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Authors: Ralph Sarchie
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frightening. When the movie came out, I begged my parents to take me. Because of all the hype about it being the scariest film ever made, they debated if I was too young to see it but relented after quite a bit of pleading from me. They knew how much I loved horror movies.
Standing in line outside the Utopia Movie Theater on Union Turnpike, in Queens, I was filled with a mix of excitement and apprehension. I was the only kid my age in line, and that added to my fear. Throughout the film, I was riveted to my seat, but what sticks out in my mind and terrified me the most was when the eyes rolled back in the girlâs head and only the whites were showing. Iâm sure that most peopleâs vision of what demonology is all about came from that movie: Mine certainly didâuntil I participated in real exorcisms, years later, and learned that only in the imagination of Hollywood screenwriters do peopleâs heads spin around. And although Iâve heard of people levitating during the ritual, I have yet to see it happen myself. All that revolting green vomit was more Hollywood hype, but I know of cases where possessed people have vomited stranger things than thatâsuch as worms or nailsâduring an exorcism.
That night, after seeing the movie I lay in bed with the lights turned out, scared shitless being all by myself, and remember my father calling to see if I was all right. When he heard the sound of my voice, he knew I wasnât, and told me to come and sleep with him. What a relief! I particularly appreciated that kindness from my father because he was a strict disciplinarian with a quick temperâa trait Iâve inherited myself, and struggle to control. My dad and I also have the same name, so my mother, Lillian, called him âbig Ralphâ and me âlittle Ralph,â even after I reached my full size of five foot ten and 200 pounds.
My mom was an easygoing woman who always had a smile on her face and liked to laugh and joke around. That made her popular as a beautician, and customers flocked to our kitchen in Flushing, Queens, every Saturday to get haircuts. I would eat my oatmeal surrounded by the cloying smell of hair spray, which I hated, and wish sheâd get some other job.
Although we lived in a mostly Jewish neighborhood, my parents were Catholics. I wasnât a particularly devout kid myself, even though I was an altar boy. I trembled throughout the first mass I served, terrified Iâd somehow screw up and embarrass my mom and dad. Over the years my parents never pushed me to go to mass, saying they didnât want to pressure me into religion, but thought I should make up my own mind. I got a good feeling from the old-fashioned church we attended, and sometimes went there at lunchtime to sit in a pew and enjoy the silence and warm protection I felt there. That church was a refuge during turbulent times in my youthâand I got quite angry when I went back there a few years ago and saw its beauty had been destroyed by an ugly, misguided renovation.
While my dad didnât push God on me, his fondest dream was that I would become a professional baseball player. By the time I was three, he was putting a bat in my hand and teaching me how to hit. I quickly came to share this passion, and devoted every spare second to the game. I attended Queen of Peace Parochial School and played baseball for the Catholic Youth Organization every April. The rest of the time I played in pickup games after school; in the summer, I was out on the field with my bat from sunup to sundown, just for the fun of it.
As I got a little older, I got involved with a street gang, the Falcon Boys. Compared to the gangs I see now as a cop, ours was almost laughably tame. We never shot or stabbed anybodyâand didnât even carry weapons. Sometimes weâd get drunk and have fistfights with another local gang or get into some minor mischief around the neighborhood. I was afraid to take it any
Standing in line outside the Utopia Movie Theater on Union Turnpike, in Queens, I was filled with a mix of excitement and apprehension. I was the only kid my age in line, and that added to my fear. Throughout the film, I was riveted to my seat, but what sticks out in my mind and terrified me the most was when the eyes rolled back in the girlâs head and only the whites were showing. Iâm sure that most peopleâs vision of what demonology is all about came from that movie: Mine certainly didâuntil I participated in real exorcisms, years later, and learned that only in the imagination of Hollywood screenwriters do peopleâs heads spin around. And although Iâve heard of people levitating during the ritual, I have yet to see it happen myself. All that revolting green vomit was more Hollywood hype, but I know of cases where possessed people have vomited stranger things than thatâsuch as worms or nailsâduring an exorcism.
That night, after seeing the movie I lay in bed with the lights turned out, scared shitless being all by myself, and remember my father calling to see if I was all right. When he heard the sound of my voice, he knew I wasnât, and told me to come and sleep with him. What a relief! I particularly appreciated that kindness from my father because he was a strict disciplinarian with a quick temperâa trait Iâve inherited myself, and struggle to control. My dad and I also have the same name, so my mother, Lillian, called him âbig Ralphâ and me âlittle Ralph,â even after I reached my full size of five foot ten and 200 pounds.
My mom was an easygoing woman who always had a smile on her face and liked to laugh and joke around. That made her popular as a beautician, and customers flocked to our kitchen in Flushing, Queens, every Saturday to get haircuts. I would eat my oatmeal surrounded by the cloying smell of hair spray, which I hated, and wish sheâd get some other job.
Although we lived in a mostly Jewish neighborhood, my parents were Catholics. I wasnât a particularly devout kid myself, even though I was an altar boy. I trembled throughout the first mass I served, terrified Iâd somehow screw up and embarrass my mom and dad. Over the years my parents never pushed me to go to mass, saying they didnât want to pressure me into religion, but thought I should make up my own mind. I got a good feeling from the old-fashioned church we attended, and sometimes went there at lunchtime to sit in a pew and enjoy the silence and warm protection I felt there. That church was a refuge during turbulent times in my youthâand I got quite angry when I went back there a few years ago and saw its beauty had been destroyed by an ugly, misguided renovation.
While my dad didnât push God on me, his fondest dream was that I would become a professional baseball player. By the time I was three, he was putting a bat in my hand and teaching me how to hit. I quickly came to share this passion, and devoted every spare second to the game. I attended Queen of Peace Parochial School and played baseball for the Catholic Youth Organization every April. The rest of the time I played in pickup games after school; in the summer, I was out on the field with my bat from sunup to sundown, just for the fun of it.
As I got a little older, I got involved with a street gang, the Falcon Boys. Compared to the gangs I see now as a cop, ours was almost laughably tame. We never shot or stabbed anybodyâand didnât even carry weapons. Sometimes weâd get drunk and have fistfights with another local gang or get into some minor mischief around the neighborhood. I was afraid to take it any
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