Comments on Criminal Issues

May 28, 2008

A DEATH PENALTY TRIAL
By Mr. Billy Sinclair

The death penalty trial in this essay actually occurred. It is based the well-publicized facts, offense reports, and the trial transcript concerning my arrest, indictment, prosecution, and sentence to death for the December 5, 1965 shooting death of a convenience store clerk in East Baton Rouge Parish, Louisiana. The trial was marred by documented suppressed mitigating evidence, perjured testimony, and ineffective assistance of counsel. The death penalty verdict, I believe, was obtained by the State of Louisiana because of these constitutional violations. By the time I was able to establish these violations in a court of law in 1984, they were considered “harmless errors” because the death sentence had been vacated.

But a significant number of the 1100 inmates executed in this country since 1976 were sent to their deaths because of suppressed mitigating evidence, perjured testimony, fabricated forensic evidence, or grossly inadequate legal representation. Further, as was the case in 1965, it was the social status or the race of their victim that influenced the decision by prosecutors to seek the death penalty against them. The following capital trial illustrates not only the harsh reality of how the death penalty is often prosecuted but how the process can be politicized. It presents the best argument for the abolishment of the penalty. It is the only punishment in these United States that can never, ever be prosecuted equitably and justly.

I
Following the settlement of New Orleans, French explorers in 1699 moved up the Mississippi River until they came to a spot with a red stick, bloodied with animal blood, stuck in the ground. The stick marked the boundary between the Bayougoulas and the Houma Indians. The Indians called the red stick “Istrouma” and the French called it “baton rouge.” The French established a fort at the spot in 1719.

That small fort would eventually become the city of Baton Rouge, the capital of the State of Louisiana. It has always been a maverick city, loyal to its English ancestry that influenced its early history over the French/Spanish heritage that dominated New Orleans. The city has had two dominant social characteristics since the turn of the 20th century: football and politics. Both are joined at the hip. Huey Long imposed football on the city’s psyche. The flamboyant Kingfish spared no expense or political effort to make LSU football a source of national respect. He corrupted the university and the game itself in that futile effort. He bought the best players in the state for the LSU Tigers but the team never quite measured up to the likes of Notre Dame, Michigan, and Ohio State.
         
On Halloween night in 1958 I was thirteen years of age. I was on a chartered Trailway bus returning from the State Fair in Shreveport to my home in Rayville, Louisiana. It had been a great field trip for our junior high school’s 4-H Club. I was sporting an “Ole Miss Rebel” jacket given to me by a school buddy. The jacket was a big deal. Most of the kids on the bus were pulling for LSU who was trailing 6-0 when University of Mississippi quarterback Jake Gibbs punted the ball away in the fourth quarter. LSU running back Billy Cannon scooped the ball up at his own 11 yard line and broke tackle after tackle to complete what has been called the “greatest punt return in college football history.” LSU won the game 7-6 and went on to win its first national championship that year. It joined the ranks of Notre Dame and Michigan.
         
But I was crestfallen. I hated LSU and Baton Rouge. I don’t know why. I had never seen either the university or the city. I was from North Louisiana. We were “country folk” – rural and redneck. We did not like South Louisiana. It would be 1972 before the people of Louisiana elected a governor from South Louisiana. That particular Halloween night I was pulling for Ole Miss because I had on a cool “Rebel” jacket. Billy Cannon took that cool away. I would follow the rest of his college and professional football career with that Halloween night distaste in my mouth.
         
It was December 5, 1965. The Pak-A-Sak convenience store was located at 7925 Greenwell Springs Road in Baton Rouge. J.C. Bodden was the 31-year-old clerk working inside the store. A second, younger store employee named Ray Neyland was working outside, sweeping the store’s parking lot. I pulled a compact 1965 Chevrolet into the parking lot. I was armed with a .22 caliber pistol. I entered the store and turned down an aisle. Trying to appear casual, I picked up several items (a box of cereal, a can of shoe polish, etc.). I left my fingerprints on these items. Bodden was servicing an elderly lady at the counter while I walked around the store. He never took his eyes off me.
As soon as the lady left the store, I walked up to the counter, pulled the .22 from my waistband, and demanded the money in the store’s lone cash register. Bodden decided to resist the robbery. He said he didn’t have the keys to the register. Two customers entered the store. Grundy Sampite was the older customer; Donald Lee Jones the younger.
         
Bodden moved from behind the counter. I continued to demand the money. Bodden advanced toward me. I pointed the pistol at the floor and pulled the trigger. It clicked. Bodden told the two customers to stay put. He shouted out that I was shooting “paper wads.” He advanced closer toward me. Pointing the weapon at the clerk’s leg, I fired a second shot. The bullet struck him in the thigh. He halted his advance. I moved toward the door. I called out to the clerk who by then was standing in the doorway. I told him to come inside. Bodden charged me. I ran from the store and past Neyland. I fired a shot behind me as I ran across the store’s parking lot with Bodden chasing me.        

The bullet struck Bodden under the left armpit, traveled across his chest cavity, and severed his aorta. He bled to death on the pavement in front of the door.

I was arrested several days later and indicted for capital murder. For a murder to qualify for death penalty in Louisiana in 1965, it had to be committed with either a “specific intent to kill” or committed during the commission or attempted commission of a felony, such as robbery. The latter was known as “felony murder.” A jury hearing a capital case had five possible verdicts to choose from: “guilty as charged” resulting in a mandatory death sentence; “guilty without capital punishment” resulting in a mandatory life sentence; “manslaughter” resulting in a sentence between one to 21 years; “negligent homicide” resulting in a sentence between one and 10 years; or “not guilty.”
 
East Baton Rouge District Attorney Sargent Pitcher announced shortly after my arrest that his office would seek the death penalty against me. In June of 1966 I was found guilty as charged. Nine months later I was formally sentenced to death in Louisiana’s electric chair.

Let me state unequivocally at the outset that I was responsible for the shooting death of J.C. Bodden. There is no denying that. I walked into that store with a criminal intent to commit an armed robbery. The consequences flowing from that criminal act were my doing. The State of Louisiana had a legal obligation to hold me accountable for that criminal act.
         
But the fundamental question in 1966, as it is in many murder cases today, was whether the factual circumstances surrounding the shooting death of J.C. Bodden warranted the death penalty. Or, whether the social status of Bodden improperly influence the District Attorney’s decision to seek the death penalty, and, more importantly, caused his office to engage in prosecutorial misconduct necessary to secure that penalty?

There was ample evidence that the shooting death of J.C. Bodden did not qualify as a “death penalty case.” The death penalty was obtained because Assistant District Attorney Ralph Roy engaged in flagrant prosecutorial misconduct to secure it.
         
Bodden played football with the famous Istrouma High School Indians in the early 1950s during the team’s historic championship era. Istrouma was located in a segregated enclave in North Baton Rouge known as “Little Dixie.” The popularity of the football team superseded that of the LSU Tigers.
         
“Billy Sinclair could have killed the mayor of Baton Rouge, “ John Green, a local Baptist minister, said in 1989, “and that crime would not have compared to the killing of a local Baton Rouge football player. This was a crime against football. That is the worst crime a person can commit in Baton Rouge.”
         
“Billy Sinclair’s crime was that he killed a man with a million friends,” echoed Don Hooks in a February 1999 interview with Baton Rouge radio personality Jim Inkster.
         
One of Bodden’s million friends was Billy Cannon, the most revered and heralded football player in Baton Rouge history. The former Heisman Trophy winner played on the same Istrouma team with Bodden. By 1965 Cannon had established a distinguished professional football career with the Houston Oilers and the Oakland Raiders. He was a cultural and football icon in Baton Rouge. He still enjoys that status today despite a 1983 federal conviction for operating the nation’s seventh largest counterfeiting ring.
         
“Your problem is Billy Cannon,” Louisiana State Police Detective Joe Whitmore told me in 1994. “It’s always been Billy Cannon.”
         
The Baton Rouge Morning Advocate expressed Cannon’s power a different way. In an early 1980s article the newspaper said that the road to political office in the city ran through Cannon’s dental office.
         
Cannon’s social and political power in 1965 was unimpeachable. His name epitomized political influence. He conceded in 1994 to my wife, Jodie, that his name had probably been invoked by Bodden’s football friends to bring about political pressure it my case. It was that kind of political pressure that forced Sargent Pitcher to seek the death penalty against me.
         
