My Story
Documentary In The Works
I have condensed my story I'm writing for a documentary team about my life because it explains the severe impact of the Texas criminal system on teenage young men. Feel free to go straight to the Evidence tab if you want to skip to what the DA in Amarillo did.
1. I Did What? 2. Thrown Into Prison 2. Getting Out 3. A Hollow Victory 4. Lost In the Abyss 5. A Spark of Hope 6. Like A Phoenix 6. Jersey Boy
7. Coming Full Circle 8. Like Father Like Daughter 9. A Paucity of Evidence 10. Silent Conviction 11. A Hail Mary Pass
It happens every day; some high school teens are sexually active. If you are more than 3 years apart and one of you is 18, it's a crime. Not getting pregnant -- just having intercourse is the crime. But in real life, 99% of the time nobody says a word. You don't see police officers tracking down 18-year-old seniors dating sophomores and arresting them for being sexually active.
When my girlfriend told her parents she was pregnant in September 2003, she told them that she thought I wanted nothing do with the baby. Now that I'm 40, I consider perhaps she was afraid of her parents' reaction and thought this might temper it somehow. It wasn't true. But because she said I wanted nothing to do with the baby, her parents called the police, outraged. The police interviewed my girlfriend, and she told them the truth: it was consensual, we were boyfriend/girlfriend and had been sexually active before this.
In the police report, it said they only called the police because I said I wanted nothing to do with the baby. That was not the truth. I was as stunned as she was, sure, but I quickly enrolled in the Army (I had taken the ASVAB the previous year). I was planning to be a father and knew it was a stable step toward that. I thought that because it was consensual, we were good. I wasn't even aware of the statute.
I spoke to her parents, and from what I remember, they calmed down when I assured them that I wanted to raise our baby and provide a stable home. Yes, we were too young to be having a baby, but here we were. As young and naive as I was, I was actually a little excited about being a father. My parents had divorced and both remarried - neither had much room for me, so I was couch-surfing at friends' houses and living in my truck. I had gotten my GED as a senior. Now I could build my own family and home. When her parents saw my contract for the Army with basic training starting in November, they told the police, "We overreacted. We don't want to press charges or anything - he's going into the Army now." But it was too late, the police said. They were pressing charges regardless of whether her parents wanted them to or not. And so, I was arrested on November 3, 2003. My basic training was supposed to begin 10 days later. That contract is on the Evidence page.
I made my home in New Jersey in 2020 - in New Jersey, the age apart allowed for teenage consensual relationships is 4 years; meaning my exact situation is not a crime in New Jersey. But in Texas, this charge falls under the Statutory Rape category. On paper, however, the prosecutors call it something much more heinous: Sexual Assault of a Child. My Army contract was canceled immediately. They wanted nothing to do with someone arrested and on probation for you-know-what. That crushed me inside. I come from a military family. My father went to West Point, my grandfather was a WWII and Korean War vet, and 5 cousins from both sides of my family were military men, from the Air Force to the Navy Seals. I would never have a chance to be in the military now.
What's the first thing that comes to your mind when you think of someone convicted of sexual assault of a child? Yes, me too. I bet you don't picture a high school boyfriend and girlfriend who accidentally wound up pregnant. I have asked myself for years: WHY would Texas charge it like that? WHY would they lump teenage relationships into the same charge as the worst of the worst monsters on this earth? I found out why, and I explain it in Hollow Victory. Even now, in 2025, 18- and 19-year-old young men are still having their lives ruined by the name of this charge.
I did not sexually assault a child. I am innocent of that charge. But my record says I did. And that's all people need to see to close the book on you, period. I'm not alone; there are thousands just like me, who have had their lives nearly ruined in this way. I was put in prison, and the record says "for sexual assault of a child" - that right there is putting a young man in prison for something he did not do.
The prosecutors offer the young men what they call "A Second Chance", which is 10 years' probation. They tell you if you follow every single term of the probation for 10 years, it will come off your record. But what happens if you're a teenage kid living in your truck, in despair and feeling paralyzed? I had to attend pedophile classes as part of the terms of probation, which consisted of looking at terrible, awful photos to measure any "penile" reaction - it was horrifying and traumatic. I couldn't attend another one of those, so I didn't. I had a minimum wage job and couldn't afford all the probation fees. I thought, I have to do this for 10 years, until I'm almost 30? It seemed impossible. I was so angry at her parents, and my girlfriend and I had broken up. I started drinking, smoking pot. I spiraled, feeling hopeless. I was making poor choices now.
Around 2004, I officially failed at "my second chance". My probation was revoked and I was sentenced to 7 years in prison--not for consensual relations with my girlfriend who was 3 years and 5 months younger than me (if only they had a charge for that) -- but for sexual assault of a child. I was 19 and my life was over. Seven years in prison. I can still hear the clang of the bars, the jingling of the guard's keys.
Prison was torture. Anyone who has been in a Texas prison understands. It's beyond inhumane, it creates more monsters, it victimizes and traumatizes some people who happen be in prison for a mistake they made. There are truly evil people in prison, who belong away from society. But there are also decent people who screwed up, regret it, and are serving massive sentences where the punishment doesn't fit the crime. It's prison that makes them hard and mean, because you have to literally fight for your life every day. People familiar with Texas prison knows you don't make parole your first round, and you have to wait a year and a half for your second parole chance. Then if you DO make parole, it takes another year to actually GET released. I'll save the prison stories for my book and fast forward here.
At 19, I was completely shell-shocked in prison. I learned quickly that you fight to survive every day, and I mean every day. It could be a guy you looked at wrong but had no idea you did, a riot breakout, an accidental "got in the middle" of something, or a guard who went too far in their random beating. After several years of learning how to defend myself and remaining "solo" (never joined a gang), I was placed in one of the Texas prisons that offered programs. I was able to start college with a major in communications and get certified in horticulture/landscaping. Yes, I did have that opportunity, but it took me years of hell to get that. I was a model inmate, and I was still refused parole on my first go-round, which my inmates told me would happen. The parole board doesn't tell you why. In prison, no matter how well you do, you are seen as less-than, unfit for society. My daughter was being raised without me, and I was a convicted felon pf the worst label at 19 years old. I cried myself to sleep many nights thinking, "What did I actually do so wrong to deserve THIS?" Yes, I screwed up probation. I got my girlfriend pregnant and she was 15, it was irresponsible. I was a typical dumb 18-year-old. And I lived in a state where it's a crime (it's not a crime in 32 states). But did that deserve 7 years in prison? My future was bleak.
