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Profile Broderick W. Monlyn
My name is Broderick W. Monlyn, an inmate under the sentence of death on
Florida's death row. For almost 12 years now I have sat idly by in faith
my lawyers (court appointed) and the appeal's court would rectify a
blatant miscarriage of justice only to have been disappointed time and
time again. Now that I better understand the magnitude of my dilemma,
how high the dech stacked against me, I now feel it's in my best
interest to reach out elsewhere to bring some exposure to my case and
hope to attract some favorable attention. Unlike many stories you read by death row inmates, mines not one claiming
total innocence of a crime, more like my degree of guilt is at issue.
For I do not deny that I am, inadvertantly, responsible for the life of
another human being, nor is there a day that goes by that I'm regreting
that truth. However, the death was accidental, unintentional, and more a
case of manslaughter then first degree murder or at the very least
second degree. The evidence, viewed impartially as well as presented
accurately, shows this to be true. Considering my story is not a proclamation of total innocence it is not
lost on me how some may shy away and / or potentially deem my concerns
unworthy of closer scrutiny. In light of that, I want to be the first to
admit that I strongly belief in law and order, believe we'it live in
complete chaos without it, nor do I object to punishment for a crime I
am guilty of, but to punish me for a crime I did not do is an
egregionsly miscarriage of justice. Something is terribly wrong in a
system when evidence prooves on thing, but human arrogance chooses to
see something else. Arrogance and especially denial should have no place
in a legal system, both compromising everything the system stands for.
That brings me to the matter at hand, which involves denial, arrogance,
racism, and strongly suggest an abuse of power to undermind the system's
objectivity, all of which no doubt comprimises the very foundation of
what the system stands for. Telling my story I hope to rectify a wrong
by bringing exposure to it. My case comes out of Madison, County, a small farming town in the upper
Northern part of Florida`, that almost reminds you of Mayberry, except
less racial friendly. Madison is my hometown and while I grew up mainly
in Miami, it was in Madison that I first truly began to recognize racism.
Where the mere color of your skin did more to put you in harms way than
the potential dangers you'd face walking alone down a dark alley,
particularly their legal practices. Justice in Madison is and always has
been whatever powers that be want it to be. Only certain people
get prosecuted and especially go to prison, namely those of color. Let
me take a moment to share a couple examples with you. In 1990, I was arrested and charged with "dealing in stolen property",
a wrist watch valued no more the a hundred - fifty dollars. The watch
was returned to the owner and I was sentenced to 5 years in prison. A
young white man in jail with me was charged "8 counts of burglary
and 8 counts of grand theft" and he was sentenced to 3 years
probation. Another example, in 1991, I was arrested and charged with
"possession of a controlled substance," only 1 cocaine rock
not much better than a match head and for that I got 5 years in
prison. A white man got busted for "cultivating a controled
substance" police confiscated approximately 26 marijuana plants 6
to 8 feet tall and he was sentenced to 8 weekends in the County Jail. In
other words, he was sentenced to 16 days for cultivating a
controled sunstance. These two examples is the "normal" practice for how justice is
handled down in Madison between blacks and whites. White rarely ever
goes to prison but vans loaded with blacks is shipped of every year and
not because blacks commit all the crime, either, Madison County, gives
ne meaning to the phrase 'two sets of rules for the same game! The year of 1982, for reasons still beyond me, Ricky McCray lied to
police saying that I was with him during the commission of a murder.
I’d moved from Miami to Madison and had been living there with
my grandmother approximately a year.
Doing particularly nothing with my life except hanging out with
friends or chasing girls, money got tight that I stupidly committed a
burglary. Through unrelated
events, police learned I’d done the burglary and I was arrested.
The property stolen was returned and I was freed on bond.
When I went to court for the burglary, wanting to make a good
impression on the judge, I found a job in the butcher department at an
IGA Grocery and had every intention to keep my nose clean to stay out of
further trouble. Working
Monday thru Saturday from 9 am to 9 pm and was so proud f my job that I
was never late nor took a day of. Moreover,
I was determined to show the judge I learnt my lesson and getting in
trouble again was not in my plans. That
attitude also encouraged me to work hard to show my boss he wouldn’t
regret hiring me. I was a
young man on a mission to prove I deserved a second chance.
And life was beginning to look very promising.
Things were going well with my job.
I was making an honest day’s living and felt wonderful to made
some independence, not to mention money in my pocket to spend on the
girls. Considering the
burglary had been my first offence, that the property had been returned,
that I had gotten a job, my lawyer had made arrangement for me to get 3
years probation. Then, out of nowhere, one single lie turned my life upside down and,
somehow, i was never able to completely recover from it.
Approxiamately 6 months into my employment at the IGA, on a
Monday morning, a policeman walks casually into the store and approached
me that i was wanted for questioning at the police station.
