The old house

This afternoon I went over to the house where Whit and his sister grew up. It was the first time I'd been there since Whit's passing, and it was just an unusual chain of events that brought me there.

It was hard, very hard. Various memories of Whit's childhood come and go all the time, of course, but it's an altogether different thing when you stand in front of the house and observe how ALL of it comes flooding into your mind at once. Birthday parties; reading bedtime stories; that first day of school, getting on the bus at the bottom of the hill; a swing set; family meals; and blissful ignorance of the future. Sure, there were difficult times as well. And I spent the last year in the house alone after Whit's mother moved out, and Whit was spending 8th grade at Howe Military School. So I don't need to be told that my memory is always selective in favor of just the good things, as some people in my life typically allege. But if I didn't choose to focus on the positive side of things and on the potential for good rather than negative outcomes, I wouldn't have been able to be there for Whit through it all.

But of course I'm crushed that all the active love and support weren't enough to avert Whit's death. I'm pretty much damaged goods by this time, and there doesn't seem to be a future worth hoping for or saving now. There's no way I can approach life the same way I did before Whit's death. As for the past, memories are painful, not helpful or consoling. I can't even listen to the same music I did before that existential watershed; songs that used to move me deeply now just represent a painful disconnect between what used to be and what is now. My capacity for passion is diminished to near nothing. Even checking this blog daily is becoming an exercise in disappointment. I remember how I used to check the stat counter several times a day so I could let Whit know how many new readers, how many pageloads he had. After his death there was a fairly long period of very heavy activity; and in recent weeks the number of readers has dwindled to near zero. Hardly anyone new is hearing about the blog, and the old readers have little reason to come back. Whit's voice is fading, and even those who were really close to him through the blog seem to have put the 'episode' behind them, and I don't hear from them any more. C'est la vie, and c'est la mord.

Jeff

Monroe, MI

My curiosity is really piqued. Whoever you are visiting Whit's blog on a daily basis from somewhere near Monroe, I really appreciate your faithfulness. Or are you someone I've heard from directly but didn't make the connection with Monroe? At any rate, if you're interested in learning a lot more about Whit, I can offer you a PDF version of the blog which includes selected letters he and I exchanged during the time he was writing the blog. Anyone as dedicated as you are really deserves to know more. Feel free to e-mail me directly.

Jeff

To the faithful

I am very sorry that there hasn't been much new here lately. It's always been an awkward situation for me, posting on what was Whit's blog. He should have been adding to this himself for the past 17 months. The number of new visitors has dropped off quite a bit recently, and as grateful as I am that some of you continue to check back all the time, I feel bad that I don't have more to contribute.

Now that I am at the end of the legal road, it becomes even more important to find ways to have Whit's voice heard and his story told to a larger public. I would like to publish a book. The concept is to use the entire blog as the core, with letters he and I wrote to each other interleaved with the blog entries (i.e. letters written around the same time as the entries). I already have that in document form (anyone interested is welcome to email me for a PDF file). The rest of the book would cover his childhood and adolescence, and of course details of what happened to him during his 3 years at Terre Haute. That part will of course expose the Bureau of Prisons. I have several draft chapters written, but have not found an agent or publisher. I could also use an editor, or even a co-writer. Turns out I'm not very good at writing about this in a way that will sell books.

Around 6 months ago I gave sole rights to the material for one year to a playwright who is very interested in writing a theater production about Whit. During this year no one else can use the material for the purposes of writing a play (the book is excluded from this agreement). Unfortunately her time (and financial resources) has limited, and she will be unable to devote much time to the project until this fall.

I guess the bottom line is since Whit won't get any legal justice, my hope is to have the story - the truth - told to a national audience, both in Whit's and my voice.

I do hope those of you who have been faithful to Whit and now to his memory will continue to stop back once in a while like you have been. And please feel free to pass the link on to anyone and everyone you know who might benefit from hearing Whit's voice.

Thank you all.

End of one road

The quest for legal justice is over. Last month I received the response from the last attorney on my list, who declined to take the case. I won't use his name in reprinting the letter he wrote, but otherwise am reproducing it here in its entirety. I should say that I was deeply moved by his genuine understanding and how moved he himself was by Whit's story and voice. Together with his realistic legal assessment, that personal response tells me that I can trust his judgement.

