In April 1999, convicted murderer Justin Wiley Dickens was sitting on Texas' death row when he received a letter from a stranger in Canada: "Hello Justin! I have never written to an inmate before so if I babble please forgive me," it began.
The 22-year-old prisoner's new pen pal was Michelle Sauve, who lives more than 2,400 kilometres away in rural Lisle, Ont. Sauve, then 28, had come across Dickens' bio on a website and was moved by what she had read.
Seven years — and hundreds of letters later — they married. This spring will be their fifth anniversary.
"I love him dearly. He's grown so much as a man," she says.
Sauve is a member of an obscure clique of Canadians who have forged unique — some say questionable — bonds with some of America's most violent criminals through old-fashioned letter writing.
Some relationships are strictly platonic, initiated by staunch death-penalty foes who believe these inmates deserve some compassion. Other relationships have taken romantic turns.
Those seeking death-row prisoner pen pals typically start by scrolling through websites that offer personal pages for inmates to post their writing, artwork, photos and contact information.
Tracy Lamourie and Dave Parkinson, the Toronto-based co-founders of the Canadian Coalition Against the Death Penalty, started such a site more than a decade ago. Today, the site features web pages for hundreds of death-row inmates.
"As a result of our website . . . prisoners on death row throughout the states have found contacts, legal help, friendships and even the odd marriage or two," Lamourie said.
One death-row prisoner who signed up for the free service is serial killer Charles Ng, who was convicted in the late 1990s of the sex-torture killings of 11 people in California.
On his web page, Ng refers to his conviction as a "miscarriage of justice."
"Because of these and other reasons, I constantly feel misplaced, sad and lonely — like a dolphin caught inside a tuna net."
He lists among his interests: origami, spirituality, self-study, writing, reading and drawing. He says he is seeking sincere, meaningful friendships "from this dark hole of humanity."
Such postings have drawn outrage from victims' families, who don't believe these inmates deserve to have such a forum.
Sharon Rocha — whose son-in-law Scott Peterson was sentenced to death after being convicted of murdering her pregnant daughter, Laci, in another high-profile case — told CNN's Larry King in a 2008 interview that she found it "outrageous" that Peterson had access to a web page.
"It just does a great injustice to the victims and their families. They can no longer speak for themselves. And being on death row is supposed to eliminate an inmate's privileges," she said.
But Lamourie points to the many instances where people condemned to death row were later exonerated of their crimes.
And even those who have pleaded guilty deserve a chance to be heard because their stories help shine a light on the inhumanity of capital punishment, she says.
"It is only education and allowing people to see behind the walls, that will make the people insist that the government stop the cycle of death and revenge perpetuated in their name," she said.
Sauve says she initially supported the death penalty, but her attitude softened after she got to know Dickens.
Sauve says she came across Dickens' story on the Internet in 1999. He had been on Texas' death row for four years after being convicted of fatally shooting a teacher during a botched jewelry store robbery.
"It broke my heart," she said, to read about Dickens' troubled childhood, growing up in a trailer park to drug-addicted parents. She said it also upset her that he didn't have much support outside the prison's walls.
So she wrote him.
"I will tell you a little about me to help you decide if you are interested in exchanging letters with me," Sauve wrote. She told him that she was married ("my husband knows I am writing to you and it's fine"), described her body measurements ("34C, 24, 34, 5'5'', 110 lbs") and listed her hobbies ("horses, football, reading — but I don't think you want to know what kind of books — Internet exploring, animals, shopping, especially for shoes").
She said she was open to talking about anything with one exception: "DON'T BIBLE THUMP ME. I think religion is personal and I don't care to discuss it."
In his reply, Dickens explained how he wound up on death row. He was 17, drug addicted and owed a lot of money to a drug dealer. He went into a jewelry store to rob it but was jumped by a man in the store. The man was "killed accidentally" in the struggle for the gun. "I never meant to hurt anyone," he wrote. "I was just a scared despret 1/8sic 3/8 high stupid kid."
He was now 22 but said he felt more like 32. He said he appreciated her offer of friendship — "a rare quality" — and said he was no Bible thumper.
"I'm a sinner! So don't worry."
After several more letters, Sauve started visiting Dickens in prison. On her first visit, she remembers lowering her eyes when he appeared from behind the glass-mesh wire partition. She said she didn't want to embarrass him as he was being unshackled.
Years later, in 2005, they celebrated a U.S. Supreme Court ruling that found it unconstitutional to execute someone who committed a crime when they were under 18. Dickens and dozens of other death-row inmates had their sentences commuted to life imprisonment.
A year later, Sauve, who was divorced, and Dickens decided to get married.
Because Dickens couldn't leave prison, his stepfather stood in for him in an appearance before a justice of the peace. Texas is one of only a handful of states that allow for marriages by proxy.
When Sauve visited Dickens the next day in prison, they embraced for the first time. "He was real. He had skin. It was warm. I could feel him breathing," she recalled.
Sauve readily admits that there are limitations to their relationship. "It is romantic, but not traditional romantic," she says. Texas does not allow for conjugal visits.
Even though she is married to Dickens, she says she also has a boyfriend in Ontario.
While she has ever only known the "institutional Justin," she is confident that he is a "good person."
But Dickens' prosecutor maintains that he is a "dangerous, brutal animal," and that current and former death-row inmates should be denied privileges, such as having a web page.
"Since we were deprived of the appropriate punishment, some discomfort for Dickens would be appreciated," Randall County District Attorney James Farren said in an email.
Farren added that he believes Dickens is manipulating Sauve "to obtain something he wants" and predicts that she will "rue the day she made this decision (to marry him)."
Experts say research into the attraction between strangers and criminal offenders is basically non-existent, so it's difficult to comment on the health or wisdom of such relationships.
Some inmates have been wrongfully convicted while others are hardened psychopaths. Most offenders are somewhere in between and harbour a variety of motives, said University of Waterloo psychology professors Chris Burris and John Rempel, in a joint email.
Similarly, while some outsiders may find sexual gratification in having a relationship with someone behind bars, others may be motivated purely by a religious injunction to "visit those sick and in prison."
For almost a decade, Melissa Di Cicco, of Toronto, has been exchanging letters with Jimmy Dennis, a high-profile death-row inmate convicted in 1992 of murdering a 17-year-old girl in Philadelphia.
Di Cicco says she reached out to him initially because she was "appalled" he was on death row with so little evidence against him. As she came to learn more facts of his case — he sent her massive court files and transcripts — she became convinced he was innocent. Even Amnesty International has taken up his cause.
Over time, Dennis has also become a close friend, Di Cicco says. She says he knows many intimate details of her life and offers her "God-centred" advice.
She still struggles with her feelings about the death penalty. She's told Dennis that child-killers deserve to rot. At the same time, she believes that prisoners deserve some form of "grace" and someone in their lives to keep their spirits up.
Di Cicco says while she has spoken to Dennis over the phone, she has not yet visited him but would like to. One concern she has, however, is how she will cope when it comes time to leave. "I can't imagine having to walk away," she said.
Di Cicco said all of her friends are supportive of her friendship with Dennis, though she admits she hasn't really brought it up with her family.
"I don't think they would get it."
http://www.canada.com/news/Prison+pa...#ixzz1EXSDSbCF
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