Letters From The Inside -- Justice for Jack

March 2007

After my 1997 wrongful arrest and conviction, I quickly learned much about the system.  One such thing is the art of waiting.  As I was thrust deeper and deeper into this so-called justice system, I came to realize that if I didn’t learn patience I would not survive.  I am not talking about just any patience.  I am talking about the prison type; a type not like anything anyone in the free world could handle.

Patience in prison is what I call forced learning. If you fail or refuse to learn this at the system’s level, it only makes a bad situation worse.  From the moment a person is arrested, the waiting game begins.  There are long lines and waiting for everything. No matter where you go, there’s a seat in a bullpen, cell or cubicle with your name on it.

This waiting is not exclusive to the prison system.  It also applies, maybe even more so, to the court system.  This fact was added to my bank of knowledge when my first appeal never even got started until a year after my 1997 conviction.  From that point on, I came to realize that it is very rare for any court proceeding to take less than one year from start to finish.

It was not until I was denied my final request for relief in the New York State Court of Appeals last year that I was able to proceed to the federal court with what is called a Habeas Corpus petition.  So now here I sit, 10 years after my arrest for a fabricated crime, waiting for the federal habe.

One would think that waiting is waiting and given the amount of time that I have been waiting, I should be acclimated to it.  This is far from true.  First of all, I recently learned that waiting for the federal habe is completely unlike the wait for any of my prior State proceedings.  Exactly why that is, I can only guess.  Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that this is my last chance to prove my innocence.  Maybe it has something to with the number of years that have already been taken from my family and me.  Or, it could be that finally the court, and a much higher court at that will finally look at the egregious behavior of Ms. DeAngelis. You see, according to my attorney, E. Stewart Jones, no court has ever reviewed the merits of this case.  Whatever the reason, I can assure you that waiting for the federal habe is far worse than any wait I have had to date.

A vivid description of this wait is difficult, if not impossible.  But try to imagine this: from the time I wake up, the habe is on my mind.  I rarely go more than a few hours without thinking of all the reasons I can and should finally be successful on proving my innocence.  Yet at the same time, I can’t ignore the number of times I have already been unsuccessfully through this.  There are many moments when I can picture myself finally walking out of prison, exonerated, into the arms of my wife and family.  Sometimes I can think of how nice it will be to one morning wake up to fresh brewed coffee and a real breakfast with the ones I love. 

Often when I think of what the habe can give me, I have visions of just getting in my car with my wife, Mary, and traveling to South Carolina to see our son, John or even perhaps just spending a day with our other children, Mark and Kara, and their families.  Or even the very simple thing of getting up in the morning and putting on a flannel shirt, jeans and work boots.  Above all, I dream of the day when I will be fully vindicated.

The list could go on and on, but this is just an example of what waiting for the federal habe is like.  Unlike all of my past proceedings, I realize that every day I lose more and more of the patience I have developed over the years.  I know it is not in my best interest mentally, emotionally, or even physically to now become impatient, but I find that my control over these thoughts is limited at best.  I cannot recall ever having such a struggle to block out all of the wonderful thoughts and things that await me in the free world.  I thought the patience I had would last until they turned the key.

Yet, equally difficult is maintaining the magnitude of the task that lies ahead of me.  Nowhere is there a guarantee written that just because a person is innocent, they will be vindicated.  The thought is somehow oddly interwoven with all the great thoughts that fill my head each and every day.  While no one knows how or when this will end, I must remain patient and optimistic without losing caution.  What I do know for sure however is this.  One day they will HAVE to release me.  And when that happens, I will complete the statement I once told my sentencing judge. I came into prison an innocent man and I will leave prison an innocent man, regardless of what happens in between.

So, until the time comes when the federal court makes their decision, all I can do once again is wait and dream.