Saturday, January 2, 2021

The Murder of Julian Brandon


 


It was 6 pm on Sunday night at the beginning of winter solstice, three days since the new moon and the new year. Darkness came early, and it had been dark at the Brandon home for days.

      Julian Brandon and his wife Alice lived at 5340 Primitive Baptist Church Road just off Roy Road. Julian was a retired minister who built a new home on his family property in Caddo Parish. Though retired, he served as pastor of senior citizens at First Baptist Church in Blanchard.

People in Blanchard like things quiet, but it was too quiet at the Brandon’s house. The last time anyone heard from Julian and Alice was New Year’s Day, and now, four days later, friends and family were concerned. It was unlike them to miss church that morning, and when they didn’t show up for evening service, everyone knew something was wrong. Friends called, but no one answered. Finally, someone went by to check on them.

It was just after dark when a church member went to the Brandon’s front door. He looked through the window and saw Julian on the ground in a pool of blood. He ran to his car and called the Caddo Parish Sheriff’s Office.

At the same time, Alice’s cousin, Danny Kent received a phone call from his sister-in-law who lived across the street from the Brandons. She told him she thought Julian may have had a heart attack and needed help. Danny walked to Julian’s house and finding the back door ajar, he went inside.

The holidays were over, and it had been a quiet weekend for the Sheriff’s Office, but now every available unit was rushing to Primitive Baptist Church Road with lights flashing and sirens blaring. The first to arrive was Deputy Mike Vaitkus. 

Vaitkus talked to the caller in front of the Brandon’s home and then went around back checking the perimeter. Behind the house, he found a woman standing next to the open back door. It was Danny Kent’s wife. She said Danny was inside. Danny recently retired from the Sheriff’s Office as a mechanic. He was a no-nonsense man who was devoted to his family. Vaitkus went inside, approached Danny cautiously and asked him to step outside. With Danny out of the way, he went back in and found Julian lying by the front door in a pool of dried blood just like the caller described. There was a slash across his neck, and a knife protruding from his back. He had been dead for awhile. Near his body was a second kitchen knife, broken in two. There were bloody prints on the wall and floor, and a yellow bracelet conspicuously laying on the floor in the kitchen.

Knowing there was nothing he could do for Julian, Vaitkus backed out of the house and waited for back up. When Sergeant Bill Gaines arrived, the two of them went inside with guns drawn making sure the people who murdered Julian weren’t lurking in a dark corner somewhere. Moments later, Deputy Richard Jennings set up a perimeter around the outside of the house. Only law enforcement or medical personnel could go beyond the yellow tape.

Vaitkus and Gaines didn’t find any bad guys, but they did find a woman on the floor in the bedroom. It was Alice Brandon. A trail of blood on the bed led to the floor where she lay. She had been shot in the head, but unlike her husband, she was alive. When paramedics arrived, Gaines backed away, knowing her survival depended on emergency treatment. He wanted to ask who shot her and killed her husband, but he knew it would have to wait. She was air lifted to LSU Medical Center in Shreveport.

Sheila Hostnick and Kay Ward were the on call detectives. When Kay walked up to the scene, Lieutenant Steve Tompkins, the shift commander and former Detective Lieutenant, raised the yellow tape. As she passed, he reminded her about a woman who lived down the road who just got out of jail. Her name was Brandy Holmes, and Kay knew her well.

Brandy was a notorious burglar and a thief. She spent the last part of 2002 with her father in Mississippi but recently returned home. She was a convicted felon on probation. Richard Jennings, the third deputy to arrive at the scene that day, dealt with Brandy in the past. He responded to a call about a dog bitting a little girl. He found the dog tied up in front of Brandy’s house. He spoke to her mother about letting the dog run loose. She told him the dog was tired of being chained to the tree, so she unhooked him. While he was loose, he bit the little girl. Richard was writing her a summons for Dogs at Large when Brandy walked up to him and demanded to know what he was doing. She tried to talk him out of arresting her mother, but he ignored her. Brandy had a soft complexion and was immature. Richard was surprised to find out she was 23 years old. She couldn’t talk him out of writing the summons, so she took her frustration out on the dog. “Looky what you gone and done now. Dontcha know beeter dan dat?” When Richard looked up from his paper work, she was staring at him.

Lt. Tompkins’ observation was surprising since the crime had just been reported. At that point, no physical evidence had been collected and no witnesses spoken interviewed. It seemed premature to hypothesize on suspects.

In October, Kay worked a burglary at Brandy’s next door neighbor’s house. Several pieces of jewelry were taken in the burglary, and those pieces were found inside Brandy’s home. Kay believed she committed the burglary, but someone else confessed to it.

A week before Julian Brandon’s murder, a burglary occurred in Brandy’s neighborhood. One of the items taken was a leather jacket. The case was assigned to Kay, and Brandy was the prime suspect. As a convicted felon who had not been out of jail for long, she was a suspect in every theft and burglary that occurred within a three mile radius of her home, but was she capable of killing two people in cold blood?

Danny Kent thought so. Eight years earlier, he let his dog out at 10 pm before bed, and the dog barked hysterically. He went outside and noticed his barn door open and his riding lawn mower and go cart missing. He found the mower and go cart staged at the edge of the woods. He called the Sheriff’s Office, and they sent out a tracking dog. According to Danny, the dog followed a path straight to Brandy’s house. The deputies asked him if he wanted to press charges against Brandy, but he would not. He didn’t think it was right to put a girl in jail. Now Brandy was an adult and a suspect in Julian’s murder and Alice’s attempted murder. To a man like Danny, leaving a woman for dead after shooting her in the head was far worse than killing her outright.

Despite the consensus, it was too early to round up suspects. Deputies were still waiting for the Coroner’s Office to pick up Julian’s body, and Alice was just arriving at the hospital. Crime Scene Investigators had not yet gone inside the home, and it would take them hours to process the scene. A break in the case might come from evidence, an autopsy, a tip, or a witness, but so far there were only hunches.

Julian and Alice were known for helping people. They did not have enemies or know anyone who would do them harm. Word of their attack spread through Blanchard like wildfire. Residents loaded their guns and locked their doors. There was a killer in their midst. Deputies knew the urgency. The murderer must be caught. They sympathized with Alice and her family, but they didn’t have time to grieve because they had a case to solve. A murder in a cop’s jurisdiction is serious. Priorities change. Shifts are extended. Searches are conducted. There would be no rest until they exhausted all resources.

Sheila and Kay looked through the house for clues. Sheila noticed an open jewelry box in the bedroom. Steak knives from a knife block in the kitchen were scattered around the house. They were used to stab Julian and slit his throat. Ironically, there was a video tape on the couch in the living room entitled The Evil that Men Do.

The Sheriff sent Kay and Sheila to their office to make some phone calls. They called local hospitals and asked about patients needing stitches for knife wounds, but they came up empty handed. Detective Lieutenant Bill Duncan remained at the scene. The manager of the Blanchard Place Apartments approached him with potential information. Duncan called Kay and Sheila and told them to meet him at the apartments. When they arrived, he told them the manager said Brandy Holmes was at the apartments three days earlier and told him she killed an old couple who lived by a church. She showed him a plastic bag full of jewelry and a small caliber pistol as proof. She offered to sell the jewelry, but he knew better than to deal with her. He thought she was lying about the murders because he didn’t hear anything on the news about it. 

The detectives canvassed the apartment complex and spoke to other people who heard Brandy talking about killing two people. Over the next few days, others came forward. Unfortunately, no one spoke up until Julian Brandons was dead and Alice incapacitated.

The name on everyone’s lips was Brandy Holmes. Everyone knew she was a thief, neighbors were afraid of her, and deputies named her as a suspect before paramedics left the scene. In hour after the crimes were discovered, Brandy was suspect number one. The detectives had enough information to question her. They at least needed to ask if she ever told anyone she killed an elderly couple. Her home was within walking distance of the murder. Detectives Sheila and Kay found her there with her brother, mother, and boyfriend, Robert Coleman. Coleman was 33 years. She met him in Mississippi while staying with her father. The detectives brought all of them to the office. Brandy wore a black leather jacket. Kay recognized it as the one stolen in her neighbor’s burglary a week earlier. Kay wondered if she was ignorant or brash. By the end of the night, she knew the answer.

Brandy was either involved in the home invasion, or she heard about it from someone else. Women don’t usually commit home invasions. Maybe she heard about it from her boyfriend or brother. 

Of the four people the detectives took to the office, the only one who wasn’t a suspect was her mother.

