A Turn of Fate, A Secret Unearthed & A 25-Year Quest for Truth
What a 25-Year Journey to Prove Who My Father Was Taught Me About Who I Really Am and Why the Truth is Worth Fighting For
by Jim Graham (guest author)
“...truth will ultimately prevail where pains is taken to bring it to light.”
A Turn of Fate
My wife Melodie joined me on a trip to San Francisco in the fall of 1993 that included business and pleasure. On a Sunday evening, we were dining at the Aqua, an elegant restaurant in the city’s financial district. Our conversation dealt mostly with the passing of my mother, who died of cancer the previous month. My mother treated Melodie over the years as though she was her daughter, and Melodie returned the favor. Thus, her passing was difficult for both of us.
Clark Kent & Lois Lane
“Truth was, I seldom dated stewardesses. Their jobs meant odd hours, 6:00 a.m. check-ins, and weekend and holiday work…However, when Miss Melodie Maynard reappeared the next day in uniform, I resolved to make an exception.” (Buried Truth p. 84)
The somber dialogue quickly changed, as Melodie asked out of the blue, “Does your strained relationship with your sister, Joan, bother you?” I thought the query was odd, yet without hesitation, I answered “No” and added, “What I don’t understand is why Uncle Otto has been so distant and cold with me.” Melodie paused for several awkward seconds, then took a sip of water, “I’ll tell you why. Otto wanted you to know that his brother, John, was not your father; your father was a Catholic priest, Father Thomas Sullivan.”
The statement was shocking, then yet it wasn’t. I had a disturbing childhood that I could never understand. My mind instantly projected a kaleidoscope slideshow with the answer to all those mysteries. What startled me most, was the realization I was not related to any of the adults in the household in which I was raised. That was the good news, since they were cold and uncaring, with the exception of Grandpa Otto (who died when I was in the first grade) and Grandma Stella in her reserved Austrian way. I was anxious to learn about my deceased biological father, and to meet his family–hoping they were warm and fun-loving Irish.
“A person has a right to know who his parents were, and why, how, and in what circumstances he was separated from them, or they from him. A person owns his or her own life, surely. I was determined to fully claim mine.”
The Opponents to My Quest: The Church and My Family
It didn’t take a genius to know I was a pawn in a scheme to save the Catholic Church from a scandal during the conservative post-World War II era. I’m a sensitive person, though not hysterical. I’m pragmatic when considering a plan of action. There were only two sources who could answer my many questions, (1) the Grahams in whose house I was raised and (2) the clergy. I knew from the get-go they both would be uncooperative. Initially, I thought I was the only one known to have been fathered by a priest in recent times, but that misnomer on my part was corrected as The Boston Globe, unveiling my story, found others.
My first inquiry of the facts that separated me from my father occurred in the home of Otto, who wanted me to know I wasn’t a Graham. His motive was retribution, since I had criticized his deceased brother, John, who at best, was unfatherly to me. His spinster sister, Kathryn, also attended the meeting. Now it was just the three of us sitting around an oak kitchen table: two dour eighty-year-olds and me. Kathryn initiated the conversation as she slipped an obituary across the table from a Catholic newsletter. The article included a photo of an older priest. “This man may be your father, but only the principals know for sure, and they are dead.” The principals being my mother, and their brother John, who died with the secret that Otto recently leaked.
It was apparent, my former aunt and uncle thought of me as their adversary, since I was asking questions about the scheme they were attempting to put back in the bottle. Kathryn’s well-rehearsed opening, “Only the principals know,” sounded like a talking point the church hierarchy directed them to use. I would hear the exact same message later from other members of the Graham family. Disingenuous and unsympathetic regarding my plight, Otto and Kathryn offered nothing, stating, “We aren’t going to relive the past.”
The Absence of Love in the Absence of Truth
“Outside the house, I was just another neighborhood kid, rambunctious and eager to play whatever game was going. The big difference between me and my friends was that my mother was not around, and my father never did stuff with me that my friends’ fathers did with them…He took no interest in me at all.”
