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Lambs to Slaughter

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Doherty was not at the pastoral center. Desperate, the 15-year-old boy resorted to blackmail. He informed a nun, Sister Joyce Newton, that he had had sex with Doherty, who had given him a venereal disease. Newton phoned Doherty, who instructed her to give Soler money from the center's petty cash drawer just to get rid of him.

This time there would be an investigation, by the archdiocese chancellor, Gerard T. LaCerra. But documents subpoenaed in a civil suit that Soler has filed against the archdiocese suggest LaCerra's investigation was biased. Soler's attorney, Herman, says it was "a fraud" and "a sham."

Indeed even though a new victim had materialized, the chancellor took Doherty's side, alleging Soler was "an acknowledged homosexual prostitute and drug dealer."

In August 1992, a letter forwarded to LaCerra by Archbishop McCarthy began with a familiar refrain: "Our son was given drugs, Quaaludes in excess — and then raped by Father Neil Doherty, presently pastor of St. Vincent Parish in Margate, Fla."

The letter tells of how a boy whom we'll call Tony had been an A student at a Fort Lauderdale high school in 1978 when his parents went to meet with Doherty, then the pastor at Saint Anthony, about counseling their son. "He absolutely charmed us," Tony's parents wrote. "So you can imagine how easy it was for Father Doherty to hide behind his authority as a priest and ... to take advantage of a mentally ill, gullible 17-year-old boy. It was leading a lamb to slaughter."

Tony's parents alleged Doherty "brainwashed" their son — who was straight — into believing he was gay. On at least one occasion, said the parents, Doherty took Tony to a Palm Beach motel, where the priest drugged and raped him.

Then the boy dropped out of high school and ran away from home. It would be five years before Tony's parents would see him again. He had moved out of the region, was deeply depressed, and was leading what his parents called a "hand-to-mouth existence."

LaCerra offered the boy counseling but was rejected. Doherty was sent for psychological treatment at the Institute of Living, a Hartford, Connecticut resortlike clinic that is a frequent destination for troubled priests. There a doctor recommended the archdiocese issue a "temporary suspension from [Doherty's] duties while further investigation is taking place."

LaCerra wrote a letter in response saying he thought they had agreed Doherty would simply "take time off to work on personal issues." In the most chilling passage, he added, "If perchance your report would ever be placed under subpoena, the archdiocese could look quite negligent for not having immediately removed Fr. Doherty from his pastoral assignment."

Ultimately Doherty was allowed to choose a counselor — a friend — who suggested the archdiocese accept the priest's "candid and forthright assertions of his innocence."

Apparently it did just that.

Eventually the archdiocese discounted Tony's claims and characterized him and his parents as extortionists. In 1994, after the family threatened to take the story to the media, the archdiocese paid Tony's parents $50,000 in exchange for a promise not to sue.

In 2003, while conducting research for a criminal case against Doherty, prosecutors turned up evidence for criminal charges against the archdiocese, for being negligent in allowing Doherty to continue counseling boys, after it had already received abuse reports. A prosecutor informed the archdiocese that it might have filed a case had the statute of limitations not already lapsed. LaCerra died in July 2000, and Archbishop McCarthy passed away in June 2005. Doherty, meanwhile, returned to St. Vincent in Margate to resume counseling boys.

By the late Nineties, Doherty had every reason to feel invincible. A slew of boys had come forward to report abuse but not a single charge had stuck.

At roughly the same time the archdiocese reached its settlement with Tony's family, it was welcoming a new archbishop, Rev. John C. Favalora, who had held that position at dioceses in Alexandria, Louisiana, and St. Petersburg, Florida.

Favalora was greeted by a disturbing report from a group of parishioners at St. Vincent who were upset with Doherty. The group had written Archbishop McCarthy alleging Doherty was stealing from the church till and that he'd placed a known male prostitute on the payroll. The parishioners hoped that Archbishop Favalora would investigate.

He assigned Marin, who had inherited LaCerra's role as chancellor. Marin's investigation cleared Doherty of wrongdoing. In 1995, the chancellor drafted a letter, to be read at a Sunday service and bearing Favalora's signature, describing how the archbishop had examined the parishioners' report but that two audits found no evidence of financial impropriety and that "Likewise, [Favalora] examined personal accusations made against Father Doherty and found them baseless" — an apparent reference to the report involving the male prostitute.

But in depositions last year, Marin said the investigation focused on only the financial charges. He claimed to be unaware of the allegation about a prostitute, and although Favalora became archbishop the same month and year, December 1994, the archdiocese settled its case with Tony's family, both Favalora and Marin said they were unaware of the $50,000 payment.

;"And do you know whether they did?" Herman asked.

"No, I don't," Favalora said.

In Marin's deposition, Herman asked the monsignor whether the settlement combined with the long history of abuse allegations in Doherty's personnel file ought to have warranted a more thorough investigation of the Margate pastor.

"Hindsight is 20/20," Marin replied.

That doesn't bring an ounce of comfort to Sam, who speaks through a clenched jaw on a mid-March afternoon at a coffee shop in Margate, not far from the place he says he first met Doherty.

Sam, who agreed to speak with New Times on condition his identity not be revealed, says he was in fourth grade and playing football near his home, across the street from St. Vincent's parking lot and landscaped courtyard. When he stepped away from the game to smoke a cigarette, the eight-year-old saw Doherty's tall form emerge from a car and walk toward him.

"I hid my cigarette — like cuffed it," says Sam, "and [Doherty] says, 'No, man, if you want to smoke, it's not that big of a deal.' He was trying to be the cool adult. He was trying to gain my trust that way — and it worked."

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