The picture of me smiling above is when I had a visit from my mom when I first got in. That's when smiling used to come easy to me. In the next picture of me taken when I got out of prison 6 years later, my smile had been destroyed. I'm standing next to my old truck, a 1987 GMC Sierra given to me by my grandfather -- and I still have that truck today at 40 years old. My dad kept that truck maintained while I was in prison. When he took this photo that day, he said to me, "Son, you got a thousand-yard stare."
I had bulked up some muscle as a means of survival - my "don't-f*ck-with-me" demeanor had kept me alive. I didn't know where I was going with my life, but I was free. My dad let me live with him and his new wife for a short time (she did not like that). While I was on the inside, smart phones had been invented. Everyone was using them, in a rush to be somewhere or do something. I could not believe how fast everything moved now. I felt like Brooks in Shawshank when he says, "The world had gone and gotten itself in a big hurry." Prison had frozen me in time.
Prison does not prepare you for "reentry" into society -- not at all. They throw you in, and then they throw you out to fend for yourself. If you don't have a family member or friend, you're basically sunk before you walk out of the gate. There's an enormous amount of pressure to start DOING life, and you already feel like you're way behind.
There's another thing they don't prepare you for when you "re-enter" society: the PTSD that slowly creeps in and then takes over your soul. My dad was right about that thousand-yard stare.
My dad and I set out right away to clear my name. I'm Edward David James the Third, so this was a big deal.
I received parole after 5 years in prison, but I had to go through "sex offender" classes in prison for another year to make sure I was no threat to society -- even though they already knew exactly what happened in my case. But the charge is the charge -- so I had to sit next to true pedophiles, men in their 40s and 60s, never meant to be out in the world amongst children. It was chilling.
I had to take a polygraph, go through sessions with a sex offender expert, and complete class after class. The one lady who ran the class, she was as nasty as they come. I told her, Watch me: when I get out, I'm going to clear my name and a court is going to agree. She said it would never happen. I was who the charge said I was, otherwise, I wouldn't be there.
I filed pro se in the Dallas County Criminal Court to get a court-ordered exemption from the sex offender registry. I attached everything - my clear polygraph, the expert testimony assuring that I was not in any way a violent sex offender, and the police reports from 2003. They even interviewed my daughter's mother, who said the same thing as in 2003 - we had been in a consensual relationship. While we no longer talked, I appreciated her honesty after all those years.
My dad came with me to the hearing, which was just a few months after I had been out. Presiding Judge Gracie Lewis (I'll never forget her name) read through everything and concluded...I was right. I did not sexually assault a child. It was a consensual, nonviolent teenage relationship. I was exempted by court order from registering as a sex-offender every year, forever. That was a huge deal, huge. We walked out of that courtroom doing the walk of victory.
Damn right, I thought. Finally, vindication.
You would think that Texas would then take the charge off my record, right? Wrong. That's when I really learned the truth. Around the time I was arrested, the federal government incentivized every state with millions of dollars to get tough on sex-offenders. The more sex offender cases, the more federal Byrne JAG funding. Prosecutors used this to ensnare young men just like me. In fact, the year I was charged in 2003, Texas received DOUBLE previous years' awards specifically for sex offender cases, from $2M to $4.1M. It got so bad that Texans started to speak out against this wrongdoing and started DeregisterTexas.com. In 2007, Texas passed the Romeo and Juliet law to protect young men like me. I was already in prison by then.
I won the exemption, but the damage had already been done to my life. I missed the raising of my daughter, I suffered for 6 years in prison, and there was no getting that time back. I would always be labeled on any background check as convicted felon of sexual assault of a child. I hate typing it as much as you hate reading it. I could never get a mortgage, a corporate job, and even a passport wasn't given to people with records like mine.
Still, I carried that exemption around with me everywhere. It was for "just-in-case"; you never knew what could happen.
I could only stay with my dad for a short time; his wife made sure of that. I couldn't get a lease with my record, so I relied on living with friends and girlfriends. It felt like there was target on my back and the best I could do was disappear in solitude. But I wanted to succeed and make a life for myself. I wanted to make my dad proud. I wanted to be a father to my daughter, who was now 7. I got a job as a groundskeeper for a golf country club and actually was given a small place on the grounds to live. On the outside, I was slowly putting my life together. On the inside, I was lost in the abyss of prison PTSD.
I tried to see my daughter right when I got out. Her mother had not made the best choices while I was in prison (I'm sure being a young teen mom was a lot for her, too) and my daughter was being raised by her grandparents. My mom had been a great grandma to her, seeing her often, trying to keep some mention of me in her life - your dad loves you; he can't wait to meet you. But the grandparents didn't want to mess up anything in my daughter's life, she was stable and happy. They said I could meet her when she was 15. I was crushed. I tried going to court to get visitation, but that didn't work. I'd have to settle for pictures, just like in prison. My PTSD worsened; nightmares happened every night. I would wake myself up from yelling out loud in fear. Flashes of the worst times in prison became recurring images. Crowded places gave me severe anxiety - at any moment, a riot could break out or someone could try to kill you, didn't people see that? I had not had a drink during the 6 years in prison, and I kept that habit once I got out. But as the nightmares and memories continued to flood my mind every day, I became desperate to escape from it.
My old high school friend asked me to meet him up in Dallas at a bar. I took a sip of a beer, then another. Then whiskey. My memories dulled, and I felt better. Drinking became my answer to finally sleep at night (pass out) with no nightmares.
While I held down several jobs over the next 10 years, drinking took its toll. I moved to Amarillo where my mom lived and started my own landscaping business. I found peace and quiet among the plants, gardens, and trees. I would try and get sober for a couple months, but it didn't last. There were two times where I could feel my body shutting down, and I welcomed death. I ruined relationships with my family and friends. My sloppy, obnoxious behavior would always turn to depression and despair, and no one wanted to be around that. I wasn't violent, just severely depressed. I ended up in the hospital in October of 2019 because I was dying from alcoholism. They diagnosed me with PTSD. I stayed sober for a couple months.
That's when I finally got to meet my daughter; she was 15. It was so great, but my heart hurt from the lost time. How do I become a dad to my 15-year-old daughter? She was just amazing; nervous, understandably. I could see how much we looked alike, and she had some of my mannerisms; it made my heart swell. But she lived 6 hours away, so we didn't know when we might see each other again. It brought back all the pain from 2003. I could feel the nightmares and memories coming back. I stayed sober until New Year's Day of 2020, then started drinking again. I decided I would drink myself to death. Nobody cared if I lived or died.
Little did I know that I was about to jump into a new timeline that saved my life.
