Over the course of the aforementioned years, 34 plus, I found out how uncertain this earthly life can be, sometimes by chance and a lot by choice. Curious? Let me explain.
Monday, April 30, 1990. This is the day I was rescued. From what? Myself. The day before, Sunday, April 29, 1990, I murdered Mr. Ford Jerry Parker and Mr. Keith Dennis Young, by shooting them. No excuses, I’m responsible, period. Though I was living a wayward life, dating back to 1977, I’m NOT blaming anyone for any of my actions, I knew better, but I just chose not to do and be better. Had I not have been rescued…who knows!
Between Monday, April 30, 1990 and Monday, January 04, 1993 I continued to live a chaotic life. I claimed to have shot one victim, I claimed to have shot both victims, I claimed to have shot neither victim, all the way giving the blues to everyone that tried to help me. Again, though I knew better I was choosing not to do and be better. Somehow I was more of a mess after being rescued than before.
This is no embellishment — one day in 1992 I was doing some legal research and I came across the case of a “genius” who pled guilty and asked for the death penalty, and in that moment I told myself that I was going to do that. Keep in mind that now I was proclaiming my innocence, loudly in some ways. I fought against my attorneys, and with the help of the prosecutor, I set about on this foolish plan. In order to do so I had to force the state to seek the death penalty, I gave a 19-page handwritten statement and exactly one week later the death penalty was requested.
On Monday, January 04, 1993 I walked into a courtroom, fired my attorney, represented myself (a legal saying goes like this, “Anyone who represents themselves has a fool for a client.”) pled guilty to all charges, was found guilty of all charges, and sentenced to death. In 44 minutes, much to my surprise, it was done. Somehow I thought the judge would adjudicate me as being incompetent, stop the farce, and we’d go from there. Be careful what you ask for, you just might get it (this is what the prosecutor was quoted as saying)!
Here’s a reality check for you. I got back to the county jail and called an attorney, asking him how I could fix this. His response was classic: “Imagine that you’re in a coffin and it takes 30 nails to nail it shut. There are 29 nails in yours and the 30th is being pounded in with a sledgehammer. Good luck!” What have I done?!?
A primer. In asking for a death sentence I sidestepped a sentence of life without parole (LWoP), which scared me more than dying. That’s the honest truth.
Wednesday, January 06, 1993. I was transported to death row at the Potosi Correctional Center (PCC), I went from the frying pan directly into the fully engulfed and raging fire. I was given the number of CP-101. In case you want to know, officially the CP stood for capital punishment, unofficially the CP stood for condemned prisoner. Six of one, half dozen of the other. Again, what have I done?!?
By the way, the 101 marked me as the 101st Missouri death row inmate since the U.S. Supreme Court ruled the death penalty met constitutional muster in 1976.
I was immediately put with other death row inmates, though I did have a single man cell due to the fact that I had to undergo a receiving and orientation process. To say that I was scared is an understatement. In the four years that PCC had been opened it had garnered quite the infamous reputation; it was no joke. Three weeks to the day that I arrived, the first execution happened, and later that same day I was given the executed man’s storage containers, an unfortunate omen. This was yet another wake up call, what have I done?
“What Have I Done?”
Being on death row was surreal, NOT at all like the image I had conjured up from television shows and movies. I never lost sight of the harsh fact that I was surrounded by many guys who had also committed murder, some heinous beyond imagination, some that murdered in prison, yet I also met guys who were just ordinary guys who had made horrible mistakes that didn’t match up with who they were now. I can tell you, without equivocation, that there was a level of camaraderie that one wouldn’t expect. We were all fighting the same battle and so we were able to put aside some pettiness and get along. No, it wasn’t always rainbows and unicorns, we were in a serious situation and the circumstances demanded a lot of seriousness, but we just were able to drop our collective guard and be “normal.” I’ll also tell you that we had a high level of unity, for the most part it was all for one and one for all, and we knew that staff wouldn’t be able to man-handle us too much because they wanted to execute us before they killed us, as crazy as this sounds.
