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What is it like to be wrongly convicted?

Every week another story comes out of someone wrongly convicted who had to serve 10 or 20 or 30+ years before being exonerated. What goes through your mind that first night after the verdict? What happens as the weeks turn into months turn into years?
23 Answers
Michael Morton
Michael Morton
I was wrongly convicted of murdering my wife. I recall that first night in jail. It was not unlike being punched in the face. I was stunned, numb, and not sure of what lay before me. All personal control had been yanked away. What I wore, what I ate, where I slept, and where I could not go were all dictated by the State. In that situation, the absolute power of government becomes blatant, coercive, Orwellian.

The first few months of prison life are about adaptation. It's a different society, a subculture of power -- physical, emotional, and spiritual. There are simple rules. Obey and internalize those rules and you'll get by.

As the years pile up, feigned apathy becomes your outward mask.  But on the inside, anger and bitterness consume you.  Revenge occupies your so-called free moments.  At other odd times, you fantasize about living a normal life… or escaping to a tropical paradise… or dying in prison.  You imagine building houses, establishing relationships with the opposite sex, or burning down the houses and the relationships of your enemies.

But as the decades accrue, an acceptance and an understanding of life creep in.  If you're lucky, you become calmer, more relaxed, more sure. You see the value of faith, hope, and of course, love.  You come to appreciate pure things, like the behavior of animals and the joy of small children. It sounds cliche and almost banal, but time wears a man down.

In the end, if you are lucky, you see that our trials are what improve us.  And if you are very lucky and somewhat insightful, you see that whatever your trial has been, it is exactly what you needed. Our trials make us who we are.
Antonio Buehler
Antonio Buehler, Founder of Abrome (abrome.com)
My answer will pale in comparison to Michael Morton's story (which everyone should read), or the tens of thousands (yes, tens of thousands) of people who cannot answer because they are currently sitting in prison for crimes they did not commit. However, I hope that my answer will help to break down the conditioned biases that most of us hold about those who are accused of crimes and those who wear badges. Here's my story:

On the morning of January 1, 2012, as I was serving as a designated driver, driving my friend Ben Munoz to his home in Austin (TX), I decided to refuel the truck at the nearest gas station.  I exited off of Enfield Road, onto Lamar Blvd., and then onto the property of the 7-11 at West 10th & Lamar sometime between 1 a.m. and 2 a.m., during operating hours. In between the fueling stations and Lamar Blvd. was a black sedan that was pulled over with two police cruisers positioned behind it. I pulled forward to the second pump, further away from the black sedan. As I began to refuel the truck, we observed a field sobriety test in progress. We noticed that the woman being administered the field sobriety test was in high heels and was without a jacket on the cold night. We observed the officer administering the field sobriety test, Officer Patrick Oborski, at one point walk to the front of the vehicle and lean into the car as if he were searching for something or saying something to the female passenger, after which he returned to the rear of the car to continue the field sobriety test.

Then, I saw a dark-haired police officer, Officer Robert Snider, go up to the passenger side door and begin talking to the passenger. The police officer opened the door, and continued talking to the passenger. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, as it seemed that both Snider and passenger were just having a regular conversation (passing the time while the Oborski and the driver were engaged in a sobriety test).

I had just finished refueling the truck and Munoz and I were in the process of getting in the truck to drive away when we heard the passenger screaming. We both ran to the back end of the truck to see what was happening. We saw the woman being yanked violently out of the truck and taken to the ground by Snider. Oborski left the driver behind the car and ran up to join in on the assault on the passenger. Without stepping more than a couple of steps away from the truck, I took out my blackberry to try to take pictures of the abuse, as did Munoz. We saw the cops pulling the woman's arms behind her, locked straight out at an unnatural angle toward the sky, and lifting her to her feet by her arms in what looked like an excruciatingly painful manner. The woman, crying, saw us and begged us to film the episode, so we continued to take pictures and began shouting at the cops asking why they were abusing the woman and telling them to stop abusing her. The passenger was then escorted past us toward the far cruiser.