You know when you walk into class on the first day of school as a 7th grader, and you hope your teacher is cute? When I walked into my reading class, I was thunderstruck. My 7th grade teacher was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. It was an instant crush, and I sat in her class every day, just wishing I was older. She told us she was 22, and I pictured me as a 20-year-old, finding her at 30 years-old and asking her out on a date. I daydreamed that it could happen.
She made reading come alive - aside from what she was required to teach, she would read books aloud like Intensity by Dean Koontz. She played Metallica's "One" music video, and we read the lyrics as a reading comprehension assignment. We watched clips of Beethoven's Immortal Beloved and wrote stream-of-consciousness essays while listening to his symphonies. She was the teacher you never forgot because of how fun and meaningful her lessons were.
When she was out sick and we had a sub, our class made a homemade card for her. We all signed it with our little jokes and comments. I made sure I was the last one to sign it, and I wrote "I really do love you" and signed my name. I don't know if she ever saw it; she never said a word. She just thanked us as a class and went into another fun lesson. It was just the best year, having her for teacher. I went to look for her on the first day of 8th grade, but she was no longer at my school. My classmates had heard she moved to New Jersey.
In prison, reading saved my sanity. I remembered my favorite teacher reading Intensity by Dean Koontz and asked my family to send me every Dean Koontz book available. I thought of her often, wanting to tell her that I remembered her class, that I had a school-kid crush on her, and that I was thankful for everything she taught. But I couldn't. I was in prison, she wouldn't remember me, and even if she did, I didn't want her to know that I was an inmate.
When I got out in 2010, it took me a year to snap out of the fog as I got used to being free. She would pop into my mind and I would wonder where she was. In 2012, I found her on Facebook. I was 27 by then, so she would be 37. That wasn't that far apart in adult years. But...she was married with two kids and lived in New Jersey.
I messaged her, thanking her for all she taught me, reminding her of my favorite lessons. To my surprise, a couple days later she messaged me back.
"Hi, of course I remember you! You were one of the brightest students in the class. Thank you for the kind words, I am glad to know I made a difference."
I thought of Dumb and Dumber: So you're telling me there's a chance...
Life went on, but she kept popping up in my mind. In 2013, I messaged her again. I had thought of another lesson she taught, and it seemed to be a harmless way to reach out. She messaged me back with the same thank you, you're so kind. She was still married. I realized I had to let that daydream go because that's all it was... just a pipe dream.
Seven years later, the world stopped in 2020 with the Covid lockdowns. I had already decided to drink myself to death. By then I had managed to get a tiny 2-bedroom rental house that used to be a garage - I took over the lease from a friend, and the landlord was happy to have someone quiet and clean who always paid on time. I had a girlfriend at the time, and our relationship had been over for a while. She had lived with her roommate - Geoff - for five years, and he was a drug dealer. I knew he had a criminal history. She would deal drugs for him at their place. There was always heavy drinking and drugs involved with them. She had moved in with me for a short time because she wanted to stop her involvement with Geoff. They had a bad fight the night she moved out and in with me. I knew why; she was the one paying his rent. But she didn't stop her involvement with him. She was extremely loyal to him (more on that later), and I wanted nothing more to do with it.
I broke up with her around Valentine's Day weekend and told her she had to move out. I felt bad hurting her feelings like that, but it made me feel just a little bit better. She had never moved her furniture out of her house with Geoff, so she just went back there. There is a saying: "When you lie with dogs, you get up with fleas". That's how I felt dating someone involved in stuff like that, like I had gotten up and now I had fleas. (I don't really have fleas.)
My mother and stepbrother with special needs had moved in with me. It felt good to take turns cooking and have the company. Soon after that, my cousin, a military man, took me to lunch and gave me a book called Declare War On Yourself. It was about getting your life together. He told me it was time to tell my story, to stop hiding it. His idea was that I should create a website about what happened and how I had overcome adversity. I was unsure, but it sparked something.
The breakup was a positive turning point for me. My soul was wanting to live again. My spirit wanted to come back to life. That's when I got my dog. I named him Phoenix. It was time to rise from the ashes of the last 10 years.
Getting Phoenix was like being reborn. I just felt happier. I was still drinking, but I wasn't passing out every night. I'd take a couple days off and save it for the weekend. I wrote music and played my guitar. In March, I posted something on my Facebook about healing after everything I had been through. Then I saw that SHE commented on my post, my school-kid crush from 22 years ago. She said, "I am so happy to hear this, you were always the brightest student in my class, and I know you'll do great things."
I was floating. She's right, I thought. She remembers who I used to be. I was the smartest, the brightest, I had such a bright future in front of me back then. I was the only 7th grade dude with an 8th grade cheerleader for a girlfriend-- I was in all the sports and did well. Now, everyone around me only knew me as a heavy drinker who had been in prison; but she knew me for who I truly was. And now, the door was open to message her again, which is exactly what I did.
"Thank you for the kind words," I typed. "I have been through some stuff, but I am determined to rise above it and be the best I can." There. Let's see if she messages me back.
Days later, just when I thought she wasn't going to respond, I heard a chime. It was her. My heart jumped out of my chest when I read her message:
"What have you been through? I'm so sorry to hear that you have suffered, I always thought you would go on to do great things. I have a restaurant that had to close due to these lockdowns, so I have time if you want to share. And best of luck on your healing journey."
She has time if I want to share. My cousin's words echoed in my mind, "It's time to share your story, to talk about it."
"Yes, I can share. Can we talk on the phone?" I asked.
She replied, "No, I'm not a phone person, can you type it?" Of course I could type it; I could share however she wanted me to share. So, for the first time, I wrote out everything that happened from 2003. The tears ran down my face, letting it all out like that. Her reaction was everything I had ever wanted to hear, and of course it came from her. She was shocked, angry, sympathetic, and supportive. Her sister, who used to visit our class often, remembered me, she said. Her sister was a therapist now.
"She gave me some good advice and tips for you," she typed. "I'm not a phone person, but I can Facetime if you want and tell you what she said?"
Facetime with her? I couldn't believe what I was reading. I was going to see her and talk to her after 22 years. We set a time for 10am the next day. I looked in the mirror. I was looking old. I had lost all my hair in prison. My beard covered my face and neck, my mask to the world. I had prison tattoos; one was an entire sleeve on my left arm. But I was still me, and she knew who I was before all this. Would she still see that?
When we saw each other for the first time on video, we talked for two hours. I told her she looked exactly the same, and she laughed. I didn't tell her she was just as beautiful as I remembered, I kept it cool. I'll never forget when she said, "The only thing I recognize about you is your eyes, the rest is like, full-grown man, I can't believe I was your teacher. Call me Kelly, don't you dare call me Miss Lepine," she laughed. "Wait, how old are you now?"
