April 15, 2007
Several things have kept me from writing over the past couple of months, number one being a broken typewriter. These things are so cheap that they seem to break when you breathe too hard on them, but I guess I'm fortunate because mine lasted over four years. Still, it broke at the most inopportune time. Things are speeding up in my case. Last week I received copies of the State's response to my federal Writ of Habeas Corpus and my attorney's response to that. If I'm not mistaken, the next step is for the judge to review everything and make a ruling. Given the political nature of my case, I'm quite sure he'll rule sometime this year. I can't stress enough how important it is that I be ready to proceed, so I'm thankful that I was able to get a new typewriter as quickly as I did. Much thanks to the property officer and unit commissary.
At this point, my main concern regarding my case remains raising the money to hire an investigator. I know in my heart that if I send an investigator to interview people who were there when the murder happened someone will reveal at least a piece of the truth, maybe even shed some light on who actually killed Nagle. There were over a hundred people with me in that hallway when we were forced into the gym and most of them know that I wasn't even on the building where he was killed. Most of them know who did it. At first, everyone kept their mouths shut because the people responsible for Nagle's death are extremely dangerous and would no doubt retaliate. My trial lawyers informed me that once the word got out that I was being blamed for the murder, quite a few people wanted to speak up for me, but TDCJ pressured them and many feared retaliation, so they refused to speak on my behalf. It could be that nothing has changed and no one will want to say anything about what REALLY happened, but I'm hoping that enough time has passed since the crime that someone will change their mind and say SOMETHING that can be used in my appeal. So yeah, I gotta give it my best shot and that means trying to raise money for an investigator.
The problem is that I haven't been successful raising money to this point. I know these things take time, but I don't have time. I'm nearing the end of my rope and every second is crucial. But I won't beg anyone for help. I've laid out the facts of my case and explained what I need to do; now all I can do is kick back and hope that people who are able will extend a hand. I accept whatever happens.
I'm in A-pod #64 cell now. I can see the area where they load us up to be shipped to Huntsville and executed. The only person killed since I moved into this cell was James Clark, but I was asleep when they took him out of here. If I can remember, I'll get up in my window and watch the men as they get into the van on their last day. I used to watch them walk down the sidewalk from visitation to the van when I lived in B-pod #25 cell. It was kinda hard seeing dudes that I knew with panicked looks on their faces as they marched to their graves, but more often than not they radiated a palpable calmness and looked as if they were ready to make the transition to the next phase of existence. I only hope that I'm in a tranquil state of mind the day I'm executed, if it comes to that. I think I will be. I'm not afraid of death any longer; I know it for what it is: a stepping stone.
Alright, enough of that sad shit. Life's about living and that's precisely what I intend to do. My friends and I have started up a competition called "Death Row Idol!" J All the contestants can either sing a song, tell a joke, or perform some sort of skit to entertain the rest of the section. After each performance, everyone involved casts a vote based on a five star system, with five stars being the highest vote you can get. We're still working out all the kinks, but most of the performances have been highly entertaining so far. Ronald Pribble, aka "Jeff," is hands down the best comedian of the bunch. He does a river dance skit where he involves the entire section by asking everyone to mimic his movements. He starts off with the river dance (swaying left and right while kicking each leg high into the air) and then he does a fairy (acts like he's flying left and right), a butterfly (sort of like a shortened jumping jack), Richard Simmons (a real jumping jack), and Gene Simmons (plays the air guitar). When he calls out fairy, butterfly, Richard Simmons, or Gene Simmons, everyone's supposed to switch with him. And when he says Richard Simmons he does a jumping jack and quickly says, "Not to be confused with Gene Simmons!" as he switches to the air guitar! J It's really hard to describe it, but it's the funniest damn thing to watch. I laughed so hard when I first saw it that I cried. The dude could've been a professional comedian, he's that good.
We also do group skits that aren't voted on. They usually start off with one or two people narrating and describing a scene, then everyone else chimes in with interjections or some sort of sound effect appropriate to the skit. For instance, we did a Vietnam skit the last time. There was gunfire, bombs, people getting extremities blown off, and a rescue by helicopter. It was pretty fucking crazy. Another skit that we did was coon hunting. It lasted over five minutes and with the sounds of dogs barking, coons chirping and hissing, and hunters yelling out where the coons were running. We treed several coons that night! J I had my eyes closed throughout the entire skit and, let me tell you, we all escaped from this place momentarily that night. We were there and having a whole lot of fun. In the almost 12 years that I've been locked up, that was the first time that I truly felt free. We make the best of this place here on this pod.
I'll wrap this up. I'm gonna try to write at least once a week and let everyone know what's going on in my world. Hopefully I'll have some good news to report in my next entry. Until then keep your heads up and hearts true and stand firm in the struggle.
Robert Pruett #999411
www.robertpruett.com
Thursday, April 26, 2007
Impending Investigation
February 24, 2007
Time is of the essence in the fight for my life. The federal district court should rule on my case sometime this year and I must be ready to proceed once they do no matter how they rule. I have a plan that I think will be effective, but I need all the help I can get to carry it out. And that's the purpose of this writing: to reach out to ANYONE out there willing to extend a hand.
My main concern at this point is hiring an investigator. I need someone to track down a handful of inmates who were initially willing to speak up for me but were deterred after TDCJ put an enormous amount of pressure on them. By pressure I mean that their property was illegally confiscated, they were written bogus disciplinary cases, they were placed in administrative segregation and a couple were told that testifying on my behalf might jeopardize their chances of making parole. My hope is that enough time has elapsed since all of this happened that they'd be willing to sign statements as to what really happened so I can include those statements in my appeal. Some of those guys are probably out of prison by now, so they wouldn't be afraid to step up for me. Others might be towards the end of their sentence and also willing to tell the truth. Even if everyone is still uncooperative I think I should try to send an investigator their way. You never know, one of them might change their tune.
It's gonna cost money to hire an investigator and I'm lacking in that department. I figure that since most of the people I need to send an investigator to are spread out all over Texas in prisons, it'll cost extra for travel expenses. My guess is that I'm gonna need $5,000 to hire a quality investigator, possibly more than that. Right now I don't have a dime, so ANYTHING that anyone can donate to my legal fund would be greatly appreciated. Again, time is running out, so I must act now.
Besides hiring an investigator, I think raising the public's awareness to my situation is of the utmost importance. Judges say that they rule objectively, but in my experience public opinion influences, if only to a small degree, some of their rulings. I mean, if there's an outcry about my case and how I'm sitting here on death row when the DNA evidence supports my innocence claim, then the courts are less likely to screw me over. Right now no one seems to give a shit. But if everyone I know tells everyone they know and so on, then before long it might draw the attention of the media. I'm also having my girlfriend and some of my friends contact all the newspapers, TV stations, and other media outlets in their area. Not only does the DNA evidence disprove the prosecution's theory that I killed Nagle, their entire case was built around five inmates who, #1) Repeatedly changed their statements prior to testifying against me, #2) Were rebutted by Correctional Officers who testified (Who would you believe—a convicted felon with something to gain from testifying or a prison guard who worked on the unit with the man that was murdered?), #3) Testified in exchange for beneficial treatment such as early parole recommendations. Couple all of that with the fact that there's no physical link between me and this murder and it should raise some eyebrows, right? If the story is spread in a couple of large media markets in and out of the state of Texas, I should be able to raise people's awareness and hopefully encourage the judge's ruling on my case to grant me a reversal. So if you're reading this, please contact reporters, news anchors, and other media personnel on my behalf. You might not think that it'll help any, but I assure you that it will. Direct them to my website and my MySpace page if you would.
While my focus is mostly my case, I'm also worried about seeing my father and brother, both of whom are in administrative segregation in the TDCJ-ID. You see, TDCJ allows inmates within the institution to visit immediate family members confined within TDCJ, but certain criteria must be met. The main thing is that neither of the two requesting a visit can be in administrative segregation. My brother is in ad. seg. because he was a confirmed gang member, but he has since renounced his membership and is on the list to be transferred to a unit for ex-gang members. Once he gets there, which could be anytime, I'll be eligible to visit with him. My father, on the other hand, has no real chance of being released from administrative segregation unless he files a lawsuit on it. He was placed in ad. seg. in January of 2000 because the administration decided that he was a threat to their staff. He has been in and out of TDCJ since 1963 and has a long history of violence within the institution, so a month after I was accused in the death of Nagle he was locked up. But he had spent close to five years on the Allred Unit in minimum custody (the least secure part of any unit) without any disciplinary cases and he hasn't demonstrated any violent behavior in the 12 years that he has been incarcerated this time, so they were unjustified by segregating him. And after six years of being in ad. seg. they must've realized that they had no real reason to hold him because they confirmed him as a gang member without any evidence. All gang members of STGs (Security Threat Groups) are placed in ad. seg. until they can prove that they aren't members and complete a program that's supposed to keep them away from gangs. My father isn't a gang member (he's 60 years old for crying out loud!) and the administration knows this, they're just keeping him in ad. seg. because they don't want him visiting me.
And so I need to file a lawsuit on the agency to get him out of segregation, otherwise I might die without getting a chance to see him again. So yeah, while hiring an investigator and fighting my case is my primary objective, I also need to raise the money to file a lawsuit. I'm not sure how much it'll cost, but I believe it costs $250 to file if you do it yourself. I'm not equipped to do it and neither is my father, but he knows inmates on his unit who are more than capable of filing an effective suit and wouldn't charge nearly as much as a freeworld attorney. He once told me that he had a friend over there that told him he's file the suit for $500 and he said the guy is as competent as any lawyer he's ever used. Who files the lawsuit isn't all that important so long as it gets filed by someone familiar with TDCJ and their attorneys. If anyone reading this can help me in this matter then you can donate to my legal fund and attach an e-mail stating what the money is for so it doesn't get confused with the money I need for an investigator. Again, I would greatly appreciate any assistance in these matters. I hate asking people for help, especially people I don't even know, but at this point I don't have any choice.
With that I'll conclude this entry. While I'm raising money for an investigator and to file a lawsuit against TDCJ, my girlfriend is contacting potential investigators so she'll be ready to hire one as soon as we raise the money for it. In the interim, I'm composing a list of inmates and questions for the investigator to ask them. I can't stress enough how important it is to get this rolling ASAP. My life depends on it.
Robert Pruett #999411
Polunsky Unit
Time is of the essence in the fight for my life. The federal district court should rule on my case sometime this year and I must be ready to proceed once they do no matter how they rule. I have a plan that I think will be effective, but I need all the help I can get to carry it out. And that's the purpose of this writing: to reach out to ANYONE out there willing to extend a hand.
My main concern at this point is hiring an investigator. I need someone to track down a handful of inmates who were initially willing to speak up for me but were deterred after TDCJ put an enormous amount of pressure on them. By pressure I mean that their property was illegally confiscated, they were written bogus disciplinary cases, they were placed in administrative segregation and a couple were told that testifying on my behalf might jeopardize their chances of making parole. My hope is that enough time has elapsed since all of this happened that they'd be willing to sign statements as to what really happened so I can include those statements in my appeal. Some of those guys are probably out of prison by now, so they wouldn't be afraid to step up for me. Others might be towards the end of their sentence and also willing to tell the truth. Even if everyone is still uncooperative I think I should try to send an investigator their way. You never know, one of them might change their tune.
It's gonna cost money to hire an investigator and I'm lacking in that department. I figure that since most of the people I need to send an investigator to are spread out all over Texas in prisons, it'll cost extra for travel expenses. My guess is that I'm gonna need $5,000 to hire a quality investigator, possibly more than that. Right now I don't have a dime, so ANYTHING that anyone can donate to my legal fund would be greatly appreciated. Again, time is running out, so I must act now.
Besides hiring an investigator, I think raising the public's awareness to my situation is of the utmost importance. Judges say that they rule objectively, but in my experience public opinion influences, if only to a small degree, some of their rulings. I mean, if there's an outcry about my case and how I'm sitting here on death row when the DNA evidence supports my innocence claim, then the courts are less likely to screw me over. Right now no one seems to give a shit. But if everyone I know tells everyone they know and so on, then before long it might draw the attention of the media. I'm also having my girlfriend and some of my friends contact all the newspapers, TV stations, and other media outlets in their area. Not only does the DNA evidence disprove the prosecution's theory that I killed Nagle, their entire case was built around five inmates who, #1) Repeatedly changed their statements prior to testifying against me, #2) Were rebutted by Correctional Officers who testified (Who would you believe—a convicted felon with something to gain from testifying or a prison guard who worked on the unit with the man that was murdered?), #3) Testified in exchange for beneficial treatment such as early parole recommendations. Couple all of that with the fact that there's no physical link between me and this murder and it should raise some eyebrows, right? If the story is spread in a couple of large media markets in and out of the state of Texas, I should be able to raise people's awareness and hopefully encourage the judge's ruling on my case to grant me a reversal. So if you're reading this, please contact reporters, news anchors, and other media personnel on my behalf. You might not think that it'll help any, but I assure you that it will. Direct them to my website and my MySpace page if you would.