I remember thinking it was probably about the burglary and they
needed to clear up some loose ends, because I hadn’t been involved in
anything else. Explaining
the situation to my boss, I left with the officer and upon arrival at
the police station I was immediately taken to an interrogation room
where two detectives waited. They
told me that my name came up in their investigation of a murder and they
needed to know my whereabouts for the past Friday between the hours 12
noon to 2 pm. Mystified, I
began by explaining that I hadn’t even heard about a murder let alone
knew anything about it. Then
went on to explain I was working except for my lunch break from 12 noon
to 1 pm. Told them where I
ate lunch everyday, a restaurant that I walked to and from and arrived
back to work a few minutes before 1 pm.
Told them the names of the people who sw me walking to and from
the restaurant, including the name of the waitress and other customers
in the restuarant as I ate my lunch.
Told them my boss, his wife, my time card, and the customers that
came into the store can verify that I was at work between 1 pm to 2 pm.
Told them the people who saw walking to and from the restaurant,
including those at the restaurant, can verify my alibi between 12 noon
to 1 pm. In all, there were
21 people to establish my alibi between 12 noon to 2 pm, including, my
boss, his wife, and my time card. The
murder occurred approxiamately 5 miles from where I worked.
According to the medical report and a police witness who saw the
3 men immediately after the murder, police knew the murder occurred
sometime between 12 noon to 2 pm. The
car the 3 men were in got stuck in a ditch and the witness helped them
get the car back on the road. The
witness described the car to police and pointed the finger at Ricky
McCray as one of the 3 men, but told police that I was not one of
them. Considering the
getaway car got stuck in a ditch and waiting for someone to come along
to help get the car back on the road, approxiamately 5 miles away,
amazingly, my alibi of 21 witnesses did not satisfy the detectives.
The detectives told me Ricky McCray had been arrested and charged
with the murder, that he implicated me as being with him, along with my
cousin. Even my cousin had a
strong alibi. Well, I told
the detectives, I just explained my whereabouts and that proves Ricky is
lying. Unmoved, without even
verifying my alibi, the detectives asked would I volunteer to take a
polygraph test. They
apparently had more faith in polygraph tests than statements from alibi
witnesses. The only thing I knew about polygraph testing was that I’d
see on television-but, having nothing to hide, I agreed to take the
teset. That decision was a
true eye opener. Never,
ever, would I submit to another polygraph test under any circumstances.
They hooked me up to that machine, I answered all their questions,
truthfully, but failed the test miserably!
Not only did the machine indicate that I was lying, it implicated
me as the shooter as well. Satisfied,
the detectives arrested and charged me with murder.
Investigation completed! A
lie and a failed polygraph test ruined the life I worked so hard to get
back on track. Instead of the agreed probation for the burglary, on my birthday in 1982,
I was sentenced to 3 years in prison while the detectives set out to
build a case against me for murder.
While serving my time, amazingly, Ricky McCray had been sentenced
to 15 years and was sent to the same prison that I was at.
That was no doubt by design.
An obvious attempt to get me to violently attack Ricky.
Admittingly, I often thought about putting my fist in his mout
for lying on me and ruining my life, but my better judgment convinced me
otherwise and I kept my distance. Approxiamately a year later, while still in prison, police finally
decided to dismiss the murder charge against me.
With compelling evidence to prove Ricky lied, the polygraph test
was wrong, it took police and my court appointed lawyer a year to drop
the charges. Unfortunately,
that was only the beginning. While
my alibi had been sufficient for police to dismiss the charges, the
evidence was not however sufficient enough to remove the stigma that
Iwas, somehow, so brilliant to make myself be in two places at once and
as well as convinced over 21 law-abiding people to lie for
me-most of which I had no personal relationship with, by the way.
Supported only by Ricky’s lie and a polygraph test that overwhelming
evidence says is wrong, police remain convinced I was involved with the
murder and somehow managed to escape justice.
Welcome to the mentality of small-town-policing.
Well, that explains how the vendetta was created. My cousin has since died in prison. I
have often thought about who the other two men could have been and after
all these years I still have no clue.
I only know that I was not one of them.
Ricky never revealed the truth who the other two men were and, I
surmise, his loyalty to them is likely he feared them more than me. Well I completed my 3 year sentence and was thereafter sent to prison for
everything I did wrong-even once when the charge should have been
legally dismissed and again when the charge was legally a misdemeanor.
Such things happen when you’re ignorant to the law and the
powers that be has you in their crosshairs.
There were always rumors Madison authorities was out to make me
pay for the murder they felt I had gotten away with, but I never took
the rumors seriously. Again,
I was too ignorant to realize how deeply a particular mindset can poison
one’s judgment. A common
trite in small-town-policing. How
truly terrible, that individuals of power can so easily live a total lie,
become a lie themselves, than to assimilate a hated truth. In 1992, unfortunately, I made the awful mistake to break out of jail (inadvertantly,
embarrassing the County in the process), hide from police in a
farmer’s shed, overslept the second morning that the farmer caught me,
a violent fight ensued and I unintentionally killed him, although he was
still alive when I left. While
in jail waiting to go to court for an attempted burglary I head rumors I
was going to get 20 years in prison.
