I knew Tommy for over 20 years. He was a friend – not as close as some, closer than others. He was usually upbeat, always working and often watching and betting on sports – mostly football. Like myself, he loved the Rockets, Texans and Astros. His only flaw, from my viewpoint, was that when they were losing, he lost faith in his teams. Maybe it was because he always bet his heart and not his head, causing him to take some losses, but we’d always laughed about it later.
I’d see him walking to work in the hallway and I’d call out, “Tommy!”
He’d answer, “How are you, John?” When he asked how I was, I knew he was
sincere – not just talking or going through the motions. He really cared.
I think Tommy was a good guy who got caught up in the moment. Whatever he did to get himself here, I never asked because whatever it was, it was long ago, and the person that did it didn’t exist anymore.
Tommy died of a sudden heart attack last night. I don’t know his exact age, probably
something close to mine. What I do know
is – I’m one friend short.
Rest in peace, brother.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR. John is currently doing a two-year set off, after 25 years of incarceration. He is a frequent contributor as well as author of Life Between The Bars, a unique and heartwarming memoir recognized by Terry LeClerc, “This book is so good because each chapter is short, has a point, doesn’t whine. It’s an excellent book.” John can be contacted at: John Green #671771 C.T. Terrell Unit A150 1300 FM655 Rosharon, TX 77583
During the penalty phase of Charles Mamou’s capital murder trial, detailed testimony was given regarding the autopsy of Anthony Williams, along with a variety of photographs taken during the process. The imagery and description of the deceased’s wounds were shared in an effort to ensure the jury would come back with the ultimate punishment – death.
And the jury did. But Charles Mamou was never on trial for the murder of Anthony Williams. Charles Mamou was on trial for an unrelated crime in which he has always maintained his innocence and in which there is actually no physical evidence tying him to the crime scene. Not a fingerprint. Not a footprint. Not a hair. No DNA. No weapon. No eyewitness. No confession.
As the country’s leader in sending people to death row, Harris County, Texas, is skilled at getting capital murder convictions. In 1999, the year Charles Mamou was sentenced to death, the state executed 33 people. The following year, that number was even higher.
During the Mamou trial, the state didn’t just present photos of Anthony William’s body. They also went into great detail regarding the man’s death in September, 1998 – three months prior to the crime Mamou was on trial for. After the graphic autopsy testimony, William’s older sister was brought in to testify regarding the impact the loss of her brother had on her family. She spoke of Anthony as a baby and testified about the last time she saw her brother. She also shared how her older brother cries over the loss of his baby brother.
Next, the mother of Terrence Gibson was brought in to testify regarding the loss of her son. Terrence Gibson was the man who got shot during the attempted robbery of Charles Mamou. Mamou was never charged in the death of Terrence Gibson. Ms. Gibson testified regarding memories of her son and the affect his loss had on her and her family.
There was actually more testimony in the punishment phase of the trial regarding crimes Charles Mamou was never charged with than the crime he was tried for. Two decades later, Charles Mamou remains on Death Row and is out of appeals, and Harris County keeps its place as a leader at ensuring executions.
TO CONTACT CHARLES MAMOU: Charles Mamou #999333 Polunsky Unit 12-CD-53 3872 South FM 350 Livingston, TX 77351
Cruel. Heartless. Malicious and cold. That’s how the prosecutor described me to a jury during his pitch for a verdict of death. He argued that I was, “…just mean and unfit to live.” In the end, the jury agreed.
Four months after my arrival on Death Row, I stole money from an officer. Though inadvertent, it was theft nonetheless. It happened one morning during weekly ‘draw’, while one officer was training another. At that time, available funds withdrawn from inmate accounts were counted and stapled together.
The new guy – or Newbie – handed me a stack of bills in
fives and ones meant to total forty dollars.
