Doesn't Brian Terry's Parents deserve justice also?

Where’s the Outrage- -Part 2

I am the father of a murdered son who was killed in 1993 at the age of 25 years old in Los Angeles, CA. Since that time I have become very active in the victim’s rights movement as a parent of a murdered son. Yesterday, once again members of the Democratic Party’s House of Representatives, most notably the Congressional Black Caucus led by Nancy Pelosi showed a blatant and insulting disregard for the parents and other family members, friends and co-workers of Brian Terry when they walked off the House Floor just prior to the vote to hold Attorney General Eric Holder in contempt of Congress. By that action from a parent of a murdered child’s viewpoint those members once again showed that politics matters mostly in Washington, D.C. by our elected representatives as they were unable to put partisan politics aside and to me for all intents and purposes cause further heartbreak for the Terry family. Their actions were disgraceful, but sadly familiar as to what the American public has come to expect from the President, Attorney General as well as members of the House of Representatives and Senate.

 As a grieving parent of a murdered son my heart goes out to Brian Terry’s family as it does to Trayvon Martin’s. In both cases all they want is for the truth to be found out and most importantly justice to be served on behalf of their sons. Unfortunately there is and has been a stark contrast in both horrible cases as to the efforts put forward by leaders in the African-American community as well as the Department of Justice and more than likely members of the Congressional Black Caucus.

 I want to preface and qualify my observation and opinion when talking about the two horrific crimes so as not to appear to be biased or racist but merely to question what has/is happening as I write this article for my blog.

 To Mr. and Mrs. Martin as a parent who has lost a son to murder I truly can understand what you are going through and I pray that justice will be served on your son Trayvon’s behalf and yours. You have suffered the most unimaginable loss any parent could ever endure or have happen to them. While I happen, through the accident of birth to be white true justice is and must be colorblind. You deserve to ask and demand nothing less from the American Criminal Justice System and sadly are finding in many matters you can do nothing more than witness what is happening and will feel powerless in the process. From one parent of a murdered son to another mother and father that has suffered this kind of loss I pray to God to give each of you strength as you now are, and through no fault of your own are doing, travelling down the road of criminal justice. To me, you are conducting yet another act of parenting on behalf of Trayvon and I feel certain as a parent we never stop loving and protecting our children even though they have been stolen from us. As I have already said you deserve and expect justice will be served for Trayvon. Again, as a parent that happens to be white and I didn’t love my son anymore than you did Trayvon what my family has experienced and many other victims I have become acquainted with these past 19 years is there will be many persons in society, media and the political realm that will appear to be friends but seek nothing more than to capitalize on the crime you have become a victim of, simply stated use you for their gain or agenda.

In the highly charged environment of politics and race once again I feel they have made the horrific loss of your son Trayvon secondary in poisoning the well of race relations in America. This was not the case for us when our son Tom was murdered and I thank God we didn’t have to experience the added stress you folks are being subjected to. After 19 years I am angry, very angry but not at the fact that our son was murdered by an Asian but simply and only because he was murdered and stolen away from us.

I have watched both of you as Trayvon’s mother and father on television on numerous occasions and I feel certain your only concern is that he will receive justice and you are now his voices since his was forever silenced.

Today, to me there is a dichotomy on the part of Attorney General Eric Holder, the Congressional Black Caucus and the President as to their perception of the murder of Trayvon Martin and Brian Terry and what they have said or done. As an example on May 7, 2012 when addressing the Detroit Chapter of the NAACP the attorney general said “despite significant progress in civil rights, the nation is still struggling to overcome injustice and eliminate disparities. He goes on to say, “this violence is an issue that has - - - rightly- - - garnered significant national attention in recent months, as our nation has struggled to make sense of the tragic shooting death of a Florida teenager named Trayvon Martin. “As this case moves through the legal system, Justice Department officials will continue to communicate closely with state and local authorities to ensure that community concerns are heard, tensions alleviated, and - as with every investigation at every level- appropriate actions are guided by the facts and the law. (Emphasis mine not the attorney general’s) To me these statements made by Attorney General Holder are in the very least contradictory to those he and the Obama Administration have been making for the past 18 plus months when called to testify before Congressman Darryl Issa’s congressional committee investigating the botched “Operation Fast and Furious” that caused U.S. Border Patrol Agent Brian Terry to be murdered by one of the firearms involved in the operation. This has led us to the events of this past week, the vote in the House finding the attorney general guilty of contempt of Congress, the intervention of the President in ordering Executive Privilege in obstructing Congressman Issa’s committee from receiving the documents requested and subpoenaed as well as the politically motivated boycott by the Congressional Black Caucus.