The general rule for interviewing suspects is to interview the least culpable first. That way the main suspect has no idea what others have told detectives, and while he is waiting to be interviewed, he has plenty of time to think about how he should answer questions. The uncertainty of not knowing how to keep the story straight causes stress, and stress effects the way a person speaks, moves, and behaves. It helps the detectives recognize deception. Following the rule, Brandy’s mother should have been interviewed first. Instead, the detectives interviewed Robert Coleman first.

    Coleman was an unemployed, convicted robber and thief. He told the detectives he and Brandy had been together for two months. They met when she moved to Mississippi with her father. In December, they came to Shreveport to spend Christmas with her mother. They arrived at the bus station in Shreveport on Christmas Eve. Robert’s alibi was simple: he got drunk every night, slept every day until 2 pm, and never left Brandy’s trailer. When they asked him to give Brandy an alibi, he had nothing to offer. He said he had no idea what his girlfriend did while he was drunk or asleep.

Since three newspapers were found in the Brandon’s driveway, the detectives estimated the attack occurred on Thursday, January 2, but they were one day off. For Robert, it didn’t matter. His alibi was the same either day.

Kay and Sheila interviewed Brandy’s brother and mother together. Her brother said he was home the night the Brandons were attacked. The detectives confirmed his alibi because he was on house arrest in juvenile court. He said he didn’t know anything about the murders, and Brandy never said anything about it. Kay and Sheila didn’t believe him. The case would have to take a dramatic turn before he would cooperate.

    Brandy’s mother denied any knowledge of the crimes, and as a faithful matriarch, she gave a sweeping alibi for the whole family. She said everyone was home all week long. Her alibi was the same as Robert’s: broad and vague. Kay noticed two gold necklaces around her neck, and she asked her where they came from. She said they were gifts from Brandy. The detectives glanced at each other. Brandy was an unemployed, convicted burglar with no means or income. Two months earlier, Kay caught her with a necklace Brandy gave her that came from a house she burglarized. Kay had probable cause to arrest Brandy, but her little brother confessed because Brandy was on probation. That’s why he wore an ankle monitor. The detectives seized the necklaces. Her mother realized the implication and asked for a lawyer, ending the interview.

A detective’s goal in an interview is to get an alibi. If the suspect doesn’t give

a detailed alibi, it is suspicious, and casts doubt on his credibility. The first three suspects gave vague, generalized alibis. Nothing Robert Coleman told them convinced them he was innocent, and nothing her mother and brother said convinced them they were not aware of what happened.

Evidence and testimony that is favorable to a suspect is called exculpatory evidence. Evidence or testimony that points to a suspect’s guilt is called inculpatory evidence. Both exculpatory and inculpatory evidence must be corroborated before a case goes to trial. If the detective doesn’t tie up every loose end, the defense attorney will point it out during trial to discredit him. All information must be taken seriously and be validated or proven untrue; however, the priority of a fresh case is locating suspects and developing probable cause to put them behind bars. Details can be worked out later. To jump ahead in pursuit of exculpatory evidence during the initial stages of the investigation can be a distraction from the main priority. The detectives would soon learn that lesson.

Despite his solid alibi, some people thought Brandy’s brother was involved in the crimes, but neither Brandy nor Robert had such an alibi. It was after midnight. The investigation was 6 hours old. Sometimes it is difficult to get suspects to talk but not Brandy. Talking was the reason she was being interviewed in the first place. The challenge with her was to determine what was true and what was fabricated. 

    The protocol for interview and interrogation is to interview first, then interrogate if necessary. The goal of the interview is to get a detailed alibi. It is not a debate between a detective and suspect; it is the opportunity for the suspect to give his side of the story. Once a detective has as much of an alibi as he can get, he should leave the suspect alone, review his notes, and answer two basic questions. First, did the suspect give a clear detailed alibi, and second, did the suspect appear to be truthful? If the answer to either question is no, the detective should do an interrogation.

The interrogation is different than the interview. During the interrogation, the detective reasons with the suspect, applies the unique circumstances of the case to the crime, and explains how the suspect is the only person who could have committed it. He tells the suspect why his alibi doesn’t work.

    Brandy took control of her interview from the beginning, which wasn’t surprising, but then she did something the detectives didn’t expect. Instead of giving an alibi, she blamed the crime on someone else. She told the detectives she knew she would be blamed for the murder, but she didn’t have any firsthand information because her old friend Donny Williams (not his real name) called her and told her he broke in the house on Primitive Baptist Church Road and killed the people inside. She told them where Donny lived. Kay and Sheila left her with Lieutenant Duncan and rushed off to find him, but Donny didn’t live there anymore. They found another address and talked to a man fitting his description, but he said his name was Josh, and he lived there with his wife. When they asked to speak to her, he admitted he was Donny. He had an outstanding warrant, so Kay and Sheila arrested him and took him to the office. When they arrived, Captain Abraham met them at the door. That was when the case took a sudden turn.

    While the detectives were gone, Bobby Abraham spoke to Brandy, and she admitted that she and Robert Coleman committed the home invasion at the Brandon’s on New Years Day, and she told him about another homicide that was unreported. She said they killed a man named Terrance Blaze 24 hours earlier. Over the next two days, Brandy retold her story a dozen times, and each time it was different. In one story, Donny was involved and Robert wasn’t. In another, she was the shooter, and in another, a man known only as Marcus killed Terrance Blaze. Brandy was the only constant in her stories, but she could not remove Robert from the crimes by lying. The two were together from the start.

    In her report, Kay wrote, “Brandy did not cry or become upset at any time during the interviews. When she talked about the murder of Mr. Brandon and the attempted murder of Mrs. Brandon she talked as if it was an everyday affair.”

           After her confession, Brandy led Kay to Terrance Blaze’s body beside a gravel road right where she left him. Brandy asked Kay, “Ms. Ward, have you ever loved somebody so much you would do anything for them?” Kay asked if she was talking about Robert Coleman. She was.

    Back at the office, Brandy told detectives she had a dream the night before. She dreamed she was at the Brandon’s house and saw Alice lying on the floor alive. She woke up and told Robert, “The bitch is still alive!” On Sunday afternoon, four hours before the crime was discovered, Brandy went back to the Brandon’s to see if her dream was true, but instead of taking Robert or Donny, she took her nephews. When they got to the house, she asked them if they wanted to see a dead man. The oldest one said no and refused to go inside, but the 9 year-old had never seen a dead man. When he saw Julian on the floor in a pool of blood by the front door, he ran out of the house leaving Brandy alone with the Brandon’s dog who was crouched beside his master, growling. Brandy heard Alice in the bedroom struggling to breath. She went to the bedroom intending to finish her off by slitting her throat, but the dog blocked the bedroom door and prevented her from going further. She left the house to call 911, but she never got around to it.

    It was mid-morning. Robert Coleman was dozing in the conference room. Kay felt she didn’t have probable cause to arrest him, so she asked Detective Jay Morgan to take him home. Jay took Robert to Brandy’s house and left him at the front door. When the Captain found out Robert had been released, he ordered Kay to get him back immediately. She called Jay just before he got back to the office. He found Robert at the front door of the trailer with his luggage in his hands. Robert asked him for a ride to the bus station. Jay said he would take him when they finished at the office. He helped Robert load his bags in the trunk.

At the office, Kay searched the Mississippian’s bag and found a pair of jeans with burgundy stains on them. Robert said they were rust, but they tested positive for blood. He changed his story and said the blood came from a cut on his hand. Kay booked him in jail for first degree murder. At booking, she seized his boots and put them in evidence.

    Kay booked Brandy for first degree murder. At the booking desk, she told deputies her nickname was Trouble.

    Paul Carmouche had been the District Attorney in Caddo Parish for 24 years. He told the Shreveport Times, “My experience has been that normally you’d see this from a man. It’s just our experience in Caddo Parish that less of these types of crimes are committed by women. That type of case normally results in the death penalty.”

    Women who kill usually don’t kill people the way Brandy did; they kill someone they know. Half the women on death row in this country are there for murdering a husband, boyfriend, child, or grandchild.

In an article from the Shreveport Times, Victor Streib, an Ohio law professor and expert on women and the death penalty said, “The sort of classic stranger-killing that men engage in is unusual for women. We have found that a group of women, those who kill a stranger, who kill in a very violent, shocking kind of way … if a women does that, this group seems to be treated (by juries) like a man.”

