Obie Anthony: Life after 17 years in prison

Corrupt witness testimony

Inside prison, Obie Anthony dreamed of what he was missing as he served out a life sentence for a murder he insists he did not commit. He thought of the green grass, of washing dishes, of biting into the juicy pineapple Teriyaki burger he saw on television ads for Carl’s Jr.

He also thought about how he would change his ways if he ever got out. There would be school and jobs. But first, he would get rid of the tattoos that were a permanent reminder of his old life.

Today, Anthony, 37, is living out that prison dream of freedom from his new home in Apple Valley.

His murder conviction for a 1994 killing outside a South LA brothel was overturned in September 2011 after the prosecution's key witness, a pimp, admitted he lied to the jury.

Anthony was released from prison after serving 17 years, with the help of the Northern California Innocence Project and Loyola Law School’s Project for the Innocent.

It’s been hard for him to get back to society.

Kate Germond, director of Centurion Ministries, a non-profit organization, has been handling wrongful conviction cases for 25 years. She regards the innocent people in prison as heroes for the dignity and fortitude they show in persevering through their wrongful convictions.

Within the prison culture, most people are cynical about any claims of innocence. According to Germond, inmates who say they’re innocent are abused by guards or fellow inmates when they first make these declarations. As time goes by, they get a grudging respect from the guards and fellow inmates, but it’s hard won.

“When they get out, they suffer from post-traumatic stress disorders,” Germond said. Effects of wrongful convictions include drinking, drug issues and violent thoughts. “Their freedom is not the end of their torture,” she said.

Recently Anthony got his California identification, social security card and a bank account. He took his driver’s license test, but needs to re-take it and get two more questions right to pass it.

Anthony was raised in South Central Los Angeles by a single mother. His parents were separated when he was too young to remember. His mother was once addicted to drugs—cocaine, heroin and pills. She passed away at 42 when Anthony was 19 and before he went to prison.

His problems with the law began when he was a teenager. Anthony was involved in gangs and got expelled several times for scuffles at high schools. “At that time I was too weak as a child to make a choice to say I can do what I want to do instead of following behind somebody,” he said.

In 1995 the prosecution’s key witness testified against Anthony in exchange for a lighter sentence in another case. Anthony lied during the trial and testified that he didn’t know his co-defendant Reggie Cole. He regrets the lie, but says he was a scared kid who thought that saying he didn’t know his co-defendant would somehow put him in a better position.

The jury found him guilty and he was sentenced to life in prison without the possibility of parole. He was 19.

The hardest time for Anthony came two years into his prison sentence. “I was really alone at that point. I didn’t have much contact with anybody,” he said.

He sent out letters to family and didn’t get responses. His phone calls were blocked by friends. The only support he had was from his grandmother in St. Louis who regularly talked to him over the phone and encouraged him never to give up and come home.

“The one thing that kept giving me hope while I was in prison was I knew I was innocent,” he said.

Anthony hated the food in prison -- Eggs, potatoes, and sausage links for breakfast; and tasteless veal, chicken, burgers, hot dogs and Chili Macs.

During the last few years in prison, he never went to the chow hall thanks to his fiancée, Denise Merchant, who bought him cereal, rice, beans, chocolate, meat, lotion and all kinds of stuff.

They had known each other when they were teenagers. “He was always riding a little scooter, and I noticed he was always staring at me,” said Merchant, who is four years older than Anthony. They reconnected when Merchant got a call from her brother saying he was in the same prison as Anthony. She asked her brother to give Anthony her number and when Anthony called her from prison, “all the feelings I had for him when I was 16 all came back,” she said.

They started dating after her first prison visit, and got engaged a year and a half ago.

In prison, Anthony learned upholstery, how to put office cubicles together, landscaping, and clerical work. Apart from the set schedules of two meals a day, inmate count time, yard time, and shower time, he spent most of his time in the law library, studying his own case. “I didn’t know the law,” he said. “I tried to learn it. Man, it was difficult.”

Despite the difficulties, he pursued his freedom as vigorously as he could. He filed motions to different courts but all got denied.

“Even though I couldn’t get nobody else to hear me, I knew the Creator heard me. I knew that he knew I wasn’t guilty of anything. I find solace in that,” he said.

Anthony went to the Hebrew church in prison every Saturday for 15 years.

He kept trying to figure out who or how he could reach out to find some help. “You got to be strong and continue to look for something in the books you got in front you, and think one day it’s going to happen,” he said.

His efforts paid off in 2008 when he got a response to his letter to the Northern California Innocence Project. The Northern California Innocence Project--with the help of Loyola Law School’s Project for the Innocent--took on the case and helped convince a judge that the prosecution’s key witness lied to the jury.

“The evidence that we were able to turn up showed that there is absolutely nothing that connects him to the crime,” said Paige Kaneb, one of Anthony’s attorneys and a supervising attorney at the Northern California Innocence Project.

The witness admitted he never saw clearly the gunmen at the crime scene, and he based his identification of Anthony and his co-defendant from descriptions of others at the scene, according to Kaneb.

Anthony was “denied due process of law and was denied a fair trial” in 1994, says the writ habeas corpus. His conviction was overturned on September 30, 2011.

Seventeen years in prison changed his life. “It’s made me into a more straightforward, honest and truthful person,” he said.

He now tries not to leave things unsaid in a conversation. “Before I wasn’t that way, I would beat around the bush with certain things. I kind of was mindful about not wanting to hurt your feelings with the truth. I realize now keeping the truth from an individual hurts more than it does anything,” he said.

Anthony doesn’t harbor any anger toward what he maintains was a wrongful conviction. “Anger is weight that can hold you down and prevent you from being prosperous and progress in life,” said Anthony.

Anthony chooses to recognize the things that make him angry, acknowledge it and move forward. He no longer has to follow any set schedules of when to get up, when to eat and when to take a shower.

However, the transition from prison life to a free life has not been easy. Anthony is trying to find a job. He doesn’t want to rush too much and get frustrated. So far he has sent out two job applications and is waiting for a reply.

Kaneb said it would be hard for Anthony to get a job as he missed out on years of growing and learning, and having a resume that includes 17 years of work. “He is charismatic. He is really a good person. I think people will see that, but you just have to give him a chance,” said Kaneb.

Original report here




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