Is it any wonder then why Brian Terry’s mother Josephine when interviewed on a Philadelphia Radio Talk Show 1201 WPHT recently said the following; “the only thing I can say is, if he did that (the President asserting executive privilege over the Fast & Furious documents) they apparently don’t want Issa to get the documents to see what’s in there. “My son and I were very, very close and my son was a person that believed in justice and believed in telling the truth. She concluded her statement by saying “He was a true American and I think he deserves the truth and I think everybody should know the truth. “And if this was a bad thing they did with Fast and Furious it should be acknowledged so it never happens to anybody else’s son.

 Mr. President, Attorney General Holder, as you have stated  Trayvon Martin’s parents deserve nothing less than your full cooperation in seeing that their son receives justice, but so does Brian Terry’s and you are preventing them from it by your egregious conduct and both of you and the Congressional Black Caucus and Nancy Pelosi should stop playing the political games. I for one as a parent of a murdered son would be mad as hell if you were preventing justice to be served had my son’s case been a government one and would be on every TV Talk Show, Radio Talk Show, flood the newspapers with articles and editorials and be at every campaign stop you make that I could possibly attend. Your actions are a disgrace and as far as I am concerned you are both breaching your Oath’s of Office you swore to.

                    

Love Letters to High Pockets

Love Letters to High Pockets

By Ralph L Myers

The recently hired nurse orderly knocked softly on the door of room 106. Not getting a response to her knock she opened the door, entered the room, and walked across the carpeted floor to where the ninety-year-old U.S. Army Colonel (Retired) John (High Pockets) Packard was seated in his wheel chair staring blankly at the drapes that were partially closed on the window blocking his view of the Ohio River as its current carried a barge downstream.

“High Pockets, it’s time for your night time meds,” the nurse orderly tells him causing a small smile to show on his aged and wrinkled face.

Slowly picking up his cane that he had hooked over the side of the wheelchair, he points to a bedside table and tells the orderly “put the meds there.”

Walking over to the table she places several pills and a small glass of water that was easily within his reach. “Colonel Packard, as he preferred to be addressed as, “how did you get the nick-name high pockets?”

Turning in his wheelchair and facing the orderly “you’re new aren’t you?”

“Yes Colonel I am new but I have worked in other veteran retirement homes and I was told of a hero of Bastogne living here that was loved and respected by his troops he commanded and they respectfully referred to as high pockets. “Why did they call you high pockets,” the orderly repeated?

“Help me up young lady and I think you will see how I got that nickname.”

The nurse wheeled the wheelchair across the room with him in it to a wall that had a wooden railing attached to it for the purpose of support similar to what one would find in a dance studio that is used by ballet dancers. “Is this close enough Colonel?”

“Close enough young lady,” he replied taking his cane and hooking the curved end of it over the railing and then began to slowly pull himself up to a standing position.

The nurse watched as the old man gradually stood up. She was amazed when the now standing Colonel towered over her even taking into consideration his 90-year-old frame was now partially bent over due to his age and osteoporosis he was suffering.  “My goodness Colonel, how tall are you?”

Smiling down at her he remarked, “in my younger days before mother nature and father time took over the aging process I stood nearly 6 foot 7 inches. “I was much taller than all the men in my command as well as the commanding officers in my battalion. “Just before D Day in 1944 I had the privilege to meet General Eisenhower who was 5’10” and I towered over him by nearly afoot. “When he shook my hand he looked up at me and smilingly said, my, my Colonel the pockets on your combat fatigues are sure up high. Then turning to his orderly he remarked “I sure hope he can keep a lower profile when we hit the beach at Normandy otherwise Colonel High Pockets will be an easy target for the Germans. “The nickname high pockets stuck with me for the rest of my military career and when I retired Ike was President and he personally sent me a letter of congratulations and said he remembered that June day in 1944 when he met a young and very tall Colonel Packard thanking me for my service adding a postscript “to Colonel “High Pockets” Packard.”

