“We have a choice. We can embrace our humanness, which means embracing our broken natures and the compassion that remains our best hope for healing. Or we can deny our brokenness, forswear compassion, and, as a result, deny our humanity.”
—Bryan Stevenson, Just Mercy
“It would take me a long time to understand how systems inflict pain and hardship in people’s lives and to learn that being kind in an unjust system is not enough.”
—Sister Helen Prejean, Dead Man Walking: An Eyewitness Account of the Death Penalty in the United States
After firing Alan Black, Ray felt alone again—really alone. What should he do now?
Where could he turn? There was a bad joke that ran up and down the row, with guys repeating it all the time:
“What does capital punishment mean?”
“It means a guy without capital gets punished.”
It wasn’t funny, but it was true. It felt even truer now that he officially didn’t have an attorney working on his appeal. He wondered how soon it would be before the courts found out he wasn’t represented. Ray feared getting an execution date more than anything else. He asked one of the guards as he was making rounds if he could get Ray a phone number.
“What number you need?” he asked.
Honey, not vinegar. “I need to talk to your wife,” joked Ray. “She is sending you to work with some suspicious-looking lunch meat, and I want to ask her why she’s trying to kill you. I’m trying to save your life.”
The guard laughed. “Who you trying to call? I have the Yellow Pages in the office.”
“I would appreciate it if you could get me the number and the address for the Equal Justice Initiative in Montgomery.”
He cocked his head to the side and stared at Ray for a moment. “You trying to get ahold of Bryan Stevenson?”
Ray nodded.
The guard smiled at him. “I hope that works out for you, Ray, I do. You’re not like the other guys in here.”
“We’re all the same in here.”
“Not in my opinion. I have his number; I’ll bring it to you later on.” He walked on, and Ray sat down on his bed to write a letter.
Hello, Mr. Stevenson,
My name is Anthony Ray Hinton, and I’m on Alabama death row. I would like to thank you for the lawyer from Boston; as you most likely know by now, it didn’t work out. I know you’re probably wanting to send a new lawyer, but I would like for you to be my lawyer. Please read his transcript, and if you can find one thing that points to my guilt, then don’t worry about being my lawyer. I will take the punishment that Alabama is seeking. I don’t have any money to pay you for your time, but if you would come see me, I can pay you for your gas.
I am an innocent man. I would never kill anyone. I hope to hear from you soon. May the God who made us all, continue to bless us all.
Sincerely, Ray Hinton, Z468
When the guard brought him the address and phone number later that night, Ray put the letter in an envelope and carefully wrote out the address across the front. He left his letter unsealed and wrote “Legal Correspondence” on the front. He knew the guards would read it anyway. They read everything.
The next day when it was time to go on the yard, Ray went to use the phone instead. He called Equal Justice Initiative—or EJI as it was called, for short—collect. He wanted to make sure that his letter was read. A woman answered, and Ray waited while the recording told her it was an inmate calling collect from Holman Prison. She accepted the charges.
“I’d like to speak to Bryan Stevenson,” Ray said. “This is Anthony Ray Hinton from down at Holman, death row.”
He heard a smile in her voice. “Why, nice to meet you, Mr. Hinton. Please hold and I will get Mr. Stevenson on the line.”
Some generic hold music started playing, and Ray wondered how much it cost EJI to put collect calls on hold. He waited a few minutes, and then a man’s voice came on the line.
“This is Bryan Stevenson.” He sounded rushed and hurried.
“Hello, Mr. Stevenson. This is Anthony Ray Hinton from Holman. Death row.”
“Hello?” he said; it sounded like a question.
“I wanted to thank you for sending Alan Black, but I wanted to let you know that I had to fire him.”
There was silence on the other end. It stretched out for what felt like minutes.
“You fired him?”
“Yes, sir. I had to fire him. He asked me for $10,000. He wanted me to get my church to get him money. I don’t have that kind of money.”
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Hinton. Let me call him and talk to him.”
“I sent you a letter; I need you to read that letter. I don’t want Alan Black to be my attorney. He was trying to get me life without parole. I can’t do that. Do you understand? Will you read my letter?” Ray knew he only had a little bit of time before the phone cut off, so he was rushing his words.