The death penalty was on everyone’s mind. The crimes were brutal and senseless. The town of Blanchard was shaken. A day after the arrests, Perry Hughes who lived down the road from the Brandons told the Shreveport. Times, “This has been devastating for the neighborhood.” Bubba Talbert, a friend of the Brandon’s said, “It’s been a nightmare …it’s devastating. It’s like a bad dream. We’re all shaken.”

The detectives tracked down a list of witnesses. Robbery had been in the couple’s plans from the beginning. They stole Brandy’s father’s pistol in Mississippi and planned to steal a lot of money and retire in Mississippi. When they arrived in Louisiana, they told people they were going to hit a lick, and their desire to rob and kill was without discretion. Brandy’s friends were as likely to be targets as were strangers. During the week of Christmas, Brandy called two people she knew and offered them sex for money. She told them she needed money to get back to Mississippi, but the plan was to rob them. Before the end of the week, Terry Blaze took the bait and ended up dead.

On New Year’s Eve, the day before the Brandon home invasion, there was a party at Brandy’s trailer. One of her friends walked in the bedroom when her brother handed Robert a small pistol. The witness was uncomfortable and left the room. A few minutes later, Robert came looking for him and apologized and told him about their plan to commit a robbery.


*****


The week between Christmas and New Years, the couple were still working out their plans to make a major heist. The Sheriff’s Office Radio Room received a phone call from someone asking for the code to get in the gate at Nob Hill, an exclusive gated neighborhood in Blanchard. The caller said she was from Chicago and was in town visiting her mother but could not reach her on the phone. The dispatcher said the caller sounded like a white woman trying to sound black, and she didn’t have a Chicago accent. The Caller ID showed the call came from Brandy’s house.

To avoid the gate, the robbers went to Nob Hill, on foot with the intent of luring someone outside and ambushing them. They knocked on a woman’s door and told her they were trying to find a friend’s house. She saw Robert hiding in the bushes and quickly slammed the door and locked it. She called 911, but no one was there when the deputies arrived. Three nights later, They went back to the same house. The woman would not open the door and called 911. Once again the couple fled. According to the Shreveport Times, “The convicted killer later told detectives had the woman let her in, she would have done the same things to her she did to the Brandons.”

Brandy’s brother stone-walled detectives when they interviewed him Sunday night, but now that sister was in jail, he wanted to talk. They knew he wasn’t involved in the murders, but as they suspected, he knew about the murders all along. He told detectives Brandy and Robert left home on January 1 around 10 pm to go for a walk, and he described the clothes they were wearing. They came back 45 minutes later, and Brandy locked herself in the bathroom while Robert went to the bedroom and shut the door. As soon as she came out of the bathroom, Robert went in, and she went to the bedroom. He knew something was going on, so he asked her. She told him they did something really bad. When he pressed her, she told him she, Donny, and Robert killed an old couple, but he never saw Donny with them. Robert told him he fought an old man, stabbed him with a knife, then threw the knife in the kitchen sink. It was supposed to be a robbery, but Brandy told him they only got $6 cash and some credit cards. He knew the crimes weren’t just about money. His sister and her boyfriend wanted to be somebody.

He said Brandy returned to the crime scene twice looking for more jewelry. She told her brother she could hear Alice struggling to breath both times she was there. She showed him the .380 pistol she stole from her father. Robert kept it in his travel bag most of the time, but sometimes he took it out and waved it around.

The detectives asked him about the night Terrance Blaze was murdered. He told them, “I know she was calling him a lot. She was calling him trying to get him over to the house and stuff.” Brandy and Robert left in his mother’s car on Saturday night, January 4 shortly after dark.

The car was equipped with a breath machine attached to the ignition to prevent an intoxicated person from driving it. Brandy’s mom had the equipment installed by court order after she was convicted of a DWI. She was an alcoholic, and later she used her alcoholism to defend her

daughter.

Brandy blew in the machine to get the car started which inferred that Robert was drunk when he drove. They told the family they were going to Western Union to pick up some money for bus fare back to Mississippi. About an hour later, they returned home, and Robert put

the .380 pistol in his coat pocket. He said the gun had blood on it. After they spent a few minutes inside the trailer, they went back outside and cleaned the interior of the car with bleach and detergent. They used white towels to wipe blood from the seats. Later, they left the house twice. When they returned, “They acted different. They acted upset, like – I’m not sure what they acted like or how they were feeling or anything, but they were nervous.” He saw blood on the towels and knew they shot someone. He told the detectives the bloody towels were still at the house in a garbage bag.

Detectives looked inside his momma’s car and saw what appeared to be blood on the seats. They seized the car, got a search warrant, and did the search. The car was drenched in bleach, but they recovered blood evidence. When they searched her house, they found the bloody towels from that night in the bathroom.

One of the mysteries of the case was Brandy’s claim that Donny Williams was involved. She not only told detectives, she also told her little brother, but despite her claims, Donny adamantly denied any involvement, and he had an alibi. Donny and his wife had a New Year’s party at their home, and several people were there and verified his presence. Furthermore, there was no physical evidence to link him to the crimes, and Brandy’s brother never saw him with her and Robert before or after the murders. Early in the investigation, Brandy told detectives where Donny lived, but it was his old address. If he was involved, she should have known where he was living. So, why accuse him? It appeared that Donny and Brandy had a relationship in the past, and when she came back from Mississippi, she saw him in the neighborhood. He told her he was married and working a steady job. Between Christmas and New Year’s she called him and asked him to bring his wife over so she could meet her, but his wife refused. It appears Brandy was jealous, and feeling scorned, she blamed him in retaliation.

Of the five people suspected in the crimes, two of them, Donny and Brandy’s brother, had clear cut alibis, and one of them, Marcus, did not exist. The only thing that would change thingswas physical evidence, but physical evidence against the three was never found. Brandy and Robert were not so lucky.

The detectives searched Brandy’s home twice. During the initial search they found two pillows that appeared to have bullet holes in them, a box of rubber gloves, a Wal-Mart shopping card, and some bloody clothing. The second search was a week later. They found spent .380 shells and jewelry wrapped in a rubber glove in the gutter. One of the pieces of jewelry was a bracelet which was identified by Alice Brandon’s daughter as a gift she gave her mother for Christmas a few years earlier.

Two weeks after Robert Coleman was arrested for the murder of Julian Brandon, he called and asked to speak with detectives. They believed he was ready to tell the truth, but it didn’t happen. Brandy was evil, but she confessed her crimes. Coleman never did. He was only concerned for himself. When the detectives arrived at the jail to talk to him, he said, “The reason why I wanted– the reason why I – like I said, I asked for someone, you know, I don’t know nothing about none of this here.” The sentence, “I don’t know nothing...” contains a double negative and according to the rules of grammar, “A double negative is the nonstandard usage of two negatives used in the same sentence so that they cancel each other and create a positive.” (From Literary Education on Line) Experienced detectives listen for double negatives because they indicate deception. It was the closest Robert ever came to a confession.

He stammered through the interview, trying to distance himself from Brandy. He said, “I didn’t even know Brandy was this type of person, you know...” but he knew  what type of person she was. He needed a woman to influence, and he found her. He stuck to his alibi of sleeping and drinking and told them nothing new. He called them because he had a complaint: he was not pleased with the way he was being portrayed at the jail. He said, “I’m being treated – I’m being treated as – as I’m – I’m a murderer, you know.”

A year passed…then two. Robert Coleman went to trial first on the Brandon case. His defense team portrayed him as a victim of a crazy girlfriend. The defense concluded that since he never admitted to being involved, he could not be guilty. The DA’s Office assigned their heavy hitters to the case: Lea Hall, Ed Blewer, and Hugo Holland. Coleman’s defense team consisted of men who spoke up for the disenfranchised and were opposed to the death penalty. They equated the death of Julian Brandon with the death of Charles Manson, all in a pretense of placing a high value on life. The Caddo DAs Office sought the death penalty for Robert Coleman.

On Sunday, February 13, 2005, Assistant District Attorney Ed Blewer made his opening statements in Judge Scott Crichton’s courtroom. Ed told the jury there were two New Year’s Eve parties on December 31, 2002 in Blanchard, Louisiana. One of them was at the Julian Brandon’s home, and the other was the Brandy Holmes’ home. At the Brandon’s, guests ate good food and enjoyed each other’s company as they looked forward to a new year. At the other party, Robert Coleman and Brandy Holmes were planning a home invasion. The prosecution called the witness who saw Robert with a gun on New Year’s Eve. He told about Coleman asking him where he could hit a lick.

