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Richard Phillips is a tall man with big shoulders and a habit of sings, generally without words, a deep and happy rhythm that seems to emerge from his soul. He started singing as a child, continued in prison, and now sings in the car, at dinner, keeping notes on his lips, as if nothing in the world could stop the music.
Two days after his life sentence in 1972, Phillips wrote a poem. It was the first in his life. He was 26 years old, had dropped out of high school, and now, having plenty of time to think, he picked up a pencil and began writing his thoughts on paper. He wrote about the colors of the raindrops, the colors of the sky, his heart, the color of the words when he sang out loud, the color of his need to hold someone in his arms. She missed her children, hugged them, tied their shoes, and dried her tears.And he knew that the only way to get back to them one day was to somehow prove his innocence.
The first appeal was rejected in 1974, the second in 1975. Phillips thought he could win with a better lawyer, so he landed a job at a traffic sign factory in the ink department. Income was low with free market data, but good with prison data, and Phillips, earning about $ 100 a month in bonds, opened a bank account and saw his money rise.
Four years later he had enough money to hire Michigan’s best defense attorneys, so he sent the money and waited for his justification. Meanwhile, she thought about her children, remembered the taste of homemade ice cream, and wrote real and imaginary love poems for women that included beds lined with violets and hot bath gels.
Wait and wait On January 1, 1979, one day in his diary, Phillips was in his cell when a detainee brought him the news. I had just seen Fred Mitchell in the restaurant. It was a cold Monday in Jackson prison, and Phillips had seen his children for 2,677 days.
Fred Mitchell? Phillips knew what to do.
On the way he stopped before a friend.
I’m going with you, said the friend.
The prison housed several factories. This meant easy access to raw materials, including scrap metal, which meant an abundance of makeshift knives. Phillips and his friend tucked one under their sleeves and stood outside the restaurant waiting for Mitchell to appear. In fact, at one point he stepped out into the courtyard, unaware of the two men walking behind him.
Phillips had it all in mind. He would wait for Mitchell until he reached the Blind Spot, that part of the courtyard where the guards were known to be unable to see them. There he would plunge his knife into Mitchell’s neck. And maybe he saved her.
It seemed fair
The watch
Phillips was about 12 years old when his father’s watch disappeared. It was a Friday night in Detroit in 1958. Her father had a thick leather belt. He put on a glass of Johnnie Walker and asked Phillips if he had taken the watch. Phillips denied it. His father hit him with his belt for a long time. Then he asked again: Did you steal the watch? Phillips refused. The forest continued. Did you steal the watch? No The belt tore through the child’s skin. Her mother was watching, very scared to intervene. The father continued to ask for a confession. Phillips resisted. The belt hit again and again and again until at some point it broke an internal boundary. Did you steal my watch? Yes, the boy said only to stop the abuse, and the young man who came out of it said to himself that that was the last false confession he would make in his life.
Richard Phillips wanders the streets of Detroit making a stop at some casinos. (Source: CNNi)
Some lies require more lies. Phillips had to apologize for the watch and said he had given it to a classmate. His father told him to go to school on Monday and bring him along. Phillips went to bed in the cockroach-filled attic, as he did every night, looking for a draft of fresh air. He left the next morning. He took a can of pork and beans, a can opener, a few slices of bread, and a soda and opened the door to his new life.. That night he slept on the steps of an empty house, knowing that he had no one else in the world except himself.
Police arrested him the next day. His father hit him again. And only in the attic or on the streets of Detroit, Phillips learned to survive. How to steal cherries from trees. How to celebrate the holidays by going to the neighbor’s house on Christmas morning and watching the other children open their presents. How to escape by painting: an airplane, Superman and even the Mona Lisa, with a pencil on a piece of cardboard.
In those streets, he made a friend who would betray him.
The “friend” Fred
Few things are known about Fred Mitchell’s life, other than some memories of his old acquaintances and occasional official recordings. When the signer approached her sister in 2019 to discuss Mitchell, she replied: “Get out of my yard”.
Anyway, he used to be a good baseball player, at a time when all the kids wanted to be like Willie May. When they weren’t playing baseball, Phillips and Mitchell left school to explore their weapons, drink beer in the backyard, and play hide and seek with the police. They were young minor criminals, they were about to become violent criminals in a city where crime was everywhere.
