Cameron Todd Willingham refused to walk to his own execution. He was innocent, he insisted, and so the guards on the Texas Death Row carried him to his death. He died for the crime of arson, for killing his own three young children in the flames. The Skeptical Juror examines the crime and the trial through transcripts and court documents, and presents a fictionalized view into what a jury deliberation in such a sensational crime might have been like. Then, in the aftermath section, an examination of new discoveries in arson-investigation science show that Willingham may have been innocent. He may be the first conclusively demonstrated innocent person to be executed in America.
The Skeptical Juror and the Trial of Cameron Todd Willingham
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Format:Paperback
It would be easy to get hooked on this series, and it might be a beneficial addiction. For newcomers, John Bennett Allen has hit on a formula for bringing certain trials ending in convictions for murder back to the public's notice. He aims to combine readability with patient attention to detail, and his formula combines exact reporting with imaginative reconstruction. I should qualify `exact'. What I mean is that he quotes court proceedings as they happened but edits out the stumbling and stuttering that would make them intolerable in print. Names, dates and places are real. The imaginative reconstruction is applied to the jury's deliberations and represent Allen's best attempt at accounting for the processes by which the jury might possibly have reached the bit that he knows and we know for certain - their verdict.
Cameron Todd Willingham was tried and later executed for the murder of his three infant children by setting fire to his home. This was in Texas in the 90's, by which date the Lone Star State seemed to be trying to rival China in its enthusiasm for implementing the death penalty. Willingham's first trial ended in a hung jury, and his retrial can best be described as token justice, rushed through with shreds and patches of hearsay treated as evidence sufficient to take a citizen's life. It all might -- just might - have been different if the eminent fire expert Gerald Hurst had been called in earlier. Hurst totally demolished the supposedly expert evidence given at the trial regarding fires, but that was through scientific knowledge and accurate reasoning. It is perfectly possible that neither of these was very welcome to the People of Texas.
Quite simply, if we are to accept the picture drawn here, the public administration of Texas was wofully ignorant of how fires operate. A very large part of the evidence adduced concerned minute details of the supposed process and the alleged causes and effects, and it simply appears that among the lot of them, prosecution, experts and defence, they did not know what they were talking about. It makes heavy going for a reader too, but I shall compliment John Allen on being able to keep this reader interested. At least the chief defence attorney (if not his assistant) seems to have done his best against what he must have known was a corrupt prosecution give or take the pyrotechnicalities, and I shall come back to his strange subsequent behaviour in a moment.
By page-count most of the book is about the one specific trial, as it has to be. However the later chapters - Aftermath, Postlude etc - are really more significant still, because they show a wider context and a very disturbing picture it is. The great state of Texas seems to be as hooked on putting people to death as Judge Roy Bean himself ever was. This craving is not restricted to real murderers, it needs the process slanted to secure capital convictions whatever the evidence. Behind this whole story there is the glaringly obvious anomaly that the evidence used to charge Willingham could equally well have been used to charge his wife, but of course it was Willingham's trial so that is irrelevant. What is not so irrelevant is that when defending counsel David Martin repeatedly objected to the obvious way the prosecutor was leading a very disreputable witness he was overruled by the judge. It would have been a short step from that to making it clear, (given a bit of ingenuity to get around legal propriety in arguing the case), that the prosecution team had manifestly groomed this witness, and it might have been too much for the judge to suppress this point. Allen stops short of that final insinuation, so I shall note the possibility. At least it would not be out of keeping with the culture of justice in Texas.
This culture is depicted via a number of similar cases, and what is clear is just how thin a case will satisfy the Texan lust for executions. Willingham's first trial at least showed that some Texans would demand proper scrutiny, but his retrial demonstrated with sad clarity that superficiality was what the People wanted and you could stick all that intellectual stuff. Saddest of all was the behaviour of David Martin, who for some reason chose to discredit the client whom he had at first made a reasonable show of defending. Maybe that did not go down too well with godfearin' folks, so a change of tack was in order.
The case makes one ask just why the prosecutors in Texas are so desperate to convict and execute people who are strangers to them that they will manipulate evidence in order to achieve that. The same goes for a very sinister doctor whose professional credentials were thrown into doubt, but who was still called on by the death-lobby, and whose sloppy and imprecise testimony was eagerly accepted by courts. Among them, how many were even discharging their legal obligations, particularly when these did not fit popular ideas? John Allen focuses on the record of Gov Rick Perry in this respect, and I note that he makes only one fleeting reference to Gov Perry's predecessor, whose identity I shall conceal cunningly behind the initials GWB. The resemblance to Judge Roy Bean, and in some ways to Mr Bean, can put an overlay of levity on what is a distinctly squalid record.
