Former death-row inmate never gave up on God despite wrongful conviction
Former Illinois death row inmate Randy Steidl of Paris, Ill., talks about his wrongful conviction for two murders he did not commit and his lengthy incarceration during a Dec. 2 program at the Archbishop O’Meara Catholic Center in Indianapolis. Will McAuliffe, left, the executive director of the Indiana Coalition Acting to Suspend Executions, waits to answer a question from an audience member. (Photo by Mary Ann Wyand)
By Mary Ann Wyand
Seventeen years, three months and three weeks.
That’s how long wrongfully convicted Illinois death-row inmate Randy Steidl of Paris, Ill., was incarcerated at the Danville, Ill., Correctional Facility while awaiting execution for two murders that he did not commit.
He is one of 139 former death-row inmates throughout the U.S. who have been found innocent of murder charges and released from prison since 1972.
Steidl was the keynote speaker for a Dec. 2 program at the Archbishop O’Meara Catholic Center in Indianapolis about his wrongful conviction and lengthy incarceration on death row in Illinois.
The event was sponsored by the archdiocesan Office for Pro-Life Ministry.
Steidl filed seven state appeals during his time in prison to proclaim his innocence and endured two pending execution dates, but he wasn’t exonerated until Illinois State Police investigations commander Michale Callahan, who is now retired, completed an in-depth investigation of his capital case.
Callahan, a Terre Haute native and Indiana University graduate who majored in forensic studies, later wrote Since When Is Murder Too Politically Sensitive about the case. His book about the July 1986 murders of newlyweds Dyke and Karen Rhoads of Paris, Ill., was published by Land of Lincoln Press in May 2009.
Investigative work by the Downstate Illinois Innocence Project and the Center on Wrongful Convictions at Northwestern University in Chicago also contributed to Steidl’s release from prison in May 2004.
“It’s a tragic story,” Steidl said of the book. “It was hard for me to read. It took me 10 days. Most people pick it up and can’t put it down. It’s about corruption and politics in the Illinois State Police. … It vindicates me and Herb Whitlock.”
Before the program, Steidl talked with Sister Diane Carollo, director of the pro-life office, about the injustice of capital punishment then spent time praying before the Blessed Sacrament in the Holy Family Chapel at the Catholic Center.
“I was born and raised Catholic,” he told the gathering. “I went to a parochial school and was an altar boy until I went to high school. Then it was kind of hard for Mom to drag me into church on Sunday. But I still believed in God, went to Mass and confession, took Communion and said my prayers.
“But I had my dark moments when I was sitting on death row,” Steidl recalled. “I said, ‘How could this happen? It’s not just me that they’re doing this to.’ They did it to my 9-year-old son, 14-year-old daughter and the rest of my family. I could see the pain in their eyes when they came to visit me on death row, and when they had to leave. No 9-year-old boy should have to go through that.”
Steidl said he would often become angry and question his faith while locked in his prison cell for 23 hours every day.
“There were times I asked God, when I laid down at night in my cell, ‘Please, I can’t do this anymore. Just let me go to sleep and not wake up,’ ” he admitted. “I prayed hard to God to make it easier on my family so they wouldn’t have to go through this anymore. But every morning, I woke back up to the same routine—day after day after day. I got to thinking after a while that God must have a plan for me, but he was sure taking his time.”
Death row is a dark and intimidating place, Steidl said, and the monotony of daily life spent in a cage is maddening.
“A couple of good priests would visit me during those 17 years,” he recalled. “They said, ‘Never abandon God. Never abandon your faith.’ ”
His mother went to Mass and prayed novenas on his behalf, pleading with God to release her son from prison.
Her prayers were answered when Callahan began investigating Steidl’s case as part of allegations of police corruption.
Steidl has unanswered questions about his wrongful conviction and incarceration.
“After I walked out [of the prison],” he said, “a reporter asked me, ‘What about the last 17 years of your life?’ I had no answers. … A government or state shouldn’t be in the business of taking human life. … I think that’s what God saved me for. Maybe I can change a heart or mind or the law. … We need a moratorium in place in order to study the death penalty, to see how many Randy Steidls there are. I know there are at least 139 of us. … I thought about how our Lord must have felt when he was wrongfully convicted and executed with a thief. He didn’t do anything wrong.
“How come we have a legal system in place that put 139 of us now on this country’s death rows for crimes that we didn’t commit?” Steidl asked. “… We’ve got a capital punishment system that is broken. How can you believe in a system like that? The death penalty is nothing more than a hate crime.”
Steidl said he considers himself “one of the very, very fortunate ones” because he was finally released from prison even though he spent nearly one-third of his life in a cell for something he didn’t do and should never have been punished for without any credible or physical evidence.
“You can release an innocent man from prison,” he said, “but you can’t release him from his grave.”
Will McAuliffe, the executive director of the Indiana Coalition Acting to Suspend Executions, said nine people were exonerated from state death rows in 2009.
“We need to ask the state to take a step back from executing people while we have these large questions looming over us,” McAuliffe said, “questions of innocence, questions of if this is a worthy use of our increasingly limited resources, questions of whether this system is fair.” †
