CET
06-29-2005, 03:19 PM
sorry, the source was cut off. This is from MNADP.
June 29
USA:
Ray Krone, of Dover, Pa., was freed from death row after DNA cleared him in a murder. For ex-death-row inmates, freedom can be grim reality
Once known as the "Snaggletooth Killer" when he was on Arizona's death row, Ray Krone got an Extreme Makeover after DNA cleared him in a 1991 murder. He has addressed the United Nations, toured Europe to protest the death penalty, mingled with celebrities, and even attracted his own groupies.
Nick Yarris, released from Pennsylvania's death row last year after DNA exonerated him in a 1981 rape and murder in Delaware County, has been on a similar odyssey, speaking at college campuses and telling his story on TV programs and in an award-winning documentary.
Such journeys from prison to prominence are not unlike the experiences of other members of this new and growing population of those who have been exonerated of crimes, especially those released from death row. They are courted here and abroad to speak at anti-death-penalty, social-justice, and academic forums, where audiences are spellbound by their horrifying accounts.
But the exciting travels and high-profile invitations are a distraction from the grim realities of life after prison. Longtime inmates have lost jobs, homes, and, often, their families. They carry the emotional scars of prison and the Kafkaesque trip through the court system as well as the stresses of returning to society. Some revert to past problems such as alcohol and drug abuse.
"Emotionally and psychologically, it's a roller-coaster ride," said James C. McCloskey, who heads Centurion Ministries, a Princeton organization whose efforts have led to the exoneration of 36 people. "It's like they're a Martian coming down to Earth."
Krone said his travels have been an enjoyable distraction. He recalled carrying a banner in a death-penalty protest in Montreal, next to famous activists Bianca Jagger and Catherine Deneuve, and looking back in wonder at the thousands of people behind them. Life outside prison "was a whole new world or other planet," Krone said in an interview at his home in Dover, Pa., south of Harrisburg.
This month, Krone was back in the spotlight - at a community forum on the death penalty in Mount Holly.
His story transfixed the audience of about 30 at Sacred Heart Church, as he explained how DNA tests of blood on the victim's clothing cleared him and implicated a man already convicted of a sex offense.
"This is part of my therapy, I think, being able to speak about it," he told the group.
The use of DNA testing is perhaps the most important advancement in modern criminology: It helps catch the guilty and absolve the innocent.
But the increasing number of people who have now been exonerated nationwide for all crimes - estimated to be about 350 since 1989 - raises societal questions of whether and how to compensate inmates who have been cleared, and how to smooth the transition back to society.
About 19 states, including New Jersey, have laws to compensate for the lost years. In Pennsylvania, State Reps. Michael McGeehan and James Roebuck (D., Phila.) have introduced legislation that would compensate those exonerated of crimes who served time in Pennsylvania prisons, and pay for counseling and other services to help ease the readjustment. Former prisoners also would get $50,000 for every year spent on death row.
Yesterday, the U.S. Supreme Court agreed to hear a Tennessee death row inmate's appeal in a case that could provide guidance for when prisoners convicted before DNA testing was available should get a new chance to prove their innocence.
Krone, who returned home to York County after his release, has won a $1.4 million judgment from Maricopa County in Arizona, but he said that most of it went to lawyer fees and other debts from his years of appeals.
Ernest Duff, executive director of the California-based Life After Exoneration Program, started in 2003 to help the growing number of people cleared of crimes, said that the newly exonerated often suffer from depression, anxiety and posttraumatic stress.
"It's very, very lonely, very disorienting, and, for many, it's ultimately frustrating to the point that some of them wish they were back inside,"
Duff said.
Krone, now 48, said he couldn't even sleep on a bed when he first got out because he was accustomed to sleeping on a concrete or metal frame, and he found himself subconsciously avoiding fences because prisoners were barred from walking near fences. Even now, he said, he has a problem believing in people.
"Trust is an issue," he said.
But Krone, a postal worker with no criminal record who stayed in Phoenix when he got out of the Air Force, said he was fortunate because he had the unwavering support of family and friends back home who prayed, wrote and believed in him, and that helped a lot.
For people without that kind of support - especially those who were very young when they went to prison - life can be very difficult. Although many have little trouble attracting sympathetic women, relationships can be difficult to manage on top of the other stresses of readjustment. One man released from Florida's death row after 16 years, for example, was sentenced last year to 2 years back in prison for assaulting his wife of
4 months.