I had been waiting for this moment. I said, "I'm 35 now." That's right, I'm a grown-ass man in my mid-thirties. I remember the ways her eyes blinked, like she couldn't believe I was that old. Was she doing the math, too?
"Wow," she said, "we're only about 10 years apart, that's crazy." She looked like she was 25. My crush had never left my heart. She was the exact same. Except for one thing -- she was still married.
We found a reason to Facetime again. She wanted to keep in touch and see how my healing journey progressed. But it didn't take long to realize the minute we met eyes, we were in trouble--or she was, anyway. All those years she had never left my mind, and it was for a reason. I just knew we were meant to be. The chemistry, the spark, it was off the charts, and yet we didn't acknowledge it. We ended up talking for hours over days on Facetime about everything in life, and how crazy Covid lockdowns were- she was a freedom fighter like me. As for the state of their marriage, it's not my story to tell, and I respect the man too much to speak out of turn.
When I say things happened fast, I mean like lightning. We spoke on video for the first time in late April, and several times for hours after that. On May 2, 2020, she said the words I had always dreamed of hearing from her.
"This is the craziest thing, but I feel like I'm meant to be with you." I'll keep what she told her husband private, as it's not my story to tell. Seven days later, he had divorced her on Legal Zoom. By June, we met face to face and knew this was, indeed, meant to be. We began making plans to be together, which meant I had to find a way to New Jersey.
I believed I could control my drinking and drank normally with Kelly for a time, but it didn't hold for long. I'll save the embarrassing details for another time; the point is, I stopped drinking in mid-June. I set a goal to move to New Jersey by August. Life was amazing. I could not believe how my life had turned around once I broke up with that girlfriend, who seemed like she was from another lifetime now. I deleted everything I had from my past: messages, contacts, FB posts and friends, pictures (that's important for later). I didn't want to associate myself with that old lifetime ever again.
I celebrated every day I was sober, believing I could really do it forever this time. After all, I had the love of my life; I got her. I felt like I was living my dream.
Little did I know the police were processing a warrant for me. My dream life was about to turn into a nightmare.
On June 30, 2020, Kelly and I were on Facetime talking about our future, celebrating another sober day, when I saw US Marshals pull up to my house. They got out of the car and approached me. I mustered up the friendliest tone I could find, my PTSD on max alert.
"Can I help you?" I asked, my body starting to shake involuntarily.
"Are you Edward James?" Words I never, ever wanted to hear again from an law officer for the rest of my life. My heart knocked.
"Yes...", I said, my body going into full panic mode, terrified at what might be their next words.
"You're under arrest for the assault of Becca Smith*. Place your hands behind your back...". Their voices faded away as I sunk into my own world of shock. (*name is changed)
That was the name of my ex-girlfriend, the one from another lifetime ago back in Feb of 2020.
"What are you talking about? What did I do?" I said.
They ignored me and began telling me I had the right to remain silent. Kelly was still on Facetime; she saw the whole thing. I told her I'd call her when I could and hung up.
I felt and heard the handcuffs click.
They booked me and put me in the tank with the other guys. I didn't know what the hell was going on, but if Becca was involved, then so was Geoff and the rest of that crew. I thought about how tainted I felt being around them, remembering "If you lie down with dogs, you get up with fleas." Whatever it was, the fleas had found me.
I was brought to the judge to be arraigned and was told it was for assault with impeding breath. I was dumbfounded. Impossible. When? How? I knew nothing. I wasn't given any more information.
I pled not guilty. I paid bail and was back home in three days. But...those three days in jail brought my prison memories all back. I stopped at the liquor store. My nerves were fried; my PTSD was back in full force. I couldn't stop shaking. I needed that whiskey to calm it all down. I Facetimed with Kelly and tried to explain.
"It's ok", she said, "I love you. One day at a time."
"I can't let this happen to me again," I said. "I never assaulted her, never impeded her breath or whatever they said. But I have a pretty good idea who might have."
Even though I knew it wasn't me, I didn't want to do what was done to me and accuse someone else with no proof. I had seen Geoff manhandle her, raise his voice and swear at her for missing a drug deal, use her to pay all the rent and bills while he spent his money on thing. She was loyal and protective of him; I personally witnessed them coming up with a story so she could lie to the Amarillo police and cover for him about being involved in a shootout for a drug deal gone wrong. He was on probation (or so I thought, turns out he was actually out on bail) so that would be revoked, and he'd go back to jail. She was fiercely loyal to him. Because of her lie to the police, the charges were dropped.
My mind was reeling. Why didn't the police tell me she accused me of this, ask me about it? Was it simply because she said I did it, and they just took her word for it? No, no, police wouldn't do that. They wouldn't just go arrest someone based on someone's word without investigating.
Oh yes, they would.
The thing about being in a new timeline is you just keep living in your new timeline. You refuse to go back to the old one, where the fleas are. For my bail, I had to check in by phone every Thursday. It was fine if I moved to another state, as long as I called in every Thursday. I retained a lawyer at a Texas statewide law firm that had awards on their website, so I figured I was in good hands (foreshadowing). Most of all, I was sure I could never be convicted of something I didn't do. The truth would come out, I was certain. While we waited for my lawyer to get his hands on the State's file (I was dying to see what possible evidence they had against me), I moved to New Jersey -- by plane. In my old timeline, I hated flying. But in my new timeline, I had Kelly. I'd take any transportation to be with her.
I got a job at a marina within a week and rented a room at a small hotel near Kelly's restaurant that she ran with her sister. Kelly's kids were teenagers, so she split time evenly with her now ex-husband. We had our time together when she didn't have her kids. Our relationship was what everyone is looking for: genuine love and connection. She was my person, and I was equally hers. I would tell her she saved my life, and she would say maybe so, but I also saved hers.
I was still drinking, trying to moderate it to Kelly's pacing. I was winning at life. I liked my job, was making decent money. When Kelly found a rental home for herself and her kids, I moved into the apartment she had rented temporarily. By November of 2020, it seemed like life was only getting better every week. I wasn't worried about the pending charges back in Amarillo, because I didn't do it. There's just no way they can convict me for something I didn't do, I thought.
Okay. A part of me whispered that I also didn't do what I was charged with in 2003, yet I spent 6 years in prison. Then that old drinking habit would rear its ugly head, and I would wake up on my couch, having passed out hours before.
