Sept. 17 TEXAS: Death penalty trial delayed until 2007 for Killeen man The death penalty trial for a 27-year-old Killeen man accused of slaying four people over the 2004 Thanksgiving weekend was set to begin Monday with jury selection, but has been delayed until January. 2 of Richard Lee Tabler's three attorneys are no longer working on the capital murder case. Waco attorney Russ Hunt filed a motion to withdraw from the case. His motion to Judge Martha Trudo of the 264th District Court stated there was a "situation created by the defendant which created an ethical problem for attorney Hunt and the mitigation specialist." Trudo granted Hunt's motion, and attorney John Donahue of Waco replaced Hunt as lead counsel. Court documents stated that Tabler fired his pro bono attorney, Michael F. White, of Temple, because of a conflict of interest. No one has been selected to replace White. Killeen attorney Buck Harris is still on the capital murder case. Jury selection is scheduled to begin Jan. 16, with the trial starting Feb. 20. Tabler is charged in the Nov. 26, 2004, deaths of Haitham Zayed, 28, and Mohamid-Amine Rahmouni, 25, and in the Nov. 28, 2004, deaths of Tiffany Lorraine Dotson, 18, and Amanda Benefield, 16. Also charged in the deaths is Timothy Doan Payne, 19, a former 4th Infantry Division soldier. The slayings of the 4 individuals - all employees of Teazers Gentlemen's Club in Killeen - took place over the Thanksgiving weekend. The bodies of Zayed and Rahmouni were discovered outside the Killeen city limits near West Fort Hood. They died of multiple gunshot wounds to the chest. In an arrest affidavit, Tabler and Payne admitted to killing the 2 men. Tabler stated that he met Zayed and Rahmouni on the pretense of buying stolen items. Tabler admitted that he shot the 2 men while Payne videotaped the incident. Both men said they searched Zayed's and Rahmouni's bodies for money. In a separate affidavit, Tabler said he lured the two dancers to a remote area of Simmons Road on the promise of crack cocaine. Tabler stated he shot Benefield because she made comments about the earlier shootings of Zayed and Rahmouni. Police believe that Dotson was killed because she was at the wrong place at the wrong time. Apparently, both men told investigators that the murders were part of a revenge-based plot to kill at least 12 people who worked at the gentlemen's club, people Tabler believed had wronged him. Tabler later recanted his confession in a letter he sent to the Killeen Daily Herald in which he stated he had never admitted to killing anyone. Tabler said in the letter that the information being released about him was false. (source: Killeen Daily Herald) ************ Tough lessons become drama A few nights ago at a rather unusual theater production, I took note during intermission of a different sad drama. At the end of the evening, I left the theater still in suspense, curious about the rest of the offstage drama, of which I got only a synopsis from a reluctant audience member. The scheduled program at the Rose Marine Theatre was actually a series of skits put on by the Miranda Writes Players, which is made up mostly of former prisoners and whose motto is "We had the right to remain silent, but we chose not to." The production was billed as "Real People ... Real Lives ... Real Hopes ... Real Dreams ... Coming Home." Presented by Texas Inmate Services, the production was heavy on criminal-justice issues with an emphasis on bad decisions made by otherwise good people, the need for individual responsibility and the power of personal redemption. In the printed program, rather than standard bios, each actor was described in 2 categories: "What went wrong" and "Where I am going." For example, star Mark Herrera's description read: "I found that selling drugs was an easy way to make money and because I chose not to go to college I did not have any training or expertise in a career. I did not stop selling or using drugs until I got busted and went to prison for 12 years." In the "Where I'm going" section, Herrera says, "Today I only need 2 classes to graduate from college. I never thought I would attend college until I went to prison. There, I earned most of my credits and became a teacher's aide in Computer Data Processing. My last 3 years of prison I studied computers intensely. This helped me land my job working with a software company in Dallas. I would like to continue my education and complete my Bachelor's Degree." I met Mark's mother that night, and, as you might expect, she is extremely proud of her son, not only because of his skill onstage, but because of his actions in life now. At intermission, much of the crowd, many of whom were related to the actors and are active in programs for ex-offenders, went to the lobby and to an anteroom where art by prisoners was displayed. There was much murmuring about the artwork and about what the audience had seen on stage. As I talked to one artist who served 14 years in prison, an older man came up behind us and said, almost in a whisper, "I don't see this the way you do." I turned with what I know was a puzzled look as the man walked away with his head down. He didn't seem to belong in this crowd, and he appeared to be in pain. As it turned out, he was. Finishing my conversation with the artist, I walked over to the man, whom I will call J.J. (his initials), and asked if I