Halfway between myself and the cruiser that she was being escorted to, Oborski turned and began walking toward me aggressively. At that point, I took one final picture of Oborski with his hands in front of him as he approached.

Oborski demanded to know who I thought I was and I told him that I was doing nothing wrong and that I was allowed to take photos. He kept advancing toward me, getting in my face, and asking me questions. On several occasions during the interaction he elevated the volume of his words, and I reciprocated. I backed up, kept my hands open, palms toward Oborski and down by my side, and reiterated to him that I was within my rights several times, after which he elevated the situation by assaulting me, forcefully pushing me in the upper chest area. I immediately threw up my arms to indicate that I was not a threat, and began to yell “why are you touching me” and “what are you touching me for” a few times. He continued to assault me, backing me up around the side of the track, to the rear, against the bed of the truck. Trapped between Oborski and the truck, he then placed both hands on my upper chest and neck area and applied consistent pressure, forcing me to lean back at a 45% angle over the bed of the truck, at which point I told him to “get out of my face.” He then chuckled, and claimed that I spit on him. Then, he grabbed my arm to try to do a takedown move and I asked him “what the f*** are you doing”, and then when he put me in a choke hold, I asked him at least twice more, “what are you doing?” Fearing for my personal safety, having seen what they did to the passenger, I kept my arms stiff and kept my balance, but allowed him to take me to the ground by falling on my side, at which point Snider ran up and put my left arm in an arm lock, and began to apply pressure to the elbow as if he were trying to dislocate it. I immediately asked Snider if he was trying to break or dislocate my arm.

Another officer came on the scene and ran up to join in. At that point I feared getting kicked in the face, so I yelled out asking the new officer if he was going to kick me in the face. One of them said they were going to taser me at which point I told them not to and threw my hands in the small of my back. On the ground I continued to ask why I was being arrested and Oborski replied with a lie saying I spit in his face. I argued with him briefly calling him out for his lie but he would not admit his lie. 

I was then transported to the “BAT” mobile to be administered a breathalyzer test, even though I had not been drinking and I was never pulled over by the police. In the vehicle when I was told to stand up and began to receive instructions on the breathalyzer test, in a state of surprise, I asked if they were just trying to find a reason to arrest me. I was told that I was drinking and driving, at which point I said, “I wasn’t driving, I mean drinking!” The response I got at that point was ridicule in that I couldn’t even keep my story straight. I then said I’d definitely blow into the breathalyzer because I knew I was sober and I wanted to see the 0.000 score. After two long sustained blows, I demanded to know what I blew. The technician, looking very confused, claimed that I was the “first one to ever break the breathalyzer machine”, and that I “blew too hard.” I began to laugh and tell them what a joke the entire affair was. At that point Oborski came in the vehicle and the technician looked at him confused, and asked if I was a DUI suspect. Oborski stuttered and stammered out a “no, something else.” The technician then asked me what I was in there for, and I told him that I was in there because I saw officers abusing a woman and I began to take pictures and ask questions. At that point Oborski came over and grabbed me and pulled me out of the truck.

Oborski escorted me to the transport truck, and tried to justify his actions by telling me that I didn’t have all the details of the stop and I should not have gotten myself involved. I told him I saw that the woman had committed no crime and presented no threat, and I told him I knew what abuse was. Oborski then got heated and told me that I didn’t know what I was talking about, that I shouldn’t get in the way of cops. That I “f***ed with the wrong cop” and I was going to “f***ing pay” for my actions.

By the time I arrived at the booking facility I still had no idea what I was going to be charged with, since I didn’t break any law. Eventually, a deputy who was taking inventory of my possessions told me that I was in there for a felony charge of harassing a public official and a misdemeanor of resisting arrest.
During the process of booking, I had my mugshot taken, which has since been published in print, and reproduced online on at least two websites. I also had my fingerprints taken and presumably entered into a database.

