danielle
08-31-2002, 07:28 AM
I wanted to tell you all about my uncle - he was like a father to me, but that only came to be after he was locked-up. The transformation he made in prison was amazing and I miss the man he became. He had been a bully, but grew to become a loving, kind man. Maybe it was age, maybe it was prison, but whatever it was - when he came out of prison, he was not the same man who went in.
When I was a child I remember my parents talking in whispers about Uncle Horace. He had done something, finally crossed the line, and he was going to pay this time. Eventually, through time, when much of everything was over I learned what happened.
Uncle Horace had been arrested in Alabama for carrying a concealed weapon (a large hunting knife) and made bond after he went to jail. He came back to Mississippi and never bothered to go to court over the weapons charge. Two bounty hunters were sent to get him, and he had known "something" on one of the bounty hunters and swore this man was going to kill him. Horace's life, had for the most part, been far from noble. Horace called the county police and told them they needed to come out to his house, that he would surrender to them, but he was not going with the bounty hunter under any circumstances. The sheriff arrived at Horace's house, along with a couple of deputies and waited at the end of the driveway until the shooting stopped. One bounty hunter lay dead and the other will be in a wheelchair for the rest of his life.
Nobody knows who fired the first shot or exactly why. Horace then lay down his gun and surrendered to the police and was charged with murder along with his brother Billy who was at the scene and admitted to participating in the shooting. Rumors flared - it made all of the papers, the local news, and somehow the KKK got involved in the mess. It was something out of a John Grisham book.
Fast forward to the trial - it was a farce. His defense was self-defense. There was jury tampering, Horace's lawyer died somewhere in the midst of pre-trial motions and the lawyer's son took over the case, even though he had just graduated from law school. The jury deadlocked and the judge ordered them at least 1/2 a dozen times to keep going. Finally they came back with a verdict of manslaughter, I think so they could go home. Billy was convicted of aggravated assault.
He was doing his time at the county jail, but the sheriff was retiring and the new sheriff-elect had already told Horace he would be going to Parchman. Horace used his status as trustee to escape - along with some help from some anonymous family members. He wound up in Montana for about 8 months before he was caught. Once again he was arrested and extradited back to Mississippi - where he spent almost a year in solitary at Parchman for the escape.
My Mom had got his address from my Grandmother, but never bothered to write. I asked her if I could and she told me yes, but don't be surprised if he doesn't write back. With my 10 year old hand I wrote a letter, probably goofy and with a lot of content about nothing but within a week or so I got a letter back and this relationship continued for 11 years until he was released. When he got out, he was paroled to the south end of the state and I finally got to see him when he came back "home" for a visit a few months later. Through letters we had talked about everything from where he was to what college I should go to, from my boyfriends to his ex-wives. He never asked me for anything, except to just keep writing and for most of my childhood, I did. As I became a teenager I would ask him about visiting and he refused to put me on his visitor's list, even though nobody came to see him. He said he never wanted me to walk through the doors of a prison, which is ironic now. Even from prison, he tried to protect me and I miss that the most.
Horace was much more than the man that went on trial for murder, he was known to be mean - but if one could look even beyond that, they could have seen the man I knew. The man who missed his mother's funeral becasue he refused to let her see him in shackles and sat in solitary and cried. He was the man who made me a pair of wooden heart earrings for my 13th birthday. He was patient and kind and I miss him so much. After he came home, I guess life happened and letters were replaced with all too infrequent phone calls and then the call came that he was gone.
He was home for 5 1/2 years when in February 2001, on the day I married my soul mate he was murdered. His memory will live as long as there is breath in my body.
He had been dead for a week before his body was found and then it took another week for the autopsy - they had to bring in some forensic person from New Orleans. They brought him home to bury him and now he lays beside of his mother. See, he finally got to see her again, I believe, but he's no longer wearing the shackles. The casket was silver and closed, but the room probably had a 1000 pictures of him laughing and smiling. This is way he would have wanted to be remembered.
