Nov. 4 SOUTH CAROLINA----execution Man who killed 4 in Aiken County plant put to death Hastings Wise was put to death by lethal injection Friday night for killing 4 workers at an Aiken County plant in September 1997 out of revenge for being fired. Wise made no final statement and never looked at the victims' families or other witnesses. Instead, he stared at the ceiling and took several deep breaths as the lethal mix of 3 chemicals went into his veins. His rapid blinking ended with his eyes wide open at about the same time his chest stopped rising. It was about two minutes after the curtain to the death chamber opened. The official time of death was 6:18 p.m. Wise, 51, tried to die the day of the killings, drinking insecticide after the plant emptied. But it only made him violently ill. Wise refused to let witnesses testify for him as jurors chose between the death penalty and life in prison, then refused to appeal his conviction. Prosecutors said Wise waited for afternoon shift change at the R.E. Phelon lawnmower ignition plant so he could make sure all of his targets were there. He only shot people who he thought led to his firing several weeks before or took jobs he wanted, authorities said. Killed were Charles Griffeth, David Moore, Leonard Filyaw, and Sheryl Wood. Wise becomes the 2nd condemned inmate to be put to death this year in South Carolina and the 34th overall since the state resumed capital punishment in 1985. Wise becomes the 48th condemned inmate to be put to death this year in the USA and the 992nd overall since executions resumed in America on January 17, 1977. There are 9 more executions scheduled for this month across the USA, and if all are carried out, the country will execute its 1000th condemned inmate on November 29, in Ohio. The death penalty was re-legalized in America on July 2, 1976. (sources: Associated Press & Rick Halperin) ************************----new execution date Execution date set for man who killed Simpsonville store owner In Columbia, a man who killed a Simpsonville convenience store owner will be put to death Dec. 2, the state Supreme Court has announced. Shawn Humphries, 34, was convicted 11 years ago of murder in the shooting death of Mendal Alton "Dickie" Smith on New Year's Day 1994 at his store. Prosecutors said Humphries and a friend decided to rob the store after drinking beer all day. Surveillance tape at his trial showed Humphries going into the store and flashing a gun at Smith. When Smith reached under the counter, the tape showed Humphries fire a shot and run away. Smith was struck once in the head. The friend, Edward Gerald Blackwell, stayed in the store and told police what happened, according to testimony. He is serving a life sentence for his own murder conviction. Humphries has exhausted all his normal appeals, according to the state attorney general's office. Under state law, Humphries can choose to die by lethal injection or electrocution. If he makes no decision by Nov. 18, he will die in the electric chair. Humphries had his death sentence overturned for a brief time by a three-judge panel of the 4th U.S. Circuit Court of Appeals, who ruled prosecutors should not have compared the value of Humphries' life to the life of the victim. But less than a year later, the full court reversed that decision. In his closing argument, prosecutor Joe Watson reminded jurors how Smith grew up on a small farm with no hot water and went to work as a meat cutter at a grocery store in ninth grade so his family could buy a car. Watson then compared the two lives, saying in 1984, Smith was getting married, while Humphries was breaking in two houses. In 1988, Smith celebrated the birth of his daughter while Humphries went to prison for 2 years. "When you look at the character of Humphries, and when you look at Smith, how profane when you look at all the circumstances of this crime and of this defendant, how profane to give this man a gift of life under these circumstances," Watson said, according to a transcript of the trial. Humphries' attorneys said no one should ever be executed because their life is considered less valuable than someone else's life. But the court ruled prosecutors were showing the uniqueness of Smith's life and using Humphries' criminal record to rebut witnesses who talked about the defendant's tough life. Defense witnesses testified Humphries' father often reminded him he was conceived when he raped his mother at knifepoint and that Humphries' father gave him drugs and alcohol before he became a teenager. Humphries, who was 22 at the time of the shooting, has a long criminal record that started when he broke into houses at age 13. Smith's family has seen even more tragedy since his death. In May 2000, his brother, Jerry Smith, was killed in the Spartanburg convenience store he owned by Eric Dale Morgan. Morgan was originally sentenced to death, but is now serving life in prison after the U.S. Supreme Court banned the death penalty for defendants under the age of 18 at the time of the crime. ********************** Death chamber 'volunteers' don't use appeals They are called "volunteers," inmates who choose to give up their appeals and be put to death. Whether they do it out of remorse, boredom or frustration the result is the same. Hastings Wise appears to be one of them, heading to the death chamber Friday to be executed by lethal injection at 6 p.m. for killing four workers at an Aiken County plant in September 1997 as revenge for his firing several weeks earlier. Wise, who tried to commit suicide in the plant after the shootings by drinking insecticide, has asked to die since his arrest. He refused to let his lawyers call any witnesses to ask the jury to spare his life and has brushed off any attempts to appeal since he was sent to death row. "At almost every opportunity, he has expressed his wish to die," said attorney Joseph Savitz, who also has represented other volunteers. "Once you get someone who's convinced they want to die, it's difficult to change their minds." Wise was sentenced to death for killing four workers during a shooting rampage he planned to coincide with shift change at the R.E. Phelon plant, which makes ignition parts for lawnmowers. Those killed either had something to do with Wise getting fired or took jobs he wanted, prosecutors said. As he stood before the judge to have his sentence formally read after his 2001 trial, Wise said he was ready to receive his punishment. "I do not wish to take advantage of the court as far as asking for mercy. It was a fair trial. I committed these crimes," he said. Wise would be the 6th person put to death in South Carolina without using all their appeals since the death penalty was reinstated in 1976, according to the Death Penalty Information Center. Wise would be the 34th inmate put to death in South Carolina since 1976, meaning about 18 % of the state's executions have been volunteers. Nationwide, 117 of the 989 inmates, or nearly 12 %, put to death since the death penalty was reinstated had appeals left, said Richard Dieter, executive director of the Death Penalty Information Center. The numbers fluctuate from year to year. In 2004, 10 of the 59 executions were done on volunteers. In 2003, it was 4 deaths out of 65, according to the center's statistics. Many more inmates give up for a time but change their minds, Dieter said. 3 of the 6 S.C. volunteers were executed in 1996, shortly after the state made lethal injection an option, said Mark Plowden, a spokesman with the state attorney general's office. The rush