Injustice in Oregon
Before the Storm
My name is Ryan D. Smith. I will 25 on June 1st 2009. When I was 13 years old, I was a very active boy. I was into racing pigeons, cutting precious stones, playing guitar, cooking, horticulture, with specific interest in various types of orchids, and last but not least, my eighth grade year of school. At that time, I was also in the Boy Scout Program; I was almost Life rank and had earned 21 merit badges. I was well on my way to becoming an Eagle Scout. I was a good student with an A-B grade point average. After school three days a week, I would stay for basketball or football practice, depending on the time of year. My life was crammed with many activities that I enjoyed. I also spent time with my father, Douglas G. Smith, is an optometrist for 25 years in Medford, Oregon and a respected member of the local Rotary Club, my mother, Hazel A. Smith, a school teacher in Ashland, Oregon and my sister Erin K. Smith, who at the time was a junior at Ashland High school, and is now a successful graduate of Saint Mary’s College in California. After school, my mother would pick us up and take us to our various lessons and classes.
The Arrest
On Friday, April 17th 1998, at 5:30 p.m., life as I knew it would change forever, as an Ashland police officer knocked at my front door. He asked if he could have a moment of my time, and he introduced himself as Officer Alderman. When he came in, he informed me that I had the right to remain silent and anything that I did or said would be held against me in the court of law. I was scared and confused and did not comprehend what was about to happen to my life. My fear at the time was not the fact that a youth prison in Grants Pass Oregon would house me for my next ten birthdays, but rather that I would be in a juvenile detention center without knowing how long I would be there, or for what offense. Officer Alderman told me that the neighbors had made allegations against me.
When I arrived at the Ashland Police Station, I was separated from my mother. I was then fingerprinted and transported to the Medford Juvenile Detention Center. When I arrived, the gate buzzed and I entered a new world. The intake pictures were taken and clothes were issued. I was allowed a five-minute shower and was placed on 24-hour lockdown. I was sitting in a prison cell and I had not committed a crime. As the door was slammed shut, I felt that America was not the land of the free. The next morning, my attorney Carl Caplan, came to see me and I was finally informed that I was being accused of sexual abuse and menacing. I was informed that there would be a hearing on Monday and the court would then decide if I would return to the community or stay incarcerated until court. For the next two days, I was in shock. I could not believe that I was being accused of sexual abuse. I could not believe that I was in jail. On Saturday night, I was let out of my room for dinner. My stomach had still not settled from the information that I received earlier that day. After dinner, we went back to lock down in our rooms and I was not able to keep my dinner down. I asked for help on the speaker and was placed on a 48-hour lock down, which meant that I would be in isolation until court on Monday.
On Monday, April 20th , I was released to the custody of my mother and father, under the order that I would not return to my home in Ashland, Oregon. I would have to take up residence in Medford, Oregon with family friends. I would, however, return to my school in Ashland, but I would have to keep daily contact with a parole officer assigned to me. His name was Ken Chapmen.
Four days later, I was at my father’s office when my attorney Carl Caplan called to notify my mother and father that I had just been accused of 40 new felonies. I was still in shock from the first set. I would have 40 new allegations to add to my brain for processing. Carl Caplan told us that we needed to drive to Portland, Oregon to meet with Lisa Maxfield. This was the second member of the team that would represent me in an eight-day trial that would happen in a little less then a year. The result of the new charges would inflict a white-line order that would not allow me to enter the city limits of Ashland for any reason, and I had to be within sight of one or the other of my parents at all times. This meant that I would not be able to attend my eighth grade dance or graduation.
In early June 1998, I was notified that the Ashland Police department had a search warrant for my old home in Ashland, Oregon. They were looking for numerous items that allegedly had been used in the acts of sexual abuse. The items they searched for were pictures, guns, medication, and other paraphernalia that had been described to the investigators. None of the alleged items were found. The explanation that they tried to pursue during trial was that my family had removed the items in the weeks prior.
It was now the summer of 1998. Being required to be within sight of my mom or dad at all times would prove to be difficult for all of us. In addition, this would create a loss of alone time for everyone. The court then granted two family friends to become approved supervisors. As late summer arrived, my sister entered into her senior year of high school at Ashland High School, and I entered into my freshman year at North Medford High School. After two weeks of school, the principal called a meeting with my attorney Carl Caplan, my mother, father, the school’s attorneys, the superintendent of the Medford School district, my parole officer Ken Chapmen, and me. The meeting was called to let me know that I would no longer be attending North Medford High School. This decision was made because I had pending sexual abuse allegations. At that point my mother and father decided that I would be home schooled. Over the next year, I spent a lot of time at my father’s office. I was set up in a room where I could complete the home school work in addition to working on all of my lapidary work.