So this was my Uncle Horace and I am a better person for knowing him.
Oh - as for what my Uncle knew on the bounty hunter, well he finally told me. But that's a different story.
When I was a child I remember my parents talking in whispers about Uncle Horace. He had done something, finally crossed the line, and he was going to pay this time. Eventually, through time, when much of everything was over I learned what happened.
Uncle Horace had been arrested in Alabama for carrying a concealed weapon (a large hunting knife) and made bond after he went to jail. He came back to Mississippi and never bothered to go to court over the weapons charge. Two bounty hunters were sent to get him, and he had known "something" on one of the bounty hunters and swore this man was going to kill him. Horace's life, had for the most part, been far from noble. Horace called the county police and told them they needed to come out to his house, that he would surrender to them, but he was not going with the bounty hunter under any circumstances. The sheriff arrived at Horace's house, along with a couple of deputies and waited at the end of the driveway until the shooting stopped. One bounty hunter lay dead and the other will be in a wheelchair for the rest of his life.
Nobody knows who fired the first shot or exactly why. Horace then lay down his gun and surrendered to the police and was charged with murder along with his brother Billy who was at the scene and admitted to participating in the shooting. Rumors flared - it made all of the papers, the local news, and somehow the KKK got involved in the mess. It was something out of a John Grisham book.
Fast forward to the trial - it was a farce. His defense was self-defense. There was jury tampering, Horace's lawyer died somewhere in the midst of pre-trial motions and the lawyer's son took over the case, even though he had just graduated from law school. The jury deadlocked and the judge ordered them at least 1/2 a dozen times to keep going. Finally they came back with a verdict of manslaughter, I think so they could go home. Billy was convicted of aggravated assault.
He was doing his time at the county jail, but the sheriff was retiring and the new sheriff-elect had already told Horace he would be going to Parchman. Horace used his status as trustee to escape - along with some help from some anonymous family members. He wound up in Montana for about 8 months before he was caught. Once again he was arrested and extradited back to Mississippi - where he spent almost a year in solitary at Parchman for the escape.
My Mom had got his address from my Grandmother, but never bothered to write. I asked her if I could and she told me yes, but don't be surprised if he doesn't write back. With my 10 year old hand I wrote a letter, probably goofy and with a lot of content about nothing but within a week or so I got a letter back and this relationship continued for 11 years until he was released. When he got out, he was paroled to the south end of the state and I finally got to see him when he came back "home" for a visit a few months later. Through letters we had talked about everything from where he was to what college I should go to, from my boyfriends to his ex-wives. He never asked me for anything, except to just keep writing and for most of my childhood, I did. As I became a teenager I would ask him about visiting and he refused to put me on his visitor's list, even though nobody came to see him. He said he never wanted me to walk through the doors of a prison, which is ironic now. Even from prison, he tried to protect me and I miss that the most.
Horace was much more than the man that went on trial for murder, he was known to be mean - but if one could look even beyond that, they could have seen the man I knew. The man who missed his mother's funeral becasue he refused to let her see him in shackles and sat in solitary and cried. He was the man who made me a pair of wooden heart earrings for my 13th birthday. He was patient and kind and I miss him so much. After he came home, I guess life happened and letters were replaced with all too infrequent phone calls and then the call came that he was gone.
He was home for 5 1/2 years when in February 2001, on the day I married my soul mate he was murdered. His memory will live as long as there is breath in my body.
He had been dead for a week before his body was found and then it took another week for the autopsy - they had to bring in some forensic person from New Orleans. They brought him home to bury him and now he lays beside of his mother. See, he finally got to see her again, I believe, but he's no longer wearing the shackles. The casket was silver and closed, but the room probably had a 1000 pictures of him laughing and smiling. This is way he would have wanted to be remembered.
So this was my Uncle Horace and I am a better person for knowing him.
Oh - as for what my Uncle knew on the bounty hunter, well he finally told me. But that's a different story.