of volunteers also coincided with the arrival of former Corrections Department chief Michael Moore, who moved death row from Broad River Correctional Institution in Columbia, where executions continue to be carried out, to Lieber Correctional Institution in the Lowcountry. Moore also used the move to make conditions harsher on death row. The reasons the volunteers drop their appeals varies. Wise and the most recent volunteer, Michael Passaro, planned to commit suicide after their crimes. Passaro jumped from his burning van and left his 2-year-old daughter - the subject of a bitter custody battle - strapped inside. Doyle Cecil Lucas, put to death for killing a Rock Hill couple in a robbery, told his lawyer he was filled with remorse and hoped his death brought his victims' family relief. And Michael Torrence, executed for killing 2 Midlands men in a robbery, asked to drop his appeals because he could not see how spending 20 or 30 more years in prison was going to benefit him. (source for both: Associated Press) TEXAS: Huntsville church embraces people in correctional system When David Valentine arrived at First Baptist Church in Huntsville 4 years ago, he looked across the street and saw a mission field. And the more he looked around Walker County, the more the field grew. Never mind that most decent, law-abiding Christians would rather look the other way. Valentine saw 6 state penitentiaries and heard God calling his church to help hurting people. First Baptist in Huntsville sits adjacent to the Texas Department of Criminal Justice's Huntsville Unit. It's also known as the Walls Unit, infamous for formerly housing death row and incredibly busy as the departure point for every male prisoner released by the state. The county also is home to the Byrd, Goree, Holliday, Huntsville, Wynne, Ellis and Estelle units. Valentine saw the obvious--1,200 inmates incarcerated in the Walls Unit and 125 to 200 offenders who are released there from Texas prisons every day, with only the clothes on their backs, $50 and a one-way bus ticket. He instinctively knew these men needed to hear welcoming words from Christians and some reintegrating with people "back home," wherever that might be. He saw the not-so-obvious but visible--families from across Texas and beyond who travel to Huntsville to pick up a son, husband, father, friend. He recognized the uncertainty in these faces, reflecting apprehension about how this wayward loved one would respond to freedom, and how long it would last. Valentine also soon saw an often-ignored need--the community's corrections officers and their families. He respected their contributions to society and empathized with the stress and anxiety they feel as they take on demanding, often low-paying jobs filled with daily abuse and danger. Since the Walls Unit opened as the state's first prison in 1848, First Baptist coexisted peacefully in the Texas town known far and wide for its unique industry. Other than the occasional corrections family who joined the church, it kept its distance from the criminal justice institutions all around. But when Valentine pointed out the needs, the church responded. Members volunteer to meet the spiritual and physical needs of all 3 groups Valentine identified. First Baptist operates: Welcome Back, a ministry to the parolees who arrive from more than 100 correctional facilities across the state to be freed through the Walls Unit every day. Last year, of the 70,000 offenders released from the Texas Department of Criminal Justice, 55,000 were impacted by Welcome Back. A central feature of Welcome Back is the opportunity for parolees to network. First Baptist volunteers offer each inmate a link to a church in the community where he intends to go. Like the tip of an iceberg, this link can provide much more than a church name and a phone number. It can translate into the three things released inmates need most--work, housing and the spiritual encouragement to "stay clean." In addition, more than a dozen volunteers like Mike Cato and Sam Longbottom are at the prison Sunday through Thursday evenings, providing men about to be paroled the next day with practical information to help them on their way. They tell them where to catch the bus, how to get their money and where they will meet family members who have made the trip to Huntsville. While they are not allowed to share their faith directly during this evening before release, the volunteers feel a definite sense of calling. Longbottom, who has been working with the ministry on Tuesday evenings for more than 2 years, looks forward to his time of service. "I think it's what Jesus commanded us to do; help others in his name." Cato senses a similar calling to the ministry. "I serve God. God is my king; Jesus Christ is my Savior. And this is where he has said to me, 'Go,'" Cato said. He has been working in criminal justice ministry since 1992, long before his church began a formal ministry. Cato was the recipient of the Governor's Volunteer of the Year Award. "I didn't deserve it, but I got it. So many people do more," Cato said humbly. "But it was really God who gave it to me; no one else did. I was kind of down-in-the-mouth then, and he knew I needed the encouragement." Cato works in the Welcome Back ministry three evenings a week and gets up at 4 a.m. on Tuesdays to teach a Bible study for correctional officers. Just as God encourages him, Cato sees himself as an encourager to men about to try to reclaim their lives. "This ministry gives hope that they didn't have before. We're not going to reach all the men, we know that, but we're there for those who will take the help," he explained. He is not a part of the ministry because he is some sort of super-saint, he maintained. "I consider myself nothing but a believer. You might call me a Christian, but I don't, because I know I'm not Christ-like, no way. I'm a reprobate and a sinner, but I'm a believer," Cato testified. First Contact, hospitality to 500 families a month who travel to Huntsville to pick up a newly released loved one. Volunteers help relieve anxiety by assuring them the person they are there to greet is on the release list, which the prison faxes to the church each day. Volunteers also provide bottled water and talk with the families to gather information that can be forwarded to churches and after-care ministries in the communities they will be returning to. Primarily, volunteers ease anxieties that sometimes come with the reintegration of a family member. And since they are outside the prison, testimonies of faith are allowed. An added bonus for volunteers is to witness the reunions. "Not everyone has family there to meet them for one reason or another, but the ones who show up are there to support, and there is lots of kissing and hugging. It's a great thing to watch," said Jerry Phillips, associate pastor for community ministry. Maudie Boyd has been part of the ministry since its inception and plans to participate much longer. "It's just wonderful to see the families reunited. And they are such sweet people," she said. "Sometimes, they have traveled all night, and they are tired and weary and scared. They don't know if they are in the right place. We just reassure them and tell them it's going to be OK. We just share Christ's love with them," Boyd said. Often, the volunteers are blessed as much as the families, she said. "The families are so appreciative. They give us a big hug when they leave and sometimes write a note and send it to the church. It's truly a blessing to all of us." Ongoing