J. St. Clair Favrot was one of the attorneys appointed by the court to defend me. He had been district attorney in Baton Rouge for sixteen years before returning to private practice. He had been elected president of the national and state District Attorneys Association during his tenure as Baton Rouge D.A.. He understood the city and its close-knit political power structure. Three other attorneys appointed to represent me before Favrot had been forced off the case for one reason or another.
         
“Why did Billy Wayne come to Baton Rouge?” Favrot asked my mother in 1966. “Of all places, why Baton Rouge? This is a Mafia-run town.”
         
I was a 20-year-old petty hoodlum sitting in the parish jail. I didn’t have the slightest idea of what I was up against. I had been charged with murder, a serious crime to say the least. I didn’t know that crime reached into the core of the city’s power structure. Many people associated with the Istrouma football glory years had by 1965 elevated to positions of political prominence in Baton Rouge. One was former Istrouma coach Clyde Lindsey who had become Baton Rouge’s superintendent of education. Bodden’s wife, Sadie, was a revered high school teacher who was close friends with Superintendent Lindsey.
         
“Sadie wore black for ten years after J.C.’s death,” Baton Rouge television reporter Bob Courtney recalled in the early 1980s, “That symbolic gesture had a profound impact against Billy Wayne Sinclair. I know. I was one of Sadie’s students. I hated Billy Wayne Sinclair for what he did to her.”
         
As the years passed, I began to gather information about how entrenched the political opposition to my case was in Baton Rouge. The tentacles of the Istrouma connection spread across the city’s political structure. Perhaps its most influential member was State Rep. Donald Ray Kennard, a furniture store owner elected to the Louisiana Legislature in 1976. He represented the district where much of the opposition lived. Kennard and his wife, Ramona, were eyewitnesses to the Bodden shooting. They pulled into the parking lot of the store that night just as I bolted out of the store with Bodden chasing me swinging a broom above his head. They saw me fire the fatal shot as I fled across the parking lot.
         
The eyewitness accounts of the Kennards were supported by two other witnesses: Jones and Neyland. These two witnesses said Bodden rushed me inside the store and I fled outside with Bodden chasing me. Like the Kennards, they said the fatal shot was fired outside the store. These mitigating statements were suppressed by the Ralph Roy. I learned of these statements in 1980 when I secured a copy of a 1965 Offense Report prepared by the East Baton Rouge Parish Sheriff’s Department. These four witnesses remained silent about what they saw that December night as I was tried, convicted, and sentenced to death. It is safe to assume that they would have let me go to the electric chair before stepping forward to clear the public record.
         
“I think Billy Wayne is rehabilitated,” Kennard, along with his wife, told New York Times reporter Ellen Schoen in 1981. “I think he should be free but I could never say that publicly. Those people live down the street from me.”
         
The Istrouma network indeed had enough political power to intimidate a state legislator. They exerted that power in my case from the moment I was placed in the Baton Rouge parish jail on December 18, 1965. A series of court–appointed attorneys conveyed this to me. The pressure was so intense that four of the five attorneys, including Favrot, appointed to represent me withdrew from the case.
         
The first attorney to withdraw was Ossie Brown who would later become district attorney in the Baton Rouge in 1972. The second was Robert “Buck” Kleinpeter, a personal friend and attorney to Billy Cannon in his counterfeiting case. The third was Kenneth Scullin who had been appointed to assist Kleinpeter. He bailed out shortly after Kleinpeter threw in the towel. Favrot was removed from the case on the day of my trial started so he could attend the funeral of his mother-in-law. I was forced to trial with Favrot’s co-counsel, Harris M. English, who didn’t even have access to Favrot’s files on the case.
         
“I can’t take this case,” Brown told me the day following his appointment. “I just got off the phone with J.C.’s daddy and he told me that if I ever wanted to hold political office in this city I better not take your case.”
         
It would prove to be the only honest thing Brown ever said about my case.      

But the “Billy Wayne Sinclair case” was perfectly suited for Ralph Roy. He understood the power of the Istrouma network. A graduate of LSU law school, Roy had by 1966 established a reputation as a ruthless and unscrupulous prosecutor. His consistent prosecutorial misconduct would ultimately draw the judicial ire of the Louisiana Supreme Court. He was reversed by the state’s high court on several occasions for misconduct. One justice even suggested that he be investigated by the state bar association for his unethical prosecution tactics.

Roy was so committed to the death penalty in my case that he suppressed the mitigating accounts of the Kennards, Jones and Neyland and knowingly used the perjured testimony of a fifth witness.
         
Roy hinged his death penalty efforts on showing the jury that Bodden was killed inside the store during a robbery attempt – not outside as he chased me. To establish a “felony-murder” theory, the prosecutor had to show Bodden was killed inside the store. Ossie Brown warned me about Roy’s intention during our only attorney/client conference shortly after my arrest.
         
“This was not a felony murder,” Brown said, marking the first time I had ever heard the term “felony-murder”. “J.C. was shot outside the store. The robbery attempt was over. Those two facts are fatal to the felony-murder theory Ralph Roy will try to prove.”
         
The statements the Kennards, Jones, and Neyland gave to the police were devastating to the felony-murder theory.
           
Favrot impressed upon me shortly after his March 1966 appointment that Roy would seek the death penalty. I told Favrot what Ossie Brown had told me about felony murder.
         
“Ralph Roy has two eyewitnesses who will put you inside that store,” Favrot responded. “Not only that, they will say you gunned Bodden down in cold blood and casually walked away to your getaway car. I’ve already learned this much about the state’s case.”
         
“That’s a lie,” I replied. “The man charged me and I ran from the store. I fired at him as I ran across that parking lot. I didn’t even know he had been hit. There were other witnesses who were there. They saw what happened.”
         
Favrot stared at me a long time.

“You really don’t understand what you’ve gotten yourself into, do you?” he asked. “I know you’re telling the truth, but the truth went out the window the moment you killed J.C. Bodden. I’ve been able to get a little information about this case from my sources in the DA’s office but they’re not letting me on the inside in this one. This is the first case I’ve defended that I couldn’t get on the inside. Pitcher’s office has shut me out. Ralph’s going to get the death penalty against you unless someone drops a miracle in our lap. I don’t even know if a miracle can save you from the people who want to put you in that chair up there at Angola.”
         
I didn’t know who those “people” were.  I just knew that pressure from a hidden source was being applied to put me in the electric chair. It suddenly made sense why three prominent defense attorneys had walked away from the case. They were afraid of the Istrouma network.
         
“I’m going to do what I can to keep you out of that electric chair,” Favrot said, “but you had better learn how to pray, son.”
         
I just sat there. I knew I was in serious trouble. It was more than murder. There was something sinister I couldn’t see but I knew it was there, lurking on the dark side of the case.
II

My trial was set to start on June 6, 1966. On the morning of trial Favrot got the case removed from state to federal court on the ground that women had been systematically excluded from grand and petit jury duty. Ralph Roy was incensed.
         
“Your Honor, I’m outraged that Mr. Favrot would come into this courtroom at this late date and pull this kind of stunt.” Roy told the court.
         
Favrot rose to his feet.
         
“Your Honor, I didn’t ask for this appointment,” he said. “It was forced on me. I don’t like being here, but as long as I am on the case I will do everything in my power to protect the rights of this man to a fair trial.”
         
The case was removed to a nearby federal court. During that federal hearing, Favrot learned that his mother-in-law had died in North Louisiana. The federal judge agreed with Roy’s argument that the case should be sent back to state court. Trial in state court was set to commence the following morning. Favrot filed a motion for a continuance.
         
“I have spoken to Judge [Fred] LeBlanc,” Favrot told me shortly after the federal hearing. “He assured me he would grant a continuance. I have to go to be with my wife during her bereavement. I will leave Baton Rouge shortly to attend to the funeral arrangements for my mother-in-law. We’ll try the case when I return at the end of the week.”
         
English had been appointed to assist Favrot in the case. He had acted as co-counsel, subservient to Favrot’s lead counsel position. Favrot informed English that Judge LeBlanc would grant the continuance. English fully expected the case to be continued the following morning. But once the court proceedings got underway it obvious LeBlanc had no intention to delaying the trial. Mr. English was stunned.
         
“Your Honor,” he told the court. “Mr. Favrot was appointed as the attorney in this case. He has been acting in that capacity, filing the motions and getting a defense ready. He had a death in his family. He advised Your Honor of this. He informed the court that he was leaving the city. But before he left he joined me in a motion for a continuance on the ground that I am unprepared to proceed with the trial under any circumstances. The motion seeks a continuance for that reason.”
         
