Last spring, my friend Paris Carriger was diagnosed with liver disease and told he had just a few months to live. His voice from the hospital was weak but calm. "This isn't the first time I've been sentenced to die," he said with a raspy chuckle, "though I don't expect I'll beat this one."
Thirty-five years ago Paris was sentenced to death for robbing an Arizona jewelry store and killing the owner. Paris said he had been framed by the real killer, a shady acquaintance named Robert Dunbar; he was arrested after police received a tip from a man who identified himself only as "Bob." Years later, Dunbar admitted to the crime, but despite this confession Paris was denied a new trial, and remained on death row.
Paris grew up with a poor, abusive mother who sent him to reform school at 10. He led a chaotic life. But faced with execution for another man's crime, he focused his energy. He wrote letters, dozens and dozens of letters to reporters, lawyers, activists and academics -- anyone who might be interested in his case.
Eventually he began to correspond with my mother, a professor of psychology and law with a humanitarian heart and an old-school appreciation of good letter writing. Paris was a smart, engaging correspondent. My mother came to believe in his innocence, and to care about him. When I was 4, with my parents' blessing, Paris first wrote to me.
I don't remember the first letter I got from Paris. I don't remember him coming into my life at all. He was just always there; a far-away pen pal, a friendly grownup presence who I knew only through letters and one greenish Polaroid of him standing with arms crossed in front of a metal grate.
Paris wasn't used to people letting him befriend their children, and he was deeply grateful to be allowed into my life. He was curious about my interests and the books I was reading, and he told me about the things he loved to do as a child -- fishing, riding horses, training dogs. He sent me gifts on my birthday -- binoculars, a pair of moccasins and, when I was 10, a typewriter that I began using to write to him.
In my child's mind, jail was a spare, cartoonish space where people ate from compartment trays and wore stripes. I had no real sense of what his existence must have been like. I completely accepted that he was innocent, and understood, to some degree, that he was the victim of a great injustice. But really, I didn't think about it that much. I sent him drawings and made him cards for Valentine's Day and Christmas. I asked him how the food was (not good). I told him all about our new puppy and my part in the school play.
Sometimes, Paris' insight into my experiences was better than my parents'. Once in middle school, I was bullied daily by a girl who said I had hugged her boyfriend -- myself the victim of a false accusation. This girl followed me around the halls with a crew of friends, muttering insults and trying to trip me. When she pushed me up against the lockers, I called her the "b-word" and our parents were called in for a meeting with the principal.
My mother couldn't understand why I hadn't told her about this, but Paris completely got it. He wrote to her, "Sasha's trouble looks different to me than it does to you. The biggest defeat would be to tell. Then she is branded a snitch and kids see her as the weaker one, the easy target."
In eighth grade, given an English assignment to write about a person I admired, I chose Paris.
The reality of death row came into sharp focus when I was 14. Despite Dunbar's confession, despite other witnesses who admitted they had lied, he had lost all his appeals. He had been in prison for 18 years. An execution date was set: Dec. 6, 1995.
My teenage mind focused on the horrors of execution itself. You exist today. You exist tomorrow. But at 12:15 a.m. on Dec. 6, you will no longer exist. What would it feel like to be informed precisely when you would be killed? It chilled my bones and made me sick.
He called more often. His voice, as usual, was calm and soft with a gentle southern drawl. I had no idea what to say to him. On my mother's advice, I told him that. "Keep your chin up," he said. "We may get out of this yet." My mother travelled to the prison in Florence, Ariz., for his clemency hearing. Paris was there in a metal cage, his belongings already divided up among the guards, his body afflicted with shingles, his spirit with humiliation and the fear of death.
He wasn't executed. On, Dec. 4, the Supreme Court upheld a stay of the execution to allow another appeal.
Three year later, with no advance warning, Paris was given $20 and a paper suit and let out the jail door. He set to work building a life from scratch, moving to Oklahoma to live with a long-lost half-sister. He came to visit us in Michigan. Incredible as it was to see him in person, he also seemed perfectly familiar; after all, I had known him forever.
My lifelong friendship with an innocent man on death row means that I have always been deeply opposed to the death penalty. I talk to people about it a lot these days with Proposition 34 and I urge them to vote "yes." Those who favor it often say it's too slow and expensive. I always think: "If we had a quick cheap death penalty, Paris would have been killed."
