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The Hamilton Country Courthouse has often been the stage for juridical follies, with its history of judges ordering women-beaters to marry their victims and polling an audience to decide a defendant’s guilt.
The first act of 2001 opened early. In January, the discovery of a set of photographs of corpses led to the indictment of a photographer and assistant coroner at the county morgue.
The photos — depicting autopsied cadavers posed with artifacts — were custom-made for Hamilton County’s penchant for making criminal cases of artistic expression. But the morgue photo scandal promised more than ghoulish spectacle; an aggressive defense team soon raised questions about the coroner’s competence and about political influence in the conduct of the prosecution (see Vile Images issue of March 22-28).
The assignment of the trial to Common Pleas Judge Norbert Nadel — he of the handwritten court orders and the flashy blue judicial robe — guaranteed the trial would be high in entertainment value. The audience got its money’s worth. The trial included an assistant prosecutor frothing to the jury about the “bullshit” defense strategy, leading to motions for a mistrial, and the post-trial release of sealed documents, leading to a motion to find County Prosecutor Michael Allen in contempt of court (see Not a Pretty Picture issue of Oct. 11-17).
A jury convicted photographer Thomas Condon and pathologist Dr. Jonathan Tobias of gross abuse of a corpse, and both men face possible prison terms. Their sentencing is on hold while the final act of the show plays out.
The year also featured the seemingly inane prosecution of businessman Michael Wehrung on a charge of murder from 1963. Although never charged at the time, Wehrung, then 15 years old, had been taken into state custody and sent to a boarding school — intervention that, in a more child-friendly age, seemed to have worked. By all accounts, he turned into a responsible citizen; it was only after becoming a grandfather that Allen saw fit to formally take up the matter of his teen-age behavior.
After fighting all the way to the Ohio Supreme Court to have Wehrung tried as a juvenile and attempting to suppress recorded statements the teen-ager gave investigators — and losing at each step — a defense attorney trying his first criminal case won acquittal for Wehrung. Making the lawyer’s victory all the sweeter was the fact that his courtroom opponent was Allen himself.
Panhandling for justice
Allen, former chairman of the Hamilton County Republican Party, played a major role in widening the perception gap between blacks and whites about the quality of justice in Cincinnati.
The easiest way for white people to learn why so many black people believe Cincinnati is oppressive is to visit the courthouse. If police racism and violence are the reasons for inner-city anger, an inability to obtain what feels like justice feeds inner-city despair.
Every court system has anomalies; law is not a science. But in 2001 the amalgam of decisions coming from county courts pointed to a pattern that seems to turn the protesters’ slogan — “No Justice? No Peace” — into a statement of cause and effect.
Ironically, the year started with signs of progress:
· In his “state of the city” speech, Mayor Charlie Luken called for an end to racial profiling, in language that seemed unusually candid for Cincinnati (see Mayor Apparent issue of Feb. 1-7).
“Chief Tom Streicher said this year that racial profiling does occur in this city,” Luken said. “He said that people are pulled over on occasion because of the color of their skin. Ladies and gentlemen, that’s just got to stop.”
· In January, Allen obtained indictments of two Cincinnati Police officers in the death of a man in custody, raising hopes of meaningful accountability. Roger Owensby Jr.’s death was more egregious than any of the police shootings of black men in the previous five years. Not only was he unarmed; he died of mechanical asphyxiation. But the indictments seemed to disprove some black leaders’ claim that they couldn’t expect justice from Allen, a former Cincinnati cop.
· In March, city council passed an ordinance requiring police to begin data collection intended to document and ultimately eliminate racial profiling (see The Last Chance issue of March 22-28).
But whatever progress was underway in the winter was lost in the urgency of crisis in April, when another police officer shot and killed another African-American man (see A Death Too Far issue of April 12-18). After 19-year-old Timothy Thomas’ death, a sequence of events erupted that led to courthouse decisions reinforcing African Americans’ doubts about their ability to obtain justice in Cincinnati.
Allen managed to indict 63 people for rioting before ever presenting to the grand jury the case against Officer Stephen Roach, whose fatal shooting of Thomas led to the riots in the first place.
Allen obtained an indictment charging Roach with two misdemeanors: negligent homicide and obstructing official business. But Municipal Judge Ralph Winkler acquitted Roach on both counts. The fact that Winkler was the same judge who had earlier jailed black activist Nate Livingston for 60 days — for the nonlethal offense of interrupting the mayor’s speech at Oktoberfest — fueled perceptions of unfairness.
That perception worsened when the officers charged with killing Owensby went to trial. A jury acquitted Officer Robert Jorg of assault and deadlocked on the charge of involuntary manslaughter. A jury acquitted Officer Patrick Caton of assault (see
The Hamilton Country Courthouse has often been the stage for juridical follies, with its history of judges ordering women-beaters to marry their victims and polling an audience to decide a defendant’s guilt.
The first act of 2001 opened early. In January, the discovery of a set of photographs of corpses led to the indictment of a photographer and assistant coroner at the county morgue.
The photos — depicting autopsied cadavers posed with artifacts — were custom-made for Hamilton County’s penchant for making criminal cases of artistic expression. But the morgue photo scandal promised more than ghoulish spectacle; an aggressive defense team soon raised questions about the coroner’s competence and about political influence in the conduct of the prosecution (see Vile Images issue of March 22-28).
The assignment of the trial to Common Pleas Judge Norbert Nadel — he of the handwritten court orders and the flashy blue judicial robe — guaranteed the trial would be high in entertainment value. The audience got its money’s worth. The trial included an assistant prosecutor frothing to the jury about the “bullshit” defense strategy, leading to motions for a mistrial, and the post-trial release of sealed documents, leading to a motion to find County Prosecutor Michael Allen in contempt of court (see Not a Pretty Picture issue of Oct. 11-17).
