``I've been through hell,'' Townsend said Wednesday of his 22 years behind
bars for six murders and a rape he confessed to in 1979, but now has been
cleared of. ``I've been through hell for something I didn't do.''
``To keep my mouth shut,'' Townsend said.
In his first interview since leaving prison two weeks ago, the 49-year-old,
mentally retarded man stuttered as he did when he was convicted. He used the
same expressions he used in his confession: ``I'm going to tell you the truth.
. . . I'm going to tell you something right here.'' He still has
limited comprehension and is unable to grasp questions that are not extremely
concrete. The only difference is he is quicker to say he doesn't understand.
``Am I bitter? What that mean?'' he asked a Herald reporter.
``Some things, my lawyer have to answer. I know that,'' said Townsend, who
has an IQ of 58.
About the Miami-Dade state attorney's comment that she still thinks he's
guilty of a murder and a rape, he said: ``I don't know nothing about that. I
know two cops down there asked me things I don't like. I won't talk to those two
detectives.'' THE CONFESSION
``I tried to tell them -- those cops and that judge -- that I didn't do it,
but they wouldn't listen,'' Townsend said.
Four months ago, DNA testing exonerated him of two Broward murders he had
confessed to. He was eventually cleared of four Broward murder convictions, and
Sheriff Ken Jenne offered him a personal apology. Then, on June 15, a Miami-Dade
judge, calling his sentence an ``enormous tragedy,'' vacated the remaining
sentences for two murders and a rape, clearing the way for his
release. GOOD NEWS
``I dropped the phone,'' Townsend said.
He then went to the prison TV room and told his best friend, inmate Johnny
Jones, the news. Jones helped get the ball rolling for Townsend's release when
he wrote Fort Lauderdale detective John Curcio about six months before to ask
for DNA testing. Curcio then went to bat for Townsend and got the DNA testing,
which pointed to a different man.
``After my lawyers called, I told Johnny, `I'm going, boy,' '' Townsend said.
``He started laughing. Then, he put a hand in mine, and that was it.''
Townsend now lives in Sunrise with his sister, Mary Jones, who has provided
``a big old soft bed,'' he said.
Thus far, the world has seemed overwhelmingly new and exotic. ``In a lot of
ways, he's Rip Van Winkle,'' said his uncle, Frank Jones of Kissimmee.
He is mesmerized by supermarkets and department stores -- ``so fancy, so
busy,'' Townsend calls them. He can't get over the food choices he has -- or how
prices have changed since 1979.
``How do people live with such prices?'' he asked his uncle after eating a
$5.99 breakfast that cost $1.99 before he entered prison.
He also marvels at the variety of TV shows, the clothes and videos he can
pick from -- the freedom, in general.
``I can eat when and what I want. I can go to bed when I want and watch what
I want on TV. I can walk where I want,'' he said gleefully. DOWN SIDE
He walks slowly, shuffling along with his head down and his shoulders
stooped. He constantly looks behind him, as if he expects to be ambushed. He
sits and stares for hours as if he has nothing to do but pass the time. ``We're
trying to help him get some spirit back,'' said his sister.
In prison, Townsend had an especially hard time for several reasons: one of
his convictions involved the rape and murder of a child -- something guards and
inmates especially disdained. He was retarded and couldn't defend himself
verbally, and he was extremely nonaggressive when threatened, which made him the
pawn in a lot of situations.
``He was an easy target,'' said Heyer, his attorney.
Before he went to prison, Townsend had received consistently good evaluations
from bosses who called him ``a hard worker'' and ``honest.''
``Only problem he had was he loved wine too much. He'd pass out after work,''
said his sister.
But Townsend became active in Alcoholics Anonymous in prison and says he
hasn't had a drink in years and won't again.
``That expression -- one day at a time -- helped,'' he says.
``In some ways, prison was good for Jerry. It made him focus. It made him
more disciplined,'' says Johnny Jones, his inmate friend.
In prison, Townsend was a janitor and worked in the laundry. Prison records
show that he did his job well and didn't cause trouble.
``I'll work as hard again,'' he says. ``I love work.''
Maybe pressing pants, maybe as a busboy, maybe a janitor. The irony does not
escape his family that this man whose freedom garnered international news
coverage will be working in a menial job soon, in complete anonymity.
``That's all he wants, all he ever wanted -- to be useful, to be with
family,'' said his uncle.
On Wednesday afternoon, Townsend met two detectives who fought for his
release.
One was retired Fort Lauderdale detective Doug Evans Jr., who investigated
the case in 1979 and believed in his innocence. He told Townsend he'd wished
he'd been released a long time ago.
The two men hugged in an emotionally charged moment. KEY MEETING
``I'm glad to meet you. Thank you,'' Townsend said over and over.
``You don't have to thank me,'' Curcio said. ``It just came to be a part of
what I was investigating.''
Then Curcio told Townsend: ``I hope you do well. A lot of people are watching
you. There are people who want you out and people who think you belong in
prison. You'll have to prove yourself every day for the rest of your life --
prove that you're worthy of being released.''
``I will,'' Townsend replied, almost in a
whisper.`I've been through hell for something I didn't do'
Former convict is overwhelmed by his freedom -- and an exotic new
world