A single page from the Detroit Daily Dispatch gives a feeling of chaos and despair. A man said to the police, “I shot four today.” Two women were fighting with knives. One was stabbed to death. The kidnappers robbed and raped a doctor’s wife. It was December 13, 1967. At the bottom of the second page was a brief reference to a 19-year-old man who pleaded not guilty to murder. It was Fred Mitchell who had a fight with another young man and shot him dead.
At the time, Phillips was taking a better path. After serving a short prison sentence, he took typing lessons and learned to write 72 words per minute. Since he was on restrictive terms, he found a job in his new art field and earned $ 33 (today) per hour. In the morning he put on his suit and took the bus to go to work, spending less time with the old gang.
Phillips had strength and good manners. He loved young girls. One day his girlfriend Theresa told him that she was pregnant and that the baby was his. Phillips stayed with her, their daughter was born, they married and had a son. Teresa worked in a bank. They rented a beautiful apartment in Gladstone, and Phillips bought a Buick Electra 225. He gave his children things he never had: lots of love, beautiful new clothes, lots of toys under the Christmas tree.
Phillips keeps one of the last photos he took with his daughter, Rita. The photo was taken in 1970. (Source: CNNi)
In 1971, the year Philips turned 25, things started to change. While joking around with colleagues at work, a joke went wrong. Someone threw a lit cigarette into someone else’s back pocket, and the author said that Phillips did so. He denied it but lost his job anyway.
At that time, Fred Mitchell was released from prison. Unemployed and inactive, with his marriage falling apart, Phillips returned with his old friend. At the time, Mitchell was dating a massive white man by name. Dago. The three men went out at night and smelled heroin in motel rooms.
Phillips lived a double life, dangerous and without restrictions, drug addict at night and father in the morning. One September day he took his children to a festival in Michigan. Rita’s daughter was 4 years old and her son Richard was 2. They got into the wheel, collided, and posed together for a snapshot. That night Phillips left and never came home.
Forty-six years later, legal observers would say that Richard Phillips has served the longest life sentence in United States history. The National Exemption Registry has listed more than 2,500 people convicted of crimes for which they were later acquitted, and Phillips has spent more years on the list than anyone else. The police failed. The accusation failed. The defense attorney failed. The judge ruled. The juries failed. The exemption judges have ruled. But on that cold day in the prison yard as he walked towards the Blind Spot with his makeshift knife under his sleeve, Richard Phillips was not thinking of an anonymous and faceless system. He was thinking about the man who had brought him there: his old friend Fred Mitchell.
The robbery
This is how it all started: On September 6, 1971, two men entered a grocery store outside Detroit. The black man was standing near the door. The white man pulled out a gun and demanded money. They left with less than $ 10 stolen. A citizen noticed the car running towards me breakneck speed and alerted the police. The footprints of the car led to Richard Palobo, known as Dago, who stayed with Mitchell and Phillips last night at the Twenty Grand motel in Detroit.
Palobo was arrested and charged with armed robbery. But who was his accomplice? Phillips and Mitchell joined shortly after Palobo. The two men were alike. In an examination at the police station, two witnesses noticed them. They agreed that the second thief was Richard Phillips.
At the Phillips trial in November, Palobo testified as a witness before the jury about how the robbery occurred. The interrogator asked who else was with him.
“I don’t want to say a name,” he replied.
The judge asked Palombos: “Are you afraid of someone?”
“No,” said Palobo, “I’m not afraid of anyone.”
“You keep quiet because you don’t want to blame anyone else,” asked Phillips’ lawyer.
“It just caught our eye then.
His then silence on the crime of 1971, 39 years later it would have devastating consequences. Although a witness did not confirm that Richard Phillips was the second thief, the court found Philips guilty of armed robbery. He was sentenced to at least seven years in prison. And he was still in prison the following winter when the body of Gregory Harris was found.
Harris was a 21-year-old man who disappeared in June 1971 when he went out to buy cigarettes. The following night, his wife found her green car. There was blood on the seats. Later that year, according to Detroit police records, her mother told a police officer about one strange phone call. An unknown woman told him, “I can’t take it anymore. A Fred Mitchell and a man named Dago pulled their son out of a car on LaSalle Street. They shot him in the head and killed him.”
At this time it is unknown what he will do after leaving the position.
On March 3, 1972, when a road construction worker in Troy, Michigan, entered a forest for a living, he saw sunlight reflecting off a shiny surface. It was Harry’s skeleton, frozen in the ground. An autopsy showed the cause of death: multiple gunshot wounds to the head.