ministry to the 7,000 corrections officers in the county. About 25 church members volunteer in this ministry, weekly delivering soft drinks, bottled water and animal crackers to workers on each shift in each unit. For the church, the ministry to the officers is a way to say thanks for an often-thankless job and a way to bring joy within the stress. Valentine sees it as an opportunity to recognize people who seem invisible but need encouragement. Ministries to inmates--what corrections officers sometimes call "hug-a-thug"--abound, but the officers get overlooked, reported Joe Fernald, retired senior warden at the Huntsville Unit and a member of Elkins Lake Baptist Church. "I've been in the system more than 20 years, and nobody has ever ministered to correctional officers. Nobody. Ever," Fernald said. "They're depicted negatively in the media. But First Baptist saw their need." Ministry to the officers produces multiple benefits, he added. First, the friendship and networking with the officers by the church volunteers strengthen the officers spiritually, he observed. Valentine, in particular, excels at this. As he visits the Walls Unit, he calls most officers by name. He's taken the time to learn to speak their jargon and understand their assignments. He also knows about their families and asks how they're doing. Although not their pastor, he's become a spiritual mentor for many of them. Second, officers who are nurtured emotionally and spiritually do a better job with inmates, Fernald added, noting, "This creates a much more favorable climate." Third, the impact spreads through time and impacts the state in multiple ways, he insisted. "Think of it in terms of dollars and cents: If one person is turned around, think of the dollars that saves--$40 per day in prison costs"--when the inmate gets his life straight and does not return to the corrections system, he said. "And then there's the human cost," he said. "Think of the people who will not be future victims, ... plus the grief and hurt that will not be inflicted on this inmate's family. "There's connectivity between all these (First Baptist) programs--offender ministry, officer care, continuity through the parole and discharge process." Fernald ack-nowledged the sacrifice First Baptist makes to provide the ministry. "It takes money and the commitment of a lot of people," he said. "But this church is willing to commit its resources." The state's corrections system needs similar help from churches in or near those 100-plus penitentiary units across the state, Department of Criminal Justice leaders said. Although only Huntsville is the release point for all male inmates, churches and faith-based organizations can impact each of the units, they said. Church volunteers can go into the units and provide inmates with skills to succeed outside when they are released, and they can provide supportive networks on the outside to keep them from falling. They also can lift up the corrections officers so they do a better job and improve the prisons. Noting the important role churches can play in helping former inmates stay out of prison, Don Kiel, the criminal justice department's assistant director of religious programming, stressed, "Forgiveness is the paramount issue." "Churches are commanded to forgive," he said, but he acknowledged, "Trust takes time." Churches also can help former inmates lift their heads up in society, added Bill Pierce, director of chaplaincy for the department. "There's a stigma that comes from being in prison," he said, noting people tend to generalize their perception of inmates without understanding what may have happened to them in prison. "When you present what takes place in prison--the worship and Bible study," perceptions can change, he said. "And when church people know families who have members in prison, the light comes on. They see the needs" of the offenders as people, not merely inmates. One pressing need is for Christians to become mentors for inmates, Kiel said, noting prisoner mentorship is a new approach. "It requires training and more than a normal volunteer," because the demands of accountability are stringent, he acknowledged. But the rewards are worth the investment, said Doug Dretke, director of the department's correctional institutions division. "A mentor represents the community coming in and telling the offender, 'We care about you,'" he said. "That has a big impact. ... Mentors and volunteers deliver a significant message to the offenders--the community cares about them." Dretke also urged churches to help "break the cycle" of incarceration by reaching out to the children of prison inmates. In addition to church ministries, programs like Big Brothers and Big Sisters need the kinds of volunteers churches can supply. "The need won't go away," Valentine said. "The prison population will increase as the general population increases. We're going to be needed more than ever before." And members of First Baptist will be there. "In all our criminal justice ministries, we have very few volunteers who drop out," Phillips said. "They get to see God at work, and get to do the work of Christ. "It's like going on a mission trip every week." (source: Baptist Standard) **************** Lock 'em up, throw away key -- Randall County jail has first escape How does the saying go - that there's a first time for everything? Well, Randall County law enforcement officials wish the 1st-ever escape from the county's new jail never had arrived. Mark Edward Hanson broke out of the lockup this past Friday and was on the loose for 12 hours before police officers and sheriff's deputies corralled him in Amarillo. He is charged with capital murder in connection with the shooting death of a man whose body was found in January. Prosecutors had planned to seek life in prison for Hanson, but then he broke out - and only after assaulting a corrections officer in an earlier escape attempt. District Attorney James Farren said Hanson has "clearly demonstrated" that he is a threat to society, so now the prosecutor is going to seek the death penalty if Hanson is convicted of capital murder. This episode serves as a major wakeup call for the sheriff's department. Jailers thought they were putting Hanson into a secure "hardened" cell after the assault on the officer. They were mistaken. And to his immense credit, Sheriff Joel Richardson is taking full responsibility for the mistake. Moreover, the county is taking steps to prevent the second and subsequent escape from the jail. The sheriff's department has learned the hard way about just how enterprising jail inmates can become with all that idle time on their hands. (source: Editorial, The Amarillo Globe-News) CALIFORNIA: Prisons stay on high alert as Williams execution nears State prison officials are concerned the impending execution of former gang kingpin Stanley "Tookie" Williams could lead to an increase in violence among inmates. Williams, a co-founder of the Crips street gang, is scheduled to be executed Dec. 13. He plans to ask Gov. Arnold Schwarzenegger to commute his sentence to life in prison. On the day of Williams' execution, San Quentin the prison where California's condemned inmates are held will go on lockdown, and additional security measures will be in place, said a Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation spokesman. "Clearly, there's a heightened awareness due to the media reports and his affiliation as a co-founder of the Crips," said spokesman Todd Slosek. "We will take added precautionary measures