The cure for vigilantism, whether classic or shadow, is a clear public commitment to giving offenders the punishment they deserve, nothing more and nothing less. That will require significant reforms to current rules and practices, but these reforms can bring not only greater justice but also greater stability, respect, and deference to criminal law in all its work.
We have recounted many stories in this volume, and it is easy to take a special interest in the people involved. In this postscript we give readers who might be interested a brief report on what has happened to the people in our stories since the events that made their stories relevant to this book.
EMMETT TILL
The murderers of Emmett Till, discussed in chapter 2, were never convicted, despite their confessions and the undeniable physical evidence. In the years following Till's death, his story became an important element in the civil rights movement, helped along by the actions of his mother, Mamie Till. In a poignant act that found the heart of the nation, Mamie insisted that her son's casket be kept open at his funeral in Chicago, claiming that she “just wanted the world to see” the brutality of her son's murder. With the encouragement of the NAACP, Till's mother toured the country, becoming a powerful fundraising force for the organization. Till's murder—and the shocking injustice of the judicial system's response—sparked outrage and a cry for change across the nation.
Till's murderers, Roy Bryant and J. W. Milam, faced the brunt of the outrage. They were shunned both by those who had once supported them and by the nation as a whole. When blacks in the area refused to work for them or buy their goods, their businesses collapsed. No longer able to make a life in Mississippi, the men moved to Texas. The move did little to improve their lives. Notoriety kept them marginally employed and fearful of vigilante reprisals.
Years later, Bryant remained remorseless. In a 1992 interview, an ill Bryant complained to his interviewer, “Emmett Till is dead. I don't know why he can't just stay dead.”1
THE 1851 VIGILANCE COMMITTEE
The Vigilance Committee of 1851 was short-lived. When a new round of elections brought true leaders into office, the overseeing influence of the committee was no longer needed, and the group chose to disband. Many of the leaders of the committee became elected officials in San Francisco.
In 1856 a new group formed in San Francisco and attempted to take on the extra-governmental role of justice that had been so successful just five years earlier. The men of this new committee, however, were not motivated by the lack of law and order but rather by a quest for personal power. This group never gained popular support, and the transparency of its motives made it easy for the legitimate government to have the usurpers convicted in open court.2
THE LAVENDER PANTHERS
The authorities in San Francisco were forced by the Lavender Panthers’ actions to take notice of the gay-bashing problem. When the gay community no longer felt they were without recourse, the Lavender Panthers disbanded.
Reverend Ray Broshears, in the years before his activism in San Francisco, had been interviewed about information he had concerning the assassination of President Kennedy. He was deposed by District Attorney Jim Garrison in New Orleans. In his deposition, Broshears—a roommate of David Ferrie—testified that Ferrie, along with Lee Harvey Oswald, and others were all part of a homicidal-homosexual clique that had conspired to kill Kennedy.3
After the Lavender Panthers faded away, Broshears remained a lightning rod for controversy. It is likely that he was the first ordained minister in the United States to perform marriage ceremonies for same-sex couples.4 He was one of the founders of what grew to become the Gay Pride Parade, which is still an annual occurrence in San Francisco. He also worked as a journalist and was repeatedly sued for his writings. Many felt that he unfairly used his influence as the owner of his own newspaper, the Gay Crusader, to criticize individuals and organizations that disagreed with him.
Broshears died at home of a cerebral hemorrhage on January 10, 1982.
GULABI GANG
Recall the Gulabi Gang from chapter 2, the group founded in 2006 by Sampat Pal Devi in Banda, India, whose members used physical force to enforce women's rights in communities across the country. Several members of the activist group found their way into politics and now work through the system to bring about change for women. The group continues to grow, gaining members and attracting international attention. In 2014 a documentary about the Gulabi Gang was released, and in 2016 work was moving forward on a dance drama in the United Kingdom depicting the Gulabi Gang's story.5
DEANNA COOK
As you will recall from chapter 1, Deanna Cook was killed by her ex-husband, Delvecchio Patrick, while a 911 operator listened helplessly. The city of Dallas understood that it had failed Cook and that it needed to better address the problem of domestic violence. Prosecutors asked the jury to send a powerful message that “domestic violence will not be tolerated.”6 Patrick was convicted.
