The Innocent Man (32 page)

The convictions of Tommy Ward and Karl Fontenot were reversed by the Oklahoma Court of Criminal Appeals because their confessions were used against each other at trial, and since neither testified, each was denied the right to confront the other.

Had separate trials been given, the constitutional problems would have been avoided.

Had the confessions been suppressed, of course, there would have been no convictions.

They were taken off The Row and sent back to Ada. Tommy was retried in the town of Shawnee, in
Pottawatomie County. With Bill Peterson and Chris Ross prosecuting once again, and with the judge permitting the jury to see the taped confession, Tommy was again found guilty and rewarded with another death sentence. During his retrial, his mother was driven to the courthouse each day by Annette Hudson. Karl was retried in the town of Holdenville, in Hughes County. He, too, was found guilty and given a death sentence.

Ron was ecstatic at their reversals, then dismayed at their subsequent convictions. His own direct appeal was slowly inching through the system. His case had been reassigned within the Appellate Public Defender’s Office. Due to the increasing number of capital cases, more lawyers were hired. Mark Barrett was overworked and needed to unload a case or two. He was also anxiously awaiting a ruling from the Court of Criminal Appeals in Greg Wilhoit’s case. That court was notoriously tough on defendants, but Mark was convinced Greg would get a new trial.

Ron’s new lawyer was Bill Luker, and his brief argued vigorously that Ron had not received a fair trial. He attacked the representation of Barney Ward and claimed Ron had received “ineffective assistance of counsel,” usually the first argument in a capital case. Chief among Barney’s sins was his failure to raise the issue of Ron’s mental incompetence. None of his medical records were in evidence. Luker researched Barney’s mistakes, and the list became long.

He assailed the methods and tactics of the police and the prosecutor, and his brief grew lengthy. He also challenged the rulings of Judge Jones: allowing Ron’s dream confession to be heard by the jury, ignoring the numerous
Brady
violations by the prosecution, and in general failing to protect Ron’s right to a fair trial.

The vast majority of Bill Luker’s clients were clearly guilty. His job was to make sure they received a fair hearing on appeal. Ron’s case was different, though. The more he researched and the more questions he asked, the more Luker became convinced that it was an appeal he could win.

Ron was a very cooperative client with strong views that he was ready to share with his lawyer. He called frequently and wrote rambling letters. His comments and observations were generally helpful. At times, his recall of the details of his medical history was astounding.

He dwelled on the confession of Ricky Joe Simmons, and considered its exclusion from his trial a major travesty. He wrote Luker:

Dear Bill:

You know I think Ricky Simmons killed Debbie. He must have or he wouldn’t have confessed to it. Now, Bill, I’ve been going through physical hell. I think it’s only fair for Simmons to pay for what he did and for me to go free. They don’t want to release his confession to you because they know you’d put it in my brief and immediately win me a new trial. So for God sakes tell them son of a bitches you want his confession.

Your Friend, Ron

With plenty of free time, Ron developed an active correspondence, especially with his sisters. They knew how important the letters were, and they found time to write back. Money was usually an issue. He was unable to eat the prison food and preferred to buy whatever he could from the canteen. He wrote to Renee and said, in part:

Renee:

I know Annette sends me a little money. But my misery is increasing. I’ve got Karl Fontenot here and he doesn’t have anyone sending him anything. Could you please send me a little extra, even if it’s $10.00.

Love Ronnie

Just before his first Christmas on The Row, he wrote Renee and said, in part:

Renee:

Hey, thanks for sending the money. It’ll go for specific needs. Mainly guitar strings and coffee.

I got 5 Christmas cards this year, including yours. Christmas can give some good feelings.

Renee, the $20 really came at a good time. I had just borrowed some money to buy some guitar strings from a friend of mine and I was going to pay him back out of the $50 a month Annette sends. That would have cut me a little short. I know $50 may sound like a lot, but I’ve been giving, sharing with a guy here whose mother can’t afford to send anything. She did send him $10 but that’s the first money he’s received since Sept when I moved near him. I give him coffee, cigarettes, etc. Poor fellow.