English paused as though trying to measure LeBlanc’s reaction.
         
“Now, Your Honor, at my age, and in light of the service I have given this Honorable Court,” he continued, “I don’t think I should be forced to go through this trial alone under any circumstances. This is a capital case, and I appeal to Your Honor that it would be an imposition. We have absolute grounds. Continuances have been granted by this court on much less than what you have here. I recall just a week or so ago I had a case continued because there was a death of some relative of the attorney. That case was continued and nothing was said about it.”
         
“That attorney was the only defense counsel involved in the case, was he not?” Judge LeBlanc asked.
         
English stuttered. His speech impediment became more pronounced when he was nervous.

“I don’t know whether he was or not,” the 74-year-old English replied.
         
“Yes, he was,” the judge said.
         
“Regardless, the case was continued on a motion, I think, by the District Attorney,” English pressed on. ”Mr. Roy so advised me. He said he was moving for a continuance in the case.”
         
Judge LeBlanc was not impressed with the analogy.
         
“The State agreed to that continuance,” the judge said. “What is the attitude of the State in this case?”
         
LeBlanc and Roy were on the same page.
         
“Well, Your Honor,” Roy said as he rose to take the stage. “I haven’t seen whatever he’s filing, but our attitude here is this: as Your Honor knows the State is entitled to a speedy trial, just like the defendant. You had two attorneys appointed in this case. One has publicly declared he will not go to trial this week. He joined Mr. English in this motion but left town before he could be cross-examined. I think it’s a terrible indictment for Mr. English to stand before this Honorable Court on the day of trial and say he is not prepared for trial. He was appointed months ago.”
         
“Three months, in fact,” Judge LeBlanc joined in.
         
A large contingent of the Istrouma network was present in the courtroom.
         
“And he’s been active in this case,” Roy continued, flushed with satisfaction. “I submit he has not presented any legitimate grounds for a continuance. He is a competent attorney with all the qualifications required by law. This trial should proceed. I would remind the court that, as an attorney, Mr. English has an obligation to this court. He should be willing to accept that obligation as a privilege attached to his license to practice law.”
         
English’s hands trembled. He was in the initial stage of Parkinson’s disease. Dressed in a tattered and baggy suit, he was not professionally equipped to assume the obligation as the lead counsel in a case where a criminal defendant’s life was at stake.
         
“I don’t understand Mr. Roy taking such a demanding and unreasonable attitude,” English said. “I would also like to mention for the record, Your Honor, that this case has been continued at least three times before, not by any defense motion. It was continued at the convenience of the District Attorney. So I don’t know why there be such a rush now.”
         
English was out of the loop. Favrot had not educated him about the Istrouma network. English was primarily a divorce/civil attorney. He was not a seasoned veteran like Favrot who understood the city’s rough politics. “In regards to that, Mr. English,” Judge LeBlanc said, “Mr. Favrot informed me, as well as the District Attorney, that he was going to have certain witnesses subpoenaed from California to testify at a pretrial hearing. We could not bring the case to trial until those preliminary matters were resolved. Sufficient time had to be afforded to get the witnesses here from out of state. Judge Favrot understood that. Those witnesses were finally brought here, and you and Judge Favrot were appointed to defend this accused on March 10, 1966. The accused was arrested in December of last year. He’s been in jail ever since. He was indicted on January 3, 1966, and since that time he has not been eligible for bond. As Mr. Roy points out, both the constitution and the law grant the accused the right to a speedy trial. That right is also granted to the State. As you know we are approaching the summer recess of the court. The court will shut down at the end of this month until September.”
         
“We can’t control that, Your Honor,” English sullenly interjected with the tone of a petulant child.
         
“No, you can’t control that,” the judge testily replied, “but you’ve had three months to get ready for trial. You just informed me that you are not ready. I’m at a loss to understand that because you did not have a right to assume that whatever preliminary motions were filed in this case would be sustained. You must proceed on the premise that your motions will be denied. You have a duty to the court to be ready for trial. This court had a duty to appoint a qualified attorney to represent the defendant. I gave the defendant more than he was entitled under the law. I appointed two lawyers - both experienced, qualified, competent attorneys. I did that in the event something happened to one of the attorneys. I wanted to have a second attorney prepared and ready to defend him. That is the situation today. The defendant is represented by counsel who is well able to defend him. If you are not ready for trial, you should be because you’ve had ample time to get prepared for trial. Now before I decide this matter, do you have anything else to say?”
         
English was not deterred by LeBlanc’s chastisement. He had plenty more to say. The case had been unfairly dumped in his lap. He wanted the record to reflect his displeasure about it.
         
“When two attorneys are appointed to a case, it is only natural and logical that one will assume the role as lead counsel. That is what happened here. All the pretrial motions were prepared and filed by Mr. Favrot. He formulated whatever defense strategy he planned for this case. I’m not familiar with that strategy. Our offices are not together. We are not partners. In fact, I do not have a partner as Your Honor knows, nor does Mr. Favrot. I assisted Mr. Favrot in ways like he directed, filing motions or making calls to the clerk, or what have you. Mr. Favrot did not share his defense strategy with me.”

English paused before abruptly turning to his brief case. He retrieved some papers from it.

“If Your Honor will recall,” English resumed. “At least two other attorneys were appointed to this case. They both were relieved of their appointment for different reasons. Now, under the advice of one of those attorneys, the defendant entered a plea of insanity. He has been examined by doctors and, I assume, medical reports prepared. But there has been no sanity hearing conducted as required by law. Mr. Roy told me some time ago in passing that we had to have a sanity hearing. Well, I’ve heard nothing else from him. Now, under the criminal code, we are entitled to a hearing so that the doctors can testify about this man’s capacity to stand trial.
         
“Wasn’t that insanity plea in reference to his mental capacity at the time of the crime?” LeBlanc asked.
         
“Yes, Your Honor, but it involved present insanity as well,” English replied. “The defendant was examined by two doctors, I believe. This was all done before Your Honor was assigned to the case. It’s been hard to keep up with all the lawyers and judges assigned to this case who have been removed.”
         
Kleinpeter entered the insanity plea before he withdrew from the case. It was an accepted defense strategy in a capital case: plead the defendant insane at the time of the crime, try to secure a commitment to the state’s forensic hospital, and hope for a plea bargain to a reduced charge at some later date. Ossie Brown told me it was my only defense. Favrot felt the same way.
         
“As I understand it” LeBlanc said, “Mr. Favrot sought and got an order for the accused to be examined by two experts of his choosing. He was incarcerated in jail and Mr. Favrot wanted him to be examined at the doctors’ offices. He got the court’s permission to do that, but that is not a sanity hearing. As I recall it, there was no order signed for the appointment of a lunacy commission to examine the accused as to his present sanity, and, therefore, there was no need for a hearing. The court simply appointed two experts to examine the accused to determine his sanity at the time of the crime. That is a defense that must be brought out during the trial. It is not a preliminary matter. That is something for the jury to decide, not the court.”
         
The Istrouma network, including the Bodden family, attended every pretrial court appearance I made. They packed the first row of seats in the courtroom. They were vocal in their hostility, uttering curses and taunts at me. They were disdainful when the court issued a ruling they did not like. They were outraged when Judge Jess Johnson appointed Brown and Kleinpeter to defend me. Kleinpeter had never lost a capital case. And when Judge Johnson issued the order that I was to be examined by two independent medical experts, members of the Istrouma stormed out of the courtroom uttering threatening comments. My case was abruptly removed from Judge Johnson’s section and placed in Judge LeBlanc’s section, a judge more receptive to the demands of the Istrouma network.
         
English had not participated with Favrot in developing the insanity defense. That became evident during his exchanges with LeBlanc.
         
“We certainly have a right to the reports prepared by these doctors,” he told the court. “I have never seen those reports.”
         
English’s lack of legal knowledge was embarrassing.
         
“The appointment of the doctors came at the request of defense counsel,” Judge LeBlanc scolded. “The defense did not seek the appointment of a lunacy commission to determine present capacity. So the law does not require that the defense experts report to the court. They were employed by the defense to examine the accused. That’s a conventional agreement between defense counsel and the doctors which is no concern to this court. I have no control over your defense.”
         
“They were appointed by the court,” English persisted, oblivious to the professional embarrassment he was creating.
         
“The reason they were appointed was because the accused was in jail,” LeBlanc continued to explain. “As I understand it, the doctors did not want to examine the accused in jail. To accommodate the doctors, Judge Johnson directed the sheriff to transport the accused to their offices where he could be examined. That was not a lunacy commission examination requiring the court to conduct a hearing. Any evidence you may obtain from the examination by those doctors can be introduced during the trial. It is not something this court can deal with before trial.”
         
