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The town of Litchfield is preparing to celebrate the life of longtime coach David “Dave” Driscoll with a public memorial at the Litchfield Community Center. His picture now hangs in a local restaurant, part of the community’s tribute.
But for one former student, the memorial feels like a deep betrayal.
“When I saw his picture in the restaurant, I got nauseous,” he said. “It feels like the town has forgotten what happened to us.”
He recalled being given alcohol as a middle schooler and enduring inappropriate touching disguised as “massages.” He said his best friend was among the boys who reported abuse to police, and that knowledge has haunted him ever since. “I’ve carried guilt my whole life, because what happened to him was worse,” he said.
According to police records from the time, multiple students reported inappropriate sexual behavior by Driscoll. Investigations did take place, but no charges were ever filed, with officials concluding that moving forward would “not be in the best interest of the children.”

The survivor says the abuse was not isolated. “There were at least twenty boys over thirty years who went through this,” he said. “We all knew. And the town knew too.”
For him, that failure to act created a lifelong burden: protecting others while feeling unprotected himself. Even after Driscoll left the school system in the 1990s, he remained involved in activities with children. “I felt like I had to keep other kids safe,” the survivor said. “I didn’t want what happened to me to happen to them.”
The silence around the case reflects a broader national reality. According to the U.S. Department of Justice, only about 25 out of every 1,000 sexual assaults result in a conviction. For male victims, the barriers are even higher: research from the National Sexual Violence Resource Center shows that one in six men has experienced sexual abuse before age 18, yet most never disclose it. In the 1970s, ’80s, and ’90s — when many of these alleged incidents occurred — the stigma was even greater. Boys who spoke up risked being labeled weak or mocked as “gay,” creating layers of shame and silence.
Today, as friends of Driscoll raise money for funeral expenses, the survivor says he would rather see donations go to organizations that support victims of violence. “If people want to give in his name, give it to the Petit Family Foundation,” he said. “At least then it honors the children who suffered instead of the man who hurt them.”
For him, the memorial is not just about remembering a coach — it’s about a community once again ignoring those who tried to speak out. “We told them,” he said. “They knew. And they still put him on a pedestal.”