******** ******** ********
While my focus is mostly my case, I'm also worried about seeing my father and brother, both of whom are in administrative segregation in the TDCJ-ID. You see, TDCJ allows inmates within the institution to visit immediate family members confined within TDCJ, but certain criteria must be met. The main thing is that neither of the two requesting a visit can be in administrative segregation. My brother is in ad. seg. because he was a confirmed gang member, but he has since renounced his membership and is on the list to be transferred to a unit for ex-gang members. Once he gets there, which could be anytime, I'll be eligible to visit with him. My father, on the other hand, has no real chance of being released from administrative segregation unless he files a lawsuit on it. He was placed in ad. seg. in January of 2000 because the administration decided that he was a threat to their staff. He has been in and out of TDCJ since 1963 and has a long history of violence within the institution, so a month after I was accused in the death of Nagle he was locked up. But he had spent close to five years on the Allred Unit in minimum custody (the least secure part of any unit) without any disciplinary cases and he hasn't demonstrated any violent behavior in the 12 years that he has been incarcerated this time, so they were unjustified by segregating him. And after six years of being in ad. seg. they must've realized that they had no real reason to hold him because they confirmed him as a gang member without any evidence. All gang members of STGs (Security Threat Groups) are placed in ad. seg. until they can prove that they aren't members and complete a program that's supposed to keep them away from gangs. My father isn't a gang member (he's 60 years old for crying out loud!) and the administration knows this, they're just keeping him in ad. seg. because they don't want him visiting me.
And so I need to file a lawsuit on the agency to get him out of segregation, otherwise I might die without getting a chance to see him again. So yeah, while hiring an investigator and fighting my case is my primary objective, I also need to raise the money to file a lawsuit. I'm not sure how much it'll cost, but I believe it costs $250 to file if you do it yourself. I'm not equipped to do it and neither is my father, but he knows inmates on his unit who are more than capable of filing an effective suit and wouldn't charge nearly as much as a freeworld attorney. He once told me that he had a friend over there that told him he's file the suit for $500 and he said the guy is as competent as any lawyer he's ever used. Who files the lawsuit isn't all that important so long as it gets filed by someone familiar with TDCJ and their attorneys. If anyone reading this can help me in this matter then you can donate to my legal fund and attach an e-mail stating what the money is for so it doesn't get confused with the money I need for an investigator. Again, I would greatly appreciate any assistance in these matters. I hate asking people for help, especially people I don't even know, but at this point I don't have any choice.
With that I'll conclude this entry. While I'm raising money for an investigator and to file a lawsuit against TDCJ, my girlfriend is contacting potential investigators so she'll be ready to hire one as soon as we raise the money for it. In the interim, I'm composing a list of inmates and questions for the investigator to ask them. I can't stress enough how important it is to get this rolling ASAP. My life depends on it.
Robert Pruett #999411
Polunsky Unit
Inadvertant Suicide Overcame
Inadvertent Suicide Overcame
February 1, 2007
When I first came to prison at the ripe age of 16, I was convinced that I wouldn't be here nearly as long as my sentence suggested. Ninety-nine years just didn't add up for my role in Ray's death (See: The Memoirs and Musings of Robert Pruett). After all, I didn't kill him and never intended for my father to, so I thought that the appeals court would drastically reduce my sentence because they knew that as well. How wrong I was.
Despite the fact that I utilized every avenue of rehabilitation and self-development that the prison system offered (i.e. earning my G.E.D, a plumbing vocation, participating in A/A and N/A classes and taking college academics) and, in my opinion, grew out of the delinquent behavior that I learned from the streets, the appeals courts denied me relief. In other words, I would have to spend the rest of my life in prison. For an 18 year old filled with optimism and a much more positive perspective on life, that was a hard pill to swallow.
Soon thereafter, my hope and optimism was replaced by anger, hate and indignation. I just couldn't comprehend how society could just throw me away. Of course I'd done many things prior to coming to prison that should've sent me to jail, and I'll be the first to admit that I was a grade A screw up, but did I deserve to spend the rest of my life behind bars because of it? I just couldn't see it. About this time, I realized how blind and unforgiving our judicial system usually is. A dark cloud of despair followed me around as I gave suicidal thoughts room to breathe. Coincidentally, it was around this time when my mother and the rest of my family began to disconnect themselves from me. I'd spent my entire life with my mother and she was always there for me whenever I needed her prior to this, so it was shocking when she blinked out of my life. All of the above made me not give a shit about anyone or anything except a select few inmates that were more like family to me than my own at that point in time. For the most part, I just wanted it all to end ...... one way or another. I'd attempted suicide previously by slashing up my veins and an artery and, obviously, wasn't successful. Right then I knew I'd never be able to take my own life, so I behaved in such a way that should've gotten me killed by other inmates. Disrespecting leaders of prison gangs and some of the most violent inmates in Texas' prison system only resulted in a few fights and my own kind keeping a closer eye on me. I knew that the inmate population was starting to think of me as some kind of psycho with a death wish. They weren't too far off with that. I recall sitting in a college academic class with a friend named James Blue one day when I told him that I just wish the world would disintegrate. He smiled at me and said, "Goddamn, dude! Don't wish the world dead because you had a fucked up life; I got kids waiting at home." I agreed with his point and said, "Well, just me would be good enough."
I plodded along like this for over a year, sometimes experiencing a brighter side of life, but mostly feeling dejected and ready to call it quits..... And then one day it appeared as if my wish would be granted.
I was in a hallway with about a hundred other inmates on the McConnell Unit waiting to go eat chow. If my recollection serves me right, I'd just gotten clean clothes from the necessity room (or maybe I was waiting until after chow? I forget) and I was hanging out by the gym waiting for the chow hall doors to open so I could get my food and go back to my cellblock. Next, tension mounted amongst us inmates and people were moving around nervously. I'd seen some behavior that looked strange, but as per the convict code, I never mentioned it. I just looked the other way. All of a sudden, a group of ranking officers came flying down the hallway leading to 3 building and all of the inmates were subsequently herded into the gym. Shortly thereafter, l observed many of the same officers rushing the body of a guard down the hallway on a stretcher. Someone said that it was Nagle, the guy working three building's desk area.
After about two hours of sitting inside the gym with everyone else, some ranking officers entered the building and asked everyone for ID cards. I'd accidentally left mine in my cell, so Sgt. Ortiz simply wrote my name and TDCJ number down and moved down the line of inmates. After the rank left, about 20 minutes elapsed before they showed back up. This time they ordered me to submit to hand restraints. After about ten hours of torture (they had me practically naked in a steel cage about 2 square feet around with the room temperature below 40 degrees; I guess they were trying to loosen me up), I was taken into a room where I talked with a Major Bill Lazenby, chief investigator for the then Internal Affairs Division in the Southern region of TDCJ-ID. He informed me that I was being charged with capital murder and that the state would vigorously seek the death penalty.
Not only could I have pointed Lazenby in the right direction that night, I could've come forward numerous times over the following couple of years leading to my trial. I simply chose not to. First of all, I had a 99 year term and a snitch is the worst kind of person inside these gates. No way did I want to live in here like that. Secondly, I wanted to die anyway, so the death penalty didn't scare me one bit. I actually longed for it for quite some time because it was better than life in prison. In addition, I was placed in administrative segregation after they charged me, which meant that I didn't have to work in the fields or fight for my manhood on a daily basis. I could just sit in a cell, alone, until they figured out what to do with me. To sum it all up, I sat complacently while Lazenby's investigators built a case against me, took me to trial, and got the death sentence that they were looking for. At trial I made a half-assed effort to defend myself so my dad and brother wouldn't think I was giving up, but I knew what to say and what not to say. I honestly felt a sense of relief when the death verdict was announced. To me, it meant that this experience they call life would soon be over……
I once read that if the universe came with a handbook, rule number one would be that everything changes and nothing stays the same. And so it is with my attitude about life. Previously, I didn't have anything in this world worth hanging around for. But after living on death row for almost five years and gathering people around me that not only care but love me like their own, I want to stay around for them. Well, not just for them, I'd like to live out my life and learn everything that I've come here to learn. If that means dying on death row very soon, then so be it. If it means spending the next 50 years in isolation, then I'll go for that. Whatever life has in store for me, I'm ready for it. But I think I need to fight off this capital murder charge once and for all and that's the purpose of this writing. If it's too late for me (I'm already in the federal courts), then I accept that as well. I just think that I should make an effort rather than sit around complacently while these people try to kill me, which is basically what I've been doing up until this point.
******* ******* *******
My first course of action in the fight for my life is to outline the case against me and show how it's a non-existent one. Mt attorney, Richard Rogers, wrote, "The state's case was built around the purported eyewitness accounts of five inmates. They claimed to have seen [Robert Pruett, hereafter Petitioner] attack Nagle. This testimony was supported by circumstantial evidence. Nagle had a reputation as a strict officer and he and Petitioner had a heated exchange over a rule violation several hours before the stabbing. A metal rod was identified as the murder weapon. Petitioner also had a cut on his thumb that the medical examiner said was compatible with using a metal rod to stab Nagle.
"Petitioner denied killing Nagle. He testified at both stages of the trial. The defense was based on the theory that the evidence was insufficient to support a finding of guilt beyond a reasonable doubt. Identity of the perpetrator and credibility of the witnesses were the main issues in the case. The defense argued that once the word had gone out that prison authorities believed Petitioner was the actor, inmates - some who had initially refused to give false information - started coming forward to give false information supporting the authorities' belief that Petitioner was guilty. This was in exchange for recommendations for early parole or other beneficial treatment. Major inconsistencies in the testimony of inmate witnesses as to where things happened and what people were wearing or doing indicated that their knowledge of the case came from sources other than their personal knowledge. Most of the testifying inmates had extensive criminal histories involving serious offenses, further undermining their credibility. There was no blood or fingerprint evidence that definitively connected Petitioner to the offense. There were no cameras focused on the area where the stabbing took place. Once the State focused on Petitioner as a suspect, Petitioner argued that the state failed to investigate the possibility that Nagle had been killed by some other person. The defense attempted to show that defense witnesses who wanted to cooperate were subject to mistreatment" (Federal Habeas Corpus filed in the US District Court, Corpus Christi Division on my behalf. The above excerpt was endorsed by both defense and state counsel).
As mentioned above, the state's case against me revolved around inmate witnesses, all of which received something in exchange for their testimony, some of which changed their statements repeatedly, which had glaring inconsistencies at the trial when they testified. My lawyers even brought in guards to rebut what a couple of these inmates were saying [For instance, inmate Anthony Casey testified that on the day of the stabbing, before the stabbing occurred, he overheard me talking about a weapon. Later, he claimed that I told him not to come into the multipurpose room (where Nagle was murdered) because "something was going to happen." Casey said he went to the outside rec yard and while there he saw me take my clothes off and push them through a gas port into the outside recreation yard. This testimony was put into question by the testimony of Correctional Officers Peter Schaffer and Lorelei Glue, who had full views of that hall and the recreation yard and saw no such activity. Also, the state's key witness claimed that he observed me stabbing Nagle, then he ran down the hallway to the first officer he could find to let them know a guard was being assaulted. He testified that he first encountered an officer at A-turn out, which was located beyond Officer Glue's check point, so he would've had to pass her in order to get to the first officer he informed. Ms. Glue testified that she never saw that inmate and that he never spoke to her about a stabbing].
No one testified for free. There were even inmates who claimed to have seen me kill Nagle that weren't even on the prison unit when he died. The State revealed that hundreds of inmates, most of which weren't anywhere near the scene of the crime and couldn't have been there, claimed to have seen the crime and wanted to testify in exchange for something.
