Los Angeles County prosecutors unsealed an indictment Friday against a former LAPD officer responsible for the 2015 on-duty shooting of an unarmed man in Venice.
The ex-cop, Clifford Proctor, pleaded not guilty to the charges during a brief hearing in a downtown courtroom.
Wearing an orange jumpsuit, Proctor, 60, leaned over several times to whisper to his attorney but otherwise said little during the hearing, a portion of which was held behind closed doors. He waived a reading of the indictment. He will remain in custody with no bail, and is expected to return to court for a hearing early next month.
Proctor’s lawyer, Anthony “Tony” Garcia, said he would reserve comment until he’d had a chance to review the case.
But he questioned the timing of the charges, which came more than a decade after the incident in question.
The L.A. County District Attorney’s office reviewed the case when it was fresh and “determined there was nothing to proceed,” Garcia said.
Proctor was arrested at Los Angeles International Airport last week when U.S. Customs and Border Protection agents noticed he had an active warrant. Proctor has been living abroad for several years, according to sources who were not authorized to speak publicly about the pending case.
Proctor resigned from the LAPD in 2017. While still with the department, he shot and killed Brendon Glenn, a 29-year-old homeless man, after a dispute outside of a Venice bar in 2015. Glenn and his dog had been kicked out of the Bank of Venice restaurant for causing a disturbance.
Proctor and Glenn got into an argument and the officer ordered Glenn to leave the area. Glenn responded by hurling several racial epithets at Proctor. Both men are Black, according to court records.
Glenn then got into an argument with a bouncer outside of a different bar, and Proctor and his partner moved to make an arrest. During the ensuing struggle, Proctor shot Glenn twice in the back. Proctor alleged Glenn reached for his partner’s gun, but footage from the scene appeared to contradict that claim.
Glenn’s hand was never seen “on or near any portion” of the holster, according to a report made by the city’s Police Commission in 2016, and Proctor’s partner never made “any statements or actions” suggesting Glenn was trying to take the gun.
Former LAPD Chief Charlie Beck called for Proctor to be charged with manslaughter in the wake of public outrage over the killing, but ex-Dist. Atty. Jackie Lacey declined to prosecute. After being elected on a police accountability platform in 2020, her successor, George Gascón hired a special prosecutor to reexamine charges against several L.A. County law enforcement officers in on-duty killings, including Glenn’s death.
Last year, sources told The Times that a warrant had been issued for Proctor’s arrest. Gascón and his chosen special prosecutor, Lawrence Middleton, repeatedly declined to comment on the case.
Dist. Atty. Nathan Hochman, who fired Middleton shortly after taking office last year, has not given updates on the case. Hochman hired another special prosecutor, Michael Gennaco, to oversee Middleton’s pending cases.
On the night Los Angeles police claim he carried out an act of gangland vengeance, Oscar Eagle could barely walk.
In March 1998, Eagle was only 17 and using crutches to get around after he was wounded in a drive-by shooting. The bullet is still in his leg to this day, marked by a coin-shaped indentation on his calf.
At the same time that police allege Eagle opened fire on an 18th Street gang member in an act of retribution, he says he was at an East L.A. hospital because a friend’s cousin was giving birth, according to court records.
Oscar Eagle in his childhood neighborhood of Pico-Union in 1996.
(Courtesy of Megan Baca)
Eagle knew he was innocent. Witnesses placed him at the hospital and he said medical records could prove he wasn’t mobile enough to carry out the crime.
But a combination of dubious legal representation and an arrest made by members of a notoriously corrupt unit in the Los Angeles Police Department saw Eagle sentenced to 25-years-to-life in prison.
In July, a judge granted a joint motion from the California Innocence Project and the L.A. County district attorney’s office to vacate Eagle’s conviction, citing ineffective assistance of counsel and questions about the behavior of LAPD detectives on the case.
For reform advocates, Eagle’s case epitomizes the problem with prosecuting teens as adults, but it also marks a positive sign for the L.A. County district attorney’s office’s conviction review unit under Nathan Hochman, who personally appeared at the hearing where Eagle was set free.
“This is what I’ve been dreaming of every day,” a tearful Eagle, 45, said during an interview in late July.
Pelican Bay State Prison in Crescent City, California is surrounded by razor wire, tall fences and towers manned by guards with rifles.