had heard him correctly. He said I had, and he repeated what he had said. "What do you mean?" I asked. He told me that his daughter was "assaulted" -- about four years ago, as I recall -- and had been changed forever. I asked, as calmly and as sensitively I could, "Why are you here?" J.J. said he had been invited by the parents of his daughter's assailant, and J.J. had agreed to meet them at the theater. "But they haven't shown up yet," he said. "I'll give them a few more minutes." "Would you know them if you saw them?" I asked. "Yes," he said. "I saw them every day during the trial." Then, with disappointment in his voice, he said, "He gets out in November. "My daughter will never be the same. My wife will never be the same." He said his daughter rarely leaves the house, and she doesn't go out on dates. I told him that I would love to tell his daughter's story one day, and he promised to think about it and talk it over with his family. As the 2nd act began, without seeing the couple he had come to meet, J.J. went back to his seat. During the curtain call, I looked toward his seat, expecting to find it empty. He had remained for the entire production but immediately moved toward the exit during the standing ovation. I rushed to catch J.J. "They never showed up?" I asked. "No," he said, with his head bowed. I gave him my regrets and my phone number, saying again that I would like to tell the story of his daughter. Once again, he said he would consider it. I hope so, seriously. (source: Bob Ray Sanders, Fort Worth Star-Telegram) TENNESSEE: Tenn. Prisoner Set for ElectrocutionDaryl Keith Holton Set to Become 1st Prisoner to Die in Tenn. Electric Chair in 46 Yeas Confessed murderer Daryl Keith Holton gets his way, on Tuesday he will become the 1st prisoner to die in Tennessee's electric chair in 46 years. Holton, who confessed to murdering his three young sons and his ex-wife's daughter within hours of shooting them to death with a semiautomatic assault rifle, is scheduled to be executed because he quit appealing his death sentence. He also chose the electric chair over the state's preferred method of lethal injection. Dorinda Carter, spokeswoman for the Tennessee Department of Correction, said even though the state has not used the electric chair to carry out an execution in decades, staff members at the Riverbend Maximum Security Institution in Nashville are trained in using the chair and ready to carry out the execution. >From 1916 until 1960, 125 people were executed by electrocution in Tennessee. In 2000, lethal injection replaced electrocution as the primary method of execution, according to the Department of Correction. Under Tennessee law, death row inmates can choose between the electric chair and lethal injection if their crimes were committed before 1999. Stephen Ferrell, Holton's federal public defender, is trying to get the federal courts to stop the execution on the grounds that Holton isn't mentally competent. The 6th U.S. Circuit Court of Appeals is expected to rule Monday on a request for a stay. Ferrell also is appealing a ruling earlier this month from a federal judge in Knoxville that Holton's case didn't merit a full evidentiary hearing on his competency. Ferrell says attorney-client privilege forbids him from talking about why Holton chose the electric chair. 9 states allow some or all condemned inmates to choose between lethal injection and another execution method, according to the Death Penalty Information Center. Ten states have the electric chair but only Nebraska uses it exclusively. Virginia inmate Brandon Hedrick, 27, chose to die in the electric chair in July, the first execution by that means in more than 2 years. The last time the electric chair was used in Tennessee was Nov. 7, 1960, when inmate William Tines was executed for rape. Tennessee did not execute another inmate until Robert Glen Coe by lethal injection in 2000. John Webster, a professor at the department of biomedical engineering at University of Wisconsin-Madison, says many states have stopped using the electric chair because it's more controversial and gruesome than lethal injection. "It's disfiguring. The family will end up with the body and frequently find burns on the scalp, leg and neck," Webster said. For witnesses "it's unpleasant to see someone shocked and responding to a shock. The odor and the air smells of burning pork." On Nov. 30, 1997, Holton told the 4 children Steven, 12, Eric, 6, Brent, 10, and their half-sister Kayla, 4 that they were going Christmas shopping. Nearly 5 hours later, Holton walked into the Shelbyville Police department and said he had lined up the children at his uncle's auto repair garage and shot them. Holton, 44, turned himself in after he went looking for his former wife and her boyfriend but couldn't find them. He was found guilty in 1999 of 4 counts of 1st-degree murder. Holton says suffered from severe depression when he committed the murders. His lawyers maintain Holton has a long history of mental illness and may suffer from post traumatic stress disorder from his military service in the 1991 Gulf War. (source: Associated Press) ********** DA's care for killer worries lawyers, victim's kin----Good intent, bad judgment, Gibson says News that District Attorney General Bill Gibson worked behind the scenes to get a lighter sentence for a murderer has some of his Putnam County