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How would you feel if you were unjustly imprisoned for 16 years? Here is the story
of a man who lived this experience.
1 spent 1(5 years in
prison for a crime I didn't
commit.
When the doors of State
villo prison in Illinois opened
for me in April. l'.tMi, news
men and well-wishers ex
pected to meet a bitter, spite
ful man.
They were surprised to find
I was neither. Yet I know
what hate is, and at one time
I could have matched anyone
in lutterness. Hut those are
things which I left behind
prison walls.
If newsmen had met me
during the first days of my
imprisonment, they would
have seen the angry man they
expected. It was IMS then,
anil like a lot of others I had
just weathered the depression.
Prosperity was mound the
corner at last, in the form of
several valuable mines I was
working in the Southwest.
Then suddenly 1 was ar
rested anil extradited to Illi
nois. The victim of a $10
robbery in Hock Island iden
tified me as one of two holdup
men. In those days there was
Family UVrklv. June Ifi. I9.iT
no public defender for people
too poor to hire an attorney.
I had witnesses in New Mex
ico who could have cleared
me, but no money to bring
them to Illinois.
I sal in my cell the night of
my sentence and learned hate
intimately. Then, slowly, self
pity was eaten away by some
thing God has given man to
distinguish him from other
creatures. I wanted to rise
above odds. What's more, I
knew I could: men had done
so before against even more
overwhelming odds.
I began studying law, soci
ology, theology, psychology,
and accounting. Rut law was
my key to freedom and I con
centrated on it.
It wasn't easy. Years
dragged by, most of them nt
hard labor. My health failed,
and the prison authorities
lacked funds for proper medi
cal care. Just recently, n doc
tor examined me and told the
Illinois legislature, "He has
suffered serious and perma
nent injury as a result of his
lti years imprisonment . . .
attributable to forced con
finement, nervous and mental
strain, inadequate food and
medical care."
Nevertheless, I learned how
to file petitions and bring
action in civil courts. I bom
barded authorities with legal
papers. But I was blocked at
every point. Officials refused
to give me access to records:
all requests for investigations
were pigeonholed. To fellow
convicts I was "bugs." They
laughed at my hopes to
clear my name and labeled
me "the petitionin' man."
was too busy battling for
freedom to pay much at
tention, but my battle wasn't
just with law terms, proce
dures, precedents. Inside my
own heart and mind was an
even tougher tight.
That old bitterness died
hard; each setback gave it
new vigor. Yet I knew that if
it again gained control of me,
I would be locked in a prin
far more ruinous than one of
concrete ami steel. Even if 1
was freed, what Would hap
pen to me if hate and animos
ity won out?
I had seen too many vic
tims of these two diseases in
State ville. They were as
hopelessly trapped as the
drug addict or the alcoholic.
I wanted freedom, but I
wanted to enjoy it. too. I
wanted to join the world out
side those walls, not i'it it.
Years of failure, though,
made it hard for me not to
jeer at justice and the tri
umph of right. Then in 10-17
a Federal judge in Chicago
took cognizance of my case
and ruled that state author
ities must answer my petition.
That meant producing those
forgotten records. And those
records, in turn, would even
tually reopen investigation of
the case.
Legally, that was the turn
ing point. In the battle within
myself, however, I still had a
lot to learn. I had taught
myself the law and how to
fittht injustice. But only
others could help mc learn
how to win a final victory
over malice And I found
those others while in prison.
Injustice, I learned, is some
thing that can happen to any
body, like a disease or an
accident. But once alerted to
a wrong, people will dedicate
themselves to righting it.
Judges, attorneys, prison offi
cials were among those who
taught me that lesson in
humanity as they helped in
the final years of my struggle.
State's Attorney Bernard J.
Moran of Rock Island opened
the last door to freedom when
he obtained a confession from
the actual holdup man after
two years of diligent investi
gation. The hoodlum named
his accomplice, a man already
imprisoned in the state of
Washington.
O tateviixe is behind me now,
l-J and I think my stubborn
legal ofTorts can take credit
for my physical freedom. For
the freedom from vindictive
ness and revenge, I must
thank others.
I'm still asked. "What about
the people who put you in
jail? What do you feel toward
O