Yesterday, I got a surprise...
At approximately eight o'clock in the morning, only minutes before my cell door was to open for breakfast, I was informed by the housing unit's clerk that I was scheduled to appear before the parole board at 8:30.
I told him that it must be a mistake because my scheduled hearing day was June 10th. "I'm not supposed to appear before the parole board for another month," I pleaded. But he showed me the list and sure enough I was on it.
So, at approximately 8:15, unprepared and bewildered, I walked across the prison complex to the visiting room area where the hearing was to be held. There were at least fifteen other men there too. We were all told to wait in the hallway right outside the doorway which leads into what is known as the "Frisk and Search" room, which is the area an inmate must pass through first before he could enter the visiting room itself.
Here, however, only a short distance away but out of sight, sat three parole commissioners. These commissioners are appointed by the governor to review and then decide each man's eligibility for release. They have the power to determine who leaves, and who doesn't.
As expected, everyone was nervous, talkative, and fidgety. I found myself among men from diverse backgrounds, with all of us having been found guilty of various crimes ranging from burglary to homicide. I wasn't expecting any mercy, either. This was my fourth parole hearing, and for me, it was routine.
Because I am serving an initial sentence of 25-years to life, I automatically get a parole hearing every two years after having completed my first 25 years. This is the way it works in New York State.
So I stood outside the door to await my turn. It finally came about 10:30. The door to the Frisk and Search room opened and out stepped a parole officer who called out my name from a list of names he had in his hand. He would ultimately escort me into the large visiting room itself. Then, once inside, I had to walk to the opposition end of the room where three well-dressed commissioners sat side-by-side along a wooden table. Their faces were expressionless. They watched my every move as I approached them. It's part of the procedure. They always try to size up every inmate who comes into their presence by reading his body language.
My destination, however, was a plastic chair that was centered about eight feet in front of the table where the commissioners sat. While flanking me on each side was a stenographer to my right and several other parole personnel to my left. A correction officer stood directly behind me. I was surrounded. A parole hearing is designed to be an intimidating experience.
But as for the hearing itself, it lasted not more than six to seven minutes. It certainly wasn't worth my having to stand in line for two hours, either! The commissioners took their turns asking me some basic questions. Then the senior commissioner asked if I had anything else to say. I didn't.
After this, I was quietly escorted out of the room by the same parole officer who had brought me in. I then returned to my housing unit.
Later, though, at approximately 12 noon, a different parole officer appeared in front of my cell to hand me the board's decision. She was crisp and professional looking, and didn't say much. I had to sign a form she carried with her to verify that I was indeed handed the decision. Then it was up to me at my leisure to open the sealed envelope to see what the verdict was.
The Parole Board's decision reads as follows:
"After a review of the record and interview, parole is again denied. You continue to
serve an aggregate sentence of 25 years to life for 5 counts of murder, 6 counts of
attempted murder, 6 counts of CPW and 4 counts of assault. The panel notes your
good disciplinary record and programming. Despite these accomplishments, however,
the panel finds that your release at this time is incompatible with the public welfare
as it would so deprecate the seriousness of the offense as to undermine respect
for the law. PAROLE DENIED! HOLD FOR 24 MONTHS. NEXT APPEARANCE DATE: 05/2010."
D.B.
Note: "CPW" stands for Criminal Possession of a Weapon. Also, the last several sentences of the decision were all in capital letters, just like they appear above.
I told him that it must be a mistake because my scheduled hearing day was June 10th. "I'm not supposed to appear before the parole board for another month," I pleaded. But he showed me the list and sure enough I was on it.
So, at approximately 8:15, unprepared and bewildered, I walked across the prison complex to the visiting room area where the hearing was to be held. There were at least fifteen other men there too. We were all told to wait in the hallway right outside the doorway which leads into what is known as the "Frisk and Search" room, which is the area an inmate must pass through first before he could enter the visiting room itself.
Here, however, only a short distance away but out of sight, sat three parole commissioners. These commissioners are appointed by the governor to review and then decide each man's eligibility for release. They have the power to determine who leaves, and who doesn't.
As expected, everyone was nervous, talkative, and fidgety. I found myself among men from diverse backgrounds, with all of us having been found guilty of various crimes ranging from burglary to homicide. I wasn't expecting any mercy, either. This was my fourth parole hearing, and for me, it was routine.
Because I am serving an initial sentence of 25-years to life, I automatically get a parole hearing every two years after having completed my first 25 years. This is the way it works in New York State.
So I stood outside the door to await my turn. It finally came about 10:30. The door to the Frisk and Search room opened and out stepped a parole officer who called out my name from a list of names he had in his hand. He would ultimately escort me into the large visiting room itself. Then, once inside, I had to walk to the opposition end of the room where three well-dressed commissioners sat side-by-side along a wooden table. Their faces were expressionless. They watched my every move as I approached them. It's part of the procedure. They always try to size up every inmate who comes into their presence by reading his body language.
My destination, however, was a plastic chair that was centered about eight feet in front of the table where the commissioners sat. While flanking me on each side was a stenographer to my right and several other parole personnel to my left. A correction officer stood directly behind me. I was surrounded. A parole hearing is designed to be an intimidating experience.
But as for the hearing itself, it lasted not more than six to seven minutes. It certainly wasn't worth my having to stand in line for two hours, either! The commissioners took their turns asking me some basic questions. Then the senior commissioner asked if I had anything else to say. I didn't.
After this, I was quietly escorted out of the room by the same parole officer who had brought me in. I then returned to my housing unit.
Later, though, at approximately 12 noon, a different parole officer appeared in front of my cell to hand me the board's decision. She was crisp and professional looking, and didn't say much. I had to sign a form she carried with her to verify that I was indeed handed the decision. Then it was up to me at my leisure to open the sealed envelope to see what the verdict was.
The Parole Board's decision reads as follows:
"After a review of the record and interview, parole is again denied. You continue to
serve an aggregate sentence of 25 years to life for 5 counts of murder, 6 counts of
attempted murder, 6 counts of CPW and 4 counts of assault. The panel notes your
good disciplinary record and programming. Despite these accomplishments, however,
the panel finds that your release at this time is incompatible with the public welfare
as it would so deprecate the seriousness of the offense as to undermine respect
for the law. PAROLE DENIED! HOLD FOR 24 MONTHS. NEXT APPEARANCE DATE: 05/2010."
D.B.
Note: "CPW" stands for Criminal Possession of a Weapon. Also, the last several sentences of the decision were all in capital letters, just like they appear above.