A jury convicted photographer Thomas Condon and pathologist Dr. Jonathan Tobias of gross abuse of a corpse, and both men face possible prison terms. Their sentencing is on hold while the final act of the show plays out.
The year also featured the seemingly inane prosecution of businessman Michael Wehrung on a charge of murder from 1963. Although never charged at the time, Wehrung, then 15 years old, had been taken into state custody and sent to a boarding school — intervention that, in a more child-friendly age, seemed to have worked. By all accounts, he turned into a responsible citizen; it was only after becoming a grandfather that Allen saw fit to formally take up the matter of his teen-age behavior.
After fighting all the way to the Ohio Supreme Court to have Wehrung tried as a juvenile and attempting to suppress recorded statements the teen-ager gave investigators — and losing at each step — a defense attorney trying his first criminal case won acquittal for Wehrung. Making the lawyer’s victory all the sweeter was the fact that his courtroom opponent was Allen himself.
Panhandling for justice
Allen, former chairman of the Hamilton County Republican Party, played a major role in widening the perception gap between blacks and whites about the quality of justice in Cincinnati.
The easiest way for white people to learn why so many black people believe Cincinnati is oppressive is to visit the courthouse. If police racism and violence are the reasons for inner-city anger, an inability to obtain what feels like justice feeds inner-city despair.
Every court system has anomalies; law is not a science. But in 2001 the amalgam of decisions coming from county courts pointed to a pattern that seems to turn the protesters’ slogan — “No Justice? No Peace” — into a statement of cause and effect.
Ironically, the year started with signs of progress:
· In his “state of the city” speech, Mayor Charlie Luken called for an end to racial profiling, in language that seemed unusually candid for Cincinnati (see Mayor Apparent issue of Feb. 1-7).
“Chief Tom Streicher said this year that racial profiling does occur in this city,” Luken said. “He said that people are pulled over on occasion because of the color of their skin. Ladies and gentlemen, that’s just got to stop.”
· In January, Allen obtained indictments of two Cincinnati Police officers in the death of a man in custody, raising hopes of meaningful accountability. Roger Owensby Jr.’s death was more egregious than any of the police shootings of black men in the previous five years. Not only was he unarmed; he died of mechanical asphyxiation. But the indictments seemed to disprove some black leaders’ claim that they couldn’t expect justice from Allen, a former Cincinnati cop.
· In March, city council passed an ordinance requiring police to begin data collection intended to document and ultimately eliminate racial profiling (see The Last Chance issue of March 22-28).
But whatever progress was underway in the winter was lost in the urgency of crisis in April, when another police officer shot and killed another African-American man (see A Death Too Far issue of April 12-18). After 19-year-old Timothy Thomas’ death, a sequence of events erupted that led to courthouse decisions reinforcing African Americans’ doubts about their ability to obtain justice in Cincinnati.
Allen managed to indict 63 people for rioting before ever presenting to the grand jury the case against Officer Stephen Roach, whose fatal shooting of Thomas led to the riots in the first place.
Allen obtained an indictment charging Roach with two misdemeanors: negligent homicide and obstructing official business. But Municipal Judge Ralph Winkler acquitted Roach on both counts. The fact that Winkler was the same judge who had earlier jailed black activist Nate Livingston for 60 days — for the nonlethal offense of interrupting the mayor’s speech at Oktoberfest — fueled perceptions of unfairness.
That perception worsened when the officers charged with killing Owensby went to trial. A jury acquitted Officer Robert Jorg of assault and deadlocked on the charge of involuntary manslaughter. A jury acquitted Officer Patrick Caton of assault (see Dead Right issue of Oct. 11-17).
Those two trials served black citizens a fitting contretemps, with Jorg’s lawyer arguing Caton killed Owensby and Caton’s lawyer arguing that was impossible, because by the time Caton started beating Owensby the detainee was already dead.
Contrast that defense with the verdict in the morgue photo scandal: The photographer and doctor were guilty of gross abuse of a corpse for photographing dead human bodies, but Caton was not guilty of assault for repeatedly punching a dead body. Left unsaid, but heard loud and clear, was that Caton’s victim was only a black guy.
This left unsettled the manslaughter charge against Officer Jorg. Allen waited until after the Nov. 6 city election, then immediately announced he wouldn’t retry the cop. The same week, federal prosecutors announced they wouldn’t file charges against police officers investigated by the FBI for firing beanbag missiles on children and peaceful protesters (see A Police Rampage issue of May 10-16).
The federal prosecutors’ rationale was at the same time plainly true and maddeningly inane: They didn’t seek indictments against the police because the climate in Cincinnati wasn’t conducive to convicting cops.
The message of such rulings taken together is, according to County Commissioner Todd Portune, emblematic of the frustrations voiced by African Americans in Cincinnati. He addressed the subject in a speech Dec. 8 to the Greater Cincinnati Coalition for the Homeless.
“They will prosecute a murder case 38 years old to send a message that no one who kills can get away with it but yet will fail to try again a case when an unarmed young man is killed after (being) in custody,” Portune said.
At year’s end, Owensby’s family was reduced to circulating petitions asking the U.S. Justice Department to prosecute the officers who killed their sons — the same Justice Department that already refused to prosecute other Cincinnati cops.
The Los Angeles Times reported Dec. 16 on the pitiable spectacle, a family in Cincinnati walking the streets to panhandle for justice. Thus the city’s reputation continues to grow.
For an update on the TABD trials click here.
This article appears in Dec 26, 2001 – Jan 1, 2002.