Category Archives: Harsh Sentences

Harsh Sentences, Juvenile Justice, Sentenced to Death

Did Texas Just Execute An Innocent Man?

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This week while I was driving my kids home from swim practice, a man lost his fight to live.  He didn’t struggle during his execution, but he chanted, trying to make his voice heard and be a part of this place till his last breath.

Most of us are wired to try to save lives, I hope.   Preserve it.  People get paid to keep us safe, heal our bodies and minds, improve the length and quality of our lives.  That makes it hard for me to come to terms with a state strapping a person down and employing people to take their life – while they are immobile – while invited guests watch.  Some people call that justice – I call it barbaric.  I call it the ultimate irony.  I call it a lot of things, but justice isn’t one of them.

Some firmly believe Robert Pruett was innocent of the crime he was put to death for.  They were fighting and calling and praying until the end.  Texas can’t argue some of the reasons they believe that.

Robert grew up knowing what struggle was.  His dad wasn’t always around and was incarcerated for some of his childhood, while his mother tried to numb herself with drugs and moved from trailer park to trailer park.  There weren’t family meals shared around a dinner table, hugs when you needed them, and displays of unconditional love.  He never knew that life.

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When his father wasn’t in jail, the man was running from trouble with his family in tow.  He also taught his little boy how to get high when he was seven years old.  Robert was raised rough, and it was all he knew.  And when he was fifteen years old, he got into a fight with Raymond Yarbrough, a 29-year old man who lived in the same trailer park.  Things got out of hand when Robert’s father and brother got involved.  According to the prosecution and the state and everyone – Robert’s father stabbed Yarbrough to death, while Robert held the man down.  That has never been in question.

At sixteen years of age, Robert Pruett was essentially sentenced to life in prison, receiving 99 years for his participation in Yarbrough’s death.   A boy, who never received any guidance in his life and only knew abuse of all kinds, held down his neighbor while the authority figure in his life, his father, his role model, his guardian, violently killed the man.  Robert wasn’t wired to do anything less.  He needed intervention way before that day, he needed an advocate, a hero, somebody to rescue him – but he never got that.  Instead, Texas felt justice would be served by putting him in prison until he died of old age.

So the sentence began.  The story didn’t end there though.  When Pruett was twenty he was accused of killing a corrections officer.  Daniel Nagle was found stabbed, and the cause of his death was actually reported to be a heart attack.  Two years later, a jury found Robert Pruett guilty of murder, and he was sentenced to death.

It’s not that cut and dry.  Texas doesn’t know beyond a shadow of a doubt that Robert Pruett killed that officer.  Even if the cause of his death was bleeding from the stab wounds, which it wasn’t, there is doubt that the man Texas put to death this week even committed the stabbing.

Eighteen years after the officer’s death, Robert Pruett maintained his innocence.  What’s more, some of the inmates whose testimony was used to convict Robert received rewards for the cooperation.  Often times, in the world of prison, inmates testimony is excluded as ‘untrustworthy’ if it doesn’t benefit the institution, but if it can further their cause – an inmate’s testimony can send someone to the death chamber.   The jury didn’t know that the witnesses benefited from their testimony.

Outside of the inmates, there was no physical or DNA evidence to put Robert Pruitt at the scene of the crime.  In a crime that takes place in such close quarters, it seems logical to think Robert’s DNA would be found on something – the weapon, the torn up disciplinary paper next to the body, the body itself.  There was none.  There was nothing found on Robert’s body either.  Nothing.

I wasn’t on the jury.  I don’t know what they were thinking, but I’ve seen aggressive lawyers paint pictures.  The truth gets blurry – it can actually sometimes get obscured from view.  In a world of smoke and mirrors, should there be a death sentence?  Should death be decided based on ‘beyond a reasonable doubt’?

Corruption takes place in prisons all the time. There is story after story of officers going rogue.  They lose perspective.  According to one report, the officer that was killed had some enemies at the prison because he was trying to shed light on some corruption at the facility.

Everything I read about Robert Pruett leads me to believe he was a smart man.  In addition to the many questions raised in his case, I find myself questioning a man murdering someone who wrote him up and then tossing the torn up report next to the dead body.  It defies logic to try and stay so tidy that you don’t leave any DNA behind, but you leave a torn up note with your name on it.  Again – Robert’s DNA was not found on the note or the weapon.  And the victim’s blood was not found on Robert.

It’s pointless now to argue whether Robert Pruett murdered anyone.  People will continue to question it without me.  But, there is one thing there is no question about.  The state of Texas buckled Robert Pruett down and calmly injected enough poison into his system to end his life, with witnesses watching every moment of the process.  That we know.  We also know that Texas will continue to do that as long as the laws allow.

REFERENCES

Baptiste, Nathalie. “Junk Science? Unreliable Witnesses? No Matter, Texas Plans to Execute Robert Pruett Anyway Mother Jones – 2017-10-10T10:00:11.000Z.” Junk Science? Unreliable Witnesses? No Matter, Texas Plans to Execute Robert Pruett Anyway, Mother Jones, 10 Oct. 2017, dailyreadlist.com/article/junk-science-unreliable-witnesses-no-matter-tex-71.

Randall, Kate. “Robert Pruett, First Imprisoned at Age 16, Executed in Texas despite Questions about Evidence.” Dolphnsix Intelligent News Agency, www.dolphnsix.com/news/5430477/robert-pruett-first-imprisoned-executed-texas.