I sought counseling for my PTSD. I was truly healing and moving forward, until I drank. Drinking made me depressed about it all over again. My drinking started to get heavy-- Kelly noticed-- her sister noticed-- her staff at her restaurant noticed-- so she put her foot down. I set a new goal to stop drinking. For weeks at a time, we would have fun with it. I signed up for every program, bought almost every recovery book. But it just didn't last -- eventually we would agree that I could moderate again, this time for certain.
Meanwhile, the marina I worked at had a small restaurant space that had closed due to Covid. I asked my boss if I could open up my own restaurant there with Kelly and her sister helping, and he loved the idea. We were scheduled to open up in May of 2021. I was going to be a co-owner of a restaurant.
The part I'm about to tell you now is key. This is why Phoenix Reformation, the nonprofit I created to help people in recovery, exists. When I say I know what you're going through, I mean it. Look at the life I was building, how happy I was, how much I had going for me. Let's not forget I had the woman of my dreams. So why, why would I ever let alcohol destroy that? Because that's what alcoholism does; it destroys what you love most.
Christmas was beautiful, but by January, I just couldn't stop drinking. I started hiding it; Kelly knew. By the end of February, she was heartbroken and angry when she called me and ended our relationship. I begged her with more ideas and promises, but she hung up on me. She had never done that before. She was really done with me. I had gotten the girl and then lost her. I was so ashamed that I threw away the best thing that ever happened to me. To make a long story short (details saved for later), I surrendered. I can't get sober by myself, so God, if you're there, take over for me.
God sent me an angel in human form. A man overheard me talking about how I needed a place besides inpatient rehab or outpatient treatment to truly get sober. He stepped right into the conversation and said I should call Coming Full Circle (CFC), a sober living home. It's a home for men like me who wanted to get sober (that's key) and needed a full-time sober environment to help them. It wasn't rehab, but you did attend peer recovery classes each week. They had curfews and drug/alcohol tests to keep you accountable. The cost of a nice room in a big house was about $80 a week. Then the man wished me good luck and walked away; I never knew who he was.
I called CFC and they welcomed me in that day. I had a nice room in a huge house with 8 other guys and a house manager. It felt right. I knew this was where I needed to be; God had taken care of it just like I asked.
You think I gave up on winning Kelly back? No way. I called her often and told her of my progress. I still knew in my heart she and I were meant to be. She was cold and distant at first, but she picked up the phone every time. So you're telling me there's a chance...
Getting sober was not easy, I guess that goes without saying. But being in a sober environment where everyone around is also living sober -- made such a difference. I graduated from the 6-week SMART recovery class, and something clicked with me. I really liked the tools it taught. I paid money to take the course and become a SMART facilitator. But the cravings still happened. I used the tools I had learned to sit with the craving and know: The craving will pass, and one day, it will never return. Kelly will take you back if you're sober. Do it for her.
CFC worked miracles on me. The cravings DO pass. Pretty soon, I was getting sober for me, not just Kelly. I saw how much better I was not only feeling but thinking. I liked how clear my mind felt, I liked feeling so much energy and waking up refreshed. They had weekly optional classes, weekend outings, camp adventures, concerts, family gatherings, and it was all done in a sober social environment. People like me who thought I could only loosen up and have fun if I was drinking--well, you learn that's not true. You actually have more fun because you're present, you're clear-minded. I made friends there who were also sober. No fleas.
Around the 60-day sober mark, I asked Kelly if I could help out at our restaurant, even one or two days a week. She agreed, and I jumped right in. I ended up helping out a lot more than she planned -- post-Covid, restaurants had a terrible time finding reliable staff. I did every position - payroll, scheduling, dishes, bussing, serving -- I even worked the fryers when one of the cooks would call out. Despite the stress of running a restaurant, I didn't even think about drinking. I had already put in 60-days, so every day sober in a row meant a lot more to me. I never wanted to go back to Day 1, that was for sure.
I had heard about the 90-day mark, but I didn't believe it. Sober men said after 90 days, your brain rewires itself and it no longer craves alcohol. It's just gone. Now you might crave ice cream, sure, but hey, a win is a win. The physiological effects of how alcohol tricks your brain is just that --a trick. It might make you happy at first, but then it triggers your sadness every time. It wires your brain to crave alcohol when what you're actually craving...is nutrients. (I recommend The Vitamin Cure for Alcoholism book to learn more about the science of that.)
When I hit that 90-day mark, I felt it. The craving left my body, my brain. It was gone. Could it be? I checked myself; I imagined whiskey, wine, beer...nope, nothing. If anything, it was a slightly negative feeling. I loved it. My brain had been rewired. Talk about feeling free!
I now had true freedom I realized I had spent 6 years in a physical prison but 10 years in a mental prison with alcohol and the resulting regrets and embarrassment. Sixteen years. I was almost 40 and felt like I was truly free for the first time. I wanted everyone struggling like I had to feel what I felt now. I have to help others on their journey, too, I decided. That's why I created Phoenix Reformation.
As for Kelly, she still wasn't sure. We talked, but she didn't want to see me and made sure she wasn't at the restaurant when I was. I knew why she didn't want to see me. She knew once our eyes met....
I was hanging out at the CFC main center, getting ready to lead upcoming classes, when the leader of CFC, Jay, called me into his office. He knew all about Kelly and how I was determined to win her back.
He said, "Kelly called me. She had dropped off donations for CFC but accidentally dropped off the box of staff t-shirts for the restaurant with it. She's coming by now to pick them up and doesn't think you're here. Why don't you carry them out to her car?"
He had me at "Kelly called."
I saw her pull up. I saw her realize it was me holding the box she was coming to pick up. We hadn't seen each other in a while. I looked healthy, bright-eyed, and happy. I was sober, sober for life this time, and I knew it. I smiled.
She got out of the car and said, "I didn't know you were going to be here."
Then she burst into tears. So did I. I put down the box and hugged her tightly. "Please don't give up on me," I said. "I'm telling you, I made it through, I don't even crave alcohol, I don't think about it. I love being sober. And I love you more than anything in existence."
She wiped her eyes, and I saw that spark there. She still loved me.
"I could never stop loving you even if I tried - and I have tried," she said, half-crying, half-laughing.
She smiled that smile at me. She still loved me. With Kelly and I back together, I could handle whatever came my way, including that 2020 charge looming. It's ok, I assured myself, my lawyer has it under control. He'll call me when the charges are dismissed.
I know now how easily they could have been.
