych: Paternal, a little too paternal, as I would soon realize. So, he fooled an 11-year-old child. Congratulations! But part of my work in therapy has been about forgiving that little boy who may have thought it was somehow his fault. I know now that it wasn't my fault. I didn't do anything to bring this on. I was being an 11-year-old kid. Do you want to pay attention to me and teach me some stuff? Sure, I'm on board with that. I'm still on board with that at age 65 -- just keep your hand out of my pants while you're doing it!
Jacobsen: There's also an aspect of this where many men in North American cultures fear getting involved in public life, particularly in mentoring or spending time with kids who aren't their own, because of the stigma associated with it. There are a lot of conflicting feelings for many men -- they'd love to take a kid to a ballgame, go bowling, camping, or whatever -- but this social stigma exists. At the same time, you have this minority of cases where adult men get past that stigma, win the trust of the community, or take a position of trust, and then leverage that to take advantage of young people -- often boys or adolescent males in particular. It's a strange cultural conversation.
And the case that you experienced, and that others bring forward at SNAP and similar organizations, are cases of acute abuse. But it's part of a larger conversation about male mentorship -- what are red flags and what aren't. We're not always having the necessary conversation around what is just stereotyping of men and what are actual, appropriate red flags.
How do you feel overall, given your positive reflection on some aspects of your experience, about how the Catholic Church mentors and raises boys who aren't their own? How do you think general culture handles this?
Prazych: I can't say. I need to be closer to the issue now to give an educated opinion. But from my perspective, as an older male now, my wife has often said, "You should be a mentor; you have so much to offer." I did great with four kids. I'm doing great with two grandkids. But the thought of anything untoward happening to any of them in terms of abuse -- well, that's a huge trigger for me.
But I don't want to be alone in the same room with a child that's not my grandchild. If I'm in a bathroom in a restaurant and a little boy walks in, I immediately walk out. I don't want even the thought of being alone any situation where it's just me and another child. Knowing what I know and having experienced what I've experienced, I don't want to be in that position.
Jacobsen: That's a conversation that's not even on the main agenda, but it's part of an important, albeit undeveloped, secondary discussion -- how individuals like yourself are triggered by the fallout from their own experiences and how this intersects with the stereotyping of men in mentor or authority roles with young people. These are all important conversations, even if it's not the primary point of this one.
Prazych: Right. It's something to keep in mind, at least. I like to ask if others have been abused by Father Wesley Luke Duncanson at Saint Henry's Parish in Bayonne, New Jersey, or anywhere else, that it's okay to come forward and share their secret.
Jacobsen: So, based on some of the information given earlier in the interview, if people know someone who may have been a survivor during that time or if they are survivors but have been afraid to come forward, how can they get in contact?
Prazych: They can contact me personally. My email is on my website, but they can also contact me at len@prazcomm.com. My phone number is international, in case they're in another country. My number in New York, United States, is 518-366-9017.
What I've also done recently is prepare for another career as a life coach, to perhaps help both men and women. In this capacity, as a survivor of sexual abuse, I'm willing to coach others -- whether it's coming forward with their story or writing about it. Writing could be journaling, poetry, short stories, or even letters to their father -- not necessarily for publication. It's about demonstrating the therapeutic power of writing to heal. I'm happy to speak with anyone interested in doing that. It may be a gentle way to come forward, even if they can't yet verbally articulate what they need to share.
As I mentioned, men are now coming forward after decades, and for all the reasons that men often wait so long to do so. This is the demographic -- this is the time, as it was for me. I was recently asked to speak to a men's group of survivors of abuse aged 50 to 60. This is the demographic that tends to come forward and share their stories of abuse. I'm happy to help anyone share and tell their story, even if it's just to listen without judgment. I'd gladly share my experiences and knowledge.
Jacobsen: If anyone wants to publish an anonymous letter about their experience or response, they can send it to me, too. I can help: scottdouglasjacobsen@yahoo.com.
Prazych: Yes, we've hit the main topics. I'm happy to speak to a group -- whether it's a men's group, as I've been asked before, or even a small book club. I'll be adding more information about readings and appearances to my website. My press details are there now, but I plan to build a larger platform as this message gains more traction. Ultimately, it's about preventing sexual abuse of children from happening at all. If you see something, say something. Let's talk about these things. And parents, tell your children the truth, okay? If my parents had told me the following day what had happened to me, we may not even be having this conversation.
Jacobsen: Len, nice to meet you, and thank you.
Jacobsen: It's a pleasure, Scott. Thank you for your promptness in turning around the article and giving the story the attention and coverage it deserves.
Prazych: As I'm finding, and this can be an aside or not, social media has promoted and publicized my books. I hadn't been on Facebook, Instagram, TikTok, or any of those before. I had no reason to, no interest. But I realized it was necessary if I was going to sell books and get some coverage.
What it did do was reconnect me with several of my old classmates. It allowed me to say, "By the way, this is my book. This is what happened to me." The response was collectively, "Oh, we're sorry. We didn't know this happened to you, and you said nothing." Well, how could they know unless it happened to them, too, which it didn't? For most of the people I spoke with, they didn't even remember Father Duncanson. That made me think, "Did this guy exist? How come nobody else remembers him?"
Jacobsen: But you have the documentation -- Father Duncanson was there when you were there.
Prazych: Yes, but it's with the New Jersey State Police Sex Crimes Unit. Hopefully, one day, it will come to public light with the New Jersey Grand Jury. In the meantime, if anyone else comes forward they could have a criminal or civil case. But if no one else comes forward and accuses Father Duncanson, my case "dies" because my parents, Father Duncanson and the pastor at the time, who were the only other "witnesses to the crime," took their secrets to their graves.
I'm happy I was able to get Father Duncanson listed on the BishopAccountability.org website. That's an accomplishment because someone else may not want to come forward but may see that someone else did and say, "Oh, Len did it. Maybe I can come forward, too." That might help verify their claim or show the power of confession to heal emotionally and physically. Keeping these secrets takes a tremendous toll on mental and physical health. It can manifest in addictions, alcoholism, and even cancer -- any number of stress-related diseases that come from withholding the truth. So, I'm encouraging people to tell their secrets, as hard as it may be. Maybe I can be living proof. "Hey, it took me 50 years, but you can do it too, and you'll be better off for it."
Jacobsen: Thank you, Len.
Prazych: You're very welcome, Scott. And thank you for allowing me to share my story and my message of hope and healing.
Further Internal Resources (Chronological, yyyy/mm/dd):
Historical Articles
Crimes of the Eastern Orthodox Church 1: Adam Metropoulos (2024/01/11)
Crimes of the Eastern Orthodox Church 2: Domestic Violence (2024/01/12)
Dr. Hermina Nedelescu on Clergy-Perpetrated Sexual Abuse (2024/06/02)
Katherine Archer on California Senate Bill 894 (2024/06/11)
Dorothy Small on Abuse of Adults in the Roman Catholic Church (2024/06/16)
Melanie Sakoda on Orthodox Clergy-Related Misconduct (2024/06/23)
Professor David K. Pooler, Ph.D., LCSW-S on Clergy Adult Sexual Abuse (2024/07/21)
Dr. Hermina Nedelescu & Dorothy Small: Ecumenical Catholic-Orthodox Discourse (2024/07/24)
Professor David K. Pooler, Ph.D., LCSW-S on Consent and Power (2024/08/13)
#ChurchToo Survivors Call on CA Governor Gavin Newsom (2024/06/09)
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