neighbors mad, and others confused. But the family of murder victim Lillian Kelley feels one thing: fear. Letters between Gibson and convicted killer Christopher Adams have once again thrown together Kelley's family, the murderer and the area's top prosecutor - three years after the slaying and two years after the case ended in a conviction. In the letters, Gibson gave legal advice, encouragement and religious counsel and talked to Adams like a friend, even though Gibson was prosecuting Adams' case. He sent the letters to Adams without telling Adams' own lawyer. He sent some while Adams was negotiating a plea bargain; he sent others after the plea, while Adams was trying to win a do-over of his case and an even shorter sentence. The letters are unusual and could be ruled unethical and illegal. Attorneys' ethical rules prevent lawyers from secretly talking to other lawyers' clients. Gibson also undercut efforts by his own staff to get a longer sentence, not a shorter one, for Adams. "I had good intentions in all of this but did not exercise good judgment," Gibson wrote in a statement Saturday to The Tennessean. "I will face this matter, myself trusting in God, and life will go on." Fallout from the letters, published by the newspaper Saturday, could be far-reaching. Gibson could lose his license to practice law after 16 years as top prosecutor for the rural Middle Tennessee area that includes Putnam and other Upper Cumberland Plateau counties. He's also the subject of a criminal probe by the Tennessee Bureau of Investigation. But the impact could go beyond that. Some, such as Cookeville attorney Phil Parsons, fear similar communications may have tainted other cases tried by Gibson. In the letters, Gibson sought Adams' prayers for other defendants he was prosecuting, including a man accused of murder and another of child molestation. "If he's done this in this case, as serious as it was, what's happened elsewhere?" Parsons asked. 'Very hard meeting' Carl Calfee's home is on a winding rural highway in the hills outside Cookeville. It's also just 500 feet from where his mother-in law was murdered. He is tight-lipped about the killing. "We're gun-shy," said Calfee, who described himself as a private man. He didn't want to discuss Gibson or the case. He worries Adams will use letters from the county's top prosecutor - sent covertly while Adams' attorney was negotiating his plea agreement - to overturn the conviction that puts Adams behind bars until 2037. Carl Calfee doesn't want to be a target. He said he thinks he and his wife might be in danger if Adams gets out of prison. It also could mean more trauma for a family that agreed, with advice from Gibson, to a plea bargain to avoid the emotional strain of a court battle. During a string of robberies, court documents say, Adams entered Kelley's home Sept. 9, 2003, and stole her checkbook before killing her. According to an autopsy report, the 79-year-old woman was stabbed through the heart, neck and shoulder. Adams later tried to use her checks at a Bi-Lo store. "The case against you is strong even without the confession," Gibson wrote to Adams in an undated letter. "I understand that they have your fingerprints on a B.C. (headache) powder in her purse at the scene and a video of you cashing her check the next day." The Calfees, who relied on Gibson and another prosecutor to guide them through the legal process, did not know about the letters until The Tennessean provided them copies. They had a positive experience with Gibson for the week they were in contact with him, according to Barbara Calfee, Kelley's daughter. She described herself as "a simple person" who didn't know much about the court system. She read the letters stoically on her back porch Friday evening. Other than a few soft exclamations - "That's sick" and "I can't believe he was talking to all these people" - she was silent. The Calfees were actually mentioned in one of the letters: Adams wrote to Gibson that he would like to apologize to them face to face, though it would "be a very hard meeting." "It may help the healing process," Adams wrote. "What do you think Bill?" In the same letter, Adams pondered whether "Mrs. Kelley knew Christ as her Savior." Previous slaying in Texas Adams' letters to Gibson say he has found Jesus in prison, citing Bible verses and religious poems and recommending religious literature to the prosecutor. Gibson calls Adams "an Honest, Honorable Child of the Living God" in one missive. But Adams has more than one slaying in his past. He stabbed his sleeping father to death with a hunting knife in Houston 20 years ago, local media reported at the time. After the slaying, the 13-year-old loaded his belongings, including his dog and two of his father Lendal Adams' pistols, into a pickup truck and fled to Louisiana. He was arrested at his sister's home but escaped jail time when authorities sent him to a live-in mental institution in Tennessee, the state where his mother still lives, news reports indicate. At the time, Adams claimed his father hit him when he got in trouble at school, according to the local newspaper. Court files in Putnam County reflect Adams' long criminal history before Kelley's murder, though his role in his father's slaying was not noted in the file. However, Gibson told The Tennessean on Saturday that he knew Adams had killed his father. Gibson wrote to