Oh, are you aware that in Missouri death row is NOT isolated? This is a fact. Death row is mainstreamed with general population; we’re all mixed together. I had cellies that went home from our cell. That’s right — I had a death sentence, and they went home. Imagine that dynamic!
Otherwise, I did have some sketchy run-ins with some really dangerous dudes, but thankfully these were diffused and I walked away unscathed. There are two situations when I believed my life was in serious jeopardy due to perceived wrongs. Fortunately, cooler heads prevailed (with intervention by others) and it all worked out. The thought of being stabbed or beaten to death was nightmarish.
While navigating the rigors of prison, tiptoeing around as a death row inmate, I was struggling to decide what I wanted to do as far as appealing my death sentence. I had two distinct choices. One, I could appeal and see what happened. Two, I could forego all appeals and volunteer for execution. I’ll tell you this, other death row inmates strongly “encouraged” (I use this word loosely) me to appeal, saying that volunteering put them in jeopardy by potentially speeding up the process. I heeded the advice!
I appealed and my first appeal worked! In 1996 a state court judge ordered that I be resentenced, saying my decision to immediately proceed with sentencing was ill-advised. I was happy, but sad. Happy that I’d won, sad that LWoP was certainly a possibility. Whatever I felt was wiped away because upon appeal to the Missouri Supreme Court, the court ruled, in 1999, that the death sentence was reinstated.
Check this out. After the Missouri Supreme Court ruled I was given an execution date for August 19 (my birthday), a date that was ultimately stayed because I had additional appeals to follow. Just when you think you know it all, you ask yourself, “What have I done?”
An appeal was launched in federal court. My court appointed attorneys told me, “Stay out of trouble, keep your mouth shut, let us do our job, and we’ll get you a reversal.” I managed to listen! And, these attorneys somehow worked a miracle, despite the mess I’d made. A guilty plea, on its face, mixed with self-representation and asking for a death sentence, made for an arduous uphill battle. Guilty pleas are hardly ever reversed.
October, 2001. A federal judge ruled, in a 50-page order, that my decisions to waive counsel, represent myself, plead guilty to all charges and waive the opportunity to present mitigation to counter a death sentence, were not voluntary, knowing and intelligent waivers of my rights, for a plethora of reasons, and it was so ordered that the state had 60 days to take me back to court and essentially start all over. I was given a full reversal, conviction and sentence. This is a big deal.
Someone once said that God watches out for babies, fools, and drunks, so I tell myself that two out of three ain’t bad!
How this reversal happened is beyond me. Anyone in the legal community can attest to the fact that it was highly improbable that I’d be granted relief. In some ways I had wiggled into a legal nightmare that was akin to the carnival fun-house mirrors, all blurry and distorted. Why me? Even when my attorneys called to tell me the news, I thought they were joking, though I should’ve known they’d never joke about this. Charlie, Cheryl and Dave, along with Greg, worked a piece of coal into a diamond. I’m not joking!
The state appealed, of course, they never concede, and my side appealed a few core issues as well. After more legal wrangling the U.S. Supreme Court refused to intervene and so my reversal was upheld.
It was May, 2003. A federal judge ordered that I be transported back to St. Charles for further proceedings. Meaning what? I was going to be held pending the resolution of the case, just as I was between April, 1990 and January, 1993. Furthermore, the death penalty was going to be sought again.
Bear in mind, again, that I was claiming innocence, which made for upstream swimming for my attorneys. Plus, there were unresolved competency issues. The whole case was a mess, and the two attorneys that were appointed to me saw it as such; it was frustrating for everyone. I’m not going to lie, being back in the county jail was especially difficult. It was hard to relate to the young people and their problems, and they had a hard time relating to mine. I felt like I was babysitting most of the time. As an older guy (what we call an “old head”) I was constantly used as a counselor and mentor, maybe a big brother, always peppered with questions. I didn’t mind this, as it’s always nice to be wanted and needed. These guys were wild, fighting all the time, disrespecting staff, substance use, generally running amok, it was exhausting. Meanwhile I was trying to help my attorneys help me, and early on I got the impression that they were going to go through the motions, do what they could, all the while concentrating on ensuring that I wasn’t sentenced to death again.