“What an amazing story Colonel you were given a nickname by the future President of the United States and obviously you kept a low enough profile from the Germans snipers or else you wouldn’t be standing here today.  

Sitting back down in his wheelchair he requests the nurse orderly to help him get back to his bed so he could get the night medications. “Don’t know why I should be so tired I haven’t done much today, just the usual breakfast, a few games of cards, watched some day time TV shows, lunch, and then back up here to my room. “Why I can remember leading my battalion on 20-mile marches and didn’t feel as tired as I do right now.”

“You didn’t mention having dinner Colonel Packard, did you eat this evening?”

Sitting on the edge of his bed and taking the pills that the nurse had placed on the bedside table a puzzled expression appeared on his face. “You know, I thought I did go down to the mess hall at 18:00 hours but I can’t remember for sure. Drumming his fingers on the bedside table he struggled to remember, “let me see, just let me see what did they serve?”

Trying to help him the nurse orderly said, “Tonight they served rigatoni with Italian sausage, salad, and some Chianti and then Spumoni for dessert.”

Suddenly remembering and smiling, “oh yes, now I remember the chow was unusually good for an Army mess hall. “Remind me to compliment the mess sergeant nurse.”

It was obvious that Colonel High Pockets was confusing the retirement center’s cafeteria with a military mess hall the nurse orderly didn’t want to correct him and softly assured him that she would pass his compliments on to the cook.

Colonel High Pockets with the assistance of the nurse orderly gets into bed. “Do you want me to turn out the lights when I leave Colonel?”

Turning on the reading lamp above his bed’s headboard he says “yes please nurse, I just want    to read for a while before I go to sleep.” Once the nurse had left his room he opens the drawer of the bedside table and carefully takes out a bundle of old, frayed envelopes containing letters bearing his name and removes an old and faded blue ribbon that was tied and holding them together. Smiling, he opens the first envelope and takes out its contents and begins to read it out loud, as his mind wanders back in time as old memories are displayed in it like a movie he was now seeing again for who knew how many times before, yet it seemed as though each time he read it there would be yet another revelation of something that he had not noticed the last time. It was dated August 23, 1945, and was postmarked Antwerp, Belgium.

“My Dear Colonel High Pockets:

I hope this letter finds you well and happy. It has been almost 8 months to the date since you and your American Army soldiers found my papa, mama, and me hiding in the old barn behind our farmhouse. You will be happy to know our home has been how you say it, fixed. My papa and the other farmers around here have been helping each other put their homes and farms back into order and just last week all the farmers near the town of Bastogne had the best harvest since before the war began.

If you are ever back in this area please promise me you will come to visit us.

Love,

Claudine

Gingerly folding the note and placing it very carefully into the worn and tattered envelope and placing it on the bedside table he smiles as he remembers the first time he had seen the beautiful young Flemish girl with the long auburn colored hair and somewhat frail body. It was Christmas Eve, 1944 as Colonel"High Pockets" John Packard and the men from Charlie Company of the 82^nd Airborne were being driven out of Bastogne towards the surrounding farmlands by a vastly superior and combat-hardened German battalion of SS Troops. The weather was bitterly cold made even worse by the blizzard that was being magnified by almost gale force winds as they blew across the open fields that they were being pushed towards a farmhouse and the barn that was about 100 yards behind it. Yelling orders to his NCO’s he hoped he could be heard as artillery shells exploded all around them and the howling, whistling wind made it even more difficult for them to hear. “Sergeant, take the first and second platoon and head for the house and secure it, I’ll take the third platoon and take cover in the old barn and we’ll make our stand from there.”

“You got it, Colonel, first and second platoon follow me,” he yells as he starts running towards the farmhouse, “and kill anyone that gets in your way!”

Raising his long arm over his lanky body, “third platoon, run like Hitler himself is breathing fire down your necks and is still angry that Jesse Owens beat his superhuman race in the 1936 Berlin Olympics. “We’ve got to make it to that old barn about 100 yards behind the house,” he yells while starting to run. “Ike, I sure as heck hope there aren’t any German Snipers aiming for Colonel High Pockets,” he thought as he recalled that day he had met the 5 Star General.