the Board of Professional Responsibility, the state agency that oversees lawyers' ethical conduct, that he only knew of Adams being "in and out of jail and court a lot on smaller drug-related charges" with addiction problems. Adams, 34, is slated for release in 2037, according to a state Web site. With credit for time he served in jail before his plea, he will be required to serve 100 % of the 35 years to which he was sentenced, court documents said. Now in the prison in Pikeville, Tenn., Adams declined a telephone interview last week, Correction Department spokeswoman Dorinda Carter said. His mother, Donetta Schmidt, still lives in Cookeville. She declined to discuss her son or the Kelley murder last week. "It's been hard. We've been through enough already," she said, wiping away a tear and shutting her front door. The letters show Gibson looked after Schmidt at Adams' request. In one note, the prosecutor offered to give her a Mother's Day present. "This morning I talked to your mother for a good while," he wrote. "She is dealing with all of the emotional stuff as well as physical problems. . We are going to stay in touch and I will help her any way I can." In his letters to Gibson, Adams wrote that he was "very remorseful" for what he had done, and he said he had been "strung out on crack" then. Adams also complained about his lawyers not doing what he wanted. Gibson wrote back with criticisms of Adams' lawyers, discouraged him from pleading guilty to first-degree murder, and later encouraged Adams to build his appeal around an argument that his lawyers had provided ineffective counsel. He suggested the appeal could get Adams a reduced sentence of just 15 years. When Parsons came on as Adams' new lawyer in June 2006, the old lawyer said Adams was refusing to cooperate with his own defense. When Parsons asked his new client about this, Adams told Parsons about the letters. Parsons obtained 11 in all and turned them over to state investigators. Adams thought "they'd aid his case," Parsons said. He said he still can't figure out why Gibson would write to Adams. "What's really troubling is if one of those letters said 'Thanks for the $25,000,' that's graft, that's the end of it," he said. "These are bizarre letters." 'Suitable for everyone' Gibson, a prosecutor since 1990 and an ex-cop, is probably best known for prosecuting Byron "Low Tax" Looper in the slaying of state Sen. Tommy Burks. He also prosecuted a school superintendent, a Circuit Court clerk and a city councilman. A previous sheriff of Overton County was indicted on 397 counts of official misconduct under Gibson's watch. The voice in the letters to Adams is not the Bill Gibson that Greg Phillips knew when he worked for Gibson and later as chief investigator with the Overton County Sheriff's Department. "That's so personal it's unbelievable," said Phillips, who today operates a heavy-duty wrecker service in Putnam County. "I don't know why he would be that personal with a convicted killer. I would be more caring about the victim's family." Gibson wrote 11 letters to Adams over a 2-year period and met twice with him during plea negotiations. He told the newspaper that Adams began writing him, "talking about how he found God in prison and what life was like." The prosecutor said he responded because Adams "didn't step away from his crime. He didn't ask for anything, and the state of Tennessee had gotten its measure of justice that was suitable for everyone." However, Gibson would not discuss with The Tennessean how he met the inmate. He wrote to the Board of Professional Responsibility that he'd seen Adams around the courthouse, but that was all. David Brady, who has been the public defender in Cookeville for 17 years, was Adams' first lawyer and represented Adams during the negotiations over his guilty plea. He said Gibson told him he met Adams at an annual soapbox derby held by the police department, and when Adams was first questioned by the TBI in Kelley's murder, Adams asked to speak to Gibson by name. Brady had been worried, he said, that his client would face the death penalty if the case went to trial. But the prosecution later agreed to let Adams plead guilty to second-degree murder and take a total sentence of 35 years, which Brady called "an amazingly good result." The plea to the lesser charge followed a rare jailhouse meeting between Gibson, Adams and Brady in which the inmate and the prosecutor did most of the talking, in "a conversation about God and the settlement of the case," Brady said. Gibson wrote in an undated letter to Adams that God told him Adams should not face the minimum 51-year sentence for first-degree murder. "I felt He was speaking to me too, about it not being the right thing to do," the prosecutor wrote. Despite the appearance from the letters, Gibson said balancing his religious beliefs and the tenets of Tennessee state law isn't a problem, he told the newspaper. "I was trying to come up with something to talk about and trying to sound encouraging," Gibson said. "He had found God, and I believed God had forgiven him. That's what he was hanging onto to go on with his life." (source: The Tennessean) FLORIDA: Death Penalty Appeal A death row inmate is scheduled to be executed on Wednesday but an appeal before the federal courts could stay that execution again. Clarence Hill is trying to fight his death sentence. He says