to ensure the safety of the institution." Those procedures are always put in place when a death-row inmate is executed, Slosek said. The same protocol was followed when convicted murderer Donald Beardslee was put to death in January. However, some correctional officers are concerned that because Williams is a prominent member of the gang, which has thousands of members incarcerated in California prisons, inmate assaults against staff could increase as the execution date draws near. "We have heard that rumored ," said Martin Aroian, president of the Chino chapter of the correctional officers union. "I don't have anything official." Several messages posted to an online forum by correctional officers mention rumors that the Crips will have a "green light" on prison staff and other law enforcement officers. In 2003, prison officials locked down black inmates at Corcoran State Prison after discovering a note linking possible assaults on staff by Crips with Williams' impending sentence. Slosek said there has not been any increased "chatter" among gang inmates in recent weeks surrounding the upcoming execution. Williams, 51, was sentenced to death in 1981 for the fatal shooting of a convenience-store worker during a 1979 robbery. He also has been convicted of 3 other murders. His pleas for clemency have garnered public attention due to the efforts Williams has made since he was incarcerated to persuade children not to adopt a gang life. He has written several books outlining the dangers of joining a gang, and his Web site www.tookie.com features testimonials from former gang members who say his story changed their lives. Also, in 2000, 5 members of the Swiss parliament nominated him for a Nobel Peace Prize. Several former gang members in San Bernardino said Williams' death would be a tragedy for youth already caught up in gang life. "Tookie has become a hero to the kids on the street," said a former gang member who goes by the moniker Evbody. "If he's put to death, it's going to get worse out there, because what hope will they have? Even if you change, it still doesn't matter." Regardless, should Williams fail in his attempts to have his death sentence commuted, he'll be given a lethal injection less than six weeks from today. "This will be probably one of the higher-notoriety executions since the reinstatement of the death penalty," Slosek said. "We have a job to do: carry out the law and the death warrant that was issued by the judge." (source: San Bernardino County Sun) ******************* It's not just about saving 'Tookie,' says priest In an effort to save the life of Stanley "Tookie" Williams from being executed Dec. 13, lawyers and religious leaders launched what the Los Angeles Times called a "vigorous battle" Oct. 24 in front of the Criminal Courts building downtown. But that "vigorous battle," according to one of the religious leaders present at the rally, has been taking place for a long time. "There has been a concerted effort for many, many years of people opposed to the death penalty --- period," says Father Chris Ponnet, pastor of St. Camillus Pastoral Care Center in Boyle Heights. "And we protest every time another individual is going to be put to death here in California." Still, as he sits at a red table in St. Camillus' little rectory, across from the sprawling Los Angles County-University of Southern California Medical Center, the 48-year-old priest --- also director of Catholic chaplains and part-time director of all interfaith chaplains at the county facility and nearby private hospitals --- admits that the Tookie Williams case has some unique characteristics. "I struggle with calling this a special case," Father Ponnet says. Then he talks about a 17-year-old he counseled last night who tried to kill himself, and how his life is just as valuable as Williams'. "I think our role as church people is every time an execution comes up, we need to be there opposing it. Because each of those people is significant. But this is a political world. Do we use this moment where Mr. Williams is known around the world to not only argue for his life but also for others? I think that's the reality for our American democracy." Sin and redemption Tookie Williams is seemingly a poster boy for sin and redemption. In 1971, he and a friend started The Crips, the infamous South Los Angeles gang that has spread across the United States and as far as South Africa. A decade later, the hardcore gang-banger was sentenced to death for four robbery-related murders. On Feb. 27, 1979, he killed a young 7-Eleven clerk, Albert Owens, and 12 days later killed motel owners Yen-I Yang and Thsai-Shaic Yang as well as their daughter, Yee Chen Lin, at the Brookhaven Motel on Vermont Ave. While in "The Hole" at San Quentin Prison, Williams had a "reawakening" in 1993. He told a magazine interviewer, "I unchained my mind, and did so through prayers and extensive study. I had to seriously decide whether I was a human or a beast. In choosing not to be a beast, I discovered my humanity." The prisoner went on to write a series of books for urban kids called Tookie Speaks Out Against Gang Violence. He also penned Life in Prison, about living on death row, and an autobiography, Blue Rage, Black Redemption. In addition, he created an anti-gang website called the Internet Project for Street Peace. In 2001, a member of the Swiss Parliament even nominated him for the Nobel Prize for Peace and Literature. Date with death Mindful of Williams' accomplishments and accolades, Father Ponnet is hoping that Governor Arnold Schwarzenegger will grant Williams clemency now that the 52-year-old convict has exhausted his appeals up to the U.S. Supreme Court. And the clock is ticking, since a superior court judge rejected a recent request by defense attorneys to delay the execution to later than Dec. 13. "The question the governor has before him as the governor, let alone as a Christian and a Catholic, is to ponder the opportunity to move away from his strict death penalty position and say, 'This man has used the system to reform, plus he has led thousands of folks to redirect their lives away from gangs and violence,'" Father Ponnet points out. "This is one of those cases where a person, after being tried and convicted, has turned his life around, but has also affected many other peoples' lives. And what better role model for people who are considering moving into that gang lifestyle than a person who says, 'What I was doing was wrong. Change your ways.' "And he could continue to do this for the rest of his life in prison, because we're not asking that he ever be set free," he adds. "But if he's executed, then his voice is lost forever." Father Ponnet admits he's perplexed that Williams has not accepted responsibility for the four murders, which family members of his victims have brought up and which is likely to be the main argument by state officials against granting clemency. Moreover, while a quartet of witnesses identified Williams as the killer of the Yang family, the defense team has argued that blacks were purposely kept off the convicting jury and that one witness was an immunized government witness. (Williams is an African American.) "If he committed the crime, I am saddened, and I wish I could help him publicly to confess to his sins," the hospital chaplain says. "But if a person is very clear about that he is innocent, that he was set up --- and also part of the evidence is people thought he was bad and evil because he started The Crips --- then that's another matter. "If he