My lawyers argued that people lie (particularly those with something to gain from it), but physical evidence doesn't. The prosecution's theory was that I stabbed Nagle after we got into an argument over me eating in the hallway. At first they said I tore up the disciplinary case he wrote me and left it by his dead body, but no fingerprints were found on the report, only an unknown palm print. It wasn't mine or his. The prosecution further theorized that I cut my thumb stabbing Nagle. I did cut my thumb earlier that day, while adjusting the weight machine on the outside recreation yard. Wouldn't it stand to reason that if I had cut my thumb stabbing Nagle there would be some of my blood on the murder weapon or SOMEWHERE at the scene of the crime? Wouldn't it stand to reason that if I stabbed this man there would be some kind of physical connection to me and him at the scene of the crime or SOMEWHERE on the unit? Casey testified that I changed clothes and pushed my old ones through a gas port, but those were never found and TWO officers contradicted his testimony. The fact is that there wasn't any link between me and this crime except a disciplinary case with an unknown palm print on it. The DNA evidence should've cleared me of this case by itself. But the jury obviously didn't believe in DNA evidence or the lack thereof.
One of my main issues, aside from the DNA thing, in my appeal is that the prosecutors blatantly violated Judge Joel Johnson's discovery order and repeatedly committed prosecutorial misconduct to get an illegal guilty verdict. The following is an excerpt from Judge Joel Johnson's Findings of Fact and Conclusions of Law, and Order (Application No. B-o1-Mo15-Pr-B):
Tenth Ground for relief-violation of discovery order.
Eleventh ground for relief-statements of Inmates Hall and Ross.
--The accused has the right to inspect evidence material to his defense. (Bell v. State, 866 S.W.2d 284)
--The Texas Code of Criminal Procedure gives the Court the Authority to order the State to disclose discoverable information.
--The trial court made such an order in this case.
--The State violated the order by not disclosing material evidence.
--Hall and Ross' statements claiming the accused had admitted to stabbing Nagle was material evidence.
--Hall and Ross were allowed to testify over objection of the accused as to the undisclosed information.
--The trial court's decision to allow the testimony should not be disturbed unless such a decision constitutes an abuse of discretion. (Gomez v. State, 709 S.W. 2d 352, 353) •
--To determine whether the Court's action is an abuse of discretion, a two-part test should be applied. First the Court must determine whether the State acted in bad faith in calling the witnesses after failing to reveal the substance of their testimony; secondly, the Court must determine whether the accused could have reasonably anticipated the testimony.
--The State acted in bad faith in withholding the information.
--The State deliberately disregarded the Court's order to obtain an advantage.
--Applicant was not in a position to anticipate this testimony under the circumstances. This was error and harmed applicant.
--The trial court abused its discretion in allowing the testimony.
--The prosecutor had in his possession detailed summaries of interviews with Hall and Ross. These constituted witness statements under 615f (2) Rules of Evidence.
--Counsel for applicant was entitled to use these notes in cross-examination pursuant to Rule 615.
--These witness statements contain inconsistencies with trial testimony.
--The testimony of Hall and Ross was the State's key rebuttal evidence.
--The failure of the Court to compel production harmed applicant and violated his United States Constitutional rights.
--In light of these fundamental and material violations of the Constitution, the Rules of Evidence, and the trial court's pretrial discovery order, the Applicant's conviction should be set aside.
So wrote Judge Joel Johnson, but the Texas Court of Criminal Appeals rejected his recommendation for no apparent reason. But these two inmates, Ross and Hall, were sprung on me and I had no chance to defend myself against their lies, thus Judge Johnson ruled the way that he did. If my case is reversed by the federal appeal courts, it'll be because of the insufficient DNA evidence or the above mentioned prosecutorial misconduct.
That's the gist of my case. There's more to the story, and I have an idea as to why I was focused on as the key suspect, but for now I'll take a break on this. Before I do, it should be noted that my defense (my lawyers' that is) was that some prison gang had Nagle murdered because he was interfering with their illegal activities. In fact, two sergeants and a group of other officers were arrested the month after he was murdered in connection to money laundering for a prison gang and running a prostitution ring using female officers on the farm. Two of these sergeants, Sgt. Ortiz (sound familiar?) and Sgt. Martinez were among those indicted. Both of those men played large roles in the investigation after Nagle was murdered and Ortiz was running the building where Nagle died. He would've been the one required to investigate that disciplinary case that Nagle wrote me the day he died. He had no clue about that case, or so he says. The truth is that Nagle had heated arguments with no less than 30 inmates a day and probably just as many officers because he was such a stickler for rules. My encounter with him wasn't out of the ordinary. It certainly wasn't enough to make me kill him. Yet the State held on to this theory despite evidence to the contrary.
Anyhow, I'll wrap this up. I'll write more about this in the future. I just thought it was time for the public to know some of the things that the State has been trying to keep under wraps. I'm going to make a stand and try to fight for my life, but I'll need all the help I can get. So if you're reading this spread it to your friends, family, and everyone you know. Contact media outlets and speak out for me. I can't do it from where I am. I need as much help as I can get.
One Day at a Time,
Robert Pruett #999411
February 1, 2007
When I first came to prison at the ripe age of 16, I was convinced that I wouldn't be here nearly as long as my sentence suggested. Ninety-nine years just didn't add up for my role in Ray's death (See: The Memoirs and Musings of Robert Pruett). After all, I didn't kill him and never intended for my father to, so I thought that the appeals court would drastically reduce my sentence because they knew that as well. How wrong I was.
Despite the fact that I utilized every avenue of rehabilitation and self-development that the prison system offered (i.e. earning my G.E.D, a plumbing vocation, participating in A/A and N/A classes and taking college academics) and, in my opinion, grew out of the delinquent behavior that I learned from the streets, the appeals courts denied me relief. In other words, I would have to spend the rest of my life in prison. For an 18 year old filled with optimism and a much more positive perspective on life, that was a hard pill to swallow.
Soon thereafter, my hope and optimism was replaced by anger, hate and indignation. I just couldn't comprehend how society could just throw me away. Of course I'd done many things prior to coming to prison that should've sent me to jail, and I'll be the first to admit that I was a grade A screw up, but did I deserve to spend the rest of my life behind bars because of it? I just couldn't see it. About this time, I realized how blind and unforgiving our judicial system usually is. A dark cloud of despair followed me around as I gave suicidal thoughts room to breathe. Coincidentally, it was around this time when my mother and the rest of my family began to disconnect themselves from me. I'd spent my entire life with my mother and she was always there for me whenever I needed her prior to this, so it was shocking when she blinked out of my life. All of the above made me not give a shit about anyone or anything except a select few inmates that were more like family to me than my own at that point in time. For the most part, I just wanted it all to end ...... one way or another. I'd attempted suicide previously by slashing up my veins and an artery and, obviously, wasn't successful. Right then I knew I'd never be able to take my own life, so I behaved in such a way that should've gotten me killed by other inmates. Disrespecting leaders of prison gangs and some of the most violent inmates in Texas' prison system only resulted in a few fights and my own kind keeping a closer eye on me. I knew that the inmate population was starting to think of me as some kind of psycho with a death wish. They weren't too far off with that. I recall sitting in a college academic class with a friend named James Blue one day when I told him that I just wish the world would disintegrate. He smiled at me and said, "Goddamn, dude! Don't wish the world dead because you had a fucked up life; I got kids waiting at home." I agreed with his point and said, "Well, just me would be good enough."
I plodded along like this for over a year, sometimes experiencing a brighter side of life, but mostly feeling dejected and ready to call it quits..... And then one day it appeared as if my wish would be granted.
I was in a hallway with about a hundred other inmates on the McConnell Unit waiting to go eat chow. If my recollection serves me right, I'd just gotten clean clothes from the necessity room (or maybe I was waiting until after chow? I forget) and I was hanging out by the gym waiting for the chow hall doors to open so I could get my food and go back to my cellblock. Next, tension mounted amongst us inmates and people were moving around nervously. I'd seen some behavior that looked strange, but as per the convict code, I never mentioned it. I just looked the other way. All of a sudden, a group of ranking officers came flying down the hallway leading to 3 building and all of the inmates were subsequently herded into the gym. Shortly thereafter, l observed many of the same officers rushing the body of a guard down the hallway on a stretcher. Someone said that it was Nagle, the guy working three building's desk area.
After about two hours of sitting inside the gym with everyone else, some ranking officers entered the building and asked everyone for ID cards. I'd accidentally left mine in my cell, so Sgt. Ortiz simply wrote my name and TDCJ number down and moved down the line of inmates. After the rank left, about 20 minutes elapsed before they showed back up. This time they ordered me to submit to hand restraints. After about ten hours of torture (they had me practically naked in a steel cage about 2 square feet around with the room temperature below 40 degrees; I guess they were trying to loosen me up), I was taken into a room where I talked with a Major Bill Lazenby, chief investigator for the then Internal Affairs Division in the Southern region of TDCJ-ID. He informed me that I was being charged with capital murder and that the state would vigorously seek the death penalty.
Not only could I have pointed Lazenby in the right direction that night, I could've come forward numerous times over the following couple of years leading to my trial. I simply chose not to. First of all, I had a 99 year term and a snitch is the worst kind of person inside these gates. No way did I want to live in here like that. Secondly, I wanted to die anyway, so the death penalty didn't scare me one bit. I actually longed for it for quite some time because it was better than life in prison. In addition, I was placed in administrative segregation after they charged me, which meant that I didn't have to work in the fields or fight for my manhood on a daily basis. I could just sit in a cell, alone, until they figured out what to do with me. To sum it all up, I sat complacently while Lazenby's investigators built a case against me, took me to trial, and got the death sentence that they were looking for. At trial I made a half-assed effort to defend myself so my dad and brother wouldn't think I was giving up, but I knew what to say and what not to say. I honestly felt a sense of relief when the death verdict was announced. To me, it meant that this experience they call life would soon be over……
I once read that if the universe came with a handbook, rule number one would be that everything changes and nothing stays the same. And so it is with my attitude about life. Previously, I didn't have anything in this world worth hanging around for. But after living on death row for almost five years and gathering people around me that not only care but love me like their own, I want to stay around for them. Well, not just for them, I'd like to live out my life and learn everything that I've come here to learn. If that means dying on death row very soon, then so be it. If it means spending the next 50 years in isolation, then I'll go for that. Whatever life has in store for me, I'm ready for it. But I think I need to fight off this capital murder charge once and for all and that's the purpose of this writing. If it's too late for me (I'm already in the federal courts), then I accept that as well. I just think that I should make an effort rather than sit around complacently while these people try to kill me, which is basically what I've been doing up until this point.
******* ******* *******
My first course of action in the fight for my life is to outline the case against me and show how it's a non-existent one. Mt attorney, Richard Rogers, wrote, "The state's case was built around the purported eyewitness accounts of five inmates. They claimed to have seen [Robert Pruett, hereafter Petitioner] attack Nagle. This testimony was supported by circumstantial evidence. Nagle had a reputation as a strict officer and he and Petitioner had a heated exchange over a rule violation several hours before the stabbing. A metal rod was identified as the murder weapon. Petitioner also had a cut on his thumb that the medical examiner said was compatible with using a metal rod to stab Nagle.
"Petitioner denied killing Nagle. He testified at both stages of the trial. The defense was based on the theory that the evidence was insufficient to support a finding of guilt beyond a reasonable doubt. Identity of the perpetrator and credibility of the witnesses were the main issues in the case. The defense argued that once the word had gone out that prison authorities believed Petitioner was the actor, inmates - some who had initially refused to give false information - started coming forward to give false information supporting the authorities' belief that Petitioner was guilty. This was in exchange for recommendations for early parole or other beneficial treatment. Major inconsistencies in the testimony of inmate witnesses as to where things happened and what people were wearing or doing indicated that their knowledge of the case came from sources other than their personal knowledge. Most of the testifying inmates had extensive criminal histories involving serious offenses, further undermining their credibility. There was no blood or fingerprint evidence that definitively connected Petitioner to the offense. There were no cameras focused on the area where the stabbing took place. Once the State focused on Petitioner as a suspect, Petitioner argued that the state failed to investigate the possibility that Nagle had been killed by some other person. The defense attempted to show that defense witnesses who wanted to cooperate were subject to mistreatment" (Federal Habeas Corpus filed in the US District Court, Corpus Christi Division on my behalf. The above excerpt was endorsed by both defense and state counsel).
As mentioned above, the state's case against me revolved around inmate witnesses, all of which received something in exchange for their testimony, some of which changed their statements repeatedly, which had glaring inconsistencies at the trial when they testified. My lawyers even brought in guards to rebut what a couple of these inmates were saying [For instance, inmate Anthony Casey testified that on the day of the stabbing, before the stabbing occurred, he overheard me talking about a weapon. Later, he claimed that I told him not to come into the multipurpose room (where Nagle was murdered) because "something was going to happen." Casey said he went to the outside rec yard and while there he saw me take my clothes off and push them through a gas port into the outside recreation yard. This testimony was put into question by the testimony of Correctional Officers Peter Schaffer and Lorelei Glue, who had full views of that hall and the recreation yard and saw no such activity. Also, the state's key witness claimed that he observed me stabbing Nagle, then he ran down the hallway to the first officer he could find to let them know a guard was being assaulted. He testified that he first encountered an officer at A-turn out, which was located beyond Officer Glue's check point, so he would've had to pass her in order to get to the first officer he informed. Ms. Glue testified that she never saw that inmate and that he never spoke to her about a stabbing].