(Buried Truth, p. 8-9)
In the absence of any truth from their side of the table, I provided Otto with what Kathryn already knew, since we lived together, about the disturbing childhood I endured. Not only were my sisters and I only able to see my mother twice per year, without a real explanation. I relived for my former aunt and uncle the way their brother John demeaned me daily while depriving me of a higher education, unwilling to cosign a student loan that would have allowed me to attend Pratt Institute, a school I had prepared for the previous four years. I added, not only did he mistreat me, but he also assaulted their mother, who lived with us, leaving her weeping on the kitchen floor, for having burned his steak. During my dissertation, Kathryn did not refute an accusation; she stayed quiet and kept her head down.
I spent about a year interviewing every adult member of the Graham family who might provide information or influence others to do so. They were dug in; mum was the word. Their bidding remained with the church, not their former nephew or cousin. I expected both groups, the Grahams, and the church, to be defensive, but it still hurt that those I knew as family for 48 years, had a choice to make, and they sided with the deceitful church hierarchy, continuing to protect the brand. The stonewalling only made me more determined.
Fueled by Purpose
The secret was unearthed in my middle age, a shocking revelation that gave my life a sudden, powerful purpose. It sent me on a decades-long search for the truth—a relentless pursuit that reshaped everything I knew. A true David-and-Goliath battle, my courage and tenacity were all I had to prevail over an institutional power.
Unearthing the Past, Discovering Resilience
As I mentioned before, I’m pragmatic, and in for the long haul. As a truth seeker, there is always opposition. Bite by bite, one can eat an elephant, and that was my mantra. Before I found the courage to knock on the doors of the church for answers, I decided to contact names I found in my deceased mother’s phone book.
The opening response from most was, “If your mother didn’t tell you, why should I?” During this process I learned patience. My first call or visit wasn’t always successful. I stayed polite yet persistent, accomplishing more than I thought possible over the years. Yes, years! The quest took nearly three decades. I like to think my visits with these strangers affected them like they affected me. Like my mother, I was warm, sincere, and an open book of emotion–not intimidating. They felt my need to know, and with my mother gone, they filled gaps of my history I never would have learned without them.
It took more courage for me to approach members of my father’s order than to connect with my mother’s friends. As a Catholic, we were raised to hold the office of a priest in high esteem, as our representative of God. I had a restless night prior to my first visit with Father Reddy, the editor of The Oblate World, the newsletter in which my father’s obituary appeared. I thought it was a good place to start learning more details of my father’s past, since my father founded the worldwide publication in the 40’s and remained the editor most of his career.
“I played and replayed several scenarios in my mind while trying to decide on the best approach to Father Reddy. Caution was essential. I had no idea if Father Reddy knew of my father’s indiscretion, or if my contacting him would cause alarms to go off, barriers to go up.” (Buried Truth, p. 137-138)
I brought Melodie with me. I thought it was a good idea, since an attractive woman in our presence might distract him from the essence of my probing visit. I was indirect with the priest, suggesting my family knew Father Sullivan from Buffalo, and I’d like to learn more about him. Father Reddy avoided being direct also, although he had to know who I was, since my facial features are a mirror image of the photo of my father he published in The Oblate World.
“Despite my suspicions, our visit with Father Reddy got off to a good start. He had a friendly, round face and exuded an air of confidence. “Tom was a great preacher,” he told us. “He would debate anyone on any point of theology and usually win.” Father Reddy said that Tom was a voracious reader. “While the other priests watched the Red Sox in the TV room, he’d walk the hallways reading Jesuit literature, Time, and Businessweek.”” (Buried Truth, p. 138)
As time went on, I not only got a clearer picture of who my father was and the many traits I shared with him; I became more comfortable approaching the church. And more confident, receiving not just one, but two fortune cookies with the identical message: “Depart not from the path which fate has you assigned.”
Amazingly though, throughout that entire experience, not one member of the clergy referred to my father as “your father.” In my presence, they always said “Tom Sullivan.” Although disingenuous and deceitful, I had to hand it to them, they were true soldiers for their cause; don’t incriminate the church. I got pleasure from a newly installed provincial of the order who told me this, “I was warned you were lingering out there.” Today, I wear the acknowledgement as a badge of honor.