committed the crimes and I was his spiritual director, I would be encouraging him to be very public about apologizing and confessing. But if he's not guilty and he's clear about that, I don't think in good conscience I could force him to lie just to save his life. And he has held clear that he did not kill those 4 people." Consistent life ethic Father Ponnet first got embroiled with the death penalty as a neophyte priest one year out of the seminary assigned to Our Lady of the Valley Church in Canoga Park. When a young police officer parishioner was murdered, he tried to accompany his wife and kids through their grief. After a couple months, however, it became clear his efforts to help them get beyond their anger was being strongly opposed by the survivors' circle of law enforcement friends who wanted revenge. A year later, another young man from the suburban parish was brutally murdered. But the reaction of the survivors this time was totally different. After 6 months, the victim's mother even visited the accused in jail and forgave him. "Those 2 stories have stayed very close to my heart why I'm about what I'm about," the priest confides. Still, he doesn't really know how he'd react is somebody from his own family was killed. He thinks he would be filled with pain and anger, but also hopes those around him would say, "Chris, don't kill another person to get even." He believes that's where the church community needs to step in today, especially with conservative Catholics who don't see the death penalty as a life issue. Whenever he gives talks, Father Ponnet stresses a consistent life ethic. Abortion must be linked not only to the death penalty, but also with end-of-life issues, poverty, AIDS and healthcare. The outgoing cleric says he's been renewed by being on the board of directors of Death Penalty Focus of California, a nonprofit organization dedicated to the abolition of capital punishment through grassroots organizing, research and the dissemination of information about the death penalty and its alternatives. "There's no question in my mind that at some point in the near future executions will stop," says Father Ponnet. "I think history is moving us in that direction, let alone God." (source: The Tidings) **************** $300,000 per cell----Reject latest San Quentin death row plans The Legislature and two governors have ducked hard decisions on what to do about the old, expensive, unsafe and insecure death row facilities at San Quentin beside San Francisco Bay. The State Public Works Board meets today to consider the latest proposal: a scaled-back, yet high-cost death row complex at San Quentin that would cost the state more than $300,000 per cell and accommodate growth for only 2 to 3 years. That's outrageous. The board should return this project to the Legislature. Lawmakers should respond with a proposal for a new death row somewhere other than San Quentin. The current fiasco began when the administration of Gov. Gray Davis requested $220 million in the 2003-'04 budget to build a new 1,024-cell death-row complex at San Quentin. (Currently, the state houses 633 men on death row at San Quentin. That number increases, on average, by 25 a year.) That original proposal had countless problems, as the Legislative Analyst's Office pointed out at the time. The department did not consider alternative sites. A new complex at San Quentin would not provide a long-term solution (accommodating growth in death-row population only through about 2013). The cost would be high - more than $200,000 per cell. (The most recent prison cost for Delano II was $142,000 per cell.) Legislators approved it anyway. The Schwarzenegger administration could have taken a closer look at the project. And after huge cost overruns became apparent, the governor should have returned it to the Legislature. But that's not what happened. Instead, the Schwarzenegger administration proposed an even shorter-term and more expensive project: 768 cells at a cost of $233 million - more than $300,000 a cell. With an opening date in 2008, this reduced expansion would accommodate growth only through 2010 or 2011. So the state would be spending $233 million for a 2-to 3-year solution. That's crazy. So now the Public Works Board must decide whether to approve the new $233 million project. Everyone knows this new proposal isn't really a $233 million project. It's Phase I, with a Phase II to come in just two or three years. If the 768-cell death-row complex gets built at San Quentin, you can be sure that the Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation will return to the Legislature in 2 years for more money ($100 million or so) to build 400 more death-row cells. The Public Works Board can, and should, end this sham. As the state auditor and others have pointed out, neither the department nor the Legislature has considered alternative sites to a new complex at San Quentin. The board should return the death-row project to the Legislature for a brand new look. What You Can Do The State Public Works Board meets at 10 a.m. in Room 113 of the state Capitol to consider a $233 million death-row complex for San Quentin. (source: Editorial, Sacramento Bee) VIRGINIA: Jailhouse witness scrutinized----Virginia prisoner who testified in Lovitt death-row case has aided authorities 5 times As 1999 began, Casel Lucas, a 29-year-old crackhead, was facing decades behind bars for more than a dozen felony convictions, including attempted rape. Passing time at the Arlington County jail, he "established a rap" with inmate Robin Lovitt. Lucas was shipped 400 miles to the state's toughest prison that March, only to return in September as a surprise witness against his former buddy. Lucas' testimony was arguably the only direct evidence that Lovitt committed a capital murder and helped tie together a great deal of circumstantial evidence. Lovitt, his lawyers, the jury and the prosecutors did not know it was the 5th time that Lucas, hoping for a break from the court, had helped authorities. Had his motives and full career as a jailhouse snitch been known, his credibility may have suffered. Too late now. Barring intervention by Gov. Mark R. Warner, Lovitt will be executed on Nov. 30 for fatally stabbing a pool hall employee with a pair of scissors during a robbery. His will be the 1st execution in Virginia in more than a year. Among other things, a clemency petition filed with Warner asks the governor to look at Lucas and the role he played in Lovitt's prosecution. Lovitt's case illustrates the concerns that defense lawyers and capital-punishment opponents have about using criminals as witnesses, particularly when the death penalty is on the table. While Lovitt's jurors learned Lucas had testified in earlier cases, they did not know it was the fifth time he had passed information on to police. Denman Rucker, one of Lovitt's trial lawyers, once called Lucas "a dirtball, a scum bucket," in court. In a recent interview, he asserted that Lucas "would say or do anything to try and get his time cut." In an Alexandria case, Lucas got a 20-year plea bargain instead of a potential life sentence in exchange for his testimony. Yet it has not been shown that Lucas lied, and many of the details of his account of Lovitt's confession matched other evidence. It also is not known what effect, if any, learning more about Lucas' background would have had on his credibility. One juror, who spoke on the condition his name not be used, said learning of Lucas' background wouldn't have helped the witness' credibility. However, the