Yarris, who grew up in Southwest Philadelphia and spent 22 years on Pennsylvania's death row, said he felt as if he had been stuck in a "time warp" and emerged from prison feeling much like the 20-year-old he was when he entered.
"I paid for every stupid mistake I ever made 3 times over," Yarris told a class at Princeton University last fall.
Yarris insists that he is not angry, though people who know him say that he is struggling with resentment over the lost time - 8,057 days on death row.
He has a federal lawsuit pending against Delaware County. Last month, he married a woman who had heard him speak last year in England. And they have settled there while Yarris writes a book.
He was featured in a documentary, After Innocence, which won a special jury prize at the Sundance Film Festival this year. He declined to comment for this article, saying in an e-mail that he now prefers to "concentrate" on the European news media so as not to take "time away from writing my book."
His mother, Jayne Yarris, who lives in Southwest Philadelphia, said her son was a bundle of nerves when he was released. He ate quickly, talked nonstop, and had to reacquaint himself with all sorts of normal lifestyle matters.
"It is really a rough, rough time," she said.
She said she worried about his readjustment: "When you're pushed in the door, they control your life. When they throw you out, they don't care."
She said England is a good change. "England knows him as Nick and not as the one who got off death row."
Krone said that "a lot of anger and frustration" comes from being falsely accused. He was convicted, got a new trial, then was convicted again because of testimony that his crooked teeth had left a bite mark on the victim's breast.
Krone said he had always been sensitive about his crooked teeth, so when the Extreme Makeover TV show offered him a new smile and other cosmetic surgery, he accepted the offer. The show is set to be rerun tomorrow.
Krone said that life is good in York County. He helps out friends with odd jobs, and largely earns a living from speaking engagements. He said he believes he has adjusted pretty well. "I think I'm doing OK with my relationship with family and friends," he said.
Krone wants to remain in the limelight for as long as possible to keep the pressure on those who snagged him for a horrific crime that he did not commit.
"I want to keep this going as long as I can until they acknowledge their mistakes," he said.
(source: Philadelphia Inquirer)
June 29
USA:
Ray Krone, of Dover, Pa., was freed from death row after DNA cleared him in a murder. For ex-death-row inmates, freedom can be grim reality
Once known as the "Snaggletooth Killer" when he was on Arizona's death row, Ray Krone got an Extreme Makeover after DNA cleared him in a 1991 murder. He has addressed the United Nations, toured Europe to protest the death penalty, mingled with celebrities, and even attracted his own groupies.
Nick Yarris, released from Pennsylvania's death row last year after DNA exonerated him in a 1981 rape and murder in Delaware County, has been on a similar odyssey, speaking at college campuses and telling his story on TV programs and in an award-winning documentary.
Such journeys from prison to prominence are not unlike the experiences of other members of this new and growing population of those who have been exonerated of crimes, especially those released from death row. They are courted here and abroad to speak at anti-death-penalty, social-justice, and academic forums, where audiences are spellbound by their horrifying accounts.
But the exciting travels and high-profile invitations are a distraction from the grim realities of life after prison. Longtime inmates have lost jobs, homes, and, often, their families. They carry the emotional scars of prison and the Kafkaesque trip through the court system as well as the stresses of returning to society. Some revert to past problems such as alcohol and drug abuse.
"Emotionally and psychologically, it's a roller-coaster ride," said James C. McCloskey, who heads Centurion Ministries, a Princeton organization whose efforts have led to the exoneration of 36 people. "It's like they're a Martian coming down to Earth."
Krone said his travels have been an enjoyable distraction. He recalled carrying a banner in a death-penalty protest in Montreal, next to famous activists Bianca Jagger and Catherine Deneuve, and looking back in wonder at the thousands of people behind them. Life outside prison "was a whole new world or other planet," Krone said in an interview at his home in Dover, Pa., south of Harrisburg.
This month, Krone was back in the spotlight - at a community forum on the death penalty in Mount Holly.
His story transfixed the audience of about 30 at Sacred Heart Church, as he explained how DNA tests of blood on the victim's clothing cleared him and implicated a man already convicted of a sex offense.
