0812994523.pdf

much too hard to win his freedom after proving his innocence. We have serious problems and
important work that must be done in this state.”
I sat down and the judge pronounced Walter free to go. Just like that he was a free man.
Walter hugged me tightly, and I gave him a handkerchief to wipe the tears from his eyes. I
led him over to Chapman, and they shook hands. The black deputies who had hovered nearby
ushered us toward a back door that led downstairs, where a throng of reporters waited. One
of the deputies patted me on the back, declaring, “That’s awesome, man. That’s awesome.” I
asked Bernard to tell the family and supporters that we would meet them out front.
Walter stood very close to me as we answered questions from the press. I could tell he was
feeling overwhelmed, so I cut off the questions after a few minutes, and we walked to the
front door of the courthouse. TV camera crews followed us. As we walked outside, dozens of
people cheered and waved their signs. Walter’s relatives ran up to him to hug him, and they
hugged me, too. Walter’s grandchildren grabbed his hands. Older people I hadn’t previously
met came up to hug him. Walter couldn’t believe how many people were there for him. He
hugged everyone. Even when some of the men came up to shake his hand, he gave them a
hug. I told everyone that Bernard and I had to take Walter to the prison and that we would
come to the house directly from there. It took nearly an hour to get through the crowd and
into the car.
On the drive to the prison, Walter told me that the men on death row had held a special
service for him on his last night. They had come to pray for him and give him their final
hugs. Walter said he felt guilty leaving them behind. I told him not to—they were all thrilled
to know he was going home. His freedom was, in a small way, a sign of hope in a hopeless
place.
Despite my assurances that we’d be at the house shortly, everyone followed us to the
prison. The press, the local TV crews, the family, everyone. When we got to Holman, a
caravan of media and well-wishers trailed behind us. I parked and walked to the front gate to
explain to the guard in the tower that I didn’t have anything to do with all of the people—I
knew that the warden had strict policies about the presence of people who didn’t have
business at the prison. But the guard waved us inside. No one tried to get the crowd to leave.
We went to the prison office to collect Walter’s possessions: his legal materials and
correspondence with me, letters from family and supporters, a Bible, the Timex watch he was
wearing when he was arrested, and the wallet he had had with him back in June 1987 when
his nightmare began. The wallet still had $ 23 in it. Walter had given to other death row
prisoners his fan, a dictionary, and the food items he had in his cell. I saw the warden peering
at us from his office as we collected Walter’s things, but he didn’t come out.
A few guards watched as we walked out the front gate of the prison. Lots of people were
still gathered outside. I saw Mrs. Williams. Walter went up to her and gave her a hug. When
their embrace released, she looked over and winked at me. I couldn’t help but laugh.
Men in their cells could see the crowd outside and started shouting encouragement to
Walter as he walked away. We couldn’t see them from outside the prison, but their voices
rang out just the same—the voices were haunting because they were disembodied, but they
were full of excitement and hopefulness. One of the last voices we heard was a man shouting,
“Stay strong, man. Stay strong!”
Walter shouted back, “All right!”