That night in jail was the longest of my life (again, my story pales in comparison to Morton's or the tens of thousands who are in prison for crimes they didn't commit). I had no idea what time it was because I had no watch or view of a clock - so the time crept as slow as can be. I had no idea what my rights were because I had no counsel (and even if I did I wouldn't have been able to do anything but sit and wait). I was shivering the whole night because they keep the place intentionally cold. There was a large light overhead in my cell that I couldn't turn off so I couldn't fall asleep even if I wanted to.

That night was reserved for thinking. I was angry and confused. I was scared. I thought that I might actually go to prison for a long time - for a crime I did not commit. I began to question the purpose of my life. I wondered whether all that time I dedicated to the country via the United States Military Academy and my five years of military service was a crock. What would be more ironic than believing that I spent years of my life dedicated to supposedly defending a country based on liberty and justice when my most basic freedoms could be voided in an instant by the lies of a thug? I wondered if I would have been better off just allowing two thugs to assault a woman who had not done anything violent or illegal. I seriously wondered if I would be willing to go to prison for a crime I did not commit, or if I would escape such an outcome if need be by simply committing suicide. These are thoughts I actually considered.

Because of the false and inflammatory accusations, excessive bail was set at $20,000. I did not leave the jail until late that evening, on the busiest day of the year for my education consulting work. My absence for my false imprisonment irreparably undermined my reputation as a consultant, and resulted in a loss of thousands of dollars in fees that I would have received for work performed that day, and potentially scores of thousands of dollars in future fees.

When I was released from jail that evening, Munoz told me that there were witnesses; however, the police prevented him from speaking to them. Fearing that I would be convicted for a felony crime I didn’t commit, I decided to reach out to the public to convince the witnesses to step forward. Three did, and all three told me that the cops assaulted me and that they knew I did not spit on the cop. There was a couple (one a professor and the other a local business owner) in the parking lot, and had a great view of the incident. Another witness (a tech professional) was across the street and recorded the incident on his cell phone (
). With video, I went to the media to break the story in hopes that the evidence against the police would force them to dismiss my case. Because of the video, the circumstances of the arrest (I was a designated driver, a third party that witnessed an assault on an innocent woman), because I was not black or Hispanic, because I had never been arrested before, and because of my resume which includes graduating from West Point and the Stanford Graduate School of Business (MBA), the media ran my story.

In the aftermath of the event, I was subject to lies from the Austin Police Department which produced numerous claims and internet postings characterizing me in a negative light, as a cop hater, troublemaker, provocateur and/or fame seeker.

The Austin Police Department deliberately and maliciously filed charges against me despite zero evidence that I had broken any laws, and despite overwhelming evidence of criminal acts and professional misconduct on the behalf of Patrick Oborski, Robert Snider and their Chain of Command. They have deliberately and maliciously withheld video and audio evidence from the public to paint me in a negative light and to cover for the crimes and misconduct of their officers.

The Internal Affairs Division also participated in the cover-up of this case. They had access to their own audio and video evidence, the surveillance video from the 7-11, as well as numerous witness testimonies that prove undeniably that Patrick Oborski and Robert Snider committed criminal acts and maliciously filed false charges against multiple innocent victims on New Year’s Day. They did not have a single witness to corroborate Oborski’s version of events, not even Snider. Their written report was rife with contradictions and distortions (
). Further, they failed to interview the professor who had the best view of the entire episode, who was unaffiliated with the police, the driver, the passenger who was assaulted, Munoz or me. However, a local television news station had time to interview him (
).

In the months that followed my arrest I was able to rally a lot of people to support me, to include those who paid for legal representation for the driver and the passenger who was assaulted. A supporter launched the Free Antonio Buehler Facebook page, supporters held two protest rallies and people started writing about my case on various blogs. With support from a wide swath of society, to include those in various socio-economic classes, ethnic groups and political ideologies, I decided to launch the Peaceful Streets Project (Protect And Serve Each Other) to change the culture of society in a non-political and non-violent manner so that fewer people would be victimized by the police moving forward.