"This is part of my therapy, I think, being able to speak about it," he told the group.
The use of DNA testing is perhaps the most important advancement in modern criminology: It helps catch the guilty and absolve the innocent.
But the increasing number of people who have now been exonerated nationwide for all crimes - estimated to be about 350 since 1989 - raises societal questions of whether and how to compensate inmates who have been cleared, and how to smooth the transition back to society.
About 19 states, including New Jersey, have laws to compensate for the lost years. In Pennsylvania, State Reps. Michael McGeehan and James Roebuck (D., Phila.) have introduced legislation that would compensate those exonerated of crimes who served time in Pennsylvania prisons, and pay for counseling and other services to help ease the readjustment. Former prisoners also would get $50,000 for every year spent on death row.
Yesterday, the U.S. Supreme Court agreed to hear a Tennessee death row inmate's appeal in a case that could provide guidance for when prisoners convicted before DNA testing was available should get a new chance to prove their innocence.
Krone, who returned home to York County after his release, has won a $1.4 million judgment from Maricopa County in Arizona, but he said that most of it went to lawyer fees and other debts from his years of appeals.
Ernest Duff, executive director of the California-based Life After Exoneration Program, started in 2003 to help the growing number of people cleared of crimes, said that the newly exonerated often suffer from depression, anxiety and posttraumatic stress.
"It's very, very lonely, very disorienting, and, for many, it's ultimately frustrating to the point that some of them wish they were back inside,"
Duff said.
Krone, now 48, said he couldn't even sleep on a bed when he first got out because he was accustomed to sleeping on a concrete or metal frame, and he found himself subconsciously avoiding fences because prisoners were barred from walking near fences. Even now, he said, he has a problem believing in people.
"Trust is an issue," he said.
But Krone, a postal worker with no criminal record who stayed in Phoenix when he got out of the Air Force, said he was fortunate because he had the unwavering support of family and friends back home who prayed, wrote and believed in him, and that helped a lot.
For people without that kind of support - especially those who were very young when they went to prison - life can be very difficult. Although many have little trouble attracting sympathetic women, relationships can be difficult to manage on top of the other stresses of readjustment. One man released from Florida's death row after 16 years, for example, was sentenced last year to 2 years back in prison for assaulting his wife of
4 months.
Yarris, who grew up in Southwest Philadelphia and spent 22 years on Pennsylvania's death row, said he felt as if he had been stuck in a "time warp" and emerged from prison feeling much like the 20-year-old he was when he entered.
"I paid for every stupid mistake I ever made 3 times over," Yarris told a class at Princeton University last fall.
Yarris insists that he is not angry, though people who know him say that he is struggling with resentment over the lost time - 8,057 days on death row.
He has a federal lawsuit pending against Delaware County. Last month, he married a woman who had heard him speak last year in England. And they have settled there while Yarris writes a book.
He was featured in a documentary, After Innocence, which won a special jury prize at the Sundance Film Festival this year. He declined to comment for this article, saying in an e-mail that he now prefers to "concentrate" on the European news media so as not to take "time away from writing my book."
His mother, Jayne Yarris, who lives in Southwest Philadelphia, said her son was a bundle of nerves when he was released. He ate quickly, talked nonstop, and had to reacquaint himself with all sorts of normal lifestyle matters.
"It is really a rough, rough time," she said.
She said she worried about his readjustment: "When you're pushed in the door, they control your life. When they throw you out, they don't care."
She said England is a good change. "England knows him as Nick and not as the one who got off death row."
Krone said that "a lot of anger and frustration" comes from being falsely accused. He was convicted, got a new trial, then was convicted again because of testimony that his crooked teeth had left a bite mark on the victim's breast.
Krone said he had always been sensitive about his crooked teeth, so when the Extreme Makeover TV show offered him a new smile and other cosmetic surgery, he accepted the offer. The show is set to be rerun tomorrow.
Krone said that life is good in York County. He helps out friends with odd jobs, and largely earns a living from speaking engagements. He said he believes he has adjusted pretty well. "I think I'm doing OK with my relationship with family and friends," he said.
Krone wants to remain in the limelight for as long as possible to keep the pressure on those who snagged him for a horrific crime that he did not commit.
"I want to keep this going as long as I can until they acknowledge their mistakes," he said.
(source: Philadelphia Inquirer)