Texas After Violence Project Interview with Professor Roger Barnes - part one of eight

COPYRIGHT 2008 Roger Barnes and the Texas After Violence Project

Date: November 7, 2008

Place: University of the Incarnate Word (UIW), San Antonio, Texas

Equipment: Sony mini HD-DV camera

Recorded on: Sony DVD cassette tape

Interviewer: Virginia Raymond

Videographer: Gabriel Solis

Transcription: Jennifer Anker

Reviewed & edited: Gabriel Solis

VIRGINIA RAYMOND: Good afternoon, Dr. Barnes, Professor Barnes.

PROFESSOR ROGER BARNES: Hi.

RAYMOND: My name is Virginia Raymond. We’ve met --- For the record, this is Gabriel Solis behind the camera.

PROFESSOR ROGER BARNES: Hi.

RAYMOND: And it is December seventh, two-thousand. .

PROFESSOR ROGER BARNES: November seventh.

RAYMOND: Oh, oh, yes. November seventh.

PROFESSOR ROGER BARNES: Seventh.

RAYMOND: Thank you. November seventh.

PROFESSOR ROGER BARNES: Sure.

RAYMOND: November seventh, 2008. And we are here in your office in the Department of Sociology at Incarnate Word University. Or the University at --

BOTH: of the Incarnate Word.

RAYMOND: Here in San Antonio.

PROFESSOR ROGER BARNES: Yeah.

RAYMOND: Thank you very much.

PROFESSOR ROGER BARNES: Glad to be here.

RAYMOND: Before we get any further, you just have reviewed -- you’re looking at our brochure and you reviewed the consent form and you consented to be interviewed?

PROFESSOR ROGER BARNES: Yes.

RAYMOND: That’s right. Okay, good. And then thank you for that. And obviously, we’re videotaping this as well. We will give you two options. We will in either option, we will immediately mail you a copy of the DVD as soon as we can— probably within a week.

PROFESSOR ROGER BARNES: Sure.

RAYMOND: Then what we normally do, and this is our standard practice, is to transcribe the interview, send it to you, give you a chance to edit it, review it, and approve it. And then donate it to us for a bunch of purposes -- mostly public education, everything noncommercial, and also for placing it in the Center for American History at University of Texas—

PROFESSOR ROGER BARNES: Fine.

RAYMOND: — archive there. And also, only with your permission, sending videotapes to relevant libraries who might also want it.

PROFESSOR ROGER BARNES: Sure.

RAYMOND: I’m thinking particularly there’s one at State University of New York at Albany that is having— that has an abolitionist oral history archive. Yeah, talk to them… The other option is because we are quite behind in transcribing is if you’re comfortable with the interview after you review the DVD to donate the interview materials to us, then.

PROFESSOR ROGER BARNES: Of course.

RAYMOND: But we’ll let you decide that.

PROFESSOR ROGER BARNES: When I see it, sure, that’s fine.

RAYMOND: Thank you. Okay, so, Dr. Barnes, tell us a little about yourself and bring us up to the point where you first became interested in prisons and the death penalty.

PROFESSOR ROGER BARNES: I’m a sociologist. I graduated from the University of Kansas. Got my degree in sociology and I’ve taught for twenty years here at the University of the Incarnate Word. My wife’s an academic. And we have a daughter who’s in law school. We have one, one child and she’s in her first year of law school at the University of Texas School of Law. My involvement in the death penalty goes back quite a ways and so to bring you up to date on that, I’ve got to go back almost forty years. When I was a senior in high school, which would have been in the spring of 1969. I met a man whose friendship with me in many ways changed my life, or at least it afforded me some experiences that were extraordinarily unique. His name was Bill Sands. Bill had been incarcerated earlier in his life at San Quentin Penitentiary in California for a string of crimes. It was there that he got to know Warden Clinton T. Duffy, a very famous American prison warden, who became Bill’s kind of surrogate father.

In the mid-1960’s, about three years or so before I met Bill, he had written his autobiography, which was widely read, it was for many weeks on the New York Times Bestseller List in, I want to say, 1965. The title of it was My Shadow Ran Fast. He was a very, frankly, kind of charismatic individual. He’s a very gifted orator. He’s a very bright man. He had founded an organized called the Seventh Step, which was a kind of a twelve-step program for ex-convicts. And Bill went on the lecture circuit. And he came to my town. I was growing up in Dodge City, Kansas, which is a small town then of about twenty-three thousand people, I would guess, in southwest Kansas, about a hundred-and-fifty miles straight west of Wichita, kind of on the plains, the high plains. Lots of wheat, lots of corn, lots of pheasants.