In the year that followed the launch of the Peaceful Streets Project we hosted over a dozen Know Your Rights trainings, shared scores of stories of police abuse on our YouTube channel, engaged in over 100 cop watches, and held a Police Accountability Summit that allowed us to give out 100 video cameras to people in need so they could document interactions with the police. We were named the Grassroots Movement of the year by the Austin Chronicle and I was named the Activist of the Year by the Austin Chronicle and Texans for Accountable Government.

Unfortunately, I was also arrested a few more times. Each time for "contempt of cop." For example, I have twice been arrested for Interference with Public Duties (Class C Misdemeanor) because I was filming police; in one instance I didn’t move back from the arrest taking place when ordered to, and in the other I didn’t move toward the arrest taking place when ordered to. My New Year’s Day charges were all no-billed by the grand jury that finally convened 15 months after the incident, and replaced with one charge of Failure to Obey a Lawful Order (Class C Misdemeanor). My Interference with Public Duties charges were also no-billed by the grand jury and replaced with two more Failure to Obey charges, and they added one more Failure to Obey charge for an incident in which I was not arrested where I was legally filming an undercover cop (
). For those who don't know, District Attorneys don't seek indictments on Class C misdemeanors. This was a clear case of the DA trying to make the obviously bogus felony charge against me go away because of the media attention, but still make sure I was "indicted" so that the police could have cover for their crimes (and potentially thwart a civil suit).

Because of the stand that I have taken in the case, and because of the activism I have participated in with the Peaceful Streets Project, I have received numerous veiled and explicit threats of violence from the police and their supporters over the past year, to include a disturbing warning of violence from the president of the Austin Police Association (
). I have had cops station themselves outside of my house in a residential part of town where cops never just sit around (I was forced to move because of the fear it caused my roommates). I have spent thousands of dollars to support the activist efforts of the Peaceful Streets Project and I have lost tens of thousands of dollars in income that I would have earned had I not been arrested and forced to fight for myself.

I've also lost friends because of these incidents. One of my closest high school friends who later became a cop disassociated with me, as did his entire family. I have had West Point and Stanford classmates distance themselves from me because of these incidents. I have had West Point mentors tell me they wanted nothing to do with me anymore. I have had West Point classmates publicly attack me. I've even had family members distance themselves from me. I can only imagine how difficult it must be to not have a bunch of witnesses and video that proves innocence, especially if one is homeless, black, Hispanic ...

I now realize that the Austin Police Department is a legal, criminal gang. They actively seek to destroy the lives of innocent victims in order to protect criminal cops. I now realize that the District Attorney's Office is corrupt and actively colludes with the police department to prosecute the innocent and to make sure that no cops ever go to prison for their crimes (Oborski and Snider were never indicted for their blatant crimes). And I now realize that the mayor and city council in Austin has no interest in reining in the crimes of their police department because it is a sure loser during campaign season. And through the thousands of stories I've seen of cops committing blatant and often violent crimes across the nation, with thousands more cops witnessing those crimes and not just failing to stop the crimes, but often joining in on the crimes or actively covering up for the crimes after the fact, I now realize that the police and the "justice system" in this country is set up to protect itself first, while preying on the most vulnerable and marginalized in society.

Although I still have multiple bogus charges still pending against me, I have lost tens of thousands of dollars and many hours of my life, I have been libeled and slandered, and I have spent far too many hours locked in a cell after my bogus arrests, I know I am very lucky. I have seen how far the police and the prosecutors will go to protect criminal cops and punish innocent victims. But because of the numerous witnesses who came forward, including one with video, and because of my background and resume, and because of my ability to pay a lawyer, I will most likely never be sent to prison. But if I were homeless, black, Hispanic, uneducated, had prior arrests, or stood up for a woman being assaulted by police in a place with no witnesses around, I would be dead or I would have been convicted and sent to prison long ago. I know that the only reason I wasn't wrongly convicted is because of luck and the good work of people who stepped forward to stand by my side.  Therefore, I don't know what it is like to be wrongly convicted, but through the attempts of the police to see me wrongly convicted, I know that my view of "liberty" and "justice" in this country will never be the same, and I know that my view of "authority" will forever be one of distrust, and I know that my tax dollars go toward the deliberate destruction of innocent people's lives. I know what it is to feel like this whole social contract is a sham, and that this society is one that is the opposite of progressive; that it protects the powerful at the expense of the vulnerable.
In 2002 my stepdaughter, who was 15 at the time, decided to get me out of her life. She had gone from being an above average student and good kid in elementary school, to a downward spiraling teen blowing off school, trying drugs, getting drunk. The more I tried to address her behavior, the more she hated me. Since she was 4 years old she had blamed me for breaking up her parents, who were already separated before I even met her mom. In fact, it was her father who initiated the divorce proceedings. Regardless, she had blamed me and her father and his family fed the flames of simmering resentment that my attempts at discipline only fanned all the more.