No one testified for free. There were even inmates who claimed to have seen me kill Nagle that weren't even on the prison unit when he died. The State revealed that hundreds of inmates, most of which weren't anywhere near the scene of the crime and couldn't have been there, claimed to have seen the crime and wanted to testify in exchange for something.
My lawyers argued that people lie (particularly those with something to gain from it), but physical evidence doesn't. The prosecution's theory was that I stabbed Nagle after we got into an argument over me eating in the hallway. At first they said I tore up the disciplinary case he wrote me and left it by his dead body, but no fingerprints were found on the report, only an unknown palm print. It wasn't mine or his. The prosecution further theorized that I cut my thumb stabbing Nagle. I did cut my thumb earlier that day, while adjusting the weight machine on the outside recreation yard. Wouldn't it stand to reason that if I had cut my thumb stabbing Nagle there would be some of my blood on the murder weapon or SOMEWHERE at the scene of the crime? Wouldn't it stand to reason that if I stabbed this man there would be some kind of physical connection to me and him at the scene of the crime or SOMEWHERE on the unit? Casey testified that I changed clothes and pushed my old ones through a gas port, but those were never found and TWO officers contradicted his testimony. The fact is that there wasn't any link between me and this crime except a disciplinary case with an unknown palm print on it. The DNA evidence should've cleared me of this case by itself. But the jury obviously didn't believe in DNA evidence or the lack thereof.
One of my main issues, aside from the DNA thing, in my appeal is that the prosecutors blatantly violated Judge Joel Johnson's discovery order and repeatedly committed prosecutorial misconduct to get an illegal guilty verdict. The following is an excerpt from Judge Joel Johnson's Findings of Fact and Conclusions of Law, and Order (Application No. B-o1-Mo15-Pr-B):
Tenth Ground for relief-violation of discovery order.
Eleventh ground for relief-statements of Inmates Hall and Ross.
--The accused has the right to inspect evidence material to his defense. (Bell v. State, 866 S.W.2d 284)
--The Texas Code of Criminal Procedure gives the Court the Authority to order the State to disclose discoverable information.
--The trial court made such an order in this case.
--The State violated the order by not disclosing material evidence.
--Hall and Ross' statements claiming the accused had admitted to stabbing Nagle was material evidence.
--Hall and Ross were allowed to testify over objection of the accused as to the undisclosed information.
--The trial court's decision to allow the testimony should not be disturbed unless such a decision constitutes an abuse of discretion. (Gomez v. State, 709 S.W. 2d 352, 353) •
--To determine whether the Court's action is an abuse of discretion, a two-part test should be applied. First the Court must determine whether the State acted in bad faith in calling the witnesses after failing to reveal the substance of their testimony; secondly, the Court must determine whether the accused could have reasonably anticipated the testimony.
--The State acted in bad faith in withholding the information.
--The State deliberately disregarded the Court's order to obtain an advantage.
--Applicant was not in a position to anticipate this testimony under the circumstances. This was error and harmed applicant.
--The trial court abused its discretion in allowing the testimony.
--The prosecutor had in his possession detailed summaries of interviews with Hall and Ross. These constituted witness statements under 615f (2) Rules of Evidence.
--Counsel for applicant was entitled to use these notes in cross-examination pursuant to Rule 615.
--These witness statements contain inconsistencies with trial testimony.
--The testimony of Hall and Ross was the State's key rebuttal evidence.
--The failure of the Court to compel production harmed applicant and violated his United States Constitutional rights.
--In light of these fundamental and material violations of the Constitution, the Rules of Evidence, and the trial court's pretrial discovery order, the Applicant's conviction should be set aside.
So wrote Judge Joel Johnson, but the Texas Court of Criminal Appeals rejected his recommendation for no apparent reason. But these two inmates, Ross and Hall, were sprung on me and I had no chance to defend myself against their lies, thus Judge Johnson ruled the way that he did. If my case is reversed by the federal appeal courts, it'll be because of the insufficient DNA evidence or the above mentioned prosecutorial misconduct.
That's the gist of my case. There's more to the story, and I have an idea as to why I was focused on as the key suspect, but for now I'll take a break on this. Before I do, it should be noted that my defense (my lawyers' that is) was that some prison gang had Nagle murdered because he was interfering with their illegal activities. In fact, two sergeants and a group of other officers were arrested the month after he was murdered in connection to money laundering for a prison gang and running a prostitution ring using female officers on the farm. Two of these sergeants, Sgt. Ortiz (sound familiar?) and Sgt. Martinez were among those indicted. Both of those men played large roles in the investigation after Nagle was murdered and Ortiz was running the building where Nagle died. He would've been the one required to investigate that disciplinary case that Nagle wrote me the day he died. He had no clue about that case, or so he says. The truth is that Nagle had heated arguments with no less than 30 inmates a day and probably just as many officers because he was such a stickler for rules. My encounter with him wasn't out of the ordinary. It certainly wasn't enough to make me kill him. Yet the State held on to this theory despite evidence to the contrary.
Anyhow, I'll wrap this up. I'll write more about this in the future. I just thought it was time for the public to know some of the things that the State has been trying to keep under wraps. I'm going to make a stand and try to fight for my life, but I'll need all the help I can get. So if you're reading this spread it to your friends, family, and everyone you know. Contact media outlets and speak out for me. I can't do it from where I am. I need as much help as I can get.
One Day at a Time,
Robert Pruett #999411
I'm Back
January 18, 2007
After a longer than expected hiatus, I'm back. I had to take a break from writing for a number of reasons, some of which are too personal to log in an online journal, but now I feel revitalized and ready to crank it back up. The format will basically remain the same, although I'm gonna try to loosen up some and express what's going on here and with myself in a more direct manner.
About a week ago I was moved to A-pod. This is where they keep the men who have execution dates. I lived on this pod twice before, but a lot has changed since I was here last. They now have cameras in two of the cells on the death watch. It appears that they'll be placing people in these cells that are about a week away from death in order to keep an eye on them. This was undoubtedly provoked by Michael Johnson killing himself the night before his execution back in October. And, in my eyes, this move speaks volumes about the death penalty. If its purpose is truly to deter people from killing and prevent those who've killed in the past from doing it again, then what's the big deal if a man sentenced to die wants to take his own life? Wouldn't that even save the state some money? The thing is, it's not about any of that really. It's about revenge and anyone with eyes can see that. They don't want you to kill yourself because there's no satisfaction in that. They want to see panic in your eyes when you're led into the death chamber, they want to hear you scream in agony as the poison flows through your veins, and they'd like to do a whole lot more to you if they could. If you kill yourself, then they will probably feel robbed of their "justice." And so they will monitor our every move the last week or so of our lives. I'm not sure how I'll respond if they try to put me in a cell with a camera. No privacy the last week of existence doesn't sound appealing at all, but then again, they aren't trying to make things easy on us.
They killed my friend Jonathan yesterday. I wasn't all that close to him, but I knew his co-defendant, Paul Cameron, very well prior to coming to death row. I was on McConnell and Connally units with Paul and he told me a lot about Jonathan before I even got here, so I felt like I knew the dude before I met him. I keep wondering how Paul's taking the news. He has a strong resolve, and he's been through a lot in his life, but the death of a friend has a way of fucking with your mind....... Another thing that bothers me is that I didn't get to tell Jonathan goodbye. The roads in Texas have been icy the past week and it's been near impossible to drive on them, so they transported Jonathan to Huntsville the day before his execution. I was in the dayroom when they were taking him out, but they told him he was going to a legal visit in order to get him out of the cell peacefully and that was the last I'd seen of him. He didn't even get to see his family/friends the day before his death because of the bad weather. I don't know if he'd seen them the day of his death, but I hope he did. The way things transpired with him his last two days continues to disturb me. My only solace comes from my belief that we go on after we pass and that we are reintegrated into the SOURCE of our BEING. No way can this be the end.
The last time I lived on this pod I wasn't on the side with death watch. Now I'm just two sections away from those dudes and there's a noticeable difference. The fear, anxiety, and despair emanating from death watch are so palpable you could cut through it with a knife. On the one hand it's good living over here because I will get to say goodbye to my friends (even though I didn't get to with Jonathan) before they die, but I fear that it might take a toll on me if I don't watch it. Another good thing about being over here is that I have several good friends living on my section (not on death watch) and we're here for each other through all of this madness. So yeah, I'm happy to be over here for that.
My plan is to start writing on my autobiography again very soon. I'd like to get it finished before the summer because I'm already in the federal courts and I might not be around very much longer. It's really tough writing all of this, though. Reliving the memories isn't the problem; it's determining which stories to tell and which not to. Some of the things I want to write about would be superfluous; they aren't essential to the story. So I might abandon a few of those stories. Whatever the case, I'm gonna get back to work real quick like. I've wasted enough time as it is.
On that note, I'll wrap this up. I'm gonna write another entry really soon and discuss some of the aspects of my case and its status. There are a lot of misconceptions about me out there and some of them are my fault, but I plan on dispelling them when I write again.
One Day at a Time,
Robert Pruett #999411
After a longer than expected hiatus, I'm back. I had to take a break from writing for a number of reasons, some of which are too personal to log in an online journal, but now I feel revitalized and ready to crank it back up. The format will basically remain the same, although I'm gonna try to loosen up some and express what's going on here and with myself in a more direct manner.
About a week ago I was moved to A-pod. This is where they keep the men who have execution dates. I lived on this pod twice before, but a lot has changed since I was here last. They now have cameras in two of the cells on the death watch. It appears that they'll be placing people in these cells that are about a week away from death in order to keep an eye on them. This was undoubtedly provoked by Michael Johnson killing himself the night before his execution back in October. And, in my eyes, this move speaks volumes about the death penalty. If its purpose is truly to deter people from killing and prevent those who've killed in the past from doing it again, then what's the big deal if a man sentenced to die wants to take his own life? Wouldn't that even save the state some money? The thing is, it's not about any of that really. It's about revenge and anyone with eyes can see that. They don't want you to kill yourself because there's no satisfaction in that. They want to see panic in your eyes when you're led into the death chamber, they want to hear you scream in agony as the poison flows through your veins, and they'd like to do a whole lot more to you if they could. If you kill yourself, then they will probably feel robbed of their "justice." And so they will monitor our every move the last week or so of our lives. I'm not sure how I'll respond if they try to put me in a cell with a camera. No privacy the last week of existence doesn't sound appealing at all, but then again, they aren't trying to make things easy on us.
They killed my friend Jonathan yesterday. I wasn't all that close to him, but I knew his co-defendant, Paul Cameron, very well prior to coming to death row. I was on McConnell and Connally units with Paul and he told me a lot about Jonathan before I even got here, so I felt like I knew the dude before I met him. I keep wondering how Paul's taking the news. He has a strong resolve, and he's been through a lot in his life, but the death of a friend has a way of fucking with your mind....... Another thing that bothers me is that I didn't get to tell Jonathan goodbye. The roads in Texas have been icy the past week and it's been near impossible to drive on them, so they transported Jonathan to Huntsville the day before his execution. I was in the dayroom when they were taking him out, but they told him he was going to a legal visit in order to get him out of the cell peacefully and that was the last I'd seen of him. He didn't even get to see his family/friends the day before his death because of the bad weather. I don't know if he'd seen them the day of his death, but I hope he did. The way things transpired with him his last two days continues to disturb me. My only solace comes from my belief that we go on after we pass and that we are reintegrated into the SOURCE of our BEING. No way can this be the end.
The last time I lived on this pod I wasn't on the side with death watch. Now I'm just two sections away from those dudes and there's a noticeable difference. The fear, anxiety, and despair emanating from death watch are so palpable you could cut through it with a knife. On the one hand it's good living over here because I will get to say goodbye to my friends (even though I didn't get to with Jonathan) before they die, but I fear that it might take a toll on me if I don't watch it. Another good thing about being over here is that I have several good friends living on my section (not on death watch) and we're here for each other through all of this madness. So yeah, I'm happy to be over here for that.