And my dad was president of Dodge City Community College. And the community college had a lecture series, and as a consequence of that, many people who came and lectured at the college–- and these were public lectures -- would come over to our house afterwards for a reception and party.

And so I got to meet a whole lot of very interesting people, but I remember meeting Bill Sands. He and I immediately struck up a friendship. And the circumstances of that went like this– and it’s a capital punishment deal— the Wichita Eagle had published a pro-death penalty editorial some days or a couple weeks before that evening that I got to meet Sands after his lecture. And here I am, this just-turned-eighteen-year old, kinda -- high school senior, and I was heavily involved in all kinds of anti-war activity. And I was interested in criminal issues, criminal law, really, I thought at the time I might go into law. And so when Sands comes over to our house, I grabbed a copy of this letter that I had written, chastising the Eagle, appropriately enough, for publishing this pro-death penalty editorial and I pointed out how wrong they were and why they were wrong in taking that position. And so, I grabbed it and I came up to Bill and I said, “Mr. Sands, do you want to read this letter that I wrote?” And we talked to one another for an hour and a half at that party. Then he said to me, “I’m writing a book about the people I meet as I travel around the country and I’d like to interview you in the morning. Can you get out of high school?”

Well, I was in the routine habit of skipping high school classes here and there anyway, so getting out of school was no problem. And I went to his hotel room and we sat down and we taped an interview. And we talked about how you organize people on the plains of southwest Kansas to be involved in anti-death penalty stuff, but primarily we talked about the war, and all of that, and student activism in general. This was not too long after the rise of SDS and the Port Huron document and all that. So needless to say, Bill and I liked one another. He had just gotten married not too long before then to a really beautiful woman who had been an airline stewardess, German girl, really very attractive, younger. This was Bill’s, I want to say second, perhaps even— I think he might have been married early as a youngster- so this might even have been marriage number three.

Anyways, we stayed in contact. We wrote back and forth and I even exchanged some letters with Warden Duffy, who was retired at that time. And in the mid-summer, couple months later, after having first met Bill, he called me up and he said, “I’m going to take a documentary team on a trip, and we’re gonna spend five or six days at Tucker Prison Farm in Arkansas. And we’re gonna spend our time on Death Row there. And we’re gonna interview the men on the row. And then from there we’re gonna go to Washington D.C. and then New York City and do some interviews with some United States senators and with Norman Vincent Peale.” And he said, “You wanna come along?” He said, “I’d like to have you come along.”

And I said, “You betcha.” (Laughter).

And so I flew from Wichita to Little Rock and met Bill and this documentary crew. It was— there were nineteen people as I remember on this documentary crew. The idea was that— Bill had in mind, this was to be a pilot for a program much like today we would see, 60 Minutes. And we spent five days at Tucker Prison Farm on Death Row and that’s where I got to know Lonnie B. Mitchell Jr. and just a whole bunch of guys, guy named Jerry— Jerry Johnson. Let’s see who else was in there– Lonnie Brown, Willie Maxwell – he had a very famous case, Maxwell vs. Bishop.

And the guy I got to know best was a senior man on the row who was Lonnie B. Mitchell. His prison number was SK8-13. Lonnie had not murdered anybody. He was a Black man who had been convicted of raping an elderly white woman and had been given a death sentence. This was before the Coker decision, okay?

And I think there were five men at all on Death Row there in 1969 out of the seventeen on the row who had been convicted of rape and given death sentences, and appropriately enough, I think all five of them were black men and their victims had been white women. This was pretty Jim Crow south. So, the men on Death Row had some considerable freedom by comparison to how life is like on Death Row today. They were not locked down, they weren’t in twenty-three and-a-half hour a day solitary. In fact, they ate in the prison mess hall and they were housed on the Death Row, which was the only part of Tucker that really resembled the traditional penitentiary. The rest of the prison was a kind of dormitory-style, a kind of Cool Hand Luke setup, so to speak. And inmates worked the fields, and they raised— they had their own cattle and they had their own crops, except for the guys on Death Row.

