No Choirboy: Murder, Violence, and Teenagers on Death Row

Mark Melvin, a white youth, was only 14 when he was arrested at his home in Pensacola, Florida, and taken to Alabama to be charged with first-degree murder. Alabama charged Mark as an adult, as is customary in some states when the crime is particularly violent. In his interviews, Mark does not deny the charges; alone of the prisoners profiled in Kuklin’s book, he discusses the murder of which he was convicted in some detail and says not only that he did it but that he fully deserves his punishment.

A fatherless child from an impoverished, unstable home, Mark was lured by a beloved older brother (David) into crossing into Alabama to help eliminate two witnesses: a husband and wife who had agreed to testify against members of Mark’s family. David worked as a correction officer, but Mark did not entirely take seriously his tales of the horrors of prison and pointed reminders of Mark’s complicity in his family’s thefts. Goaded by his brother, Mark nevertheless shot and killed the husband just outside the couple’s house while David killed the wife inside. As soon as he pulled the trigger, Mark knew he had done something irreversible for which he would be severely punished: “I knew I was done for” (39).

Mark explains that the murders, which for months inspired nightmares and suicidal thoughts, upset him more than even his arrest and incarceration. When the police finally came for him, David told Mark to “be strong,” which meant not to talk. David then tried to pin both murders on Mark while lying to him that his wife, whom Mark loved like a sister, was pregnant; he hoped that Mark would sacrifice himself to keep him out of prison. Eventually, Mark refused to play along and gave evidence against his brother, whom he had (temporarily) come to hate for his betrayal.

Mark notes that from childhood he was subject to mood swings and random acts of petty violence, such as hitting his brothers, and that he was never a “good” kid. He grew up with his mother, who was on welfare, and six siblings: five brothers and one sister, all of whom had different fathers. At one point, Mark says, his mother falsely charged him with assault as a ploy to get him locked up, which was the only way she could get him counseling for his behavioral conditions, including stealing and playing hooky. Unfortunately, this put a “history” of violence on his record. The murder he committed for his brother, Mark says, was the one and only time he ever set out to do violence.

In a juvenile facility waiting to be formally charged, Mark was treated like an “animal.” He was placed in an isolation cell where the lights were kept on constantly, and his hands and feet were shackled whenever he went out. His hair was left uncut because the barber was “scared” to go near him. He was shocked to learn that he would be charged as an adult, meaning that he could be sentenced to life without parole. (Death was not a possibility, due to a recent Supreme Court decision that set the minimum age for capital punishment at 16.) Disappointed in his lawyer, he contacted Stevenson, about whom he had heard good things. Stevenson joined Mark’s defense, wrote a lengthy argument that sought to mitigate his culpability, and succeeded in pleading his sentence down to life plus 10 years. To this day, Mark considers Stevenson his best friend.

At Donaldson State Prison, Mark was placed in “level six”—an immense labyrinth of high-security cell blocks. As he arrived, he could hear prisoners exchanging sexual remarks about him; the officer who was escorting him just laughed at his agitation. Mark quickly learned to trust no one and show no weakness or compliance, even in the smallest matters. The violence and cruelty that went on in the maximum-security prison, which had a strong gang presence, was beyond anything he had ever seen. He was especially nervous to find himself in a racial minority at Donaldson. Young, white, and “clean-cut,” he felt himself to be relentlessly targeted by bigger, stronger prisoners who sought to “break” him—to turn him into a sex partner or servant. He knew that he could not rely on the guards to protect him, so he cultivated a reputation as an unstable “daredevil” so others would leave him alone. After getting into several fights and losing two teeth, Mark was transferred to the Holman Correctional Facility.

Mark says he was “happy” at Holman, largely because it had an older, less violent population. He was seldom attacked or molested. Unlike at Donaldson, the prisoners mostly observed a “code” of mutual respect and cooperation, which allowed them a certain degree of autonomy. Mark says he began to “grow” as a person at Holman, abandoning some of the racist attitudes he had acquired at Donaldson and even making some friends. Buddy, an enormous white man who was highly respected at Holman, became an important friend and mentor. Mark began to learn skills such as leatherworking, which improved his self-esteem. The “changes” he experienced at Holman partly restored his faith in human nature and potential; he says he is against the death penalty, which sometimes was carried out on his fellow prisoners at Holman, because he believes everyone has the capacity to change.

Eventually, Mark was transferred to Easterling Correctional Facility, a medium-security facility. He was dismayed to learn that this was to be the end of the line for him: Due to a recent and well-publicized murder committed by a prisoner on work release, he would never be eligible for any pre-release work program. Mark has resigned himself to the reality that Easterling, or places like it, will be his home until his parole, which will not be for many years. He regards Easterling as the most “stressful” of the three prisons he has been in; its squalor, constant heat, crowdedness, tedium, and byzantine rules sometimes make him lose all hope for the future. He finds distraction in his hobbies, which include playing the electric guitar and drawing; he even makes some pocket change as a portrait artist for the other prisoners. As far as companionship, he has overcome his initial aversion to relationships with men and regards himself as bisexual.

If he is ever released, Mark would like to devote himself to helping others—possibly “troubled” kids like his 14-year-old self. All the same, he worries that his mindless act so many years ago utterly precludes any hope for a decent life, or even self-love of the most basic sort: “A theft or a burglary can leave you, but a murder can’t” (80).