Wilbert Rideau The Real Story

On the back jacket of Wilbert Rideau’s new memoir, In The Place of Justice (Random House 2010, Ted Koppel wrote: “This is a breathtaking and, ultimately, triumphant story of rehabilitation through endurance and courageous journalism. It is also a searing indictment of a broken, corrupt penal system that does far more damage than good to our society as a whole. This is an extraordinary book.”

I don’t know if journalists like Koppel who have “reviewed” this “extraordinary book” actually read it before endorsing it, but if they did then these well-respected journalists have absolutely no concept of what “corruption” is. The only true “searing indictment” in Rideau’s memoir is not one “of a broken, corrupt penal system,” but rather the famed prison journalist himself. I have made the point about Rideau’s attraction to corruption in prior posts: Wilbert Rideau: The Spin Doctor; Rideau and Pardon Board Members; and Did The Angolite Contribute to the Sherry Murders?

But absolute, unequivocal proof of Rideau’s fondness for corruption fell from his own lips on page 194 in In The Place of Justice in a chapter titled “Soldiering On.” The convict editor described a meeting in the office of Louisiana Parole Board Chairperson Dorothy “Dot” Henderson at the headquarters of the Louisiana Department of Corrections. Rideau was at DOC headquarters in his capacity as editor of The Angolite, the newsmagazine of the Louisiana State Penitentiary. His assignment that day was to cover the “retirement party” of outgoing Corrections Secretary C. Paul Phelps. It was March 10, 1988.

Never one to miss an opportunity to “hob-knob” with public officials, Rideau “looked around” headquarters until he located Henderson “sitting behind her desk in a spacious office.” The convict editor said the two were talking when Baton Rouge attorney Nathan Fisher, a man renowned in the state capital for his insider political influence, “entered to see Henderson about clemency for a client.”

This opening scene sets the stage for a dramatic unfolding, but to understand the play, the reader must have a backdrop of the difference between “clemency” and “parole” in Louisiana. Clemency comes from a “recommendation” issued by the Louisiana Board of Pardons to the Governor. The pardon and parole boards are separate entities. A clemency recommendation from the pardon board becomes final only if approved by the Governor. The Governor of Louisiana on March 10, 1988 was Edwin Edwards. He had four days left on his third term in office—a term which had been marred by a massive “pardons-for-sale” scandal in 1986 that sent the governor’s pardon board chairman, Howard Marsellus, to federal prison for five years. The Parole Board has no legal authority to involve itself in “executive clemency” affairs. In fact, a parole board member trying to influence an executive clemency decision would be in violation of the state’s code of governmental ethics as well as possibly the state’s public bribery laws.

Rideau said that after Fisher inquired “about clemency for a client,” Henderson “made a phone call, told him it was done, and he left.” I don’t know if this exchange took place. If it did, Henderson’s actions were unethical and possibly illegal—but given the casual nature of political corruption in Louisiana under Edwin Edwards, it is possible that Henderson did call someone in Edwards’ office and influenced a favorable clemency decision for Fisher. However, as chairperson of the parole board, Henderson had no legitimate authority to involve herself in the clemency process and influence a favorable outcome in a case over which she had no official standing, much less the kind of information necessary to lobby for executive clemency in the first place. It was Edwin Edwards-style “corruption” in its purest form.

Rideau was impressed by Henderson’s unethical display of insider power and influence. In fact, the convict editor—at the time still a convicted murderer—was so impressed that he told Henderson: “Hell, I didn’t know you had that kind of power. So what are you gonna do for me?”

That in a nutshell was the very essence of Wilbert Rideau as the “famed prison journalist.” He was at corrections headquarters covering the story of Phelps’ retirement party. That was “official” Angolite business—the same as a free world reporter sent to cover the retirement of the local mayor. But, in violation of clearly defined Angolite policy, Rideau elected to use the occasion to encourage a state official to use her “power” to secure special clemency consideration for him. In the previous chapter titled “Disillusion” (page 182), Rideau denied to Phelps that he had never used his position as Angolite editor to engage in the very kind of “improper” behavior he admits to with Henderson. The truth is that Wilbert Rideau took advantage of every opportunity to use The Angolite to manipulate special privilege or consideration for himself.

When Henderson told Rideau that she did not “have the power” to help him get executive clemency, the convict editor said he saw it as an “opportunity” to use parole board chairperson’s power to help two other long term violent offenders: Louis “Pulpwood” Ducre who had served 30 years, and Jack Lathers who had served 31 years. Both men had been convicted of either murder and/or rape. They had pardon board recommendations sitting on Edwards’ desk which could free them. Rideau asked Henderson to help the two murderers as a “favor” to him. He wrote, “within a few minutes and after two phone calls, the life sentences of the two men had been commuted, and they would be freed within a day or so.”

That revelation, if true, is incredible, to say the least. The notion that a convicted murderer, no matter how many journalism awards he had to his credit, had the “juice” to get the Louisiana parole board chairperson to use her political “power” to secure executive clemency for two other murderers as a “favor” is nothing short of mind-boggling.

And what is even more shocking about this sordid affair is that Rideau portrays himself as a “good guy” who helped “two model prisoners”—and not one of the journalists who have “reviewed” Rideau’s memoir saw anything wrong or untoward with this behavior. Would these same journalists use their positions as news media representatives to get a parole board chairperson to use her “power” to get the governor to grant the freedom of two convicted murderers they know? I think not. It would be a scandal!

And a “scandal” it should be. Dorothy “Dot” Henderson had no frame of reference to know anything about Ducre or Lathers being “model prisoners.” All she had was  the pardon board recommendation and Rideau, a convicted murderer himself, vouching for them. That was enough for her to use her “power” to get Gov. Edwards to free the two killers. What would the families of their victims had thought about such a corrupt power play?

To add insult to injury, Rideau had the gall to criticize reform Gov. Buddy Roemer in that same chapter for having a conservative clemency policy. Roemer was not influenced to grant clemency based solely on telephone calls from “insider power brokers.” The new governor was charged with the responsibility of trying to repair the damage done to the executive clemency process by Howard Marsellus’ corruption—a man Rideau said was a “symbol of hope” while accusing Roemer of fostering violence in the prison system through the “hopelessness” caused by the governor’s executive clemency policy Rideau never once in his memoir criticized Marsellus’ corruption..

If that’s not an embrace of both personal and political corruption, “then God didn’t make little green apples and it don’t snow in Indianapolis in the winter time.” And what’s even more shocking than Rideau’s embrace of corruption is that some prominent journalists have called the behavior “courageous journalism.”

Any respectable journalist would have to concede, if honest, that Wilbert Rideau’s behavior as a journalist on March 10, 1988 was a shocking perversion of the profession of journalism. His behavior was both unethical and illegal. His memoir may serve it up as some noble gesture to help “two model prisoners” who would have died in prison had it not been for his “heroic” intervention, but in reality it was a clear example of a journalist abusing his access to power by “taking care of business” for two fellow murderers.