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assistance when it comes to the physically disabled, but because mental disabilities aren’t
visible in the same way, we tend to be dismissive of the needs of the disabled and quick to
judge their deficits and failures. Brutally murdering someone would, of course, require the
State to hold that person accountable and to protect the public. But to completely disregard a
person’s disability would be unfair in evaluating what degree of culpability to assign and
what sentence to impose.
I went back home feeling very good about the hearing, but the truth was that a state
postconviction hearing rarely resulted in a favorable ruling. If relief was to come, it would
most likely be on appeal. I wasn’t expecting any miracle rulings. About a month after the
hearing, before judgment was rendered, I decided to go to the prison and see Avery. We
hadn’t had much time to talk after the hearing, and I wanted to make sure he was okay.
Throughout most of the hearing he had sat pleasantly, but when some of his former foster
parents had come into the court, I could see him become upset. I thought a post-hearing visit
would be helpful.
When I pulled into the parking lot, I once again saw that loathsome truck, with its flags,
stickers, and menacing gun rack. I feared another encounter with the guard. Sure enough,
after checking in with the warden’s secretary and heading toward the visitation room, I saw
him approaching me. I braced myself, preparing for the encounter. And then something
surprising happened.
“Hello, Mr. Stevenson. How are you?” the guard asked. He sounded earnest and sincere. I
was skeptical.
“Well, I’m fine. How are you?” He was looking at me differently from how he had before;
he wasn’t glaring and seemed genuinely to want to interact. I decided to play along.
“Look, I’ll step into the bathroom to get ready for your search.”
“Oh, Mr. Stevenson, you don’t have to worry about that,” he quickly replied. “I know
you’re okay.” Everything about his tone and demeanor was different.
“Oh, well, thank you. I appreciate that. I’ll go back and sign the book, then.”
“Mr. Stevenson, you don’t have to do that. I saw you coming and signed your name in for
you. I’ve taken care of it.” I realized that he actually looked nervous.
I was confused by the shift in his attitude. I thanked him and walked to the visitation room
door with the officer following behind me. He turned to unlock the padlock so that I could go
inside. As I started to walk past him to enter, he placed his hand on my shoulder.
“Hey, um, I’d like to tell you something.”
I wasn’t sure where he was going with this.
“You know I took ole Avery to court for his hearing and was down there with y’all for those
three days. And I, uh, well, I want you to know that I was listening.” He removed his hand
from my shoulder and looked past me, as if staring at something behind me. “You know, I—
uh, well, I appreciate what you’re doing, I really do. It was kind of difficult for me to be in
that courtroom to hear what y’all was talking about. I came up in foster care, you know. I
came up in foster care, too.” His face softened. “Man, I didn’t think anybody had it as bad as
me. They moved me around like I wasn’t wanted nowhere. I had it pretty rough. But listening
to what you was saying about Avery made me realize that there were other people who had it
as bad as I did. I guess even worse. I mean, it brought back a lot of memories, sitting in that
courtroom.”