My plan is to start writing on my autobiography again very soon. I'd like to get it finished before the summer because I'm already in the federal courts and I might not be around very much longer. It's really tough writing all of this, though. Reliving the memories isn't the problem; it's determining which stories to tell and which not to. Some of the things I want to write about would be superfluous; they aren't essential to the story. So I might abandon a few of those stories. Whatever the case, I'm gonna get back to work real quick like. I've wasted enough time as it is.
On that note, I'll wrap this up. I'm gonna write another entry really soon and discuss some of the aspects of my case and its status. There are a lot of misconceptions about me out there and some of them are my fault, but I plan on dispelling them when I write again.
One Day at a Time,
Robert Pruett #999411
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
The Memoirs and Musings of Robert Pruett
The Memoirs and Musings of Robert Pruett
August 9, 2005 2:15am
The booming sound of a slamming door rescues me from the clutches of yet another disturbing nightmare. Gasping vehemently, perspiration streaming down my face, I glance towards the front of my cell just in time to see a pair of officers seemingly glide past my door. The clock on my radio shows 1:57am, which means they are doing the 2am count. I have the misfortune of living in a cell that is located approximately 4 ft. from the crossover door that leads to the next section. Everytime an officer shuts it with any extra force it reverberates, creating a loud echo sound that is amplified by the excellent acoustics intrinsic to the cavernous architecture of these cellblocks. I'm a hard sleeper so it rarely bothers me when inconsiderate officers slam that door, but tonight it awakens me and I'm grateful for that.
As I lie on my bunk staring at the ceiling, disoriented by the remnants of dream-ogres slowly dissipating, I'm suddenly aware of the date. It's hard to believe that a decade has passed since that tragic summer night.... In Ozzy's song, "The Road To Nowhere," he sings about his past and how - through all the happiness and sorrow - he'd do it all again. I'm a huge fan of Ozzy's music, and I consider him to be one of the top 3 greatest rock artists of all time, yet I couldn't disagree with him more in that song. When I reflect back over my life, particularly the chain of events that culminated in the tragedy of August 9, 1995, there's no doubt I would do a lot of things different if I could.
There are many factors that influenced my delinquent behavior as an adolescent. I could go on and on about my family's poor socio-economic status and how it was a constant struggle to survive; I could tell you that I didn't meet my father until I was almost 7 due to his incarceration and how he tried to compensate for the lost years by being more of a friend to me than a father (i.e. letting me smoke dope with him); I could even write a dissertation on genetics and expound upon the role they play in influencing human behavior. Ultimately though, I am the one who has made countless bad decisions throughout the course of my life.
By the time I was a teenager I was involved in a wide-range of criminal activities that include burglary, auto-theft, and the distribution of illegal substances. Everything I did seemed to revolve around feeding my addiction to drugs, chasing girls, and perpetuating the incessant party that had become my life. I loved the fast life. Living on the east side of Houston provided ample opportunity to indulge in this type of lifestyle.
When the summer of 1995 rolled around I launched a crime spree with my cousin Chucky, friend Baby G, and several others who eventually bailed out on us. We'd go out each night and rob houses, buildings, and people (for the most part it was just houses, though). Everything went smoothly for us until the night of July 23, 1995.
To make a long story short, Chucky, Baby G, and I were arrested for burglarizing a house down by the San Jacinto River. While we robbed the place the owner's son, who lived next door, showed up and a high speed chase ensued. I ended up crashing the car we were in into a ditch and Chucky and I fled the scene, eventually making our way back to my trailer park several miles away. Baby G stayed with the car (It belonged to his father and he later told us his old man would kill him if he lost his car!) and somehow managed to get it out of the ditch, but then he drove it to my trailer park with the home owner's son following him!
When Baby G pulled the car into my driveway he abruptly jumped out of the car and pointed a gun at the truck occupied by the home owner's son. I watched the truck peel out down the road and then Baby G got back in the car and drove it down to my trailer. We quickly unloaded all the stolen property, then Baby G drove his dad's car to their apartments about 1/4 mile away. The homeowner's son must've observed Baby G drive back to his apartments because 20 minutes later we were apprehended there while trying to steal another car to move the stolen property.
The police recovered most of the stolen property (I hid some guns on the side of a friend's trailer that they never found) and returned it to the owners. Baby G and I went to the Juvenile Detention Center because he was only 13 and I was 15, while Chucky (22 years old) was sent to Harris County Jail. On July 31, 1995 I was released to my parents on a strict probation after they appeared in court on my behalf and asked the judge to give me another chance. In retrospect, I wish that judge would've sentenced me to the Texas Youth Commission.
In the early part of 1995 a couple named Ray and Jane moved into the trailer next to ours with their beautiful baby daughter, Ruru. When I first met Ray and Jane they were kicking back on lawn chairs in their front yard. I introduced myself by smoking a couple of joints with them and we became instant friends.
In fact, everyone took a liking to Ray, Jane and little Ruru. All the teenagers began hanging out at their place, my mom became friends with Jane, and sometimes after work my dad would have a few beers with Ray. Then things started happening that worked to alienate Ray and I.
Jane had a 15 year old daughter from another marriage named Nicole. She lived in Georgia, but came to stay the summer of 1995 with Ray and Jane. Nicole was absolutely gorgeous and most of the young boys who hung out around the trailer park continuously reminded her of that. I was aware of her, yet I made an effort of not showing any interest (early on) because I respected Jane. Well, something about me not paying attention to her, while all the other boys did, must've sparked something in her because she started flirting with me. At first I did not respond, but after Jane made it clear that she didn't mind, I started to become really close to Nicole. Ray didn't say anything, but it became apparent that he didn't like me seeing his step-daughter. I really was a horrible influence and, in retrospect, I don't blame him at all.
One night a bunch of us were drinking and smoking dope with Ray and Jane at their place. As the night grew old everyone started filing out and Ray and Jane retreated to their bedroom to crash out, leaving Baby G, Nicole, and me alone in the livingroom. Nicole and I fooled around a little while Baby G got drunk, then Baby G and I left. After we stepped outside he reached under the trailer and pulled out Jane's purse! "What the fuck is wrong with you, stealing Jane's purse?!" I angrily demanded. He just told me to chill out as he rummaged through it then said, "There isn't anything of value in it." as he tossed it over the fence and into the woods. There wasn't much I could do besides yell at him; he was my partner in crime.... The next day Ray accused me of stealing the purse and told me I was no longer welcomed over at his place.
A couple of days after I was released from the Juvenile Detention Center my friends Eugene and Joe told me that Ray had a couple of the guns from the burglary I was arrested for. According to Eugene, Ray found the guns I'd stashed along side Eugene's trailer the morning after I was taken into custody. Eugene said Ray kept a couple of them, Jessie (Eugene's older brother) kept a couple, and the rest were given to Gene (Eugene's mom), who in turn gave them to my father. My father turned them over to the police.
After Eugene told me this he must've noticed that I was getting angry because he said, "Forget about those guns Robert. You say you want to chill out and straighten your life out? Then forget about those guns!" Eugene had been my best friend for a very long time. We used to do everything together, including criminal activity, but he wised up and pulled away from that lifestyle a year or so before. After I got out of the Juvenile Detention Center I told him and Joe that I was finished living the fast life and that my intentions were to clean up and finish school. Eugene and I both used to say we'd be the first in our families to finish high school! And he was right when he told me to forget about those guns, yet I didn't listen. I guess I was still upset with Ray for banning me from his place and Nicole.
I asked Ray about those guns and he denied having them, said he gave all of them to Gene. I told him that other people were telling me different and he said, " I don't care what other people say, I don't have any guns!" At the time I let it go.
During the noon hour of August 9, 1995 Ray came home from work for lunch. I watched him pull into his driveway and I went outside to ask him about those guns again. Once again he denied having them and an argument ensued. We cursed at each other for a few seconds before my mother yelled for me to get inside my trailer. As I walked towards my front door I yelled back at Ray, "I'll bet my dad doesn't tell me to get inside when he gets home! He'll beat your fucking ass!".... I was such an idiot.
One of the biggest mistakes I have ever made was telling my father about that argument. I wasn't thinking. You see my father has spent most of his life in prison and that lifestyle conditioned him to be very paranoid and extremely violent. In the 9 years that I knew him he stabbed 4 different men, on 4 separate occasions. Each time he was either drunk or paranoid, thinking someone was threatening him or his family. Although it had been a couple of years since he last stabbed anyone, I should've known better than to tell him about Ray.
My brother arrived home from work first and I told him about the argument with Ray. His response was, "I'll see how though he is when he gets home." My father arrived shortly after my brother and after telling him about the argument he basically echoed what my brother said. I was under the impression that my brother would beat Ray up and that would be that. When a young kid would piss my brother off I'd handle it and he took care of the older guys that bothered me. Fist fights were a common way of settling disputes in that trailer park.
Ray usually went to a local bar on Friday nights after work, so he didn't show up until close to 10pm. My father went to sleep around 9pm and not long after that my brother and I talked about the issue with Ray. "Little brother, let's forget about this shit. We have bigger problems to worry about and I think we should let it blow over." I agreed with him and we started to get ready for bed.
As Ray pulled into his driveway, I was getting ready to crash out. Several minutes passed and then I heard Ray's front door slam and the sound of him yelling. Curiously, I looked out the window and observed what looked like Ray waving his hands at my trailer, while screaming something unintelligible. I immediately thought he was talking shit and told my brother as much. (Later on at trial I learned that his dog got loose and that he was calling the dog!) My brother went to wake up my dad and I began putting my boots on.
After lancing my boots up, I went outside. As I rounded the front of my trailer Ray's truck came into view. He was reaching inside the driver's side door and I immediately thought that he could be going for a gun so I quickly covered the ground that separated us and yanked him out of his truck. (Once again, at trial I learned that he kept an extra dog leash in his truck and was probably searching for it!) By the time I pulled him away from his truck my brother was on the scene and he grabbed Ray, causing the both of them to tumble to the ground. They wrestled for a few seconds and I kicked at Ray a couple of times, trying to separate them. Suddenly, I noticed my father making his way towards us, but Ray broke free from my brother before he could get to where we were and then retreated behind his trailer. My father and brother gave chase, while I stayed by Ray's truck and told Eugene, Jessie, and Abraham (They all came outside to see what was going on.) what was happening.
Jessie and I edged towards the back of Ray's trailer to see what was happening back there, but it was too dark to see anything. Then I watched as my brother and father came running towards us, both covered in blood. My father told me get into the car and I did. The sight of blood on them alarmed me and most of what transpired beyond that point is a blur. All I remember is getting into our car and my brother driving off. It was eerily reminiscent to the time we fled Rockport, Texas in 1990 after my father stabbed a guy in a bar down there.
We went to stay with cousins in West Orange, Texas. Several days later my father called my brother and me to side and showed us a newspaper that said Ray was dead. My brother told me that my dad stabbed Ray behind his trailer, but I didn't realize it was that bad.... At first I didn't realize I was wanted for murder along with my father and brother, then when I found out I was wanted, too, I figured they just wanted me for questioning. Boy was I wrong.
My father and brother were arrested several weeks later and I was apprehended a few days after that. On October 31, 1995 I was certified to stand trial as an adult. In May 1996 we all had a joint trial and on May 8, 1996 we were all convicted of murder. (My brother and I were convicted under the "Law of Parties") My father opted to be sentenced by the judge, while my brother and I were sentenced by the jury. My father received a Life sentence, my brother got 40 years aggravated, and I was given 99 years aggravated.
Ten years have passed since Ray was prematurely taken away from his family and friends. As I sit here at my desk, reliving the past, the orange glow of the morning sun begins to fill my cell. Thoughts of Ruru and Ray's other child (from a different marriage) pervade my mind. It eats at my soul knowing that they are growing up without Ray. So many people were affected by Ray's early demise.... While I did not kill Ray, didn't see the stabbing, and never wanted him to die, I'm utterly cognizant of the fact that I am the REASON he is gone. That's something that I have never forgotten and will have to live with for the rest of my life. If any of Ray's family or friends are reading this, I want you to know that I am truly sorry for all the pain I've caused you. I know that if it wasn't for me Ray would still be with you today. It is my hope that you can somehow find it in your hearts to forgive me.... May you rest in peace Ray.
Follow-up To "Memoirs and Musings"
November 2005
Greetings and salutations to all uncensored readers. Many of you might remember my preceding article, "The Memoirs and Musings of Robert Pruett", but if you don't I think you can read it in the uncensored archives. www.1prison.com/newuncensored.html Over the past couple of months I've thought a lot about what I wrote and I think I should write a follow-up to it. There are a couple of points that I think require elucidation, so please allow me to do that now.