Imagine that! Twenty
years in prison for an offence I attempted to commit.
But the urge to be free on my birthday is what really made up my
mind to break out of jail, that was 11 days away.
Upon some reflection, I now realized breaking out of jail was
probably the worse mistake of my life. Prior to going to jail, my ex-girlfriend Brenda was in the process to
move to Lake City to be near her father and she completed the move while
I were in jail, although she drove back and forth to stay the weekend in
Madison. She knew nothing of
my decision to escape, the decision was a spontaneous one.
The only plans I made was to break out and hide close to home and
get a ride out of town when Brenda arrived in Madison on Friday.
I broke out of jail on Tuesday night, meant 3 days of hiding from
police. Walking home, running some, I travelled the approxiamate 4 miles from the
jail to my house and quickly changed out of the jailhouse clothes, got
the few dollars I kept hidden in the closet ($83.00).
Went to my grandmother’s house and, with the help of my cousin,
I got food, a sleeping bag, blanket, towel, walkman radio, flashlight, a
knife, and left for my uncles’s house nearby to borrow his shotgun
that I intended to return early Friday morning.
I worked with my uncle most times 7 days a week and it was not
uncommon for me to borrow this or that from my uncle without asking.
The shotgun was to protect me from wildlief, particularly snakes.
The mere sight of a snake put the fear of God in me. With the gun and my gear, I set out walking through the woods to find a
cozy campsite to wait out the 3 days.
Staying home was not an option, police would look there first,
but I wanted to stay close by home to have an easy access to food and so
that I wouldn’t miss Brenda’s arrival.
Moments into my walk, it starts drizzling rain and I opted for
shelter inside a farmer’s shed, who lived across the highway from me.
Found a cozy spot and eventually fell asleep and woke up the
following morning before dawn, leaving the shed as I found it.
Spent the day roaming the woods to past the time.
When night fell again, I went back to the shed for shelter and to
repeat the uneventful night before.
Unfortunately, the following morning I overslept and the farmer
caught me. The sound of a
door slamming shut woke me. I
immediately jumped up to gather my things together to leave without
being seen, but the man walk’s in to find me holding part of my gear.
He looks around and then sees the shotgun leaning against the
wall, in a hurried motion, he goes for the gun.
With no idea of his intentions, I dropped that I was holding and
ran towards him. A fight
ensued over the gun and, somehow, the gun just began falling apart.
I cannot swear to it, but it appeared that he disassembled the
shotgun, piece by piece, until we fought over only the gun barrel.
Man-handling me as if I was a rag doll, he carried me and the
fight on the outside. The
running from the night I escape was taking a toll because my muscles
were extremely sore and I felt fatigue coming on fast, not to mention
the fear I felt of my very life at jeopardy.
I bit him on the hand as hard as I could until he released his
hold on the barrel and then he immediately grabbed me around the neck,
choking me. On instinct, I
began swinging the gun barrel, wildly, hitting myself once in the
forehead, but hitting him more, until he released my neck.
Blood ran down into my eye from the cut on my forehead burning my
eyes. Unable to see him, in
a blind rage, swinging the barrel wildly, I hit him twice more and heard
him fall to the ground. Frantically,
I cleared my eyes and he was sitting up on the ground.
Too sore and exhausted to run away, fearing he might attack again,
I went inside the shed to retrieve my towel.
Ripped it into strips and tied the man hands together, in front,
and even tied together his shoe strings.
Then I sat down to rest. Moments
later, thinking I was being considerate, I moved the man inside the shed
off the ground. He was no
longer a threat and I meant him no further harm.
I sat back down. He
struggled to untie himself and he made what appeared to be attaempts to
untie his hands with his mouth, and I tided another strip of towl over
his mouth. Regardless how
stupid it may sound, that is what happened. There was no obvious signs to indicate the man was seriously hurt or
dying, nothing at all. He
was bleeding a little from his mouth.
Just as I was bleeding from my hand and forehead.
But I saw nothing to tell me he was dying.
I like to think I would have gotten him help if I’d known he
was dying. I am not a cruel
and cold hearted person, just made some stupid choices.
Sitting there resting, it wasn’t long that I realized I had to
leave the area, so I got up to gather all my things together and began
walking to leave the man’s property.
I walked perhaps 25 feet when my sore muscles alerted me that I
was not going far on foot. Dumpping
all my gear inside the Hay-Bailer, against my better judgment, I walked
back pass the man (still alive) towards his truck.
On the ground, what must have come out during the fight, was the
man’s wallet. Picking it
up, I looked inside and saw only cards, then tossed it inside the shed.
I got in the truck and drove to Lake City.
Parked the truck where it could easily be found, locked the doors,
and left walking. Soon
thereafter I bought a bicycle and eventually found Brenda.
When we got to her trailer she dressed the cut on my forehead,
complaining I needed stitches.
Address:
Broderick W. Monlyn
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