Working with your attorney’s isn’t supposed to be an adversarial process, yet with the attorneys I had it was adversarial and more. We clashed on nearly everything, I came to dislike them and I feel it was mutual for them. I actually worked to have them removed from the case, mostly due to a legitimate conflict of interest, and when this failed I gave up and gave in.
I was always adamant that I’d never accept a LWoP, I swore that I’d rather die, yet in January, 2004 I began talking with my attorneys about trying to make a deal with the prosecution. Initially I said that I’d plead guilty and accept four life sentences running together, meaning I’d have one life sentence, in essence, and this would make me eligible for parole immediately. The prosecution flatly refused this, later saying that the concern was parole eligibility after being on death row, and 2004 was an election year. The prosecution offered to waive the death penalty, meaning I’d get LWoP, and allow me to choose what prison I went to. I took the offer, surprising myself. At this point I was worn out and broken down.
Even before this, going back to 2000, I was working to make changes within myself, and taking this LWoP was a paradigm shift for me on so many levels, I’ll talk more about this in the future.
Wednesday, March 17, 2004, nearly 14 years after I committed the murders, I was standing before a judge seeking to plead guilty, again. This was the same judge who had arraigned (first court appearance) me in 1990, and he wanted to know why I’d fought so hard to have the first guilty plea reversed, only to seek to plead guilty again. I didn’t have a solid answer for the judge. I couldn’t tell him it was because I was really guilty and I was trying to do the right thing for once in my life. Had I have told the judge that I saw my attorneys as incompetent buffoons, who were pushing me to plead guilty, it would’ve derailed the hearing, I kept my mouth shut.
Pleading guilty and having to give a factual basis for the plea was incredibly difficult. While I did tell some of the truth, when questions were asked by the judge, I was spared having to say too much in open court. I knew I was 100% guilty, I knew the details of the murders, but I wasn’t prepared yet to share all of this in open court, I was ashamed of what I’d done and it would show. So, I answered questions and gave the judge what he needed to justify the guilty plea.
When it came time to pass sentence, which was agreed upon between my attorneys and the prosecution, the judge inquired as to why LWoP was the only option, considering the facts of the case and the sentence my co-defendant (hold on, I’ll tell you more) received. This is when the comment was made about how anything less than LWoP would be perceived to voters in an election year. The judge commented that if he had an option to impose a lower sentence he would.
About my co-defendant — I won’t reveal his real name because I’ve already caused him enough pain and heartache, so for the purposes of this blog I’ll call him Joe. Joe served 12.5 years in prison because of me, when Joe didn’t know I was going to commit murder. Because I lied, because I didn’t take my weight, at 16 years old Joe was thrust into this legal nightmare. Joe ultimately pled guilty to two counts of second degree felony murder, told the truth about what I’d done, and was sentenced to 12.5 years. Joe served ALL of the 12.5 years. Had I have told the truth from the beginning Joe might well not have been charged at all, let alone become a convicted felon who served 12.5 years in prison. I’m sorry to Joe, I ruined Joe’s life in this just like I ruined so many other lives, and I so wish I could somehow help Joe not have to be identified as a convicted felon. As far as I’m concerned Joe is also a victim in all of this.
Let me say something else about Joe. Some of you might be familiar with a documentary that’s out there where Joe says that I committed the murders in defense of his life. With all due respect to Joe and his recollection of the events of Sunday, April 29, 1990 this is simply NOT true. I acted neither heroically nor nobly, I only wish that I could say that the events were the result of me doing something like this, instead of committing outright murder.