Running across open farmland the first and second platoons were systematically being picked off by the German M80 machine guns being fired from the woods at the edge of the farm fields. Their positions were concealed by the trees but could be seen when they fired as flames shot out the muzzles.

“Colonel High Pockets, sir the fourth platoon should be in position soon and able to knock out those M80’s” a corporal yells as he catches up with him.

Running in a crouched position trying to minimize the size of a target he was with clumps of dirt being kicked up all around him by the bullets from the M80’s Colonel High Pockets yells, “corporal, it had better be soon or else there won’t be much of Charlie Company left.” 

Reaching the old stone walls surrounding the farmhouse the 1^st Sergeant ordered two rifle squads from the first and second platoons to take up a position and lay down a deadly field of fire directed at the dwelling. The brick and mortar structure of the house was literally being disintegrated by the rifle squads 30 caliber M1 Garand rifles and the BAR’s (Browning Automatic Rifles) as thousands of rounds struck it. “Ceasefire,” the 1^st Sergeant orders as there wasn’t any return fire coming from the house. “If there are any krauts inside they’re either dead or hiding someplace. “Corporal, take the third and fourth squads and set up a perimeter around the house, first and second squads, follow me we’re going on a little exploration adventure inside the farmhouse!”

There wasn’t any need to breakdown the doors or windows of the house in order to gain entry, as none were left after the barrage of firepower, had been inflicted on them by the two rifle squads. Once inside all floors and the basement of the house was thoroughly searched by the two platoons. “All clear, the house is empty, the Corporal reports to the 1^st Sergeant.”

“Not surprised,” the 1^st Sergeant replies, “but someone was here recently,” he says, pointing to a still-burning fire in the fireplace. “They were smart, that they got out probably when they saw us running across their field.”

Loud explosions and then small arms fire could be heard coming from the woods and then there was silence as the German M80 machine guns stopped firing. “The fourth platoon accomplished their mission and knocked out those kraut machine guns,” Colonel John “High Pockets,” said as he and his third platoon troops surrounded the old barn at the rear of the farmhouse.

A young 1^st Lieutenant and two squads of infantrymen cautiously and slowly approached the doors to the barn.  “It sounds pretty quiet in the barn, too quiet, stay alert,” he cautions “there might be some SS soldiers waiting inside for us to come in.  He orders one of the squad leaders to take 10 men with him. “See if you can get close enough to look inside, just try and keep your head down and not become an easy target for Gerry to pick you off if he’s inside.”

The squad leader and ten of his squad members with one of them using an old side mirror taken from a destroyed jeep looked inside the doors that were partially open as streams of the cold winter sunlight shined through the bullet holes in them making little beams of light reflecting inside onto the floor. “Sort of like stage lights shining on a theater’s stage,” he thought. “No one seems to be inside Lieutenant,” he calls back.

“Alright squad leader, take your men and go inside,” the Lieutenant orders.

By this time Colonel High Pockets and the rest of the third platoon had taken up a position closer to the barn when he heard one of the men that had entered the barn shout out, “we found someone, probably the farmer and there are two women in hiding with him. “Raus he yells, (get out) and keep your hands up high.” Soon an older man and woman walk out of the barn, a confused look on their faces but with their hands held high above their heads. They were followed by a strikingly beautiful young woman who appeared to be 18 or in her early twenties with long auburn colored hair.

Walking over to the man and two women Colonel High Pockets mustering what little German he could speak asks them “sprechen sie English?”

The old man and woman looked more confused and somewhat fearful when they saw how tall the Colonel was and turned to the young woman speaking to her in what sounded like French to him. The young woman nodded her head and then looked up at the Colonel smiled and said, “I am Claudine and this is my papa and mama. Turning and pointing to the house that was badly damaged and on the verge of collapsing she said, “That is our home, we live here as did my grandpapa and grandmamma as well as their papa and mama before them.”

“Sergeant, make sure you leave some K rations with these folks, it looks like it’s been a while since they had anything to eat,” Colonel High Pockets orders.