Robinson, Nathan J. “Texas Should Not Execute Robert Pruett Tonight.” The New York Times, The New York Times, 12 Oct. 2017, www.nytimes.com/2017/10/12/opinion/texas-robert-pruett-execution.html.

“Texas Inmate Executed for Prison Guard’s Death.” Fox News, FOX News Network, www.foxnews.com/us/2017/10/12/texas-inmate-executed-for-prison-guards-death.html.

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Harsh Sentences, Sentenced to Death

Molding A Case To Fit A Death Sentence

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It happens. All lawyers aren’t motivated by what the public likes to believe they are – justice. There are a good number who are motivated by money. For others, their motivation may be career advancement. Some are motivated by fear of losing their position.

There are all sorts of reasons why some lawyers have no interest in revealing the truth so justice can be served. Unfortunately, in the world of our justice system, things are rarely what they seem, and if an advantage can be gained by twisting the truth, or making it up altogether – truth be damned. If truth isn’t a factor, lots of things can be done to make the pieces fit.

For someone facing the death penalty – this flaw in our system takes on an entirely new meaning. It becomes ‘life or death’ if a defendant is appointed an attorney without the proper experience or determination required for their case. Combine that with being prosecuted by someone who is not motivated by seeking the truth, but rather by winning a conviction. It’s the perfect recipe for a case to be molded to fit the desired outcome.

Did that happen in the case of Ralph Trent Stokes? And, if it did, isn’t his story the only story we need to abolish the death penalty? If there are questions or doubts, to any degree, in any single case of a person sentenced to death – isn’t that enough argument to not reserve death as a means of punishment?

In July of 1983 Ralph Trent Stokes was sentenced to death for the murders of Mary Louise Figueroa, Eugene Jefferson, and Peter Santangelo, a crime that took place in Smokin’ Joe’s Corner in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.

Roger King was the prosecutor. He had a reputation, experience, and actually held the record for most death sentences achieved in the state of Pennsylvania when he retired. I suppose we’ll never know Mr. King’s motivation, but his results speak for themselves. He wasn’t just known for death penalty sentences, he also had charges of misconduct against him in death penalty cases. One would hope that when sentences involve death, a prosecutor would pursue that course going by the book. One would hope that death penalty cases wouldn’t be thought of as notches in one’s belt. One would hope. That’s simply not always the case. A law degree is not a badge of honor. A law degree does not guarantee the one who earned it has any interest in justice.

Malcolm H. Waldron, Ralph Stokes’s defense attorney, came late to the case, after Ralph’s first lawyer was permitted to withdraw. Waldron was appointed on April 19, only three months before the conviction. He had three months to prepare for a trial involving murder and the death penalty. From Ralph Stokes’ account, his attorney lacked the experience and the conviction needed to make the case evenly heard. That’s just the way our system works. It simply isn’t a reality that the guilty get convicted and the innocent walk. It has a lot more to do with how determined, or not determined, your lawyer is. That is reality. Ralph’s defense attorney did not even use an investigator in his effort to put together a legal defense.

In a petition filed by Ralph Stokes it says that during the trial the prosecutor made a lot out of sneaker prints left in barbecue sauce at the scene of the murders that night. There were items taken as evidence from Ralph’s home, including a pair of sneakers. It was argued and implied in court that there were stains on the items that were a combination of blood and barbecue sauce. In reality, and left out of the trial, was the fact that the prosecutor was in possession of lab reports that revealed no blood or barbecue sauce was found on the sneakers or any of the items. So, the prosecutor not only linked Ralph to the scene through those sneakers, but he was also aware while he was doing it that there was no scientific link between Ralph’s sneakers and the crime scene.

So, the jury was led to believe there was physical evidence placing Ralph at the location of the crime – that didn’t exist.
Apparently, in 2004, when attorneys for Ralph were trying to locate the homicide file from the police department, it was ‘missing’. I am unaware if it has ever been found, but, again, this is an issue that involves taking the life of Ralph Trent Stokes as a form of punishment, so I would think every stone should be turned, every bit of information at hand. This isn’t a tea party. There shouldn’t be time limits on new evidence, nor should there be missing evidence. The prosecutor, King, was also linked to other cases where homicide files went ‘missing’.   Isn’t that, in itself, a red flag?

Donald Jackson, one of the witnesses against Ralph, was supposed to have been his partner in the crime. Let’s face it – it was in Donald’s best interests to say whatever he had to say to save his own neck. It has already been determined that the prosecutor wasn’t as interested in the truth as he was a conviction, and Donald had previous crimes he had to deal with.  Donald Jackson was a witness that was motivated by self preservation.

Another witness against Ralph, Eric Burley, was a friend of Donald Jackson’s. He also had charges against him in unrelated crimes at the time of his testimony. For him, he was facing an attempted murder charge in a case where he shot a man. Oddly enough his charges were downgraded to aggravated assault at the same time he was being interviewed by police in Ralph’s charges. Some would argue that a man who can point a gun and shoot someone, isn’t someone who would be adverse to saying whatever he needed to say in order to make his own day in court a little more comfortable.

Leonard Wells, Eric Burley’s brother, was yet another witness. It was in everyone’s best interest to point fingers at Ralph.

Even Renard Mills had a reason to point his finger at Ralph. He was an employee at the restaurant that knew Ralph and testified that he recognized Ralph’s eyes through the ski mask. He was the only eyewitness and his testimony was crucial. But – the prosecutor withheld the fact that Renard was actually being investigated for the crime and was a person of interest. Again, another witness whose best interests were served by Ralph being found guilty.