So, the judge accepted the agreement and sentenced me to LWoP. The proceeding lasted under an hour, it was mostly unremarkable, and when it was over I was placed in a holding cell awaiting transportation back to the county jail. Alone with my thoughts I harkened back to a familiar place, “What have I done?”. Contemplating LWoP was scary. I knew that I’d be doing back to PCC, where I landed with the death sentence 14 years before, I was aware that my very existence would be different due to having LWoP. Some on death row would be envious, some would be spiteful, others would be happy for me, in the grand scheme of things I was going to have to navigate the system differently. Lurking right below the surface I was scared to death, I just wouldn’t be able to show it because this would be seen as a sign of weakness. LWoP, what I came to know as the other death penalty, this was my fate and I asked for it.
I also want you to know that in leaving behind guys on death row I was uncomfortable. At this point I’d seen 54 guys be executed, most of them friends, all of them brothers, so there was a certain level of kinship that I knew would be missing. At the same time, I’d seen quite a few guys be granted relief like mine, a couple had even gone home, so there were mixed emotions.
One more very key thing to mention at this point, which is germane to the point of this blog. Back in 2000 I’d begun the journey to get back to my real self, which was unpopular (I did it anyway, it’s not about who is right, it’s about what is right) being on death row, and with LWoP I was acutely aware that I could now completely immerse myself in this journey. This excited me, it tempered how scared I was about the future. Nobody knew that I was on the journey to change, to tell the truth, to finally do the right thing and give others a reason to be proud of me. I was going to work just as hard at being good as I had at being bad, where there’s life there is also hope! I was leaving death row behind, it’s true, but I was gaining a new opportunity in LWoP, I was ready.
Two weeks later, on Wednesday, March 31, 2004, I was transported back to the Missouri Department of Corrections to begin serving LWoP.
Part of the plea agreement was that I’d be able to choose what prison I went to, and I chose PCC because it’s where I started and was already established. Though PCC had a tough reputation, by 2004 it had begun to shift in various ways, there was less drama and violence and more programming and rehabilitation, so it was a no-brainer for me.
While my sentence was different, the essential circumstances were the same. PCC was (is) a maximum security prison and I was considered a maximum security inmate. I immediately went into general population, mostly business as usual. With LWoP, my first cellie was a guy on death row (who has since been executed). We knew each other and got along despite the fact we were diametrically opposed on so many things. I went to work in the kitchen, preparing food trays for guys in the hole (Administrative Segregation, or Ad. Seg.), not the best job but a job nonetheless, it would work until I could find something better. Within six months I had a job in medical, working as a porter (basically a janitor).
From my perspective, let me tell you about jobs in prison. With all due respect to the staff, the inmates are the heartbeat of any prison, because the inmates are relied upon heavily to ensure that the day-to-day operations work. Inmates do the work, for next to nothing (if anything), in some cases multiple staff would have to be hired to do the job one inmate does. These days inmates don’t really deal with safety and security, for obvious reasons, but every other function of a prison has inmates heavily involved. This isn’t meant to toot the horn of inmates, it’s merely informative of how it goes. I wasn’t a very good worker outside of prison, but since being rescued my work ethic has grown by leaps and bounds. I’m a hard worker who is dependable, reliable and trustworthy, and because of this jobs have come easily to me. In my years, all my 34 plus years, I’ve had every kind of job, giving me a wide range of experience. Working, for me, is cathartic. I’ll do any work because it keeps me involved and makes me feel worthwhile.
Anyway, while I worked I also got down to brass tacks when it came to getting involved in programming. There were no hindrances on me in this regard, so I took advantage of the opportunities before me. One class I pursued was the Impact of Crime on Victims Class (ICVC), a class I’d taken in 2000 and had an eye-opening experience. I not only wanted to take ICVC, again, I wanted to facilitate ICVC so that I could become a victims rights advocate. Where once I was meekly asking myself, “What have I done?” now I was boldly saying, ” What can I do?” My thinking had shifted.