With no prior incidents or errors, I tucked the bills in my pocket and walked
away. Within moments, a commotion stirred
as one inmate started shouting over missing funds. Others became disgruntled and offered up
chide remarks about the unfairness of the system. The senior officer tried to de-escalate the
ruckus, while the new guy searched frantically through the money bag. I sympathized with the perplexity strewn on
Newbie’s face. It was his first day on
the job.
After reassuring compensation, both officers exited the pod, as the ire amongst protesting inmates increased. With a prickly notion to count the money, I collected the bills from my pocket and discovered it wasn’t one stack, but two. The staples in each stack had snagged one another and pieced the money together. I called over the guy to which the funds belonged, explained the mix-up and offered him the money.
“Keep it,” he said, “Let the State pay for it, since they’re trying to kill us, anyway.” Tempers flared over systemic oppression, as the other inmates egged each other on. Reluctantly, I passed the money off to a friend – I was striking a blow to ‘the State’.
Not only was the meager blow ineffective to the State, it
was utterly deflected. I later found out
the replacement funds were deducted from Newbie’s salary. What a terrible feeling to know I was
responsible for a mark on his work record.
And by involving another party, I couldn’t return the money, though
keeping it cost me peace of mind.
Over the years, Newbie has gone on to become a well
respected officer. With an 18 year
tenure of working on Death Row, he has seniority over all other staff. He’s shown cordialness and consideration when
enforcing policy, while effectively performing his duties. A kind, hard working man, who seldom speaks,
but is eager to flash a grin. As I’ve
come to admire his professionalism, I’m reminded of my offense. Such a fine person deserves better from me –
I deserve better from myself.
Recently, I was among several Death Row inmates selected for
a random urinalysis. I arrived to find Newbie
overseeing the process, as he went about his task with a grin. I’d often experienced discomfort whenever he
was present – a nagging guilt that pecked at my conscience and impeded the wholeness
of reform. Tonight’s discomfort was more
salient and intense, as I struggled with the idea of possible outcomes. What if Newbie had lost his job, or been accused
of theft and criminally charged? I
squeezed my eyes tightly as my inner voice gathered. Newbie deserved better. So did I.
Some idle chat was used to generate dialogue on
self-reform. Then, with no one else
around, my words spilled forth, “Yeah, man… many of us want to be better, but
to do better, we have to own our truths.
Just like the time when that forty dollar draw come up missing…” At that point, I had Newbie’s undivided
attention. While confessing my role in
the missing funds, I felt embarrassed, but liberated. I searched his eyes for a hint of anger. They stayed steady and unrevealing. I expressed my sincerity to return the funds
and the difficulty of having involved another. His fixed look filled me with shame – a shame
I well deserved.
Finally, Newbie settled his thoughts and said, “Thank you for telling me that.” For eighteen years Newbie had been puzzled by the events of that day. He was certain about the money count and grateful to finally know what happened. I was moved to witness such genuine forgiveness, given instantly and without effort. I expected reprimand for my wrong-doing, instead, Newbie seemed relieved. His forgiveness was validation in the courage to right our wrongs. It was more than I deserved – it was a lesson in the goodness of humanity.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Terry Robinson writes under the pen name ‘Chanton’. Terry is a thought provoking, inspirational writer and a frequent contributor. It’s a privilege to share his work. He can be contacted at: Terry Robinson #0349019 Central Prison 4285 Mail Service Center Raleigh, NC 27699-4285
Someone familiar with the Mamou case recently said to me, “He’s
on death row because he’s black and it was Harris County.” One has to wonder, in a capital case with no
evidence and the state’s own witnesses contradicting their theory…
To pretend ‘black’ and ‘white’ doesn’t and hasn’t influenced the outcome of a lot of our history, would be irrational. It’s more comfortable not to talk about, but when a person is going to get executed in a case that was built on the contradictory testimony of a handful of people who all benefited from their testimony – maybe it’s time to talk about ‘it’.
It is possible ‘it’ played a part in the story of Charles Mamou, who was sentenced to death twenty years ago. We aren’t where we need to be today, and to pretend we were two decades ago would not be reality.