English was confused.
         
“In other words, there’s no possibility we can use these doctors?” he asked.
         
“Not at this time,” LeBlanc informed him. “Not before the trial begins.”
         
“But, Your Honor, I had nothing to do with those arrangements,” English stammered. “That was all handled by Mr. Favrot.”

English seemed lost in his own argument.

Judge LeBlanc was not sympathetic. Short of English dropping dead in the courtroom, he was not about to delay the trial.

“Well, you have my decision,” the judge said. “I am satisfied you can get those reports.”

Like a stray dog, English refused to turn loose the bone.

“Well, only one examination took place, and I insist on the second examination.”

“Today is the day of trial,” LeBlanc instructed. “In fact, yesterday was the day of trial. I have no control over what your defense did not do.”

“The court ordered two examinations and I think that order should be respected,” English replied.

The second examination did not take place because Favrot had become convinced there was no basis for the insanity defense. The first examination had determined I was legally sane at the time of the crime. But English was desperate for a continuance. He was on the verge of having to defend a highly controversial capital case for which he had no defense.

“Well, I ask for a continuance until the other examination can take place,” he said.

Roy had bided his time. English did not pose a threat to his death penalty strategy. Strumming a pencil on a legal pad, he had sat quietly while English floundered.

“Your Honor, I was there when Judge Johnson signed that order,” the prosecutor said, not rising from his chair. “It specifically stated those examinations would be made before the date of trial.”

“Well, I would like to see the order,” LeBlanc said.

“The order just authorized the sheriff to take the accused to the doctor’s office,” Roy continued.

“That was my understanding,” LeBlanc said. “But since I didn’t sign the order, we can clarify this matter by getting the order and putting it in the record.”

The court recessed a couple of minutes. English was frustrated and angry. Several members of the Istrouma network stopped as they filed out of the courtroom behind us. I had never seen such hatred, such hostility. They wanted me dead at that moment in that precise spot. They cursed before barging past other spectators to leave the courtroom.

“I don’t like any of this,” English told me. “Favrot told me a continuance had been arranged. He should not have left like he did. He could have stayed and presented this motion. One more night would not have made that much difference. I am being made the scapegoat here – all those people sitting back there want to string me up with you. I have to work in this town.”

They were indeed an intimidating group. Dressed in mourning black, Sadie sat with her parents. They were a striking trio. Her father was a Freemason. That was all I needed – a conspiracy-worshipping secret society trying to kill me. George Breard, one of Sadie’s cousins, told me years later in a state prison that Sadie’s parents, Mr. & Mrs. Ferguson, “were vengeful, spiteful, un-Christian people.”

That knowledge introduced me to two ironies. My mother married a Ferguson who, like Sadie’s parents, also migrated from Mississippi to Louisiana. And it was my family, the Sinclairs of Scotland, who established the Freemasons. William Sinclair wanted to protect the infamous Knights Templar from either religious persecution or criminal prosecution – depending upon your historical point of view - from the Catholic Church.

I always believed there was a hidden, sinister power working behind the scenes in my case. I will never know exactly how much political pressure Cannon and Kennard brought to bear behind the scenes. But there was an immense, secret power. Anyone who came in contact with the case developed a fear of what was known to me only as “the opposition,” or “those people,” or “the Billy Cannon crowd.”

I saw the fear in English that day in the courtroom. I would see it again and again for years in the eyes of others who came to support my case.

 

III

The Istrouma network and other spectators began to slowly file back into the courtroom. I don’t know who the other spectators were. Most appeared to be attorneys; some were young law students I was told later. They all had one thing in common – an inordinate interest in the “Billy Wayne Sinclair case.” I had become an object of public interest and curiosity.

English was clearly relieved when LeBlanc entered the courtroom from an adjacent chamber. The judge was a silver-haired man, probably between 65 and 70 years of age. He had a reputation as a tough, mean judge. He believed in sending those who got on the wrong side of the law to the state penitentiary.

“Hear ye, hear ye, all rise,” the bailiff said before the judge sat down. “The court of the Honorable Fred S. LeBlanc, in and for the Parish of East Baton Rouge, is now session.”

“Be seated, please,” LeBlanc said as he sat down.

“Mr. English,” LeBlanc spoke, confidently, “the clerk found this motion and order which was filed by you and Mr. Favrot on May 20, 1966, in which you state that as attorneys for the defendant you have arranged to have the defendant examined by Doctor Curtis A. Steele and Doctor Allen M. Johnstone to determine sanity or insanity of the accused at the time of the commission of the crime. The order states the physicians are of the opinion they can perform their duties more efficiently in their private offices rather than in the East Baton Rouge Parish Jail. The order commanded Sheriff Bryan Clemmons to transport the accused to the offices of Dr. Johnstone and Dr. Steele so that they could examine him. The examinations were to take place no later than June 3, 1966.

”So, as I stated earlier, this motion has to do with his alleged insanity at the time of the commission of the crime. That is not a preliminary matter on which a hearing is required by law. It is something that would come up during the course of the trial if you saw fit to introduce evidence on that issue; and if this defendant was not examined more than once by those two experts it was the fault of defense counsel and not of the court. So if you don’t have the report of the first examination and if you didn’t have a second examination made, that is a dereliction on the part of defense counsel, and it presents nothing for this court to consider at this time.”

English had reached the end of the road on the insanity issue. Frustration ate away at his professional composure.

“That issue was handled by my co-counsel,” he said. “I had nothing to do with these arrangements ---“

“You mean he didn’t handle it?” the judge asked.

“Well, he got one examination made,” English replied, “but I do not have any report prepared in connection with that examination.”

“Well that is not the court’s fault.”

Panic seemed to rise up in English like a sour bile.

“But the whole thing is I am not prepared to give this man an adequate defense,” he said. “He is certainly entitled to that under the constitution.”

LeBlanc was not impressed with the constitution.

“He’s entitled to have the court appoint a competent lawyer,” LeBlanc said.
“The court appointed two lawyers. One of them, because of a death in his family, was relieved of his appointment.”

Both English and I had been told by Favrot that LeBlanc would grant the motion for a continuance. Favrot apparently lied to us.

“Well then I ask to be relieved of mine,” English said, almost petulantly.

“Well, the court will not relieve you, Mr. English.”

During this exchange between LeBlanc and English, I managed to tell English to inform the court that I did not wish to proceed any further with him as my attorney.

“If it please the court, I move to withdraw for the further reason,” he told the court. “The defendant had just advised me that he does not want to go to trial with me since I have told him, as I have told the court, that I am not prepared to give him an adequate defense. He told me he doesn’t wish to go to trial.”

The comment did not sit well with LeBlanc.

“Well he doesn’t control the trial, Mr. English. The case has been set for trial. You and your co-counsel had three months to get ready. You now tell me very frankly - although I am a little bit amazed by it - that you are not ready to go to trial. I don’t understand that.”

The prevailing jurisprudence by the Louisiana Supreme Court in 1966 was that a criminal defendant was made to suffer because of his attorney’s lack of preparedness. It would be another twenty-five years before the state’s highest court overturned that case law. Today a criminal defendant cannot be made to suffer because of his attorney’s lack of preparedness. If an attorney states on the record that he is not prepared for trial, the trial judge must grant the defendant a continuance.

“I expect the court,” English continued, “I expect consideration. I am telling this court, under oath, that I am not prepared. I wouldn’t come here and tell this court that I am not prepared –“

Ralph Roy cursed under his breath.

“I am not saying you are not telling me that,” LeBlanc interrupted, “but I am saying you’ve had ample time to get prepared and it was your duty under the law to be ready for trial.”

“Well, I do have some other things to do,” English continued to explain the reasons for his lack of preparedness.  “My co-counsel was handling the defense of this matter, and I was attending to other matters. I feel, Your Honor, that if trial of this case is so urgent, the court should not have relieved Mr. Favrot of his appointment. He should have been forced to stay here.”

“The reason I relieved him was because I have no assurance of when he can be here. He told me very frankly in your presence –“

“I can’t help that,” English said, taking his turn at interruption.

A voice in the background told English to “shut up.”

“ – that due to a death in the family, and a serious illness of his wife, he expected to be in North Louisiana over the weekend. So I have no assurance of when he will get back here. I am complying with the law. We have one competent attorney to defend the accused so we are ready to go to trial.”