On March 15, Mitchell was arrested again, this time on charges of armed robbery and possession of a firearm. The next day, he told police that he had information on the death of Gregory Harris. He said the killers were Richard Palobo and Richard Phillips.
Authorities had no direct or indirect evidence linking the suspects to the crime. But with a man’s sworn testimony, the police could say he had discovered a murder.
When Mitchell was sworn in on October 2, 1972 against Palombos and Phillips, Palobo’s attorney asked the judge to inform the witness of his right to self-defense.
“It just came to our attention then significant crimeThe lawyer told the judge.
By the same testimony of Mitchell, he knew the plot of the crime. He himself played a role in the murder by calling Gregory Harris and catching him. He was arrested for possessing a weapon that could be a deadly weapon. And during the interrogation, he admitted a possible motive. While Mitchell was in prison, Gregory Harris stole a $ 500 check from his mother’s purse.
But for reasons that may never be revealed, the state of Michigan has come up with another theory. Based on Mitchell’s testimony and a few other facts, The Attorney General tries to convince the audience that Mitchell had heard Palombos and Phillips conspire to kill Harris., apparently because one of Harris’ brothers had robbed a drug dealer, Palobo’s cousin.
Phillips keeps one of the last photos he took with his daughter, Rita. Photo courtesy of 1970 (Source: CNNi)
Neither Mitchell nor the prosecutor tried to explain why Richard Phillips was involved in a revenge murder by the cousin of a man of whom he knew very little. Palombo later testified that his cousin never existed.
If investigators ever searched Harris’ car for fingerprints,. There’s also no record of the blood test found in Harris’s car. However, Phillips’ attorney Theodore Salen, who was appointed by the court, was suspiciously silent.
He never gave an opening speech. He let Palobo’s lawyer do most of the questioning. He never challenged Mitchell. He did not call any witnesses or provide any information. He did not ask Phillips to testify because he did not want to be questioned about the armed robbery and his conviction. When the time came for his final speech, Schalen said, “You know, they say Gregory Harris is dead. I don’t know if Gregory Harris is dead.”
The jury met for four hours until Palobo and Phillips were found guilty of conspiracy to commit murder and first-degree murder. Before announcing his life sentence, the judge asked Phillips if he had anything to say.
“Not necessarily, honestly”except I’m not guilty, you know, even though I was found guilty. And since there isn’t much that can be done right now to correct this injustice, all I can do is, you know, wait until there is some progress going for me. ”
And then he waited, trying not to kill anyone but also not to be killed. She knew a man who was so afraid of rapists that he drank a whole bottle of shoe glue and got rid of them forever. He knew another who was so tormented by his crimes that he jumped over a railing and fell into the void to meet his death. Richard Phillips was waiting in his cell drinking coffee, orange juice and reading.
He saw children visiting other prisoners, saw guards searching for diapers for contraband, and decided to save his children from this experience. He wrote to his wife not to come, not to bring the children, to move, and to find someone else. In the end, he found it.
On January 17, 1977, in a poem titled “Definitely”, wrote:
It is not a crime
When you don’t have a penny
To buy back the freedom you lost?
It’s not sin
When your best friend
Don’t you have a helping hand?
This is not the rule
Teaching at school
Who says “be nice to your neighbor”?
It is not surprising
That when you pray to God
Don’t your prayers seem to be heard?
It is not sad
That you never had
The freedom of a flying bird?
Days of confinement
We all have a thousand possible lives, or even a million, and our environment is changing for better or for worse. Phillips hated smoking, hated his father’s camel, threw his wife’s cigarettes in the trash when he had a chance, and then went to jail. The prison was always on the prowl, look and listen, perfectly in tune with the danger around him. Καμιά φορά χρειαζόταν ένα τσιγάρο μόνο για να κατευνάσει τα νεύρα του. Στην φυλακή δεν πετάς ένα μισοκαπνισμένο τσιγάρο. Το καπνίζεις ακόμη και μετά το φίλτρο.
