What Does It Take To Get On Texas’ Death Row?

Some might say – not much.

No eyewitness to the crime. 

No weapon. 

No DNA. 

No record of violence.   

No confession.   On the contrary – Charles Mamou has never wavered regarding his innocence.  That’s why he didn’t take a deal when he was offered one.  He put his faith in the truth and Texas justice nearly two decades ago.   That turned out to be a deadly mistake.  His fate was left in the hands of Harris County, Texas – a community with a long and well documented history of condemning people to death.

And so Mamou’s trial began.  The O.J. Simpson trial was still fairly fresh on peoples’ minds – and Charles was a black man in Texas.  The words of the Judge set the tone from the beginning, as he referred to O.J.’s trial that ended in an acquittal, stating that was, “not going to happen here.   This is the real world.  It is not California.”  The Judge also compared being a juror to, “being a pallbearer at a funeral.”  This was followed up with, “the State is going to seek the appropriate punishment in this case; that is, their claim that it will be the appropriate punishment, punishment of death.”

The case against Charles Mamou revolved around the hearsay testimony of individuals who were all involved in criminal activity, and some very questionable ballistics testimony regarding a never recovered gun.

But, everyone agreed on where everything began.  Five men met on Lantern Point Drive, near the Astrodome, for a drug deal that went terribly wrong.  Charles Mamou and Sam Johnson arrived in one car.  They were met by Deion Holly, Terrance Gibson, and Kevin Walter, who arrived in another vehicle.  Unbeknownst to Mamou and Johnson – Mary Carmouche was in the backseat of the second car.   Deion, Terrance and Kevin brought a seventeen year old girl to a drug deal they approached with loaded guns.

Things went wrong quickly, and the shooting began in both directions.  Terrance Gibson was killed holding a loaded gun – a clear indication his death was the result of self-defense, in which no one was ever charged.   The other two men with Gibson, Deion Holly and Kevin Walter were also shot, but survived.

At some point during the shooting, it appears Sam Johnson hopped in the car that he and Mamou arrived in, and drove down the street.  Mamou thought his friend had left, although Sam was actually turning around and coming back for him.  In that moment, Mamou made a life changing decision.  Alone in that alley, he got in the other men’s car and drove away – with Mary in the backseat.

According to Mamou’s testimony, when he realized Mary was in the car – he stopped and asked her to get out, but she refused.  He then met up with Sam Johnson and they drove to Howard Scott’s apartment.

There, Mamou got out of the car, asking Mary to get out as well.  He was then met by Sam Johnson and Shawn England, another acquaintance.  Mamou was crying and upset, and Shawn pulled him aside to say, “those guys got what they deserved.”  Shawn and Mamou then went inside, leaving Sam Johnson and Mary outside.

Once inside, Mamou was provided with clean clothes, and Shawn England and Howard Scott went outside to search the car that Mamou had arrived in and wipe it down.   Mary was still outside and talking to Sam.  Eventually, another friend arrived on a bike – Kevin.  They all talked for a little while longer before Sam Johnson, Kevin, and Mary left together.

Mamou left the apartment complex to make a call, and when he returned, he saw Kevin and Sam Johnson come back.  Johnson went inside briefly before leaving again with Kevin.

Later that night, Sam Johnson and Kevin returned, and Kevin got on his bike and left.  A cab came for Shawn England, who also left.  Mamou spent the night in Howard Scott’s apartment.

According to Mamou, Shawn England had taken the gun from Mamou while at the apartment.

Mary Carmouch was later found dead with a gunshot wound to her chest.

The prosecution disagreed with Mamou’s version of events and centered a good portion of its case on an unfired cartridge that was found near Mary’s body.  They claimed the unfired cartridge matched the fired casings at the scene of the drug deal gone bad.  It was their theory that those casings had travelled through the same gun barrel.  The science used to support such a theory is arguable even in the best of circumstances, but in this case – there was no weapon to test the theory out on.  The weapon used in the drug deal shooting has never been recovered.  So, there was ballistics evidence that is not a certainty in the best of circumstances, but in this situation there was even less certainty, as it was comparing used and unused casings from a weapon that couldn’t even be tested.