So in 2002, my stepdaughter accused me of having sexually abused her when she was young. In the months that followed her story changed from just once to lots and lots of times, from when no one was around to having taken place in a house full of people, and in many other ways. Despite her inconsistent lies, the jury convicted me in 2003 and I was sentenced to 10 years.

The moment the verdict was read was surreal. The room almost seemed to spin and for a moment I thought I might faint. I could not believe it was happening, and yet I also knew that it was all too real and was definitely happening. I was cuffed and lead away.

That first night I was in an intake pod (aka the fish bowl). The lights don't turn off in your cell there and I lay awake all night just trying to get my head around all of my feelings. I felt betrayed by the very person I would have done anything to protect from exactly what I was accused of.

Right away I focused on getting through the ordeal. I made up my mind that I would not let this defeat me or define me. I started reading the Bible cover to cover. I started exercising. I started building my weak high school Spanish skills by talking to my fellow inmate from Mexico. I was searching for any and every way to get something useful out of my time in prison.

One of the other posters on this topic talked about the bitterness and thoughts of revenge. My mind did not go there. Instead, I just kept thinking "how could this have happened?" and "how can I survive, adapt, overcome?" I was tempted to feel bitterness, but I realized almost immediately that it would rot me from the inside out if I allowed myself to dwell on it. I forgave those who did this to me and focused on only one form of revenge, to emerge from this stronger than when I arrived. I already posted elsewhere about how I used my 8 years (some time off for good behavior) to get fluent in Spanish, exercise and lose weight, build my software development skills, and built my faith in God. Perhaps the greatest takeaway was that I became very comfortable with who I am and what I am about. I lived in very dangerous circumstances for 8+ years and came away without a scratch. I don't think having gone to prison defines me, but I do think it contributed a great deal to who I am today.

One last thing, I am not a quitter. 11 years have passed since my trial and I am still fighting the false conviction in the courts. My eyes have been opened to the injustices in our system. One thing every exonerated person has in common is that they didn't quit fighting the injustice. They fought until they won. I am still fighting and one day I will clear my name.
Ray Atkinson
Ray Atkinson, Genealogist, math major
Compared to other stories here, mine was tame, but still was terrifying, depressing, and demeaning.
I was never arrested.  I was never tried.  I never saw a judge or jury.  I was wrongly convicted of sexually abusing my daughter.  I spent almost a year not seeing my wife and daughter.
My 4-year old daughter sometimes had trouble sleeping, so I would take her to the living room, turn the History channel on, and rocked her until she fell asleep.  At 4, nothing on the History channel was going to interest her.  On July 12th, 2006, when she went for her shots to get ready to enroll for school, my mother in law told the doctor that I took my daughter downstairs at night and held her on the couch with the lights off.  That was all the doctor needed to hear.  They took her to the hospital, decided to hold her in emergency custody, and called CPS. 

One of the questions they asked was whether I gave her baths.  When she said yes, they asked if I had ever hurt her when she was in the bath.  She said yes, and they asked her, "How?"  She pointed to her crotch and "wiggled her fingers."  At the point they called the police to have me charged with child sexual abuse, and told them that I was guilty.  They never asked her if I had a washcloth on my hand or whether she was complained that it hurt when I cleaned her up after she had an accident in her underwear.