Detectives testified about searching Brandy’s house and finding Alice Brandon’s jewelry and two pillows with bullet holes in them. They told the jury about Robert’s arrest and seizing his boots. A criminologist took the stand. He explained how he found and identified Julian Brandon’s blood on Robert Coleman’s boots.

The prosecution called two inmates as witnesses. Collies Sharpes and Bobbie Evans, had conversations with Coleman at Caddo Correction Center. According to the Shreveport Times, “’Coleman said they were in a knock – off game,’ Sharpes testified. ‘He said they were in to robbing, breaking in and knocking people off. A knocking off is a thing they do to kill people.’” Bobbie Evans told the jury Coleman told him he was testing Brandy Holmes to see if she could kill someone. Brandy failed because she, “…ratted everyone out.” The stories corroborated Brandy Holmes question to Kay Ward when they found Terrance Blaze’s body, “Have you ever loved somebody so much you would do anything for them?” Brandy’s motivation for the crime spree was Robert Coleman.

Caddo Coroner, Dr. George McCormick took the stand for the prosecution. He told the jurors Julian Brandon suffered nine fatal wounds in a “blitz attack.” The Coroner said Julian did not have a chance.

When the prosecution rested, the defense called its witnesses. Their strategy was to muddy the water as much as possible. To do so, they blamed the crimes on Brandy Holmes and her brother. They said Robert Coleman had nothing to do with the home invasion of the Brandons. They claimed he could not have been involved because an eyewitness saw two white males at the scene. To prove their claim they explained that Brandy was white and boyish looking, and due to her behavior, she could have easily been mistaken for a male. They said the second white male was either Brandy’s brother or Donny Williams. Robert Coleman couldn’t have been involved because he was black.

The defense called the paramedic from Life Air Rescue, the local medical helicopter that took Alice to the hospital on January 5, 2003. Tommy Adams was a well known Shreveport Fireman with twenty five years of experience. Though he had no role in the investigation, he asked Alice a question while they were flying to the hospital. The Times reported, “A paramedic who treated the wife of homicide victim the Rev. Julian Brandon told jurors Wednesday that the woman was lucid when she described two white males who shot her and her husband.” Adams unwittingly gave them the opening they needed to inject their conspiracy theory into the trial. If Alice Brandon said two white males shot her and her husband, her statement should be taken seriously, but the obvious problem was that Alice Brandon had two gunshot wounds to the head and was found on the floor of her bedroom where she lay helplessly for four days before help arrived. Her telephone was inches away from her, but she was incapable of using or even locating it to call 9-1-1. If not for concerned friends, she would have died on her bedroom floor from blood loss, dehydration, and hunger. Describing Alice as lucid was questionable.

During cross examination, ADA Lea Hall pointed out that Adams asked Alice short, closed ended questions such as, how many attackers were there, and were they white or black. The deputies at the scene, who were the ones in charge of the investigation, didn’t ask Alice

any questions because her injuries were life threatening. Sergeant Bill Gaines, wrote in his report that he heard Alice gurgling while she fought to breathe, and she had froth coming from her mouth. Bill wrote in his report, “She told one of the paramedics her first name was ‘Alice,’ answered ‘yes’ to the question of whether she wore glasses and ‘no’ to whether she wanted them brought to the hospital. One of the rescuers asked her if she knew how she had been injured and she did not respond. I asked her no questions as not to interfere with her medical treatment.” The prosecution put Alice’s daughter on the stand. She had been caring for her for over two years since the shootings. She testified that Alice was unable to speak clearly and unable to testify in court.

On Thursday, February 17, 2005, attorneys made closing arguments. After 4-1/2 hours of deliberation, the jury found Robert Glen Coleman guilty of the first degree murder of Julian Brandon. The Louisiana statute for first degree murder fit Coleman’s crime for at least three reasons: Coleman had specific intent to kill or inflict great bodily harm while engaged in (1) an armed robbery, (2) on more than one person, and (3) upon a victim sixty-five years or older. In Louisiana, a guilty verdict of first degree murder qualifies the offender for the death penalty. If the offender receives mercy, he is given a life sentence at hard labor.

Not everyone was happy about the verdict. Coleman’s mother told the Shreveport Times, “Justice was not served.” After the verdict, Caddo Assistant District Attorney Lea Hall observed, “More than anything, it was him wearing the bloody boots. He couldn’t escape his own boots.” Ultimately, there was more real evidence of murder and mayhem against Robert Coleman than there was against Charles Manson. On Saturday, February 19, 2005, the nine woman, three man jury on the Coleman case heard arguments for and against the death penalty. According to the Times, Defense Attorney Richard Goorley told the jury, ”I’d like to know if you think Robert Coleman is the one who did it, was he with the person who did it or did he know who did? Is that enough for you to take someone’s life when you’re not sure what his involvement was? It’s ironic that the state says that killing someone is wrong, however, we need to kill someone.” Prior to the return of the verdict, “Goorley asked that Coleman’s life be spared, stressing that sentencing him to death would have the same effect on the Coleman family that the minister’s death has had on the Brandon family.”

Despite the defense’s attempts, Robert Coleman was sentenced to death. 


*****


During her stay in the Caddo Parish Jail, Brandy, aka Trouble, racked up 44 disciplinary incidents. There was the time she was chewing on her wrist and refused to quit, and deputies placed her in a restraint chair. She escaped from the chair, so they strapped her to a board. Then there was the time she told a deputy she looked up her address in the telephone book, and she was coming to her house to kill her.

Sheila Wright was the Director of the nursing staff at Caddo Correction Center. She had close to twenty years in law enforcement when Trouble came to CCC. Sheila was there for Brandy’s initial mental health evaluation. She described her as, “. . . extremely animated.” During the meeting, Brandy told them she only lacked a semester or two from graduating from nursing school, but it was obvious from her records that she never went to college. Besides that, nursing schools don’t enroll felons, but to Brandy, a lie was as good as the truth. Sheila Wright said, “… it was as if she didn’t have a soul.”

Almost exactly a year after Robert Coleman’s trial, on February 11, 2006, Brandy Holmes went to trial. It had been three years since the tragedy. Caddo ADA Lea Hall made this opening statement, “It was murder for the sake of murder. Keep that phrase in mind because that’s exactly what this case is about.” The defense countered with, “There’s no evidence beyond reasonable doubt that Brandy Holmes is guilty of first-degree murder. Evidence will show she’s guilty of second-degree murder.”

When your attorney agrees with the prosecution that you are guilty of murder, it is not good. For the defense, there was no use denying the obvious. Their only hope was to keep her off death row. They claimed Robert Coleman was the real bad guy, and Brandy just submitted to peer pressure. They claimed he had specific intent to kill, but Brandy didn’t.

On the second day of the trial, the prosecution put Brandy’s 12 year old nephew on the stand. He was a tender, 9 year old when Aunt Brandy took him on a field trip to the home where she and Coleman left two people for dead. He told the court she took him there to see his first dead body. She led him inside, and he saw an old man lying in a pool of blood. He turned and ran out the back door.

Day three highlighted the physical evidence in the case. Detectives believed the pistol used in the crimes was stolen from Brandy’s father in Mississippi, but it was allegedly in the bottom of nearby Cross Lake. They went to Mississippi and found a tree that was used as a back stop for target practice with the pistol, and they recovered a .380 bullet from the tree. They sent it to the crime lab to be compared to a partial bullet removed from Julian Brandon’s head. The bullets were a forensic match proving they were fired from the same gun. There was other evidence as well, such as Alice Brandon’s jewelry found at Brandy’s home, and Brandy’s bracelet that was found in the Brandon’s kitchen.

The defense did their best to cast doubt on Brandy’s involvement. They claimed she was intoxicated when detectives picked her up on January 5th and unable to give a coherent story. They told the jury she made multiple statements during her seven hours with detectives, sometimes admitting to the crimes and sometimes blaming someone else. They said she was confused and should be pitied rather than condemned, but they didn’t mention the confessions Brandy made to many people, including her 9 year old nephew.

On Valentine’s Day, 2006, the 4 man, 8 woman jury went behind closed doors for deliberation. After 30 minutes, they returned to the courtroom and found Brandy guilty of first degree murder. The verdict made the 26 year old eligible for the death penalty. All that was left was the sentencing phase. The only two choices were a life sentence or the death penalty. February 15th was spent debating the issue, and the prosecution pulled no punches. They told the jury about Brandy and Robert’s plot to murder residents in the gated neighborhood of Nob Hill. They put Captain Abraham on the stand to recount Brandy’s original story of the murder of Terrance Blaze.

