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Perhaps I can clear up Imesch's uncertainty about Father Ruffalo. I sports hadn't wanted to go to Las Vegas with Ruffalo during the summer of 1979. I was 17 years old and had grown increasingly uncomfortable with the priest's advances toward me. He had been far too attentive to me for years, ever since he'd first met me as a fifth-grade choirboy and altar server at the Cathedral of St. Raymond in Joliet. He was an obese man with dark hair shaved into a crew cut. He said masses at my parish and taught religion in my sports grade school. He first introduced himself to me after hearing my boy soprano voice belting out a solo from the church choir. Soon after, he started talking to me at length whenever I'd serve at mass. Within a few months, he began to put his hands on me. He would touch me, rubbing my back and giving me hugs in the sacristy when no one else was around.
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