So, twenty years ago in Harris County, Texas, putting a
black man on death row might not have required as much as it would today. To make matters worse, Mamou’s case has never
been heard on appeal, so the events have not been touched by any progress that may
have been made. When Mamou’s execution
day comes, Texas will be able to put it behind them, without ever having to
take a second look. The press will then share
a distorted story, as they have on more than one occasion in this case.
Charles Mamou has always maintained his innocence, but the State’s actual charge against him, in contrast to what has been reported by well respected publications, was the kidnapping and murder of one victim.
Yet, to this day, journalists rarely report that accurately, making it easier for Mamou’s case to fade into history and never be looked at again. As recently as 2018, The Houston Chronicle falsely reported, “Charles Mamou Jr. has long declared his innocence in the 1998 crime, a botched cocaine deal that ended with three slayings along a side street near the Astrodome and the kidnap and murder of 17-year-old Mary Carmouche.”
Many would read that and think that Mamou was charged with slaying three people on a side street and then killing Mary Carmouche.
ABC News Amarillo also reported this misinformation in 2018,
“A former drug dealer from Louisiana on
Texas death row for the abduction, rape and slaying of a 17-year-old girl
during an apparent botched drug deal twenty years ago in Houston has lost a
federal court appeal, moving him a step closer to execution.”
US News and World Report also shared that same story on July
19, 2018.
Charles Mamou was never charged with rape or any form of
sexual assault. According to the state’s
witness, the autopsy revealed that the victim’s body was not bruised. She was found to have had a ‘scrape’ on one
arm, which actually supports Charles Mamou’s version of events regarding what
he said happened that night. There was not any trace evidence or DNA that
tied Charles Mamou to the victim. The prosecution never even asked their witness
if the victim was sexually assaulted, because they knew she wasn’t.
But, the prosecution needed to argue that Charles Mamou had ‘kidnapped’
Mary in order to have Mamou sentenced to death.
Their goal, as said in their
opening statement, was to prove that, “Charles
Mamou gets in the car still occupied by Mary Carmouche in the backseat and
drives away, followed by the car driven
by Samuel Johnson.”
That’s what they needed.
That’s not what their own witnesses said though. Kevin Martin, the state’s first witness,
supported what Charles Mamou said took place.
There was a shootout at a drug deal.
Charles Mamou was left behind by his partner in crime – who drove away leaving
Mamou on a dark alley with the individuals there to rob him. He jumped in the running car that he was
standing next to and sped away.
So, Kevin Martin testified that Charles Mamou’s driver left
him behind.
Dion Holley – another of the state’s witnesses – stated, “I
saw the red car backing up and turned around in the street, and I saw the blue
car leaving off.” Once again, their own
witness corroborated Charles Mamou’s version of events, indicating that the car
he was driven to the drug deal in left him behind. He then jumped into the running car left
behind by those who were trying to rob him and took off.
Holley replied, “That’s correct,” when asked if the red car
was trying to get out of there real quick.
Then asked, “And then that vehicle was followed by your mom’s
Lexus?”
“That’s correct.”
Charles Mamou also testified that his driver sped off
without him.
It was a dark alley, a shootout had just occurred, and Mamou
– who was now alone – jumped in the running car he was standing next to, and
got away from the scene. It’s reasonable
to think he was in fear for his life and trying to get as far away from people
who had come to that location with the intention to rob him at gunpoint,
regardless of what his intentions were during the drug deal. The survivors both testified that they were
there to rob Charles Mamou by force.
Charles Mamou denies all of the charges, but the state’s own witnesses testified that they were there to rob him on that dark alley and Mamou’s driver sped off without him. Most people – regardless of the poor judgment that placed them in that situation, would have jumped in that car and driven away in an effort to get as far away from people robbing them at gunpoint as possible. A reasonable person would be in fear for their life at that point.