juror said it wouldn't have necessarily caused him to disbelieve Lucas, either. The juror said he considered Lucas' testimony as part of the overall evidence. Prosecutors say they would rather not use snitches but argue criminals usually don't confide in credible, law-abiding citizens. At times, it is necessary to use criminals to convict other criminals, they say. Testimony from snitches has resulted in some spectacular prosecutorial successes such as the conviction of organized crime and gang figures. But snitches have also put innocent people in prison. Over the past 30 years, 51 of 111 former death-row inmates who had their convictions tossed out were convicted in whole or in part on the testimony of snitches, according to a 2004 Northwestern University School of Law study. The Innocence Project, which has thus far helped free 163 people using DNA tests to prove innocence, reports that of the first 70 such cases, 16 involved snitches or informants. Richard Dieter, executive director of the Death Penalty Information Center, an anti-capital punishment group, said a confession, even one allegedly made to an inmate, can help clear doubts and ease the heavy burden on jurors in death cases. But, cautioned Dieter, "Jurors would be mistaken to place their trust in such statements, given their inherent and proven unreliability." According to court documents, the Arlington County Commonwealth's Attorney's office took precautions to ensure Lucas was not lying. Lucas knew details about the crime that only Lovitt could have told him, they believe. And the prosecutors went to great lengths to make sure Lucas understood he could not and would not gain anything by testifying against Lovitt. But Lucas later candidly admitted he still thought his help in the Lovitt case and other cases could win him a sentence reduction or other benefits, even though prosecutors and his own lawyer told him it would not. "I still don't believe them today," Lucas said of Lovitt's prosecutors and his lawyer. "I think it's up to the judge. I mean, if the judge wants to do it, he is going to do it," Lucas said in a June, 2002 court hearing, conducted as part of Lovitt's appeal. During Lovitt's 1999 trial, however, Lucas testified, "I knew I wasn't going to get anything" by being a witness against Lovitt. He said he was testifying because he had a conscience and because it was his civic duty. Nevertheless, not long after Lovitt's trial, Lucas had his lawyer contact the Arlington County Commonwealth's Attorney's office for help. Arlington prosecutors, adamant that Lucas would not benefit, refused to comply. It was not the only complication stirred up by Lucas following Lovitt's trial. In 2001 after the trial, Lucas signed an affidavit for attorneys working on Lovitt's appeal -- and initialed each paragraph -- in which he gave details about Lovitt's confession that conflicted with his testimony. He also said he learned details about the murder through other jail inmates and the media, though he testified his only knowledge of the crime was from Lovitt. After a visit from an Arlington detective, Lucas disavowed the affidavit. He said he was suffering from a toothache and was confused when he signed it. According to the transcript of the 2002 hearing, Lucas stuck to his story that Lovitt confessed to the murder of pool hall employee Clayton Dicks during a robbery because Dicks could identify him. "I don't know if he was bragging to me or trying to justify what he did," said Lucas. Lucas, now 39 and incarcerated since 1998, is serving 42 years and 6 months for crimes that include robbery, abduction and attempted rape. A 1998 psychological assessment noted that "Mr. Lucas has been treated for a mental disorder ever since 1992. He was subsequently honorably discharged from the armed forces following his Gulf War experiences." At the time of the evaluation, Lucas was taking Trazodone, an anti-depressant. Lucas recently declined to be interviewed. According to Department of Corrections records, Lucas served an 18-month sentence starting in 1997 for robbery convictions in Arlington and Alexandria. Then, in December 1998 and January 1999, he was convicted of 14 more crimes. In 1995 and 1996 while awaiting trial, he helped Arlington police in an assault investigation, beginning his career as a snitch. While awaiting trial in 1998 in the Alexandria and Arlington jails, he gave authorities information about at least four other crimes: a robbery/abduction, the wounding of a police officer, the so-called "Starbucks" murders and the Lovitt case. Details he disclosed to Washington police and the FBI concerning the July 6, 1997, slayings of 3 employees at a Georgetown Starbucks are not available. However, in a Sept. 20, 1998, letter, Washington homicide Detective James L. Trainum told Alexandria judges: "As a result of my several conversations with Mr. Lucas, we were able to advance our investigation much faster than would normally be the case." An Alexandria detective testified in the Lovitt trial as a character witness for Lucas. He said Lucas had a reputation among police for being honest. Once arrested, Lucas always admitted his crimes and pleaded guilty, he said. Rucker, one of Lovitt's lawyers, is highly critical of the officer's testimony. "This detective is trained in getting guys to confess. Lucas didn't come in off the street and say, 'I got to get this off my chest.' They arrested him, they presented the evidence to him, and he rolled over. He gave up," Rucker said. "I'll never get over that. How this guy could come into court and attest to the credibility of Lucas simply because Lucas had confessed to a number of horrendous crimes to him." The lead prosecutor in Lovitt's case is no longer with the Arlington County commonwealth's attorney's office. Margaret Eastman, who assisted her, did not return calls. But according to court papers, prosecutors deliberately waited until Lucas was sent to a state prison before contacting him to make sure he knew he could not benefit by testifying. Lucas is aware of dangers in snitching behind bars. In 1999, he wrote to a judge that because of his informing other cases, "my life is now in grave danger." In the 2002 hearing, Lucas said that 2 of the men he implicated in crimes "have a lot of friends, and I'm constantly running into them. So I'm constantly having problems." (source: Richmond Times-Dispatch) ************************** Society's problem Time to take a break from political endorsements. Those will conclude tomorrow with our pick of who we think should be our next governor. In the meantime, we'd like to talk about making changes of a different sort; changes in the way society manages its most precious resource - its children. On Thursday night, a vigil was held by candlelight at Staunton's Gypsy Hill Park to honor what should have been David Pannell Jr.'s 23rd birthday. Pannell was there only in the spirit as family, friends and supporters mourned him - again. David Pannell Jr. was gunned down on Greenville Avenue on a hot July night for wearing a blue bandanna. William Thomas "Tim Tim" Jones Jr., the 17-year-old accused of shooting Pannell, is alleged to have believed he was "capping" a rival gang member. Ironically, Pannell belonged to no gang, and has been described as a gentle spirit who loved butterflies. The memory of his son's last night still haunts David Pannell Sr. "I got a phone call at 10:43 telling me my son's been shot," he recalls. "I re-live that phone call every day ... walking through that morgue was