During the sentencing hearing, Cook's family gave victim impact statements. While eighteen-year-old N'Eycea Williams, one of Patrick's stepdaughters, was delivering hers, Patrick laughed and showed her his middle finger. Her younger sister, Aniya Williams, appeared unafraid when she took the stand, even telling Patrick, “I hope you get raped. You laugh, but it is not funny.”7
The defense, noting that Patrick was the father of two children, asked for a five-year sentence, but the jury settled on eighty-five years of prison time and a $10,000 fine. Cook's family also filed a lawsuit against the city of Dallas because of the officers’ slow response to the attack on Cook.8 As of July 2017, the legal action is still ongoing.
DANNY PALM
Between 1992 and 1995 John Harper, a resident of Dictionary Hill, California, repeatedly threatened his neighbors, and the police did not stop him, as chapter 1 described. Neighbors documented more than 150 incidents affecting forty-two victims before Danny Palm killed Harper.
Palm was convicted of second-degree murder, but Judge William Mudd reduced the conviction to involuntary manslaughter. While in prison, Palm was an exemplary inmate. He held several jobs, including assisting one of the guard captains and helping the prison chaplain. In a letter to Judge Mudd, Palm wrote, “I thought you would be interested to know that I am making my time here in prison as positive and productive as possible. I assure you that my overwhelming emotion at the time I shot John Harper Jr. was stark fear for the safety of my family. Self-preservation is a primal instinct and not something within the ‘control’ of the person who experiences it.”9
Palm was released after serving eight and a half years in prison. Neighbors welcomed him home by tying yellow ribbons to his mailbox, trees, and telephone poles. “I would say thank you,” said Barbra Bunderson. “I'm glad he was willing to put himself on the line for the neighbors. I know he was worried about us, our family, and we're grateful to him.”10 Palm and his wife returned to their quiet life in Dictionary Hill.
LARRY EYLER
Larry Eyler, who authorities knew had been killing young men in the Midwest for years, was detained in 1983, but officers were forced to release him, and all the incriminating evidence against him was excluded from use during the trial (see chapter 4). At the time of his release, one deputy said that Eyler had been “freed to kill” again—and he did.11 Eyler killed at least two more young men before authorities could collect enough additional evidence to convict him.
On October 3, 1986, Judge Joseph Urso sentenced Eyler to death. “If there ever was a person or a situation for which the death penalty was appropriate, it is you,” Judge Urso said. “You are an evil person. You truly deserve to die for your acts.” Eyler tried to negotiate a plea deal—he'd give a body count of his victims in exchange for a lesser sentence. The prosecution declined. Before the appeals had run their course, Eyler died from AIDS in prison in 1994.12
RONALD EBENS AND MICHAEL NITZ
In the summer of 1982, Ronald Ebens and Michael Nitz—two automotive workers—killed Chinese American V
incent Chin, as described in chapter 4. When Ebens and Nitz received only a few years of probation and a fine, the Asian American community was outraged, and a civil suit against Ebens and Nitz was launched. The suit—settled in 1987—required that Nitz pay $50,000 and Ebens pay $1.5 million. Nitz paid his debt in weekly installments over ten years, but Ebens did not. Despite being able to buy a new motorcycle, he said he could pay nothing toward his judgment. The Chin family placed a lien on Ebens's property; he is not permitted to sell or refinance his home, and he now owes in excess of $8 million. In 2015 Ebens filed a motion to have the lien lifted, but it was not removed. The lien, says Helen Zia, executor of the Chin estate, will remind Ebens “of the crime he committed as he continues to thumb his nose at Asian Americans and the value of human life.”13
FALN
The Fuerzas Armadas de Liberación Nacional (FALN), a Puerto Rican Communist terrorist organization, launched 120 terrorist attacks on American soil between 1974 and 1983, as described in chapter 4. Regardless, in 1999 President Bill Clinton—keen, many argued, to win over Hispanic voters before an upcoming election—granted clemency to sixteen of the convicted members.