The defense team put Brandy’s mother on the stand. She told them she had been an alcoholic her whole adult life including the nine months she was pregnant with Brandy. She loved alcohol so much, she named her baby after her favorite drink. The defense said Brandy was a victim of fetal alcohol syndrome which caused a personality disorder. They said she was not responsible for her behavior.

The presiding judge was Scott J. Crichton. In response to the defense’s claim that Brandy was mentally deficient, he told the court, “…there is no evidence that she is mentally retarded by law.” According to the Louisiana Code of Criminal Procedure, Title XXI, Chapter 1, Article 641, “Mental incapacity to proceed exists when, as a result of mental disease or defect, a defendant presently lacks the capacity to understand the proceedings against him or to assist in his defense.” As Judge Crichton pointed out, Brandy had been found fit to go to trial. If she was competent to be tried, she was competent to be sentenced.

The defense looked to local Psychiatrist Mark Vigen for help. He said, “This woman has no sense of herself. She hasn’t learned anything. Brandy doesn’t even know who she is.” People familiar with Brandy and the case would disagree. To them, Brandy knew exactly who she was, and what she wanted to be. She built her character and reputation on breaking rules, and she earned her nickname. She learned nothing from her arrest and trial because that was who she was. She wanted to be a cold, calculated killer, and she achieved her goal.

Brandy’s attorney, David McClatchey, told the jury, “I know she has done some of the most horrible things you can think of, but I’m begging you for mercy to spare Brandy’s life. She’s not like a puppy you get for Christmas that’s defective and you throw it away. Whatever that’s in her head to make right or wrong choices does not work. That’s the way God gave Brandy to us, and we can’t change that.”

Before Judge Scott Crichton handed down Brandy’s sentence he told the court, “I must say this case ranks among the most horrific murders in the history of Caddo Parish. I believe Ms. Holmes earned the death penalty.” He sent Brandy to Death Row at St. Gabriel Women’s Prison in Baton Rouge where she became the second woman on death row. Antoinette Frank was the first.

In 1995, Antoinette Frank was a New Orleans Police Officer. Having grown up in the inner city, Antoinette wanted to help wayward kids. One of the persons she helped was 18 year old gunshot victim, Rogers LaCaze. Frank bought LaCaze clothes, a pager, and even a cell phone. She visited him regularly and soon began spending all her spare time with him. It seemed suspicious, but no one complained. Later, Alice Chaney, LaCaze’s mother said, “Frank became obsessed with him.”

Like many police officers, Antoinette supplemented her income working off duty security. One of the officers on her shift was Ronnie Williams. Williams, a 25 year old father of two, was in charge of security at a Vietnamese restaurant called Kim Anh. Kim Anh was owned

and operated by the Nguyen family. Officer Williams had Antoinette fill in when he needed someone to work at the restaurant.

On March 3, 1995, Antoinette got off her patrol shift at 11pm and went by the restaurant twice. It was late and she wasn’t working at the restaurant, so employees were suspicious. At 2 am, Antionette showed up a third time with Rogers LaCaze. When one of the employees saw her pull up, she hid $10,000 in cash in the microwave. The door to the business was locked, but instead of leaving, Antoinette pulled out a key, unlocked the door, and came inside with LaCaze. Once inside, LaCaze took a 9mm pistol and shot Officer Ronnie Williams in the head, neck, and back. While Williams lay dying, LaCaze took his wallet from his back pocket and his pistol from the holster. He handed William’s pistol to Antoinette.

The Vu family were devout Catholics, and two of their children, Cuong and Ha, wanted to be a priest and a nun. Cuong and Ha were working that night, and they heard the gunshots that killed Officer Williams from the kitchen. Seconds later, Antoinette confronted them with the pistol and demanded money. Cuong and Ha dropped to their knees and in prayer believing it was more important to talk to God than the psychotic police officer. When they wouldn’t respond to her, Antoinette shot them ten times. Ha died instantly. Cuong was still alive, so Antoinette finished him off with a bullet to the head.

The robbers stole what cash they could find and fled. LaCaze dropped Antoinette off at a nearby police station where she was able to get the keys to a police car and return to Kim Anh as the first officer to arrive on scene. When other officers arrived minutes later, surviving employees timidly told them Franks was the one they were looking for. They took her to the station for questioning, and she confessed that Rogers LaCaze killed Officer Williams, and she killed Cuong and Ha, but she said she only did it because LaCaze forced her.

Justice was uncharacteristically swift for Antoinette. By October of the same year she went to trial and was convicted of first degree murder. It took very little deliberation to send her to death row. In a separate trial, Rogers LaCaze received the same fate.

A month after Antoinette’s trial, a dog dug up human bones under her house. Crime Scene Investigators found a skull with a bullet hole in it. The bones belonged to Antoinette’s father who lived with her until she reported him missing two years before the Kim Anh murders. She was never indicted for her father’s murder.

Robert Coleman’s conviction in 2006 was overturned over an issue with his jury, but he was convicted and received the death penalty again in 2012.  In 2016, both Brandy and Robert Coleman were taken off death row and sentenced to life but for different reasons. The Caddo District Attorney’s office felt Brandy’s conviction could be overturned because of conflicting testimony from a witness, so they made an agreement with her and gave her a life sentence. Robert was taken off death row and given a life sentence due to the exclusion of black jurors. The death penalty is a touchy topic in Louisiana. Though it is law and supported by a majority of residents, many experts believe Louisiana’s ability to execute criminals convicted of capital crimes has been hamstrung by the state’s appeals process. For example, Shreveport serial killer Nathaniel Code killed eight people in 1984-85. In 1989 he was convicted for four of the murders and given the death penalty. Thirty years later, Code still sits on death row. Only one prisoner has been executed in Louisiana since 2002: Gerald Bordelon. Gerald was a two time sex offender who was convicted and sentenced to death for kidnapping, raping, and murdering his 12 year-old step daughter. But in the world of death row inmates, Bordelon was unusual. He felt responsible for his crimes and wanted to die. He decided to abandon his appeals and subject himself to lethal injection, but his lawyers wouldn’t let him. He appealed to the Louisiana Supreme Court for his right to waive his appeals and won. He was executed in 2010. 

Not long ago, a life sentence in Louisiana was a life sentence, but that may be changing. As long as killers stay in jail for the rest of their lives, enforcing a death penalty that costs the state millions of dollars doesn’t make sense, but if killers like Brandy Holmes, Robert Coleman, Antoinette Franks, and Nathaniel Code could get out one day, the death penalty should be enforced. It won’t make murder go away, but it would make some murderers go away. The collateral damage from murder affects many innocent people.

Neither Brandy Holmes nor Robert Coleman were ever tried for the murder of Terrance Blaze on January 4, 2003.





Wednesday, May 20, 2020

The Burglar


The south end was getting hit hard. Thieves were checking vehicles in neighborhoods, and if the doors were unlocked, they took everything they could get their hands on. Half 
a dozen pistols were stolen, and there were at least forty victims in several neighborhoods, and it went on for weeks. The deputies got close a couple of times, but the burglars always got away.

Most people don’t realize how many cases are solved when citizens get involved, and that’s what happened on this case. Someone saw a Facebook post of neighborhood kids holding pistols and long guns, and they reported it to a patrolman. The guns looked familiar because they had been stolen in the burglaries. The Sheriff’s Office tracked the suspects to a house in Keithville, but when they arrived, the teens ran out the back door. Detectives searched the house and found some loot from the burglaries but not all the firearms. Detectives knew the names of the four suspects, all of whom were under 18, and they wrote arrest warrants.

A night later, deputies patrolled neighborhoods looking for anything suspicious, but it was quiet until 2 am when Deputy Rick Porter called in a traffic stop. Rick was a retired state trooper who held the record for DWI arrests. Now he was in his sixties, but age did not deter his abilities. He could find drunks on the quietest of nights, and it usually happened right after the bars closed. Rick was pursuing a pickup truck south on Louisiana Highway 171, and the truck would not stop. His voice on the radio went up an octave when the driver reached 80 mph. There was little to no traffic, and Rick was no stranger to pursuits, so he stayed with the truck while other patrolmen scrambled to help. Most drunks on the south end are headed into to town, but this one was headed out. In minutes, he reached Desoto Parish. 