My wife and I were informed about the incident and were told that they would release our daughter to my wife's custody if I moved out with 4 hours; if not, she would be placed in a foster home permanently.  There is a cliche about your blood running cold.  It is not a cliche.  Your mind runs and hides when faced with that kind of accusation. 

I was on my way to my mother in law's sister in law 150 miles away within 2 hours.  When my wife went to the hospital to pick her up, she told them that I was innocent, and she was told, "Stop protecting your husband and start protecting your daughter."  I was informed that I was to have no contact of any kind with my daughter from that point on until she turned 18.  No calls, no letters, no birthday or Chistmas presents.  Nothing.  If I did, then for her protection she would be placed in foster case and neither I nor my wife would ever see her again.

At that point, God must have intervened, because the special investigator did not take the decision of CPS as gospel and decided to do his own investigation.  He questioned my wife, my daughter, my mother in law, my bishop, etc. and then me, and came to the conclusion that CPS was wrong.  I volunteered for a polygraph.  (Yes, I know it couldn't help me in court, but I wanted to prove to people that I was telling the truth.)  I passed the polygraph 100% and they sent the report to CPS.

Unknown to us, the caseworker that filed the accusation got the polygrapher's report, and filed it as irrelevant because she said that the investigator had told her that I was schizophrenic and therefore could pass a polygraph even though I was guilty.

I felt sure that I would be cleared as the 90-day point that CPS has to either file as unfounded or indicated approached.  Sure enough, they filed it as indicated and informed me that I was to continue to have no contact with my daughter.  It was basically a guilty verdict on paper without any legal procedure.

I asked what recourse I had to appeal the decision.  I was told where to send a letter to the office that handled appeals for our corner of the state and that they would make a decision with 90 days.  I did so, and 3 months later they informed me that nothing the caseworker had done was improper.  They did not review the details of whether I was innocent or guilty, but simply checked her procedure.  I wrote back asking who to appeal to further, and was given another address for appealing to the court system.

I sent the letter off and quickly got a response that they would set a court date for me within 90 days.  Read that again.  It means that sometime in the next 3 months, they would get out a calendar and point to a time sometime in the next 3 years and set the date for my hearing.

During all this time, I had trouble sleeping, I got depressed to the point of being suicidal.  I talked with people at school, and basically was given condolences and a shrug of the shoulders saying "they have the power.  What can you do?"

I decided to get loud.  I went to the state senator where I was staying.  I called county commissioners here in this county, supposedly overseeing CPS.  I called the governor's office (got nothing there.)  There was a new caseworker who was in charge of knowing where I was, and getting services for my wife and daughter.  She tried to get a court order to force my wife into getting therapy for being in denial, and to force my daughter into getting rape counseling.  When she got in touch with the original police investigator, she apparently got second thoughts.  When I told her about all the people I had talked to, she gave me the phone number for the CPS director.

I called her and left a loud message on her voice-mail.  2 weeks later, I get a call from the deputy director that she wanted to speak with me.  My wife and I met with her and she said that they were beginning a new investigation in my case with no one who was involved in the original investigation.  During this process, they called the police special investigator who had said that I was schizophrenic, and he was (reportedly) irate that someone had claimed that, and said that he had never said any such thing.  They took out the statement that I was mentally ill, and had to allow the polygraph.

I got a call a few days later that the deputy director wanted to see me and my wife on May 7th, 2007.  My wife took her friend as a witness just in case they might get sneaky.  When we got there, I was told that it was the first time in her 30 years at the department that the office had reversed its own decision rather then being forced to do so by the courts.  She said, "We're sorry.  You can go home."  I asked for paperwork saying that I was cleared in case they had police there at my house to arrest me and put my daughter in foster care, and they played it straight.

I went home from there, and got there before my daughter got home from school.  I had missed a Christmas and her first day of Kindergarten.  She thought I was gone forever, and my wife told her that "the bad people had taken me away."  When she got off the bus, I was upstairs.  She came in the house and my wife said, "there's a surprise upstairs for you."  She came up the stairs and I was standing in the hallway.  She yelled, "Daddy!" and jumped up into my arms, 307 days after I suddenly disappeared from her life.