Ο Φίλιπς καταδικάστηκε σε ισόβια φυλάκιση το 1972 (Πηγή: CNNi)
Τον Δεκέμβριο, ένας ξένος έδωσε στον Φίλιπς δύο πακέτα τσιγάρα και είπε «Καλά Χριστούγεννα». Μετά από αυτό, ο Φίλιπς άρχισε να μοιράζει δώρα στους συγκρατούμενούς του: ένα βιβλοο σε έναν, ένα κου Ένοιωσε όμορφα. Μέσω ενός προγράμματος που λεγόταν Angel Tree, διάλεξε δώρα για τα παιδιά του και τους τα έστειλε. Δεν ήξερε αν τα έλαβαν. Το 1989 σε φυλακή Hiawatha στην Άπερ Πενίνσουλα, η διοίκηση οργάνωσε έναν διαγωνιτο για το καλύτερο χρι Ο Φίλιπς κέρδισε το έπαθλο των 10 δολαρίων χάρη σε αυτούς τους στίχους:
Δως μου λοιπόν την αγάπη σου για τα Χριστούγεννα
Γιατί η αγάπη είναι ό, τι χρειάζομαι
Και αν μου δώσεις την αγάπη σου τα Χριστούγεννα
Τα Χριστούγεννά μου θα είναι πράγματι ευτυχισμένα
Εκείνη τη χρονιά υπήρξε κι ένας άλλος διαγωνισμός, για το κελί με τα καλύτερα γλυπτά χιονιού και Στην αυλή της φυλακής, ο Φίλιπς και οι γείτονές του έχτισαν μια φάτνη και άλλες διακοσμήσεις, συμπεριλαμβανομένης μιας φώκιας που ισορροπούσε μια μπάλα στη μύτη της. Τότε, ένας άντρας από άλλο μπλοκ κλώτσησε το κεφάλι του αρνιού και έσπασε την μπάλα από τη μύτη της φώκι Ο Φίλιπς ήταν έξαλλος. Προχώρησε στον άντρα, ο οποίος ζύγιζε περίπου 300 κιλά και είπε: «Ασεβείς απέναντι στον Ιησού Χριστό» Κανείς δεν υποχώρησε. Συγκεντρώθηκε πλήθος. Ακολούθησε χάος.
Σε αυτό το χάος, σύμφωνα με έναν φρουρό, ο Φίλιπς άρπαξε τον ώμο του φύλακα και τον γύρισε. Ο Φίλιπς το αρνήθηκε και η έκθεση ανέφερε ότι προσκόμισε τα ονόματα 56 μαρτύρων υπεράσπισης, αλλά ο ανακριτής της φυλακής επικοινώνησε μόνο με τέσσερις από αυτούς. Δεν υπάρχει καταγραφή για το τι είπαν. Ούτε κάποια ένδειξη στην αναφορά ότι κάποιος επιβεβαίωσε την ιστορία του φύλακα. Ωστόσο, οι αρχές πίστεψαν τον φύλακα. Ο Φίλιπς κρίθηκε ένοχος για επίθεση και βιαιοπραγία στο προσωπικό. Πέρασε τα Χριστούγεννα σε μοναχικό εγκλεισμό, σε ένα κρεβάτι χωρίς σεντόνια, το φαγητό να μπαίνετ
Καταφύγιο στην ποίηση
Την επόμενη χρονιά έγινε 44 ετών και είχε μια δημιουργική αφύπνιση. Ο Φίλιπς έγραψε τουλάχιστον 31 ποιήματα το 1990. Έγραψε για το τραγούδι των γρύλων. Ανακάλεσε μια συκομουριά στην Αλαμπάμα, από τις πρώτες μέρες της ζωής του, όταν έμενε σε μια καλοσύνη θεία και έναν θείο, και έναν μεγαλύτερο ξάδελφο που τον κουβαλούσε στον γοφό του. Φαντάστηκε τον εαυτό του να πεθαίνει, να φεύγει με ένα τρένο στο σκοτάδι, συνοδευόμενος από μια ορχήστρα και μια μπλουζ μπάντα την ίδια στιγμή, με επευφημίες και χειροκροτήματα. Κάηκε από επιθυμία, φανταζόμενος μια γυναίκα με ρόδινο φόρεμα και μια άλλη τόσο που έκαψε τα μτ Είδε τις τουλίπες να ανοίγουν στον κήπο, κοπάδια πουλιών να έρχονται από το νότο. Είδε τα μαλλιά του να γίνονται άσπρα.