Since the truck was not going outrageously fast and traffic was light at that time of morning, the pursuit was not called off. I was the on-duty Lieutenant, and my sergeant was James Houston. Houston assigned his personnel the way a conductor directs a symphony, with confidence and precision. We didn’t want our deputies too deep in Desoto Parish, so I was glad when the truck turned west on Stonewall-Preston Road which dead ends in Caddo Parish at Keithville-Keatchie Road. At the intersection, the truck turned back north directly in front of Deputy Trey Keene who had a knack for being at the right place at the right time. Whereas Porter gave only pertinent information on speed and location, Keene called the pursuit play by play. The speeds were not excessive, averaging only 70 mph, which leant to the belief that the driver was intoxicated or elderly. The road ran parallel with the railroad tracks which at that time of night could be a factor if a train was coming. After the pickup passed Booker Road, Trey announced it was turning left on Williams at the railroad crossing. Thankfully, there was no train, but the truck was going too fast over the tracks and overturned at the intersection.

When I arrived, the truck was upside down on the right side of the road. It looked like the driver accelerated in the middle of the turn causing the truck to go left, so he turned his wheels hard to the right and over corrected causing the truck to trip over itself and roll on its top. Inside of it, deputies found two pistols taken in the car burglaries. The driver and passenger were two of the four burglary suspects we were looking for. Keene and Porter took Jimmy and Rashaun (not their real names) in custody. When Keene ran the plate on the pickup, he found out it had been stolen. Jimmy and Rashaun were burglarizing vehicles in Shreveport when they came to the unlocked pickup truck with a key in the ignition, and they went for a drive. Jimmy had only gone a mile when he caught Porter’s attention by running the red light at the intersection of Williamson Way and LA 171.

We took them to the substation, separated them, and waited on a detective. When he arrived, he and I interviewed the two thieves. 

Rashaun was up first. In less than a minute, he demanded a lawyer.

Jimmy was next, and I expected him to do the same as Rashaun, but he didn’t. Instead, he was intent on showing us the rules did not apply to him. I was fine with it as long as he was talking because I wanted his alibi. He had spend the last few weeks treating other people’s stuff as his own and going where he pleased, when he pleased. Now he was caught, and he was angry. He said he knew nothing about the string of burglaries on the south end, yet he had been caught in a stolen truck, and inside the truck were two pistols taken from those burglaries. There was no way to escape the connection, but he refused to admit it. Instead of an alibi, he impressed us with his vocabulary and told us his intentions. “If I could have found the pistol after the truck rolled over, I would have shot you in the face.” Nice kid…

Every detective knows interviews are for gathering information, getting an alibi, setting a base line of behavior, and identifying deception. If you don’t get an alibi and the suspect provides little or no information, deception is a sure thing. Jimmy was already under arrest for traffic offenses and stealing a vehicle, and he had a warrant for the burglaries, but we wanted his cooperation to eliminate all assumptions. Getting offended and angry at a teenager’s flippant remarks would not help solve the case, so I ignored his threats.

The detective and I left Jimmy alone in the interview room. I prepared for an interrogation by reviewing my notes and making a chronological list of all the burglaries. The detective got started on his paperwork. He felt like it was a waste of time to talk to Jimmy any further, so I returned to the interview room without him. 

Jimmy was not happy to see me again. He demanded to be taken to jail, but I sat down beside him. I told him I knew he was involved in the car burglaries, and instead of protesting, he listened. It was a good sign of guilt. I started with his arrest an hour earlier and went backwards, asking about each burglary. Jimmy saw the futility of denying his involvement, and he explained who stole what and when. There were three other burglars involved, including his brother and Rashaun.

Two years later, I was listening to a news report about a fatality crash in south Shreveport. It was Jimmy. He had served less than 2 years in jail for his burglary spree, and he hadn’t been out long when he went for a drive with his brother. Jimmy crashed the car, and he and his brother were killed. Both were under 20 years old. Perhaps he would still be alive if he had not been released from jail so soon. 

Sometimes justice is carried out quickly, and it surprises us.  In a pragmatic world, the car wreck solved a problem, but in God’s world, it is a tragedy when people created in his image self destruct. It didn’t have to be that way. God gave Jimmy plenty of warnings, and he does the same for us. He resists the proud but gives grace to the humble, and that’s Important to remember when the voice inside us tells us we deserve to do things our own way. 

What is most surprising about life is that any of us make it to adulthood. The fact that many do is a testimony of God’s grace because all of us have a little bit of Jimmy in us. We want to please ourselves instead of the God who created us. We believe the lie that tells us we will be happy if we get what we desire, but it never works that way, and yet we don’t give up. The proud rush on and embrace the lie forever, but there’s the humble. The humble come to the end of their rope. The humble declare moral bankruptcy. The humble calculate the debt they could never repay in a thousand life times. The humble have nowhere to go except to Christ alone for righteousness they did not inherit, earn, or deserve, and that’s what you call justification by Christ, and it is a verdict that says: not guilty by the grace of God through Jesus Christ. 

What about you? Is your life the pursuit of your own happiness, or have you submitted yourself to Christ alone?

