Feb. 15
TEXAS----execution
Man who killed Houston cabbie in 1992 executed
Convicted killer Clyde Smith was executed today for the 1992 fatal
shooting of a Houston cab driver during a robbery.
"I want to thank you all for being here and for your love and support,"
Smith said to friends who watched from a nearby window.
Smith, who was executed for the 1992 death of cab driver David Jacobs, did
not acknowledge the relatives of another slain cab driver who were present
for the execution.
7 minutes after the lethal drugs began to flow, he was pronounced dead at
6:17 p.m. CST.
Smith confessed to the Feb. 7, 1992, slaying of the 45-year-old Jacobs,
and a similar shooting and robbery 6 weeks later of another cab driver.
But Smith said the confession was made under duress from police.
"I realize how bad that looked, because the 2 were so similar," he said of
the 2 deaths. "But at the same time, I still maintain I didn't kill those
persons."
Smith, 32, was convicted of shooting Jacobs 4 times in the head and
robbing him of about $100.
"I wasn't there when he was killed," Smith said in a recent interview at
the Texas Department of Criminal Justice Polunsky Unit, home to the
state's death row. "I got there afterward."
The Texas Board of Pardons and Paroles on Tuesday rejected requests to
commute Smith's sentence to life and to issue a 180-day reprieve. The U.S.
Supreme Court rejected the request for a stay about an
About an hour before the scheduled execution on Wednesday, the U.S.
Supreme Court rejected an appeal in the case. Smith's lawyers had
challenged the constitutionality of the lethal combination of drugs used
in the injection. Similar appeals in recent weeks have failed to halt 2
other executions carried out in Texas.
In earlier appeals, lawyers pointed out federal judges agreed Smith may
have had poor legal help during his trial and that he suffered significant
abuse as a child, which they say was not pursued by his trial defense
team.
"Nevertheless, ... courts concluded that Smith must shoulder the
consequences," Clint Broden, Smith's appeals lawyers, said.
At his trial, defense attorneys presented no witnesses.
"I had no idea how the system worked," Smith said from death row. "All I
knew was what I saw on TV. It's much different."
Joe Owmby, who prosecuted the case, said defense lawyers "had nothing to
work with except ... to discredit the witnesses that we did have."
2 women, girlfriends of Smith, testified against him. One of his
girlfriends called a crime tip line that led police to Smith. One of them
said she was in the cab when he committed one of the slayings.
"Things always went wrong when I was associated with people," said Smith,
who was 18 at the time of the deaths. "I didn't actually kill anyone, but
it's possible I could be killed by the state."
Owmby doesn't believe Smith's claims of innocence.
"He is a cold-blooded, remorseless individual who could have contributed
to society, but decided to take the lives of 2 people who were important
to a lot of people just by being who they were -- hardworking people who
drove cabs and lived good lives in Houston," Owmby said.
Smith, a Charlotte, N.C., native, had been in Houston about 10 months. His
father lived in Houston and his mother in Mississippi.
Smith dropped out of the 9th grade in Laurel, Miss., and once worked as a
security guard.
He has 4 brothers and a sister. From death row, he said the last time he
saw a relative was 1991.
He also has a daughter, about 18, who has no contact with him.
"I didn't want her to be exposed to this," he said.
Smith becomes the 4th condemned inmate to be put to death this year in
Texas and the 359th overall since the state resumed capital punishment on
December 7, 1977. Smith was the 2nd of 3 scheduled this month in the
nation's busiest capital punishment state.
Smith becomes the 120th condemned inmate to be put to death in Texas since
Rick Perry became governor in 2001.
Next on the execution schedule is Steven Staley, condemned for the 1989
slaying of a Fort Worth restaurant manager during a botched robbery.
Staley, scheduled to be executed Feb. 23, won a reprieve last year.
Smith becomes the 8th condemned inmate to be put to death this year in the
USA and the 1012th overall since the nation resumed executions on January
17, 1977.
(sources: Associated Press & Rick Halperin)
OHIO:
Railroaded Onto Death Row?
On Dec. 26, 2001, police in the small town of Prentiss, Miss., executed a
marijuana search warrant on a small duplex.
On one side of the duplex lived Jamie Wilson, described in the search
warrant and police affidavit as a "known drug dealer." When police pounded
on her door, Wilson answered and surrendered. That, of course, is what
you'd expect a small-time marijuana dealer to do.
On the other side of the duplex, 20-year-old Cory Maye had fallen asleep
in an easy chair. His 18-month-old daughter lay asleep in the next room.