“Well counsel is not ready.”

“Let me ask you, is this all you have to offer on your motion for continuance?

“I have this written motion here.”

“All right.”

“I have offered to file –“

“You may offer that.”

“And I want to file that.”

“All right.”

“Has Your Honor ruled? I didn’t get Your Honor’s ruling.”

“I have so far ruled that J. St. Clair Favrot is relieved of his appointment in this case. I have not passed on the continuance yet. I am asking you if you have anything else to offer on the continuance.”

The motion for a continuance had been prepared by Favrot shortly before he left town. The motion was stark evidence that Favrot’s only interest was to be relieved his appointment. The motion presented only reasons why he should be relieved of his appointment, not for a continuance.

“Well, I object to the ruling relieving Mr. Favrot of his appointment,” English said. “I certainly want to object to that. I didn’t know the court planned to do that. That comes as a surprise.”

“Well the motion specifically requested that the court to relieve him of his appointment,” LeBlanc explained “It does not offer any basis for a continuance. That’s why I relieved Mr. Favrot of his appointment. I think he made a sufficient showing to be relieved.”                                      

While Favrot styled the motion as a “motion for a continuance,” he was clearly requesting to be relieved of his appointment. He was not concerned about me or English. He had always nurtured an intense displeasure that Brown and Kleinpeter had been allowed to walk away from the case while the court forced the appointment on him. He was a District Attorney at heart. His true nature lay with the prosecution, not the defense. The death of his mother-in-law proved to be a convenient way to get out of the appointment. He left, leaving English holding the bag. But English was not ready to placidly accept the deception once it became clear to him.

“Well, he advised me when he would be back in Baton Rouge,” he informed the court. “He advised me – and I now feel at liberty to so advise the court - that he would be back in the city before the end of the week.”

English was aware that Judge LeBlanc had already put in the record that Favrot told him he expected to be gone through the coming weekend.

“It’s all contingent upon the health and well being of members of his family,” LeBlanc said, flushed that English was forcing him to clarify the record. “He is the only male of the family. I have no specific assurance of when he will return to Baton Rouge. This thing could go on for months without Mr. Favrot being in a position to return to Baton Rouge and defend this. I think he made a sufficient showing in his conversations with me in chambers and in his affidavit in support of the motion to be relieved of his appointment. I cannot, however, in good conscience relieve you of your appointment because you are competent to defend the defendant. You were appointed three months ago, and if you are not ready you should have been ready because that was the purpose of appointing you, to be ready to defend him on the date that the case was set for trial.

“So all I want to know now is do you have anything further to offer on your motion for a continuance.”

English was determined to get as much evidence in the record as possible. He wanted the record to show that not only was he not prepared but that the entire proceedings were flawed with unfairness.

“Yes, I certainly do, Your Honor,” he said. “For further reason I asked to be relieved of this appointment because I am under a doctor’s care myself, and if I could be allowed time, I can get a doctor’s certificate to that effect. I never thought that would become necessary, but I can get a doctor’s certificate. I certainly don’t propose under the circumstances to undertake this trial that could last for days and be quite an ordeal because I think it would be injurious to my health.”

The health issue had worked for Favrot so English decided to play the same card.

“Well you didn’t say anything to me about this before,” LeBlanc responded.” I had no information whatever ---“

“I am saying it now.”

Judge LeBlanc knew exactly what English was doing. He quickly reacted to minimize any damage it would have on appeal.

“If you become critically ill during the course of the trial I will declare a mistrial,” he said. “I have sat up here with the flu myself in a jury case, so sick I could hardly hold up my hand, but I stuck it out because I knew if I quit I  would have to declare a mistrial. I am not bragging, but we all have our illnesses and so forth. I see you around the court practically every day. I will tell you now if you become seriously ill during the course of the trial I will, of necessity, declare a mistrial, but I don’t foresee that at all.”

Judge LeBlanc knew English would not fake an illness during the trial. He had simply played the health issue for the record.

“I trust I won’t have to fall out or something,” English muttered.

The Istrouma network burst into derisive laughter.

Judge LeBlanc was losing his patience.

“Is there anything else you want to tell me, Mr. English?”              

“I have explained the situation as thoroughly as I can.”

“Well, if you think your explanation is adequate submit the matter and I will rule on it.”

English had stretched the rope as far as he could.

“I rely on the motion then.”

Roy had lurked in the background, waiting for the right moment to pounce on unsuspecting prey.

“Judge, may I be heard before you pass on it?” he asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“I would like the record to show that J. St. Clair favor was not in court when this motion was heard.”

“I believe counsel will stipulate. Will you not stipulate?”

“Yes,” English responded. “He signed the motion and now he is gone. I don’t know what effect that would have. He joined me in the motion.”

“I just want the record to show that he was not in court when the motion was filed and argued,” Roy said.

“Will you stipulate that Mr. Favrot was not in court when this motion for continuance was taken up this afternoon?” LeBlanc asked English.

English was prepared to stipulate, but Roy’s demeanor stirred his paranoia.

“What is your purpose, Mr. Roy?” he asked.

“Because I can’t look him in the eye and cross-examine him, that’s the purpose.”

“Will you stipulate to that?” LeBlanc pressed.

“Well, that is a fact,” English replied.

“It is a fact,” the judge said. “I will agree with you, so will you stipulate?”

“Yes, and I so advise the court that he is not going to be here.”

“Yes, sir, we know about that,” the court added, trying to shut off any more argument. “He is not here today, and all counsel wanted you to do was to stipulate that he was not here.”

“I am willing to stipulate that he is not here.”

“When you filed the motion and when the motion was heard,” the judge added.

“Yes, and I think I will go far enough to say he is probably out of town, out of the jurisdiction of this court.”

“Is there anything you want to say, Mr. Roy?” Judge LeBlanc asked.

“No, sir.”

“Well under the law,” LeBlanc ruled, “a motion for continuance shall be tried summarily and contradictorily with the opposing party. The evidence shows to the satisfaction of the court that the defendant is not entitled to a continuance.”

“To which ruling counsel for the defendant objects and files a bill,” English responded. “Counsel further urges his motion to withdraw from the case.”

“Yes, sir,” LeBlanc said. “Well I will overrule your motion for the second time, Mr. English.

I had tried throughout the proceedings to address the court. I really didn’t know what I would have said. All I knew was that I was on a fast train to the death house, and the tracks led straight to it.

“I object to that as well,” English said.

He paused for effect.

“And the defendant would like to address the court,” he said casually.

Judge LeBlanc looked as though he had been struck with a board of insolence.

“Sir?”

English was relishing the moment.

“The defendant says he would like to address the court,” he repeated.

“No,” LeBlanc said sternly, recovering from his shock. “He has to address the court through counsel. He can tell you what he wants to tell me, and you can tell me.”

There was a brief off-the-record conversation between me and English about what he should convey from me to the judge.

“He wants to advise Your Honor that his life is at stake, and since I am not prepared to give him an adequate defense, he doesn’t want to go to trial.”

LeBlanc never looked at me. He refused to acknowledge my existence, much less my humanity.

“Well, the charge is murder, and the court will take judicial notice of that fact. Do you want your witnesses called, either side?”

“Yes, sir, the State is ready,” Roy said.

“Do you want the defense witnesses called, Mr. English?”

“There are no defense witnesses subpoenaed. Mr. Favrot was supposed to that take care of that.”

“Well, the trial was set for yesterday.”

“I know, Your Honor ---“

“And you have to subpoena witnesses before the trial date in order to get them here.”

“Well, Mr. Favrot was supposed to take care of that,” English said calmly, and sat down.            
IV

Ralph Roy gloated. He could not conceal the satisfaction he felt over the way things were going before Judge LeBlanc. The voir dire examination went smoothly until prospective juror Roby Bearden was examined by Roy.

“Mr. Bearden,” Roy routinely asked, “do you have conscientious scruples against the infliction of the death penalty?”

The same question had been asked of each prospective juror.

Bearden was a young chemist; intelligent, thoughtful and quite deliberate.

“I do not have any opposition to that penalty,” he responded. “However, in this case I do have a reservation against it. It is, I suppose, an opinion formed from the preceding hour of this trial.”

English was startled, although he quickly responded.

“I didn’t get the last words,” he said, “the preceding what?”

Bearden wanted to get his feelings in the record.

“The previous testimony,” he quickly said, ”from sitting here in court for the past two days. It is hard for me to believe that asking for the death penalty in this case would not be exactly fair, I will put it that way.”