And, well, we interviewed men on Death Row. We interviewed, probably, I guess, all of them. And I recall us even doing one thing that, by today’s standards, this is absolutely ridiculous. We took two guys out of Death Row, out of the prison and took them to downtown Little Rock. We had them dressed up in street clothes and filmed them walking down the sidewalk. And as they’re walking down the sidewalk, kind of window-shopping, Sands steps out and sticks a mike and says, “Hi, I’m—“ you know, “who are you guys?” and “what’s your names?” and “where do you live?” And then they break it, “well, actually we don’t live in Little Rock, we live on Death Row.” It was all done for some sort of television drama, but it’s unimaginable today that you’d take two guys out of Death Row and take them to downtown Huntsville or Houston.

Lonnie Mitchell and I got to be pretty good buddies. And he had come within some hours of his own execution. He had been on Death Row for eleven and-a-half years at that point. He had had cellmates executed. And he was fairly well convinced that his day would eventually arrive and he would die in Arkansas’s electric chair. The thing that all the men on Death Row had going for them at the time was a governor by the name of Winthrop [A.] Rockefeller.

Rockefeller had stayed all the executions that had come to his desk. He was a Republican and he was morally and religiously quite strongly opposed to the death penalty. And he stayed all those executions, but Lonnie was convinced that when the day came that Rockefeller left office, whoever the governor was, the probably executions would resume in Arkansas.

He would take me around the prison. I remember one time we went into the mess hall to eat and the guys all ate— they drank not out of glasses or cups, they drank out of like Coca-Cola or Pepsi-Cola cans that had had the lid on the top screwed off. And so it was a drinking instrument and they were sometimes kind of dirty and grungy. And I remember going through the line and following behind Lonnie and he said, “I’ll get you a clean can to drink out of.” And he just took his time looking at each one of those until he— and the line backed up and it was sort of like the guys who were serving the food were just like kind of waiting and they just waited because this man he’s dead man walking. And they were a different status, they were a different kind of rank, and so finally we found a good can.

And I had had lunch and many, many little tiny things like that. I remember they showed me the electric chair. The electric chair had been dismantled but it was kept in a little storage room just off of the end of Death Row, kind of ironically like the traditional thirteen steps from the Death Row to the electric chair. And it was a high backed electric chair made out of some real heavy hard wood with the leather straps and all of that. And I sat in it, kind of eerie feeling. This was quite an experience. And we spent a lot of time, fifteen-hour days, there.

That wasn’t all that we did. The Director of Corrections at Arkansas was a man named Robert Sarver, S-A-R-V-E-R. And I recall going to his house, I think shortly after the crew had assembled there. Like maybe even the first night. And Bob Sarver had the famous whipping belt. The whip that they used, which was very long. I mean it was very long, like maybe three or four feet long and very thick and heavy leather and about four inches or so wide. And that’s what they had whipped inmates at Tucker with.

There were two prisons in Arkansas at the time, Tucker and Cummins. Tucker was the more notorious of the two because in the year and-a-half just before we had gotten there, they had been the subject of a nationwide prison scandal when the former prison director there, man named Murton, [Tom] Murton, had led a camp -- not a campaign, but had led the effort to follow through on rumors about inmates over the years who had been murdered and whose bodies had simply been taken out and buried in the fields. And they discovered a number of bodies and it was probably the case that some of these inmates had just over the years been disappeared and had been dragged out and buried in the fields. Murton eventually got crossways with Governor Rockefeller and the prison board. On Rockefeller’s recommendation, fired Murton. He was a cantankerous fellow and hard to get along with but probably as the annals of prison reform are written for the twentieth century, Robert Murton will go down as-as one of the most important famous prison -- you know, I keep calling him Robert Murton because there’s a famous sociologist named Robert Murton. His name is Thomas Murton. I’m sorry about that.

So I remember looking at the whip and Tucker was also famous for what they called the Tucker Telephone. And the Tucker Telephone was one of these old crank telephones. And they had devised this thing to where they would hook it up and they would attach the wires to an inmate’s genitals. And they grind electricity through them; it was a torture device, but they called it the Tucker Telephone, and it was kind of famous. I mean this is definitely a medieval prison. It was a bad place.

