Statewide scope
New Sun database expands list of those accused in church scandal beyond Baltimore archdiocese
Kurt Rupprecht was elated last spring when the Maryland attorney general’s office went public with its report on sexual abuse in the Catholic Church. But it left the Harford County victims’ advocate, a survivor of childhood sexual assault, wanting more.
The “Attorney General’s Report on Child Sexual Abuse in the Archdiocese of Baltimore” was just that: though it listed 156 clergy and staff who abused more than 600 children over eight decades, it covered only the church’s Baltimore jurisdiction, the largest of the three in the state. It did not address the Archdiocese of Washington, a territory that includes the Maryland suburbs of the nation’s capital and southern Maryland, or the Diocese of Wilmington, Delaware, which includes Maryland’s Eastern Shore counties.
“People who don’t follow this story closely may think of the attorney general’s report as ‘The Maryland Report.’ But it’s not,” says Rupprecht, 53, who was abused in 1979 in Salisbury, which is part of the Wilmington diocese. “It’s crucial to the survivor community that people be able to grasp the statewide scope of the tragedy.”
The Baltimore Sun has built the largest and only searchable database in the state, publishing Friday a list of 309 people with ties to the church who were accused of child sexual abuse or misconduct and lived or worked anywhere in Maryland, regardless of
Jonathan Pitts reported and wrote this article, with additional reporting from Maya Lora and Lia Russell. Annie Jenneman created the database, with reporting by Cassidy Jensen, Lora and Russell. Search it at baltimoresun.com/ abuse-database
where the alleged acts occurred.
It adds 107 names, researched by Sun reporters, to the people listed in the attorney general report issued in April.
It is the broadest statewide look at the global Catholic scandal, which has included decades of coverups.
There are two national databases: one by ProPublica that was last updated in 2021 and the other by BishopAccountability.org, the latter of which displays 187 individuals from Maryland.
Since the crisis emerged into the public view more than 20 years ago, church officials and authorities have established policies to better investigate and hold offenders responsible. But amid efforts to heal, the church continues to be rocked by new revelations even as gaps in transparency persist, some stemming from church and law enforcement criteria about how to address information about accusations.
Survivors, many of whom don’t tell anyone about abuse until later in life, have said public acknowledgment of reports is important. They say it helps other victims make connections about their cases and shows the size of the problem. They’ve also emphasized it can be validating for people who weren’t taken seriously regarding what they suffered as children at the hands of a worldwide institution aware of widespread problems within its ranks.
Among The Sun’s newly added names are those of 41 who lived or worked inside the Maryland portion of the Washington archdiocese. Another 41 lived or worked within the Baltimore archdiocese, and 24 lived or worked on the Eastern Shore. One additional priest had ties to both Washington and Baltimore. The names include those of priests, religious brothers, teachers and coaches whose alleged offenses took place starting in the 1940s.
The Sun began developing the list seven months ago after being contacted by Frank Dingle, a victims’ advocate and researcher who sought to understand the scope of the abuse crisis in Maryland by searching for reports of allegations involving people with any tie to the state.
Dingle, 82, a 1957 alumnus of Calvert Hall high school in Towson, takes an all-encompassing view, believing that even a priest in the Washington archdiocese who was trained in the District of Columbia or assigned to a northern Virginia parish might, if accused of abuse, have also offended in Maryland during a visit or a temporary, brief or otherwise unrecorded assignment.
With that in mind, he combed lists of the Washington archdiocese, Wilmington diocese, the military services diocese, as well as BishopAccountability.org and news articles.
Dingle, who was not abused, said he grew outraged when he learned of the burgeoning, worldwide scandal more than 20 years ago.
“I was raised to believe these were holy men, but obviously a lot of them turned out to be something else,” Dingle said.
The Sun focused on church and parochial school staff, coaches and volunteers who worked or lived in Maryland. Reporters attempted to reach the 52 newly listed individuals who are alive. Some could not be reached for comment, while individuals who answered the phone for others said they were now too old and infirm to speak.
Former priest Wayne Wigglesworth, 83, declined to talk about his time serving as a priest in Baltimore between 1967 and 1982 before being convicted of abusing boys in Indiana.
“I can’t answer anything like that,” he said. “I’m scared. I am doing my very, very, best and have been for some time now.”
Brenda Jones, the executive director of the Maryland-based Families Advocating Intelligent Registries, contacted The Sun after learning of a reporter’s efforts to reach those accused for comment. She said her group opposes sex offender registries, including official lists maintained by states, as pointless public shaming of
— Kurt Rupprecht, a Harford County victims’ advocate and a survivor of childhood sexual assault
people trying to rebuild their lives, typically years after they’ve been punished for “their worst moment.”