Ralph has proclaimed his innocence from day one and has never wavered. He is a man sentenced to lose his life for three murders.
He was prosecuted by a man who valued the number of death penalty convictions he could accumulate, a man who has been accused of misconduct in other cases, and a man who was willing to not share some of the truth that he knew at Ralph’s trial in order to better his odds.

Several witnesses who were key components of the case had criminal backgrounds and something to personally gain by pointing to Ralph as the murderer.

The only eyewitness, who claimed to recognize Ralph from the holes in a ski mask, was also under suspicion for the same murders.

In 1983 Ralph Trent Stokes was nineteen years old. He has been in prison for thirty-four years. He has been facing the death penalty for over three decades.  Was the case against Ralph molded to fit the crime, truth be damned?

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Harsh Sentences

Waiting To Die Behind Bars

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Jack Allen is a sixty two year old man, and he lives in a Florida prison.  Twenty years ago, in the spring of 1997, he was arrested for Burglary with Simple Battery.  In order for Jack to complete the sentence he was ultimately given, he must die.  If a person gets ‘life’ in the state of Florida, like Jack did, it doesn’t matter if they are twenty years old or fifty – they will live to die in prison.  It also doesn’t matter if they feel remorse or if they dedicate themselves to helping their fellow inmates.  It doesn’t matter if they take every class the prison has to offer.  Nothing they do matters.

There was life before prison for Jack Allen.  There was life before children and marriage and responsibilities.  There was childhood.  For Jack there were some challenges from the beginning.  He tells of being molested by a babysitter when he was three years old.  From the age of eleven, he learned how to deal with foster care, low income housing and being on welfare.

A child’s mind isn’t normally well equipped for those types of things, as they maneuver through life and its growing pains.  None of us can really know how it felt to be that little boy, or the growing man who didn’t know how to process the things he went through and instead attempted to numb himself with alcohol and drugs.

I don’t know much about the case that he is serving Life for.  There are questions, but more important than the questions, to me, is that Jack has served enough time for Burglary with Simple Battery, regardless of the case.

Jack Allen describes a Life Sentence in Florida like this:

“It becomes worse and worse after every court denial, every death in the family, every marriage missed, every child born without you there.  Special days like graduations and so forth are just nails in your coffin.  Each passing day, more dirt is thrown on your grave, you are dead, and your body just does not know it yet.”  

In the twenty years that he has been in prison, Jack Allen has lost three brothers, a sister and a mother.  He is sixty two years old and is not in the best of health.  The little boy who had more than his fair share of troubles, grew into a man that leaned on things he shouldn’t have and found himself in prison.  He was charged with Burglary and Simple Battery, has spent about a third of his life behind bars and as it stands, he will never again be free, no matter how old or feeble he gets.  The state of Florida intends to incarcerate him until his last breath.

If you would like to read more about the details of Jack Allen’s case and sign a petition in support of his release, click HERE.

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Harsh Sentences, Sentenced to Death

John 19:16b “So the soldiers took charge of Jesus.”

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On the 18th of January this year, I watched as my beloved friend of two years handed himself over to the squad of correctional officers in order that he might be executed.  Before the officers came to get my friend, we celebrated Holy Communion together.  He was grateful to celebrate communion one more time and hear the words that he was God’s beloved.

We knew our time was drawing to an end, so I asked my friend, “If people ask me about you, what should I say?” With a quick laugh and broad smile he said, “Tell them I know Jesus.” Ahhh yes, my friend knew Jesus and Jesus knew him.  I called him my “theological partner” as he uniquely was able to show me facets of God and Scripture that I just could not see. His life had been redeemed and transformed by our all-loving and all-merciful God.  His smile beamed God’s unconditional and immeasurable love every single time I was with him.

Then I asked him one last question, “When you look back over your life, what are you most grateful for?” Without hesitation he said, “For the unconditional love of God, of friends, and especially of family. I feel everyone’s love right now, and it is overwhelming to me. I can’t be grateful enough.” I then told him, “I am grateful for your friendship, your unbounded love for me, and your laughter. I love you so much.” To which he replied, “I love you more.” And I ended, as I always did, with a forthright, “Impossible!”

I was then got escorted out of the cell area and around to the observation room by one of the correctional officers. The observation room was already packed with people.  On the back row there was a seat left just for me. Everyone stared as I sat down. The room was closed and hot; it was like sitting in an oven. There were windows along the right hand side and in front of us. Everyone just sat and stared at an empty gurney; sweat rolled down my back.

After a few minutes, my friend walked into the execution chamber with his head bowed and with his shoulders slumped. There was nothing about him that made him look like a threat to the six or so officers in charge of him. Nonetheless, the officers moved as if he was challenging them. They quickly and forcefully pinned him to the table and strapped him down, each officer assigned a strap, as strap after strap after strap was fastened on top of his body. Maybe they were afraid of some last minute recoil to the macabre proceedings, but he did not do anything to warrant their fear-filled and anxiety ridden actions. They also were all wearing safety glasses, as if waiting for my beloved friend to spit on them – something he would never do.

Once my friend was lying on the table, arms outstretched and completely restrained, a curtain was closed between the witness room window and the execution chamber. We then sat in that sweltering room for the longest 35 minutes of my life. For those 35 minutes all we did was stare at the curtain before us without any idea what was happening on the other side. Whispered requests were made to find out what was going on behind that awful curtain, but it was clear that no one was going to be allowed out of the room.

