his eyes. I led him over to Chapman, and they shook hands. The black deputies who had hovered nearby ushered us toward a back door that led downstairs, where a throng of reporters waited. One of the deputies patted me on the back, declaring, “That’s awesome, man. That’s awesome.” I asked Bernard to tell the family and supporters that we would meet them out front.
Walter stood very close to me as we answered questions from the press. I could tell he was feeling overwhelmed, so I cut off the questions after a few minutes, and we walked to the front door of the courthouse. TV camera crews followed us. As we walked outside, dozens of people cheered and waved their signs. Walter’s relatives ran up to him to hug him, and they hugged me, too. Walter’s grandchildren grabbed his hands. Older people I hadn’t previously met came up to hug him. Walter couldn’t believe how many people were there for him. He hugged everyone. Even when some of the men came up to shake his hand, he gave them a hug. I told everyone that Bernard and I had to take Walter to the prison and that we would come to the house directly from there. It took nearly an hour to get through the crowd and into the car.
On the drive to the prison, Walter told me that the men on death row had held a special service for him on his last night. They had come to pray for him and give him their final hugs. Walter said he felt guilty leaving them behind. I told him not to—they were all thrilled to know he was going home. His freedom was, in a small way, a sign of hope in a hopeless place.
Despite my assurances that we’d be at the house shortly, everyone followed us to the prison. The press, the local TV crews, the family, everyone. When we got to Holman, a caravan of media and well-wishers trailed behind us. I parked and walked to the front gate to explain to the guard in the tower that I didn’t have anything to do with all of the people—I knew that the warden had strict policies about the presence of people who didn’t have business at the prison. But the guard waved us inside. No one tried to get the crowd to leave.
We went to the prison office to collect Walter’s possessions: his legal materials and correspondence with me, letters from family and supporters, a Bible, the Timex watch he was wearing when he was arrested, and the wallet he had had with him back in June 1987 when his nightmare began. The wallet still had $23 in it. Walter had given to other death row prisoners his fan, a dictionary, and the food items he had in his cell. I saw the warden peering at us from his office as we collected Walter’s things, but he didn’t come out.
A few guards watched as we walked out the front gate of the prison. Lots of people were still gathered outside. I saw Mrs. Williams. Walter went up to her and gave her a hug. When their embrace released, she looked over and winked at me. I couldn’t help but laugh.
Men in their cells could see the crowd outside and started shouting encouragement to Walter as he walked away. We couldn’t see them from outside the prison, but their voices rang out just the same—the voices were haunting because they were disembodied, but they were full of excitement and hopefulness. One of the last voices we heard was a man shouting, “Stay strong, man. Stay strong!”
Walter shouted back, “All right!”
As he walked to the car, Walter raised his arms and gently moved them up and down as if he meant to take flight. He looked at me and said, “I feel like a bird, I feel like a bird.”
Chapter Twelve
Mother, Mother
On a cool, crisp mid-March evening, Marsha Colbey stepped out onto the streets of New York City in an elegant royal blue gown with her husband beside her. She had dreamed of a moment like this for years. She took in the sights and sounds with great curiosity as they strolled down the busy sidewalks. Enormous buildings stretched to the sky in the distance while raucous traffic whizzed through Greenwich Village streets. The clusters of New York students and artisans paid them no mind as they made their way through Washington Square Park. She noticed an amateur jazz trio