Clinton's decision was condemned by the US Attorney's Office, the FBI, the Federal Bureau of Prisons, the former victims of FALN terrorism, and the majority of members of Congress. “It is a tragic day that these terrorists may soon again be walking America's streets,” said Representative Vito J. Fossella.14 When the prisoners returned to Puerto Rico, they were greeted with an exuberant welcome and cheers of “Bienvenidos a casa!”15
MANUEL AYREE
In 1981 Manuel Ayree, son of former Ghanaian diplomat Seth Ayree, raped a number of women in their homes in Manhattan. As mentioned in chapter 4, when he was identified and caught that same year, officials were unable to prosecute him because of his diplomatic immunity. He was sent back to Ghana but never investigated.
In 1982, however, a federal judge ordered Ayree to pay over $1 million in damages to two of his rape victims—$35,000 to each woman annually for the following three years and $5,000 a year for the remainder of their lives.16 No money was ever actually paid. The trauma of his crimes still lingers with his victims. “I'm 41 years old,” said Carol Holmes, “and I can't sleep with the lights out.”17
THE LEGION OF DOOM
Chapter 5 told the story of the students at Paschal High School in Fort Worth, Texas, who formed a group called the Legion of Doom. Begun as a means to combat petty theft and drug pushing, the group morphed into violent action.
Of the eight members of the Legion who were indicted, seven pleaded guilty to felony charges, received a week in jail, and were placed on probation under an agreement that their records would be expunged upon completion of their probationary period. The eighth student pleaded guilty to misdemeanor charges and paid a fine. The sentencing decision was influenced in part by a lack of prior criminal records, as well as the general perception that the Legion's members were “good kids” who'd reacted badly to a difficult situation.18 Black leaders in the community believed that the issue of race was involved, with investigators hesitant to crack down on white, upper-class students. “If this had been in a less affluent neighborhood,” said Clyde Tillman, a school district employee, “[justice] would have been served much sooner.”19
Within several years of the incidents, the vast majority of the group's members had moved on to college or employment, and no convicted student violated his probation.
STEVE UTASH
In April 2014 Steve Utash was driving through a Detroit neighborhood when a little boy stepped into the road, causing an accidental collision. Utash tried to help the boy, but a group of bystanders attacked and severely beat him, critically injuring him (see chapter 5).
Three days after the beating, authorities arrested and took into custody five suspects. During a pretrial hearing on June 16, Bruce Wimbush made a plea deal in exchange for testifying at the trial against the other assailants. “We saw Mr. Utash hit the kid,” he testified. “I striked him once. I hit him in the jaw. I let my anger get to me.”20 Two days later, Utash's other four attackers pleaded guilty to assault with the intent to do bodily harm, but charges of assault with intent to murder, as well as a charge of ethnic intimidation, were dropped in exchange for the guilty pleas.