I slipped my shoes off as I knew that it was holy ground that I was standing on and wanted to treat it as such. I opened my Bible, but I was having a hard time reading it. I flipped to Psalm 46 and read, “Be still and know that I am God.” I repeated it over and over again as a prayer for my friend and as a prayer for me as I stared at the evil curtain in front of me.

Finally the curtain was pulled back and my friend was asked if he had any final words. He said a simple, “Nope.” He had told me earlier that he felt like his words of regret, respect, and apology in a much publicized video before this dreadful hour best conveyed his feelings. I let him know that those words of sorrow were indeed enough. My friend tried to lift his head from the table.

Unfortunately, because the table was parallel to the ground and his body was so tied down, he could only lift his head up an inch or maybe two. Despite the sign that stated “Stay silent. Stay seated” which was prominently displayed above all of us in the observation room, I stood because I had promised to beam love on him until the very end. I had assumed that he was trying to find my face amongst the crowd gathered in the tiny observation room. However, he was only able to hold his head up for a second or two and therefore, I assumed that, sadly, he was unable to see me. Tears were forming in my eyes that I doggedly refused to let fall. And yet there was also a determination in my heart that I would do all I could to let him know that I loved him.

Everyone who was in the execution room with my friend was staring down at their shoes, only glancing over to see him every once in a while. There were two people manning two different phones that were speaking to whoever was on the other end. They were speaking in short phrases, with their silence making up the majority of their conversation. I was so angry that everyone was just standing there – expressionless – and yet witnessing the killing of my beloved friend. I could sense their humanity being drained.

As we all looked on, we had no idea when they started administering the lethal chemicals, as that was controlled from behind yet another curtain. The person pushing the drugs through my friend’s IV could do so behind that curtain of secrecy and shame. My friend started to sob, and I once again forced my tears to stay within my body. I heard a snore, and I saw my friend’s chest move up and down. After a few minutes, an officer pinched my friend’s toes and then took his slippers off of his feet. I am still clueless as to why this officer thought that these two things were so important to do.

I was repeating, in my mind, “Go in God’s love. Go in God’s love. Go in God’s love.” And yet in my heart, I felt like all of us were being tortured and wounded as we looked on at this killing of another human being.

The prison staff members around my beloved friend continued to look on with blank and unaffected stares. The officer who took off his slippers just stared straight ahead. The whole scene was absurd and devoid of any semblance of humanity.

We continued to hear snores and then watched as his chest no longer moved. It seemed like a very long time before the “doctor” came around the back curtain with his stethoscope in order to pronounce my friend dead. At 9:42 p.m. they finally told us that he was deceased. They pulled the curtain closed once again so I could no longer see my beloved friend. The proceedings were over. We all could stand up and make our way out of the prison.

It was then that several of the staff members left the witness room and walked behind the curtain into the execution chamber. Earlier that night, just after I arrived at the prison, I had asked for permission to say a few words over my friend’s body to commend his spirit to God’s all loving hands. My request was denied. So when these staff members walked into the execution chamber, I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs, “THEY CAN GO IN THERE AND SEE HIS BODY, BUT I CAN’T COMMEND HIS SPIRIT TO GOD?! Are you freakin’ kidding me?!?!?” I was seething. I wanted to find a space to break down and sob the tears that were welling up inside of me, but I knew that I would have to hold them in and wait until I was finally alone.

Jesus, too, had to hand himself over to the soldiers and let them take charge of him. The truth of executions are that your body is no longer your own. Your body becomes the property of the state. Those in charge can do with your body what they will. The one being executed is told to comply with all of the orders of those in charge. And as onlookers you are told to stay in your place and just look on as the horrific happens in front of you. Only the state is in control, and they will maintain that control at all costs. Sadly, I can only imagine that this prison looked just like other prisons, and I assume that those who took part behaved just like other correctional officers and prison staff in this country who are given the task of killing another human being.

Those who watched this appalling drama play out in front of us did a lot of “cross watching.” And, by the way, I don’t think it is an accident that we execute men and women on a gurney that is in the shape of a cross. Just as Jesus experienced, some of us are sitting under the cross begging for a gracious God to end the suffering of one we love so much. And then, somehow, we try to deal with the fact that we are willing our beloved friend to die. How does one do that? Shouldn’t you be praying for them to somehow live?

And there were others who were “cross watching” in the room who were surely praying that my dear friend go straight to hell.  About a month prior to my friend’s execution, he asked for me to do the following: “Please pray for those who hate me and want me to die.” “Yes, I will, but what makes you think of that?” I asked. He simply said, “Well, Jesus tells us to love our enemies. I am afraid they are going to sin if they want me dead. I don’t want my execution to cause anyone to sin.” With tears welling in my eyes, I put my hand on my beloved friend’s arm and said, “Yes, I will do that. Of course I will.”

When we are a society that kills, we make even the most loving person who is opposed to the death penalty complicit with murder. We only inflict more harm on those gathered around the cross – those gathered around the prison – no matter which side of the death penalty debate they are on. We continue the victimization instead of putting an end to the victimization that has already occurred. Killing another human being solves absolutely nothing. Nothing. It only inflicts more harm on those of us who have looked on or who have stood vigil outside of the prison.

It also says that we do not believe in transformation. It says that your life stopped when you committed your crime. No hope for redemption. No chance for renewal. None. You are your crime and that is that. As a Christ follower, however, I staunchly believe that, in Christ, ALL can be made new – the old has passed away and behold the new creation is sitting right in front of me. I can easily believe this because I continue to have a front row seat at what transformation looks like – I see their faces – I know their names.