One morning my mom came to my room and let me know that my paternal
grandfather was not doing well. I was not sure what to make of it. A half-hour
later, the phone rang; it was my uncle informing my family that my grandfather
had passed on. We drove to Portland, Oregon to fly to Portland, Maine. My
parole officer was understanding and allowed me to travel across the country
to attend my grandfather’s funeral. I did not understand death, as this was
the first time that I had directly experienced the loss of a family member. I
did not grieve losing my grandfather until I realized I could not call him and
have a conversation with him ever again.
The Trial
As the new year started, we prepared up for court. The court set aside ten days for the trial. On February 1st 1999, the hearing in front of Judge Mark Schiveley started. The trial would last eight days. On the third day of trial, I came down with the flu and had to exit the courtroom. They continued with proceedings the next day without my presence. When I returned to the courtroom, I sat listening to the proceedings of the trial. I could not believe that they were talking about me. On the last day of trial, February 10th, I took the stand on my own behalf. Dr. Oren Bolstod a specialist testified on my behalf in regard to the persuasive interviewing and leading questioning that Officer Alderman and Detective Snow used with the alleged victims . At about 3:00 p.m., my defense was completed. The closing arguments were made and Mark Schiveley, the judge of the trial, was content on not exiting the bench to make the verdict. In one swift breath, Judge Mark Schiveley first said that the acts were bazaar and implausible, and then adjudicated me on 11 counts of sexual abuse that ranged from Rape One to Menacing.
I was truly in a state of disbelief. I could not understand how I could be adjudicated for crimes that I did not commit. How could I be adjudicated for something implausible? He set a sentencing hearing three weeks from February 10th, 1999.
Even though I stood strong to my knowledge that I did not commit these acts of sexual abuse, I realized that I would end up in a correctional facility. I was advised of my next step, which would be the Oregon Court of Appeals; I would come in contact with an appellate attorney, Robert Rosenthal. He would become an intricate part of my life that still remains to this day.
On March first, I arrived at the Jackson County Court House and was expecting the worst; Mark Schiveley granted me a four-month opportunity to comply with treatment. I could stay at home with my family not be sent away to a prison for what could be a decade of my life. This presented a problem in that I could not comply with treatment since I would not admit to crimes that I did not commit. The judge also sentenced me to an eight-day time period in the juvenile detention center. I was confused as to what was going on. I knew that I had not committed a crime, but I was being punished as if I had. I feared the inevitable. I would be sent to Rogue Valley Youth Correctional Facility (R.V.Y.C.F.) for not admitting to a crime that I did not commit.
On June fifth, I was granted a pass to attend my sister’s high school graduation in Ashland. I was scared and nervous. I was not sure what people would say or do. Sure enough, some people pointed, some people stared. The reason that I was there was to watch my sister graduate from high school I did not care what people said or did. I was so proud of my sister. She had overcome obstacles that were set in front of her. On top of all of the normal stresses of high school, she endured our grandfather’s death, our family torn apart, and the allegations placed upon me She persisted and moved through the storm with her head held high and walked down in front of everyone to shake the principal’s and superintendent’s hands.
Sentencing and Entering Prison
As my feelings and morals were intertwined, I knew that the inevitable was on its way. I could not allow myself to lie. On June ninth, I had another sentencing hearing for not complying with the Jackson County Sexual Offender Treatment Plan under Ann Wright. Mark Schiveley told me that it was a misfortune that I would not just tell the truth. I felt it was a misfortune that he would not understand my innocence. He proceeded to sentence me to R.V.Y.C.F. for a decade of my life. As the handcuffs were placed around my wrists, I saw the tears well up in family and friends’ eyes. I knew that my life had changed in a drastic way, but I would have never expected what was to come.
The juvenile detention center was about a 15-minute drive from the courthouse. I cried the whole way. Fear had overwhelmed me. As we arrived at the front gate, I recalled the first time I arrived at this door a little over a year ago. As this vision flashed before my eyes, the door buzzed. I was placed in the same detention cell as my first time. I said to myself, “This is what my life will be like for the next ten years; I better make the best of it.”
The next morning I was transported to R.V.Y.C.F. by Ken Chapman. I was 15 years old now. I was shackled at the ankles and waist and placed in the back of an unmarked transportation vehicle for the one-hour drive, which would be the last for many years to come, other than transports to and from doctor’s appointments or court. We arrived at the facility about 8:00 a.m. on June 10th, 1999. I entered the exterior sally-port, and then the double doors, and sat on a cold steel bench in the intake room. I was once again finger printed and had another set of pictures taken for my Oregon Youth Authority profile. I was expecting barbwire, chain link fence, and guards with guns, but instead there was a 25-foot cement wall that bordered the courtyard area. I was told to get familiar with what I saw.