Not that it diminishes the disappointment at all. Whit's path to that cell and that decision was the result of a whole series of injustices perpetrated by officials, administrators and guards of the Federal Bureau of Prisons. A combination of malicious acts, callous disregard, insensitivity and mistreatment. None of which, either singly or in toto, meets the strict legal definition of wrongful death. It's not about common sense, or right and wrong, it's about the letter of the law, which allows the system to inflict a hundred small wounds in an individual, watch him bleed to death and then say they aren't responsible. But it was wrongful death, and I will always hold the BOP responsible for my son's death. He wanted nothing more than to serve the remainder of his time and come home, and he was doing everything in his power to prepare for a successful homecoming. I would remind everyone that he had only recently begun taking classes through Ohio University; believe me, if he had had any intention of taking his own life before signing up, he would have absolutely spared me the expense and found some excuse not to enroll.

Following is the text of the letter I refer to above:

Dear Jeff:

I cannot recommend that you pursue a legal claim for Whitney’s death. Judges and juries are increasingly reluctant to hold correctional officials responsible for medical neglect where there is some evidence that the inmate was receiving some medical attention and care. In this case, the documents reflect that Whitney was being seen, and was being treated with medications, for his depression and suicidal ideations.

In addition, cases involving suicide are very difficult to prevail upon. The defendants simply argue that the inmate was intent on killing himself, would have succeeded sooner or later, and they should not be held responsible for damages to his estate for an act he would have committed when free. Whitney’s handwritten “death journal” makes very clear his intent. I don’t believe a jury would blame the prison for the fact that Whitney managed to acquire and smuggle into his cell the plastic bag that he subsequently used to kill himself. The fact that a bag was found previously and confiscated, I think, would tend to support the defendants’ argument that they were not deliberately indifferent to his safety, and cannot be held responsible for an inmate’s persistent efforts to smuggle contraband into his cell in order to do himself harm.

In terms of damages (which I must take into consideration because I would be handling this on a contingent fee), Whitney had established no income stream. Any attempt to prove that he had future income potential would open the door to the defendants’ introduction of evidence of Whitney’s criminal record, the pending charges against him, and his potential sentence. He had no children who might have supported a sizable loss of consortium claim. Finally, Indiana law is simply draconian when it comes to recoverable damages. Indiana voters have bought “tort reform” hook, line and sinker and have passed a number of laws in an effort to discourage plaintiffs’ lawyers like me from filing cases in their state by making the economics of contingent fee litigation completely unworkable.

I am troubled by the fact that Whitney was found with his hands and feet bound to his bunk, but his handwritten “death journal” relates a prior suicide attempt in which he attempted to hang himself after tying his own hands and feet. I am also bothered by the fact that although it was discovered that there was a piece of paper with a note covering his cell window at 2:38 a.m. the morning he was found, and efforts to communicate with him at 3:00 and 3:04 a.m. were unsuccessful, no one attempted a visual check by simply opening the flap of his door until 3:20 a.m. However, it would be difficult to prove that a more prompt response could have prevented Whitney’s death.

For these reasons, I cannot recommend you pursue litigation, and am not in a position to help you if you choose to do so.

However, that said, I was profoundly affected in reading the documents you sent me. I have on my wall in front of me the lyrics to Bob Dylan’s “Chimes of Freedom,” and Whitney’s story brings to life the line from that song: “… For each young heart, for each channeled soul, misplaced inside a jail, we gazed upon the chimes of freedom flashing.” There is great sadness, great tragedy – but great truth and great importance, on a variety of levels – in Whitney’s story.

I can tell you that, as an inmates’ rights lawyer, my greatest struggle is against public ignorance and apathy about what occurs in the institutions where we now incarcerate more than two million of our fellow citizens, and about the people and stories behind those bars. I think Whitney’s writings, in which he presents a moving and articulate voice, could go a long way toward dispelling some of the ignorance that makes our efforts to improve conditions in our jails and prisons so difficult, and often so futile. If just one person changed their mind because of the record Whitney left behind, then perhaps all of this could count for something.

So, I encourage you to consider publishing Whitney’s letters, his blogs, etc. Like I said, there is something profoundly moving about Whitney’s story, something that even got to me, and I’ve seen a lot in doing inmates’ rights work over the last 20 years. Whitney’s decency and his humanity clearly show through, as does the talent we all lost when he passed. His story raises important questions about how people like Whitney find themselves in jail, why we put them there, and why we treat them the way we do. Please consider sharing Whitney’s story with a larger audience.

If there is anything I can do to help, please let me know. And please accept my deepest condolences for your loss.