Allies and Advocates
“Thanks to Mike, Steve, Laurie, and others, the story was out there. Olan Horne, a passionate and articulate advocate for victims of abuse by clergy, reached out to me. Olan suggested that we try for a meeting with Cardinal Sean O’Malley of the Boston Archdiocese.” (Buried Truth, p. 194)
But eventually, after years of asking the church for acknowledgement, in a turn of fate, I received permission from The Oblates to exhume my father, Father Tom Sullivan’s remains to collect samples of his DNA–provided I front the bill and no press could be present at the graveside. It’s not the path I wanted–to have to exhume my father’s remains to receive an acknowledgment from the Oblates or the Catholic Church, but it was the path I ultimately had to take. And on June 18, 2018, with the help of forensic anthropologist Dr. Ann Marie Mires, after hours of waiting with Melodie, the body was exhumed, and the DNA was collected.
In early September 2018, Dr. Mires revealed in person, the DNA was a 99.99999% positive DNA match. Meaning now finally, without a doubt, I was able to put to rest who my father was: Thomas Sullivan, an ordained Catholic priest, a theologian and scholar, and a man who fell in love with my mother—and after months in hiding, was forced to abandon us and return to his life of celibacy and piety.
The Gift of Purpose, The Gift of Healing
Today I’m considered by many as the “Poster Boy” for children of priests worldwide. I never worked toward or expected the recognition. I was just grinding through my own situation, bite by bite. When I started my search, I was unaware of the number of children around the globe fathered by priests. I was unaware of the abuse and neglect they endured. Most of all, I was unaware that my own personal quest could give voice to so many others, and give some of them needed courage too. My example, going all the way–including a graveside exhumation, demonstrates to others, perseverance pays. But proving who my father was wasn’t by itself what led to healing.
For years I had been looking for a confidant of my father, someone with whom he had shared his innermost thoughts. To find out if he thought of me–and what that might reveal. I had followed the paper and money trails in the hope of learning what the church and the Grahams denied me. I got lucky twice with two sources that helped me find his confidante, Sister Paschala Noonan, a Dominican nun. Medical records I had procured at the Oblate archives in Washington, D.C., noted, in case of an emergency regarding Father Thomas Sullivan, contact Sister Paschala Noonan, along with her telephone number. My second source was Doreen McCullough, a nurse familiar with my father’s relatives, having facilitated hospice for his aunts and uncle.
“Two hours later, we entered the living room of the house and met Doreen McCullough, grey-haired and about seventy years old. “What is our connection?” she asked. Speaking slowly, I replied, “I’m the grandson of Mary Smith Sullivan.” Doreen looked confused for a moment, then she began to think out loud. “Mary had one child...Father Sullivan. Oh my God!” she exclaimed. She immediately hugged me. Strangers a moment before, we were hugging and crying together in the middle of her living room.” (Buried Truth, p. 177)
Doreen mentioned my father would bring Sister Paschala with him for Sunday dinner periodically at her home in Lowell, MA. When I contacted Sister, I purposely did not mention my name on the phone initially. I started the conversation by stating I knew she was friendly with deceased Father Thomas Sullivan. Unguarded, she pleasantly concurred her admiration for him and how they met in Nebraska where she worked in the pediatric ward, while father was the chaplain. Sister agreed to meet with my wife and I the following weekend in Boston, so I could learn more about him. As I confirmed the date and time with her, slowly and clearly I gave her my name, Jim Graham, and said, “We will see you Saturday Sister,” and quickly hung up. I felt my name would have an impact, possibly negative, and I didn’t want to give her the opportunity to turn me down.
The following Saturday, Melodie and I drove to Boston and took Sister Paschala to lunch. She initiated our conversation by saying, “The mission statement of my order is to tell the truth, and that is what I am going to do today.” Then she turned to me with a gentle smile and said, “You are the very image of your father.” Truth is powerful, and those few words brought tears to my eyes. Those words were the beginning of my healing.
A Solemn Secret, The Cost of Silence
“Whether or not he survived his surgery, my father had needed to share the truth of his own life with someone whom he trusted. …He wanted to unburden himself of the secret that he had been carrying for years, by then—the secret that the Oblates of Mary Immaculate had sought to preserve at whatever human cost.” (Buried Truth, p. 180-181)
After years of deceit and stonewalling by the Grahams and the Oblate clergy, my quest for honesty was achieved, from a gray-haired nun with a kind voice in her mid 80’s. That day, Sister gave me several items of my father's--and some unexpected closure for us both. In a follow-up note to Melodie and me, Sister acknowledged she wasn’t able to grieve for my father following his death until now having met us.
