Betrayal

The Reverend Mark Sorvillo cut an extravagant figure—dining at expensive restaurants, shopping at luxury stores. It took a sting to prove he was stealing from his parishioners

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On Friday, November 5, 2004—the day before the annual parish dinner dance and silent auction—a notice was sent to the parents of  parish schoolchildren. It announced a special meeting the following Monday. "I was the school board president, but Sorvillo wouldn't tell even me what the meeting was about," says Cunniff. "He just refused."

Most parishioners at St. Margaret Mary consider the grade school the heart of their parish. "There might be parishes that are vibrant and growing without a school," says McGuire, whose family has had three generations attend the school, "but I can't think of one." Admittedly, by the fall of 2004 the enrollment at the grade school was at an all-time low of 163 students (the peak enrollment had been 14 years before with 560). But suggestions made by the school board and parents to reinvigorate the school by expanding the preschool and kindergarten had been rejected in recent years. "A preschool and a kindergarten are the engines that feed students into your system," says Dooley, "but Sorvillo and the principal—someone who had taught me back in third grade—always flatly refused to consider the idea."

At the Monday-night meeting, an anxious audience of 150 parents gathered in the assembly hall. Sorvillo and Brockhagen announced that due to financial difficulties the parish school would be turned into a charter school. Renting out the building for a charter school, they argued, would generate an annual income for the parish, providing a needed influx of funds.  

"They presented the charter-school idea as a great thing, even though it was turning a parochial school into a public school," says Tony Porto, the vice president of the school board. "Don't worry about it, they said; the kids can have religious classes after their school day." Sorvillo had more news: The part-time marketing and development person who had been hired for $20,000 a year had actually spent her time writing the charter-school proposal; a charter-school application fee of $10,000 had already been paid by the parish; and the teaching staff had been given bonuses, including $3,500 for the principal.

"The explosion of anger in that room was incredible," says Cunniff. By all reports, Sorvillo and Brockhagen lost control of the meeting when parents refused to stop shouting questions and complaints. Finally, Sorvillo concluded the gathering by saying there would be a parishwide meeting three nights later to inform everyone about the charter-school idea. "It was the dumbest thing he could have done," says Cunniff. "It gave us time to mobilize."

Fliers were handed out. A notice about the upcoming meeting was posted on the marquee in front of the school. And then, on Thursday afternoon—several hours before the meeting—Cunniff heard that the sign on the marquee had been changed. It now read MEETING CANCELED. "I called Mark, and he said, 'No, this isn't the time to have a meeting. People are too upset.' Then I found out he had changed all the locks on the buildings. The entire laity was locked out of every building."

If Sorvillo had hoped that would deflate the momentum gathering against him, he grossly underestimated the level of frustration within the parish. Organizers decided to hold the meeting anyway; if they couldn't get inside the parish buildings, they would meet in the parking lot. In bitterly cold weather, more than 400 people gathered outside that night. Sorvillo had turned off the floodlights that illuminated the parking lot, but people brought candles and cocoa. They also called television news crews, and images of bundled-up people fighting for their school filled the late-evening newscasts. "That night the majority of the parish finally stood up and said no to Sorvillo," Dooley recalls.

The next day, Sorvillo left for a vacation in Hawaii.

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