Read Online The Short and Tragic Life of Robert Peace by Jeff Hobbs - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jeff Hobbs
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Rob entered the fourth grade in a private Catholic school. During the months to come, the remainder of Skeetâs life would be decided upon by a jury of his peers. In a certain way, Robâs life would be, too.
Chapter 3
M T. C ARMEL E LEMENTARY S CHOOL stood on East Freeway Drive overlooking the I-280. As the mostly poor, mostly black and Hispanic students filed in and out, they could look down the steep embankment at the cars whooshing past, carrying suburban commuters from their bucolic homes to their downtown jobs and back again. The modest brick building was sandwiched between a church and a nursing home. On a grass lawn directly behind it, nurses took turns jumping rope while the octogenarians in their care looked on eagerly, clapping out revolutionsâand also creating a kind of neighborhood watch that kept loiterers and dealers away (the interstate off-ramps provided convenient locations for white-collar commuters to buy drugs quickly, without venturing into the hood). Mt. Carmel, kindergarten to eighth grade, cost $200 a month. Most of the teachers were elderly white nuns, of whom Skeet would disapprove. But unlike before, or possibly ever again, he had no say in the matter. Jackie was paying about a third of her monthly salaryânow around $600âin tuition, plus additional expenses for clothes, books, and supplies. She was also taking a big risk by hoping this sacrifice would mean something. If Rob turned out like any other rough boy in the neighborhoodâif her son wasnât special like she believed he wasâshe feared the disappointment that would follow too much striving on her part. At the very least, she was confident thathe was now among people who saw beyond who and where they were. Uppity or not, Jackie saw beyond.
Rob was a quiet boy who, with his broad chest and wide shoulders and constant glower, strutted around the school as if someone had just stolen something that he wanted back. With only eighteen students per grade, he stood out. He wore boots with untied laces, and the belt of his pants hung halfway down his backside (he still took care to make sure his shirt was tucked in, in accordance with the dress code). He received Aâs in every subject.
The heavy burden Rob carried was clear to all around him. But whatever plagued him specifically, he didnât speak of it, and his self-Âcontained bearing inhibited his classmates from asking (they were, after all, ten years old, though many were growing up much faster than they deserved). And as Rob gradually made friends and ingratiated himself with his teachersâthrough work ethic and graciousness, if not his demeanor and appearanceâhe never mentioned the trial unfolding downtown throughout the fall of 1990. Robâs first months of private school were his fatherâs last months of being presumed innocent.
A FTER MORE THAN three years of waiting, the weeks-long jury selection began. Though the jury ended up being composed of eight blacks and four whites, the defense attorneys still complained of racial bias since the composition did not adequately represent the area in which the crime had occurred. In turn, the prosecution chose its jurors based on the strength of their belief in the death penalty.
The actual trial spanned a single week in November 1990. Mr. Lechliterâs opening statement painted an intimate, detailed rendering of the morning of August 8, 1987, with multiple references to the infant in the apartment. Then he called a parade of policemen whoâd been at the scene of the crime. One after another, these officers described the arrangement of the bodies of the two women, the disarray of Skeetâs apartment and the drug paraphernalia found there, thephoto corroborated by the single witness, and the moment when Skeet had been apprehended, armed with the loaded murder weapon, sitting among children. Lechliterâs strategy seemed to be to imprint his narrative on the jury through
Chapter 3
M T. C ARMEL E LEMENTARY S CHOOL stood on East Freeway Drive overlooking the I-280. As the mostly poor, mostly black and Hispanic students filed in and out, they could look down the steep embankment at the cars whooshing past, carrying suburban commuters from their bucolic homes to their downtown jobs and back again. The modest brick building was sandwiched between a church and a nursing home. On a grass lawn directly behind it, nurses took turns jumping rope while the octogenarians in their care looked on eagerly, clapping out revolutionsâand also creating a kind of neighborhood watch that kept loiterers and dealers away (the interstate off-ramps provided convenient locations for white-collar commuters to buy drugs quickly, without venturing into the hood). Mt. Carmel, kindergarten to eighth grade, cost $200 a month. Most of the teachers were elderly white nuns, of whom Skeet would disapprove. But unlike before, or possibly ever again, he had no say in the matter. Jackie was paying about a third of her monthly salaryânow around $600âin tuition, plus additional expenses for clothes, books, and supplies. She was also taking a big risk by hoping this sacrifice would mean something. If Rob turned out like any other rough boy in the neighborhoodâif her son wasnât special like she believed he wasâshe feared the disappointment that would follow too much striving on her part. At the very least, she was confident thathe was now among people who saw beyond who and where they were. Uppity or not, Jackie saw beyond.
Rob was a quiet boy who, with his broad chest and wide shoulders and constant glower, strutted around the school as if someone had just stolen something that he wanted back. With only eighteen students per grade, he stood out. He wore boots with untied laces, and the belt of his pants hung halfway down his backside (he still took care to make sure his shirt was tucked in, in accordance with the dress code). He received Aâs in every subject.
The heavy burden Rob carried was clear to all around him. But whatever plagued him specifically, he didnât speak of it, and his self-Âcontained bearing inhibited his classmates from asking (they were, after all, ten years old, though many were growing up much faster than they deserved). And as Rob gradually made friends and ingratiated himself with his teachersâthrough work ethic and graciousness, if not his demeanor and appearanceâhe never mentioned the trial unfolding downtown throughout the fall of 1990. Robâs first months of private school were his fatherâs last months of being presumed innocent.
A FTER MORE THAN three years of waiting, the weeks-long jury selection began. Though the jury ended up being composed of eight blacks and four whites, the defense attorneys still complained of racial bias since the composition did not adequately represent the area in which the crime had occurred. In turn, the prosecution chose its jurors based on the strength of their belief in the death penalty.
The actual trial spanned a single week in November 1990. Mr. Lechliterâs opening statement painted an intimate, detailed rendering of the morning of August 8, 1987, with multiple references to the infant in the apartment. Then he called a parade of policemen whoâd been at the scene of the crime. One after another, these officers described the arrangement of the bodies of the two women, the disarray of Skeetâs apartment and the drug paraphernalia found there, thephoto corroborated by the single witness, and the moment when Skeet had been apprehended, armed with the loaded murder weapon, sitting among children. Lechliterâs strategy seemed to be to imprint his narrative on the jury through
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