“Τι δεν θα έδινα – για να είμαι ο νέος εαυτός μου-άλλη μια φορά”, έγραψε. «Ο δείκτης του ρολογιού περιστρέφεται σαν υδροτροχός στην αυλή μιας παλιάς καλύβας. Όλα έγιναν για έναν λόγο. Τίποτα δεν μπορεί να γυρίσει πίσω. Ειδικά ο χρόνος ».
Αυτή ήταν η πιο παραγωγική χρονιά του ως ποιητής. Ήταν επίσης η χρονιά που σταμάτησε να γράφει ποίηση, γιατί βρήκε κάτι που του άρεσε ακόμη περισστε
Η ζωγραφική
Από τα μέσα της δεκαετίας του 80 σχεδίαζε περιστασιακά με το μολύβι του, και αφότου πήρε το πτυχίο του στις επιχειρήσεις, το 1990 αποφάσισε να προσθέσει λίγο χρώμα. Παρήγγειλε ένα σετ ακρυλικών χρωμάτων, ή τουλάχιστον έτσι νόμιζε. Αυτό που έλαβε ήταν ένα σετ ακουαρέλας, ένα ατύχημα που του άλλαξε τη ζωή.
Άνοιξε το κουτί, έβγαλε τα χρώματα και άρχισε να πειραματίζεται. Ο Φίλιπς ήταν αυτοδίδακτος στο σχέδιο, τη ζωή, και τώρα και στη ζωγραφική. Στην αρχή τα έκανε όλα λάθος αλλά γρήγορα άρχισε να βελτιώνεται στο ανακάτεμα του νερού με τα χρώματα, στη συντήρηση των πινέλων και στο γέμισμα της σελίδας με χρώματα.
Μέσω της βιβλιοθήκη της φυλακής διάβαζε βιβλία τέχνης αντλώντας τεχνικές και έμπνευση. Θαύμαζε τον Πικάσο, τον Ντα Βίντσι και ειδική τον Βαν Γκονγκ, άλλον έναν άνδρα που υπέφερε, κλείστηκε σε ίδρυα και πάλευε να κρατηθεί πνευματικά υγιής. Ο Βαν Γκονγκ και ο Φίλιπς τον έκαναν να συνεχίσει να ζωγραφίζει.
Κατά τη διάρκεια της φυλάκισής του ολοκλήρωσε περίπου 400 πίνακες (Πηγή: CNNi)
Ο καλλιτέχνης χρειάζεται πρώτη ύλη για το έργο του: το ηλιοβασίλεμα, τον κήπο, τα κρίνα στη λίμνη. Ο Φίλιπς δεν είχε τέτοια, οπότε χρησιμοποίησε φωτογραφίες από βιβλία, εφημερίδτς ή ν ν ά ά ά ά ά ά ν ν ν ά ά Έτσι, μέσα από τη φυλακή Ryan Road στο Ντιτρόιτ, ζωγράφισε μια σκηνή τριών αλόγων που κλωτσούσαν βρωμιά σετια αώ Όσο βελτιωνόταν, τόσο περισσότερο του άρεσε. Η ζωγραφική έγινε εθισμός. Ξυπνούσε και δεν μπορούσε να περιμένει μέχρι το πρωινό, να πιει τον νερουλό τυ τι τπ του τα Μέχρι τότε ο συγκάτοικος του θα είχε φύγει για την αυλή ή τη δουλειά, και έτσι οαυτου του του του Έξω, οι φώναξαν κρατούμενοι, οι φρουροί αλυχτούσαν, τα μπαλάκια του πινγκ πονγκ άλλαζαν κατεύθυνση, οι τηλεοράσεις μετέδιδαν, αλλά ο Φίλιπς έβαζε τα ακουστικά του και δραπέτευε από όλα. Το μόνο που μπορούσε να ακούσει ήταν ο Τζον Κολτρέιν ή ο Μάιλς Ντέιβις, οι οποίοι καθοδηγούσιν την ιπ
Ζωγράφισε έναν τρομπετίστα της τζαζ, ένα ποτήρι κρασί με ένα κεράσι επάνω, ένα βάζο με κίτρινα λουλούδια σε ένα τραπέζι δίπλα σε μια εικόνα ενός πλοίου στην ανοικτή θάλασσα. Έχασε τον εαυτό του τόσο πολύ που κατά καιρούς ξεχνούσε την υπόθεσή του, τις ατελείωτες εφέσεις του, την εικοσαετή αναζήτησή του για έναν δικαστή που μπορούσε να τον πιστέψει.
H πρώτη αμφιβολία
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