The state presented a case showing that three men were
planning on robbing Charles Mamou by force on December 6, 1998. When the shooting started – everyone scattered
in fear of their lives, motivated by self preservation.
Charles Mamou, driving away in fear for his life, would not
be ‘kidnapping’ Mary, who was most likely tucked down as far as she could be in
the back seat when the shooting started.
Charles Mamou didn’t bring her to the drug deal down a back alley, and according
to his testimony she later got out of the car on her own.
‘Kidnapping’ had to be a part of the case, though, in order to achieve an execution. So regardless of the prosecution’s own witnesses contradicting their theory – Charles Mamou received the death penalty.
Charles Mamou has steadfastly denied all charges against
him.
TO CONTACT CHARLES MAMOU: Charles Mamou #999333 Polunsky Unit 12-CD-53 3872 South FM 350 Livingston, TX 77351
Associated Press. “Drug
Dealer from Louisiana on Texas Death Row Loses Appeal.” KVII,
abc7amarillo.com/news/local/drug-dealer-from-louisiana-on-texas-death-row-loses-appeal.
“Drug Dealer From Louisiana on Texas Death Row Loses Appeal.” U.S. News & World Report, U.S. News & World Report, www.usnews.com/news/best-states/louisiana/articles/2018-07-19/drug-dealer-from-louisiana-on-texas-death-row-loses-appeal.
Harris County, Texas. Charles Mamou, Jr. Vs. The State Of Texas. Sept. 1999.
I’m an addict in recovery.
For a long time I didn’t see it that way. As long
as I could stop using for a while I thought I was all right. I looked at the stopping, never the using.
As my addiction progressed, I thought of stopping less, and less. Only in desperation did I finally ask myself,
“Could it be the drugs?”
Addiction isolated me from people except when I was getting,
using and finding ways to get more. I
became hostile, resentful, self-centered and self-seeking. I cut myself off from the outside world. Anything not completely familiar became alien
and dangerous. My world shrank and
isolation became my life. I used in
order to survive. It was the only way of life that I knew.
Art by John A. Saenz
Even though I used, misused and abused drugs, I didn’t
consider myself an addict. I kept
telling myself, “I can handle it.”
Some of the highs felt great, but eventually the things I
had to do to continue using reflected desperation. I was caught in the grip of addiction, forced
to survive any way I could. I
manipulated people and tried to control everything around me. I had to have drugs, regardless of the
cost. Failure and fear began to invade
my life.
One of the aspects of my addiction was my inability to deal
with life on life’s terms. I tried drugs
and combinations of drugs to cope with a seemingly hostile world. I dreamed of
finding a magic formula that would solve my ultimate problem – ME.
I fell into a pattern of selective thinking. I only remembered the good experiences. I
justified and rationalized things that I did by telling myself it was to keep
from being sick or going crazy. I
ignored the times when life seemed to be a nightmare. I avoided the reality. The higher mental and emotional functions,
such as having a conscience and the ability to love, were sharply affected by
my drug use.
I became accustomed to a state of mind that is common to most
addicts. I forgot what it was like
before I started using. I forgot about
social graces. I acquired strange habits
and mannerisms. I forgot how to
work. I forgot how to play. I forgot how to express myself and how to
show concern for others. I forgot how to
feel.
While using, I lived in another world. I experienced only
periodic jolts of reality or self-awareness. At first, I was using in a manner
that seemed to be social or at least controllable. I had little indication of the disaster that
the future held for me. At some point my
using became uncontrollable and anti-social. This began when things were going
well, and I was in situations that allowed me to use frequently. This was usually the end of the good times,
and I always ended up doing time.
Knowing what my life can become if I use again isn’t what
stops me from using. It’s what I heard
at an AA meeting one day while in prison.
It went something like this:
“I know I still have
one more high in me. You know, one more
fix. That will be there until the day I
die. It’s real easy to get some dope if
I want it and get high. So, I know for
certain that there’s one more high in me. But what I do not know for sure is –
whether there’s one more recovery in me.”