Friday, December 20, 2019

The Christmas Failure

      On Christmas Eve, 2003, I was the evening shift patrol supervisor on the north end of the parish. While my chain of command and every other non-essential entity were enjoying the night with their families, my shift and I ensured that civilization did not go extinct. By nightfall, which came early, my deputies alternately went home to have dinner with their families. I couldn’t go home because I lived on the south end of the parish, twenty miles away. The rest of the evening dragged painfully slow while I drove the perimeter of my area.
At 8 pm, I reached the Arkansas state line and turned around. I came south on US 71 through little towns named from women or old families: Ida, Myra, Hosston, Gilliam, Belcher, and Dixie. The Highway was bare, and I was eager to be with my family. I arrived to civilization quicker than I expected, so I drove back north and pulled over on Highway 1 in TV Hills. Back before they leveled the hills and widened the road, Highway 1 had two lanes with improved shoulders, and you could pull over on a hill and catch speeders before they knew you were there, but nothing was moving that night.
I stopped at my office to read a report, but I couldn’t focus. I started over, but it didn’t work, so I cleared my desk, cleaned out a drawer, used compressed air to clean my computer, separated my pens from my pencils, and emptied the trash can. I got back in my car and went south, stopping just north of the city limits, and parked on the side of North Market to remind everyone coming into the parish that we weren’t putting up with any nonsense.
10 pm was too early to go home, so I drove slow. I almost reached the Cross Lake Bridge when the radio blared for the first time in hours, and it wasn’t the dispatcher wishing the evening shift Merry Christmas. Instead, it was an emergency.
“Dispatch to all units...a caller reports a man lying in the middle of Lowery Road with a gunshot wound to his head. Fire District One is in route.”
I shook my head and flipped on my lights and siren. A few minutes later and the call belonged to midnight shift, but now it was ours.
If you live any further west of Lowery Road in Caddo Parish, you’re in Texas. By the time I arrived, one of my deputies was setting up an LZ for the medical helicopter, and another was interviewing the people who found the man in the road. Yellow tape held back a dozen onlookers. Women were crying. A small group was praying. People were scared. Fire trucks blocked the road, the way firemen like to do, and under their spotlights lay a man in the road, slightly north of center. My deputy told me the man was talking to firemen when he arrived. 
      Before I was promoted two months earlier, I was a detective. When detectives arrive at the scene of a violent crime, they worry about killers running loose and putting people in danger. Detectives know the clock is ticking, and the crime scene holds crucial information. That night we were responsible for getting all the information we could. There were beer cans and a Mr Thrifty cup with ice sitting conspicuously in the road. Maybe they were evidence, maybe they were trash, but we collected them. The other evidence was on a back board with an oxygen tube going to his nose and a disposable blanket covering him from the waist down. The firemen told us he had been shot three times, but the wounds weren’t obvious. Despite the cold, he was shirtless. I watched his chest to see if he was breathing, but it didn’t move. Maybe he was already gone.
      The medics were nearby, but no one was excited. They were waiting for the helicopter, and seconds later, I heard it in the distance. Lowery Road was covered by tall trees on both sides, so the helicopter had to land a mile away and the nurses driven to the scene by ambulance. From there, they would load the victim, take him to the helicopter, and send him to LSU Medical Center. I still had a couple of minutes, and if the victim could talk, he might be able to tell us what happened. He was perfectly still, and his eyes were closed. I crouched down beside him. 
      “Hey my man...who did this to you?”
      He came to life, opened his eyes, and moved them up and down until they landed on me. Moving only his lips, he gave me a name, and then closed his eyes, seemingly breathing his last. I wrote the name down but didn’t give up. I spoke again, he answered and then closed his eyes. We repeated the exchange three or four times until I knew about the car that brought him to the scene, the two men involved, and the neighborhood where he lived.
      The nurses from the helicopter arrived and ushered me away. They put him on a gurney, loaded him into an ambulance and took him to the helicopter. Minutes later it was in the air stirring up dust, blowing off hats, and dropping the temperature 20 degrees. When it was out of sight, I jumped in my car and drove to Shreveport. When I got to the neighborhood, I stopped two people on foot and asked if they knew the victim or suspects, but they didn’t. I looked for the car the victim described, but I couldn’t find it.
      It was after midnight when I got home. The kids were asleep. I was supposed to help wrap and put presents under the tree, but I fell asleep. Colleen didn’t wake me. 
      The kids woke us at dawn. We opened presents and had breakfast. To accommodate my schedule, we had an early dinner with my parents and brother’s family. At 2 pm, I left the lights, presents, and family behind to return to the dark world of car crashes, thieves, burglars, wife beaters, fleeing felons, and murderers. I called dispatch and asked for an update on the case from the night before. The detectives were talking to two men at the office. They were the men the victim named the night before. Things looked promising, but the man who had been shot died at 2 am. His name was Curtis Ewing. Fifteen hours earlier I was talking to him, and I assumed he would be alright. The case was now a homicide.
      The night before, I knew the clock was ticking, but I didn’t realize a man’s life was at stake. When he left the scene, he had only two hours to live. He needed to know the wages of sin is death, and it is appointed unto man once to die. He needed to know Christ alone was his only hope, but I didn’t tell him. As far as I know, I was the last person to communicated with him, but I was so caught up in temporal things, I didn’t tell him about Jesus on Christmas Eve. Why didn’t I tell him that God is holy, and in his holiness he created mankind to please himself, but man sinned, and now everyone born of man wants to please himself rather than God? Why didn’t I tell him that God himself became a man, Jesus, lived a perfect life while resisting the same temptations we experience, and gave himself to be crucified so he could die in the place of all who repent of their sin and trust in him?
      I repented and promised to do better if God ever gave me another opportunity.
      Six years later, I was on my way to the office when a man was thrown off his motorcycle in a curve after hitting an eight point buck on South Lakeshore Drive. The crash left him in the middle of the road and sent his motorcycle flying into a fence a hundred yards away. I heard the call on the radio and was the second deputy to arrive. A man with a white beard wearing a helmet and leather jacket was laying across the double yellow line. He was still breathing, but it was the labored breathing of a man in distress. Traffic was passing us, so I ran to the west end and asked a motorist to block the road until a deputy arrived. When I got back to the man in the road, I expected him to be dead, but he was still breathing. 
        I was afraid to move him, so I got on my hands and knees beside him and talked to him. I told him about the God-man who lived a perfect life and gave himself on the cross to pay for our sins. I urged him to repent and trust in Christ. There is more I should have said, and my details were far from perfect, but I encouraged him and gave him the only hope I knew. Ten minutes later the medics arrived. The man never responded, but he was breathing when they took him to the hospital.
        Four hours later, I called the hospital, and the nurse told me the man died. His name was Dr William Steen. During the Vietnam War, Dr Steen was a flight surgeon for the Army. He received the Silver Star, Air Medal, the Bronze Tar, and two Purple Hearts. In 1997, Dt Steen did laser surgery on my eyes.  He was a hero and a genius. The news of his death shook me. I wanted him to live. Those who knew him well say he was a Christian man. Perhaps the last words he heard before he died gave him peace.






Wednesday, December 18, 2019

Heroes

I grew up a mile and a half from Graceland in a subdivision next to I-55 and what is now Federal Express Headquarters. Our house was new in 1968, and our neighborhood was a perfect place to grow up. School was a short walk or ride down the street. I learned to ride my bike by coasting down the hill in front of my house. After that, I sported a green Spyder bike with sissy bars, a banana seat, and a 3 speed stick shift until I graduated to a Free Spirit ten speed when I was twelve. There was baseball in summer, football in fall and winter, and basketball anytime you wanted to walk outside to the driveway. We had a playground, a swimming pool, tree houses, friends and pretty girls. 

People in our neighborhood valued order and appearance. Fathers got angry when vehicles sped down the street. Neighbors waved at each other. Mothers made sure their kids had rain boots in the rain, jackets in the fall, and snacks whenever they were hungry. It was a place where families lived, brothers and sisters went to the same schools, and families went to church on Sundays.

Every spring, my dad dug up the wild onions in the yard, spread fertilizer, and moved the sprinkler around to water grass and concrete alike. The neighbors did like wise. By June, the Bermuda was deep and green, making mowing a constant necessity and a viable job opportunity. Mowing lawns was my primary source of income. I pushed my mower through the neighborhood from yard to yard.

On my way home from mowing, I often saw Victor mowing his parent’s yard. Their house was across the street and five houses down from mine. Their yard was the most beautiful one in the neighborhood. Across the front were azaleas and irises, and the sidewalks and driveway had a two inch edge around it. Vic mowed the yard at a perfect 45 degree angle. It looked look like a golf course. Vic was in his 20s, and despite the weather, always wore bell bottoms and a button down shirt with the tail untucked. On his feet were sandals, the kind with tire treads as soles. He had a beard, wore tear drop glasses, and had a distinct way of walking with a long stride, dipping up and down like a piston. I saw him every week in his yard, but he never spoke or even looked up. According to neighborhood lore, he fought in Vietnam and came home shell shocked. The older boys said he was a war hero.

In Tennessee in the 70s, you couldn’t get a driver’s license until you were 16 years old, but you could get a motorcycle license when you were 14. It was a great opportunity, but my dad hated motorcycles, I talked to him one day and told him I could throw a paper route if I had a motorcycle. I never thought he would do it, but I stumbled on the one thing he respected: hard work. He went to the bank and withdrew four hundred dollars to buy me a Honda 125 Enduro. A week later, I passed my driving test and filled out an application to throw a paper route for The Commercial Appeal.

On June 1st, I got up at 2 am to pick up my papers at the Stop and Go at Boeingshire and Shelby Drive. When I got there, I found the route manager, Mr. Wilson (not his real name), inside the store impressing the night shift clerk. He had a crew cut and military bearing. He liked me because I was young and showed up early. He was destined for big things. 

I went outside when the van arrived with the papers. I had three bundles, but Wilson told me to unload the van while he and the driver talked baseball. Rather than help unload the van, the other route drivers got their bundles and started folding their papers. When I got the last bundle out of the van, the driver walked up and asked what I was doing. Two-thirds of the papers went to other drop off locations, but no one told me, so I unloaded the whole van. Without apology, Wilson made me reload the van. By the time I finished, all the route drivers were gone to throw their papers. I wiped sweat from my forehead and started folding my papers, 156 of them.

I was in front of the store sitting on a stack of pallets. The van driver left, and Wilson was inside, behind the counter with the clerk. I finished filling my first bag of papers when I heard laughing in the distance. A man with a beard and distinct walk came around the corner from the bar. He was wearing sandals, bell bottoms, and a button down shirt. It was Victor.

I didn’t think Vic knew who I was, but he called me by name. It was the first time he ever spoke to me. He was funny and engaging, and when he got closer, I found out why: he was drunk. When the bar closed, they ushered their patrons out. Victor was on foot due to a recent DWI. I was all alone in front of a convenience store at three in the morning. It was good to see a familiar face. Victor and I became friends that morning. 

Vic told jokes and acted out stories while I folded papers. For a few minutes, I was no longer a paper boy with a route ahead of me, I was a spectator with a front row seat at the comedy club. My sides hurt from laughing. He told a joke about a priest and a lawyer and said a word that started with S and rhymed with pit. A shadow flew past me and became a barrage of punches that knocked Victor to the ground. It was Wilson. He yelled, “Somebody call the police! This man is using foul language in the presence of women and children!”

I was well beyond childhood, and the only woman around was inside the store out of hearing. The offending word was the same word I heard everyday at school and in the neighborhood, and besides that, Wilson said it several times earlier when he was trying to impress the clerk.

Victor lay on the ground, bleeding from his mouth. 

“Vic...you alright?”

He stared blankly at the fluorescent light above me.

