Introduction Three years ago I met a young man who had been sexually assaulted, stabbed, and then crushed under the wheels of a car. I could not shake him off and walk away. In my first meeting, this young man did not have a name; he was simply introduced as "that boy from Foley."
He appeared suddenly in a gathering of Crosiers, as we were sharing memories and making plans. I told my religious brothers that I wanted to write a book about the Cross. My mission was to explore how a real story of suffering creates a community of suffering where the risen Lord as the crucified one offers healing. I needed to find a real story of the Cross.
One of the Crosiers in the group said, "When I was eight years old, my mother came home from Foley and said to us kids, 'It is a shame what they did to that boy from Foley. They pushed corncobs down his throat and up his rectum. They stabbed him. Then they threw him out of their car and ran over him.'" Without a moment's hesitation I said, "That's my story."
That "boy from Foley" was Roger Vaillancourt; he was seventeen years old when he was killed on October 6, 1957. While the parish Death Register reported the cause of death as "killed by a car on Highway 169," there seemed to be much more to the story. Two years of research and one year of writing followed.
During the first months of research, I tried to recover this story from a distance as an uninvolved observer. As a story of torture and murder began to emerge, I wanted to step back. But Roger's family and his many friends said, "You opened this door of painful memories; now you must take it all the way." I learned that writing a book about "reality Cross" meant living with a community of suffering and moving together from darkness into the light of truth and healing.
Roger's mother wanted to know the whole truth. When raw, disturbing stories were shared with her, Carol Vaillancourt said, "Keep on digging; I want to know all." She is eighty-seven years old and full of grace from a life filled with suffering. Before the research started, she told her kids, "I don't want flowers on my coffin when I die, only a large cross placed there. I have lived with the cross all of my life."
At least one hundred fifty storytellers helped to recover the story of Roger, which had become scattered during forty-eight years. Each storyteller held a precious fragment. No one knew the whole story. Searching for the truth, piece by piece, was like finding a hidden trail in the underbrush. When the trail faded away or divided, invariably someone's "hand on my shoulder" pointed me in the right direction. Roger himself was guiding the way.
The stories of rape, torture, castration, and murder appeared nowhere in newspaper articles, in the State Highway Accident Report, or in the Death Certificate. There were no reports of any investigations by the state patrol, by the Mille Lacs County sheriff, by the Benton County sheriff, or by the Foley police department. There were no records in the Princeton funeral home, where the body was taken first, and no records in the Foley funeral home, where it was prepared for viewing at two wake services. The gruesome stories, however, were flying around Foley and other area towns already on Sunday afternoon of the same day that Roger died at about 1:20 AM north of the Kitten Club.
What happened to Roger? Why did it happen and who was involved? What happened to the investigation? Why did all the officials in two counties and in two funeral homes, except for the state patrol officers, agree to cover up this story? Why did Roger's father participate in this cover up? Was the reality of castration so terrible that no one in authority could deal with it? What were the hidden issues of sexuality that motivated and caused the final sexual assault, castration, and murder?
There is a growing urgency to know the truth about the murder of Roger Vaillancourt. His mother, Carol, is holding on to dear life until she knows the full truth. She says that she is doing this for her other children. She wants them to receive healing for this gaping open wound. Anyone with any sense of justice wants to make it possible for Roger's mother to have flowers on her coffin when she dies, and not just a large cross placed there.
Hopefully Raising Roger's Cross will bring the rest of Roger's story out of darkness and into the light of truth. Risen life and flowers are waiting.
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