Now, I home-school my 8th grade daughter and we are together every single day to make up for what we call "our stolen year."

Incidentally, I did eventually get a letter from the appeals office setting the date for my hearing in November, 2008 - nearly 2 years after I filed the appeal, but that it was going to be cancelled as unnecessary.

There is nothing you can do to prepare for being wrongfully accused.  You cannot prove that you didn't do something.  If someone says that they saw you drop something from a hot-air balloon, calls you a liar if you said you've never been in one, and says that anyone supporting you is lying for you, you have no chance. 

A couple things to think about:

People wrongly accused of murder will have the charges dropped if the victim walks in the courtroom and testifies that it didn't happen.  Accused child molesters get convicted even when the victim says that it didn't happen.

A law professor who was a practicing defense attorney whom I talked with during my ordeal told me of an experiment he had done.  He was at a dinner party and told people at one table that he was defending a man who was wrongly accused of molesting a child, and was met with shock and accusations of trying to free a monster.  He told another table that he was defending a murder suspect whom he was convinced was guilty, and got, "Oh, that's sounds interesting.  Tell me more."
I was also living in Williamson county when Mr. Morton's wife was murdered, he was framed, and Ken Anderson used the trial to make the switch from liberal Democrat, former public defender, to conservative Republican, champion of law and order, at Mr. Morton's horrible expense. My dad was a notorious liberal, and a county commissioner for the north side of Taylor and the msot of Georgetown, back when the county still eleted liberals. I was of like political and personal conscience to my old man.

Mr. Morton, half a dozen people outside the DA's and sheriff's offices knew you were framed at the time, because Anderson tried to intimidate them by telling them what he had done to you with impunity. They took the warning serously. My father never slept well the rest of his life.

I marched over to the Williamson County Sun with my pastor in tow and told all, and the publisher told us (this was after Don Scarborough died, we were speaking to the curren tpublisher) that if he printed the the truth, he would be shut down the next day. My dad and another commissioner, also now deceased, tried to get intervention in the judicial system in your case and by that time several others. In retaliation, Anderson accused them of crimes they didn't commit, and when I told him to his face in 1990 that one day I'd testify at his probation hearing, in front of no small crowd, he accused me of a crime I didn't commit, either.

My dad and the other commissioner having struck out with the state judicial system, even though all the parties are dead I suppose I'll refrain from sharing the details of what they tried, other than to say it was creative, I wanted to go to the US attorney about your conviction and a growing list of other matters. I was warned to back off or be killed. By that time I had a niece and nephew who were in danger, and Anderson had every adult in my family in the county except my brother, who agreed to testify against us, and my mother, who was dying of cancer. Anderson had my dad, my brother and me under subpoena every time she had chemotherapy, so she'd have to take herself. My folks lived out in the country on a one-lane road. Sheriff's deputies pulled in behind and in front of her car and drove  5 mph to make sure she'd be late. My father refused to resign for two years. I refused to take a plea bargain 11 pretrial hearings. I had to go to court the day my mother died.

My dad and I were eventually acquitted in separate trials. Judge Blackwell admonished the prosecutor for over an hour when Dad's case finally went to trial, and at my actual trial, the DA failed to appear. We were both dead broke by that time, only Dad was 66 years old.

Dad did shut up about Anderson's having told him what he needed to win in 1988 was a "good wife killin'," and I didn't start speaking up again until my father died in 2005 and there was no doubt my niece and nephew weren't in danger. (Some of my relatives went over to the dark side.) For several years I gave Senator Ellis an earful and he was kind to listen, but how much difference if any it made I have no idea.

I suppose what I'm telling you is there is more to the story. Nothing we experienced is on the level of what you experienced. But we also had our opportunities for spiritual growth.

Mr. Morton, you were done a horrible injustice. But I want you to know there were people who cared, who paid a price for trying to stand up for you, and who rejoice every day because you had the character and the courage to stand up for your own good name. You got us the justice that could be obtained, too, and in that you bless us all. Thank you.
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