Rev. John Smyth is not perturbed that roughly 85 percent of the children at Maryville Academy in Des Plaines are not fellow Catholics.
Instead, the abused and neglected children entrusted to Maryville are urged to practice the religion of their choice.
“We have kids who are Baptist, Methodist, Muslim and Jewish,” said Smyth, Maryville’s longtime executive director. “We teach to the values, not the steeple. I tell the kids, whatever you are, be good at it.”
Though Maryville is a member of Catholic Charities of the Chicago archdiocese, the academy is not funded by the church, and it supports an ecumenical community.
Smyth says mass at the Maryville chapel at 11 a.m. every Sunday, but many of the children head to other churches, including Willow Creek in South Barrington and the Assembly of God in Mt. Prospect.
“The first time they go to a new church, it is hard,” Smyth said. “But the kids always find families from the churches who are willing to pick them up at Maryville on Sunday morning.”
Earlier this week, all was quiet on the scenic 98-acre campus on Central and River Roads. The children and young adults ages 7 to 20 who live at Maryville attend summer school each morning and return for lunch at noon.
Stacey Konieczka, a program manager at one of the diagnostic homes, said the 11 children who live at the home are immersed in a 90-day evaluation.
The children are wards of the state and were referred to Maryville by the Illinois Department of Children and Family Services.
“We have little ones coming in who have been physically and sexually abused,” Konieczka said, “and they have really aggressive behavior.”
Konieczka was only on the job a few weeks when she was kicked in the stomach by an angry 8-year-old boy.
“I just had my spleen removed before I started the job, so the kick really got me good,” she said. “Maryville called me and said, `Are you coming back to work?’ Of course, I did, and now that child is one of my favorites.”
On the wall of the home, a chart documents each child’s schedule and behavior with a point system. Breaking a rule forfeits privileges, while displaying responsibility reaps increased freedom.
From chores and homework, to dinner and bedtime, the children at Maryville are required to follow a strict program that officials said builds security and strength.
Still, building trust can be a nearly impossible task for social workers faced with children who have been victims of abuse and neglect.
Konieczka said one boy in her care requires medication to sleep; another takes Prozac to fight off bouts of despair.
The social workers at Maryville share grim stories that they say inspire them to continue their mission.
One child with cerebral palsy lost his wheelchair after his mother sold it to pay for drugs. Another boy was locked in a closet most of the day for the first four years of his life and sexually abused for the next four.
A 16-year-old continues to lament being removed from his mother’s home, even though the woman physically abused the boy since his birth.
“In his eyes, she’s the best person in the world,” Konieczka said.
“We see things that you just can’t stay up at night and think about,” added Clare Conerty, spokeswoman for Maryville.
Conerty said officials aim to reunite children with their families, but usually it is not possible.
“We try to find the best location where that child can thrive,” Conerty said.
Though the staff at Maryville does not teach formal religion classes to the children, Conerty said that in order to survive and succeed working at the academy, courage and faith are imperative.
“This is not just a job, it’s a calling,” she said. “When you go into social work, you know you will never be a millionaire.”
Marco Rainge, 19, is spending his last few weeks at Maryville before he enters an independent-living program and, someday, the military.
“The first time, I was at Maryville five years, and then I went into foster homes,” said Rainge, a recent Hersey High School graduate. “I came back to Maryville because I prefer this. It is safer, and you grow and bond with the staff.”
Glancing over at his youngest “brother” at the home, 8-year-old Demetrius, Rainge passes on a few words of wisdom.
“I advise him to stay in school, go to college and major in something you like, and don’t get in trouble with the law.”