Forever, the tape will be playing in my mind of that horrendous scene of my friends’ execution. Forever, I will see and hear my friend on that dreadful gurney. Forever, I am inwardly marked by enormous grief. And yet, if you asked me to do it all over again, I would be there in a heartbeat. I was determined that, although the courts condemned my friend, he would know that he was loved unconditionally, not only by me, but more importantly, by an all-gracious and all-merciful God who claimed him and called him “my beloved son.”

 

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Harsh Sentences, Juvenile Justice

Bullying Ends In Tragedy And Sends Seventeen Year Old Boy To Prison For Life

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Louis Singleton

If you talked to some folks in Mobile, Alabama, back in 90’s, they may have told you that Louis Singleton was one of the best athletes to come through their town.  Louis had a bright future in front of him, and lots of promise.  He was born in 1976, the son of a brick mason and a high school teacher.  His parents were separated, but Louis, the youngest of two children, grew up in a middle class, stable home.   He had average grades in school, held a summer job, and participated in varsity football and basketball programs.

Louis was heavy into sports from the beginning.  He wasn’t an angel, but he wasn’t trouble either.  He was typical.  He got a speeding ticket once because he was running late to summer school.  He also got in trouble for disorderly conduct when he was sixteen, due to a fight.  But, for the most part, things were looking very good for him midway into his junior year of high school.  His eye was on being the starting quarterback for his high school football team the following year.   Yes, Louis had dreams – big ones.

He never made it to that quarterback position though.  The years of dreaming came to an end the night before his eighteenth birthday.   It didn’t start that night though – the trouble started almost a year before then.  Louis had no idea it was going to end up changing his life in an instant.  He never saw it coming.

The train started going off the track for Louis in the spring of 1993.  There was a girl.  She was known as Meme.   Meme had just broken up with her boyfriend, Kendrick Martin.  Derrick Conner, Louis’ close friend, began dating Meme.  Kendrick Martin didn’t like that.   Louis was involved by association.

The first time things turned physical was during an altercation at a gas station.  Louis and Derrick were there, and Louis went inside to pay for gas and pick up a couple snacks, leaving Derrick outside.   When he came back out, Derrick and Kendrick were going at it.  It was over Meme, and Louis remembers telling Kendrick, “Man, you tripping about one female, when it’s plenty of fishes in the sea.”  Kendrick didn’t take that well.

It wasn’t long before all their paths crossed again.  Derrick Conner and Louis were leaving a local convenience store when Kendrick Martin was pulling into the parking lot.  According to Louis, Kendrick got out of his car and began shooting at Derrick and Louis with a gun as the boys were pulling away.

Louis Singleton was shot at more than once by Kendrick Martin.  Nelson Tucker, the state’s own witness, testified that he was with Kendrick Martin and had shot at Louis Singleton with a gun that he obtained from Kendrick Martin.  Tucker also stated that he was present on two separate occasions when a pistol was fired at Louis.

By Louis’ account of that time, Kendrick Martin pointed a gun in his direction and shot at him on three different occasions, two of these incidents being confirmed by the prosecution’s own witness.   He also reported an incident where Kendrick Martin pulled a gun from a book bag and pointed it at his head.  There was another day in a fast food parking lot, when Louis was in a vehicle, and Kendrick was striking the car windows with a crow bar.

There is nothing that can be said about the tragic events that took place on January 11, 1994, that will excuse what happened that day.  A life was taken, and another altered forever in the parking lot of a McDonald’s restaurant in Mobile, Alabama.  Reading the transcripts, I take away that there was confusion in that parking lot.  There were a lot of people gathered after a high school game, and Louis perceived he was in danger after seeing Kendrick and his friends and hearing some things that were said.  No one can know exactly what was going on in anyone’s minds, and different witnesses said different things, but I think  it is fair to say that if there had not been months of bullying leading up to that day, it simply never would have happened.   Louis, the seventeen year old boy with so much promise, had a gun.  He felt threatened that night, as he had on many occasions over the previous months, and shot at Kendrick, Tucker and another man they were with, Johnathan Martin.   A pattern had been set leading up to that day, leaving Louis feeling the need to defend himself around Kendrick and his friends.  So when words were said and movements were made, he felt cornered and threatened, whether he was or not.  In his mind – he was.

Kendrick Jermaine Martin died from a gunshot wound to the neck. Johnathan Allen Martin was shot once in the neck area and was paralyzed from the waist down as a result.  Nelson L. Tucker was shot three times and was hospitalized for four days and released.

It’s twenty three years later.  The court transcripts described Louis as a boy who, ‘enjoyed a favorable reputation within his community’.  He was evaluated before his trial by the Strickland Youth Center, and they determined that he ‘did not appear to be a behavioral problem’.

Louis Singleton spent his eighteenth birthday in a Mobile Detention Center and has been incarcerated ever since.  In the twenty three years since then, he has obtained his GED, studied brick masonry, anger management and self awareness.  He has also worked with nurses in the prison healthcare system.   And he’s been incarcerated for well over half of his life.   Louis was sentenced to two life sentences and twenty years, to be served consecutively.

Louis didn’t want things to end this way.  Louis Singleton sought help long before that night, from parents, the police, and the school principal.  A seventeen year old boy sought help from the people who were responsible for protecting him.  He did the things he was supposed to do, but those in a position to protect him did not do what they were supposed to.

