Author: Livingwaters
I sleep just fine at night. Been doing it for 33 years now, ever since I came in here at 35. I know where my heart is. I know the justice that’s coming. The Georgia parole board? They should be the ones losing sleep, not me.
They’ve been setting me off since 1999. Eight years that first time. Then five. Then two. Then two again. Then, starting in 2017, one year at a time. Every single year, I go before that board. Every single year, they give me the same words: “After a review of the TOTALITY of your case, insufficient amount of time served to date, given the nature and circumstances of your offense.” Word for word. Like they’re reading from a script.
Insufficient time. Thirty-three years on a life sentence, and it’s not enough.
Here’s what they won’t look at: I was convicted of aggravated sodomy. That crime requires force — you have to prove force against the victim. But back then, the courts said force could be presumed against a child. You didn’t have to prove it actually happened. So the state never presented any evidence of force at my trial. They didn’t have to.
Then in 1999, the Georgia Supreme Court decided Brewer v. State. That case said no — you can’t presume force anymore. You have to prove it. And in 2002, Luke v. Battle made Brewer retroactive. That means it applies to cases like mine, cases that happened before the law changed. Luke explicitly said res judicata — that legal principle that says a case is closed and done — doesn’t apply when the law itself has changed.
I’ve got the prosecutor’s own words. In February 2000, he signed a document admitting it: “In 1993, relying on and abiding by the guidance of the appellate courts of this state, the State of Georgia did not proffer any evidence of force in the trial of Defendant. No such evidence of force was necessary for conviction at that time.” The prosecutor himself said they never proved force because they didn’t have to back then.
Twenty-five years ago, the state admitted that.
I brought all of this to the parole board in 2015. Filed a pardon application full of facts and law, showing my actual innocence to aggravated sodomy. Included that signed statement from the prosecuting attorney. The board said it wasn’t enough to change anything.
Last September, I wrote another letter. Laid out all the facts and law again. Asked them to pardon me for aggravated sodomy and consider me for parole on the consecutive 10-year sentence for child molestation — the lesser crime, the one I’m not claiming I’m innocent of. Came up for consideration. Got set off another year again. SSDD. Same shit different day.
Same script. Same wall.
When I sit in those hearings and try to explain Brewer, Luke v. Battle, the prosecutor’s admission, the legal changes — they look at me like I’m a wall. No engagement. No response. Just that same boilerplate language they’ve been using since 2017. I think they have an entirely different agenda than what their purpose actually is, but I have no idea what that could be. They should be comparing my words with the facts of my case record. That’s their job. But they don’t do it.
The courts won’t help either. When I bring Luke v. Battle, they cite res judicata — the very thing Luke said doesn’t apply. They just won’t let me prevail. My case is so strong against the state, I think maybe that’s the problem. Maybe I was too strong too early, and letting me win would’ve opened floodgates they weren’t ready for.
So I’m building another route. There’s a rule now — Rule 3.8 of the Georgia Rules of Professional Conduct. It was amended and adopted by the Georgia Supreme Court in May 2022. It says prosecutors have a special responsibility to investigate and remedy wrongful convictions. I wrote to the DA’s office over a year ago, asking her to investigate my innocence under that rule. When she didn’t respond, I filed a grievance with the state bar. They dismissed it summarily. Didn’t even make the DA respond to the allegations. Truly arbitrary.
You know who’s on the Board of Governors for the state bar? The Attorney General. First name on the list. They don’t want to prosecute a prosecutor. Pretty simple.
But I’m not done. I’ve written to the DA again, making sure every i is dotted and every t is crossed. This time I’ve got the Prosecuting Attorney Qualifications Commission — that’s new, another place to file a grievance if the bar won’t act. And if the DA refuses again and the bar refuses again, I’m taking it straight to the Georgia Supreme Court. Not about my conviction directly — about the bar undermining the very public interest that Rule 3.8 was put in place for. They created a rule to correct wrongful convictions, and then they refuse to use it. I don’t think a case has been resolved yet in that regard. Not enough passage of time. But something will break this time. I believe that.
My days in here are pretty boring, actually. I’m a dorm orderly. I keep the dorm clean and in order for everybody else, especially those that are gone to details most of the day. Sweeping, mopping, maintaining the space. When we’re locked down — and we’ve been locked down a lot lately with all the prison violence, the tack squad coming and going — all of that stops. Everything stops. I can’t get to the law library, can’t make calls, can’t send letters. Glad I haven’t got any time-sensitive issues going on right now.
I guess I’m just so used to it, I don’t know how I’d act any other way. Thirty-three years — it becomes your normal.
I watch a bit of TV, mostly sports. I dream a lot about being on the golf course again someday soon. I picked up golf when I was around 16. It’s the single most enjoyable leisure I’ve ever experienced, besides singing and writing. I’ve got songs I wrote years ago, really good ones, but I can’t find a way to publish them until I get out. Most of my songs start from one inspiration or another, something that just hasn’t happened lately. I revisit them from time to time just to see if they still sound good.
I share particular songs from time to time. I was born to sing. I love to make people smile when I sing. If there’s anything in the world I do very well, it’s singing and writing. In that order. When I get out, I’m going to do karaoke — sing copy as close to the original as I can. I’m pretty good.
My sister keeps in touch. She’s the one that does whatever she can to help me. She’s been my anchor all these years. When I get out, I’ll be living with her on a golf course. That’s not just a dream — that’s a plan. A real place waiting for me. Definitely the golf course first. And she’ll stop at the first Waffle House on the way, and I’ll order me a Pattymelt. That’s the first taste of freedom I’m thinking about.
And my daughter — she’s forgiven me. We have a pretty good relationship now. That matters.
Just knowing that real justice is coming keeps me going. Has kept me going all these years. When it happens, I will soon after make a few people happy.
People ask me how I keep fighting after 33 years of this — the parole board, the courts citing res judicata when Luke says they can’t, the bar dismissing my grievance without even making the DA respond. What would I say to someone else fighting a wrongful conviction, someone just starting to see how the system works?
Never quit. Be consistent. Be concise. Be persistent. Be careful. My musical dad told me years ago: B natural, B sharp, but never B flat.
I’ve lived that advice for 33 years. The system sucks. But time is always on the side of those who can bear it. The system doesn’t have to be right — it just has to outlast you. It counts on people breaking, giving up, dying before justice catches up.
But I’m still here. Still dotting those i’s and crossing those t’s. Still sleeping just fine at night because I know where my heart is and I know the justice that’s coming.
I’m getting a little older, it seems. But that golf course is waiting. That Pattymelt is waiting. My sister is waiting. My daughter has forgiven me. My songs are waiting to get out into the world.
And real justice? That’s coming too.