The prosecutor falsely argued the match was a certainty.  He actually used the word ‘identical’ when comparing casings, and also stated as fact, “this was placed in the same magazine that the fired bullets were placed in, thus, fired through the same firearm.”  He lied.  The prosecutor simply lied to the jury.

The other ‘evidence’ the prosecutor had was the testimony of five men who were all involved in criminal activity and willing to testify and point their fingers at Charles Mamou.  It was never investigated or made clear just how those men might have benefited from their testimony, although it is reasonable to assume they did benefit as they were incriminating themselves with their testimony. In addition to the very real possibility that they received personal benefit for their testimony, three of them were inconsistent and admitted lying and being untruthful with police.  None of the men ever claimed they saw Charles murder Mary.

A good deal of the prosecution’s time was spent trying to paint a picture of Charles Mamou as a killer who had killed before, but the reality is – Charles Mamou was never tried for any other killing.

Charles Mamou’s defense attorney didn’t strongly defend his client, but rather seemed to flounder.  At one point during the crucial ballistics testimony he stated, “not sure if I understand what that means.”  In reference to magazine marks he said, “what is the word I’m looking for to describe what a magazine mark is?”

The total amount of time the defense spent ‘investigating’ Charles Mamou’s death penalty case was under ten hours.  The total amount of time Mamou’s counsel spent meeting with ‘the investigator’ was 2.5 hours.

Although all of the testimony available to the defense during the sentencing phase of the trial wasn’t used, the words of those people who could have spoken describe Charles Mamou as kind, generous and respectful.

The thoughts of Claudia Milton, who knew Charles Mamou and his family, were never shared with the jury.  “When Chucky was older he would often talk to my son about his problems.  My son was on drugs and Chucky would try advise him to do better things with his life.  I wanted my son to be more like Chucky.  There was times when I went shopping and Chucky was in the grocery store, he would buy my groceries and never wanted any money back.   There were many other people in town that Chucky would help buy groceries, pay rent or their electric bill.  Chucky helped people.”

The defense also did not share the thoughts of Mark Benolt, who has said in an Affidavit, “To me, Chucky does not have a ‘rough bone’ in his body.  I have witnessed him paying bills for friends, family members and other people in the community.  Charles Jr. is a friend that everyone wishes to have once in their life.”

Oddly enough, even though all of the testimony that could have portrayed Charles Mamou in a positive light was not pursued by defense counsel, the prosecution was permitted to bring in victims of crimes Mamou was never even tried for, along with referencing these other deaths throughout the trial with misleading references to, “evidence that Mamou had killed two other people.”  And in describing those deaths that Mamou has never been tried for, it was stated, “Terrence Gibson.  Anthony Williams.  They were brothers.  They were sons.  They were dads.”

Charles Mamou was never on trial for any other murders, yet victim impact statements were allowed from relatives of Terrence Gibson and Anthony Williams.  Emotion filled testimony was given detailing how the loss of those men impacted their families.  This was followed up by the prosecution, “And when he pulled the gun and he fired and killed Terrence and Anthony, he ripped those families apart.  He devastated and destroyed.  And that’s all he’s ever done, with his drugs, with his guns.”

During the penalty phase of the trial, the Judge also stated, “it’s no more different than it is when we’re raising kids.  It’s just no more different.  If we ever told a child not to do something once and the child does it again, we’re going to react one way.  If we have told a child ten times in the last thirty minutes not to do something and they have done it for the tenth time, we’re going to react a different way.”

The U.S. Fifth Circuit Court of Appeals has denied Charles Mamou’s last appeal, and he is currently awaiting an execution date.

Regarding the denial of his final appeal and the knowledge that he will soon  be executed by the state of Texas, Mamou recently expressed his frustration, “Nobody believes in me!  I love me.  America isn’t the land of equality.  Never has been.  Let’s not pretend.  Let’s admit what it is.  And before I take my last breath, the whole world will know they fucked me over.  That will be the symbol of why I lived.”

If only we didn’t need a dead body to know that the trial of Charles Mamou wasn’t just.