Florida's execution method of lethal injection is cruel and unusual punishment. Some studies show the anesthesia used in the lethal injection does not protect from excruciating pain. Last June the U.S. Supreme Court ruled that lower courts had to consider Hill's case as a civil rights violation. Hill is accused of killing a Pensacola police officer during a bank robbery in 1982. The Florida death penalty system needs a major overhaul, according to a new report by the American Bar Association. The report identified 11 problem areas in the state's death penalty system. Some of those problems include: the number of death row inmates who have been exonerated. There have been 22 since 1973. That's more than any other state in the country. The report also found a significant amount of death sentences have been imposed on people with severe mental disabilities. Capital jurors are routinely confused about the role they play when deciding whether a convict should get the death penalty. Lack of transparency in the clemency system and in charging practices. In addition, statistics show a suspect in Florida is more likely to get the death penalty for killing a white victim, than for killing a minority. (source: Central Florida News) ****************** For 3rd Time, Hill Faces Death 24 years after the murder that brought Clarence Hill a death sentence, he's again scheduled for execution on Wednesday and his appeal is again winding its way through federal courts. Gov. Jeb Bush set a new execution date for Hill last month. Hill's remaining appeal, kicked back by the U.S. Supreme Court in June, is now before the 11th Circuit U.S. Court of Appeals. He faces death for the murder of Stephen Taylor, a Pensacola police officer shot by Hill in the midst of a daytime bank robbery attempt in 1982. It's the third time Hill has faced an execution date -- the 1st in 1989; the 2nd, earlier this year. Thus far, the result of Hill's appeal in court has been much the same as it was back in January when the 43-year-old condemned man was cinched down on a gurney with needles in his arm ready to deliver the deadly cocktail of drugs that would kill him. At the last moment, Supreme Court Justice Anthony Kennedy granted a stay. Last week, U.S. District Judge Stephan Mickle dismissed Hill's request to delay his execution and refused to conduct hearings on whether Florida's execution methods are unconstitutional. "Hill's emotionally laden arguments raise no new evidence," Mickle wrote in a Thursday order that denied a rehearing on his earlier rejection of Hill's motion for a stay. In June, the U.S. Supreme Court ruled in Hill's favor and said lower courts should consider as a civil rights claim his appeal that Florida's way of delivering lethal injections could be cruel and unusual punishment. It was a procedural decision that nonetheless gave Hill hope that he could get a full hearing that delivery of a 3-drug cocktail that anesthetizes, paralyzes and then stops the heart could cause him unconstitutional suffering. Death penalty opponents heralded the Supreme Court decision as a chance to review Florida's lethal injection methods, as has taken place in California and Missouri cases that are similar to Hill's. But the federal district court continued last week to decide Hill's appeal on legal grounds that haven't considered the merits of the argument that lethal injection is cruel and unusual. "The judge at the district court essentially didn't change anything (from January) and simply refused to litigate the case," said Mark Elliott, spokesman for Floridians for Alternatives to the Death Penalty. Opponents also hoped the court's decision meant a moratorium on executions for the 376 inmates on Florida's death row. But when Bush renewed Hill's existing death warrant last month, that hope ended. The courts rolled into action and, thus far, have gone the state's way. Elliott said a review of the state's methods are merited. "Whenever elected officials say there's no problem, but don't look here, that should raise red flags and the public should be looking there," Elliott said. "Our motto is 'In God We Trust,' not In Gov We Trust." The state has argued that the Hill's argument does not offer any new information from what's already been tried before in Florida and that Hill has sought the review too late. "He's complaining about the fact that you're going to execute me, without really considering the complaint," said Carolyn Snurkowski, assistant deputy attorney general for the state. She said the Supreme Court decision meant only that Hill's appeal had to be considered by the courts as a civil rights claim. "There's no guarantee you get a stay, no guarantee of anything." Hill's attorney, Todd Doss, said there is new material about the drugs Florida uses to execute prisoners since the 2000 case that the courts have said settled the issue. Futhermore, Doss said, testimony offered in Missouri and California cases has revealed relevant material that the anesthesia used in the executions can fail to protect the condemned from excruciating pain. Mickle has "never held a hearing to take any evidence, no discovery whatsoever," Doss said. "Even absent a stay, we should be able to proceed (with hearings)." Doss and Snurkowski said they expect a decision from the federal appellate court on Monday. Doss said that however that goes he expects the loser to appeal