Overshadowed by Mount Cashel: This school abuse survivor says Grade 7 was a nightmare

The sky over St. John's on this October morning is thick with dark clouds as a blue sedan slowly pulls into an unremarkable parking lot on Patrick Street. The older man at the wheel is expressionless as he guides his car to a stop.

He takes a second to compose himself, opens his door and plants his sneaker-clad feet onto the damp asphalt. Smartly, he stands erect.

Looking to the back of the parking lot, where Holy Cross all-boys school once stood, he feels a chill unrelated to the threatening skies overhead.

It's the first time he's stepped on this ground in 55 years kept awayby an invisible force field energized by pain, anger and shame.

'This is where it happened'

"This is where it happened," he says while sitting on a wooden bench at the base of a granite monument located at the entrance to the parking lot. Emblazoned on the monument is the Holy Cross crest an interlaced H and C inside a renaissance-shaped shield and the school rallying cry "OneAndAllCrusaders" is carved in big letters beneath the crest.

At the base of the monument is an oversized bronze plaque planted into the ground, surrounded by a bed of walkway pavers. It features the school's motto,Viriliter Age,which is Latin for "Act Manfully." The more inclusive translation is "Act Courageously."

In its heyday, when it was runby the the Irish Christian Brothers, a Catholic religious order, and before it burned to the ground just before Christmas 54 years ago, Holy Cross wasknown for its impressive athletics programs.But all the symbolism adorning the monument has a different meaning for the man we'll call him Joseph standing in its shadow on this day.

A God-like authority figure

His abuser was a God-likeauthority figurein the eyes of many Brother Larry Angel, the school's principal.And Joseph came from a deeply religiousbut poor household that was rat-infested, where two large families shared one bathroom, and it was a constant battle to keep food on the table and the cold air outside.

No one questioned these men of the cloth, he says, and he feared telling his mother, who went to her grave more than two decades ago without everknowing the horrors her son endured. The only sign of trouble his mother would have observed, he says, was her son failing Grade 7. Up to that point, he was an exceptional student.

With his report card in hand, Joseph's mother marched him down to the school for an explanation from, who else, the principal. In the end, he was forced to repeat Grade 7, and though he managed to block out the abuse for many decades, he went through life feeling like a powerless, voiceless victim.

"I still to this day can't believe what that man did to me, and other boys I'm sure," he says.

Joseph is in his 70s, and cannot be identified because of a court-ordered publication ban. He's one of 200 to 300 abuse survivors hundreds more have died, or refused to join the legal battle awaiting compensation from the Roman Catholic Episcopal Corporation of St. John's following a decades long fight for justice.

Most were abused during their time at Mount Cashel, anorphanage in St. John's that, like Holy Cross, was run by the Christian Brothers, an order of non-ordained men in black robes andwhite collars who take vows of celibacyand serveGod through areas such as education.

WATCH | A sexual abuse survivor recalls how his nightmarestarted:

A sexual abuse survivor recalls how his personal horror started

12 months ago

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A man whom CBC News is calling Joseph and whose voice has been altered describes the start of his sexual abuse by Brother Larry Angel, the principal of the former Holy Cross all-boys school in St. Johns.

The Mount Cashel scandal erupted in the 1980s. The name has become synonymous with religious institutional abuse. A smaller number of claimants were abused by priests and other church leaders at the parish level.

A third category of survivors, however those abused while attending Catholic schools such as Holy Cross, St. Bonaventure's and St. Pat's have received less attention.

That's always irked Joseph.

"The only difference between Mount Cashel and the schools and the churches was geographical location. That's it. Abuse is abuse," he says.

Overshadowed by Mount Cashel

For the first time, Joseph is telling his story of abuse to anyone other than a lawyer or a counsellor or his closest family members.

He won't go into detail about what happened inside Brother Angel's office, but says, "That was where the worst of it happened for me, the absolute worst."

He's been reliving that nightmare in recent months as he undergoes a battery of assessments to determine the extent of the abuse, how it affected his life, and how much compensation he should receive.

"The last ones I did was probably about a month ago and I came home and I was a mental wreck," he says.

Abuse derailed a teaching career

His dream of becoming a teacher, he says, was dashed because of the abuse. While studying for a teaching degree at Memorial University, he was required to lead a classroom for a few weeks.

The first time he entered the classroom in the role of teacher, however, he was overwhelmed with panic and anxiety attacks. He believes it was his body telling him something.

"I was afraid, maybe, that perhaps [there's]a chance that I may have done something that was done to me on these kids.I could not take that chance," he recalls.

Unlike many abuse victims whostruggled with addictions, turned to crime or took their own lives, Joseph completed his university education and worked a long career as a public servant. He's been married for many years, and is a proud father.

Whatever money comes his way in the coming months will go to his daughter, he says, his voicequivering as emotion brings tears to his eyes and his chest convulses.

He tells a joke in order to calm himself: "I might buy a case of beer out of it."

Having a family saved his life.

"If I never had my family,we wouldn't be having this conversation," he says.

Millions have been raised for victims

Brother Larry Angel never faced charges, and died before the abuse scandal began rocking the foundations of the Catholic church in Newfoundland and Labrador. But he's named by at least four of the hundreds of claimants that have come forward seeking compensation from the RC Episcopal Corporation.

The corporation is the business arm of the St. John's archdiocese, and has been in bankruptcy protection for nearly two years as it sells off churches, parish halls and other property in a bid to raise millions for the victims.

So far, an estimated $45 million has been raised or committed, with the potential for millions more.

• Deadline looming for abuse survivors to apply for compensation from N.L. archdiocese

The episcopal corporation has been found by the highest courts to be vicariously liable for the abuse at Mount Cashel, and the corporation has also accepted responsibility for the abuse by priests.

But the picture isless clear when it comes to abuse in the schools, since the episcopal corporation has not conceded vicarious liability. If school abuse survivors are shut out of the ongoing claims process, their lawyers have hinted at court action against the provincial government, which runs the education system.

"We're confident there's a route going forward for them," says Geoff Budden, whose law firm represents the majority of abuse survivors. He says 20 to 25 per cent of his clients are school abuse survivors.

As for Joseph, he says he'll only find peace "when I depart this earth."

He's not confident he'll get the compensation he's entitled tobut he's working hard to make sure the uncertainties do not overpower him.

"I know this is the end of the process. I'm worn out. I'm tired. And I'm sick of it all," he says.

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