Wilson stepped between us and backed me away to protect me from further danger. Minutes later, a police car pulled up, and a cop jumped out. He handcuffed Vic, jerked him up by his shoulders, and put him in his back seat. “Damn drunk!”

I threw my paper route wondering how a seemingly reasonable man could attack a defenseless man and think he was a hero. Wilson was clean cut and talked big, but he had never been through what Vic had gone through. Victor was a real hero, scarred by the things he experienced in battle. He needed help not violence.

From that day on, I waited until 4:30 to pick up my papers, so I wouldn’t see Wilson. A month later, he took a job elsewhere. Forty five years later, he remains the epitome of cowardice.

A week after the attack, I saw Victor mowing his yard. He wore the same bell bottoms and button down shirt, and he had the remains of a black eye. 

“Hey Vic!” I waved.

He never looked up.



Thursday, October 10, 2019

The Crash




Someone called my name, but it blended into my dream, and I didn’t wake up. Life was good, but the second time I heard my name I woke up and jumped  to my feet.
   “Dad!”
    It was my boy, Levi, and it was urgent. It was dark until I opened the door where the hall light was on. I looked down the hall, and he was there. Regardless of how bad it could be, he was alright, and I was grateful for that.
“There’s been a wreck. There’s a girl at our front door!”
I ran down the hall and found a girl by the stairs at the front door weeping, barefooted, and bloody. I was in my boxers.
“What happened baby?”
“She’s not moving...she’s not moving.”
“Who?”
“My grandmother...”
“It’s gonna be alright.”
My shorts and t-shirt were on a chair in the kitchen, waiting for a workout which wasn’t going to happen. I threw them on along with the only shoes I could find, black dress shoes. Janine (not her real name) was still standing by the door, shivering. She wore an oversized sweatshirt with the end of the sleeves covering her hands, and her hands covering her face. I yelled down the hall for Colleen to call 911, but she was already on the phone with Caddo Parish Dispatch. It was 5:50 am.
I had been awake less than a minute when I ran through the front door. The road in front of my house is busy during commuting hours but rural the rest of the time. Accidents are rare, but not unusual. In the 32 years I’ve lived here, I’ve seen half a dozen bad wrecks, all of them single vehicle. Normally when there’s a wreck, traffic slows down and sometimes stops, but on this morning, traffic was heavy and fast. Something was wrong. Maybe the crash was down the road, and the girl walked up to the driveway. 
It was dark and the lights under the carport made it seem even darker, so I went past the lights to see better but still saw nothing. I had the presence of mind to grab a flashlight when I went outside, and I shined it down the driveway, but there was nothing there. I pointed the light to the left, and the beam landed on a giant box near the road. It was a vehicle and far enough away from the road that no one saw it in the dark.
I ran to the SUV. It was sitting at a 45 degree angle between the ditch and the driveway. It was steaming and the roof was crimped from rolling over. Somehow, it landed on its wheels. You never want to see the effects of a crash like that, but I couldn’t ignore it. I looked inside expecting to find the grandmother in the driver’s seat, but there was no sign of anyone in the front or back.
Cars sped by, oblivious to the emergency. The speed limit is 45 but 60 feels better, especially at that time of day. I ran to the other side of the SUV and found a woman lying in the ditch. She was on her back beside the culvert, six feet from the road. She was unconscious but breathing, but it was the labored, heavy breathing of distress. I spoke to her, believing she could hear me. I didn’t want to scare her, but I wanted her to know she was not alone.
I heard the sound of footsteps running down the driveway. It was my boy, and that’s when I teared up.
I stood up and waved my arms.
“Don’t come over here buddy.” I collected myself.
“Shine your light on the road and keep traffic off us.”
We want to protect our children from traumatic events even though we know we can’t. At 21, he was a grown man who had seen worse things as a teenager, but I tried. Lord knows I tried.
When I turned back to her, I was all business. It seemed disrespectful to disturb her, but I had to. She was down in the ditch and needed to be on flat ground for CPR. She was my age and badly broken, but she was still breathing. She couldn’t respond, so I told her what I was doing.
“I’m here and I’m gonna help you. I’ve got to slide you up a little.”
I straddled her body, put my arms under her arm pits and pulled her up while asking God to have mercy on her. I told her the firemen were on the way, and she would be alright, and I told her about the most important thing in life: “Call on Jesus. He’s your only hope.”
I told her Bible verses about repentance and faith in Jesus. I told her verses about the imputed righteousness of Christ while doing compressions on her chest.
Levi was at the driveway with a light, and the cars slowed down. Some stopped. I was in the the ditch, eye level with the road, and I saw feet approach me in the headlight beams. It was a woman and a man. They stopped at the fog line, and I was relieved that someone stopped to help us. The woman spoke first.
“What happened?”
Behind me was an SUV covered with mud and grass, missing its windshield with the roof caved in.
“There’s been a wreck.” One-two-three. One-two-three.
This time the man spoke, “I think a deputy lives here.”
“That’s me.” One-two-three. One-two-three.
I didn’t look up. I wish I had the presence of mind to ask them to move their cars down to the next driveway and turn on their flashers to slow down the traffic, but I was distracted with CPR. The man and woman got back in their cars and drove away, leaving us alone again.
“Call out to Jesus.” One-two-three.
“Hang in there...the firemen are coming.” One-two-three.
“Repent and believe in Jesus.” One-two-three.
“You’re doing great, keep breathing.” One-two-three. One-two-three.
The fire truck finally pulled up beside us. Dustin Pilcher hopped out, told me I was doing good, and to keep going. He put a big red bag beside me and told the others to bring the board. Her body was on a flat spot, but her legs went down to the ditch. I was standing over her with one foot in the ditch and one on top of the culvert. Dustin and I pulled her all the way out of the ditch, and he took over.
She was still breathing when I ran to the house and found Colleen with her arms around Janine. A fireman was putting bandages on her feet. She was a fifth grader at Walnut Hill School. She gave me her great grandmother’s phone number, and I called. It took a while for Janine’s great grandmother to answer, and when she did, she seemed confused. I told her her daughter was in dire condition, but Janine was alright.
At the road, the firemen were putting the woman in the ambulance, and the Sheriff’s Office was there  getting names, taking measurements, and writing an accident report. The road was completely shut down. The wrecker was on the way. The mangled vehicle, useless now, was clearly visible in the morning light and a sure sign of tragedy. Glass was everywhere, and tools, and car parts. 
Levi and I walked down the road following the SUVs path in the ditch. Going west, there is a slight curve in the road, unnoticeable unless you look hard, and the SUV straightened the curve and drove off the road. In the ditch, a crater of mud and water remained where the top of the SUV had momentarily buried itself, only to roll through and land upright. Tracks in the grass revealed where it left the road between my neighbor’s driveway and mine. The woman had been thrown out of the truck through the windshield when it rolled. She was taking Janine to her mother’s house before work, and her mother would take her to school later. Janine was asleep on the back seat without a seat belt. 
Something happened along the way, a distraction, an animal in the road, or sleepiness; we’ll never know for sure, but the little SUV went off the road to the right. The woman tried to recover, but she overcorrected, and the truck tripped over itself in the ditch. When it stopped, it was facing the wrong way, and Janine was jarred awake. She crawled out through a window to find her grandmother lying in the ditch.
The crash woke Levi up that morning, but he didn’t know what it was. He had fifteen minutes left to sleep but couldn’t, so he let the dog out. She barked hystericalIy at the road. When he looked outside, he saw Janine at the end of the driveway by the road, crying. She was walking through broken glass barefooted. He picked her up and brought her inside. I’m still proud of him for that.
Janine’s great grandparents and aunt and uncle arrived just after the ambulance left. Her great grandmother broke down in tears. Janine was pleased to see them, but Colleen didn’t want to let her go. If she had it her way, Janine would be with us still.
The family rushed to the hospital. Levi and I went inside to clean up. When we came back out, the wrecker was loading up the SUV, and the firemen were back. They stopped to tell us the woman didn’t make it. We expected it, but it hurt all the same. We raked up a pile of glass, plastic, and car parts. Levi set the mailbox back in its hole. The wrecker loaded the SUV and took it away. The firemen and deputies left. Traffic returned to normal, and Levi and I went to work.
Unless you were there that morning, you would never know that a woman fought for her life in the ditch in front of my house during the early morning hours while her granddaughter mourned for her and wondered why the tragedy happened. 
It was a brief reminder that life is fragile and circumstances can change in seconds without warning, but it’s also a reminder that life is precious and God is merciful.

October 2018
Keithville, LA