When Thomas Cahill, bestselling author of history books, unexpectedly entered the unpleasant world of criminal justice gone wrong, he experienced an epiphany.
It came from his prison discussions with Dominique Green, a young man from Houston incarcerated for a murder committed during an armed robbery.
Books about wrongful convictions — alleged or proven mistakes within the criminal justice system — abound. Some of those authors argue against the legality of the death penalty. Their opposition might be grounded primarily in religious or ethical arguments.
Authors more inclined to secularism might argue against the death penalty on the grounds that the risk of killing factually innocent prisoners is too large.
In A Saint on Death Row, Cahill argues that Dominique Green should have been spared from a state-approved death because while in prison he evolved from a teenage thug to an adult paragon of virtue.
The saga of Green — executed by lethal injection in Huntsville, Texas, on Oct. 26, 2004 — is not the stereotypical script.
Born in 1974, Green had already been arrested three times before the fateful night of Oct. 18, 1992, when his fourth arrest resulted in an armed robbery/murder charge.
Green swore he did not murder anyone during a convenience store robbery. Evidence suggests he might have participated in the robbery, but never fired a gun.
The book is remarkable partly because the believer in Green's sainthood is Cahill, a sober historian whose books include How the Irish Saved Civilization and The Gifts of the Jews.
Cahill was living in Italy when he heard about Green. His messenger? Sheila Murphy, a retired judge from Chicago. Murphy had heard about Green's transformation, visited him in prison and became persuaded the death penalty should be rescinded because the previously unschooled inmate was spreading so much good through the world.
On his own quest for an understanding of a criminal justice system that is more fallible than those in power admit, Cahill became an advocate for a reduction of Green's prison sentence.
Cahill's book stimulates deep thought about good and evil. With his record as an intelligent, engaging historian, readers could count themselves foolish to pass by any book he writes.
That said, Cahill seems to lose perspective about Green. The effusiveness begins in the prologue and rarely diminishes. "His quiet brow shows no effort or anxiety, but his eyes, when concentrating, seem to look beyond the present to a better world that only he can see," Cahill writes. "His countenance is suffused with an aura that, if one did not know something of the harshness of his history, might be mistaken for innocence."
The perhaps overly sympathetic perspective of the author will not stop the tears among readers who continue to the final page, however. A Saint on Death Row is an affecting book.
Before his death, Green granted Cahill permission to quote from personal writings he left behind. Cahill uses those writings wisely throughout the manuscript. As other men on Texas' death row met their dates with the executioner, Green felt diminished, because he had found good in each fellow inmate.
With the execution of James Vernon Allridge III, Green shared these words with outsiders via prison mail: "I had known him for the past eight years. He was a model prisoner. A positive influence. And one of the few perfect examples found here of what it means — meant — to be rehabilitated. Sadly, none of that was allowed to matter, despite all that he'd done, accomplished and achieved."
According to Cahill, Green fell into the same category. Now, thanks to Cahill, Green is achieving something positive from the grave.
Steve Weinberg is a freelance investigative reporter. He reports frequently about the criminal justice system.
A Saint on Death Row: The Story of Dominique Green
News