The summer of 2021 was spent showing Kelly I meant I was truly sober for life. We worked together at the restaurant, then would getaway to Air BnB's on the Delaware river and hike to waterfalls or go canoeing. My relationship with my daughter was mostly texting every now and then. She was 17. Then around September, I got that magical call every father wants to hear. "Dad, I'm taking you up on your offer to come visit you. I want to see you."
Done. I called her grandparents and assured them I would make sure she completed her online schoolwork, that I was sober and successful and she was in good hands. I booked her ticket, and she flew in. She stayed for almost a week, and it was the beginning of the true relationship I had dreamed of having with her. She was very similar to me in her work ethic and goal-setting. My daughter's heart was open, she just wanted to love and be loved; her immediate friendliness and warmth left me wishing I was more like her. She absolutely loved Kelly and her daughter; they all hit it off. The timing of her visit was perfect, too - I told her I had planned to propose on horseback to Kelly, and she was excited to be a part of it. I proposed to Kelly, she said yes, and we all celebrated.
I had become a certified facilitator of SMART Recovery and taught classes on it at CFC a couple times a week. I loved Russell Brand's Freedom from Our Addictions, and I shared it with CFC. CFC liked it and added it as a class that I got to teach. I became a house manager and was in the CFC annual video they show at their gala for donors, as one of their success stories. I was sponsoring two young adult men with families on their sober journey. It felt great to talk about my story and say, "Believe me, if I can do it, anyone can do it."
My daughter and I made plans for her to visit again, and when she left this time, my heart didn't hurt. The only time that mattered was now, and we had bonded. I knew we would only build on that and be a part of each other's lives forever.
Kelly and I bought a beautiful ranch surrounded by woods, and we married in February of 2022. The wedding was magical, our families and friends were there, I drank sparkling apple cider for champagne, everyone danced their behinds off, and our vows were my favorite part.
When we were packing up her things to move into our new home, she came across an old box with mementos and letters she had saved from her students throughout her ten years of teaching.
"I wonder if there's anything from Lyles in there," I said. Our old middle school she taught at.
"That was my first year of teaching, I don't think I saved anything from back then," she said.
But sure enough, she did. She saved the card we all made and signed that day when she was out sick. You remember that one, where I wrote, "I really do love you", right? There it was, now 24 years later, in her hands.
Kelly was stunned. "No way, this is so crazy," she said, looking at my handwriting.
"I told you I've loved you since the day I saw you," I said. And I meant it!
I haven't forgotten to tell you about that pending 2020 charge. You have probably tracked that it's now March 2022. I had been arrested and charged almost 2 years ago. I had not heard much from my attorney.
That should have been a red flag.
Same law firm: third attorney. Since June of 2020, this law firm kept re-assigning my case to a new attorney and now I was on my third attorney. By the time he reached out, it looked like my case was going nowhere. My attorney said he finally got his hands on the file, he emailed me and said, "I am shocked at the paucity of evidence."
There was nothing tying me to this except her word. She didn't write the victim statement, her friend did; she didn't sign the victim statement, either. Moreover, the photos of her didn't match the description of the statement which said she was punched over and over up close in the face. He said the first picture showed nothing: No swelling, no bruises, no marks. He was stunned that their plea deal offer was 5 years in prison.
"It doesn't make any sense," he said, "You're almost 40, you have no criminal history (he knew my 2003 charge was exempted). This should be probation, easy, all day long. Why the hell is the plea offer five years in prison? He's not open to negotiation??"
I felt my heart sink.
The police must have checked my record, saw my 2003 charge, and didn't realize it was exempted. They saw that heinous label and thought, let's get this guy. He's guilty.
I was right. After my conviction, I took a deep dive into every piece of paper in the trial record. She said I assaulted her in late February of 2020. I found evidence that the detective following up with Becca spoke to her for the first time on March 18. He asked her for my phone number even though my number was on the police report he was holding. She gave him a number that wasn't mine, he called it and no voicemail could be left. Then he checked my criminal history, same day. He never attempted to contact me after that. See the Police Report on the Evidence page.
Once he checked my criminal history, he saw "Sexual Assault of a Child" and must have thought, "yep, got our guy." He closed the book on the case. His notes said "This case will be sent to Potter County DA." It might have taken less than an hour to wrap it up.
This year, 2025, I filed an Internal Affairs complaint on this detective about this and more, including perjury on the stand. I cited TCOLE and protocol violations and gave evidence for every claim. Two weeks later, they mailed a polite but curt letter saying after reviewing my complaint, all claims were Unfounded. Kelly emailed the head of internal affairs (I'm in jail in NJ fighting extradition for these reasons) and asked for clarification -- why were all items unfounded? He emailed back and said "Your husband was found guilty by a jury, and no internal affairs complaint is going to change that." Yes, sir, but that wasn't her question. See the Evidence page.
Around March of 2023, I had a zoom call with my attorney and Kelly sat in on it.
"I am so confused," Kelly told him. "Are they bluffing? What evidence points to him? Have they provided everything they plan to use against him?" she asked.
He replied, "I am filing a Motion for Discovery, which means there are required to show me everything they will use against him. And since this is now going on 3 years, nothing is going to suddenly come to light at the last minute - we're talking an old case here."
I jumped in. "And the prosecutor has my affidavit about the facts and Geoff Jackson, and he knows that the 2003 charge was exempted, right?" I asked.
"Oh yes, he has all of it," he assured me. "He's not really responding to my emails. I am thinking they may just drop the charges in time if we keep pushing to go to trial, because you're not taking this plea of 5 years, I'll tell you that right now."
But they didn't drop the charges.
My attorney called me in November and said, "Apparently there's some Facebook messages you wrote her back in 2020, do you have those?"
"No," I said, "I deleted everything from everyone I knew in Amarillo, that's a life I don't want to remember. But what about the Facebook messages? We mostly texted."
"I don't know, he mentioned them, but I haven't seen what he's got," my attorney said.
** New and Learned Edward would have said: What do you mean you haven't seen it? Your discovery motion was filed in March, 8 months ago. You should have everything. Get on the phone and demand it, file a motion to compel, do something.**
But naive and uninformed Edward wasn't worried. There couldn't be anything incriminating on there because I didn't do it.
December came, and finally the trial was set for January 16, 2024, the Tuesday after MLK weekend. There was a major blizzard forecasted for the entire state of Texas that weekend. The Thursday before the holiday weekend began, my attorney emailed me and it read: "I got these Facebook messages."