One day, Bill Sands and I took the afternoon and went over to Cummins and I remember driving over there with Bill and I think one other fellow from the film crew, although there was no filming going on. Bill just wanted to go over to Cummins to meet two men, two prisoners that he had met before on a trip there. And I remember we got to Cummins and the officials let us in and they— I don’t think they frisked us or anything like that. If they did, I don’t remember. And, but what I do remember was that we were left alone with these two inmates. And as soon as the guards were gone, one of them said, “Would you guys like a drink?” And Bill and I said, “Sounds good.” He says, “Come here.” So we went into this room and it was kind of like a secretarial space, had some old file cabinets and an old metal desk and the like. And guy reached down back and behind one of the metal file cabinets and reached back in there and pulled a bottle of whiskey. And we got a couple little cups and poured some drinks and had drinks right there in Cummins.

RAYMOND: What kind of whiskey?

PROFESSOR ROGER BARNES: Oh, it was Jack Daniels or something like that. It wasn’t moonshine. But I mean that was how that was and— but we spent most of our time over the course of those five days at Tucker on Death Row. And, as a consequence, I got to know those guys pretty well, or so I thought.

And Lonnie Mitchell was semi-literate. He was pretty simple fellow. He was a Black man in his early thirties, but he had been on Death Row since he was about twenty or so. And Lonnie and I over the course of the following year exchanged letters back and forth.

Just one minor point about this particular documentary team, we went from there to Washington D.C. and there we interviewed Senator Chuck Percy and Senator Daniel Inouye. Now Percy was from Illinois and Inouye, of course, is still Senator from Hawaii. If we went back and if I remember this correctly, I think Percy had a daughter who’d been kidnapped and murdered. I’m pretty sure of that.

From there we went to New York and we interviewed Norman Vincent Peale, the famous iconic religious fellow. And then from there, we went up to Rushford, New York. It was a little tiny rural village in New York. And we interviewed Philip Wylie, the American writer, who had been most famous for a book called Generation of Vipers that he had written back in the early forties.

And then at this point, I had been gone for two weeks. This was in September, so I had missed two weeks of school. I was going to my dad’s community college. And there was some sort of, “Are you ever gonna come home?” And so finally it was time for me to come home and the film crew then flew all the way back to California and I flew back to Dodge City. And I got back into a school routine. And then the saddest of things happened, about six or seven weeks later, Bill Sands had a heart attack and fell over dead.

And to this very day, I have no idea where any of that incredible film footage is. I have no idea where it is. It’s never surfaced. When I was younger I made some feeble and very inept attempts to find out where it was and what the disposition of it had been. But, to my knowledge, it’s never aired anywhere and I have no idea who has it. To compound the loss of Bill, his wife committed suicide two days after he was buried, leaving a note that she was going to go join him. So it was all very, very sad.

One other thing, cause I get focused on what we filmed at the prison ‘cause it was so remarkable. And if ever that film footage could be gotten, it would be incredible kind of archival material. ‘Cause there’s literally hours of filmed interviews with these inmates and life there on Death Row in the late sixties at this prison.

They also did an interview with me. We went to the capital in Little Rock and there was a pond behind the capital building. And it kind of looked like maybe a pond on a college campus. And Bill and I strolled slowly on the sidewalk next to the pond and they filmed— they had the cameras all set up and filmed this interview. We talked about anti-war activism and radicalism on the plains of Kansas, organizing students and that kind of thing. So it would be interesting to see that material, too. But to tell you the truth, I’d just as soon see the film stuff. So, that’s how I got interested in— well, I was opposed to the death penalty before that.

RAYMOND: Actually, may I interrupt you for a—

PROFESSOR ROGER BARNES: Sure.

RAYMOND: — tiny bit before we leave Tucker?

PROFESSOR ROGER BARNES: Absolutely.

RAYMOND: Earlier when you were talking about Lonnie and the lunch line with the Coke can, you said, “many little things like that.” What were you referring to then?

PROFESSOR ROGER BARNES: It was just he would take me around the prison and introduce me to other inmates or showed me just different aspects of the prison, simple little things like, “Oh, I need to take you and show you like the storage place where we store the linens and the blankets” and that kind of stuff. It’s almost— it was like having a personal prison tour guide who took some measure— oddly enough— almost of like pride. “Let me show you around where I live.”