Today’s Friday, so you all will be opening gifts tomorrow. I hope everybody gets what they need. Kids sure grow up fast. I’m gonna start crying if I don’t get myself together.

Tell everybody I love them, Ronnie

It was difficult to think of Ronnie having “good feelings” during the holidays. The tedium of death row was horrible enough, but to be cut off from his family brought a level of pain and desperation he could not handle. Early in the spring of 1989 he began slipping badly. The pressure, the drudgery, the sheer frustration of being sent to hell for a crime he did not commit, consumed him, and he fell apart. He began cutting his wrists and attempting suicide. He was very depressed and wanted to die. The wounds were superficial but left scars. There were several episodes of this, and he was watched closely by the guards. When the wrist cutting didn’t work, he managed to start a fire with his mattress and let it drip over his extremities. The burns were treated and eventually healed. More than once, he was put on a suicide watch.

On July 12, 1989, he wrote to Renee:

Dear Renee:

I’m going through so much suffering. I’ve burned some tissue and got several second and third degree burns. The pressure here is immense. Never getting to go anywhere when the suffering is intolerable, Renee, I’ve had headaches, I’ve banged into the concrete, I’ve gotten down on the floor and banged my head against the concrete. I’ve hit myself in the face til I was so sore the next day from the punches. Everybody here is stuck here like sardines. I know for a fact this is the most suffering I’ve ever had to endure. The magic to the problem and its solution is money. I’m talking about never having anything to eat that’s worth a shit. This food is like living on K-rations on some damn God-forbidden island. People here are poor but I’ve been so hungry that I’ve had to ask for a morsel to stop the
craving. I’ve lost weight. There’s so much suffering here.

Please help me. Ron

In one prolonged depressive bout, Ron stopped communication with everyone and withdrew completely until the guards found him curled into a fetal position on his bed. He would respond to nothing.

Then, on September 29, Ron cut his wrists again. He was taking his medications sporadically, was talking nonstop about suicide, and was finally deemed to be a threat to himself. He was moved out of F Cellhouse and transferred to Eastern State Hospital in Vinita. Upon his admission, his chief complaint was, “I have suffered unjustified abuse.”

At Eastern State he was first seen by a staff physician, a Dr. Lizarraga, who saw a thirty-six-year-old with a history of drugs and alcohol, unkempt, unshaven, with long graying hair and a mustache, in shabby prison dress, with burn marks on his legs and scars on his arms, scars he made sure the doctor noticed. He freely admitted many of his misdeeds but adamantly denied killing Debbie Carter. The injustice from which he was suffering had caused him to lose hope and want to die.

For the next three months, Ron was a patient at Eastern State. His medication was stabilized. He was seen by various doctors—a neurologist, a psychologist, several psychiatrists. It was noted more than once that he was unstable emotionally, had a low tolerance for frustration, was self-centered with low self-esteem, was detached at times, and had a tendency to explode quickly. The mood swings were wild and remarkable.

He was demanding, and over time became aggressive with the staff and other patients. This aggression could not be tolerated, and Ron was discharged and sent back to death row. Dr. Lizarraga prescribed lithium carbonate, Navane, and Cogentin, a drug used primarily to treat symptoms of Parkinson’s disease but sometimes used to reduce shakiness and restlessness caused by tranquilizers.

Back at Big Mac, a prison guard by the name of Savage was brutally attacked by Mikell Patrick Smith, a death row inmate generally regarded as the most dangerous killer in the prison. Smith rigged a knife, or a “shank,” to the end of a broom handle and thrust it through the bean hole as the guard was serving him lunch. The shank went into his chest and heart, but Officer Savage miraculously survived.

Two years earlier, Smith had stabbed a fellow inmate.

The attack occurred not on death row but on D Cellhouse, where Smith was being held for disciplinary reasons. Nonetheless, the prison officials decided that a new, state-of-the-art death row facility was required. The attack was well publicized and prompted funding for the new unit.