I opened up the attachment, and it was screenshots of messages supposedly between me and Becca where I apologize for an argument we had. The date was the date she said this all happened. My memory was already foggy about 2020; we were now four years later, but I knew one thing: whatever those screenshots were, something was fishy about them. I remember messaging her, but we mostly texted. We did have an argument, that's why she moved out... but it wasn't on that night that she was saying. I was thrown and confused; I know I did not do what she was accusing me of, and how the hell were these messages from 2020 being emailed to me the Thursday before I flew out to Amarillo for my trial??
** New and Learned Edward would have said: This is an underhanded tactic, disclosing evidence from four years ago at the last minute. It's a Brady violation because it's supposedly incriminating evidence that I could use to exonerate myself by getting it forensically authenticated. The last-minute timing is intended to prevent me from doing that because they don't care if they are authentic or not. If they did, they would have metadata proof. We need to ask for a continuance and get a forensic analysis on these. **
But naive and uninformed Edward trusted his attorney; after all, he must know what he's doing, right? He said we would deal with it during the trial; he would argue they should not be admitted.
Kelly and I got on the plane in Newark, headed to Amarillo. At the Dallas layover, our flight to Amarillo was cancelled. The blizzard had descended. We spent the weekend stuck at DFW airport. There was no time to talk in- depth to my attorney; phones and emails barely worked. My gut told me this was a dirty move by the prosecutor. But I thought my attorney could handle it. Wait until I get on that stand and share what I know, I thought.
I couldn't wait to testify.
We arrived at the courtroom straight from the Amarillo airport on Tuesday, January 16, 2024. My attorney welcomed us in and said, "You haven't missed anything, we are about to start. The first thing is the pre-trial motion. Just formalities about bringing up your exempted charge from 2003."
** New and Learned Edward: This still makes me sick to my stomach to think about. This pre-trial hearing was where my attorney could have easily argued against my 2003 charge being allowed as evidence to impeach me. It was inadmissible, no question. But he didn't do that. See the Pre-trial Hearing on the Evidence tab where I explain what a major kill-shot this was by the prosecutor. This intimidation tactic worked; I was silenced from taking the stand. **
My attorney approached me after the pre-trial hearing. "So, it looks like your 2003 charge is going to come up, and I highly advise you not to take the stand."
"Why?" I said. "I can explain what it was, how it was exempted and how proud I am for how far I have come."
He took a deep breath. "Because the prosecutor is going to make sure the jury thinks you were convicted for sexually assaulting a child, and there's nothing in the world juries hate more than pedophiles."
Kelly stepped in, "But if he doesn't take the stand, how will the jury hear the truth about Becca and Geoff, and Geoff's background history?"
"That's true," my attorney said, "But I'm pretty confident I can poke enough holes in her story that the jury will still see there's a ton of reasonable doubt, plus we have the only eyewitness of your mom being in your home that night, living there with your stepbrother. So I think we are still strong. If you take the stand, the prosecutor is going to...it's just not going to be good. I highly advise you NOT to take the stand."
I looked at Kelly. It didn't feel right. She shook her head. Something wasn't right here.
The trial began. The prosecutor's witnesses besides Becca were her friend and co-worker - the only thing they "witnessed" was her coming from somewhere (they testified they did not know where she lived or where she came from that night - and I have to emphasize, they both testified they did not know where she lived) and being very upset, then saying that I had assaulted her. It was the co-worker who took that first picture at the friend's home.
I didn't see the pictures of Becca until my trial. She told the jury how I had punched her in the face, close up, multiple times, over and over, too many times to count. The prosecutor projected Picture #1 on the wall for the courtroom. I felt relief in my heart. It's just a normal picture of Becca, I thought, except she's not smiling. I saw her small birthmark by her collarbone, nothing else. Why did the State just hand the case over to my attorney with this nothing picture? I breathed a sigh of relief. Surely the jury will see no facial injury and realize they can't trust what she's saying. It's the first item on the Evidence page.
It's so painful to talk about the trial. My mom testified and the prosecutor got her all confused about the dates. She had had a stroke in October, her memory wasn't the same. She had paid her rent for February, so she was living with me but still slowly moving her stuff from her apartment to mine. He jumped on that as a lie. I just kept thinking, If only the detective had come to my house in 2020 and met my mom, talked to her then, it would be clear she was living there by then. Now, because they didn't do their job to interview me in 2020, we had to fight to prove something from four years ago.
My attorney objected to the FB messages at an Evidence hearing on Day 2 without the jury present. To his credit, my attorney produced the exact message on his own that morning. It looked exactly like the screenshot Becca produced. He did this to show the judge how easy it was to create fake FB messages. Did I mention that the Facebook messages Becca provided had Kelly and me on my profile from Christmas less than three weeks ago?
It was troubling to see the judge and my attorney debate about how FB messages worked; neither of them had any idea. The judge even said, "I have no idea about any of this stuff." (We will provide this transcript on the Evidence page). She kept saying I had the messages and so the burden was on me to point out discrepancies. "They are like letters" she said. Nooooo, I kept telling my attorney, I deleted everything, I have no messages to refute this. Plus, I can't refute messages I didn't write; how would I have them in my possession?
The judge overruled all six objections and allowed the messages with no sourced metadata, just a printout of screenshots, stapled pages. At that point, my attorney could have, AND SHOULD HAVE, Motioned for a Continuance. We could have taken the time to get the messages forensically authenticated. But that didn't happen. He never offered it as an option to me, and I didn't know it could be done. But now I know that it should have been done.
Right before my attorney rested my case, I asked him again if he was sure I should not testify. He said again that the prosecutor would take my 2003 charge and turn me into a pedophile and the jury would turn on me. He was confident (but he did not guarantee) that there was plenty of reasonable doubt here. He said his closing argument would be strong.
His closing argument did not contain the elements he said it would. He ran out of time; the judge had to cut him off. He seemed unprepared.
I understand that I am describing what a terrible job my attorney did; however, he is a good, kind, and decent person. He was just acutely ineffective with no reasonable strategy for his errors.
Here's what I also found out: I knew Becca had gone back to her house with Geoff. I thought he was on probation for drugs, they had a physical altercation, she went to her friend's house, her friend demanded to know who, and that's why she was covering for him. It turns out, he was arrested for an Aggravated Assault with Deadly Weapon charge in 2017. He was sentenced to Community Supervision (Probation) in 2019. He was arrested for theft of property in July of 2020, and his probation was revoked. Then, he was sentenced to 10 years in Texas prison, which is where he is now. It is around his fifth or sixth assault conviction. See the Evidence page.
It took the jury two and a half hours of deliberation on my case. I don't know if you've ever been in the situation where the jury walks in with a verdict about you, but let me tell you, it's awful. I can't even watch a TV show with a scene like that. It was just one of the most terrifying, nerve-wracking moments of my life.