The prosecutor was pleased with the plea deals: “We thought that this was a just resolution of the cases against the defendant. It was also discussed with the representatives from Mr. Utash's family. They thought it was an acceptable solution. And hopefully it will allow Mr. Utash to continue healing.”21
James Deontae Davis, twenty-four, was sentenced to five years of probation, with the first year to be served in jail; Latrez Cummings, nineteen, was sentenced to three years of probation with the first six months to be served in jail; Bruce Wimbush Jr., eighteen, was given three years of probation under the Holmes Youthful Trainee Act and must submit to periodic drug screenings; and Wonzey Saffold, thirty, who had multiple previous felony convictions, received a prison sentence of six years and four months.22
After four months in the hospital, Utash was able to post a letter online to thank those who had helped him:
I'll always remember all of you loving people. Thank you to Debbie Hughes who threw her body over mine to stop the crowd from killing me, she sure is a brave woman. Also, thank you to all the medical people that surrounded me. I notice people in the medical field are all angels here to make other people's life continue. Without them, where would we go? Thank you to the people at St. John Hospital, thank you to the people at DMC Rehab facility. Everything about what happened to me was worth it to feel the pure love of mankind in its purist [sic] form. People are love, and I love you all.23
THE PITTSBURGH PRISON GUARDS
In a Pittsburgh correctional facility in 2009, a group of officers—led by Harry Nicoletti—began physically and sexually abusing convicted sex offenders in the prison, as described in chapter 5. In April 2011—long after the alleged abuse—accusations were made against the guards, and an investigation began. The eight guards were suspended without benefits from their posts while officials looked into the allegations. During the process, Nicoletti was indicted by a grand jury and arrested for his role in the abuse of the inmates. Though he was charged with ninety-four counts, Nicoletti defended himself. “They're false allegations,” he told a reporter. “Simple as that. They're false allegations.”24
In November 2011, only a month before Nicoletti's preliminary hearing was set to begin, six of the other guards turned themselves over to police. During the pretrial hearing, thirty-one witnesses testified against the former corrections officer, including current and former inmates who were abused by Nicoletti.25
In the 2013 trial, Nicoletti was found guilty of twenty-seven of the counts against him, resulting in a sentence of five years’ probation and six years’ house arrest. Judge David Cashman decided against prison time in the facility in which Nicoletti abused the inmates; as Cashman explained, “You were painted as an ogre; you were painted as a sex fiend; you were painted as a villain who likes to torture and seek out sex offenders. I'm sparing you from the danger you imposed on the individuals you were in charge of. I hope you understand that.”26
One of the other guards was given twelve years’ probation, and another was found not guilty. For the remaining guards, all charges were dropped.
HERMAN WRICE
Philadelphia resident Herman Wrice, whose story was told in chapter 6, founded Mantua Against Drugs (MAD), a community-oriented program that sought to fight community drug use with direct confrontation. Wrice transformed his piece of Philadelphia with his strong community activism, but he didn't stop there. He trained what he christened “street warriors” in over 350 communities across the United States. Using methods he developed in West Philadelphia, organizers have incorporated chants, marches, and vigils into community activist programs throughout the country.
Wrice's homegrown message attracted the attention of many,
including the president. In the summer of 1990, Wrice and over three hundred children welcomed President George H. W. Bush to the West Philadelphia Community Center in Mantua, chanting, “No more drugs! No more pain! We don't want your crack cocaine!” The president, flanked by celebrity athletes, community leaders, and other hard-hat-donning MAD members, had come to salute Wrice. Bush praised the work of MAD and the Mantua community, announcing that they had demonstrated that “individual neighborhoods can indeed work together to restore hope and self-respect” and that “community commitment can extinguish the destructive blaze of crack burning up our streets and our kids.” He praised Wrice in particular, calling him the “John Wayne of Philadelphia,” wearing the traditional white hat of the good guys.27
Wrice's advocacy continued for years until March 10, 2000, when he died of a heart attack at the age of sixty-one. It is a final testament to his dedication that he was in Fort Lauderdale, Florida, on the day of his death, preparing for a community drug march.28
RANCH RESCUE
American ranchers living near the Mexican border felt personally and economically threatened by immigrants crossing illegally into the United States, as discussed in chapter 7.
In 2005 one of the organization's members, Texas resident Casey Nethercott, lost his ranch after two undocumented immigrants sued him for abuses suffered during their capture. He was also convicted of unlawful possession of a firearm by a felon and sentenced to several years in prison.
In 2006 Arizona passed Proposition 102, or the Standing in Civil Actions Act, which prohibits undocumented immigrants who have won a civil lawsuit “from receiving punitive damages.”29 In 2011 the law was made retroactive in an effort to help Nethercott, but a judge ruled that the judgment would stay, since there was no evidence that the immigrants had been to Arizona, the incident occurred before the new law's retroactive effective date, and the damages awarded were not punitive. Nethercott stayed optimistic. “I didn't get my ranch back…but at least the law's in effect,” he said. “Nobody else will lose their home.”30 Volunteer-based border patrol organizations remain controversial today.
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