He was total safety and security. He made me proud to call him dad, my father. No other child could, in my mind, justifiably feel safer, more loved, more free to be silly around their father as I could around mine. I secretly felt sorry for other children because it wasn't possible that their dads were as robust, strong, brilliant,funny, or as happy as mine. There was no way their dad was as comforting as mine. No other man was as steady, naturally optimistic, at once humorous and wise. I am grateful for the Latin phrases he used to spout in order to bring humor to a situation; if he felt you were taking too long in the bathroom, you might have been privy to hear him taunt you in a cheeky, inquiring tone, “Quo usque tandem abutere, Catalina, patientia nostra?” Translation: How much longer, Cataline, will you continue to abuse our patience? He so readily shared words of wit and wisdom he had gleaned from the people in his life – grandparents, high school teachers, college professors, business colleagues both past and present - whom he respected most and whose hard-earned knowledge he so happily exalted. “Alexander, it’s not enough just to be right; you have to know you’re right!” All this from a man who wasn't home for six months out of every twelve. That was one of his greatest gifts to us. So great was his love for us, even in his absence his presence was known, palpable, and imminent. He always telephoned from important places with names that carried as much gravitas as he did. Omaha, St. Louis, Cleveland, Pittsburgh, Denver, and Memphis. And oh, when he came home! His suit smelled like the airplane he'd been on, his smile was irresistible, and he couldn't wait to scoop up those of us who were small enough for a big, warm bear hug and kiss on the cheek. My mother he gathered in safely against his 6'2" 190-pound frame with his strong arms and large, powerful, gentle hands. Sweetly he gave her a big kiss, and hugged her tightly, saying, "Oh! I missed you so much, sweetie!" The relief in his deep, steady voice never left me doubting that this was home, and home was where we were loved and free, where we all belonged. Being in my immediate family meant not just feeling hopeful that life would work out and everything would be okay; I learned to know that everything would be smooth sailing eventually, because dad knew how to talk to people and he knew how to listen to them respectfully, especially if he disagreed with their opinion. I wonder now if he loved those opportunities to be objective, it was so natural for him not to take life's little tribulations personally. There were too many things that were far too important, urgent, interesting, and enjoyable to let pithy frustrations and temporary problems sully or limit his love of family and life. Since reaching adulthood, I have often reflected upon these happier and far simpler times. I call them “the warm and fuzzy years” and at the time, it was all I knew. It was to be, in the course of a lifetime, the exception and not the rule.
Early evening, February 18, 2012. My cell phone rang, it was dad. He and mom were going to a showing of “Hugo”. I wasn’t feeling up to it and didn’t want the hassle of taking BART from San Francisco, where I was living, to Berkeley. No big deal. That was the last time I ever heard his voice.
Later. Night time. Another phone call. There had been an “incident”. An intruder. I needed to come home because dad had been attacked. Is he okay? WHAT DO YOU MEAN “YOU-DON’T-KNOW”? Well how much blood is a lot? WELL, IS HE ALIVE?!YOU DON’T KNOW?! WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN YOU DON’T KNOW?! HOW CAN YOU NOT FUCKING KNOW?!
“You have to come home now, Xan. You need to be strong.”
Whatever strength I had or could muster needed to be enough to off-set a cataclysmic chain of events in which every system meant to improve public safety – law enforcement, the legal system, the healthcare system, even Daniel DeWitt’s own incompetent, frightened, and inept parents – failed to do the right thing. And yet, there was nobody to be held accountable. It was just so unfortunate, because in the final analysis, it was looking like my dad was to blame for going outside to make sure his home was safe. Everyone – the DeWitts and their plaintive plea that they just didn’t know what to do with their son; the vapid, thoughtless 911 responder who told my father that a patrol car was being dispatched, an outright lie intended to placate his fears and get him off the phone; the infallible and righteous Berkeley Police Chief, Michael Meehan, who kept such a vigilant watch over the city in anticipation of the next “Occupy Wall Street” protest; judges so moved and convinced by Daniel’s defense attorneys’ line of “reasoning” that – I can only assume – the stern warnings from his psychiatrists must have just faded into a gentle hum, like background noise from the incessantly churning machine of human society, a sound so pervasive that only it’s absence would be conspicuous.
It would be short-sighted and foolish to believe that Daniel DeWitt’s mental health is what mandated our presence in this courtroom. It is equally absurd and injudicious to assume his illness is the reason my father, whom I will love until the day my own life runs its course, was savagely beaten to death on his own property. In order to avoid repeating the mistakes of the past – a characteristic so endemic to human beings that an outside observer could conclude we do it not just with intent, but also delight - I am compelled to call into question the mindset of all entities, without whom none of this would have been possible or necessary. Daniel DeWitt did not act alone, and his unwitting accomplices include myriad attorneys, judges, police, hospital administrators, his parents, men and women of the California state legislature, and of course a 911 “responder”.