“Let me talk to him, and I will get word to you. We’ll figure this out. We’ll figure out something,” he said. His voice sounded sincere, but Ray had been down this road with attorneys before.
“Just promise me you’ll read my letter and consider it.”
“Of course. I promise.”
Months later, Ray received word that he had a legal visit.
He walked slowly to the visiting area, and seated at a table was a Black man, bald, who looked a bit younger than Ray. He was dressed in a suit and tie. Ray walked up to him, and he stood and gave Ray a wide smile.
“Mr. Hinton, I’m Bryan Stevenson.” He held out his hand to shake, and when Ray lifted his arm to extend his own hand, it almost felt like he was moving in slow motion.
“Mr. Stevenson, it’s nice to meet you,” Ray said.
They shook hands, and in that moment, Ray felt a strength and a compassion and a hope so big it seemed to shoot out of Stevenson’s hand and into Ray’s.
It was almost like an electric shock, and Ray gave him his best strong handshake back. Bryan Stevenson looked smart. He also looked tired. There were lines around his eyes and a sort of sadness hidden in the creases.
Ray sat down at the table and looked into Bryan Stevenson’s eyes, and it felt like he could take a deep breath for the first time in over twelve years. There are some people you meet and you know they are going to change your life forever. Meeting Bryan Stevenson was like that for Ray.
“How are you?” Ray asked.
“Well, I’m fine, thank you. How are you, Mr. Hinton? Everything going okay for you here? Any problems?”
“You can call me Ray,” Ray said.
“All right, then. You can call me Bryan.”
“Thank you for coming to see me. It means a lot to me. I know you do a lot for the guys around here.”
He nodded.
“I talked to Alan Black. I’m sorry about that.”
“Are you going to be my attorney?” Ray asked. “Is that why you’re here?”
“Right now, I’m just here to meet you and get to know you. Just talk for a bit. I’d like to hear about your case and your trial and your family.”
He smiled, and Ray felt that same hope bloom in his heart.
Bryan Stevenson was sent by God.
“You know, when I was convicted, I told that courtroom that someday God was going to open my case again.”
“Did you?”
“Yes, I did. But I didn’t know it was going to take so long. I’ve been here almost twelve years. I can’t even believe I’ve been here so long. It’s been hell. I can’t even tell you the kind of hell it’s been.”
Bryan looked into his eyes, and Ray saw that he knew. He understood. He had been to executions here. He had lost people too.
“But today is a good day. Because today, God sent me his best lawyer. Today is the day that God opened up my case.”
Bryan laughed. And then he got quiet and said, “Tell me what happened.”
“I’m innocent. I’ve never been violent in my life.” Ray took a deep breath and continued. He needed this man. He needed this lawyer on his side. Ray knew that more than he had ever known anything. He needed Bryan Stevenson to believe he was innocent. “I made some mistakes. I drove off in a car that didn’t belong to me. I wrote some bad checks, but I wrote them in my own name. I’ve made some mistakes. Sometimes I think God’s punishing me for those mistakes, and other times I think God’s got another plan for me, and that’s why I’m here. I have a mother that loves me. She loves me more than any human deserves to be loved. Unconditionally. Do you know what that’s like? Unconditional love? Not many guys here know that kind of love. A lot of them grew up without any kind of love at all. That hurts a man. It breaks him. It breaks him in ways that no person should be broken. You know what I mean?”
“I do.” Bryan looked sad, but he was nodding at Ray.
It all came out in a rush. “I was at work. I didn’t try to rob and kill anyone. I was at work where a guard had to clock me in and clock me out. They told me it didn’t matter that it wasn’t me. They told me that a white man was going to say that I did it and that’s all it would take. I was going to be guilty because I was going to have a white jury and a white judge and a white prosecutor. My defense attorney wasn’t paid nothing. He couldn’t get money for an expert. They took my mom’s gun and said it was the gun that killed those men. My mom’s gun hadn’t been fired in twenty-five years. His expert only had one eye. I cried when he got off the stand. I knew they were going to find me guilty, but I didn’t do it. People lied and I’ve never hurt anyone in my life. A man called during the trial and said he was the one, but my attorney was mad he woke him up. That guy knew things. I didn’t know anything. I’d never hurt anyone. I didn’t do it. I’m innocent and they have me in here and I can’t get out. I’m suffocating in here.”