“Yes sir Colonel, we’ll give them enough to last for about two weeks as that is all we can spare until the weather breaks and more ammo and supplies can be airdropped to us.”

The old man and woman smiled and thanked Colonel High Pockets as the beautiful young lady named Claudine stood on her tiptoes motioning for him to stoop over a little and kissed him on the cheek. “My papa, mama and I thank you so very much American G.I, Mr. Colonel High Pockets,” she laughingly said.

“No thanks needed, uh, I think you said your name is Claudine miss, if anything I am sorry that we have destroyed your house.”

The sound of a cart being pushed through the corridor outside his room 106 brought the Colonel’s mind back to the present. “I lost track of her after that as we continued our advance towards Berlin. “I wonder whatever became of her and her parents,” he thought while opening yet another letter he had saved for more than 60 years.  

Unlike the letter he had just read from Claudine this one was from a man, Issac A’brim who had been a Jewish prisoner at the Nazi Neuengamme subcamp located on the outskirts of Wobbelin, Germany which was northeast of Frankfurt, on the road to Berlin.  It was dated June 18, 1945, less than two months since it had been discovered by the advancing 82^nd Airborne Division troops on May 2, 1945.

My Dear Herr Colonel Packard:

 It has been 47 days since you and your American soldiers stumbled upon the Neuengamme concentration camp where I and thousands of others were being starved, tortured, and systematically murdered by our Nazi oppressors. Had you not found us I am almost positive I would probably just have been another emaciated body cast into one of the many mass graves. I owe my life to you and our American liberators and for that, you will and your men will always be in my thoughts and prayers as I daily say  The Birkhat Ha‑Gomeyl blessing is said after surviving illness, childbirth, or danger (including a hazardous journey or captivity)... You have my eternal gratitude.

Signed, Issac A’brim

Wiping tears from his eyes Colonel John (High Pockets) Packard struggles for words as he always did when recalling or speaking about that horrible discovery he and his soldiers made on that day in May 1945. “I hope God has brought you some peace and comfort all the remaining days of your life my friend if you like myself has lived so many more years.” Carefully he places the letter back into its envelope and puts it on the bedside table on top of the letter from Claudine.

Picking up another stack of letters that were bound by a red ribbon and all being from Barbara Ergmann whom he referred to affectionately as “Babsi,” the one and only true love of his life. Thumbing through the stack he locates the letter postmarked from Kassel, Germany dated new Year's Day, 1948 and takes it from the stack and like the others delicately unfolds it after taking it from the envelope. Holding the envelope up to his nose and breathing in he can still imagine the fragrant smell of the perfume she always wore.

My Dearest Colonel John:

The haunting and the melodic sounds of the Strauss waltzes are still playing in my mind. Dancing and being with you at the New Year’s Eve party at the Officer’s Club as we held each other so very close and then kissing at midnight when 1947 turned into 1948 shall always be a pleasurable and indelible impression in my thoughts and on my heart.

Although there were hundreds of others at the dance when I think of the two of us being together and waltzing the hours away it seemed as though we were the only ones there on the dance floor. I shall always treasure that evening and being with you Johnny and hope that you share with me those feelings of happiness and love.

Signed, Your Babsi

Folding and gingerly putting the letter back into its envelope he thought, “Oh how well I remember that evening “Babsi” as that was also the night that you said yes, yes you would marry me and become Mrs. Colonel John “High Pockets” Packard. Then asking her as though she was in the room sitting beside him, “do you remember the night we first met at the Hauptbahnhof (main train station) in Frankfurt? “The war had just ended and I was having a beer with a group of G.I.’s that like me had been transferred to Frankfurt as part of the occupying forces. It was almost time to leave and head back to the Gutleut Kaserne when we all noticed four beautiful young Frauleins getting off a train.  I turned to my buddies there with me and said “now this is what we just fought our way across Europe for,” pointing to the four young ladies. One of the girls was at least 6 feet tall and perhaps a little taller with what appeared to be natural blond hair. Being 6’7” myself I was immediately attracted to her and told the others “that fraulein is mine you guys can fight over the rest of the girls if you want but she is definitely mine.”

“I have to agree Colonel, she’s beautiful and I wouldn’t mind getting to know her myself but alas I am only a Major and you outrank me,” one of the guys seated with me said.