to the U.S. Supreme Court. But for now, Hill remains scheduled to die at 6 p.m. Wednesday at Florida State Prison outside Starke. (source: Penasacola News Journal) ******************************* Reader Comments to Pensacola News Journal Article: 1982...seems like a long time to us now........but to me the day officer Stephen Taylor was shot seems like yesterday...I was a student paramedic riding an ambulance that day when we heard on the radio about an officer down at a bank robbery with shots fired. I remember the life flight pilot advising they were off the roof in route.Even though the scene of the shooting was a mere 3-4 miles from Baptist when that call goes out all EMS within range repsonds.I remember the professionally restrained pleas for ETA's for EMS from fellow police officers.This was the days before body armor and Mr. Hill got a lucky shot with his 22 caliber pistol that struck officer Taylor's chest severing his aorta and dying right there before any paramedic could get to him to bring him back to Baptist's all ready waiting trauma team for surgery.Basically,officer Taylor never had a chance.Mr Hill has 25 years now to appeal his death sentence on a very ironic aurguement of lethal injection is cruel and unusual. Perhaps Old Sparky would be more to his liking and he could just fry to death. Anyway, my point is Stephen Taylor lying on the sidewalk with his life literally draining away because some people (sic) rationalized for whatever reason robbing a bank was a good idea and then Mr Hill decided shooting officer Taylor was a good idea also.It's outrageous I'm still reading about this man trying to evade his ultimate chosen demise.If you can kill a cop and still be alive 25 years later what's the point other than closure for his widow,children and family.I write this response this morning in thanks to all the officers who came to my rescue when I as a paramedic walked into a few life threatening situations and probaly would'nt be writing this if on more than one occasion deputies,officers,troopers of various departments had'nt heard my probaly not that restrained pleas for help and did whatever it took to get to me as fast as they could. So for all of us directly or indirectly involved and the public at large just put the needle in the guy's arm and get it over with..Given the choice, I'm sure officer Taylor would gladly accept that needle instead of the hot,burning bullet he got for just doing his job. **** Hard to believe that this man is still alive... I remember the day back in 1982 very well. When I heard about this killing, I thought what a shame that some good human being like Officer Taylor had to die at the hands of such a scumb bag as this. Over the years I have at times almost lost faith in the justice system beause of cases like this one. Attorneys that make their living defending people like this killer are beyond my understanding of justice. There was NO DOUBT that his scum bag killed this officer. So why oh why is he still able to have his excution put off for all these many times. The good part is that for all these many years, (the taxpayers have had to support him with food, health care, free housing and etc.) he has been behind bars as he should have been and not allowed to kill more good people. Maybe, maybe the next time you read about this guy, it will be that finally this man has paid for his killing of this officer by legal injection. He has been pronounced dead. ********* As a citizen of Florida, I do not wish the state to murder any individual in my name. Murder is murder. Murder is not justice. There is no morality or justice in the act of murder, period. **** If Clarence feels the lethal injection process is inhumane -- maybe he would prefer a firing squad. I believe the State of Utah allows the death row imate that method as an option -- it certainly would be as humane as the action he took against Officer Taylor. **** Let's Get on With it I'd just arrived in Pensacola from a larger and certainly more crime ridden town - Philadelphia, Pa. - when this killing took place. Now some 24 years later, the Judiciary is stilll debating the number of Angels that can fit on the head of a pin. Clarence Hill killed the officer by shooting him in the back of the head. Who cares if he suffers a little pain when they prepare him for the execution. Frankly, I'd prefer they march him out onto the prison courtyard and execute him with a direct shot to the forehead while facing the executioner. There's another cop killer, Abu Mumia Jamal, rotting in a Philadelphia death row cell for some 20 years whose case is hung up the appeals court system and whom has become a cause celeb for the Hollywood lefties like Martin Sheen, Alan Alda and other like-minded bleeding hearts of the liberal radical elites class. This, if for no other reason, is why it is essential that we elect administrations who will appoint conservative judges to the Federal Court system and the Supreme Court of the U.S. (source: Comments Penasacola News Journal) ********** Death-penalty system faulted Florida's death-penalty system is plagued with problems of fairness, accuracy and racial disparity in sentencing, according to a new report by a group of Florida lawyers and jurists. Working under the auspices of the American Bar Association's Death Penalty Moratorium Implementation Project, the group studied the state's