A young fellow named Jimmy Allen was sentenced last Friday to four years in prison for vehicular homicide. He'd plowed drunk into another vehicle, killing the woman driving it. The victim’s mother, an elderly Ms. Miller with a friend and a framed photo of a pretty young woman on her lap, wept through most of the proceeding.
Besides the probation report and recommendations, there were a number of letters, some who wanted to put Allen away, some begging for lenience.
Judge Ann Moorman said, “This is a plea agreement. The parties have stipulated to a four year-term in the state prison and I see nothing but a lot of sadness coming out of it.”
The judge then turned to Carly Dolan, a senior attorney of the County’s Public Defender’s office who had been assigned the case.
“It’s a tragedy all around,” Ms. Dolan concurred. “We tried to get a deal on with the DA to drop the great bodily injury charge, and this they used to suggest that my client has no remorse. But he has no memory of being the driver, so it’s hard for him to make the necessary acknowledgement of the full measure of what he’s charged with. He has been very distraught, but he’s a very quiet individual, and that’s just the way he expresses himself.”
Judge Moorman turned to the prosecutor: “Mr. Hubley?”
“There’s no winners in this case, your honor, just a trail of destruction for both families.”
Then the judge asked Mr. Allen if he wanted to say something; he did not.
Blinking back her own tears, the judge turned to Ms. Miller and said, “We can’t bring back your daughter, but this is a tragic example of alcohol and driving and it should be a lesson to all of us — and I know we talk about it a lot, and I intend to talk a lot more about it — but I know Mr. Allen is remorseful: I saw that with my own eyes during the prelim, and I’m counting on you, Mr. Allen, to get the word out on this, to tell people about your own sad experience, and what happens when you get in a car and drive after you’ve been drinking. In the meantime, I’m remanding you into the California Department of Corrections.”
A couple of bailiffs pulled the kid's arms behind his back and snapped on the cuffs. After they’d taken him away, his family members — quite a few handsome young people among them, perhaps his brothers and sisters or cousins, along with mom, dad, an aunt, perhaps, and various friends, all filed out the door to resume their lives without him.
After four years in the lizard cage they call San Quentin, he won't be the kid they remember.
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