TO CONTACT CHARLES MAMOU:
Charles Mamou #999333
Polunsky Unit 12-CD-53
3872 South FM 350
Livingston, TX 77351

Related Articles:  Texas Death Sentence Clouded By Irrefutable Doubt;
Awaiting Execution – “Have You Ever Felt Like You Can Taste The Future?”;
Because They Can – Execution In Texas;
Letter From Key Mamou Witness Contradicting Testimony;
Testimony Worthy Of An Execution?  The Mamou Transcripts Part I;
The Mamou Transcripts – Part II;
The Mamou Transcripts Part III – Death Sentence Built On The Testimony Of Dealers

Writing By Charles Mamou

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Texas Death Row’s Mixed-Bag Psychology

“Fuck your religion!” yelled an irate Polo, attempting to defend his stance in a one-sided debate with another inmate, Bob Cook, a professed Christian, though he never read the Bible.  Not once.  He never attempted to read it either. He possessed an NIV version that sat quietly on top of his rusted cell’s table, collecting dust.  “All He was, was the original MGM magician – no better than David Copperfield!”

Polo was a celebrated and outspoken atheist and verbally strong-armed the one-sided debate about religion. Of course, Bob wouldn’t have anyone disrespecting his faith, his Jesus, whom he felt was God’s son, although he never totally understood the ‘how’ aspects within his beliefs.  Bob was a typical, middle-aged, white Southerner with traditional Texan pride. He was short and round in stature, built in the mold of Barney Rubble from the Flintstones with hair as white as cotton and alopecia taking over the center of his head.  He was a goodhearted guy and my neighbor for about three years.  When you are held within the close quarters of Texas Death Row, in solitary cells 24 hours a day, you learn a lot about your neighbors. You get a better understanding of who they are.

I knew Bob well, perhaps better than anyone on the planet. He had a genuinely cuddly personality, always attentive to the needs of others more than his own.  He was not one to argue and would often display dumbness when others were attempting to explain something asinine, just so the talker could get whatever it was they wanted to say off their chest.

He didn’t have much and lived on about 20 bucks a month.  To put things in perspective, he didn’t have shit, but what he had – anyone who wanted it, could have.  That was one of his flaws – he was too kind and an easy target to be taken advantage of.  He was guilty of the crime that landed him on death row, though it could be contested that his crime did not fit the criteria for a death sentence. Nonetheless, he was riddled with remorse, often saying, “I’m going to hell.”

When I asked him why, he said the chaplain told him that the Bible said, “Thou shall not kill.”  Texas death row chaplains carry no sway with me ever since one told me that my being executed was God’s will.  I calmly told him, “Bullshit.”

I then took out my Bible and read several scriptures to Bob, leaning on my studies from when I was enrolled in theology classes. One reason why he never read the Bible was because he couldn’t. He was illiterate. I read to him about forgiveness, faith and salvation, which he appreciated, and in time he gained hope that he might have a chance to get to heaven.

Of course, ‘perfection’ has never been a Christian strong suit, Rome wasn’t built in a day and some dogs refuse to let go of old tricks. So when Bob had enough of Polo’s Christian diatribes, he declared “May Jesus Christ forgive me now for what I’m about to say.  Fuck you, Polo!” and with that, he walked away from his cell’s door, steaming mad, and went to sit on his bunk.

Polo began to laugh at Bob’s parting cussing. His handsome and smooth caramel colored facial skin was shining like polished armor due to his overuse of commissary bought baby oil that he used daily.  He liked the smell that reminded him of when he was a baby and being smothered with the loving hugs of his mother as he was held between her tender arms and her comfy bosom.  He was thirty-two, and had been incarcerated more than he had been in the free world.  He was arrested at the age of 15, held in the county jail until he was 17, and then sent to death row. He would be executed/murdered before the USSC’s decision to ban all executions of juvenile offenders.  Like most youngsters who grew up around environmental dogma, he was rough around the edges, not cordial and trusted no one. He spoke in waves which often confused the listener as well as himself to some degree, because his ideologies were a perplexing mixed bag of black power, black militant-ism, Malcolm X-ism, Islamic beliefs that he adopted from others, and the scratch your head in utter disbelief performances he often acted out as he mimicked Bill Cosby’s Fat Albert show character with the line, “Hey, hey, hey, it’s Fat Albert!”