(Mark Boster / Los Angeles Times)
Formed in 2015 and expanded under former Dist. Atty. George Gascón, Hochman has shown a continued commitment to the conviction review unit. After facing criticism for recording just four exonerations from 2015 to 2020, the unit has been involved in 12 in just the last four years, according to a district attorney’s office spokesperson.
“I think that a D.A. sends a strong message when you appear in court, that it’s both a case of serious concern to the D.A.’s office, and it’s one where you want to see justice done,” Hochman said.
Seeing L.A. County’s top prosecutor personally endorse his release is a stark turnaround for Eagle, who spent most of his life believing police would do anything to keep him behind bars.
After entering California’s adult prison system as a teenager, Eagle said he watched a friend die in a riot at Pelican Bay. He spent years in isolation after he says he was erroneously connected to the Mexican Mafia. Both of his parents died while Eagle was locked up, and he can’t even mention their names without tearing up to this day.
Eagle said he grew up in a section of Pico-Union where all his neighbors were affiliated with a local gang set, the Burlington Locos. A young tagger who went by “Clown,” he too wound up part of the crew.
In the late 1990s, Eagle became a target of detectives with an infamous LAPD unit known as C.R.A.S.H., short for Community Resources Against Street Hoodlums.
At the time, the LAPD’s Rampart division was home to C.R.A.S.H. officers who falsified reports and framed civilians, later triggering a scandal that ended with the U.S. Department of Justice placing the LAPD under a consent decree.
Officers watch from inside the front entrance of the LAPD’s Rampart Station in the Westlake district in 2010 as protesters demonstrate outside against police brutality.
(Reed Saxon / Associated Press)
Eagle says that in 1996 he was wrongfully arrested for gun possession as a juvenile by Rafael Perez, the central figure of the Rampart scandal. Perez later admitted the report that led to Eagle’s first arrest was falsified, according to court records.
But it was Eagle’s next run-in with police that proved far more consequential.
In March 1998, 18th Street Gang member Benjamin Urias was shot twice on Burlington Avenue in what police believed to be retribution for a prior attack on a Burlington Locos member, court records show. Urias, who was hospitalized for two days and released, told police the shooter walked with a limp.
Investigators from a C.R.A.S.H. unit based in Rampart locked onto Eagle, due to his gang connections and the fact that he was said to be walking with a limp after he was injured in a shooting, according to his attorney, Megan Baca, of the California Innocence Project.
Charges against Eagle were initially dismissed after Urias failed to show up for a preliminary hearing. But a month later, LAPD homicide detectives Thomas Murrell and Kenneth Wiseman prodded the shooting victim to pick Eagle out of a photo lineup, according to the motion to vacate his conviction.
Urias initially told police he did not recognize anyone in the lineup, records show.
“OK, circle that guy … Number 4 is the one you were pointing to,” Murrell said to Urias, according to a recording of the interview described in court records.
An LAPD spokesperson declined to comment. The audio recording that called the validity of the identification into question was never raised at Eagle’s trial, according to Baca.
Despite concerns about the behavior of the detectives, Hochman said he was not immediately ordering a review of other cases involving Murrell and Wiseman. Neither Rampart detective was part of a C.R.A.S.H. unit.
Murrell denied any wrongdoing and told The Times he remembered Eagle’s name because the then-teenager was a suspect in multiple gang homicides at the time.
He did not offer specifics, but dismissed Eagle’s medical alibi, contending the teen “wasn’t on crutches” when police arrested him.
“If he made an ID, we didn’t cheat, I can tell you that … I’ve never done that,” said Murrell. “We did everything by the book.”
Attempts to contact Wiseman were unsuccessful.
Eagle said things were only made worse by his former attorney, Patrick Lake, who didn’t make an opening statement at trial or raise any of Eagle’s alibi evidence. When Eagle questioned his lawyer, Lake joked that he was “saving the best for last.”
Oscar Eagle with his defense attorney, Megan Baca of the Innocence Project.
(Allen J. Schaben / Los Angeles Times)
As Eagle’s family grew frustrated in the gallery, he said his mother passed him a note that simply read “fire him.” Eagle tried to get rid of Lake, but a judge denied his request. Eagle was convicted of murder. And since he was tried as an adult, he faced 25-years-to-life.