RAYMOND: That’s interesting. Thank you, I just wanted to—

PROFESSOR ROGER BARNES: Yeah, yeah. And what happened, okay, was that in the following months, Lonnie and I corresponded with one another. And then in the fall of 1970, about fourteen months or so after that initial visit, I came up with this idea that it was time to go back to Tucker, and to see Lonnie and Willie Maxwell and Lonnie Brown and those guys. So I recruited a very good friend of mine and I said, “Jay, do you wanna go with me.” I said, “I betcha Mr. Sarver will let us back onto Death Row.”

And my friend, Jay, said, “Sure, I’d love to come on the trip.”

And so I called— I think I wrote Robert Sarver and said, “If I came back, do you remember me?”

And he said, “Yeah, I do.”

I said, “Could we get back on Death Row and see Mitchell and the guys?”

“Yes, you can.”

And he said, “I would ask just one thing and that is that we don’t have any real nice civilian clothes to give to the guys that we do release from prison. Of course, not the Death Row guys, but the guys we release.” He said, “If maybe you could gather up from some of your friends or your dad’s friends some suits that they don’t wear and maybe you could bring those and maybe you guys could scrounge up some cartons of cigarettes and some paperback books, ‘cause we don’t have any of that stuff.”

And so my buddy Jay and I went around and hit our dads’ friends up for suits and we had a bunch of clothes in the back of my ’66 Mustang (laugh). And we had clothes in there, we threw cartons of cigarettes in there, and some paperback books and we hauled off to Little Rock. And then after getting into Little Rock, the next morning we went out to the prison. And got right back in onto Death Row.

And I remember that one of the very first things— I mean I hadn’t been there thirty seconds before Mitchell says to me, “Well, did you know that the governor was considering commuting sentences?”

Now, here’s the story: Nelson Rockefeller had been defeated in his reelection bid in November. And it was his effort at a third term. And—

RAYMOND: You said Nelson. Do you mean—

PROFESSOR ROGER BARNES: -- meant Winthrop, excuse me, thank you. Winthrop Rockefeller had been defeated in the November election and so he was due to leave office in January.

And well, I told Lonnie, “No, I didn’t know that the governor was considering commuting any sentences.” After all, we were coming from southwest Kansas and not paying a lot of attention to Arkansas politics. And we spent that day sitting around in the prison, in the cells, or in the breezeway outside the cells, ‘cause Death Row had a series of cells that marched down here, a breezeway and then a big wall with windows up on the top of the wall, very traditional looking death row. And pretty stark, pretty steely.

So, we sat around that day, we drank coffee, we smoked cigarettes and we talked about the things that we talk about— we talked about politics and girls and sports and who was gonna get a sentence commuted and who wasn’t. And Lonnie was convinced that he was not going to get his sentence commuted so we kind of placed sort of symbolic bets on who might get a sentence commuted and there was some consensus that a couple of guys stood a chance and then there was sort of the resigned feeling by Lonnie and some others that there wasn’t any chance.

Lonnie had been on Death Row at this point for now twelve and-a-half years, which was in those days, a pretty dog-gone long time on Death Row. It’s about the national average almost now. But back then, that was a pretty lengthy stay.

And well, that day passed and the next day, we were back in the prison, and picked up the conversation and I can’t remember whether it was the second or the third day, but one of those days shortly after noontime, somewhere around one o’clock-ish, one-thirty-ish, the-the doors— there was a single door that allowed entry into Death Row— and that door opened and the superintendent, that is to say, the warden of the penitentiary, came in and he had some other prison officials with him and he had some what looked like journalists and photographers.

And the warden simply said, “Gather around, guys. I’ve got news for you.” He said, “The governor’s held a press conference in his office in Little Rock and he has commuted all of your prison sentences.”

And there was the most incredible celebration I’ve ever been a party to in my whole life. I mean, men crying and hugging each other and falling to the ground and these shouts of “Praise Jesus” and “God bless Governor Rockefeller” and the photographer got these guys– got the Death Row guys— to gather up the ones who were there. ‘Cause, you see, some of these guys could come and go from Death Row. They weren’t always confined there.

So the guys who were there, he got ‘em all gathered up and this is a copy of the front page of the Arkansas Gazette on December 30th, 1970. And you can see the headline that says, “15 Death Sentences Commuted by WR”, that’s for Winthrop Rockefeller.

And here’s my buddy, Lonnie Mitchell, right there. And Willie Maxwell’s in here, and there’s Willie Maxwell, right there. And I was standing, honest, this is true, I was standing just over here, but I’m not a Death Row guy, so I got cropped out of the picture.

