A few years ago, I shared with all of you the crushing story of a former classmate of mine who was in jail, for a crime that most of us believe never actually happened.
His name is Charles McNeair, and for years, a growing group of folks have been working to get Charles out.
He was imprisoned at the age of 16, in 1979, for second-degree rape.
A survivor myself, I’m not quick to believe claims of consent or innocence, but I also always believe in letting the facts speak.
Did Charles plead guilty?
Sadly, yes.
At 16, he could read and write on about a second grade level. He was one who was just passed along because it was easier that way, but he stayed back in first and second grade, which is how he ended up my class.
So when they told him he would face the death penalty for first-degree rape if he didn’t plead guilty, he did. And they told him not to worry, he’d have an appeal.
But at the time, the death penalty was long off the table for rape, and when one pleads guilty, there is no appeal. The case is closed.
In addition, no evidence was gathered. No photos, no fluids, no collection of sheets or clothing, not even a statement from the victim, who did not go to the hospital.
The only file in existence has perhaps two pages, and one of them is a statement from an officer who arrived late to the scene.
Charles’ mother did not know where he was until a cook in the jail saw him and called her. They did not let him contact anyone. He had three different attorneys in the short process.
The victim was a white, older female that today we would consider somewhat alarming because at 58, she had what Charles believed was a relationship with a 16-year-old boy, who was about an inch taller than I am (I’m 5’5″) and weighed less than I do at probably 115 pounds. Sixteen, but a kid.
To this day, Charles maintains he believed they had a relationship, and that she invited him into her home.
At the heart of the issue is, whether you think he is innocent or not, he was sentenced to spend his entire natural life in jail for second degree rape, but there are convicted murderers who have spent less time in jail.
In addition to appealing to the governor for clemency, the ever-increasing group of family and community supporters also went to the parole board time and time again to plead for Charles’ release.
The Lexington City Council passed a resolution in support of his release. Community members explained how they would help support him if he came home. Family members said there was a home and jobs waiting.
But over and over again, we were told no. Without explanation, or any explanation that made sense. Sometimes it was that he needed to take classes, but they were classes he had already taken. In the intervening years, Charles got his GED and took a number of extended education classes. He became a lay minister, working with new, young inmates to help them understand jail was not the place they wanted to be.
He could have let the anger, the frustration, the hurt overtake him. Instead, he decided to make the most of what he had,
As the voices in the community grew louder, Charles began to be moved throughout the system. He’d been in Davidson County for decades, he had friends, a routine, jobs. But as we grew ever more vocal, he was moved farther away from us, and to places where he had no contacts, no work and far less freedom.
Still, he held on. Still he did not give in to the efforts to get him to react in anger.
The last time his case went before the parole board this spring, our mayor spoke directly to them on Charles’ behalf and our local police chief wrote a letter saying he was not satisfied with the lack of evidence, and that he himself had helped convict others of the crime of murder, and many of those people were now out on the streets, free. He said he did not see the justice in it.
And though he would not concede Charles might be innocent, the local sheriff in Davidson County did finally agree to support Charles’ release as long as he has community support and as long as he plays by the rules of parole.
And at long last, after 47 years of living in a 6′ x 8′ room, Charles has come home.
I don’t know how he feels. I can’t. I have not lived his life.
But I know when I visited him in prison, we were not allowed to touch.
When the hubs and I went last week to one of the many welcome home celebrations for him, I burst into tears at being able to wrap him in a bear hug.
I know he is a little overwhelmed, but I also know he is surrounded by so many of us who remain determined to support and help him.
When he went in, there were no cellphones, no smart TVs, no computers and laptops. He has had some opportunities to learn, but it’s a massive gap in terms of technology.
The world has changed dramatically while he has been living in a space and time that is so removed from reality.
But he seems to be catching up quickly, and I am immensely proud of his tenacity and strength.
In a world that seems filled these days with hard lines of judgments, of mean-spiritedness and ugliness, Charles’ freedom is more than a breath of fresh air. It is a reminder of the absolute best in us. It is a stark reminder of redemption, and how we all play a role in each other’s lives and salvation, right here on earth.
Yes, Charles is home. And somehow the world feels a little more in balance now.
Elisabeth Strillacci is former editor and reporter for the Salisbury Post.