“It causes far more harm than good,” she said.
Several trends emerged in additions to The Sun’s database, just as they did in the attorney general’s report. A handful of Eastern Shore locations, for example, played host to a disproportionate number of alleged abusers.
Nine were assigned to St. Francis de Sales Catholic Church in Salisbury, where Rupprecht was abused at the age of 8. The priest in his case, Joseph McGovern, is listed by the diocese as credibly accused. The Sun was unable to reach him for comment.
Six more lived or worked at the Oblate Sisters of St. Francis de Sales in Cecil County, the site of a retirement home. Six worked at St. Mary Refuge of Sinners Church in Cambridge, and five were affiliated with the Church of the Good Shepherd in Perryville.
Rupprecht believes the Wilmington diocese cycled “problem priests” through its Maryland side in the 1960s and 1970s to keep them distant from its headquarters.
A diocese spokesman, Robert Krebs, suggested a less sinister cause.
“Younger priests, in particular, would be moved among parishes (in Cambridge, Salisbury and Dover) to give them experience in service to different demographics and geographic areas of the Diocese before their initial assignments as a pastor,” he wrote in an email to The Sun.
The Wilmington diocese includes 76 parishes and missions, including St. Francis de Sales in Salisbury. The diocese filed for bankruptcy in 2009 as it faced mounting sex abuse claims dating back more than 50 years. The proceedings led to a $77 million settlement that required it add the names of implicated clerics to its website. The diocese has maintained a public list since 2006.
The Baltimore archdiocese filed for bankruptcy in September, just before Maryland’s new Child Victims Act lifted a statute of limitations on childhood sexual abuse lawsuits. While the bankruptcy case means claims against the Baltimore archdiocese will be made in federal bankruptcy court, new lawsuits have been filed in state court against schools, state agencies and the Washington archdiocese.
The latter is challenging the constitutionality of the new law.
The Maryland attorney general’s office said it began looking into abuse in the state’s other two dioceses at the same time it began investigating the Baltimore archdiocese in 2018. Aleitheia Warmack, a spokeswoman for Democratic Attorney General Anthony Brown,
“When you’re abused as a kid, the thing you do is to keep it secret. You think you’re the only one . ... You keep all those emotions buried. You never completely heal.” — Buddy Robson, who was abused at a church in Prince George’s County
said the office is still investigating Washington and Wilmington.
She declined further comment because the probes are ongoing.
The state of Maryland in August granted Brown’s office more than $560,000 to add four members to the investigative team. One has been hired, Warmack said, with three more expected to be on board by the end of December.
In an email to The Sun, Patricia Zapor, a spokeswoman for the Washington archdiocese, did not address reporters’ questions about those on the newspaper’s list.
She touted policies the diocese has long had in place to combat sexual abuse, including a written child-protection policy that dates back nearly 40 years and is “reviewed and updated regularly.” She added it has cooperated with the Maryland attorney general’s investigation.
Christian Kendzierski, a spokesman for the Baltimore archdiocese, said the nation’s oldest Catholic diocese — which encompasses Baltimore City and nine counties in central and western Maryland — focuses its own list on priests and brothers “who have actually served in the Archdiocese of Baltimore.”
It notifies parishioners of other credibly accused offenders via news releases and by contacting affected parishes, schools and communities. He said “broader lists including individuals who did not serve in the Archdiocese of Baltimore are maintained by others,” including the state’s sex offender registry.
“The Archdiocese of Baltimore supports all efforts to eradicate the scourge of child sexual abuse,” he wrote in an email.
One name on the newly expanded list is that of Timothy Slevin, a priest who molested a boy named Buddy Robson at a church in Prince George’s County in the Washington archdiocese. Slevin pleaded guilty to sodomy in 1986, admitting he abused at least six boys, and served two years in federal prison. He declined Dec. 5 to talk with a reporter.
The Sun does not typically name individuals who say they are victims of sexual assault, but Robson and Rupprecht agreed to have their names published.
Like many survivors, Robson, 68, did not report the horror until he was in his 60s.
“When you’re abused as a kid, the thing you do is to keep it secret,” he says. “You think you’re the only one. … You keep all those emotions buried. You never completely heal.”
That, he says, is one reason that revealing the names of credibly accused predators throughout Maryland is helpful: It can help those who might still be keeping their abuse a secret to bring it to light.
It’s also one reason Rupprecht, who lives in Forest Hill, calls it “wonderful” that the list of accused abusers just expanded.
“Within the survivor community, we are all one,” he said. “We’re a unique fraternity and sorority, a brotherhood and a sisterhood, and that crosses dioceses, state lines and international boundaries.”