Roy instantly realized the potential problem.

“Well, where are you employed?” he asked.

“I am a chemist for Esso Research,” Bearden replied.

“Are you a native Baton Rougean?”  Roy asked.

That question was important. Only a Baton Rouge native, one with a historical perspective of the social importance of Istrouma football, could appreciate the magnitude of J.C. Bodden’s death.

“No, I am from Little Rock, Arkansas,” Bearden answered, automatically dooming any chance he had to be a juror in the case.

English tried to salvage the moment.

“I submit that he would be a fair juror,” he quickly informed the court. “Now he didn’t say he couldn’t return ---“

“Judge,” Roy complained, “I wish he would quit interrupting me.”

“I am talking to the court,” English responded sharply. “I am not talking to you.”

Roy was an arrogant man, consumed with his own sense of importance. Sarcasm came natural to him. He was a tall man. A thick crop of grey crew-cut hair, a hawk-like nose, and a ruddy, almost pocked-marked face perfectly suited his harsh prosecutorial demeanor.

“Well, I wish he would quit talking to the court while I am interrogating the jurors,” the prosecutor shot back.

“You can interpose an objection whenever you think it is necessary, Mr. English,” LeBlanc mediated, “but I wouldn’t interrupt his interrogation unless you are going to make an objection.”

“From what I understand at this time, sir,” Roy continued, “you are not impartial to the State of Louisiana?

“That’s correct,” Bearden responded, looking Roy directly in the eye.

The death penalty-seeking prosecutor had heard enough.

“I will submit him for cause,” he informed the court, moving back to the prosecutor’s table to sit down.

LeBlanc didn’t need any encouragement. He recognized the problem Bearden posed. The juror had to go. He was an obstacle to the death penalty.

“Well that being true,” he pronounced, “as I just read the law, a prospective juror has to state without reservation that he is impartial in the matter, and if you feel that you are not impartial it will be the proper thing for the judge to excuse you, which I now do. You are excused finally, and thank you, sir.”

LeBlanc and Roy would have liked for the matter to have ended there, but English was not about to oblige them.

“I want to object, Your Honor,” he said, “to excusing him for cause, because I never understood the venireman to say that he couldn’t return a verdict carrying the death penalty.”

There were moments when English completely disrupted and frustrated Roy’s presentation of the case. The Bearden episode was one of those moments.

“He did state, Mr. English,” LeBlanc said, “that he was impartial in this case, that he had formed an opinion from what he had gathered in the last several days, and he didn’t feel that he could bring in a verdict carrying the death penalty in this particular case. As a general proposition he was not opposed to capital punishment.”

LeBlanc paused, before directing his attention to Bearden.

“Isn’t that about what you said?”

“That is correct,” Bearden replied.

“And for that reason I have to excuse him,” LeBlanc continued, ”because the State has a right in all capital cases to have jurors committed in advance to rendering a death penalty verdict. This gentleman said that he could not do that in this case, and that’s why I am excusing him.”

“Well I evidently misunderstood him,” English conceded.

“Well, he has verified what I have just said. I just checked with him.” “He said he didn’t think it would be right,” English continued to press.

“Now he might hear the evidence and decide it would be right. That is the test.”

“Well, as I recall his testimony,” LeBlanc explained, “he said as a general proposition he was not opposed to capital punishment, but in this particular case he did not think it was right, which, of course, would mean that he was expressing an opinion that, as a juror, he could not do it in this case.”

Turning to Bearden, the judge asked: “Now isn’t that correct?”

“That is correct, Your Honor,” the young chemist replied. “I will be happy to explain my stand if necessary.”

Ralph Roy bolted out of his chair as though propelled by nuclear energy.

“Judge,” he said adamantly, “I don’t think he should be called upon to explain his stand. He has admitted to impartiality, and Your Honor has just read the law that says the reason for impartiality is immaterial. You just excused the juror for impartiality. I don’t think it’s fair to go into the reason.”

“I don’t think it’s necessary either,” LeBlanc agreed.

“It appears to me that he looked at the defendant and had sympathy for him, or something,” English interjected. “He said in this case –“

“That is not correct,” Bearden interrupted.

It is evident that Bearden did not want to be identified with the defense. While he had formed an opinion against the death penalty, he wanted everyone to understand his opinion was not based on sympathy for me.

“Well, Your Honor, I would like to have an explanation, just in fairness,” English said.

Judge LeBlanc was not about to let a detailed explanation by Bearden get into the record.

“You may state your position again,” he said. “You have stated you are partial in this case, and you stated that as a general proposition you have no aversion to capital punishment but in this case you don’t think it would be a proper sentence. Now is that correct?”

“That is correct,” Bearden replied.

“Now I don’t think he should be allowed to go into the reason why he has formed that opinion,” LeBlanc added.

The judge hesitated. He turned to Bearden and asked.

“As you feel now, even if you were accepted as a juror and you were convinced of his guilt beyond a reasonable doubt, you could not render a verdict of guilty as charged that you know would carry the death penalty?”

“That is correct,” Bearden said.

“The court excuses you.”

“Well, I will withdraw my objection,” English said.

It took only a couple more hours to seat an all-male, all-white jury willing to return a death penalty verdict. It was a jury perfectly suited to Ralph Roy’s demands. A total of 49 prospective jurors were examined. Eight of the twelve jurors chosen to decide the case stated they had read, heard about, or discussed the case with others; one of the jurors worked for the Ethyl Corporation where J.C. Bodden’s father worked; one of the jurors was a personal friend of District Attorney Sargent Pitcher; one juror was a personal friend with the warden of the parish jail; three of the jurors regularly shopped at the Pak-A-Sak store where Bodden was killed; one juror lived only eight blocks down the street from the store; two jurors lived in the same neighborhood where J.C. Bodden lived; and six of the jurors lived within a close range of the convenience store.

So Roy was confident when he rose to face this jury to convey the prosecution’s version of the crime in his Opening Statement:
“The State will show that on Sunday, December 5th, 1965, that at a little after 8:00 p.m., this accused, Billy Wayne Sinclair, while armed with a .22 caliber revolver, after having had Pak-A-Sak Store located at 7925 Greenwell Springs Road here in this parish, under surveillance, and with the intent of robbing the manager on duty at that time, namely J.C. Bodden, entered the store, pointed the weapon at Mr. Bodden and told him to open the cash register. Mr. Bodden answered that he did not have the key. During this time two customers walked into the store and the accused, at gun point, told these customers that they would be shot if they caused any trouble.
 
“After demanding that the cash register be opened again, the accused fired one shot, at which time Mr. Bodden again asked the intruder to leave the store. The accused again asked Mr. Bodden to open the cash register, and Mr. Bodden again begged him to leave, saying that he could not open the cash register. At this time the accused fired another shot. Mr. Bodden then told the accused that the employee who was working on the outside at the time had the only key to the cash register.
 
“At this time the accused called through a sliding door to the employee outside to come inside. At that time Mr. Bodden started walking toward the door and remarked that the accused was shooting paper bullets or paper wads. As Mr. Bodden walked toward the accused, the accused again shot two more times. Mr. Bodden fell mortally wounded and died immediately. He had been shot in the thigh and in the chest, the bullet entry into the chest having severed the arch of the aorta causing immediate death. The accused then calmly walked to his automobile.”

It was indeed a cold blooded murder theme. According to Roy, I walked into the store, demanded money, fired at least four shots inside the store - one of which struck Bodden in the chest and another in the thigh - and calmly walked to a getaway car.

That is not what happened. But the truth was of no concern to Roy. He had singular prosecutorial objective: the death penalty. He unethically suppressed mitigating evidence and used perjured testimony to achieve that objective. He used three primary witnesses in this prosecutorial effort: Grundy and Katherine Sampite, and Larry K. Sullivan.

The Sampites testified first. An elderly couple, they testified that they pulled up in front of the convenience store on December 5. Grundy went inside to pick up a newspaper while Katherine remained in the car. The elder Sampite was one of the “two customers” referred to by Roy during his Opening Statement. Sampite’s testimony placed me inside the store, but he said he heard only two shots fired inside the store. Then Roy elicited the following testimony from him about what I did after the robbery attempt.

“And about this defendant, what was he doing?”

“He walked around casually, and got into his car, backed around.”

“He didn’t run?”

“No, sir.”

“Just walked?”

“Just walked.”

Katherine Sampite gave testimony essentially the same as her husband. She said I walked out of the store with Bodden following me.

“And what this did fellow do, Sinclair?”