capital-punishment system for more than 18 months. The report criticized the state for: the number of innocent inmates sent to await execution; a racial disparity that shows those convicted of killing a white victim are far more likely to get a death sentence; the lack of oversight and funding for attorneys who handle death-row appeals; and a death-sentencing process that requires majority, not unanimous, jury agreement. "Florida has released more people from death row than any other state, which suggests the system has serious problems," said Christopher Slobogin, a University of Florida law professor who chaired the eight-member group. "It is small comfort that no one recently executed in Florida has been proven innocent, since some of them were not able to present all the proof they had and efforts at exoneration usually end once the person is dead." Funding for the study came from the ABA and the European Union. Team members included a circuit judge, a state attorney, a former Florida Supreme Court justice and a former public defender, many of them death-penalty supporters. The report identified 11 problem areas in the state system, including the high number of inmates found innocent and released from death row, 22 since 1973 -- more than any state in the nation. Combined, those exonerated spent about 150 years in prison before being released. (source: Orlando Sentinel) ************ Report: Numerous Problems with Florida's Death Penalty System A new report says Florida's death-penalty system is full of problems with fairness, accuracy and racial disparity in sentencing. The report was released by a group of Florida lawyers and jurists. The group studied the system for more than 18 months and found numerous faults, including a number of innocent inmates awaiting execution, numbers showing killing a white victim brings a higher likelihood of the death penalty, lack of funding for attorneys handling death row appeals, and a process that only requires a majority of the jury voting for death instead of a unanimous vote. Team members included a circuit judge and state attorney. Funding for the study came from the American Bar Association and the European Union. (source: All Headline News) CALIFORNIA: Prison Without Walls----We condemn killers to death. The rest of us get life. I was 12 years old when Kevin Cooper escaped from the California Institution for Men less than three miles from our home. That it was late and a school night didn't matter. At the time, my mother was six months pregnant and I helped her drag our royal-sized dining room chairs in front of the sliders, blocking the glass. My father, a big Greek, stood outside in his T-shirt and boxers, barefoot, yet armed with a hunting rifle. He checked the front and back doors, and inspected the garage to make sure it held nothing more than his diesel Mercedes and our Schwinn bicycles. On the loose for less than 72 hours, Cooper already was suspected of bludgeoning a family in the hills. The carnage, the bodies, the blood were all too grisly for the local TV stations to air. We only heard the details, which somehow made them worse. Cooper had used a knife and hatchet. These were hands-on murders, the personal kind, though Cooper was a stranger to this family. We lived in a ranch-style home surrounded by oleander bushes, perfect for hiding. My mother parted the curtains. "He could be watching us right now," she said. At age 40, her pregnancy was high-risk in more ways than one. An accident, she and my father said, but even then I knew that having another child was a last-ditch effort at keeping our family together. It was my father's idea to move us from L.A. to Chino, near the prison. He moved his law practice too. A change was supposed to do us good. "An alarm should've sounded," my father said, coming back into the house. "It's supposed to go off every 15 minutes when someone's escaped." My mother laughed at this, at him, and placed a protective hand over the hard mound of her belly. "Who's supposed to hear it? Other prisoners?" On that first night I slept between my parents. My father snored, and even Kleenex crammed in my ears didn't muffle his sounds. Leaning against the bed was his .300 Savage, fully loaded. If I had reached over I could have touched the cool barrel. My father was a generic lawyer, taking on everything from divorces to drug offenses. I doubted if he was a good shot, considering he only hunted on occasional trips to Wyoming or Montana with his clients, the business ones, the ones he courted, not the criminals he also represented. (Those he visited behind the safety of bulletproof glass.) As I lay in bed, I thought of the boy, a few years younger than me, who the night before had lain awake in his parents' bedroom. Only his mom and dad weren't sleeping. They were dead. His sister and a neighbor friend who was sleeping over had been murdered too. They were ambushed by a man with a hatchet in one hand, a knife in the other. The boy was stabbed in the chest. He was stabbed in the head. Then his throat was slit. The only way he made it through the night, the 11 hours it took until help found him, was by plugging four fingers in the slash to stop the bleeding. The physical wounds eventually healed, but the boy would never be the same. I slept in my parents' room until Cooper was caught 2 months later on a boat off Santa Barbara, more than 