I find little solace in Daniel DeWitt’s conviction and incarceration. His absence from society affects no large scale or necessary change. The people who need to be scrutinized and vetted are the ones in charge. They allow the dangerous and desperately mentally ill to wander the streets, untreated and unsupervised. What makes this case all the more deplorable, shocking, senseless, and abominable in the fact that all the people I have named are supposedly in full command of their faculties, and – I promise – will confirm this upon questioning.
If this is true, do you really think that they showed a profound awareness of the immense gravity of the circumstances in every one of the NINE CONSECUTIVE TIMES they let DeWitt simply walk away and do as he pleased? Does granting a psychotic maniac with a DOCUMENTED HISTORY OF VIOLENT BEHAVIOR his freedom nine times in a row indicate a keen ability of our lawmakers to draft bills that reflect our values? Is this evidence that they profoundly appreciate the great responsibility they bear in determining how our society handles potential life-or-death situations? Why are so many people completely unaware that the police have NO LEGAL OBLIGATION TO RESPOND WHEN YOU CALL 911? What is the true reason that nobody felt any sense of compulsion to express their opinion that what was being done with Daniel DeWitt was not only in complete disregard to any chance he once had for any semblance of a decent life, but also utterly neglected the safety and very lives of everyone and anyone he might encounter? Why did nobody weigh possible outcomes given their actions, or even think TO QUESTION AND OUTRIGHT CHALLENGE AUTHORITY, WHEN BEING COMPLACENT IS TANTAMOUNT TO BEING COMPLICIT? WHY DID NO ONE THINK FOR THEMSELVES?! Are they bored? Are they even CONSCIOUS?!Because from here, they look and behave like automatons with no purpose other than to await further instructions from a conscious source.
I challenge this court that the people and institutions responsible for repeatedly releasing Daniel DeWitt did so with unquestioning obedience to the letter of the law. Surely, they are decent and reasonable people, legally bound to perform a certain function in a specified manner. But simply following the rules does not entail that anything good, right or even acceptable will result. In fact, the result can be a perfect nightmare. We need – yes, this is a MORAL IMPERATIVE – to learn and teach that in life, even if nothing is your fault, it is always your responsibility. Otherwise, peoples’ lives are in jeopardy. We place undue trust in our public institutions to protect us, and when they fail they must be held accountable. Instead, they showed cowardice and had the brazen audacity to claim they did everything right. How utterly stupid is it to trust a DIAGNOSED PARANOID-SCHIZOPHRENIC WITH A HISTORY OF VIOLENCE to take his medication? HE ISN’T EVEN AWARE THAT HE IS INCARCERATED: HE THINKS HE HAS PRIVATE CONVERSATIONS WITH A GIRLFRIEND WHO DOES NOT EVEN EXIST! AND HE WAS TAKEN AT HIS WORD NINE TIMES. How did this happen NINE TIMES without a single person raising their voice?
The law in its present form is an impotent joke because it literally puts the insane in charge. Activistsassert that force-medicating the mentally ill violates their civil rights. But we ought not to concern ourselves with the rights of someone who, if he does not take his medication, becomes an impetuous, murderous, execrable, prowling demon. What about Peter Cukor’s right to be alive?!Not to look at or take to heart the tragic circumstances of Daniel DeWitt, which, were it not for all the aforementioned, never would have become the tragic circumstances of my father’s grizzly and horrific murder. But they did, and now they are my and my mother’s responsibility. But we do have minds of our own and we also have our hearts. We are outraged and scarred, but we know the excruciating ordeal of losing a loved one to a totally preventable tragedy, which is why we don’t want this to happen to anybody else. Ever. The collective guilt and refusal to admit any wrongdoing whatsoever by all who shrugged off their duty to civil society and passed the buck to whomever happened to be next in this abhorrent concatenation of pathetic failures points to a problem of immeasurable proportion: namely that the institutions beholden to the public for protection and safety either do not know what legal provisions a bill must contain if it is to effectively treat the mentally ill, provide sufficient protection for the citizens it was drafted to serve from its very inception, and allow the people who comprise the public institutions to perform their tasks with the greatest efficacy; or they prefer to just shut up and not ruffle any feathers, and do only what is required of them to collect a check at week’s end, which I would like to point out, is paid for with our tax dollars.
As a society we need, at the very least, to question our own level of mental acuity, if not our overall state of mental health. This is about much more than adequately caring for the less-fortunate in order to enable them to function in society; we need to know that the right steps are being taken to ensure that society itself functions. Otherwise, we are all potentially victims of – as well as unwitting accomplices to – a perfectly preventable tragedy.