I often psychoanalyze people, trying to understand why they do the things they do.  Polo, perhaps, still felt as if he was fifteen-years-old and living in a thirty-two-year-old body.  Maturity never found an outlet within his mind in which to become liberated.  His actions and attitude were a reflection of the way he thought – childlike.  What else could you expect?

Polo stood alone in the middle of the section’s day room.  No one stood at their cell’s door that he could argue with.  Since arriving in the Polunsky Unit in 2000, group recreation, work programs, televisions, and any form of physical contact have been banned from the all-male branch of Texas Death Row.  So he began the redundant activity that we all do when we find ourselves alone in the day room with no one to talk to – walking in circles.  Consciously or unconsciously we lower our heads as if in shame and count in our minds the steps we take to make a full circle.  One… two… three… four… five…  It actually takes seventeen strides to complete a full circle in the dayroom.  I watched Polo from a distance as I sat in my cell, counting along with him. It would be the last time I was to see Polo in the flesh – alive.

Texas death row inmates are housed in a building called Twelve Building. It’s encased inside electrical razor wired fencing. On some mornings you can see the dead carcass of a stray cat or dog that didn’t get the memo about not touching the fence. Did these creatures not see one of the several bright yellow postings that warn, ‘Electrical Shocking Fence.  DO NOT TOUCH’?  Mayhap the animals were illiterate too.

There are six pods within Twelve Building, each lettered either A, B, C, D, E or F.  Within each pod are six sections, also lettered A, B, C, D, E or F.  Each of the six sections can hold fourteen cells for fourteen inmates.  Each man is alone, twenty four hours a day.

Inmates communicate by yelling loudly at the guy they are trying to have a civil conversation with. Though in a normal setting, yelling to obtain a civil conversation is indeed madness in nature. Ninety percent of the cells leak when it rains, some more than others. Black mold has run amuck within every cell on death row. The building was cheaply designed and constructed, and the infrastructure is weak and crumbling. Fighting spiders, mosquitoes and other critters is a daily chore.

The failures of the infrastructure are so timely and repetitive that one can’t help but assume there is a conspiracy going on, because nothing works as it should here. Every year during the summer, the water is going to get cut off for a day or two straight. There won’t be fresh water to drink, no water to shower with and no water to flush the accumulated shit and piss that will idly stew. And let me tell you, once the sun’s rays bake this concrete building’s back wall, the structure becomes an oven, causing any religion you thought you had to get temporarily thrown out the window due to the foul odor.  If anyone asks us if we are comfortable or okay at that point – they are often greeted with the same aggravated, “Muther fucker, what do you think?”

 

ABOUT THE AUTHOR.  Charles “Chucky” Mamou is living on Death Row in Texas.  His last appeal has been denied and he maintains his innocence.

He can be contacted at:
Charles Mamou #999333
Polunsky Unit 12-CD-53
3872 South FM 350
Livingston, TX 77351

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High School Students Working With People On The Inside

People sometimes look at you funny when they hear you are an advocate for the incarcerated.  Less often, some begin a debate about the need for fire and brimstone.

Advocates don’t have time to get caught up in a debate.  Nobody will ever convince us caring about people is a mistake.  Those who stick with it – use the debates, the occasional ugly comments, the injustice we see – as inspiration.

Marianne Teresa Ruud is an English teacher in Norway and someone who cares.   This is why she does what she does…

A week before Christmas, 2013, one of my female students lost her fifteen year old brother to suicide. He had been bullied through elementary and middle school and decided he didn’t want to live anymore. My student, along with her family, found him dead in his bed – no note, no explanation.  Just gone.

She was devastated and didn’t know how she was going to get through the rest of the school year. Other teachers kept telling me not to bring up her loss, not to talk about it.  On the contrary, I knew this was what we had to do. It had to be addressed, not quietly hidden away.

That’s when we came across the documentary, Young Kids Hard Time, by Calamari Productions.  The students expressed a great desire to write to the two individuals in the movie, Colt Lundy and Miles Folsom.  The letters the students received in return not only contained the prisoners’ stories, but also poems they had composed, reflections on books they had read and some very beautiful artwork. The letter writing developed on its own over time, giving us knowledge and insight.

