The Day of My Release/David McCallum’s Blog

http://www.nytimes.com/2014/10/16/nyregion/brooklyn-district-attorney-and-murder-charges-for-2-men.html?_r=0 (NY TIMES photo of David being freed.)

JOURNAL/BLOG OF DAVID MCCALLUM

THE DAY OF MY RELEASE

In 1985, I was sent to prison, along with a friend, Willie Stuckey, for a murder I did not commit. I often say to people that my life truly changed in 2004, when, while still in prison, I met Ken Klonsky, a former educator living in Toronto, Ontario. I was looking through The Sun Magazine with no expectation of reading anything of relevance or significance in it. Little did I know that fate would ultimately lead to the beginning of a ten year journey to prove my innocence. After several letter exchanges, Ken Klonsky introduced me to Rubin “Hurricane” Carter, the former prizefighter who promised me that he would do everything he could to get me out of prison. Before Rubin committed to the case he wanted to get to know me on a personal level. He wanted to know what I was doing in prison; how was I spending my time. It took several months before we discussed the case. Rubin also proved to be very persuasive by obtaining the services of attorney Oscar Michelen of Cuomo LLC who agreed to represent me pro bono. Oscar would eventually spend ten years fighting the case, often going into my old Brooklyn neighborhood to conduct his investigation. Fighting the case was a long battle that culminated in the exoneration of me and Willie, who tragically passed away in prison on December 3, 2001, ironically my younger brother’s birthday. Prior to Rubin’s death on April 20, 2014, he penned a letter in the Daily News to Brooklyn District Attorney Kenneth Thompson asking the new DA to take a look at the case. Rubin’s letter, along with the film David and Me, co-directed by two Canadian men, Ray Klonsky (Ken’s son) and Marc Lamy, led to DA Thompson’s decision to reinvestigate the case.

On October 13, 2014, I was told to report to my counselor’s office at Otisville Correctional Institute in Otisville, New York. Once there, I was informed to wait for a telephone call from my attorneys Oscar Michelen and Laura Cohen. During the conversation with my attorneys, they informed me that the Brooklyn District Attorney would be tossing out our convictions. As my attorneys were uttering these words, I literally started crying because it was hardly believable. At the same time, I was a bit cynical. Not that I did not believe my attorneys, but, after so much disappointment, I just couldn’t fathom the notion that I was going to be released after 29 years of imprisonment. After several reassurances from Oscar and Laura, I calmed down a bit. After the telephone conversation, I walked backed to the housing unit, and, along the way, I was crying with joy and relief because I was thinking about the real possibility that I would be going home to my family and would be taking some of my last steps inside of that place. Other inmates saw me crying and probably assumed that someone had passed away in my family or something bad had occurred. I eventually stopped crying as I entered the housing unit and went directly to my cubicle and attempted to replay the entire conversation with Oscar and Laura. It proved to be impossible because my concentration was poor.

On the morning of October 14^th, while still at Otisville Correctional Facility, I was told by the unit officer to report to the I.D. room to have my photo taken for a court appearance later in the week. For security purposes, no member of the prison staff are allowed to inform an inmate of a specific court date. Therefore, I had no idea that I would be heading to court the very next day. I was also told to pack my belongings and take my most valuable possessions because it was a very strong possibility that I was not coming back. I quickly packed my photos and legal documents, items that I deemed most personal and important to me. I was privileged to have had stuff sent to me by supporters over the years such as clothing items and food, so I was able to give them away to guys who most could have used them. I must admit the night of October 14^th was the longest night of my 29 years of my incarceration. I had difficulty sleeping and must have awakened at least four times before finally forcing myself to sleep. Ultimately, it turned out to be the most relaxing sleep that I could remember knowing that it would be my last night in a prison bed.

On the morning of October 15^th as I was removing the bedsheets and blanket from my bed, a group of inmates came over to me to wish me the best. As the guys were standing around me, I was saying to them that I didn’t want to get too excited because I had been burned way too many times by the system. I also knew the sense of sadness when inmates go home and leave others behind, so I thought about that as well. They understood my thinking because these were mostly guys who I had been around for decades. Nevertheless, it was nice to hear encouraging words from the guys. It really meant a lot coming from them. Sometimes in situations like that, you get the jealous inmate who wishes it was him, instead of you who was going home. I didn’t feel that at all from any of the guys. Sometimes (and I have often found this to be funny) guys would go over to someone’s cubicle who is going home and make idle conversation, while having their eyes on something they hope they could get from the soon-to-be released inmate. It is certainly understandable I reasoned a long time ago and it actually happened to me during my pack up.

