Bruno Primavera. The name conjures up a vision of an Italianate stud, doesn’t it? And so he was. We met the summer of my freshman year at minor seminary. He was in his mid-20s, tall and ruggedly handsome. I was 14. Bruno was involved in my Catholic Church back in Stratford, Conn. To make a long story short, he invited me to his parents’ home for an evening of “Bible study” with other young people. Lo and behold, I was the only one there. The others, Bruno said, couldn’t make it. He gave me a soda, made ingratiating small talk and eventually maneuvered the conversation to a clumsy attempt at seduction. I played dumb even though I knew exactly what was up. I politely asked him to drive me home. He did. I later overheard my mother’s hushed conversation with her Ladies Guild friends about Bruno leaving town under circumstances that entailed some deep dark secret. Over the years I’d recount the story on those occasions when, boys being boys, we’d tell tales of our spring awakenings. Bruno’s bumbling had deprived me of a rite of passage, I’d complain. We’d have a good laugh over it.
Since the 1990s, Milwaukee has dealt with its church sex abuse scandal. Of course, it reminded me of Bruno. Out of curiosity, I googled him. Within seconds, I found his disturbing narrative. He had honed his craft in the meantime. Ordained in Toronto in 1973, he later returned to Connecticut accompanied by a letter from his bishop warning, “In one instance, although no public scandal resulted, his conduct was such that it was found advisable to transfer him to another parish.” What follows is a rap sheet that continues for decades. It’s the same ol’ story of case after case of sexual molestation. Each time Primavera was put back on the ecclesiastic carousel, hopping off at the next parish or diocese. There he’d again pursue young teens, get busted and be moved on to the next. He was finally arrested in New Mexico, imprisoned and defrocked.
Meanwhile, the Archdiocese of Milwaukee finally settled its sexual abuse case, agreeing to pay $21 million to victims. But, like any enduring story, our interest wanes. To recap, the decades-long ecclesiastic shell game involved a bankruptcy claim and burying diocesan assets in a “cemetery fund.” The settlement is to be divided among hundreds of plaintiffs and their attorneys. According to Peter Isely, Midwest director of Survivors Network for those Abused by Priests (SNAP), “It is exponentially the lowest bankruptcy compensation for victims in the United States.” The archdiocese “cemetery fund” attorneys are estimated to have earned more than $4.5 million.
The film Spotlight is currently running in town. It’s about the Catholic Church sex abuse scandal in Boston. Milwaukee is just another chapter. But the movie provides insights into the “system” that facilitated so many cases of priest sex abuse worldwide. It’s a “must see.”
As for Bruno, many of his victims received multi-million dollar compensations. Documents quote one parishioner’s response. “It’s a lot of money,” she said, “but I’m not worried about it—God will provide.”