I entered Bravo unit, one of four units within the walls. The facility has the capacity of holding up to 110 youth. On Bravo unit there were 29 youth upon my arrival. I was introduced to the youth manual; this would be the rulebook of the procedures and do’s and don’t's I would be required to follow. I was well on my way to accepting the fact that I was here, and I would have no control over my life other than what I would make of it. I was seated in the dayroom; staff and a higher level youth gave me an orientation. I was given an intake phone call to my dad once the assistant treatment manager arrived. Even though I was accepting my incarceration there were still many tears. Nights were long and the days would be the same. Being told when you were going to eat and what you were going to eat is just one of the many examples of incarceration to which I would have to adapt. This was far different than that of the life I had been living less than 24 hours prior.
Life in Prison
Over the next few years incarceration would be trying. However, I would endure a bad situation and make do. I have never been down the road of negativity. I kept my head up high and I have earned my behavior levels several times. Throughout time, I would be exposed to many different managers who would have complete and absolute control over me and my levels. If I were at a level 2 and a manager came to the unit who did not feel youth who are not engaged in treatment should be above a level 1, I would again be at level 1. At one point, I had earned my level 3.This was a big deal. A level 3 means a youth could have his own shoes, his own sandals, and personal hygiene products. For someone in the world of freedom, that may not seem that big of a deal, but being in this environment where you literally had no personal possessions, it was monumental. After about a year of stable behaviors, I was granted the permission of the superintendent to move through my levels. I earned my level four, where I am at today. This is the highest rank I can achieve, since I will not engage in sexual offender treatment. The only levels that remain above me are Leadership and level five. At one point I was a Leadership, however, after new policy came down in regard to the Leadership Club and treatment coinciding, I was removed from that privilege tag. I am allowed to perform certain jobs and duties around the facility that other youth are not allowed to do. This is due to my exceptional behaviors that I have displayed over the years. I am responsible for mowing and the upkeep of the facility lawn; I do various maintenance projects ranging from painting the units, and outer cement walls, to pressure washing the inner court yard. I am also the general manager of the student run business “Inside Out” that I helped conceptualize several years back. This program was designed to create a link from inside these walls to the outside world. This business would allow us to have a source of income, give young men the opportunity to pay off restitution, and establish a source of income for reentry into the community.
At one point during my stay at R.V.Y.C.F., almost all of my privileges and responsibilities were put to a halt while one of the alleged victims was also residing at R.V.Y.C.F. He was adjudicated for sexual abuse and theft. During that time I was not allowed to exit the unit without staff nor was I allowed to continue on with my “normal” daily agenda. I was required to sit in an isolation room for an hour while this youth was out at recreation in the court yard. The entire time he was at recreation, he refused to stop looking in the window and waving at me. This was a youth that I had allegedly sexually abused less than three years prior. This youth never displayed positive or even somewhat appropriate behaviors; he had physical interventions with staff on a daily basis. The most difficult part for me was the fact that I was being restricted once again, but this time it was from the most confined place that I could imagine, to an even more confined living situation. Somehow, even though his behaviors did not warrant his release, he would be paroled out of here in less than one month. I believe his mother, Sxxxxx Lxxxxxx, was able to pull strings to make this happen.
I have maintained contact with family and friends through letters, phone calls and visits. I am allowed visitation from my family and some friends on Saturday afternoons. Because of my good behaviors, I am allowed to have a double visit; I am able to visit with my family and friends for two visits on Saturday rather then the one that most youth are allowed. I am thankful for this opportunity to see my family as much as I can. I feel that the hardest part of the last few years is coping with the loss of my childhood, and the loss of not being able to grow up with my family. During my incarceration, there are so many experiences I have missed and will now never be able to replace—experiences like proms, a chance at high school athletics, and the social maturity I would have been allowed to experience, had I not been paying penance for something I did not do.
I was able to further my education; I obtained my high school diploma while attending Newbridge High School, the school within R.V.Y.C.F. When I completed my final credits I was only 17. I was the youngest youth to ever graduate from Newbridge and I graduated with the honor of being Valedictorian with a G.P.A. of 3.63. I was now a Teacher’s Assistant during school in vocational programs such as woodshop, horticulture, main kitchen and in academic classes such as Math and English. I am also attending college classes from Ohio University. As soon as I am exonerated from the charges, I plan to go to nursing school, obtain a four-year degree, my BSRN, and become an emergency room nurse.