To begin, what I wrote was exactly how I recall things unfolding. I've replayed the events of that fateful night over and over in my head and I believe that what I wrote is exactly what transpired. That being said, my father and brother have different recollections.
Before I get into that I want to mention a phenomenon that many investigators to highly violent crimes can attest to. When I used to study the law pertaining to my case, I read innumerable cases where witnesses to a crime would recount different details and sometimes completely different versions of what happened. In one robbery case, one of the eye-witnesses distinctly remembers a masked man with a gun demand money from the store clerk, while another eye-witness to the same crime claims the man wore a ball cap (no mask) and had a paper bag over his hand as if to conceal the gun. You might wonder how these people could remember totally different things? I'm not an expert, but I think that in emotionally volatile situations, when the threat of danger is imminent, people begin to panic, fear and other emotions get stirred up, adrenaline begins to flow, preconceived notions as to what is happening or what might happen come into play and it all works to cloud perceptions and distort reality. Well, that's the only plausible explanation I can think of.
In my case, my brother's recollection is fundamentally similar to mine, with a few minor discrepancies. My father, on the other hand, maintains that he stabbed Ray because he thought Ray was going for a gun or another weapon. He also says he stabbed Ray in the front of Ray's trailer, by his truck, where I was. I don't remember it happening like that, but in light of what I know about the psychology of a highly emotional situation, it could be possible. I do not remember seeing my father stab Ray, yet it is possible that I did see it and somehow managed to erase it from my mind.
Another thing I want to elaborate on is my father's aggressive disposition. When I was a kid I often wondered why my dad was so quick to resort to violence. Every time he felt threatened or disrespected he'd become aggressive and confrontational. A lot of times he'd be drunk, but there were instances when he was sober and his reaction to what he construed to be a threat or disrespect would be violence. So it wasn't entirely the alcohol.
Having spent the last decade in the TDCJ, I now have a better understanding of his behavior. He went to reform school as a preteen and according to him, he "graduated" to the penitentiary at the age of 17 in 1963. I forget the exact number, but since then he's spent over 30 calendar years in prison.
In my experiences, this place conditions a man to be aggressive and violent. From day one I learned that, in order to preserve your manhood and keep your dignity, violence is necessary. This place is filled with predators and they are constantly scrutinizing your every move, searching for any sign of weakness in hopes of exploiting it. Everyone is tested, including the biggest, baddest and meanest of them all. In situations when someone disrespects you, you'd better take care of your business and that often means fighting, but sometimes you have to take it to another level. This is an extremely violent environment and in order to survive, physically and mentally, violence is necessary. (BTW - I am referring to the general prison population, not death row or Ad. Seg. where we are isolated.)
Of course there are those who choose the passive route and refuse to stand up for themselves. These are the guys that are often treated like dirt, having to pay someone for protection with commissary or their ass. Personally, I didn't have any financial support whatsoever when I was in population and as bad as it hurts me to take a shit, there's no way I'm gonna let a motherfucker stick his penis back there! :-)
Seriously, my point is that if you live like that for any number of years, aggressive responses become reflexive. One of the problems a lot of guys have when they are released is that they forget to leave the penitentiary mentality in the penitentiary. You take a guy like my father, someone who has spent most of his 58 years in prison, and it's almost impossible to change.
I will say this about my dad: He tried his best to do the right thing and stay out of prison and be there for his family when he was released in 1986. Form 1986-1995 he worked at backbreaking jobs for close to minimum wage, trying to support his family. He didn't go out stealing and robbing like he once did, he tried to make a honest living. Furthermore, he tried to teach me right. Yeah, he made the mistake of allowing me to smoke pot and he'll be the first one to say he made many more mistakes in raising me, but he tried to steer me in the right direction. He constantly told me to take care of business at school and try to make something of myself.. He warned me about prisons and he told me there was a better way, but I was hard-headed. I was out of control.
I just want everyone to know that my father, Howard Pruett Sr., isn't the maniac I might've previously portrayed him to be. We all have flaws and short-comings and I'm sure most of us have done things we wish we wouldn't have. I think what's important is that we learn from our past mistakes and try to mature and grow as humans.
Thank you all for taking the time to read this.
August 9, 2005 2:15am
The booming sound of a slamming door rescues me from the clutches of yet another disturbing nightmare. Gasping vehemently, perspiration streaming down my face, I glance towards the front of my cell just in time to see a pair of officers seemingly glide past my door. The clock on my radio shows 1:57am, which means they are doing the 2am count. I have the misfortune of living in a cell that is located approximately 4 ft. from the crossover door that leads to the next section. Everytime an officer shuts it with any extra force it reverberates, creating a loud echo sound that is amplified by the excellent acoustics intrinsic to the cavernous architecture of these cellblocks. I'm a hard sleeper so it rarely bothers me when inconsiderate officers slam that door, but tonight it awakens me and I'm grateful for that.
As I lie on my bunk staring at the ceiling, disoriented by the remnants of dream-ogres slowly dissipating, I'm suddenly aware of the date. It's hard to believe that a decade has passed since that tragic summer night.... In Ozzy's song, "The Road To Nowhere," he sings about his past and how - through all the happiness and sorrow - he'd do it all again. I'm a huge fan of Ozzy's music, and I consider him to be one of the top 3 greatest rock artists of all time, yet I couldn't disagree with him more in that song. When I reflect back over my life, particularly the chain of events that culminated in the tragedy of August 9, 1995, there's no doubt I would do a lot of things different if I could.
*** *** ***
There are many factors that influenced my delinquent behavior as an adolescent. I could go on and on about my family's poor socio-economic status and how it was a constant struggle to survive; I could tell you that I didn't meet my father until I was almost 7 due to his incarceration and how he tried to compensate for the lost years by being more of a friend to me than a father (i.e. letting me smoke dope with him); I could even write a dissertation on genetics and expound upon the role they play in influencing human behavior. Ultimately though, I am the one who has made countless bad decisions throughout the course of my life.
By the time I was a teenager I was involved in a wide-range of criminal activities that include burglary, auto-theft, and the distribution of illegal substances. Everything I did seemed to revolve around feeding my addiction to drugs, chasing girls, and perpetuating the incessant party that had become my life. I loved the fast life. Living on the east side of Houston provided ample opportunity to indulge in this type of lifestyle.
When the summer of 1995 rolled around I launched a crime spree with my cousin Chucky, friend Baby G, and several others who eventually bailed out on us. We'd go out each night and rob houses, buildings, and people (for the most part it was just houses, though). Everything went smoothly for us until the night of July 23, 1995.
To make a long story short, Chucky, Baby G, and I were arrested for burglarizing a house down by the San Jacinto River. While we robbed the place the owner's son, who lived next door, showed up and a high speed chase ensued. I ended up crashing the car we were in into a ditch and Chucky and I fled the scene, eventually making our way back to my trailer park several miles away. Baby G stayed with the car (It belonged to his father and he later told us his old man would kill him if he lost his car!) and somehow managed to get it out of the ditch, but then he drove it to my trailer park with the home owner's son following him!
When Baby G pulled the car into my driveway he abruptly jumped out of the car and pointed a gun at the truck occupied by the home owner's son. I watched the truck peel out down the road and then Baby G got back in the car and drove it down to my trailer. We quickly unloaded all the stolen property, then Baby G drove his dad's car to their apartments about 1/4 mile away. The homeowner's son must've observed Baby G drive back to his apartments because 20 minutes later we were apprehended there while trying to steal another car to move the stolen property.
The police recovered most of the stolen property (I hid some guns on the side of a friend's trailer that they never found) and returned it to the owners. Baby G and I went to the Juvenile Detention Center because he was only 13 and I was 15, while Chucky (22 years old) was sent to Harris County Jail. On July 31, 1995 I was released to my parents on a strict probation after they appeared in court on my behalf and asked the judge to give me another chance. In retrospect, I wish that judge would've sentenced me to the Texas Youth Commission.
*** *** ***
In the early part of 1995 a couple named Ray and Jane moved into the trailer next to ours with their beautiful baby daughter, Ruru. When I first met Ray and Jane they were kicking back on lawn chairs in their front yard. I introduced myself by smoking a couple of joints with them and we became instant friends.
In fact, everyone took a liking to Ray, Jane and little Ruru. All the teenagers began hanging out at their place, my mom became friends with Jane, and sometimes after work my dad would have a few beers with Ray. Then things started happening that worked to alienate Ray and I.
Jane had a 15 year old daughter from another marriage named Nicole. She lived in Georgia, but came to stay the summer of 1995 with Ray and Jane. Nicole was absolutely gorgeous and most of the young boys who hung out around the trailer park continuously reminded her of that. I was aware of her, yet I made an effort of not showing any interest (early on) because I respected Jane. Well, something about me not paying attention to her, while all the other boys did, must've sparked something in her because she started flirting with me. At first I did not respond, but after Jane made it clear that she didn't mind, I started to become really close to Nicole. Ray didn't say anything, but it became apparent that he didn't like me seeing his step-daughter. I really was a horrible influence and, in retrospect, I don't blame him at all.
One night a bunch of us were drinking and smoking dope with Ray and Jane at their place. As the night grew old everyone started filing out and Ray and Jane retreated to their bedroom to crash out, leaving Baby G, Nicole, and me alone in the livingroom. Nicole and I fooled around a little while Baby G got drunk, then Baby G and I left. After we stepped outside he reached under the trailer and pulled out Jane's purse! "What the fuck is wrong with you, stealing Jane's purse?!" I angrily demanded. He just told me to chill out as he rummaged through it then said, "There isn't anything of value in it." as he tossed it over the fence and into the woods. There wasn't much I could do besides yell at him; he was my partner in crime.... The next day Ray accused me of stealing the purse and told me I was no longer welcomed over at his place.
A couple of days after I was released from the Juvenile Detention Center my friends Eugene and Joe told me that Ray had a couple of the guns from the burglary I was arrested for. According to Eugene, Ray found the guns I'd stashed along side Eugene's trailer the morning after I was taken into custody. Eugene said Ray kept a couple of them, Jessie (Eugene's older brother) kept a couple, and the rest were given to Gene (Eugene's mom), who in turn gave them to my father. My father turned them over to the police.
After Eugene told me this he must've noticed that I was getting angry because he said, "Forget about those guns Robert. You say you want to chill out and straighten your life out? Then forget about those guns!" Eugene had been my best friend for a very long time. We used to do everything together, including criminal activity, but he wised up and pulled away from that lifestyle a year or so before. After I got out of the Juvenile Detention Center I told him and Joe that I was finished living the fast life and that my intentions were to clean up and finish school. Eugene and I both used to say we'd be the first in our families to finish high school! And he was right when he told me to forget about those guns, yet I didn't listen. I guess I was still upset with Ray for banning me from his place and Nicole.
I asked Ray about those guns and he denied having them, said he gave all of them to Gene. I told him that other people were telling me different and he said, " I don't care what other people say, I don't have any guns!" At the time I let it go.
During the noon hour of August 9, 1995 Ray came home from work for lunch. I watched him pull into his driveway and I went outside to ask him about those guns again. Once again he denied having them and an argument ensued. We cursed at each other for a few seconds before my mother yelled for me to get inside my trailer. As I walked towards my front door I yelled back at Ray, "I'll bet my dad doesn't tell me to get inside when he gets home! He'll beat your fucking ass!".... I was such an idiot.
One of the biggest mistakes I have ever made was telling my father about that argument. I wasn't thinking. You see my father has spent most of his life in prison and that lifestyle conditioned him to be very paranoid and extremely violent. In the 9 years that I knew him he stabbed 4 different men, on 4 separate occasions. Each time he was either drunk or paranoid, thinking someone was threatening him or his family. Although it had been a couple of years since he last stabbed anyone, I should've known better than to tell him about Ray.
My brother arrived home from work first and I told him about the argument with Ray. His response was, "I'll see how though he is when he gets home." My father arrived shortly after my brother and after telling him about the argument he basically echoed what my brother said. I was under the impression that my brother would beat Ray up and that would be that. When a young kid would piss my brother off I'd handle it and he took care of the older guys that bothered me. Fist fights were a common way of settling disputes in that trailer park.
Ray usually went to a local bar on Friday nights after work, so he didn't show up until close to 10pm. My father went to sleep around 9pm and not long after that my brother and I talked about the issue with Ray. "Little brother, let's forget about this shit. We have bigger problems to worry about and I think we should let it blow over." I agreed with him and we started to get ready for bed.
As Ray pulled into his driveway, I was getting ready to crash out. Several minutes passed and then I heard Ray's front door slam and the sound of him yelling. Curiously, I looked out the window and observed what looked like Ray waving his hands at my trailer, while screaming something unintelligible. I immediately thought he was talking shit and told my brother as much. (Later on at trial I learned that his dog got loose and that he was calling the dog!) My brother went to wake up my dad and I began putting my boots on.
