My dad died on a Sunday morning. By early afternoon, their home was filled with friends bringing food and comfort to my mother. I stood in the kitchen, refilling the coffee pot, when a man walked in and introduced himself to me.

“George Smith. You must be Pam; I’ve heard a lot about you. ‘Glad you could get here.” He leaned against the counter and began to reminisce about his 10-year friendship with my father.

“He and I mentored over at the high school. The kids were always so happy to see him walk in the place. He’d help ‘em with their homework, help ‘em fill out college applications…. He did some repair work over there, too, when they needed something done. He was a real pillar of the community. The kids loved him, and he loved them!”

“Really?” I asked, stunned.

I looked at George and thought, “Did you know he brutalized his own?”

Pillars of the community–those folks we hold up as role models to be admired, emulated. The ones we wish we could be more like: the sweet old man in church who’s a “grandpa” to all the little kids; the police officer who puts his life on the line to protect us every time he puts on his uniform; the wise doctor who knows just what to do in an emergency. The teacher, the coach, the others in your community who you think well of, who you’re friends with… who you trust to make smart, sound decisions. Would you leave your children with them? Should you?

Take the community of Woolwich Township, in southern New Jersey. A 911 operator there named John Desper fielded calls from panicked individuals in all kinds of emergencies. He calmed them, dispatched the correct authorities to their locations, and talked them through their crises until help arrived. It’s an emotionally-tough job; not everyone is cut out for it. Then again, not everyone would do what Desper liked to do on his off-time: have sex with babies.

Yes, he enjoyed not only looking at pictures and videotapes of infants and toddlers in sexual positions, but having sexual relations with them as well.

This former 911 operator is currently serving 25 years in prison.

William Rhoades was  described as an “upstanding citizen” in the community of Phoenixville, PA. A retired teacher, he coached Little League baseball for years. Families loved him, and proudly watched their sons grow in the game under his guidance. One day, a little boy told his mother that the coach had been touching him in a funny way. Upon investigation, it was discovered that touching wasn’t all the coach did–and not just to this little boy.

Rhoades was found guilty of raping 4 boys between the ages of 4 and 11, repeatedly over several years. He videotaped his crimes so he could “re-live them afterward,” and kept a graphically-detailed journal of the events as a keepsake.

He is now serving 25-50 years.

There’s the Cleveland, OH mom of 4 who had “so much love to give” that she brought 3 foster children into her home. Concern by school officials led to a police investigation, which in turn led to the arrest of foster mom Renee Lester on charges of abusing her foster children by means of withholding food, locking them in a filthy basement without heat, light, or beds to sleep on, and locking them out of bathroom facilities.

The case is ongoing.

We can look into the cozy home of an “average family of four” in a small New York community. The boy had learning disabilities and struggled through life. The girl, a couple years younger, was bright but quiet. Both parents were college-educated. The mother worked part-time off and on, but was mostly a stay-at-home mom. The dad worked hard and always provided for his family. The bills were paid, the kids had music lessons, dance lessons, and after-school activities. There were vacations every summer when school was out. Friends came over to play with the kids, and the neighbors frequently stopped by to chat with the parents. Typical family stuff.

Except for the beatings. Except for the times–and there were many, so many–when the hardworking provider would slam his son against the wall, throw him to the floor, and pound his fists into him with the hand-to-hand training he learned in the army to fight an enemy to the death. That was before he took off his belt. The daughter’s screams of terror were met with, “You wanna cry?? I’ll give you something to cry about!”

There were times he squeezed his fist around the boy’s throat, choking off his air supply, and the child, not even 10 yet, could only flail helplessly in agony. One time, a smash to the mouth burst a lip. The daughter actually heard the blood spurt across the room and land on the tile floor. That sickening sound will never be forgotten, along with the tortured cries of her brother.

Once, what would have been a normal disagreement between a parent and child was resolved by this father pulling a knife out of a drawer and holding it to his son’s throat. The daughter stood by then, too, terrified, wishing she could disappear.

You never really know most of the people in your community behind the day-to-day facade. They’re probably not going to tell you they like to have sex with young children, or that they lock their kids up in the dark so they can’t “steal things.” The father in this last story retired from the job he worked so hard at, and moved to Florida. He mentored in a high school until he died. All the kids loved him, and he loved them.

He just brutalized his own.