the longest walk of my life." As senseless and numbing as David Pannell Jr.'s death was, it would be understandable if his family was seeking vengeance.But they're not. They would rather effect change of a more lasting sort - by encouraging all of Staunton's communities to fight gang violence at its source - our children. It's no wonder that some youth go seeking surrogate families in gangs. Too many "absentee parents" allow their children to grow up with a TV or video game console as their only companions - they're lucky. Others don't even get that much mental stimulation, and are being supervised by other children. Sometimes it's because the parents are afraid of their own children. Other times it's because they just don't care. Whatever the case may be, it's a problem American society must deal with - unless they prefer using the form of population control known as the death penalty. A society that fails to give its own children what they need eventually gets what it deserves - its own demise. The gang problem begins and ends at home - not on somebody else's street. (source: Editorial, Staunton News Leader) PENNSYLVANIA: Prosecutor seeks death penalty in fatal arson Prosecutors will seek the death penalty against a former volunteer firefighter accused of starting a duplex fire that killed a mother and her 3 children in September. Frederick A. Robinson, 51, of Apollo, faces trial on 4 counts of homicide, 2 counts of arson and other charges in the Sept. 2 fire at an Apollo duplex. Crystal M. Johnson, 40, and her 3 children, Rebecca White, 11; Jacob Patrono, 5; and Cynthia Johnson, 2, all died from smoke inhalation from the blaze that began on the porch and spread rapidly through the building. Robinson was a longtime friend of Johnson's and lived in a hotel about 3 blocks from the family's house, police said. At a hearing last month, a state trooper testified Robinson admitted to setting the fire and that voices in his head told him to do it. The trooper said Robinson said he had drunk several beers and taken about a half-dozen tranquilizers before setting the fire. The phone rang unanswered Friday afternoon at the office of Robinson's attorney, public defender Debra Yost. (source: Associated Press) ****************** Prosecutor Seeks Death Penalty for Former Berks Police Chief A FORMER BERKS COUNTY POLICE CHIEF COULD GET THE DEATH PENALTY IF HE'S CONVICTED OF KILLING HIS EX-WIFE. THE NORTHUMBERLAND COUNTY DISTRICT ATTORNEY FILED COURT PAPERS THIS WEEK TO SEEK THE DEATH PENALTY FOR 31-YEAR-OLD RICHARD CURRAN. THE FORMER BERNVILLE POLICE CHIEF IS ACCUSED OF KILLING 31-YEAR-OLD TINA CURRAN IN AUGUST. SHE WAS SHOT SEVERAL TIMES OUTSIDE THE HOSPITAL WHERE SHE WORKED IN SHAMOKIN. POLICE SAY RICHARD CURRAN WAS CAUGHT IN NEW YORK TRYING TO CROSS INTO CANADA, JUST HOURS AFTER ALLEGEDLY KILLING TINA CURRAN. HE WAS SERVING AS THE BERNVILLE POLICE CHIEF AT THE TIME OF HIS WIFE'S MURDER. THE DISTRICT ATTORNEY SAYS CURRAN COULD GET THE DEATH PENALTY ONLY IF A JURY CONVICTS HIM OF FIRST DEGREE MURDER. ****************************** Northampton County DA Seeks Death Penalty in Murder Case NORTHAMPTON COUNTY'S DISTRICT ATTORNEY SAYS HE'LL SEEK THE DEATH PENALTY FOR 2 MEN ACCUSED OF ROBBING AND KILLING A BETHLEHEM GROCER. JOHN MORGANELLI SAYS 19-YEAR-OLD OMAR CHAPARRO AND 20-YEAR-OLD MATTHEW JENKINS WILL FACE THE DEATH PENALTY FOR THEIR ROLES IN THE MURDER. JENKINS IS ACCUSED OF BEING THE TRIGGER MAN. BOTH MEN ARE ACCUSED OF MURDERING CONCEPCION MARTINEZ INSIDE HIS FAMILY GROCERY STORE ON BROADWAY IN BETHLEHEM INAUGUST. (source for both: WFMZ News) *********************** Triangle Ed-Op Interviews: Chief Inspector Jack Maxwell --How different is the crime scene investigation we see on TV dramas vs. the crime scene investigation in real life? JM: A lot of the examinations and the methodology in collecting evidence is very similar. But realize, in real life, crime scene units are limited and only really come out on major cases. And sometimes, if there's two or three murders or two or three rapes occurring at the same time, often times investigators will process the scene and they may not have the same expertise as the specialists. As far as the technology and the test that they do on the evidence collected is very similar. The big difference is that they show the same officers collecting the evidence then doing the analysis and doing the testing. The people who do the analysis and testing in the crime lab are scientists, they're not police officers. The shows like CSI show the same people doing DNA tests and going out and doing an arrest. It's not the way it is in Philadelphia, it's two separate units. They work closely and they collaborate, and many police officers and investigators develop a good working knowledge of crime scenes. But realize, when you do this test, you'd have to submit this evidence in court, and you're going to have to submit your training, your expertise on it. Who are you to say you conducted this DNA or urinalysis sample correctly? Hair analysis, semen analysis, saliva analysis, skin analysis, ballistic analysis; you have to show expertise and training. --When the police department was reorganized in the late 1990's, and you were placed as Chief of Detectives, how difficult was it to maintain a very public office often under heavy public pressure to solve crimes? JM: Well, I think it's all part of the territory. It's difficult, but I was very lucky. I certainly had tremendous bosses. I never really felt under pressure from the public, or the media, or anyone else. Our bosses were kept appraised of the investigation and they were very supportive. --How much, in your experience, does local and state politics influence or hinder your ability to do your job? JM: I can't really say it hindered it at all. I think with local and state politics, something new is that with grants they can be tremendous help. You can get grant money from the federal government through the state, more task forces, more equipment, more training. I see that process being much more beneficial. --In the Scott Peterson case, we saw the defendant convicted purely on circumstantial evidence with no appreciable direct evidence involved (witness testimony to the crime, etc.). Do you feel that this is an example of good police work, or good prosecutorial work. JM: Both. The other major cases, people have been charged and convicted based on circumstantial evidence. The Atlanta City murderer, the rug fibers that were found in his trunk. Captain Jeffrey McDonald's case was solved on blood patterns. It's difficult, but that's where we are today with forensics, and judges and juries are impressed by it. --So it's more so an advancement of the technology can make circumstantial evidence convictions more prevalent; they can happen more often as technology gets better? JM: Yes, and as departments hire experts to do these tests and make assumptions, as I said with the Jeffrey McDonald case, the blood splatter patterns were the first, I believe, to indicate to the investigators that it didn't jive with what Captain McDonald said. But he said the chain of events didn't match the spattering of blood. So, it used to be the old story saying that you can't trust it was a murder until you find a body. Obviously, times have changed. Those cases are few and far between. But when they do occur, it's a result of a combination of good investigation and prosecution. --In that case, Peterson received the death penalty. Do you think that utilizing the death penalty in cases where there is only