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Reporter's Notebook: Mary Wiltenburg
What surprised you most about doing this story? I pictured cages when I imagined going into a prison. Something out of the movies: men tunneling through walls with pen-knives. But not at Luther Luckett. The guys I got to know there had daily routines that were maybe dull, but mostly humane – and for some stretches, not much different than those of many people on the outside: entering computer data, mopping floors, working out, doing laundry. What challenges did you encounter, and how did you work them out? Most of the guys in the play, with whom we spent so much time, had done terrible things. Many of their actions had destroyed lives, many of those the lives of children. Most professed to be deeply sorry for what they'd done – often, I felt, sincerely. But a few were clearly not sorry for crimes that would appall the most inveterate reader of tabloid horror. I tried to be scrupulous about treating these men just like the others, but I'd be lying to say that it wasn't difficult. How did it change you as a reporter? The two weeks we spent at Luther Luckett were tough ones; the job of writing about them, in some ways, was even tougher. The whole experience hardened my commitment to doing this kind of journalism for the long haul. Describe one lasting impression or "moment" you have from doing this story: Leonard Ford, a pedophile, locked up for 50 years, was in the play portraying Tamora, an evil queen who stood by and watched her sons rape a young woman. Before the rape, there was a scene in which the young woman begged Tamora for mercy – to kill her, to do anything but let the sons rape her – and Tamora had to refuse. I asked him if, given the nature of his crime, he thought he brought something different to that scene than another actor might. I imagined he might be struck by the parallel between the crimes he committed and the violence his character had to condone. But he saw a different parallel: between the way his character showed no mercy for the rape victim, and the way, he felt, in his prosecution, the justice system and the parents of his victims had shown him no mercy. I struggled – and still do – to understand how, after what he had done, he could convince himself that he was the victim.
Join the discussion Email the writer: Mary Wiltenburg Email the photographer: Andy Nelson |
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