Plans were drawn up for H Unit, which from the outset was designed to “maximize security and control, while providing inmates and staff with a safe, modern environment in which to live and work.” It would have two hundred cells on two floors, running along four quads.

From the beginning, the design of H Unit was
driven by the prison staff. In the tense atmosphere following the attack on Officer Savage, the staff was given enormous input into the creation of a “noncontact” facility. Early in the design phase, thirty-five prison employees met with the Tulsa architects hired by the Department of Corrections.

Though no death row inmate had ever escaped from McAlester, the designers of H Unit adopted the dramatic plan of putting the entire unit underground.

After two years on death row, Ron’s mental health was seriously deteriorating. His noise—yelling, screaming, cursing at all hours of the day and night—grew worse. His behavior grew even more desperate. His temper would explode over nothing, and he would launch into a fit of cursing and throwing things. In another fit he would spit for hours into the hall; he once spat on a guard. But when he began throwing his feces through the bars, it was time to take him away.

“He’s slingin’ shit again,” a guard yelled, and everybody ducked for cover. When things were clear, they rushed him and hauled him away, back to Vinita for another round of evaluation.

He spent a month at Eastern State in July and August 1990. He was again seen by Dr. Lizarraga, who diagnosed the same problems as before. After three weeks, Ron began demanding to be returned to death row. He was concerned about his appeal and felt that he could work on it better at McAlester, where at least they had a law library. His medications had been adjusted, he seemed to be stabilized, and so he was sent back.

C H A P T E R  12

A
fter thirteen years of frustration, Oklahoma finally managed to untangle the appeals process and schedule an execution. The unlucky inmate was Charles Troy Coleman, a white man who’d killed three people and had been on death row for eleven years. He was the leader of a small faction that was usually stirring up trouble on The Row, and many of his neighbors were not upset by the prospect of Chuck finally getting the needle. Most of the men, though, knew that when the killings finally started, there would be no turning back.

The Coleman execution was a media event, and the press converged outside Big Mac. There were candlelight vigils and interviews with victims, protesters, ministers, anyone who happened to walk by. As the hours passed, the excitement increased.

Greg Wilhoit and Coleman had become friends, though they argued bitterly over the death penalty. Ron was still in favor of it, though he swayed back and forth.
He was not fond of Coleman, who, not surprisingly, had become frustrated with Ron’s noisy presence.

The Row was quiet and heavily secured the night Coleman was executed. The circus was outside the prison, where the press counted down the minutes as if a New Year were approaching. Greg was in his cell, watching it all on television. Just after midnight, the news arrived—Charles Troy Coleman was dead.

Several inmates clapped and cheered; most sat quietly in their cells. Some were in prayer.

Greg’s reaction was completely unexpected. He was suddenly overcome with emotion and bitter at those who cheered the news. His friend was gone. The world was not now a safer place. Not a single future murderer would be deterred; he knew killers and what prompted them to act. If the victim’s family was pleased, then they were far from closure. Greg had been raised in a Methodist church and now studied the Bible every day. Didn’t Jesus teach forgiveness? If killing was wrong, then why was the state allowed to kill? By whose authority was the execution carried out? He’d been hit with these arguments before, many times, but now they resonated from a different source.

The death of Charles Coleman was a dramatic revelation for Greg. At that moment he flipped 180 degrees, never to return to his eye-for-an-eye beliefs.

Later, he offered these thoughts to Ron, who confessed that he shared many of them. The next day, though, Ron was an ardent supporter of the death penalty who wanted Ricky Joe Simmons dragged in off the streets of Ada and shot on the spot.

The prosecution of Ron Williamson was vindicated on May 15, 1991, when the Oklahoma Court of Criminal Appeals unanimously affirmed his conviction and death sentence. The court, in an opinion written by Judge Gary Lumpkin, found several mistakes with the trial, but the “overwhelming evidence” against the defendant far outweighed any of the trifling errors committed by Barney, the cops, Peterson, and Judge Jones. The court spent little time discussing exactly what evidence had been so overwhelming.