circumstantial evidence to convict is appropriate? JM: I think you to take them on a case-by-case basis. I'm not going to say if it was appropriate or inappropriate. I guess as an individual, you first have to decide whether you're in favor of capital punishment or not. To me, I keep an open mind on it. I do think that, contrary to a lot of people, that the death penalty is a deterrent. Many of the people on death row are fighting to stay alive. But, with that being said, I've probably changed my point of view. I think life without parole is a better option to pursue. --At the University, we have a new criminal justice program. But many students are interested in the field of crime scene investigation and other aspects of law enforcement, yet they are majoring in other fields of study. What different majors here can still play integral roles in working in the criminal justice system? JM: Well, off the top of my head, I think all of them. In the federal sector and in many state and local police agencies, you need a college education to even be considered. When you look at where we're at today with identity theft, white collar crime, terrorism; almost any of the degrees, whether they be in biology, chemistry when talking about forensics, computer engineering and civil engineering if you go into the BATF (Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms). Almost any skill you pick up in college can be beneficial in some way, shape or form in law enforcement, either state, local, or federal. --Do you think that having an ability to carry a firearm is beneficial or negative to law enforcement for citizens? JM: I certainly don't want interfere with people's rights to carry firearms. I think there's been some studies that have shown that many of the guns that turn up in shootings and murders in Philadelphia aren't involved with people who have the permits to carry. An argument can be made that houses can be burglarized and guns can be taken, and those are the guns that wind up involved in crime. It just seems to me that there's too many guns on the street, it seems it may be too easy to get a gun, to buy a gun, not necessarily to carry a gun, and guns kill. Any program that can limit guns on the street and limit putting guns in the hands of bad people is a good program. --What is your experience with judges and appellate justices considering the work you have done? Have they upheld the evidence you and your detectives collected on a regular basis, or was some much needed leeway from them that just never came? JM: I have no complaints in my career in the judicial system. I found most judges, in my day when I was going to court, were very fair and very knowledgeable. Something that comes to mind, which not a lot of people realize, is that in Philadelphia we have a charging function. All charges are approved by the assistant district attorney and the district attorney's office before they go to court, so they already go through a level of scrutiny. When that first started, there was a lot of resentment even within the police department because the DA's always were approving these. But this prevented a lot of weak cases or unsubstantiated charges from entering into the system, and we would have to do, as a Captain, a report on every charge that was disapproved by district attorney's office. 99% of the time, when you look at the reason why the district attorney had disapproved that aspect of the investigation, the first question [...] and we disagreed with them and looked at it, then we found out they were right. The evidence just does not articulate correctly. That's not to say [the case] couldn't be made later. --- (source: The Triangle (Jack Maxwell served as the chief inspector of the Philadelphia Police Department, head of Internal Affairs, and was the highest civil service rank in the police department; anything above would require an appointment. Maxwell is also an adjunct professor in the department of culture and communications at Drexel. The A&E television series "Cold Case" was based off of Maxwell's extensive work in the field of crime scene investigation and detective work. He was also integral in helping solve the Center City rapist case. Maxwell is teaching Introduction to Law Enforcement this upcoming winter term.) KANSAS: DA steps into line of fire Talked to Paul Morrison on Thursday. And he reiterated that he put professionalism ahead of politics this week by announcing he won't seek the death penalty in Ali Kemp's murder. To which my follow-up question was: Are you a dope? Look, Paul, you're running for Kansas attorney general. Doesn't the Johnson County DA know how this game is played? Doesn't he realize that his critics are probably even now doing the voice-overs for the attack ads they'll use against him next fall? Of course, he knows. And say what you want about Morrison, for that alone the guy deserves respect. It would have been so easy to do the politically expedient thing. He could have said he would seek the death penalty, and then blamed the judges if Benjamin Appleby were convicted and the threatened death sentence were thrown out on appeal. In Morrison's opinion, the Kemp case doesn't fit the narrow circumstances in which Kansas law allows capital punishment. And his forthrightness has put Morrison in a tough spot. His candidacy on the Democratic ticket had barely been announced before his Republican opponent, Attorney General Phill Kline, was on the radio saying Morrison was soft on crime. That's comical. Morrison, in fact, has earned a reputation as a tough prosecutor. Yet what does Morrison do a week after those attacks? He responds not as a political hack might, but as a veteran prosecutor. And his opponents now have a poster boy for the smear campaign that's almost certain to come. You think I'm getting ahead of myself here? Au contraire. Paul Morrison now "has his own Willie Horton," a caller to the Darla Jaye talk show on KMBZ radio said Thursday. Yes, if convicted, Appleby will almost certainly die in prison, but he won't face the possible death sentence that Ali Kemp's father and others think he deserves. That's bound to strike a nerve with some voters, despite 2 good reasons to trust Morrison's reasoning. One, he's never been reluctant to seek the death penalty. Barrel murderer John Robinson awaits execution as a result of Morrison's decision to go for the maximum sentence. Morrison has also used the threat of execution to get guilty pleas that resulted in virtual life sentences. Murderers Debora Green and James Watson come immediately to mind. But for me, it's the 2nd reason that gives Morrison the most credibility: He decided not to seek the death penalty in the Appleby case knowing full well what it will cost him politically in his first statewide election campaign. "I'm taking some hits," he told me. Some hits? He'd best brace himself for many. Not every voter will be interested in looking at this case with the level of nuance that it deserves. Instead, they'll hear only that Morrison failed to prosecute an accused murderer to the full extent of the law. That message will be spread whether or not Kline utters the criticism personally. That is, it will, unless Kline were to call off the dogs by issuing a statement in support of Morrison's prosecutorial discretion. As if that's going to happen. To my e-mail asking Kline how he viewed the death penalty decision in this case, this was the entirety of the attorney general's revealing response: "No comment." (source: Mike Hendricks, Kansas City Star)