Bryan just sat there and listened to every word.
“They’re killing people. They’re killing people right next to me. I have to smell my friends as they burn. Do you understand? I have to breathe in their death and it never leaves and they smile at you but someday they’re going to come for me too and I am innocent. I need to get home to my mom. She’s not feeling good. She doesn’t come to visit anymore, and she needs me at home. I need to go back home. I’m innocent. I can’t get out of here, and I’m innocent.”
Ray didn’t feel any doubt coming off Bryan. He looked Ray in the eye the whole time. He asked questions about his mom and about other family. Ray told him about Lester and how for twelve years he had come to see Ray every visiting day. Never missed a day. That was true friendship, and Ray told Bryan that he wished everyone had a best friend like Lester. Bryan asked about his trial and who had testified at his sentencing. He seemed surprised that Perhacs hadn’t put Lester or his mom or anybody from church on the stand when Ray was sentenced. He asked Ray some questions about work and had Ray walk him through clocking in the night of the Smotherman incident.
They talked for over two hours. Ray felt comfortable with this man. He asked Bryan if he was an Auburn fan and Ray told him that Alan Black was a Red Sox fan and he should have known then it would never work out between them. Ray told Bryan that after he got Ray out of there, they could go to a Yankees game.
Bryan laughed. Ray asked him about his work. Did he have any family? He told Bryan funny stories about the guards, and about book club and how the warden was shutting them down because some of the other guys were saying it wasn’t fair that they got to go out to book club and that either everyone goes or no one goes.
Ray told him they needed some fans on death row, that it was too hot in the summer to even breathe right.
Bryan Stevenson listened to everything Ray said. He didn’t seem in a rush to finish. He didn’t interrupt. He just listened.
It was a powerful thing to be listened to like that.
“I have an idea about my case,” Ray said.
“What is it?” Bryan asked. He leaned in, like he was really interested.
“Well, I don’t know if you’re an attorney who doesn’t like it if your client has ideas—” Ray didn’t want to offend him or put him off.
“Ray,” he interrupted. “I want to hear every idea you have. We are a team. Along with my staff at EJI, we’re going to do everything we can. I want to know what you’re thinking every step of the way. I’m going to review your transcript closely. Any idea you have is important to me. No matter what it is.”
Ray smiled. This was what he wanted to hear. “I want you to get a ballistics expert.”
“Yes, we’re going to do that; I think Alan got someone.”
“I need you to get the best ballistics expert there is. The judges here are so biased. It can’t be a woman. It can’t be someone from up North. It has to be a man, preferably a white, Southern man. He needs to believe in the death penalty. He needs to be the best of the best, the guy who taught the State’s guys. He needs to have every reason in the world to want to see me die if I’m guilty, but he has to be honest. As long as he’s an honest, racist, Southern, white expert, I’ll be okay.”
Bryan laughed. “I can see your point. That’s a good idea. We’ll look into it. I know someone from the FBI. I think we want to get more than one expert, but let me review your file. Let me see the reports from the State’s experts. Let me see what your expert said and did. I need to get up to speed on everything, and then I’ll come back to see you. Okay?”
They shook hands again, and their eyes locked as they said goodbye. He didn’t promise then he was going to get Ray out of there, but Ray saw it in his eyes. Ray saw the promise that he would make later. It was a promise Ray would hold on to through a lot of dark nights.
The guard walked Ray back to his cell, and as soon as the door shut behind him, he dropped to his knees. He folded his hands and bowed his head.
Thank you, God. Thank you for sending Bryan Stevenson. I trust things to happen in your time, so I’m not going to ask you why you didn’t send him earlier. Please, God, watch over Bryan Stevenson. Take care of him, because he’s doing your work. God, bless the men on death row. Bless my mom, and please put hope in her heart that her baby’s coming home. I’m going to tell her you sent your best lawyer to me. God, please keep her in good health. Please, God, let the truth come out. Thank you, God. I know you’ve sent your best lawyer, and I know you’ve reopened my case.
Ray finished his prayer just as the first sob broke loose from his chest. He spent the next two hours on his knees sobbing like a baby.
Some nights were just made for crying.