That struck home with me because I just didn’t like drugs, I loved them. I’ve hit rock bottom this time, and I am fortunate to be alive, but with each passing day, the desire to use is less and less.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR. John Saenz is a talented writer and artist. He is serving a Life Sentence in Texas and can be contacted at: John A. Saenz #1113101 Ramsey Unit 1100 FM 655 Rosharon, TX 77583
Back in 1987 – ‘the Jamaicans’ hit. Not the whole of Jamaica – just a three-man posse of ruffians we town folk called ‘the Jamaicans’. It was during the crack epidemic of the 80’s, and I was thirteen.
Much of my days back then were spent goofing off with friends. On the weekends, we took our small allowances
and hoofed it to the inner city to buy marijuana. We were silly kids pretending to be
grown-ups, until times changed, and we could pretend no longer.
A time came when two of my friends began disappearing after
school, and by the week’s end they had extra money. When I asked their whereabouts, they replied,
“We sell rocks for ‘the Jamaicans’.” I
didn’t know rocks were in such high demand, but the incentive was worth
checking out, so we headed to New St. early the next day, to a neighborhood that
was a breeding ground for crime.
When we arrived there was a network of roguish teenagers
bustling to and fro. I watched as my friends
approached a man lounging in a luxury car.
He was short and dark complected, with even darker clothes, his voice rhythmic
and foreign. He handed them a package
and drove away as the three of us gathered curbside. Within moments, a scraggly man hastened our
way with a crumpled bill clutched in his fist.
He exchanged it with my friends for the contents inside a small plastic
bag – and that’s when it hit me. My
friends didn’t sell actual
rocks. They sold a drug called – rocks.
That’s when it all made sense. No longer were we simply standing in the
hood, it was more like the Promise Land – a bountiful mirage of tremendous
opportunity and it read, ‘see what you’ve
been missing?’ While I was home frying bologna and
watching cartoons, my friends had been out getting rich. Their success was equivalent to turkey with gravy
and man… I wanted to eat. The guy in the luxury car was called Roofus. We met the next day when I received my first
package of cocaine.
Life as a drug dealer began with invigoration, but soon became
hard work. I hopped in and out of cars all day haggling with strangers. My cup of judgment was neither half empty, nor
half full, but a lot of both – completely empty of experience, at the same
time, full of potential. Hustling drugs
day and night, I was fueled on by the idea of success. My motto was, “show me the money, and I’ll
show you commitment.” I wanted da ‘bling
to cast its illusion of wealth over poverty.
I wanted instant fame and glory, to shine amongst my peers. But stardom would come at a cost, and I
gradually became someone different. I
had walked across the bridge from innocence to inquisition, with something terrible
waiting at the bottom.
The first thing to go was my mother’s curfew. Next, I was a high school dropout. Courting girls began to occupy any time and
focus not spent dealing drugs. Then came
mischief, like vandalism and acts of violence. I was losing my grip on my values and drifting
on a sea of poor choices.
One day, I lost some drugs and had no way to pay Roofus. Frightened by the rumors of how ‘the jamaicans’ dealt with incompetence, I went into hiding. Imagine my surprise when Roofus called my house and threatened to harm my family. Suddenly, I was standing in a chilling darkness too great to conquer. Roofus demanded that I come to New St. to discuss payment. Along the way, I had a premonition of something horrible and decided to wait until I could come up with the money. A week later, Roofus skipped town after fatally shooting his girlfriend. I wondered if the bullet that killed her had my name on it.
The experience was a critical turning point in my life. While I did complete the journey across the bridge, my identity toppled over the edge. I gave my all to the dope game in hopes of something better. The price was my undying loyalty to streets – that gave nothing back.
There are 1,200 inmates here on the Ramsey Unit, and with
few exceptions, we are a well-behaved group.