After lancing my boots up, I went outside. As I rounded the front of my trailer Ray's truck came into view. He was reaching inside the driver's side door and I immediately thought that he could be going for a gun so I quickly covered the ground that separated us and yanked him out of his truck. (Once again, at trial I learned that he kept an extra dog leash in his truck and was probably searching for it!) By the time I pulled him away from his truck my brother was on the scene and he grabbed Ray, causing the both of them to tumble to the ground. They wrestled for a few seconds and I kicked at Ray a couple of times, trying to separate them. Suddenly, I noticed my father making his way towards us, but Ray broke free from my brother before he could get to where we were and then retreated behind his trailer. My father and brother gave chase, while I stayed by Ray's truck and told Eugene, Jessie, and Abraham (They all came outside to see what was going on.) what was happening.
Jessie and I edged towards the back of Ray's trailer to see what was happening back there, but it was too dark to see anything. Then I watched as my brother and father came running towards us, both covered in blood. My father told me get into the car and I did. The sight of blood on them alarmed me and most of what transpired beyond that point is a blur. All I remember is getting into our car and my brother driving off. It was eerily reminiscent to the time we fled Rockport, Texas in 1990 after my father stabbed a guy in a bar down there.
We went to stay with cousins in West Orange, Texas. Several days later my father called my brother and me to side and showed us a newspaper that said Ray was dead. My brother told me that my dad stabbed Ray behind his trailer, but I didn't realize it was that bad.... At first I didn't realize I was wanted for murder along with my father and brother, then when I found out I was wanted, too, I figured they just wanted me for questioning. Boy was I wrong.
My father and brother were arrested several weeks later and I was apprehended a few days after that. On October 31, 1995 I was certified to stand trial as an adult. In May 1996 we all had a joint trial and on May 8, 1996 we were all convicted of murder. (My brother and I were convicted under the "Law of Parties") My father opted to be sentenced by the judge, while my brother and I were sentenced by the jury. My father received a Life sentence, my brother got 40 years aggravated, and I was given 99 years aggravated.
*** *** ***
Ten years have passed since Ray was prematurely taken away from his family and friends. As I sit here at my desk, reliving the past, the orange glow of the morning sun begins to fill my cell. Thoughts of Ruru and Ray's other child (from a different marriage) pervade my mind. It eats at my soul knowing that they are growing up without Ray. So many people were affected by Ray's early demise.... While I did not kill Ray, didn't see the stabbing, and never wanted him to die, I'm utterly cognizant of the fact that I am the REASON he is gone. That's something that I have never forgotten and will have to live with for the rest of my life. If any of Ray's family or friends are reading this, I want you to know that I am truly sorry for all the pain I've caused you. I know that if it wasn't for me Ray would still be with you today. It is my hope that you can somehow find it in your hearts to forgive me.... May you rest in peace Ray.
Follow-up To "Memoirs and Musings"
November 2005
Greetings and salutations to all uncensored readers. Many of you might remember my preceding article, "The Memoirs and Musings of Robert Pruett", but if you don't I think you can read it in the uncensored archives. www.1prison.com/newuncensored.html Over the past couple of months I've thought a lot about what I wrote and I think I should write a follow-up to it. There are a couple of points that I think require elucidation, so please allow me to do that now.
To begin, what I wrote was exactly how I recall things unfolding. I've replayed the events of that fateful night over and over in my head and I believe that what I wrote is exactly what transpired. That being said, my father and brother have different recollections.
Before I get into that I want to mention a phenomenon that many investigators to highly violent crimes can attest to. When I used to study the law pertaining to my case, I read innumerable cases where witnesses to a crime would recount different details and sometimes completely different versions of what happened. In one robbery case, one of the eye-witnesses distinctly remembers a masked man with a gun demand money from the store clerk, while another eye-witness to the same crime claims the man wore a ball cap (no mask) and had a paper bag over his hand as if to conceal the gun. You might wonder how these people could remember totally different things? I'm not an expert, but I think that in emotionally volatile situations, when the threat of danger is imminent, people begin to panic, fear and other emotions get stirred up, adrenaline begins to flow, preconceived notions as to what is happening or what might happen come into play and it all works to cloud perceptions and distort reality. Well, that's the only plausible explanation I can think of.
In my case, my brother's recollection is fundamentally similar to mine, with a few minor discrepancies. My father, on the other hand, maintains that he stabbed Ray because he thought Ray was going for a gun or another weapon. He also says he stabbed Ray in the front of Ray's trailer, by his truck, where I was. I don't remember it happening like that, but in light of what I know about the psychology of a highly emotional situation, it could be possible. I do not remember seeing my father stab Ray, yet it is possible that I did see it and somehow managed to erase it from my mind.
Another thing I want to elaborate on is my father's aggressive disposition. When I was a kid I often wondered why my dad was so quick to resort to violence. Every time he felt threatened or disrespected he'd become aggressive and confrontational. A lot of times he'd be drunk, but there were instances when he was sober and his reaction to what he construed to be a threat or disrespect would be violence. So it wasn't entirely the alcohol.
Having spent the last decade in the TDCJ, I now have a better understanding of his behavior. He went to reform school as a preteen and according to him, he "graduated" to the penitentiary at the age of 17 in 1963. I forget the exact number, but since then he's spent over 30 calendar years in prison.
In my experiences, this place conditions a man to be aggressive and violent. From day one I learned that, in order to preserve your manhood and keep your dignity, violence is necessary. This place is filled with predators and they are constantly scrutinizing your every move, searching for any sign of weakness in hopes of exploiting it. Everyone is tested, including the biggest, baddest and meanest of them all. In situations when someone disrespects you, you'd better take care of your business and that often means fighting, but sometimes you have to take it to another level. This is an extremely violent environment and in order to survive, physically and mentally, violence is necessary. (BTW - I am referring to the general prison population, not death row or Ad. Seg. where we are isolated.)
Of course there are those who choose the passive route and refuse to stand up for themselves. These are the guys that are often treated like dirt, having to pay someone for protection with commissary or their ass. Personally, I didn't have any financial support whatsoever when I was in population and as bad as it hurts me to take a shit, there's no way I'm gonna let a motherfucker stick his penis back there! :-)
Seriously, my point is that if you live like that for any number of years, aggressive responses become reflexive. One of the problems a lot of guys have when they are released is that they forget to leave the penitentiary mentality in the penitentiary. You take a guy like my father, someone who has spent most of his 58 years in prison, and it's almost impossible to change.
I will say this about my dad: He tried his best to do the right thing and stay out of prison and be there for his family when he was released in 1986. Form 1986-1995 he worked at backbreaking jobs for close to minimum wage, trying to support his family. He didn't go out stealing and robbing like he once did, he tried to make a honest living. Furthermore, he tried to teach me right. Yeah, he made the mistake of allowing me to smoke pot and he'll be the first one to say he made many more mistakes in raising me, but he tried to steer me in the right direction. He constantly told me to take care of business at school and try to make something of myself.. He warned me about prisons and he told me there was a better way, but I was hard-headed. I was out of control.
I just want everyone to know that my father, Howard Pruett Sr., isn't the maniac I might've previously portrayed him to be. We all have flaws and short-comings and I'm sure most of us have done things we wish we wouldn't have. I think what's important is that we learn from our past mistakes and try to mature and grow as humans.
Thank you all for taking the time to read this.
Groundhog Day Syndrome
Groundhog Day Syndrome
August 2005
Those of us living on Texas' death row are presented with many challenges and obstacles in our everyday lives. We expend an enormous amount of energy fighting for our lives and constantly struggle to cope with the stress involved with being separated from our loved ones, not to mention the loss of our freedom. There are officers who seem to think that their job is to punish us, rather than maintain the security of the institution; suffice it to say that these rogues are a constant reminder of exactly where we are.... These are the obvious challenges we face here on the row. I'd like to expose a problem that is more subtle, yet can be equally detrimental to our psychological well-being.
As many of you probably know, the living conditions on Texas' death row are virtually identical to those of TDCJ's administrative segregation, (ad.seg.) which was designed by a team of criminal psychologists. The objective was to create a behavioral modification system that punished recalcitrant inmates with the harshest living conditions, (level 3 status) then rewarded their good behavior with somewhat better living conditions (level 1 status). Eventually the inmate would be reintegrated back into the general prison population. This system wasn't designed to house inmates long-term, yet TDCJ has misused it by keeping people in ad. seg. for decades and forcing death row to live under its guidelines as long as we have a death sentence.
For those of you who aren't familiar with the environment in which we live, please allow me to briefly elaborate: We are locked in single-man cells (10ft. x 7ft.) for 23 hours a day, with 1 hour of recreation per day, depending on your level status. Anytime we leave our cells we must be restrained with handcuffs and escorted by 2 officers. All visits are non-contact and recreation occurs in a single-man cage, alone. All physical contact is strictly prohibited... If you are level 1 status you can utilize the commissary (given that you have someone in the freeworld that sends money to your account. We are totally dependent on outside help to use the commissary) to purchase an Am/Fm radio, shoes, fan, coffee pot, typewriter, hygiene, writing supplies, and various food items. Levels 2 and 3 aren't allowed any electrical appliances (except a fan) or any food items. We aren't allowed televisions, microwaves, access to swimming pools or any other absurd things like that, as the media would have the general public believe! If I'm not mistaken, you can read the "Ad. Seg./Death Row Plan" on TDCJ' s website, where all the rules/guidelines applicable to us are listed.
If there is an official name for the debilitating disease that often arises out of these living conditions, I am unaware of it. I like to refer to what torments many of us as Ground Hog Day Syndrome. How many of you have seen the movie "Ground Hog Day" with Bill Murray? That's the one where Mr. Murray keeps waking up on Ground Hog Day only to relive that day over and over again. In a sense, this is basically what most of us are experiencing in that we find ourselves repeating the same old things, day after day. While the movie is highly entertaining and absolutely hilarious, those of us on the row (or ad.seg.) who fall victim to Ground Hog Day Syndrome are in danger of developing severe psychological disorders.
The environment in which we live is geared towards sensory deprivation. The scenery never changes for us: cold steel bars, imposing white walls, dirty concrete floors, and whatever view we have from our 4f. x 3in. windows, which usually isn't anything to write home about! Our options for action each day are limited to recreating, writing, reading, creating art, listening to the radio (if you are level 1!) and conversing with each other through our doors (this type of communication only contributes to our diminishing social skills since we aren't face-to-face with the person we are conversating with.) We can also play such games as chess or dungeons--n-dragons by calling out our plays through the door.
It is so easy to find yourself trapped by a fixed schedule that can best be described as tediously monotonous, simply because we are so restricted as to what we can do. We're lulled into a routine that repeats itself for months and even years at a time. Our every action soon becomes mechanical and our behavior becomes more reflective of that of a robot than a human being. I sometimes get my days mixed up, thinking that I did something on a certain day, when in fact it was a week before. Life becomes a blur, creativity diminishes, depression can creep in, some fall prey to psychotic behavior, and others attempt suicide (BTW - dropping your appeals is suicide!) The adverse affects of Ground Hog Day Syndrome are often lethal.
The other day (I think!) I asked someone that I hadn't seen in awhile how he was doing. He just stared at me somberly and replied, "Dude, it's the same fucking thing every day. I wake up, go to rec., eat chow, write a little, read a little, talk shit, go to sleep, then wake up and repeat the same damn thing. I'm burnt out!" Most of us here can truly empathize with that.
To further illustrate just how destructive Ground Hog Day Syndrome can be, I'd like to share a very personal story with you: Before coming to death row I spent a couple of years in ad. seg. A close friend of mine, who I'd spent some time with in general population, was moved in a cell next to me on the Conally Unit. We passed the time by reminiscing about old days and we even shared our dreams, hopes and aspirations. A few months of this and -predictably - we settled into a routine. Then one day my friend came to his door and told everyone that he didn't want to talk to any of us and that we should leave him alone. Huh? He rejected every attempt I made to communicate with him by ignoring me. He refused to accept his mail, didn't go to rec. or shower, and once they called him for a visit that he refused. Maybe a month or so of this went on and he began talking to himself. Finally, he covered himself in his own feces and started slashing his arms up with a razor...... As I watched them carry my old friend away, covered in feces and blood, I felt a profound sense of sorrow and loss. It was very difficult for me to comprehend what had transpired right before my very eyes. This was my first experience with how psychologically damaging this environment can be and I'm positive that what happened to my friend was the result of Ground Hog Day Syndrome evolving into psychosis.