Living in a correctional facility is very stressful. Because of the mindset many of the youth possessed even prior to being imprisoned, most are careless and harmful to their fellow inmates. My incarceration has taught me some things that would not be useful or desirable outside of institutionalization. Over the last few years, I have been struck by other youth with chairs, desks, shoes, fists, and various other objects. I have been cursed out numerous times and have been spit upon several times for “narcing” or “snitching”. All of these things that have hurt my body cannot compare to the youth that are in the mind frame of “I don’t care”. These youth are the ones who flip bunk beds in the dorm at night and hold other peers hostage in hopes of gaining their own freedom. Most of them have a criminal mindset that has earned them a reputation of being a career criminal. They enjoy the pain of others and do not have any empathy for the people they have offended, or the staff and peers that are with them when they experience this breakout behavior. Several of youth who are in O.Y.A. have been sexually or physically abused themselves. They in turn act out, causing more pain to others. I have seen these actions cause a lot of pain and gore. I have seen youth go as far as being taken down by numerous staff in the process of trying to make a point. I have seen arms broken or heads cracked open while a youth struggles against staff and defies any and all authority. I have also witnessed youth who hate themselves enough to slit their own wrists with a razor or attempt to strangle themselves with clothes or sheets. I have seen youth break their own bones in anger outbursts. I have also lived on a unit with only sexual offenders. This has exposed me to a realm of acts, language, and youth who plot and scheme while engaging in covert behaviors.
The Failure of the Appeals Court
On Thanksgiving of 2002, I was on my unit when staff asked me where my parents were. I did not understand why they would be asking me this. I became anxious, and I was afraid that I had lost another family member. I was not expecting to hear that my appeal had been denied. This news was read to me from the local newspaper (The Mail Tribune). My attorneys and the staff at the institution did not understand how the newspapers would be advised before anyone else. I was broken. I had built up so much trust and hope that the Oregon Court of Appeals would see the truth and I would be released. I was confused. I did not know what to do other then to stay strong, keep my morals, and stay true to myself.
Now I would have to face the Oregon Supreme Court. I, through my legal counsel would request to have my case reviewed, and it would not be heard at this level since my trial counsel had failed to object at the appropriate times. It would be sent to the local county in which I reside, which happens to be Josephine County, the neighboring county in which I was adjudicated six years prior. At this level, I would attempt what is called “post conviction relief”. Needing to find counsel that was local became a priority at this point. My mother and father met with two attorneys who were out of Medford’s law firm Frohnmayer, Deatherage, Pratt, Jamieson, Clarke and Moore, P.C. Approximately a week later I was introduced to Tracy McGovern. This would yet be another person who would become an intricate part of my life. All of the local hearings in regard to my post conviction would be lead by her with Robert Rosenthal who would be there by phone. I would not attend all of the preliminary hearings. On September 30th of 2004, Tracy would come to see me unexpectedly. She had a signed vindication of all charges in her hand that stated I was to be released from custody of the Oregon Youth Authority by Honorable Allen Coone. At which point Phillipe McGloior contacted the Attorney Generals office to inform them of what had just occurred. Later that day, I was told by my treatment manager Noel Hoback that a stay order had been placed on me and that a hearing would follow later that week to decide the facts of what had occurred. Once again, I had been so close and yet still so far away. At the hearing, it was decided that the petition that Robert had submitted several months prior was marked improperly and the case would be decided on the merits of the case rather than a technicality. Depositions would be set up for the following months and the cards would begin to unfold from that point forward.
In September, October, and November of 2005 one of the most tragic hurricanes seasons would hit the Gulf Coast. Prior to being subpoenaed for depositions, it was not Mr. Lxxxxxx’s intentions to help the Hurricane Katrina victims. It was only after the Lxxxxxxs became aware of the intent to subpoena, did Mr. Lxxxxxx leave on a humanitarian mission to help others in need. His timing was unfortunate for my case, and simply too convenient to believe. This would be how Sxxxxx Lxxxxxx would once again take an opportunity to profit from someone else’s pain, and Mr. Lxxxxxx would yet again avoid the depositions that had been ordered by honorable Lindi Bakker on three prior occasions. When Sxxxxx Lxxxxxx appeared before Judge Allen Coone, her explanation for avoiding the depositions was because her family had a mission to help those in need.
This has been my life since April 17th of 1998. It is a life that I would not wish on anyone or wish for anyone to endure. My life has been altered and shattered. My social development was impaired, and my reputation as a valuable member of society and as a decent and caring person was demolished. I know I am still a caring and decent person and I have not committed these acts of sexual abuse upon which I was adjudicated. I still have to serve the time for a crime that I did not commit, and I have lost many years that I will never be able to make up. In closing, can I ask you one question—has justice been fairly served?
Sincerely,
Ryan D. Smith