Louis’ Mom

What stands out from my conversations with Louis is what happened after he drove home that night.  This is what he told me, “My mind was racing with thoughts that I couldn’t even grasp mentally.  I just went home and sat in the house with all the lights out, scared to move, don’t know what to do nor to say.  My mom was gone to a choir convention in Mississippi during the time of the incident.  While I sat in our house quietly and somberly in the front room, my mother pulled up with no clue of what just happened.   When she came in the door, turned to lock the door, I was sitting there in the dark room.  I scared her out of her wits.  As a mother who knew her child, she instantly asked me, ‘Boy, what’s wrong with you sitting in here with all the lights out?’  I was so discombobulated I honestly couldn’t speak, it seemed like somebody had my soul…”

Louis’ mother never had a chance to have her son home again, and has since passed.  They were close, and Louis Singleton will live with the memory of sitting in that dark room and having to tell his mom what happened etched in his memory forever.  He has spent twenty three years in an Alabama prison reliving that day and the months that led up to it, hoping to wake up every morning and have it all be a dream.  He will spend the rest of his life knowing the impact he has had on people, their families and his own.  Nothing will bring back the man who died that night or heal the man who was paralyzed, but the burden of what took place that night should not have been placed solely on the shoulders of a seventeen year old kid who had never been in any trouble.   A seventeen year old kid went into prison after shooting at the man who terrorized him for nearly a year, sentenced to spend every breath for the rest of his life in an Alabama prison, until the day he dies, never knowing what it means to live free again.  How is that tragedy going to make what happened on that night in 1994 any less tragic?

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Harsh Sentences

A Mother’s ‘Life’ Sentence

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There is a mom in Florida going to visit her son this week.  His name is Bubba, and he lives in a Florida prison.  He’s spent the last twenty years behind bars.  Bubba had a drug habit as a young man, and he resorted to robbery to get his next fix.  He had a gun, but he never pulled it on anybody.  He was given a life sentence for his crimes.

Life.

I don’t know Bubba’s history.  I have no idea how he found himself with an addiction so powerful, he needed to steal to feed it.  I DO know that so many of us or someone we know is, or has been, just a few circumstances away from that same place.  Let’s face it – most of us have come closer than we would like to admit to some form of trouble, and we just didn’t get caught.   People make mistakes.  People have weak moments and clouded judgment.  Sometimes jail can actually be a place where a person can temporarily be protected from making more bad choices.  But ‘life’?  Really?

Don’t we owe it to each other to show a little more compassion than simply throwing people away?  Life – you stay behind bars until you die.  That’s what it is.  That’s what we have become comfortable with, what we accept.  I don’t want to be a party to this.  Silence is not an option.

These are the words of a mother who’s boy went into prison in his early twenties, has been there for twenty years, and is sentenced to die there.

Talked to Bub late yesterday.  It is amazing how positive he is, living with his life sentence.  He is such an inspiration!  I learn from him all of the time.  He told me about the A.M. worship service – OVER 200 inmates!  He said the music was great, and the sermon was ‘brimstone and fire’.  Bubba likes that kind of preaching, no whitewashing.

I asked him about the food, and he was so happy to have DECENT food!  ‘Mom,’ he said, ‘the biscuits are bigger than your fist.  I had more butter and jelly on my plate than I have had in the ENTIRE last 5 years, SEASONED potatoes and grits that were actually cooked the way they should be cooked.’  He also had eggs AND a banana.  He traded his eggs for a second banana.

This may seem like small stuff, but believe me, it isn’t.  He has gone months without fresh fruit, and had years of eating only for survival, not because the food had any quality, taste, or nutritional value.

We talked again – about him getting transferred to the Faith based program.  I told him about all of the prayers and positive words from everyone.  He said, ‘Mom, it really is a miracle.  You’re not supposed to be considered until you have been DR (disciplinary report) free for a year. I had four months to go.’

Bubba has already witnessed major changes (for the better) in the short time he has been here, not only from the inmates’ respect for one another and each other’s property, but from guards as well.  He was also excited about the walking track.  He said if he walked it three times, he could walk a mile.  That’s major!  He had already walked it once with an elderly inmate, about seventy, who has dementia.  Bub said, ‘Mom, he can remember some things from fifty years ago and then not remember where his cell is.’  I know Bubba’s heart went out to him, and I know Bub will do what he can for him.  That’s just the way he is – always was…

He was also telling me this place has football, basketball, and softball (most places don’t allow any group sports).  He was super excited about that, especially for the softball.  I reminded him that his dad was very good at baseball and was expected to get a baseball scholarship.  Bubba only knew Gordon as his dad, and he cherishes that, but I know in my heart – or at least I feel – that had Bubba not lost his father, he would not have suffered the traumatic things he did as a child.  Billy would have been there to help me protect him, before Gordon came into our lives…

We talked about his current roommate, someone like Bubba who has a heart for God, and we laughed about one of his most recent roommates, someone who had been convicted of cannibalism…  Bubba rode that one out pretty good.  When we talked about that character, he would laugh and say, ‘Yeah, I sleep with one eye open’.  That same inmate was bragging on all of his ‘accomplishments’ when bubba first came into contact with him in their shared cell, showing Bubba newspaper articles about his crimes, etc.  I’ll never forget what Bub said when I asked him how he handled that.  ‘Mom, I just told him MY GOD watches over me.  You have your articles, I’ve got MY BIBLE.’

