Best American Crime Writing 2006 - Mark Bowden [73]
“What happened is, we knew he was dangerous, okay? We shipped him off to [monasteries]. Stayed ten years. Then he got married.”
O’Brien is currently in the hospital. His health appears to be failing.
But the Texas Rangers have his complete story on tape. Now they just need a prosecutor.
MORE THAN A MILLION MEALS GO OUT to the needy each year from the Society of St. Vincent de Paul’s sprawling kitchen and warehouse facility in south central Phoenix.
The Society would be unable to feed the city’s disadvantaged, as well as offer them clothing, medical aid, and numerous other forms of assistance, if it was not for the charity’s six thousand volunteers in the Valley of the Sun.
From the 1980s to 2003, it was John Feit’s job to recruit and coordinate the activities of the Society’s volunteers. There are thousands.
The Society’s Steve Jenkins and Steve Zabilski were asked to talk about the John Feit they know.
“He was phenomenal at reaching out to the community and teaching volunteers what it meant to grow closer to God through charity,” says Jenkins, a longtime coworker and friend. “He is so clearly a man who has a genuine love for serving others.”
“John often went beyond what anyone would remotely imagine a man doing,” says Society executive director Zabilski. “He truly lived his beliefs. And his passion motivated many others to do more than they otherwise would have done.”
The man they described is humble, deeply charitable, wise, kind, and gentle. Their John Feit has a mind that is nimble with history, scripture, and philosophy.
Their friend is nothing like his alter ego, the lead suspect in the brutal slaying of Irene Garza.
“It’s black and white,” Jenkins says. “We knew nothing about these past issues. We’ve only seen the white.”
Feit began volunteering for the Society soon after joining the parish of St. Theresa near his home in the early 1980s. In the mid-eighties, Jenkins says, Feit was asked to join the Society’s staff to liaise with volunteers.
“He was perfect for the job,” Jenkins says. “He spoke with such passion and clarity about the mission of the Society.”
Jenkins and Feit worked countless hours together, including during a trip into Mexico to do the charity’s work. There, he says, Feit was the interpreter: “He speaks fluent Spanish.”
Zabilski, director of the Society since 1997, says Feit’s personal charity “knew no bounds.” Several years ago, Zabilski says, one of Feit’s co-workers was facing financial difficulties trying to support a family.
“So John comes to me and asks that I reduce his salary and give the other person the money,” Zabilski says. “He’s the only person in my twenty-five years of doing this who has ever done that. His only request was that I don’t tell anyone where the money came from.”
Feit also was instrumental in raising fifty-five hundred dollars to purchase and renovate a house for a poor couple trying to raise their twelve grandchildren. It was the first time the Society “got into the extreme makeover business,” Zabilski says.
Feit retired from his Society job in 2003.
Jenkins and Zabilski were asked to read through the evidence and allegations from the 1960 cases.
“This is simply not the John Feit we know,” Zabilski says. “To us, it’s like two completely different people.”
A VISITOR COMES TO JOHN FEIT’S DOOR asking for information about the JustFaith program he’s involved with at St. Theresa’s church.
Feit opens the door to the guest with a broad smile. He says he would be pleased to tell the visitor more.
Feit’s hair is no longer black, the glasses no longer horn-rimmed. His thick shoulders are somewhat hunched, but he is vibrant and expressive. He still has that south Chicago accent tinged with the Irish brogue.
On the wall of his small condo is a picture of his two daughters and his son.
His wife, Mary, is at the store. On the wall is a knitted plaque: “Dull Women Have Immaculate Homes.”
Feit shows the visitor something he wrote about JustFaith to the pastor at St. Theresa: “My experience,” Feit wrote, “has been that