And then my friend, Jay, and I went back the next day before we returned to Kansas and we visited with the guys one more time.

There had been a funny thing that had happened that morning before the superintendent came in and gave this incredible announcement and that was that I had kind of longish hair, unlike today where I don’t have hardly much of anything, and the guys were kidding me, the guys on the row were like, “You know, you kinda lookin’ like a hippie.”

So they convinced me that I needed a haircut. I guess this is one of the funny little things. And so they got me up in the-what was kind of the barber’s chair on Death Row and the official Death Row barber came out and kinda, he had a pair of scissors, another thing that’s unbelievable, you don’t do that today on Death Row, and kind of trimmed my locks a little bit. It’s almost surreal, I think back about all of this stuff.

And it was- it was big. I mean- I was, then, I was nineteen years old. That was the last time I saw Lonnie Mitchell. Over the years that followed, our letters kind of began to slow down and he got-he got transferred to the Benton Work Release Center a few years later.

Then I had fallen in love with a girl that I eventually married and so…our-our lives kind of began to just separate a little bit- the letters slowed down and I kind of became part of Lonnie’s Death Row past and I think it just kind of died a natural and very courteous kind of end, it just sort of drifted that way. And that was okay.

I was busy going to K.U. by this time, the University of Kansas, and getting into graduate school. And I went on the -- one of these things that you can do to check the births and deaths of people, about two years ago, and I think I found Lonnie B. Mitchell. I believe that I’ve got the right guy and he passed away some time in the 1980s. So that was -- as a teenager, that’s kind of how-that was the biggest of my Death Row experiences.

And I’ll tell-I’ll tell you a little follow-up story to that. Back in the 1990s, the first time I met Helen Prejean was over at St. Mary’s University at the School of Law over there. I went over there with a good friend of mine, Sister Martha Ann Kirk, who’s on our faculty here at the University of the Incarnate Word in religious studies. My -- funny thing is my mom and dad were down here for a visit and so all four of us trooped over there. I was-this was just a couple years after Dead Man Walking had come out. She was -- she still is to this day, I mean, the real -- the spiritual queen of the anti-death penalty movement- and I was much taken by the opportunity to get to meet her.

So we had a chance to visit and I sat down with her and I said, “I wanna tell you a story if you don’t mind.” And I told her a kind of condensed compressed version of the time I was on Death Row and these guys had gotten their sentences commuted. She listened real intently. She’s such a wonderful woman.

And she looked at me and she said with that great Cajun accent, she said, “Roger, that’s just a wonderful story. That’s a beautiful story. Did you realize what a gift you were given?” She said, “That was because you got to be with guys who had their lives given back to ‘em.” She said, “I don’t get to do that. I take them into the death chamber and they don’t come out alive.”

And I thought, Wow. You know that’s -- there -- our two stories are really at the opposite ends, aren’t they? This thing that we do -- this state execution.

So to go back then to the-to the late sixties – early seventies -- I have just always been involved in anti-death penalty stuff. I’ve-I teach a class here at the university called “the Sociology of the Death Penalty” and bring in guest speakers show documentaries and have them read all kinds of different books. But I-I just-a lot of my writing has been on the death penalty- a lot of my research -- the book of my scholarly publications have been on the death penalty. So I guess I’m just kind of the death penalty sociologist.

RAYMOND: This- there’s so much (laugh)-

PROFESSOR ROGER BARNES: Okay.

RAYMOND: -- to this story.

PROFESSOR ROGER BARNES: Go wherever you want to go, Virginia.

RAYMOND: Thank you, thank you very much. One little thing is I am assuming from- because of the tone -- that the barber that cut your hair was a man - - person on Death Row?

PROFESSOR ROGER BARNES: Yeah, he was a guy on Death Row.

RAYMOND: Yes. So a prisoner, so not-not, you said, official. Okay. Thanks. And using a pair of scissors that were just there on Death Row?

PROFESSOR ROGER BARNES: Yeah, they had them. I mean he cut guys’ hair and he couldn’t cut ‘em with his fingers. He had to have some scissors.

RAYMOND: Yeah, okay, good.

PROFESSOR ROGER BARNES: Yeah, yeah.

Continue to part two

COPYRIGHT 2008 Roger Barnes and the Texas After Violence Project