From what I've heard, there are guys here on the Polunsky Unit who've gone insane since leaving Ellis Unit, where death row used to be housed. We've lost a few to suicide since I arrived on the row in 2002 and many others have attempted it. I' m no psychologist, but undoubtedly Ground Hog Day Syndrome played a role in some of these cases.
Some of you may have friends or family here who are experiencing Groundhog Day Syndrome and you're wondering what can be done? Once again, I'm not a mental health expert, but I have found a few things that seem to work for me and I'd be happy to share them with you.
First of all, I think that it is imperative that we create variety in our schedules. Beware of falling into a routine that is repetitious and make every effort to mix-up your daily activities so that you aren't repeating the same routine for any extended period of time. Also, if there are activities that you don't do, such as playing chess or dungeons-n-dragons, then try them out every now and then. It might not be your cup of tea, but anything helps so long as it breaks the monotony!
Obviously, the love and emotional support we receive from those in the free world helps immensely. A visit from someone who cares can offer a much needed respite from this hell-hole, enabling us to leave the pod for awhile to be with the people we love and care about. Receiving a letter also provides a wonderful escape from this place, reminding us that someone out there is thinking about us! Never forget that you people in the free world, who are there for us, showing us love and compassion, keep us going. Without the support of you all, many of us would be utterly lost. With your help we can overcome Ground Hog Day Syndrome.
Peering through the window in my cell last night, I watched an electrical storm bring light and life to an open field just beyond the prison grounds. It was an awe-inspiring spectacle to behold and it filled me with a sense of tranquillity that has eluded me for quite some time. As I watched the breath-takingly bright flashes of light streak across the sky, I found myself reminiscing back to a time when I was just a small boy, no older than 5. My mother, brother, sister, and I were all living in Houston when a major storm rolled in (hurricane Alicia? This was like ' 83 - ' 84). We were all huddled closely together, watching the violent winds whip the tall pines around like mere twigs. We were dirt poor (my mother being a single parent at the time, trying to raise three kids on welfare) and I'd already experienced much adversity in my short life, but I felt a strong sense of security with my family that night, despite the storms in our lives. My mother never let my siblings and I forget that she loved us.
As I fondly reflected on the innocence of my youth, the lightning illuminating the razor-wired fences brought me back from my reverie. It's usually quite noisy on this cellblock at that time of night, but as I watched the storm I noticed that it was peacefully quiet. Maybe I wasn't the only one gazing out the window, remembering a time long past? Every now and then mother nature does her part in helping us combat the tedium of death row on Polunsky Unit....
August 2005
Those of us living on Texas' death row are presented with many challenges and obstacles in our everyday lives. We expend an enormous amount of energy fighting for our lives and constantly struggle to cope with the stress involved with being separated from our loved ones, not to mention the loss of our freedom. There are officers who seem to think that their job is to punish us, rather than maintain the security of the institution; suffice it to say that these rogues are a constant reminder of exactly where we are.... These are the obvious challenges we face here on the row. I'd like to expose a problem that is more subtle, yet can be equally detrimental to our psychological well-being.
As many of you probably know, the living conditions on Texas' death row are virtually identical to those of TDCJ's administrative segregation, (ad.seg.) which was designed by a team of criminal psychologists. The objective was to create a behavioral modification system that punished recalcitrant inmates with the harshest living conditions, (level 3 status) then rewarded their good behavior with somewhat better living conditions (level 1 status). Eventually the inmate would be reintegrated back into the general prison population. This system wasn't designed to house inmates long-term, yet TDCJ has misused it by keeping people in ad. seg. for decades and forcing death row to live under its guidelines as long as we have a death sentence.
For those of you who aren't familiar with the environment in which we live, please allow me to briefly elaborate: We are locked in single-man cells (10ft. x 7ft.) for 23 hours a day, with 1 hour of recreation per day, depending on your level status. Anytime we leave our cells we must be restrained with handcuffs and escorted by 2 officers. All visits are non-contact and recreation occurs in a single-man cage, alone. All physical contact is strictly prohibited... If you are level 1 status you can utilize the commissary (given that you have someone in the freeworld that sends money to your account. We are totally dependent on outside help to use the commissary) to purchase an Am/Fm radio, shoes, fan, coffee pot, typewriter, hygiene, writing supplies, and various food items. Levels 2 and 3 aren't allowed any electrical appliances (except a fan) or any food items. We aren't allowed televisions, microwaves, access to swimming pools or any other absurd things like that, as the media would have the general public believe! If I'm not mistaken, you can read the "Ad. Seg./Death Row Plan" on TDCJ' s website, where all the rules/guidelines applicable to us are listed.
If there is an official name for the debilitating disease that often arises out of these living conditions, I am unaware of it. I like to refer to what torments many of us as Ground Hog Day Syndrome. How many of you have seen the movie "Ground Hog Day" with Bill Murray? That's the one where Mr. Murray keeps waking up on Ground Hog Day only to relive that day over and over again. In a sense, this is basically what most of us are experiencing in that we find ourselves repeating the same old things, day after day. While the movie is highly entertaining and absolutely hilarious, those of us on the row (or ad.seg.) who fall victim to Ground Hog Day Syndrome are in danger of developing severe psychological disorders.
The environment in which we live is geared towards sensory deprivation. The scenery never changes for us: cold steel bars, imposing white walls, dirty concrete floors, and whatever view we have from our 4f. x 3in. windows, which usually isn't anything to write home about! Our options for action each day are limited to recreating, writing, reading, creating art, listening to the radio (if you are level 1!) and conversing with each other through our doors (this type of communication only contributes to our diminishing social skills since we aren't face-to-face with the person we are conversating with.) We can also play such games as chess or dungeons--n-dragons by calling out our plays through the door.
It is so easy to find yourself trapped by a fixed schedule that can best be described as tediously monotonous, simply because we are so restricted as to what we can do. We're lulled into a routine that repeats itself for months and even years at a time. Our every action soon becomes mechanical and our behavior becomes more reflective of that of a robot than a human being. I sometimes get my days mixed up, thinking that I did something on a certain day, when in fact it was a week before. Life becomes a blur, creativity diminishes, depression can creep in, some fall prey to psychotic behavior, and others attempt suicide (BTW - dropping your appeals is suicide!) The adverse affects of Ground Hog Day Syndrome are often lethal.
The other day (I think!) I asked someone that I hadn't seen in awhile how he was doing. He just stared at me somberly and replied, "Dude, it's the same fucking thing every day. I wake up, go to rec., eat chow, write a little, read a little, talk shit, go to sleep, then wake up and repeat the same damn thing. I'm burnt out!" Most of us here can truly empathize with that.
To further illustrate just how destructive Ground Hog Day Syndrome can be, I'd like to share a very personal story with you: Before coming to death row I spent a couple of years in ad. seg. A close friend of mine, who I'd spent some time with in general population, was moved in a cell next to me on the Conally Unit. We passed the time by reminiscing about old days and we even shared our dreams, hopes and aspirations. A few months of this and -predictably - we settled into a routine. Then one day my friend came to his door and told everyone that he didn't want to talk to any of us and that we should leave him alone. Huh? He rejected every attempt I made to communicate with him by ignoring me. He refused to accept his mail, didn't go to rec. or shower, and once they called him for a visit that he refused. Maybe a month or so of this went on and he began talking to himself. Finally, he covered himself in his own feces and started slashing his arms up with a razor...... As I watched them carry my old friend away, covered in feces and blood, I felt a profound sense of sorrow and loss. It was very difficult for me to comprehend what had transpired right before my very eyes. This was my first experience with how psychologically damaging this environment can be and I'm positive that what happened to my friend was the result of Ground Hog Day Syndrome evolving into psychosis.
From what I've heard, there are guys here on the Polunsky Unit who've gone insane since leaving Ellis Unit, where death row used to be housed. We've lost a few to suicide since I arrived on the row in 2002 and many others have attempted it. I' m no psychologist, but undoubtedly Ground Hog Day Syndrome played a role in some of these cases.
Some of you may have friends or family here who are experiencing Groundhog Day Syndrome and you're wondering what can be done? Once again, I'm not a mental health expert, but I have found a few things that seem to work for me and I'd be happy to share them with you.
First of all, I think that it is imperative that we create variety in our schedules. Beware of falling into a routine that is repetitious and make every effort to mix-up your daily activities so that you aren't repeating the same routine for any extended period of time. Also, if there are activities that you don't do, such as playing chess or dungeons-n-dragons, then try them out every now and then. It might not be your cup of tea, but anything helps so long as it breaks the monotony!
Obviously, the love and emotional support we receive from those in the free world helps immensely. A visit from someone who cares can offer a much needed respite from this hell-hole, enabling us to leave the pod for awhile to be with the people we love and care about. Receiving a letter also provides a wonderful escape from this place, reminding us that someone out there is thinking about us! Never forget that you people in the free world, who are there for us, showing us love and compassion, keep us going. Without the support of you all, many of us would be utterly lost. With your help we can overcome Ground Hog Day Syndrome.
*** *** *** *** *** *** ***
Peering through the window in my cell last night, I watched an electrical storm bring light and life to an open field just beyond the prison grounds. It was an awe-inspiring spectacle to behold and it filled me with a sense of tranquillity that has eluded me for quite some time. As I watched the breath-takingly bright flashes of light streak across the sky, I found myself reminiscing back to a time when I was just a small boy, no older than 5. My mother, brother, sister, and I were all living in Houston when a major storm rolled in (hurricane Alicia? This was like ' 83 - ' 84). We were all huddled closely together, watching the violent winds whip the tall pines around like mere twigs. We were dirt poor (my mother being a single parent at the time, trying to raise three kids on welfare) and I'd already experienced much adversity in my short life, but I felt a strong sense of security with my family that night, despite the storms in our lives. My mother never let my siblings and I forget that she loved us.
As I fondly reflected on the innocence of my youth, the lightning illuminating the razor-wired fences brought me back from my reverie. It's usually quite noisy on this cellblock at that time of night, but as I watched the storm I noticed that it was peacefully quiet. Maybe I wasn't the only one gazing out the window, remembering a time long past? Every now and then mother nature does her part in helping us combat the tedium of death row on Polunsky Unit....
Donate to Robert's Legal Fund Today
Time is running out for me. My case is in the Federal District Court and I must be prepared to act when the judge makes a ruling, no matter how he rules. I need to hire an investigator to interview people who were there when the murder occurred and know that I'm not the murderer. TDCJ put an enormous amount of pressure on everyone who tried to speak up for me initially and that deterred them from stepping forward......That was then, this is now. I believe enough time has passed since the murder that some of those men would now tell the truth. Even if no one wants to implement the real murderer(s), someone might say something contradictory to what one of the State's witnesses said. If that's the case, I should be able to get their statement admitted as "newly discovered evidence," and that might be enough to convince the appeals courts to reverse my case. I hate to ask anyone for help, especially people I don't even know. Unfortunately, I have no other option. I can't work and make my own money, so I must reach out and implore people to help. I believe that an investigator could help me gather the evidence I need to prove that I'm innocent. All donations to this cause would be more than appreciated, they could help save my life.
Donations can be made at www.robertpruett.com
Please help save an innocent man's life.
Donations can be made at www.robertpruett.com
Please help save an innocent man's life.
Welcome to Texas' Death Row
Welcome to Texas’ Death Row, where the innocent and guilty alike await their fate with bated breath. As some of you know, blind justice is endemic in this state, and the prosecutors here are predominantly concerned with not only winning any case that crosses their desk—no matter how insufficient the evidence—but also satisfying the bloodthirsty “Victim’s Rights Groups,” most of which have little to no members associated with any murder victim. Many of the prosecutors and judges in this state could care less about justice; it’s all about reelection and moving up in the political arena. There are multiple purposes for this site. First of all, I want to raise public awareness about my case, which exemplifies everything that’s wrong with our system. Secondly, I plan on writing regular journal entries that will focus on a wide range of topics from life on death row to my own musings and insights about our system and life in general. In addition, I’ll be posting my autobiography, one chapter at a time, as I complete it. Even though I was wrongfully convicted, I did live a fast, crime-filled life and it’s my hope that young people can learn from my many mistakes, thus the autobiography**. Thanks to all who’ve accessed my site. Hopefully something you read here will inspire you to become active. The only way to combat our corrupt system is with unity and action. Do you dare to take a stand?
Sincerely, Robert Pruett
**Robert's autobiography can only be found on www.robertpruett.com
Sincerely, Robert Pruett
**Robert's autobiography can only be found on www.robertpruett.com
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