ICVC was the foundation of where I wanted to go. I had LWoP, true, but I also had life WITH hope. The core teachings of ICVC is that what you so as a criminal, no matter your crime, your actions negatively and permanently impact the direct victims, co-victims, survivors, family, friends, coworkers, the community, even the stakeholders in the criminal justice system. The ripple effect is felt far and wide, the reverberation is immediate and everlasting. When I grasped this core teaching in 2000 the light bulb clicked on for me, it was angels singing moment, and I knew then I had to tell the truth. (In another blog I’ll share with you the story about telling the truth).
I ultimately participated in ICVC 6 more times between 2004 and 2009 each time gleaning more knowledge about how my actions affected others, and then I begged and pleaded for nine months to be considered for a facilitator position. My persistence paid off, the ICVC coordinator told me she’d give me a chance, asking me not to embarrass her or myself (in 2017 she was leaving to be a Warden somewhere else and I told her thank you for giving me a chance and she told me she was proud of me). I was an ICVC facilitator, a victims rights advocate, for 11 years!!!
Between April, 2004 and now (June, 2024) I’ve taken and completed so many programs and classes. To name a few: ICVC, Inside-Out Dads, Transition Training, Pathway To Change, Anger Management, Criminal Thinking, Changing Direction 1 and 2, Life Skills, and Overcoming Grief and Trauma. I immersed myself in this culture and hungered for more; I wasn’t just talking about it, I was being about it, and I became a vocal advocate to others – if I can do it you can do it.
I did get a lot of side-eye with my involvement in programming; people fear what they don’t know. I had my doubters and haters, inmates and staff. After a while, as guys started to see me doing and being different, I felt as though others embraced my desire to change. You know what? I wasn’t going to be deterred. I knew where I wanted to go and I was going to get there. I knew it wouldn’t be easy, but sometimes in life the things that you work hardest for mean the most.
LWoP, as opposed to a death sentence, has had real impact on me. Instead of seeing every day as a day closer to death, as I once did, LWoP allowed me to see every day as an opportunity to shine. I often walk around humming the tune, “This little light of mine…”, because I believe that all the darkness in the world cannot extinguish the light of even one small light!
I didn’t forget where I came from being on death row for 11 plus years, yet more importantly I focused on where I was going with LWoP, There’s a reason why the rearview mirror is smaller than the windshield!
LWoP for me solidified one thing, which I’ve said before: where there’s life there’s also hope. I was seeing an old thing in a new way. It’s as if I were looking through new eyes, and I loved what I was seeing. I had been blessed to receive a new lease on life and I was (and am!) determined to do something with it.
There’s one thing that provided an epiphany for me, which propelled me forward in the right direction, and in closing I’ll tell you what it was. A wise man I knew, who was later executed, came to me one day in 2013 and asked a simple, yet provocative, question. The question, “Bobby, do you consider yourself a survivor or a victim?” He didn’t even wait for my answer, he walked away and at about 10 feet away turned around and said, “Ponder that a while!” Ponder I did. Anyone that knows me knows that I’m analytical, maybe to a fault. Over the course of a few days I repeated the question over and over in my head, every time answering in the same way: I’m a survivor. I had been through some things in my early and adolescent years, some painful things, and for so long I hung my hat on all of it, blaming everyone else and not accepting responsibility, using it to justify my bad choices and victimization of others, it was burdensome. The epiphany was this. In what I had endured I knew what it felt like to be abused, how dare I do the same to others and still claim to be a victim. It was a reality check and I needed it.
A wayward life, a timely rescue, a sentence of death for 11 plus years, a life without parole for 20 plus years, the sum of all of these parts is that no matter how bleak the picture may be, it isn’t our position that really counts, it’s our disposition that means the most.
Contact Info:
Robert Shafer #990101
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This guy was in so much trouble and started fight after fight in Salina Central High School. I always thought he was mentally ill and needed help. He wanted to fought my brother in high school but he would just run his mouth. I see nothing has changed. He talks and blows smoke for anyone to listen. So far he’s been on two TV shows. He has grown up to brown nose rather than fight. I still don’t believe anything he says.