100 miles from where the murders took place. He had been working as a deckhand. He was accused of raping a woman who had been in a nearby boat. He was never charged with that rape. Instead he was charged and convicted two years later of 4 murders and one attempt. He was taken to San Quentin and placed on death row. The average time it takes to execute a condemned killer in California is 18 years. For Cooper it has been more than 20. As a prisoner on death row, he enjoys 4 hours of fresh air every day with fellow inmates. He bides the rest of his time watching TV or listening to the radio. He has access to the prison's law library. Worse, he also has access to the media. In interviews he spreads the word that he was framed by the police, that he's innocent. Because he's known as the man who committed the most infamous mass murder in San Bernardino County, he's given more airtime than any victim's family could ever hope to get. Cooper even has his own website. During the time following his capture, my family changed. My brother was born. For a while a new child drew my parents together and then ultimately drove them apart. Later, my father passed. My brother recently wed and owns a home. I teach English at the state university in San Bernardino. I'm married and have an 11-year-old stepson close in age to the boy who survived that night. On the evening of Feb. 9, 2004, I made sure to turn on the news. Cooper was set to be executed in less than four hours, at 12:01 a.m. I planned to stay up for it. My husband was on a business trip and my stepson had gone to bed early. The house was quiet, the front door bolted. All week I had watched the end stages of Cooper's case play out on TV. I saw the Rev. Jesse Jackson head to the state capital to meet with Gov. Schwarzenegger's staff, pleading to spare Cooper's life. Movie actors Sean Penn and Denzel Washington also encouraged granting the condemned murderer clemency. I feared Schwarzenegger would cave to the pressures of politics and Hollywood. It was his 1st death penalty case in office. But he denied Cooper's request. Finally, Kevin Cooper would be executed. On TV I saw death penalty opponents gathering at the gates of San Quentin. The reporter at the scene said that Cooper was in a death-watch cell less than 12 feet from the execution chamber. He declined his last meal and was consulting with a spiritual advisor. It was rumored that a prison official had already been in his cell to check the veins in Cooper's arm for where they could best inject the lethal chemicals. But before the crowd outside could light all their candles and hold a proper vigil, word came down from the U.S. 9th Circuit Court of Appeals blocking Cooper's execution. In 2001, Cooper had been the 1st condemned inmate to have post-conviction DNA testing. The findings pointed to his guilt. Now it had been ruled that more testing could occur, postponing his execution indefinitely. It was just the latest blow to his victims' families, who had traveled to Northern California in search of some emotional and psychological relief. I couldn't stand listening to the cheering. It struck me as perverse and cruel. I turned off the TV. The results of these new DNA tests confirmed what the terrorized community of Chino had known all along, the same story that was told in the San Diego courtroom in which he was convicted-Cooper was the killer. In class, when I teach about thesis statements, I write an example on the board: "The death penalty does not deter crime." It can be proven with statistics. Most criminals don't think about their own deaths until after they've been convicted. The night after the execution date lapsed, I started wondering: Who would be the next Kevin Cooper? I performed the ritual I had done with my mother when we first heard that Cooper had escaped. I took those big dining room chairs I had inherited after my father's passing and I pushed them against the glass of the twin sliders. (source: Los Angeles Times - Paula Priamos has written for, among others, the New York Times Magazine) MISSOURI: Judge dismisses death penalty case A federal judge on Friday granted a request by prosecutors to dismiss a potential death penalty against convicted serial killer John E. Robinson Sr. U.S. District Judge Gary Fenner dismissed the case without prejudice, meaning it could be refiled if Robinson's convictions and death sentence in Kansas are overturned. His attorneys had wanted the case dismissed with prejudice, which would have prevented it from being refiled. Robinson, 62, was charged in U.S. District Court with kidnapping resulting in death, which can be punishable by death. The federal government filed its case after the Kansas Supreme Court ruled the state's death penalty unconstitutional. Earlier this year, the U.S. Supreme Court reinstated the death sentences against Robinson and other death row inmates in the state. Fenner dismissed the case Friday and ordered that Robinson be returned to custody in Kansas. Robinson, 62, formerly of Olathe, pleaded guilty to 5 killings in Missouri and was convicted of 3 in Johnson County, Kan., over a 15-year period. He was sentenced to death for 2 killings, those of Suzette Trouten and Izabela Lewicka. (source: Associated Press)
[Deathpenalty] death penalty news----TEXAS, TENN., FLA., CALIF., MO.
Rick Halperin Sun, 17 Sep 2006 22:08:16 -0500 (Central Daylight Time)