For the most part, those with violent pasts have learned their lesson
and appreciate their civilized surroundings. Those who have spent their lives in prison have
finally found the best home. Many of
these career boys do not want to leave.
They are thoroughly institutionalized and cannot function on the
outside. A warm bed, three meals a day,
healthcare – how could they possibly top this on the streets?
I’m not implying this is a pleasant place. It is not. There are many men like me who never dreamed they would fall so hard and so many cruel twists in a long prison term. One of those twists is being slowly forgotten by the world and those you love and need. The mail, which arrived in bundles during the early months, gradually trickles down to one or two letters a week, until they stop altogether. The letters mean so much to us. They are a lifeline to the world.
How do you survive years in prison? You don’t think about years, or months, or
weeks. You think about today, how to get through it and survive
it. When you wake up tomorrow, another
day is behind you. The days add up. The weeks
run together. The months become years. You realize how tough you are, how you can function
and survive because you have no other choice.
I find the low levels of literacy among the prison
population depressing. Blacks, whites,
browns – it doesn’t matter. So many of these guys can barely read and write. It makes you wonder what’s happening in our
educational system – and is this the result?
I know that I can’t fix the educational system, nor the legal, judicial or prison systems. But I can dream my contribution to the fight will one day make a change. In the meantime, I survive one day at a time, and in doing so, maintain as much self-respect and dignity as possible because I will never become institutionalized.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR. John Saenz is a talented writer with a smooth, honest style, and I hope to share more of his work. He is serving a Life Sentence in Texas and can be contacted at: John A. Saenz #1113101 Ramsey Unit 1100 FM 655 Rosharon, TX 77583
Not everyone executed by Texas has been guilty of the crime they were executed for, and not all those currently on death row are guilty. That is reality. Another reality – it doesn’t matter your circumstances – the state of Texas treats all death row inmates inhumanely. If you live there, you live a solitary existence with no human contact and no eye on what is happening in the world around you. In many cases – for decades.
Charles Mamou, who has lived among the condemned for nearly two decades was recently led from his cell while it was routinely shaken down. As is standard practice, he was required to strip of his clothes, get physically inspected, and run his fingers through his hair – even though he has none. Then he was led to an empty cell while officers inspected his belongings.
While in the empty cell, Mamou noticed how loud everything was – the clangs of metal against metal weren’t buffered by a room full of personal belongings. Voices came back amplified and garbled. And then he noticed the window. It was the same size as the one in his cell – four inches wide and three and a half feet long – but it faced the other side of the building. The parking lot.
Charles Mamou
As he looked out of his temporary cage onto sights he never sees – cars; a mail delivery; workers going to and fro; and children actually sprinting on the sidewalk – in that moment, he realized just how displaced and removed from the world he has become. Standing on that bunk, in that empty cage, and peering out that four inch window – he was overcome with homesickness and how different everything looked than he remembered. Looking at the sky which he described as a bright Caribbean vacation beach blue, he couldn’t help but think of what all the inmates get caught up in thinking when they can’t stop themselves, “What would I be doing on a day like today?”
During the trial of Charles Mamou in 1999, one drug dealer
after another was brought in to testify against him, and it appears that none
of them were charged for their participation in any of the events that took
place. The state didn’t have DNA, a
confession, a weapon, fingerprints or an eyewitness, so they needed something to
convict Mamou with, and Harris County is very adept at getting people sentenced
to death, with the highest rate in the country.
A detective who was on the stand was asked, “At a later time
did you look for more than one individual other than Mr. Mamou?”
“Yes.”
“What is that person’s name?”
“We – there was an individual that – “
“Can you just give me his name?”
“Terrence Dodson.”
“Other than Terrence Dodson and Mr. Mamou, was there a third
individual you were looking at as a potential suspect?”
“A Shawn England.”
“How do you spell the last name.”
“I believe it’s E-N-G-L-A-N-D.”
“Okay. What about Samuel
Johnson?”