Unfortunately, Paris didn't live long enough to find out whether we will replace the death penalty in California. He died on May 21, at home with Sherrie, the woman he fell in love with and married several years after his release. The hospice workers said they had never seen anyone accept the end of life with such calm grace. Given how close he came to being executed for a crime he didn't commit, I can imagine that dying at home was, in a sense, a victory.
Franky Carrillo: Calif. Leads the Nation in Wrongful Convictions -- I Would Know
David A. Love: California's Prop. 34 Will Stop the Execution of the Innocent
David A. Love: Terry Williams Case Highlights the Need For Death Penalty Moratorium
Prosecutors get promoted for winning cases. If they lose they do not move up the ladder. That has nothing to do in regards to the facts of the case. If someone is innocent has no bearing on their career prospects. Convicting them does. Ever since the Supreme Court decided that "actual innocence" did not matter, prosecutors were given more power than they should. It is called "Prosecutorial Discretion." This decision will put many actually innocent people to death. No one will ever know the true numbers because innocence does not matter.
This allows prosecutors to decide who they want to try and who they do not. In many states they seek the death penalty on a whim. It is used as a bargaining chip. We will kill you unless you plead guilty. Save me the work and you can live.
The only way to stop this kind of abuse is to limit the power that prosecutors have. They should be held accountable. In their zeal to become number one they should never be allowed to knowingly hide evidence, allow false testimony or mislead any jury. They should be better than that. If any is found to have sent a person to their death knowing that they have sent that person there under false means then they should be on death row themselves. If this happens to just one there may be a real change in the justice system.
I have read several of the comments. It is indicative of the population we have. Being a christian, and a believer.... we are to take care of widows and orphans and care for the prisoners. Now in Biblical times things were a bit different, but compassion is never out of style. The stigma of having been incarcerated for a crime you did NOT commit, and finally there is DNA proof.... what does that say about our law enforcement? We grab who is loose and looks guilty and it takes a case off the books. Doesn't particularly matter if it is the right "criminal". What if you happened to be the guy the local cop didn't like and wanted to get you out of his hair.... let's get real folks. That does happen, and we are releasing folks even in Texas because they are innocent! ...worst part is we spent all that money and time on sloppy work, and the real perpetrator is still out there somewhere.
Paris always considered her as a family member, the neice he never had. He was truly blessed to have had a life line of people who cared enought to write and keep in touch. These were folks he considered "family" because God gave them to him. They made a difference in his life and he cherished each and every one. All the years we were married he kept in touch and I came to know each one and befriended them as well. It is a part of him I cling to now as he has "gone home" and I am left behind with the memories. I thank each one for their friendship. Sherrie
I have just began writing a blog about my friend with Byron Case (the inmate) in hopes that it will allow people to better understand and be less judgmental.
http://articles.latimes.com/1999/oct/02/local/me-17825
Funny how the Conservative Christians are the biggest supporters of the death penalty. Weird religion, deadly people
Governor of the State of OhioGovernor of the State of Ohio: Commute the Death Sentence of Brett Hartmann
Petition by
Diane Morretti
Mesa, AZ
Thank you for signing the petition "Governor of the State of Ohio: Commute the Death Sentence of Brett Hartmann" Multiply your impactTurn your signature into dozens more by sharing this petition and recruiting people you know to sign.--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
We the undersigned, urge the Governor of the State of Ohio, to commute the death sentence of Brett Hartmann.
Brett was sentenced to death on May 22, 1998 for the murder of Winda Snipes.
Many questions remain unanswered concerning the facts around this case, including phone records that place Brett at home at the time of the crime, untested evidence, and contradictory results where tests have been done.
Brett received poor representation at trial and had little investigation done on his behalf.
Trial lawyers (including his own), judges, and prosecutors involved in the case have all been accused and/ or convicted of wrongdoing in a variety of circumstances since Bretts conviction.
We deeply sympathize with the family and friends of Winda Snipes, but we respectfully offer that another death will neither heal nor resolve this tragedy.
Action petitioned for; We the undersigned, urge the governor of the state of Ohio to act now and commute the death sentence given to Brett Hartmann.