Maye had only recently moved out of his parents' home. He had moved in
with his girlfriend, because, he says, he wanted to be a father to his
daughter. Maye was uncomfortable in his new home, and had expressed
concerns to his mother about the seedy neighborhood surrounding it. Still,
he promised to stick it out until after the holidays.
Late that night, Maye said he awoke to a furious pounding on his front
door. According to his court testimony, he became frightened for his
safety, and for the safety of his daughter. He ran back to the bedroom,
where his daughter was asleep on the bed. He retrieved the gun he had for
home protection, loaded it, chambered a round, and lay down on the floor
next to her, hoping the noises and/or intruders outside would subside.
They didn't. Soon enough, Maye says, the door to Maye's bedroom flew open,
and a figure entered from the outside. Scared, Maye fired his gun three
times.
The figure was police officer Ron Jones, and one of Maye's bullets struck
Jones in the abdomen, killing him. Worse for Maye, Jones also happened to
be the son of the town's police chief.
The above is Cory Maye's version of events. As you might guess, the police
offered a different account of the raid. They say they repeatedly
announced they were police, and asked Maye to open up. They say an
anonymous informant had told the investigating officer that there was a
"large stash" of marijuana in the apartment Cory Maye shared with his
girlfriend. And they say Cory Maye knew that Ron Jones was a police
officer when he shot him.
A Mississippi jury believed the police. Last year, Cory Maye was found
guilty of capital murder, or the intentional killing of a police officer.
The same afternoon, he was sentenced to death. And today he sits on
Mississippi's death row.
That Cory Maye is even in prison is an appalling failure of Mississippi's
criminal justice system. Police had no reason to be in his home that
night, much less to break down his door. His case is just the latest in a
series of tragic consequences resulting from the overuse of paramilitary
tactics when police serve drug warrants.
But it's the details of Cory Maye's case that make it particularly
compelling:
Cory Maye had no prior criminal record. He had no history of violence.
Police found one gram of ashen marijuana in Maye's apartment (that's about
a sixth of a teabag's worth). There was no "large stash," and Cory Maye
was no drug dealer. In fact, Maye's name appeared nowhere on the search
warrant, only his address and the phrase "persons unknown."
Then there's the matter of the informant. We'll never know who that
informant was, nor will we ever know what kind of corroborating
investigation was done before securing the warrant. That's because the
entire investigation leading up to the raid was conducted by the same
Officer Ron Jones who was killed in the raid.
According to District Attorney Buddy McDonald, Jones kept no notes or
documentation of his investigation of the Wilson-Maye duplex; and any
investigation he may have done, in the words of McDonald, "died with
Officer Jones."
Cory Maye may well have been a recreational pot smoker. But then,
possession of a misdemeanor amount of pot doesn't justify an armed home
invasion. Cory Maye may also have fired his gun too quickly. But what
would you have done? You have no criminal record. You aren't a dangerous
person. You have no reason to think police would break into your home in
the middle of the night. You awake to find that your home is under attack.
The door flies open. Do you wait to see who it is? Or do you defend your
family?
Don't think it can't happen. There are dozens of examples of late night
"no-knock" drug raids executed on the wrong home, or on people guilty of,
at worst, misdemeanor offenses. Any gun owner willing to defend his family
from intruders could well be in the same position Cory Maye was in 4 years
ago. At the very worst, Maye is guilty of recklessness. It's horrifying to
think he could be executed for an error in judgment, an error compounded
by volatile circumstances, a frightening assault, and high-stakes drama,
none of which were of his making.
But it gets worse. For the last 10 years, Bob Evans has been public
defender for the town of Prentiss. Late last year, Evans says he was
warned by town officials not to represent Cory Maye in his appeal. Evans
ignored the threats, and gave Maye representation. In January of this
year, Prentiss made good on its promise, and fired Evans.
According to Evans, Prentiss Mayor Charlie Dumas told him point blank that
he was terminated for representing Cory Maye. In a phone interview, Mayor
Dumas confirmed having a conversation with Evans, but declined to go into
specifics. Calls to the town's aldermen weren't returned, or were answered
with "no comment."
If Evans version of events are true, the firing of Evans stinks. It's the
kind of thing public officials do when they have something to hide. And it
only adds to the already obvious notion that the town of Prentiss doesn't
much care about giving Cory Maye a fair shake at justice.
Cory Maye should unite both liberal death penalty foes and conservative
gun rights advocates. If Tookie Wilson's execution bothered you, Maye's
should terrify you. And if you're troubled by Waco, you should be outraged
by Prentiss.
I think Maye deserves an apology. He certainly doesn't deserve death.
(source: Fox News----Radley Balko is a policy analyst)