Lake did not respond to a request for comment. Baca said she had one conversation with Lake, in which he claimed he didn’t remember Eagle or his case.
At the time, prosecutors in California could directly file charges against teens in adult court, sending hundreds of children every year to adult prisons such as Pelican Bay, where Eagle wound up. That practice has been abolished by a change in state law, but Baca said she’s encountered too many cases where teens had their lives stolen because they were wrongfully convicted and tried as adults.
“It’s egregious, but I think that it happens all the time,” Baca said. “So many of my clients were juveniles and they got adult life.”
Eagle said his stay in prison was long and painful. He spent six years in segregated housing, essentially isolation, after Baca said her client was wrongly labeled as a Mexican Mafia associate. He denied any affiliation with the powerful prison-based syndicate. Eagle said prison officials took a leap in logic to link him to the gang based on a “kite,” or prison note, sent by another inmate.
As he grew older behind bars, Eagle started to read voraciously. His father sent recommended books. Eagle says he gravitated toward the Bible.
Oscar Eagle at an L.A. County juvenile detention camp in 1997.
(Courtesy of Megan Baca)
Even though he knew he hadn’t committed the crime that put him in prison, Eagle said he still realized there were things about his life that needed to change.
“I was 30 years old. My perspective started to change. And I started to see this past life that I was living was nonsense,” he said. “I started to have a conscience.”
In 2023, after repeated failures to get his case overturned on appeal, some of Eagle’s friends got the attention of Baca and the California Innocence Project, which worked to bring the case before the conviction review unit. At the same time, Eagle said, he started exchanging letters with an ex-girlfriend from high school, a woman named Monica.
In July, the two squeezed next to each other on Baca’s couch at the lawyer’s Long Beach home, hands interlocked. They’ve since gotten married and are looking to move to Arizona, away from the city and county that nearly took everything away from Eagle.
There’s still a lot for Eagle to get used too — he’s never driven a car, the concept of Uber is still bizarre to him — but Monica says there’s one silver lining to the prison term Eagle never should have served. She wouldn’t have married the guy who was sent away all those years ago.
“He’s a whole new person from when he went in,” she said.
More than 35 years after murdering their parents in a volley of shotgun blasts, brothers Erik and Lyle Menendez are the closest to freedom since they were arrested and sentenced to life in prison.
The siblings — who infamously gunned down their mother and father in 1989 at the family’s Beverly Hills home — will go before a California parole board this week.
In recent years, the brothers have become a cause celebre amid mounting evidence that the slayings followed years of sexual abuse by their father.
Now, if the parole board finds they have been rehabilitated, the brothers could soon be sent home to reunite with the family members who have spent years fighting for their release.
But just because the brothers were resentenced doesn’t mean the parole process will be smooth sailing.
When are the hearings? Can I watch?
The brothers will each have individual hearings. Erik, 54, will go before the board at 8:30 a.m. on Thursday. The hearing for Lyle, 57, will take place at approximately the same time on Friday. Each hearing is expected to last between two and three hours, and the board will likely make a decision immediately, according to the California Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation.
Parole board hearings take place over video conference. The brothers will appear from a room in the Richard J. Donovan Correctional Facility in San Diego. The Los Angeles County district attorney’s office and the brothers’ parole attorney, Heidi Rummel, will also appear remotely.
While parole hearings are a matter of public record, CDCR does not live stream the events. A Times reporter will watch the hearing live in Sacramento and publish the results immediately after.
How does a parole board hearing work? Who gets to speak?
The bulk of a parole board hearing involves the commissioners questioning the person who is seeking release from prison. But other parties play a role as well.
Los Angeles County Dist. Atty. Nathan Hochman, or a prosecutor from his office, will be able to argue against release.
The district attorney’s office filed a 75-page “statement of view” with the parole board which details what prosecutors describe as the brothers’ “shifting stories” about the night of the murders. Such details include their attempts to arrange for an alibi and the fact that they “convincingly and repeatedly” lied to investigators and relatives that the killings must have been a mafia hit.
Hochman and his prosecutors have also attacked the idea that the brothers killed in self-defense. Despite the abuse allegations against their father, prosecutors say there is no evidence that Jose or Kitty planned to kill the brothers on the night of the murders.