“Samuel Johnson’s name came up later in the investigation.”
“Were there any other names?”
“There was an individual by the name of – did I say Ced,
C-E-D?”
“I’m sorry?”
“Ced, an individual.
C-E-D is all we had.”
“So we have Charles Mamou, Ced, Terrence Dodson, Shawn
England, and Samuel Johnson?”
“Yes.”
So, when Samuel Johnson took the stand, he was very aware what
the outcome of the trial could mean to him, as he had already been taken into
custody at one point.
Johnson testified that on December 6, 1998, he took Charles
Mamou to, “buy some dope.” When asked
what he was going to get out of the deal, Johnson replied, “I was going to get
something out of it. I don’t know how
much.”
More specifically, he
was asked, “You were going to get dope, or you were going to get what?”
“Money.”
Samuel Johnson had no doubt about what was happening. He was asked, “Tell the members of the jury
exactly what it was that y’all were going to do.”
“Go buy some drugs.”
“All right. And do
you know the quantity of drugs that the both of you were going to be buying?”
“No, it was large.”
There was no question about Samuel Johnson’s understanding of the crime, and there was no doubt as to his role in the planned crime. “Did you have an agreement with Mr. Mamou to engage in some type of illegal conduct?”
“Yes.”
“You knew full well, when you left to go and, in fact,
throughout the day when you’re with him, that you were going to engage in some
type of illegal conduct?”
“Yes.”
“And you realized that conduct was a felony, correct?”
“Right.”
Samuel Johnson was going into a drug deal, knowing what he
was getting involved in. As the drug
deal went from one location to another, all parties trying to find a place in which
they felt comfortable, it was Samuel Johnson who drove the car – his car. Without his car and his cell phone – none of
it would have taken place.
At the scene of the drug deal, it was Samuel Johnson who
drove his car down that dark road with the intention to, “buy some dope.”
Samuel Johnson, according to his testimony, drove and participated in the drug deal. What is interesting is that even though he had driven down a dark road and parked, and by his account of the story he was there as part of a plan to purchase a large amount of drugs from people that a logical person would consider armed, Samuel Johnson expressed that he was innocent of everything that took place. He was guilty of all the planning and being aware of what was going to take place and actually being the only means of making it happen for Mamou – but once the drug deal actually took place and the shooting started – Samuel Johnson testified that he got back in his car, drove to his home, took a shower, drank a soda, didn’t disturb his wife and went to bed. According to him, the next morning he got up and went to work without ever speaking with anyone about seeing people get shot or the drug deal he went on that resulted in no drugs – although he supposedly watched his partner in crime drive the car away that was supposed to have the drugs in it.
After testifying as to how he innocently ended his evening,
it appears that Samuel Johnson was never charged with his involvement in what
took place that night.
Although he testified to his innocence after the moment that
the first shot was fired, at some point during the investigation, Samuel
Johnson was taken into custody by a homicide detective. While on the stand, he was asked, “At some
point you were arrested, right?”
“Right.”
“And you’re taken into police custody?”
“Right.”
“What’s the name of the officer that took you into
custody? Do you know?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Is it a homicide detective?”
“Yes.”
He also testified that he lied to police. He was asked, “Well, did you tell them at
that time when you gave a statement that you did not see anybody with a gun?”
“Yes.”
“Is that true?”
“No.”
“Is that a lie?”
“Yes.”
So, as with the other witness involved in the drug deal, Samuel
Johnson also admitted to lying on the stand.
On the weight of the testimony of drug dealers Charles Mamou has been living on death row for nearly twenty years, and is nearing his execution. He no longer looks out the four inch window on his side of the building, as he explained that all he can see through his regular window is another prison building, trees as big as Jack’s beanstalks, and a guard tower. Charles Mamou has always maintained his innocence.
TO CONTACT CHARLES MAMOU: Charles Mamou #999333 Polunsky Unit 12-CD-53 3872 South FM 350 Livingston, TX 77351