Cameron Todd Willingham was tried and later executed for the murder of his three infant children by setting fire to his home. This was in Texas in the 90's, by which date the Lone Star State seemed to be trying to rival China in its enthusiasm for implementing the death penalty. Willingham's first trial ended in a hung jury, and his retrial can best be described as token justice, rushed through with shreds and patches of hearsay treated as evidence sufficient to take a citizen's life. It all might -- just might - have been different if the eminent fire expert Gerald Hurst had been called in earlier. Hurst totally demolished the supposedly expert evidence given at the trial regarding fires, but that was through scientific knowledge and accurate reasoning. It is perfectly possible that neither of these was very welcome to the People of Texas.
Quite simply, if we are to accept the picture drawn here, the public administration of Texas was wofully ignorant of how fires operate. A very large part of the evidence adduced concerned minute details of the supposed process and the alleged causes and effects, and it simply appears that among the lot of them, prosecution, experts and defence, they did not know what they were talking about. It makes heavy going for a reader too, but I shall compliment John Allen on being able to keep this reader interested. At least the chief defence attorney (if not his assistant) seems to have done his best against what he must have known was a corrupt prosecution give or take the pyrotechnicalities, and I shall come back to his strange subsequent behaviour in a moment.
By page-count most of the book is about the one specific trial, as it has to be. However the later chapters - Aftermath, Postlude etc - are really more significant still, because they show a wider context and a very disturbing picture it is. The great state of Texas seems to be as hooked on putting people to death as Judge Roy Bean himself ever was. This craving is not restricted to real murderers, it needs the process slanted to secure capital convictions whatever the evidence. Behind this whole story there is the glaringly obvious anomaly that the evidence used to charge Willingham could equally well have been used to charge his wife, but of course it was Willingham's trial so that is irrelevant. What is not so irrelevant is that when defending counsel David Martin repeatedly objected to the obvious way the prosecutor was leading a very disreputable witness he was overruled by the judge. It would have been a short step from that to making it clear, (given a bit of ingenuity to get around legal propriety in arguing the case), that the prosecution team had manifestly groomed this witness, and it might have been too much for the judge to suppress this point. Allen stops short of that final insinuation, so I shall note the possibility. At least it would not be out of keeping with the culture of justice in Texas.
This culture is depicted via a number of similar cases, and what is clear is just how thin a case will satisfy the Texan lust for executions. Willingham's first trial at least showed that some Texans would demand proper scrutiny, but his retrial demonstrated with sad clarity that superficiality was what the People wanted and you could stick all that intellectual stuff. Saddest of all was the behaviour of David Martin, who for some reason chose to discredit the client whom he had at first made a reasonable show of defending. Maybe that did not go down too well with godfearin' folks, so a change of tack was in order.
The case makes one ask just why the prosecutors in Texas are so desperate to convict and execute people who are strangers to them that they will manipulate evidence in order to achieve that. The same goes for a very sinister doctor whose professional credentials were thrown into doubt, but who was still called on by the death-lobby, and whose sloppy and imprecise testimony was eagerly accepted by courts. Among them, how many were even discharging their legal obligations, particularly when these did not fit popular ideas? John Allen focuses on the record of Gov Rick Perry in this respect, and I note that he makes only one fleeting reference to Gov Perry's predecessor, whose identity I shall conceal cunningly behind the initials GWB. The resemblance to Judge Roy Bean, and in some ways to Mr Bean, can put an overlay of levity on what is a distinctly squalid record.
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I was bemused, then confused... then just simply pissed off reading this book. The author, for some unfathomable reason, decided to simply lift large portions of the dialogue and characters from a screenplay from the 1950s called "Twelve Angry Men" and then use this as the template for a fictional version of the Willingham jury deliberations. I have no idea WHY he thought this would be a good idea (and he seems quite proud of it, even down to citing specific favorite scenes from the movie and describing how he cleverly "adapted" them). If you wanted to write a speculative fiction (about a controversial, real-life murder case) why would you force some OTHER piece of fiction into the thing? Maybe because you're too lazy to flesh out your own characters and dialogue? I found it amateurish and frankly ethically inexcusable, considering he was dealing with an actual multiple murder case where an innocent man may have been executed -- a subject that deserved a thoughtful presentation and certainly not some misguided homage to an old, rather dated Henry Fonda movie. I must say, it gave me a sardonic chuckle to see how the "skeptical juror" character -- who is clearly the voice/alter-ego of the author -- is constantly making himself out to be the smartest guy in the room, way ahead of everybody but holding back, wryly observing and critiquing with smug satisfaction. Very strange literary exercise this. If you enjoy seeing "bad" movies that are laughable in their ineptitude, this book may entertain you in a similar way. Otherwise, stay clear. There are better ways to learn about the Willingham case if that is your goal.
