Commentary: A crayon mistake had me condemned at 6

Daily Record and the Kansas City Daily News-Press, Jul 9, 2008 by Christine Hughes

At an early age I learned how it feels to be falsely accused. I was in the first grade at a small elementary school in Fortuna, Mo. My family was poor, and at the start of the school year I did not have a box of crayons, not even a small box of eight colors.

One day I asked a little girl sitting close to me in school if I could use one of her crayons. In response, she held out her huge box of crayons to me (there must have been at least 64 colors) and said, "You can have them." At age 6, one tends to take everything literally, and I honestly believed in my heart that I had just been given this wonderful gift of a large box of crayons.

A few days later, the little girl's mother contacted the school inquiring as to why her daughter was asking her for another box of crayons. Upon a thorough search, the teacher found the box of crayons in question in my desk. I had marked out the little girl's name and had put my name in its place. That teacher then accused me of stealing the little girl's crayons!

As part of my punishment, I was forced to walk up and down the aisles of the classroom and show each and every little boy and girl the box of crayons I had "stolen" and how I had marked out the other little girl's name and put my own on the box.

I do not remember what my first grade teacher looked like. I don't remember her name or whether she was young or old. I don't remember any of the other children in my class. But I will never forget walking down the aisles of that classroom on that day, condemned at the ripe old age of 6 as being a thief.

A few years back I found myself in another situation where I was falsely accused. It was a beautiful Sunday evening in the summer. I had been to church that morning and had mowed my yard later in the afternoon. It had become a habit of mine, after mowing my yard, to take a leisurely drive in my convertible with the top down. I would reward my hard labor by getting a chocolate malt at the neighborhood Sonic and then drive out in the country while sipping on my malt.

Since I was just relaxing and not in a hurry, I was driving slower than usual. This particular night I noticed someone appeared to be following me. This was disconcerting to me so I made an unplanned turn down another road to see if they continued to follow me. They did not, so I turned around and headed back home.

Approximately two blocks from my home I was pulled over by the police. The next thing I knew I was in handcuffs in the back of a police car under arrest for DUI. The police asked if they could search my car and I said yes. The top was down when the officer pulled me over and he had full view of the interior of my car. The only thing in my car at the time was an empty chocolate malt container from Sonic.

I later was told that the car following me earlier that evening was an off-duty police officer. He was suspicious because I was driving slower than normal, even though the speed limit was only 25 mph in some places on my route. I can't remember exactly how many police cars pulled up behind me or how many officers were conversing about what to do with me that evening, but there were several. They finally released me into the care of my brother-in-law who drove me two blocks down the street to my home.

One of the officers told my brother-in-law that they thought it was strange that I was so cooperative and that I wasn't outraged. I knew I was innocent and just figured that they would realize that eventually. Again, the only thing I had drank that evening was a chocolate malt.

I had never been handcuffed before, and I can tell you truthfully that it was a traumatic experience. For many, many months after this happened, I was afraid to take a leisurely drive in my convertible. I felt that I wasn't supposed to drive around anyone else's neighborhood or out in the countryside. Experiencing how quickly one can lose one's freedom because of a wrong perception or belief is a frightening experience.

My nephew is a police officer, and he explained to me that officers are trained to take every precaution. Just because you look like a sweet little old lady doesn't necessarily mean you won't pull out a gun and shoot them. Some officers have found out the hard way that you never take chances. I understand and respect that position.

However, being wrongfully accused and in some cases convicted and sentenced to death row can be fatal as well. Not that I was in that dire of a situation, of course, but others have been. Fortunately for me, my initial ordeal was over within hours. But as Ellen Suni, dean of the UMKC Law School, said as she spoke at a benefit for the Midwestern Innocence Project last year, not everyone is that fortunate.

The Innocence Project was founded in 1992 to help inmates who have been wrongfully convicted to prove their innocence. Among its 12-member board of directors are two well known individuals: author John Grisham and former U.S. Attorney General Janet Reno. Grisham's book "The Innocent Man" tells the true story of a Kansas City man, Dennis Fritz, who was wrongfully convicted and incarcerated for a crime that he did not commit.