Shame, update

I wrote a post in June about shame. About its longevity. The origin of my shame was a football coach at the boarding school I attended sixty years ago who abused me.

I wrote about that and published what I wrote in River Teeth, a literary journal, in the spring of 2021. I sent the published account to Cranbrook, in Michigan, the school in question.

The head of school read the piece and wanted to talk. So we did, by telephone. Thus followed a lesson in caution and tentativeness on her part. However, to her credit, she then hired an outside firm to investigate.

Aside from finding out the extent of this man’s perfidy, one of the main questions I want answered, I told her, is: did the school cover this up? At the time, the football coach was dismissed for what the then head of school described as “philosophical differences”—or words to that effect.

If the school covered up what really happened, isn’t a crime involved? Weren’t you required by law to report sexual abuse of a boy, or boys, by an adult to the police, even back then? I wonder if the parents were even informed. Because, if you were like me, you were too ashamed to tell anyone, and so your parents never knew.

The investigation launched by Cranbrook began in 2021. It’s been going on now for well over a year and, as far as I can tell, has no immediate finishing date. I have contacted the school on several occasions asking them about the investigation’s progress. I wrote the investigator herself in August and reminded her that at least one of my classmates has died in the last year and that, given our ages, most likely more will. We’re all in our late seventies. Those who were affected by this man deserve justice, I told her, before it’s too late.

Her response:

“This acknowledges receipt of your email and your concerns are noted.”

In a letter to the Cranbrook community—and as reported by local media—the head of school wrote:

“[The investigator] recently informed us that her investigation, while ongoing, has identified additional alumni from this same time period reporting sexual impropriety by this same now-deceased former faculty member.” How many more?

In late October, the investigator wrote me, “Please understand the investigation work is being performed expeditiously, but also as thoroughly as possible.”

I am all for “thoroughly as possible.” But it’s sixteen months on. The word “expeditiously” is beginning to lose its meaning—if it hasn’t already.

My classmates and I deserve the truth. We don’t have all the time in the world.