“You’re right Major, I outrank you and I am pulling my rank on you so back off,” I laughingly told him as I got up and started walking towards the four girls all the while focusing my attention on the beautiful young blond. “I hope she can speak at least a little English,” I thought as I was now standing directly in front of her and the other three girls. Before I could say anything she smiled at me and said in perfect English, “my, my you sure are a very tall G.I,” which caused the other three girls to giggle like school girls.

At least I now knew that she could speak English as I reached out my hand to shake hers and to introduce myself, “I am Colonel John Packard but my friends and fellow G.I. simply refers to me as Colonel High Pockets. “May I ask you what your name is Miss?”

Smiling back she replied “my name is Barbara Ergmann and like you, I have a nickname, my friends call me “Babsi.”

“I would very much like to be your friend Fraulein Ergmann, may I call you Babsi also?”

“If you would like and I can also call you Colonel High Pockets,” she replied with a mischievous grin.

Once more, holding the letter close to his nostrils and deeply inhaling it trying again to get any scent of the perfume she wore he smiled and said, “that night in the train station was to be the first of many nights they would spend together for the next 52 years,” as a tear began to run down his cheek. “Oh Babsi, precious sweet wife I have missed you so much these past ten years since you were taken away from me, and since we never had any children I can only share you with myself in my memories. “Be patient my love I think soon we will be together again.”

The morning sun shined brightly into Colonel John “High Pockets” Packard’s room as the orderly came in with his morning medicines. “Rise and shine Colonel High Pockets,” the orderly calls out, “time for your meds.”

Not getting any response the orderly walks over to his bed to awaken him. As he approaches the bed the Colonel was laying in he noticed the letters that he so carefully protected were strewn about on the floor, all but one, that was the letter from his beloved Babsi which he was still tightly clutching in his hand that along with his arm was draped over the side of his bed. It wouldn’t take a doctor or nurse to see that Colonel John “High Pockets” Packard had left this world and was now with his Babsi, leaving behind all the love letters to High Pockets.

The End  

    

  

                                   

   

Parole Eligibility Heearing in California- - what to expect.

Sometimes it seems that the passage of time has passed by slowly, like the grains of sand dropping from the top of an hour glass to the bottom. As each grain drops representing the passing moments of our lives, seconds, hours, days, months and years since my son Tom’s murder I suddenly am forced to realize that it has been nineteen years since that fateful and horrible night in July of 1993.

Nineteen years of grieving, wondering what his life would have been like and of course ours had he not been murdered. Struggling to cope with the loss of him, getting on with our lives as best we could as only a survivor of a murdered loved one can understand. Always knowing that sometime in what once seemed like a distant future would once again arrive and we must be confronted by the very face of evil, Tom’s murderer at a parole hearing. Last week, June 5^th 2012 that day and time arrived as we made a long journey from where we now live to the Solano California State Prison located in Vacaville, CA.

Once more, old wounds, traumatic memories, emotional pain as well as physical problems resurfaced and any closure many think we should have had when the murderer was sent to prison was non-existent and was a similar experience like an old and festering wound had been reopened.

Some might think and say, “Why did you go what did you accomplish, surely you must have realized the emotional pain you would relive?”

To be candid my wife and I realized this but as I have said countless times during the past nineteen years even though our son was dead we are and always will be his parents and not to go to the hearing giving him a voice that was forever silenced when he was murdered was unthinkable, a no-brainer. Being there for him was yet another act of parenting, trying to make sure the murderer and the parole board was reminded he was much more than a statistic of crime, a victim, he was our son, and to us most importantly arguing his case that a parole should not be granted to his murderer.

Thankfully, the vast majority of Americans will never have to attend a parole eligibility hearing in their lifetime and we of course never imagined we would ever sit through one as the parents of a murdered son. Sadly, that was what fate had in store for us and I want to describe the process for the benefit of those fortunate ones that never will have to attend a hearing in order to educate the public another example of the plights of crime victim survivors. Or as an example for those victims that will have to go through this process.