A Burden Lifted
In a note we received after our first meeting, Sister Paschala wrote: “..After you and Melodie left (and I didn’t want you to leave) I had a good cry. ...After forty years of silence, I felt relieved.”
(Buried Truth, p. 182)
Melodie and I stayed in touch with Sister often and visited her twice in retirement at her motherhouse in Kentucky. In 1997, Sister Paschala published “Signadou”, a history of the Congregation’s foundation in Kentucky and later wrote the companion book “The Beautiful Circle of Friends" (La Bella Brigata)”. She died in 2021 at the age of 102, leaving a legacy of truth, faith, and steadfast love.
The Writing of “Buried Truth”
Yes, I’ve told my story at least a hundred times, sharing my emotional journey with friends and acquaintances. It is draining each time, yet soothing. Hard to explain. The listener has never questioned its authenticity–they can feel the pain, as they contrast my life to theirs. Some with childhood issues felt comfortable sharing their experiences too. Some who have had wonderful upbringings acknowledge some guilt knowing others haven’t.
A Window into the Pain
“If one day, they would officially say I am Father Sullivan’s son, that…would really be what I’d like them to say.” - The Boston Globe: “Children of Catholic priests live with secrets and sorrow: Jim Graham” (August 16, 2017)
The night in San Francisco, after Melodie broke the news at The Aqua, was a sleepless one. I had a myriad of thoughts that kept me awake, including that one day I’d be writing a book. The day came decades later, following the DNA results when I finally had an end to my quest. I thought, “This should be easy; I’ve told the story a hundred plus times.” It wasn’t.
Unfortunately, I wasn’t a reader, a writer or a scholar like Father Thomas Sullivan, my father. The story about him, my mother and me, had to be written with the compassion and emotion of my storytelling. I sent a sample of my work to a literary agent who remarked, “Jim, you have a fascinating story, but it is all about the writing.” Writing press releases and annual reports in business didn’t qualify for writing a complicated and poignant story that covered 70 years. But recalling that timely fortune cookie twice received, I knew I had to write this book as well. Fate dropped this gift in my lap, and I was determined to see it through to a successful conclusion. Thus, being an experienced networker, I forged ahead and found individuals to help.
I’m at peace now that my parent’s story, Melodie’s part in my story, and all the other characters who make up the story, are well represented. But I’m not sure I would have gotten here without all of the support I received along the way–especially, without question, my wife Melodie who cheered me on until the deed was done. The process was arduous, but it was worth it.
You can learn more about my decades-long journey from pain to purpose
…in my recently-released memoir, “Buried Truth: A Poignant Story of a Man’s Search for His Father, Exposing Powerful Forces Bent on Hiding the Truth”, which can be purchased online through Archway Publishing and Amazon. You can also hear a bit of my story on this iHeartRadio interview (Feb. 14, 2019).
Closing Reflection
The emotional impact of my story remains with me. It is part of my DNA. I still get emotional telling it or reading a few lines at a book signing. To those who read it, I hope you will take from it, a word, a thought, an experience, that will touch your heart and somehow enrich your life. Buried Truth is not a self-improvement book, yet every life story has something to share. Something that might register, even though you’re not looking for it.
Natasha Stoynoff, a freelance journalist and a three-time New York Times bestselling author, writes this:
“…Buried Truth follows a son’s relentless search for his father and the truth behind his loving parents’ tragic fate. I cried, laughed, and swore aloud reading this. At times troubling, at times tender, the reader roots for the author on his decades-long journey and yearns for a justice hard to find but a peace possible to attain.”
How about you? Is there a quest calling to you, or a story you need to tell? I hope you read my book. But I also hope, whatever fate has assigned you, you borrow some courage from me, and take the first step toward the answers awaiting you. The rewards are greater than whatever challenges you may face along the way.
To follow Jim’s story or connect with him directly, you can find him here on Facebook. He’ll be happy to hear from you. We’d love to know what you think of his article and his book as well! Contact us to let us know.