My name is Tony Golczak, and I am a resident of Lake Iroquois in Loda, Illinois. I have no children in the Paxton-Buckley-Loda School District. I did not grow up here. I don’t owe this district anything — except the truth.
But as someone who works here full time, I cannot sit quietly and watch what’s happening in this community go unanswered.
For nearly two years, this community has stood by while a teacher and coach, Robert Pacey, has remained on paid administrative leave following multiple allegations of sexual misconduct against students. What began as one student’s courage to speak up has grown into a class-action lawsuit involving at least five victims, and reports suggest there may have been well over a hundred complaints or incidents spanning seventeen years — from teachers, students, and parents alike. Not one of them was ever properly investigated or escalated. Not one.
And yet, here we are. The man is still collecting a paycheck from the same public school system that failed to protect its own students.
There have been meetings, live streams, Facebook posts, news blurbs — but barely a whisper of outrage. I’ve watched the school-board and city meetings online. I’ve read the summaries. I’ve seen the attendance numbers. Dozens of chairs sit empty. A handful of people show up. And in that handful, almost no one speaks up. No one stands and asks the obvious questions: – Why is he still being paid? – Where are the results of these investigations? – What protections are in place for students right now?
Instead, the town sits in silence — deer in headlights — as if this isn’t their problem, as if it’s someone else’s child, someone else’s responsibility.
I grew up in Chicago. Where I’m from, if even one allegation like this surfaced, the entire neighborhood would have demanded answers before the next sunrise. Parents would have flooded the boardroom. Reporters would have been knocking on doors. There is no universe where one accusation, let alone a hundred, would have been ignored.
But here, there’s an almost eerie calm. As though everyone decided long ago that confronting the truth would be worse than living with the lie.
I ask again — where are the parents? How can any parent send their child into a school system that’s under this kind of cloud without demanding accountability?
I get that this is a small town. I get that life here revolves around work, farming, family, and church. I get that many people struggle, that resources are tight. But none of that excuses silence. These are your kids.
Parents say, “It’s expensive to move them,” or “We can’t send them to private school,” or “We just have to trust the district.” No — you don’t. You don’t have to trust people who have already proven untrustworthy. You do what you must for your children. You make sacrifices. You find another way.
Every excuse made for staying silent keeps this same cycle turning. The kids learn that their safety and dignity aren’t worth upsetting adults’ comfort zones.
And to the mothers — some of you have made silence your brand. You need a man so badly you’ll ignore who he really is, just so you’re not alone. You’ll post about how strong and blessed you are while looking the other way when that same man mocks, manipulates, or abuses. Too many of you measure your worth by the man standing next to you instead of the truth standing inside you. You defend him because being without one terrifies you more than what he’s done.
It’s time to stop confusing attention for value. It’s time to stop acting like the mere act of having a man — any man — makes you “complete.” Some of you worship the image of being chosen, even if it means aligning yourself with cowardice. If you think that’s harsh, ask yourself what lesson your daughters are learning from watching it. They’re learning that silence is safer than honesty, that appearances matter more than integrity, that protection ends where comfort begins.
If you’re offended, maybe it’s because you recognize yourself in those words. That sting isn’t judgment — it’s a reminder that you can still choose courage.
And to the men of this community — where are you? You take pride in being protectors. You post about faith, family, and country. You drive trucks, wear work boots, and call yourselves providers. You brag about being “real men.” But when it’s time to stand up for children, to call out evil, to challenge a system protecting a predator — you vanish.
You can get a girl pregnant in high school or college and call yourself responsible because you “stuck around,” but you can’t take one evening to stand before your school board and demand answers? You can find time to polish your pickup, fix an engine, or talk about “protecting your own,” but apparently “your own” doesn’t include the students in your district.
You want the image — guns, babies, Jesus — but you don’t want the responsibility that comes with it. That isn’t manhood. That’s cowardice wrapped in camouflage.
And let’s be honest: everyone in town knows why this has been swept under the rug. The Pacey name carries weight here — old connections, money, and influence. People whisper instead of speak because they think wealth equals power. It doesn’t. Real power is independence — the ability to stand on your own feet, look anyone in the eye, and speak the truth without worrying about who signs your paycheck. I’ve built my life without needing favors or family names, and I don’t answer to anyone who hides behind theirs. So no, I’m not impressed, and I’m not afraid.
When this story finally breaks wide open — and it will, because the truth always finds daylight — this community will have to live with its reflection. The record will show that Paxton-Buckley-Loda parents, teachers, and leaders stood by for nearly two years, doing nothing, saying nothing, while victims carried the weight alone.
You’ll have to explain to the next generation why nobody fought for them. You’ll have to explain why the same adults who preach morals from pulpits and post patriotic slogans online couldn’t find the courage to ask a single hard question in public.
I’m not writing this because I have a child in your district. I’m writing this because silence is dangerous. Because I believe every community — no matter how small — owes its children truth and protection. Because every teacher who ignored a mandated-reporting duty, every administrator who turned a blind eye, and every parent who stayed quiet has failed their moral obligation.
What I’m asking for is simple: – Transparency — Where are we in the investigation? –Accountability — Who knew what, and when? – Action — What’s being done to prevent this from ever happening again?
The people of this district deserve answers, not polite evasions and closed sessions.
The world forgives a lot of things — failure, mistakes, weakness — but not this. You don’t forgive child molesters. You don’t forgive the people who knew and stayed quiet. You don’t forgive a school that pays the man instead of protecting the kids. You burn that system to the ground and rebuild it with people who still have a soul.
If that makes you uncomfortable, good. That’s the feeling of a conscience waking up.
Silence isn’t loyalty. Silence is guilt by participation.
Respectfully, but unapologetically, Tony Golczak Resident, Lake Iroquois – Loda, Illinois