Notification to victims:

When our son’s murderer was convicted and sentenced in a California Superior Court as victim survivors and according to the victim’s rights granted us in the California State Constitution we would be notified by the state’s department of corrections of the following; prisoner’s escape from prison, death while incarcerated and notification of any parole eligibility hearings which we had the right to attend. The Office of Victim’s Assistance a part of the department of corrections was the responsible agency to notify us providing we had given them our names, addresses and telephone numbers by submitting the information to them on the form that was provided to us. Naturally, we complied with this requirement.

At least ninety days before the scheduled parole eligibility hearing the California Department of Corrections (CDC) is required to notify a victim of the pending hearing the date, time and place of the hearing. Victim must provide the CDC with required identification information so you can be cleared to enter the prison where the hearing will take place. Also, the CDC will advise you of the type of clothing that can be worn and what you will be allowed to bring with you to the hearing and what is prohibited.

The Hearing:

In the case of the hearing my wife and I attended it was presided over by Parole Board Commissioner and an assistant commissioner. The people of the state of California were represented by a Deputy District Attorney from the county in which the crime occurred (in this case Los Angeles County.) Also there was a member of the Office of Victims Assistance in attendance as our representative as well as my wife and me.

As this was the inmate’s parole eligibility hearing he was present and was represented by an attorney.

The Parole Board Commissioners follow a strict agenda as they review the prisoner’s record since he has been incarcerated. They make note of any special positive achievements he has done while in prison, read letters of support for him as well as go over organizations that are willing to give him a place to live and a job should he be granted parole. The prisoner must show proof in advance of the hearing that if paroled he does indeed have a job and a place to live, without it there will not be a hearing conducted.

The commissioners also go over any prison misconduct or violations that have been entered on his prison record and will ask him about them. The prisoner is treated with respect and dignity but the commissioners will ask him pointed and tough questions about the crime he committed and he will be given a chance to address the commissioners.

After the prisoner and his attorney have had their chance to speak at the hearing the Deputy District Attorney who is representing the people of the State of California will review the crime committed, trial proceedings and generally make an argument as to why it is in the public safety’s best interest that the prisoner be denied parole.

The next step in the procedure is for the prisoner’s attorney, the deputy district attorney to make their closing statement before the parole board commissioners. After this process is completed it was our turn to address the commissioners and to give our victim’s impact statement and to express our feelings about whether parole should be granted. Once we were finished the hearing is concluded and the commissioners deliberate their decision, which they reach immediately after the hearing. Once they have reached their decision all parties are called back into the hearing room where they announce their decision.

The decision:

In California a ballot initiative was approved by the voters (Prop 9) Marcy’s Law* which gave victim’s additional rights in the California Constitution. Listed among those rights were those that stipulated the length between an inmate’s parole eligibility hearings if parole is denied at a hearing. The California Parole Board has the discretion of allowing another parole hearing in as little as three years or for as long as 5, 7, and 10 and fifteen years. In the hearing we had just attended on behalf of our son Tom his murderer was denied parole and was given a term of 7 years before he would once again be eligible for a parole eligibility hearing. He is currently serving a 30 year to life sentence for a 1^st degree murder conviction for the murder of our son Tom Myers.              

At this hearing my wife and I with the skill and help of the Deputy District Attorney from Los Angeles County were successful. Whether we will prevail at the next hearing seven (7) years from now is anyone’s guess and Tom’s murderer can be assured if at that time we are still living and able to travel we will be there as no amount of good deeds, certificates earned or programs participated in will ever bring back Tom and he should remain in prison for the rest of his natural life.

Finally, as a victim it is very troubling and disconcerting to know that the current Governor of California Jerry Brown has instructed his appointed members of the Parole Board that when conducting a hearing they are only to consider the behavior of the person having the hearing and not the severity of the crime they committed. To me and to all other victims that will have to endure the process we have just gone through Governor Brown’s instructions are an egregious assault on victim’s justice and an outrage. He should be ashamed of himself and I hope and pray no one from his family will ever become a murder victim.

*Marcy’s Law is named after the daughter of our good friend and co-founders of Justice for Homicide Victim’s a California based Victim’s Rights organization Marcella and Robert Leach. Mr. Leach (Bob) is now deceased. After the murder of our son Tom my wife and I became active in this organization and are currently on its Advisory Board of Directors. You can find out more about this organization by going to their website justiceforhomicidevictims.net