Bubba has been through more than anyone should ever have to endure for the crimes he committed.  He has paid his debt to society.  Anyone who knows and loves him can agree to that, and I believe with all my heart that my son will one day come home.    But for now, we at least have ‘biscuits bigger than your fist, more jelly and butter than I’ve had in five years and fresh fruit’, fellow inmates who want to do their time serving God and not Satan, a great ministry throughout the entire prison and not just during service, a track to walk, softball teams, and clothing – yes, clothing.  There have actually been times when clothing has not been provided.  And, most of all, a new sense of Hope that comes from the Faith that keeps your spirit alive, trusting God’s grace and mercy to answer prayers.

And, how I hope those prayers are answered.  For Bubba.  For his mom.  For a country that needs a better sense of what’s important.  Throwing people away ISN’T okay.

This mom told me one more thing.  She told me about the ‘sick’ feeling she gets after a visit with her son, when she walks out the prison doors and leaves him behind.   She said that feeling sticks with her, “It never fully goes away…  When you eat, when you sleep, when you’re with someone, when you’re alone.  It’s always there, in the back of your mind, in your heart, in every breath you take.”

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Harsh Sentences

Write and Help Give Rayvell His Life Back

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The ugly truth is – Rayvell Finch was in possession of some stolen property once.  It was worth over $500.   About a year later – he was charged with possession with intent to distribute 24 rocks of crack cocaine.

Those were his wrongs.  A parent with a troubled child might be familiar with something like that.    For whatever reason – people get sidetracked when they are young, one wrong choice leads to a few more.   They make immature, irresponsible choices that we hope and pray they grow out of.  With so many of our kids  – it might evolve into addiction.  The grip of a drug on your kid so powerful, you can’t beat it the hell back, no matter how hard you try.

That is what happened to Rayvell.  He became an addict.  One day, a few years after the above crimes – he was sitting on a stoop.  He was visiting an aunt, and was sitting with a friend outside.   The police say there was a ‘No Trespassing’ sign, but none of my research ever showed that evidence was presented.

It doesn’t matter – he was arrested for sitting on that stoop and looking like someone the police thought might be up to something.  He had his fix in his sock.  That was his third strike.  That’s it.  That is what he got life in prison without the possibility of parole for.

It’s two decades later.  Yes – two decades.  He’s still in that prison.  But there is a glimmer of hope.  Just a glimmer, but it’s there.

On March 16, 2017, Rayvell is going before a parole board.  Feeling sympathy, sharing stories, crying over the injustice and the death behind bars – we do that.  A lot.   This is one of those times something can be done.  Please join me in writing on behalf of Rayvell.   This is his story if you need to read more.

It’s so easy and it could mean all the difference in the world.  If you need an outline, copy and paste what I have below and add some of your own sentiments.  The below words are meant to give you a place to start.  It’s just a shell to help you compose your own letter, but the information regarding Rayvell’s accomplishments are all accurate.

The address is included in the sample.

State of Louisiana Board of Pardons
Committee of Parole Department of Public Safety and Corrections
P.O. Box 94304
Capital Station
Baton Rouge, Louisiana 70804-9304

Re:  Rayvell Finch, 00336346

To Whom It May Concern,

I am writing this letter in support of, Rayvell Finch, who is appearing before the parole board on March 16, 2017.  I am writing to request that you send Mr. Finch home to reunite with his family.

Rayvell Finch never committed a violent crime and the third strike he received that resulted in a life sentence was the result of an addiction that he has long since conquered.

While facing life in prison, he chose to better himself.  Where others may have given up, he pushed forward.  He has taken courses in anger management, substance abuse and religious studies.   He also has experience in carpentry, horticulture and in the culinary arts.   He has taken up hobbies while he has been incarcerated, including making jewelry, leather work and woodwork.

He has been incarcerated for two decades and I implore you to release Rayvell at this parole hearing and allow him to spend the rest of his days with his family and loved ones.

Sincerely,

 

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Harsh Sentences, Juvenile Justice

If You Believe in Second Chances, Click Below…

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Travion Blount was fifteen years old when he got in trouble.  Described as a ‘shy but happy boy’ by his mother, in middle school he started skipping class and hanging out with the wrong crowd.   At the age of fifteen he went to a party with two older boys, and the three of them robbed the other people there at gunpoint, collecting drugs, cell phones and money.

The two older boys received ten and thirteen year sentences.  Travion, the youngest and the only one not to plead guilty, was sentenced to six life sentences, plus 118 years.   That sentence was later reduced to forty years.  With a forty year sentence, Travion will be fifty-five years old when he gets out, for a crime he committed at the age of fifteen years old.

Due to the length of his sentence, Travion has been kept in high security facilities.  He has continued to take classes and tells me he just ‘tries to stay out of people’s way’.  In the year we have communicated, he has never been anything but respectful.  He asks how my family is in every correspondence.   He asks how I am.

He deserves a second chance.  If you would like to read more about him, there are three articles about him right here on my blog.  But  – it is also easy to find out about him through a simple internet search.  The punishment he received was harsh.  I believe it was too harsh.  If you believe that also, please click here, and write an email to the Governor of Virginia, Terry McAuliffe.

Your message doesn’t have to be lengthy, it may take only three minutes of your time, but if you feel Travion deserves a second chance, please take those three minutes.  I wrote one that was a little more personalized, but if you need help getting started, feel free to copy and paste the words I have below.   Simply put Travion Blount’s name in the subject line, and start something like this:

Please consider a pardon for Travion Blount.  In 2006, at the age of fifteen, he committed a crime for which he has been in prison for ten years.   He is a young man now.  While incarcerated, he has taken classes to prepare for his future and he has a family that supports and loves him at home.  I respectfully request that you consider a pardon for Travion Blount.