When I heard the foreman say, "Guilty," my spirit left my body. I remember nothing after that.
Kelly says that I fainted, flat out. The Bailiff and my attorney rushed to help, then carried me out of the courtroom for booking as the jury was led out. To me, I felt like I died. There was no way it was possible that I was going back to Texas prison, 24 years later after I had finally built the life of my dreams. How could I be placed in this nightmare a second time. I had heard that former inmates have a common recurring nightmare: that their release was just a dream and they are still in prison. I thought that very thing when I woke up in jail; my happiness had all been a dream, and I was never actually released in 2010, but had been in prison the whole time.
At sentencing the next day, I could barely walk into the courtroom. The tears came in a steady stream. I couldn't speak. This could not be happening to me. How was I going to tell my daughter? How was I going to be apart from Kelly? I felt such grief, I couldn't function.
The first thing the prosecutor did was announce to the jury "This guy has messed up before. If fact, he's actually been in prison, for sexual assault of a child." He let the words hang in the air and you could feel the disgust come over the jury. Then he handed the jury my "Pen Pack" and it came with my mug shot right front and center next to "sexual assault of a child." (If you skipped my story and went right to the end, you should know that I did NOT do any such thing.)
I was too much in shock to speak to my attorney, but inside I was yelling: You told me he would never bring it up if I didn't testify.
Kelly was already on it; I heard her say to my attorney, "Why is he allowed to bring this up? You said if Edward didn't testify, the jury would never know about it."
I heard him tell Kelly, "Yes, during the trial. Sentencing is different, they can bring almost anything up at sentencing."
I heard Kelly whisper curtly, "If we had known that, he would have testified!"
When Becca got up to testify as to why I should spend 10 years in prison, she went from saying I destroyed her life to saying I was the love of her life, then saying how much she hates me. The shirt I apparently impeded her breath with; she still wears it all the time (her words). She volunteered to the jury that she does more drugs and drinks now more than ever because of me, and that she just recently slammed her car into a telephone pole, driving under the influence. The prosecutor said straight up that I was to blame for that. So it's my fault that Becca could have killed someone while driving drunk in 2024, okay. He was so ruthless, so incredibly beyond the pale. I will never forget his voice.
There's so much more to the sentencing part of this story, but it can be found on the Evidence page. The bottom line is the jury had to give me mandatory prison time because I had a "prior assault", even if it was exempted. They sentenced me to five years in prison. More shock. There was not a mark on her. I remember thinking, sheesh, even if I did it, why the heck would they say I deserved 5 years in prison with the first photo evidence showing not a mark? If Geoff did something, or anyone... why in the world would a jury sentence someone to 5 years in prison for this. I have learned why that might be after reading the trial record.
I believe it was based on the "parole table" that my attorney tried to get removed from the jury instructions. He said to the judge that he has spoken to juries before and they have told him that they determined the sentence based on when the person will be out on parole, which means 5 years could be as little as 8 months (that's how crowded Texas prisons are). They are given the table right there in the room -- they look at THAT, not the actual sentence. But juries don't know that you almost never, ever get paroled on your first go-round, and it's another 1 1/2 years before you're up for it again.
I found out something else this year from a brilliant Texas defense attorney. He said the judge had the discretion to take my 2003 charge with mitigating factors and give me probation, which would have been more than fair in this case with a guilty verdict. It also wouldn't have been hard to negotiate that as a plea deal, before ever going through four years and then a trial. But again, my attorney did not do this. After all of this, while I will ALWAYS maintain my innocence, if they offer to reduce my sentence and call it probation with time served, I'll sign it. I don't care. They want their win, I want my freedom and to move on with my life. At least it would be over, and I could focus on my goals back home in New Jersey. I'll go for a pardon later and get it.
I sat there in Potter County jail on my first night, just crying quietly. Kelly would have to go back home without me; how was I going to live every day without seeing her. There was one other guy in the tank with me. I never even looked at him, I just heard him. He said, "You should motion the court to get released on bond pending appeal." A couple minutes later, the officers came and removed him. That was another angel that had walked into my life.
I motioned the court, spent 31 days in jail, and was released on bond pending appeal (Honorable Judge Dee Johnson, thank you.) I was determined to prove to her that I was worth it. I jumped back into life, staying for a time with my aunt and uncle, who are just beautiful people, going to their church, attending Men's Bible Study. I enrolled in Amarillo Community College to become a chaplain and started taking classes. I volunteered at The Parc homeless shelter and A Second Chance sober living home in Amarillo. Then I was allowed to move back to New Jersey and continue the life I was living until my final appeal was decided. I found my place at our local church there; there's just something about Men's Bible Study Group that makes me feel like I'm home. I continued leading classes at CFC, self-published a recovery workbook on Amazon, and kept the faith that my appeal would win.
After a year, I lost the first appeal. Interestingly, the 7th court of Appeals for Potter County is in the exact same building, one floor below my trial court. That wouldn't suggest an appearance of judicial proximity bias, would it? I was so disheartened and in such despair. It was costly being out on bond paying the fees and travel. I stopped checking in with my bondsman. After 5 years of following bail and bond to the letter, this was completely out of character for me. I was just in such despair. My bond was revoked, and I waited for the answer on my second appeal.
It took months of waiting, but I lost that one, too. All this time, I was studying everything about my trial and contacting defense attorneys, getting free consultations to ask their advice. This is how I learned that none of this should have happened.
Something is terribly wrong with this aspect of the system: the prosecutor needs convictions, not justice. It has perverted the intention of the justice system and laughs in the face of the US Constitution. If this wasn't true, there wouldn't be new laws passed that now punish attorneys for suppressing evidence. There is an organization of retired prosecutors and District Attorneys focused on changing this broken part of our system called Fair and Just Prosecution. This organization wouldn't exist unless they themselves didn't know the awful truth about what really happens when prosecutors are bent on winning.
Thank you for being here as we work to get Edward freed with a Petition for Habeas Corpus (look up TX 11.07). As you may have read on here, after sentencing, the judge released him on bond pending appeal in Feb of 2024 and allowed him to live back in New Jersey. He continued his life as before, leading sobriety classes through the nonprofit he created called Phoenix Reformation, attending college to become a chaplain, and connecting with his Men's Bible Study group at our local church. His appeals were lost and Texas ordered him back from NJ to serve his 5-year prison sentence. Texas had put out a warrant for him. Edward prayed constantly about what to do. He decided he could not buy a ticket and put himself on a plane to go back to Texas knowing how wrong this all was. He had to stand and continue the fight here in New Jersey.