Normally, the family of the victim in a case would also be able to speak against release if they so chose. However, the vast majority of Kitty and Jose Menendez’s living relatives want the brothers set free and formed a coalition to advocate for Erik and Lyle years ago. Several of them intend to speak and others have submitted letters in support of the brothers, according to Laziza Lambert, a family spokeswoman.
Milton Anderson, Kitty Menendez’s brother, was opposed to Erik and Lyle’s release but he died earlier this year. His attorney, R.J. Dreiling, said he does not have standing to take part in the hearings and it was unclear what, if any, record will be made of Anderson’s objections.
Why are the brothers eligible for parole? What factors will the parole board consider?
The brothers won their resentencing hearing in May. Former Dist. Atty. George Gascón sought to have the brothers resentenced to 50-years-to-life in prison last year, and L.A. County Superior Court Judge Michael Jesic agreed because Hochman’s prosecutors could not prove that Erik and Lyle posed an unreasonable risk to the public.
Since the brothers were under the age of 26 at the time of the murders, the reduced sentence made them eligible for parole under California’s youthful offender law.
The parole board must consider a wide array of factors, according to CDCR, including an applicant’s criminal history, level of self-control at the time of crime, their behavior while in prison and personal growth over that time, their post-release plans and the facts of the crime itself.
“The parole board must give great weight to the youth of the brothers at the time of the crime, and ultimately decide if they pose an unreasonable risk to public safety,” said Dmitry Gorin, a former Los Angeles County prosecutor.
While Gorin said there is a “strong case” for the brothers to receive parole, he also noted it is rare for the board to grant freedom to convicted killers, especially in a case with the level of brutality seen in the Menendez slayings. The fact that the brothers admitted to wrongdoing in the killings in open court earlier this year might aid them, according to Gorin.
The brothers could face blistering opposition from Hochman and his prosecutors, who sought to revisit the bloody crime scene time and time again during Erik and Lyle’s resentencing hearing.
“We have consistently opposed their release because they have not demonstrated full insight into their crimes or shown that they have been fully rehabilitated, and therefore continue to pose a risk to society,” the district attorney’s office said in a statement. “We will evaluate our final position based on the evidence presented at the hearing.”
The parole board can also consider any violations of CDCR rules in the brothers’ files, and some recent alleged slip-ups by Erik and Lyle have raised the eyebrows of legal experts.
“They have serious rule violations, including fights, including not coming in from the yards when they were told to. That doesn’t sound that bad, but it can be, depends on what they were doing in the yard,” said Nancy Tetrault, who successfully represented Leslie Van Houten, a devout follower of Charles Manson, before the parole board in 2023.
Tetrault also noted that the brothers have been caught with cell phones behind bars, a violation of prison rules that could be problematic for the parole board.
“It’s a very serious rule violation,” she said. “Why? Because that is the connection to criminality outside of prison.”
Both Gorin and Terault said it is unlikely that the board would render different decisions each day. Given they are accused of the same crime, the results of Erik’s hearing on Thursday will likely forecast what happens to Lyle 24 hours later.
What happens after the decision?
If the parole board grants release for one or both brothers, Gov. Gavin Newsom will have the right to review or reject the decision within 120 days. While Newsom hasn’t publicly commented on the case — and has separately considered granting the brothers’ clemency — his track record on high-profile parole cases doesn’t bode well for the brothers.
When the parole board granted release for Sirhan Sirhan — the man convicted of assassinating Robert F. Kennedy in downtown Los Angeles — Newsom overruled them. The governor also overruled the parole board multiple times when they sought to release Van Houten, though his decision was eventually thrown out by a California appeals court.
Newsom declined through a spokeswoman to comment before the hearing on whether he believed the brothers should be released.
If the board denies the brothers, a new hearing can be set anytime within the next three to 15 years. Applicants can petition for a new hearing earlier than that if they argue the circumstances of their case have changed.
“For example, if they completed, you know, an intense class on inside or something like that, and they think that they deserve to be heard within a year,” Tetrault said.
Newsom could also refer the decision to the entire state parole board for a second opinion, as he did in the case of convicted killer Stephanie Lazarus, a former LAPD detective.
The brothers would still have other paths to freedom even without parole. Newsom could still grant them clemency, and a motion for a new trial is still working its way through the legal system.