That’s it.  Please take a moment to contact Governor Terry McAuliffe if you feel Travion Blount deserves a second chance.  You can write your own words, or copy mine.  You can copy mine and add some of your own.   But, please, if you believe in second chances speak up for Travion.

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Harsh Sentences

State Funded Suffering

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Oscar Giles was born in 1949. That would make him almost seventy years old today. I look at his photo, and I see such sadness. There is loneliness in those eyes too. What I don’t see is menace. Just weary defeat.

There are some things that are no brainers. We come across things in life that don’t require any intelligent thought or deciphering to figure out. This is one of those things.

Oscar was incarcerated in February of 1979 in the state of Florida. He had broken into a liquor store at 3:30 a.m. There was no one inside, and he was caught shortly after the incident. There was a gun found in the vicinity that the authorities attributed to Oscar. I am not sure if he ever said it was his or not. No one was harmed or present at the time of the crime.

Oscar was charged with a few things. Among the charges was Armed Burglary. For that offense, he received life in prison.  A punishment of that magnitude is lost on so many. People don’t often think about it longer than the time it takes them to read the news article about someone receiving it. Unless you are seventy years old at the time of your arrest, life in prison may be considered worse than death by some.   There’s no coming back from that. There’s no redeeming yourself. There is no chance of forgiveness. That’s it. No longer will you ever receive love and physical affection of family and friends. There is no picking up the phone when you want. Not even mailing a letter if someone doesn’t pay for your stamp.

In 1979, I was eleven years old. Oscar has been incarcerated since I was eleven. I’ve had four children and a granddaughter in that time. When this man committed his crime, he didn’t have the advantages some of us have. He had a tenth grade education. He worked as a laborer. He wasn’t in that liquor store to hurt anybody. He made a reckless choice in a hard life. Not a hurtful choice. It was a nonviolent crime.

One article I read indicated that Oscar has had one visit since he’s been in. In the state of Florida, you can’t send him an email. I can’t tell him he has not been forgotten. I will slip a note into the mailbox tomorrow and hope it reaches him by Christmas. I don’t know this man. But one look at him tells me he doesn’t need to be in there anymore. That’s all it takes is one look. It’s a no brainer. When are we going to quit destroying people’s souls and calling it justice. This isn’t justice.

I found Oscar Giles on JPay. His DC Number is 067434. From what I have been able to locate, he can be written to at:

Giles, Oscar DC# 067434
Tomoka Correctional Institution
3950 Tiger Bay Road
Daytona Beach, FL 32124
REFERENCES:

“Harsh Justice in America.” Harsh Justice in America. N.p., n.d. Web. 18 Dec. 2016.

“Oscar Giles: 37 Years (and Counting) for Non-violent Offenses – Updated.” Wobbly Warrior’s Blog. N.p., 04 Nov. 2016. Web. 18 Dec. 2016.

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Harsh Sentences

Nonviolent Addict Sentenced To Life Without Parole

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Drug addiction isn’t pretty. It’s easier for people to deny its existence than to try and wrap their heads around it. I’ve given it a little thought today.   I tried to imagine the struggle. I think it may feel something like being in dark hole with no walls in sight to climb your way out. What makes seemingly young, healthy people keep falling deeper into the hole? Is it a cycle of self-loathing? Unhappiness with one’s own life has someone looking to something for happiness, but once the chemicals take hold, do they hate themselves a little more each time they succumb, because they are faced with their own weakness? Over and over, digging deeper and deeper, and the deeper they go, the further they find themselves from their ability to find happiness within themselves?

I don’t think I’ll figure it out. I’m grateful I’ve never fought the battle. I’ve seen loved ones go through it though. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen anyone fully conquer it. My father was an alcoholic, and he never conquered his addiction. I’ve loved and known others, with their various poisons. I’ve seen what they do in their darkness.   They’ve stolen from loved ones in moments of weakness, only to realize it when clarity returns. The result only makes them feel further isolated and alone, having betrayed the ones they love.

Addiction is pain, plain and simple. In its simplest explanation, that’s what it is. I read about Rayvell Finch today. He was an addict, the same as those I have known and loved. He hadn’t been in trouble for a while. Just a victim of his own disease. Hurting himself, but not violent with anybody else. He was with a friend one day in Louisiana, while visiting his aunt and grandmother. The two were sitting on the steps of an abandoned house right next door.

There was a police officer and DEA agent patrolling the area to target violent crime that day. They saw Rayvell and his friend, and arrested him for trespassing. Rayvell was a heroin addict. The officers found eight aluminum foil packets in his sock. They tested positive for the drug.

At the age of 23, Rayvell Finch had no record of any violence. A few years earlier he had been convicted of possession of stolen property worth over $500, followed a year later by being charged with possession with intent to distribute 24 rocks of crack cocaine. This was Rayvell’s third strike.

That was in 1997, nearly twenty years ago. Rayvell was sentenced to spend the rest of his natural life behind bars. In other words, the door was shut, the key thrown away, and no one ever has to see him again. No possibility of parole. That’s one way to deal with addiction.

Are we so shallow that we have become a society that locks away the weak and damaged till they die, so we don’t have to see them? Rayvell paid for his previous crimes. Because he was an addict, and had his drugs in his sock that day, Rayvell was sentenced to spend the rest of his days on earth in prison, without love or family around him, until he dies alone. I don’t know the law, and I don’t know the words they used to justify it, but that is the reality of the outcome.

RESOURCES:

Wishon, Jennifer. “Nation of Criminals: Three Strikes on the Way Out.” N.p., n.d. Web.                          

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