How I got here

It began with some mugshots.

Backstory. *HEARS GROANS* Yes, editors and readers, I hear you; backstory stinks, but I promise that in this case, it’s all vital and necessary. *SENSES EYE ROLLING* I have to start somewhere on Substack so I might as well start where it all began.

Indulge me. Please.

At age twelve, I unknowingly embarked on a journey that has led me, many years later to starting this Substack. Around 1989, my great-great aunt presented a small box containing early Twentieth century mug shots—the final portraits of Folsom Prison’s ninety-three executed men—that she had unearthed from a dusty suitcase several years earlier. Upon a visit to the prison in the mid-1940s, her late husband acquired the photographs, along with a 40-page text chronicling the history of the now, 143-year-old California penitentiary. She discovered the forgotten photographs after his death in 1978. Subsequent visits to California from my home in Colorado, meant I got to rifle curiously through the strange and fascinating find. Much later, this prison ephemera led to five years of research, writing, and the 2013 book, Folsom’s 93: The Lives and Crimes of Folsom Prison’s Executed Men.

In 2008, when my grandfather had sent me these morbid antiquities, I had no clue what they would lead to. My writing focused on humorous fiction and off-beat personal essays; clearly, these old photos were of no laughing matter. Still, they intrigued me even more so than when I was a child.

I quickly realized a plethora of information existed about these men and their victims and in 2013, a small press in Fresno took a chance on me and Folsom’s 93 became a household name.

Okay, not really. Obviously.

But it didn’t do too bad (especially the pirated versions; those jerks). In 2020, I decided to acquire my rights. Over time, a lot more information had become available and I felt that the academic tone of the book had limited its audience. I may have even gotten a few details wrong here and there. I wanted a do-over. About this time, I had been approached by another press about republishing it. Our visions for the rewrite, that included highlighting contemporary criminal and social justice issues relevant to these stories, aligned. I couldn’t wait to get started, but then . . .

PLOT TWIST (I know, you’ve been patiently waiting)

I had just gone back to school. Doing both would have done me in. Thankfully, my was publisher exceedingly understanding. So fast forward: I graduated with my bachelor’s degree in criminal justice in 2022, I added about 750K words of notes to the already 1M+ I had already, and I’ve been in the thick of writing for the last several months (with the occasional teeny-tiny break for additional research). Unfortunately, the press I had signed on with decided to close its doors, so now I’m in book proposal purgatory (anyone who has written a book proposal will get this).

THE PLOT THICKENS . . . and gets a little serious

While these ninety-three deaths occurred 86-128 years ago (1895-1937) each of their stories remain relevant and speak for the thousands who have stood on the gallows, faced a firing squad, sat in an electric chair or gas chamber, or lain strapped to a gurney. Many of these cases have staked their place in legal history, informing laws, setting precedence; both good and bad. But remembered or recognized for their human element? For their nuances? Certainly not. Arguably, many of these cases would be tried differently today.

It is not lost on me that most of these men committed horrendous crimes; they took the lives of others and had to be held accountable. But capital punishment, long considered an ineffective deterrent, strips an individual of their humanity and the nuances of their crime—if they are in fact guilty. Based on my years of research, I believe several of these ninety-three men were innocent. 

The turn of the Twentieth century legal system—law enforcement, the courts, and corrections—all run largely by effluent white males, armed with dehumanizing rhetoric, xenophobia, and class and racial biases, made the decisions, as did the politicians of the day. But, is today’s society really that far removed from the same detrimental beliefs and ideas?

If we want to ask ourselves how we got here, how America became a global leader in executions, the stories of with these men offer some answers by demonstrating this country’s lust for retributive justice. They offer a fascinating and humbling look at how a human, guilty or innocent, can be wrenched from this world with or without consideration, thought, or even the constitutional right to due process.

Story humanizes fear and generalizations. What is humanity without storytelling? Humans learn and grow through story; it shapes us not just as individuals, but as a society—as a species. My aim is to humanize through story.

That’s what I also hope to do with this newsletter (with some data and research thrown in). Yes, from time to time, I might put my academic hat on and drop some facts and figures on you, but I’ll do my damndest to make it productive and accessible. Our entire criminal justice system is in dire need of reform and it’s going to take so many of us who care, to make it happen. I hope you’re willing to embark on this mission with me.

Thanks for sticking with me on my very first Substack post—it means a lot. Now our story together, can begin.

And no, I will not be discussing Johnny Cash.