We are now in touch with many intelligent and talented young people on the inside. It has motivated students to reflect and ponder on their own lives, as the people on the inside have helped them put into words the emotions and burdens they carry. The project has been most successful with at risk students, those with special needs and our advanced students who seek more knowledge and opportunities to obtain it.

For the past five years my students at Nannestad videregående skole (upper secondary school) in Norway, have continued to write and receive letters from incarcerated individuals, all juveniles sentenced to life and life without the possibility of parole from all over the United States of America.  Their ages differ as some of them who were sentenced as thirteen and fourteen years old are now in their thirties. The youngest individual we worked with was sentenced when he was twelve. Others have only been in prison for seven to ten years. A few of them are intellectually disabled and others were sentenced not knowing how to read or write. Their crimes vary from parricide, to robbery and felony murder. Most of them are victims of abuse, poverty, neglect, social violence and drug use. For the moment we are only writing to males, however, we will be expanding our project to include females.

Over the years we produced a full album of music, composed to selected poems we received. This was done by our media and communication students. There is also an extensive project looking at food waste and food corruption that was carried out in cooperation with some of the individuals, as prison food is of a very low standard and private companies supplying food to prisons are not serving proper portions and nourishing diets. We have also researched various topics together, especially with those individuals getting their high school diplomas and those pursuing a higher education.

Greetings from Norway,
Marianne Ruud, English Teacher

In October of 2017, Part I and Part II of a report were aired in South Bend, Indiana, sharing how Marianne Ruud and her students began their interaction with Colt Lundy.

Marianne said something in that report that I liked.  She expressed that Colt Lundy needed to have people in his life with his best interests at heart.

If we all had each other’s best interests at heart the world be a much different place.

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Butterflies, Cats And A Turtle

It was noon when she arrived.  I hadn’t seen her for weeks – a single, female cat, just seeking a little companionship.

The prison recently sealed all the screens, so she must have found a way to circumvent security, and she made her way to my casa.  Animals somehow know to seek me out.  I fixed her some mackerel and warm milk, and eventually, she left the way she came, whatever way that was.  Her name is Rae, if you see her.  She’s a ginger colored tabby, with low mileage and good tires.

It wasn’t thirty minutes later before Rae’s adopted son strolled in – a black as coal Tom with paws I hope he never grows into because he may be mistaken for a panther.  I was out of mackerel, so we shared a package of vienna sausages and the rest of the milk.  He thanked me for the meal and was on his way.

I was feeling content at that point and decided to take a nap.  It had just stopped sprinkling, and the weather had cooled to about 85 degrees, a lot better that the 95 it had been.  I fell asleep easily, listening to Jonny Lang, and slept the sleep of someone with a clear conscience.  It was around 1:30, and I had a little time before dinner and the next insulin shot.

When I woke, what I saw on my window took me by surprise.   There were about five or six blue and black butterflies, not swallowtails, but with rounded wings and light blue markings on the edges.  Like monarchs, but not.  They were looking in at me.  The visiting butterflies wouldn’t be so unusual, but I had just dreamed about those same butterflies.  They were an omen.

And, then it was Saturday.  At around 2:30 p.m., I look out the window and saw my next visitor.  It was in the alley between the buildings, crawling through the little bit of water left behind by the showers – a turtle.  It was about the size of my hand and making his way to an important turtle meeting.  Or maybe he was in a race against a rabbit that can’t possibly win – turtles never lose a race.

I’m grateful I’m alive. I wish I were home with all my heart, but in the meantime, I’ll wait faithfully for my Father to deliver me there. I am loved, wanted and entertained, all in the same breath.  No one could ask for more.  But I will…

 

ABOUT THE  AUTHOR.  Shipwrecked and found.  John is currently doing a two-year set off, after 25 years of incarceration.  He is a frequent contributor as well as the author of Life Between The Bars, a unique and heartwarming memoir.  John can be contacted at:
John Green #671771
C.T. Terrell Unit A150
1300 FM655
Rosharon, TX 77583

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