“He walked off and got in his car and took off.”

English briefly questioned Mrs. Sampite about whether I ran to my getaway car.

“Did you see anyone run and get in a car with this license number?” English asked.

“No, he didn’t run, he took his time.”

“You mean he just walked away?”

“That’s right.”

Roy needed to create the “cool and calm” killer theory. He stressed this theory to the jury in his closing argument:

“Then he gets in the car, he walks slowly away, he is very cool and calm. He is experienced and anti social like the doctor said. He believes in getting things for himself. When you believe that way, you want something for nothing. You are selfish, even the doctor will admit that. The natural consequence is you will hurt somebody else to get what you want.”

English evidenced his total unpreparedness during his cross-examination of the Sampites. Roy stated in his opening statement that two customers entered the store during the robbery attempt, but he only put one of those “customers” on the witness stand: Grundy Sampite. English did not question Sampite about the other customer, Donald Lee Jones.

In addition to the two customers, Roy also referred to another employee “working outside” the store during the robbery attempt. English did not explore anything about this second employee while the Sampites were on the witness stand.

The second customer and the other employee were critical witnesses.

 Roy charged in his opening statement that Bodden was shot inside the store in the chest and that the bullet nicked the arch of the aorta resulting in death. The parish coroner, however, testified that the fatal bullet entered under Bodden’s left armpit, traveled across the chest cavity, severed the aorta, and caused him to bleed to death. English did not realize the significance of this medical testimony designating the location of the fatal entry wound.

“I went to the Baton Rouge General Hospital and examined Mr. Bodden,” Dr Chester. Williams testified. “His body had been moved to the morgue at the hospital. I conducted an autopsy on him there. I estimated the time of his death at approximately 8:00 p.m. on December 5th, 1965. His height was five feet, eleven inches, and his weight was approximately two hundred and ten pounds. He had a bullet entry under the right anterior axilla, that is the arm pit. It went straight across the body and severed the arch of the aorta. That’s the main vessel coming from the heart to take the blood to the body. Correction, the bullet entered in the left arm pit, went across, severed the aorta, and ended up in the right chest cavity, in the free chest cavity. It had perforated the lung also. It was a .22 caliber slug. I gave it to sheriff’s office to take to the State Crime Lab for ballistics tests. There was another entry of another shot in the right lateral upper thigh with the exit wound ten inches from where it entered. It did no real harm.”

The fatal entry wound under the left armpit was consistent with Bodden chasing me outside the store. Donald Ray Kennard would later recall that Bodden had a broom raised above his head. The fatal wound under the left arm pit would have undermined the prosecutorial theme that I shot Bodden in the chest in cold blood inside the store. English did not seize the importance of the fatal entry wound under the left arm pit.

The fatal entry wound under the left arm pit supported a “running away” defense which would have undermined the cold blooded murder theory. English asked only two questions to Katherine Sampite about this issue, and he did not even raise the issue on cross examination of Grundy Sampite.

Minimally competent cross-examination of the Sampites would have led English to Jones and Neyland, both of whom had made statements to investigators supportive of the “running away” defense.

Jones told the police at the scene of the crime that he arrived at the store shortly after 8:00 p.m. He walked to the bread area and then back toward the check-out counter.

“Look out,” Bodden suddenly called out to him. “He’s got a gun.”

Jones told the investigators the “intruder” pointed a gun at him and said:

“If you don’t want to get shot, get over there.”

Jones told investigators that when Bodden shouted the warning, the intruder turned and fired a shot. Bodden grabbed his leg.

The .22 caliber revolver I used in the robbery had five bullets in it. The firing chamber was empty as a safety precaution. I had no intention of hurting anyone. When Bodden first walked from behind the counter, I found myself positioned between him and Grundy Sampite. I told Bodden to get back behind the counter. He refused to move. I pointed the pistol at the floor and pulled the trigger. The firing pin clicked at it hit the empty chamber.

“He’s shooting papers wads,” Bodden hollered.

After Jones entered the store, I turned toward him. I told him to stay put. Bodden used that distraction to move toward me. I turned and fired a bullet into his thigh. I had no intent to kill Bodden or anyone else. I would have shot him in the upper part of his body had there been intent to harm. The bullet in the thigh was meant to halt his advance, to frighten him. At that point I wanted only to get out of the store.

Jones also told investigators that the intruder was trying to get Neyland inside the store.

“C’mon in here, boy!’ Jones quoted the intruder as saying.

I was in fact trying to get Neyland inside. He had realized something was going on inside the store. He had cautiously moved closer to the door, afraid to come all the way in. He was blocking the doorway.  I wanted him away from that door.

“While the intruder was looking outside the store,” the Offense Report quoted Jones as saying, “Mr. Bodden rushed him and the intruder fired one shot, hitting an aerosol spray can. The intruder then turned and ran, with Mr. Bodden in pursuit, and fired another shot. When he next saw Mr. Bodden, Jones said, Mr. Bodden was holding his left chest.”

Neyland’s statement to the investigating officers supported Jones’ statement.

“Mr. Neyland said he first notice the intruder while he was sweeping in front of the store,” the Offense Report stated, “and the intruder parked his car in the east portion of the parking lot. He said he heard Mr. Bodden whistle, and he looked up to see him talking with the intruder. He also saw Mr. Sampite and thought that Mr. Bodden was whistling to Mr. Sampite. He said he then heard two shots and looked up to see the intruder waving a revolver toward Mr. Jones, and pointing his left hand at the bread rack.”

Neyland was mistaken about two shots being fired. At that point there had only been one live round fired – the one that struck Bodden in the thigh.

“Mr. Neyland said he heard Mr. Bodden say ‘go on, we don’t want any trouble,’” the Offense Report continued, “and he then heard the intruder, standing in the doorway, calling ‘come on in here boy, come here’.”

There were two counters inside the store, located about four feet from the doorway. The cash register sat with its back facing the doorway. A customer entering the store could turn to the left or right. There were perhaps four aisles on each side of the counters. Between the counter area and the doorway as you entered the store was the bread rack and a Christmas display stand.

Facing inside the store, Jones was on the left side of the counter standing at the front of one of the aisles. Sampite was off to the right near the doorway, holding a newspaper he had removed from a rack. Bodden had come from behind the area between the two counters. He positioned himself about halfway down the counter near the cash register area. I was standing at the front of the counter area near the Christmas display. Sampite was standing to my immediate left, having moved back down an aisle. Bodden was to my right, approximately six to eight feet away. I was looking across the display/cash register/counter area at Jones standing on the other side of the store. I was three, perhaps four, feet from the doorway. Neyland was standing two or three feet beyond the door on the outside. He was between me and the getaway car. I’m not sure if Neyland could have heard the shot that struck Bodden in the thigh. He certainly did not hear the blank shot - the one that prompted Bodden to shout “he’s firing paper wads.”

“When he asked the intruder what he wanted,” the Offense Report quoted Neyland, “the intruder merely repeated his command, ‘Come on in here,’ two more times. Then, he said, he saw Mr. Bodden rush up to the man with the gun, and the intruder turned and shot. Mr. Bodden and the gunman continued running outside the store, he said, and he started toward Mr. Bodden to assist him, when the gunman fired another shot, and Mr. Bodden held his hand to the left side of his chest and began staggering back and toward the door.”

The second shot was fired into the Christmas display area. It was intended as a warning shot to everyone in the store. The bullet struck an aerosol Christmas snow flake can that exploded. The aerosol can explosion was louder than the gunshot.

Jones and Neyland’s statements were critical to a “running away” defense. Their statements were counter to Roy’s “cool and calm” killer who casually walked to his getaway car. Their statements also placed Bodden outside the store when he was struck by the fatal shot. Both witnesses also said Bodden rushed me and that I ran from the store.

The two other witnesses present at the crime scene that night were the Kennards. Donald Ray did not give a statement to the police – or, at least, one was not recorded in the Offense Report. Ramona told investigators that “she and her husband were driving on Greenwell Springs Road when she saw a man chasing another man in the Pak-A-Sak parking lot. She said she saw the man in front turn and shoot the man chasing him, and she said she saw the gun. She said the gunman was running east on the parking lot and got into a dark car which she could not describe further. She said she saw Mr. Bodden grab his chest on the left side, but does not remember anything else.”

Ramona Kennard’s statement also supported the “running away” defense and established that Bodden was shot outside the store. Like both Jones and Neyland, she told investigators that Bodden grabbed the left side of his chest outside the store. All three statements were consistent with the autopsy report that the fatal bullet entered under Bodden’s left armpit.

