Mercy

I wanted to be honest in my blog so some posts like this one deal with violence, sex, drugs.

Second Chances
I'm trying to remember the name of that TV show about a girl who encounters God in the people she meets. Something like that happened to me recently.

I was at a Hollywood lounge to meet a friend and ran into a guy who'd tried to pick me up the first time we'd met - clumsily fueled by too much booze.

He was apologetic this time so we started talking. He thought that given my background as a crime reporter, I might be interested in helping him write new parole legislation.

"You honestly believe most criminals can be rehabilitated?" I challenged. 

"You don't?" he countered.

Jaded as it may seem, there's only one story I covered where I felt the criminal deserved another chance...

why did you kill that kid?
It was my first time inside a prison. I felt vulnerable stripping off my coat, purse and jewelry in front of security guards. Sounds of clanging metal bars.  Inmates cat-calling as guards led us to a cell for supervised visits.

My photographer and I were shooting a sweeps series about juvenile crime.  Prison officials had agreed to let us interview one of the state's youngest inmates ever to be sentenced as an adult.

Guards brought him to the room in leg and arm shackles. I was shocked. He couldn't have weighed more than 120 pounds.  He looked about 14.

We didn't have much time so I got straight to the point, talking the street language we both understood. 

"What gang?" I asked. 

"Crips," he said.

"Why'd you kill that kid?" I asked. 

"'Cuz he shot my dog," he answered.

I didn't have any more questions.  We both got it. His unspoken words had told the whole story:  That kid killed the only thing that was mine. 

Street justice.

I stayed in touch with Anthony the next few years on the pretense he was a valuable source into the gangs I covered. Really, we were becoming friends.

One of Anthony's drawings about his life in prison

Anthony would draw to pass the time in prison. Sketches of cops handcuffing a boy. A pregnant girlfriend. Christ on a cross. A tearful boy becoming a man behind barbed wire fences.  

Images of his life. 

My stories with Anthony caught the attention of a college that thought he could qualify for a long-distance program for artists. Anthony gave me some drawings to say thank you.

making peace
Years later I wonder if I failed Anthony. I'd been one of his only advocates. When I quit the crime beat, I quit on him in a way. Sure, he owed something for the life he took but..."he shot my dog..."

"You have to make peace with your past," the man's voice broke into my thoughts. "Most of us who deal with criminals have to accept the fact that justice isn't always clear."

I think that man was Mercy. He was telling me it's ok not to know if Anthony deserved to live or die for his crime. Mercy doesn't even the score. Mercy clears the scorecard and forgives the past.

Anthony, I hope you made it.

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