From the time I had finished packing my stuff until the time I reached the reception area which is where inmates are taken to be processed for court, it seemed like an eternity had passed. But once at the reception area, I waited for the arrival of members from the Brooklyn District Attorney’s Office who would take me to court. It was an interesting time when the investigators arrived inside the prison. The very first thing Detective Patrick Lanagan said to me was “Are you ready to go home?” The moment he said that I could have burst out in tears but I somehow found the strength to hold it in. All I could muster at the point was “Yes I am”. The ride to Brooklyn was as different as any ride I had ever taken during my time in prison. I had previously taken rides on medical trips but this ride was clearly different.

On the drive down to Brooklyn, Lanagan and the other two officers made light conversation with me regarding how much Brooklyn had changed since 1985. Lanagan also played the classic song by Bob Dylan “Hurricane.” Afterwards, Lanagan asked me did I know who was singing the song and I said, “of course.” One of the detectives offered me a piece of gum which I accepted. Detective Lanagan must have mentioned at least five times that the Brooklyn court scene had not changed and that it was going to be a zoo in the courthouse. I had no doubt that Lanagan was correct and it only added to the suspense and anxiety of it all. Seeing the scenery in downtown Brooklyn was surreal and I absolutely had to do my best to hold back the tears that threatened to flow from my eyes. In terms of the weather, October 15^th turned out to be a beautiful fall day.

Once we arrived in downtown Brooklyn, I was surprised that I was taken directly to the Brooklyn District Attorney’s Office at which time I was given a meal of Jerk chicken which I didn’t have the stomach to finish because I was filled with so much anxiety and anticipation. I was going to meet the District Attorney, Kenneth Thompson and his wife, along with many other officials from that office. I can’t tell you what an honor it was to meet the DA in person and have him tell me to “keep my head held high” as I was walking from his office to the courthouse. Once inside the courthouse, I was taken to a holding pen and spent about an hour there before eventually being taken to the courtroom. My mom, sister, brothers, sister in-law, niece and nephew had arrived at the courthouse late but were able to see me walk out of the courtroom as a free man. They apparently got caught in traffic. I did speak with Willie Stuckey’s mother and sister. Willie’s mom said in the elevator on our way to the courtroom that “it suppose to be two of you.” That comment rocked me to the core and I had absolutely no verbal response other than to stare directly into her eyes and nod my head affirmatively.

The District Attorney allowed Rosia Smith, Willie’s mom to sit in on his behalf. After both sides had their say, the Honorable Matthew J. D’Emic dismissed the charges. It was at the point that every emotion that I had ever endured during my time in prison just rose to the surface and I did nothing to try and hide or suppress them. They flowed repeatedly. The tears were essentially the emotional release of 29 years of frustration, including the fact that Willie Stuckey was not there to share the moment with me. Willie’s mom said something very profound to me. She said “You are my son now.” After hearing that, I nearly lost it. Ms. Smith assured me that everything would be alright. The truth is that although I did nothing wrong, I felt and still feel a sense of guilt for surviving and Willie did not. I often find it difficult to call Willie’s mom, simply because it is extremely difficult for me to get past the fact that Willie is not here. It’s likely something that I will deal with for the rest of my life. As a result, I am seeing a therapist. Walking out of the courtroom into the arms of my family was an experience that I will never forget. The joy and tears on the faces of my family were beyond words. The support from so many people who showed up at the courtroom was unbelievable and I will forever be appreciative of their love and support. From as far away as Vancouver, British Columbia to Toronto, Ontario, there were a huge number of supporters on my behalf. They stood and applauded after the judge’s decision.

On my way out of the courthouse, I had the opportunity to talk to the media who had a number of questions for me. I would like to think that I acquitted myself well because I was prepared for that moment. When you’re incarcerated, you have time to allow your mind to wander. As you would imagine, after 29 years, my mind wandered quite a bit. Besides, I was prepared to speak in front of cameras because of the preparation I had previously with Ray Klonsky and Marc Lamy, two Canadians who will be mentioned more prominently later. Getting into the van with my family to go home was an amazing feeling. And much like those rides in prison where I would go for medical check-ups, I could not stop looking at the scenery of the outside world. Yes. Brooklyn had changed visually but in a lot ways, it had not changed at all.

THIS BLOG WILL CONTINUE OVER THE NEXT YEAR. I WANT TO RECORD MY IMPRESSIONS OF A SOCIETY I HAVE NOT BEEN A PART OF FOR 29 YEARS AND HOW I AM LEARNING TO FIND MY PLACE.