While Offense Report did not contain a statement by Donald Ray Kennard, the lawmaker on April 5, 1984 executed an affidavit for Helen “Ginger” Roberts Berrigan who was representing me in a federal habeas corpus proceeding at the time. Berrigan is now a U.S. District Court judge in New Orleans. Kennard’s affidavit stated:

“On December 5, 1965 I was driving down Greenwell Springs Road, coming from Central, with my wife and child in the car. My wife reminded me that we had no matches for our heater at home and suggested we stop to get some.

“I pulled into the Park-a-Sak grocery located on Greenwell Springs. Just as the front wheels of the car touched the curb, I heard my wife exclaim ‘oh!’ I looked up and saw two men running out of the store; the second man was chasing the first who was about 4-5 feet ahead of him. The second man was J.C. Bodden and he was hold a broom over his shoulder as he chased the first man. I remember hearing a gunshot and seeing smoke from the gunshot, but I did not see the actual shooting. I do not recall seeing J.C. Bodden fall. I do recall the first man continuing to run, around the side of the store.

“The whole incident happened extremely fast – no sooner had my car wheels touched the curb when the figures burst out of the store.”

Ramona Kennard also gave Berrigan an affidavit signed on April 9, 1984:

“On December 5th, 1965, my husband, Donald Kennard, and I were driving down Greenwell Springs Road and we intended to stop at the Pak-a-Sak at 7925 Greenwell Springs Road.

“As we were pulling into the parking space, two men came running out of the store – the first man had a gun and he was being chased by the second man who, I believe, had something in his hand like a broom. They were only a few feet apart. I saw the first man fire a shot at the second man who then grabbed his chest.
“I was subpoenaed by the state for trial and went to court. However, I was told I would not be needed as a witness since I could not make a positive identification of the man with the gun.”

There were a total of six witnesses at the crime scene on December 5, 1965. Four of them stated that J.C. Bodden rushed me; that I turned and ran from the store; and that Bodden chased me outside of the store where he was fatally wounded. Those four witnesses imposed a dilemma for Roy: to secure the death penalty based on a cold blooded murder theory, he had to suppress the statements those four witnesses gave to investigators.

Next the prosecutor had to persuade the Sampites to give misleading testimony. This was not a major leap for Roy. Unethical prosecutorial conduct was a prominent feature in his courtroom tactics. And it was relatively easy to suppress the statements of the Kennards, Neyland and Jones. The Kennards were afraid to get involved. Donald Ray had political aspirations. Neyland didn’t want his reluctance to go to Bodden’s aid exposed in a public forum. Jones was a family man who didn’t want anything to do with a high-profile murder case. Roy had only to tell Neyland and Jones that they were not needed at trial just as he did with Ramona Kennard on the day of the trial.

Convincing the Sampites to give misleading testimony about my calmly walking to the getaway car was not difficult. They were an elderly couple. Roy probably planted the suggestion that they saw a “cool and calm” killer who gunned Mr. Bodden down inside the store before he casually “walked” to his getaway car. This was the impression the district attorney’s office had created in the media. By the time the Sampites testified at trial, the couple truly believed that was what happened. They did not commit perjury. They simply testified the way Roy had coached them, and they did so believing it was their civic duty.

Larry K. Sullivan, however, was a horse of a different stripe. He committed perjury. In 1965 Sullivan owned a restaurant called the Chicken Diner located on the Airline Highway. The diner was approximately a five-minute drive from the Pak-a-Sak store. Greenwell Springs Road intersected with the Airline Highway - the main thoroughfare through Baton Rouge in the pre-interstate era. On the night of December 5th Sullivan was at his diner with two waitresses: Betty Scallan and Gloria Hill.

Sullivan was one of Roy’s main witnesses. He testified that he was a friend of Bodden. He said he frequently stopped at the convenience store. He told the jury that I entered his Chicken Diner a little after 7:00 p.m. on December 5 and left before 7:30 p.m. He told the jury that he had commented the waitresses that I looked like a “robber trying to find a place to rob.”

Roy made significant use of Sullivan’s testimony. He told the jury it placed me in Baton Rouge shortly before the crime was committed at 8:00 p.m. He said my demeanor was such that Sullivan commented to Scalan and Hill that I looked like a “robber trying to find a place to rob.” Roy described Sullivan was an enterprising young businessman who was one of “best witnesses” he had ever presented in a courtroom.

Roy had to make that point to the jury. He and Sullivan knew the Chicken Diner owner’s testimony to the jury had been false. Sullivan, along with Scallan and Hill, were questioned by the same investigators who had questioned other witnesses at the scene of the crime. The three of them gave statements contained in the Offense Report that I entered the Chicken Diner shortly before 8:00 p.m. and left as late as 8:20 p.m. Those three statements placed me in the Chicken Diner at the precise moment Bodden was killed at the convenience store.

I was not in Larry K. Sullivan’s Chicken Diner on the night of December 5, 1965 – or any other night. I can only assume that someone else who bore some resemblance to me entered the diner that night.

Sullivan had to change the time I was supposedly in the diner from after 8:00 p.m. to after 7:00 p.m. Roy wanted to place me in Baton Rouge at 7:00 p.m. before the crime was committed looking “like a robber trying to find a place to rob.” That bolstered the cold blooded murder theory. It also supported the “specific intent” to kill element because I was in Baton Rouge as “a robber trying to find a place to rob.” Sullivan was amendable to altering the statements contained in the Offense Report with his trial testimony. A friend of Bodden, the enterprising young businessman was willing to do whatever was necessary to send Bodden’s killer to the electric chair.

In 1980 I obtained a copy of the 1965 Offense Report. I filed a million-dollar civil lawsuit against Sullivan alleging that he had committed perjury during my 1966 trial. He hired an attorney. He did not deny perjury allegation. His attorney succeeded in getting the lawsuit dismissed because the statute of limitations had expired for bringing the action. 

It is significant to point out that during Roy’s examination of Sullivan, the Chicken Diner owner made reference to Scalan and Hill who could verify his testimony. In his closing argument, Roy told the jury that he did not call the two young ladies because Sullivan had made such a good witness.

Again, English failed to grasp the significance of critical trial testimony. He should have quizzed Sullivan about the waitresses, trying to elicit their names. Had he forced Sullivan to identify the waitresses, English could have subpoenaed them to testify. That would have forced Scallan and Hill to either join the perjury conspiracy between Roy and Sullivan or tell the jury exactly what they told the police on the night of December 5. The latter testimony would have exposed Sullivan’s perjured testimony to the jury.

English failed at every turn to elicit the names of those six suppressed witnesses – Jones, Neyland, the Kennards, Scalan and Hill - whose testimony would have brought  Roy’s “cold blooded murder” theory down around him. It is highly unlikely that the death penalty verdict would have been returned had those six witnesses been discovered prior to or during the trial. Roby Bearden apparently sensed enough to know during English’s arguments on the motion for continuance that there was something “unfair” about the trial process. He was not allowed to say what it was. He could only say that it would not let him return a death penalty against me.

The jury returned a “guilty as charged” verdict against me in forty-five minutes – and the jurors ate a quick dinner during that period. One juror had a court deputy give me a Bible as I was being led from the courtroom. I spent nearly six years on Louisiana’s death row before the U.S. Supreme Court in 1972 effectively declared the death penalty unconstitutional as it was then being applied nationwide. I was resentenced to life imprisonment five months after that decision. Had the Supreme Court not ruled in favor of Furman v. Georgia, I would have been put to death in the state’s electric chair – and I don’t believe that any of the six suppressed mitigating witnesses or those responsible for the perjured testimony would have stepped forward to stop it.

How many condemned inmates have not been so lucky? How many have been put to death in this country because of suppressed evidence, perjured testimony, manufactured forensic evidence, or ineffective assistance of counsel? Believe me, the number is staggering, mind-boggling. The tragedy is that they all were all from the ranks of the socially disadvantaged: the poor, uneducated, mentally ill or retarded, or people of color. Rich folks do not go to the death house.

 

AUTHOR’S NOTE: I survived death row and was paroled out of the Louisiana prison system on April 24, 2006. You may wish to read my memoir about the four decades I spent in the Louisiana prison system: “A Life In the Balance: The Billy Wayne Sinclair Story” (Arcade Publishing, N.Y. 2000). My upcoming book, “Capital Punishment: An Indictment by a Death Row Survivor” will be released by Arcade Publishing in January 2009.

 

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