Los Angeles County prosecutors announced new charges Tuesday against people suspected of attacking the police during recent protests that rocked downtown L.A., including an incident in which a California Highway Patrol cruiser was set ablaze on the 101 Freeway.
Dist. Atty. Nathan Hochman said 39-year-old Adam Palermo was charged with two counts of assault on a peace officer and two counts of using a destructive device in connection with the June 8 incident.
As he announced the charges, Hochman stood alongside a TV screen looping a video that allegedly shows Palermo dropping a flaming item onto the CHP vehicle during the first weekend of protests against the Trump administration’s immigration raids.
That Sunday — the day after President Trump deployed the National Guard to Los Angeles over Gov. Gavin Newsom’s objections — thousands of protesters took to downtown. A number of CHP vehicles and officers wound up parked underneath an overpass on the 101 after clearing protesters from the freeway late in the afternoon.
Palermo also allegedly threw a large rock at one of the CHP vehicles. Hochman displayed social media posts allegedly made by Palermo saying “of all the protests I’ve been involved in, which is well over a hundred now, I’m most proud of what I did today,” accompanied by images and videos of the CHP cars being damaged and burned.
“It was not a productive day. It was a day of destruction,” Hochman said.
Palermo will also face federal arson charges in relation to the same incident, according to U.S. Atty. Bill Essayli, who joined Hochman for the news conference.
Hochman said his office has brought charges against 30 people in relation to the protests since they first erupted 10 days ago. Essayli said he’s brought about 20 cases, and both promised more prosecutions going forward.
In a separate alleged attack, Hochman said 23-year-old William Rubio threw fireworks at Los Angeles police officers responding to a dumpster that had been set on fire near First and Spring streets on June 8. When Rubio was arrested, police allegedly found 11 M-1000 fireworks in his backpack, which Hochman likened to a “quarter stick of dynamite.”
“These are lethal devices. Had any of these been thrown in a person’s direction, they could have killed or maimed that person,” Hochman said.
It was not immediately clear whether Rubio or Palermo had defense attorneys. Palermo is scheduled to be arraigned Tuesday afternoon, according to a district attorney’s office spokesperson. Records show Rubio will be arraigned downtown on July 1.
Charges were also filed against defendants accused of firing a laser pointer at a police helicopter, being in possession of a firearm when they were detained for a curfew violation and breaking into an Apple store downtown that was being overrun by “looters,” Hochman said.
Essayli announced one new case against a defendant who allegedly spit on a National Guard member and federal law enforcement officers during a confrontation outside a federal building.
“As our President said, ‘If you spit, we hit,’ and we will hit you with a felony,” Essayli said.
L.A.’s top federal prosecutor also went into more detail about charges filed last week against Alejandro Orellana, who was charged with conspiracy to commit civil disorder and aiding and abetting civil disorder for handing out protective face shields to protesters.
Essayli said the masks were meant to protect “violent agitators” from law enforcement crowd-control munitions, adding that a search of Orellana’s home turned up a a bag of rocks, metal BB gun pellets and a notebook of anti-police scribbling including a page that read “Blue Lives Matter. 187,” the California Penal Code section for murder.
Asked why providing defensive materials to demonstrators was a crime, Essayli scoffed at the idea that peaceful demonstrators would need protective equipment.
“He wasn’t handing masks out at the beach,” Essayli said. “He was handing them out in downtown L.A. to people who were dressed similarly to those committing violence. They were dressed in gear from top to bottom, they were covering their face, they were wearing backpacks. We’ve talked about what’s been in the backpacks. You’ve got fireworks. You’ve got rocks … There’s no legitimate reason why a peaceful protester needs a face shield.”
Orellana faces at least five years in federal prison if convicted.
Essayli also reiterated his promise to go after “organizers and funders” of what he termed “violence” at protests. He hinted that the person who paid for the masks Orellana distributed could also face criminal charges.
Although some of the recent protest cases brought by Essayli’s office have involved severe instances of violence against police — including cases where defendants are accused of hurling Molotov cocktails or concrete blocks at deputies and officers — others have left legal experts wondering if the devout Trump appointee is straining to criminalize protest against the administration’s policies.
Essayli maintained Tuesday that his office is only going after those responsible for causing unrest in recent days.
“These weren’t peaceful protesters,” he said of the people who received masks from Orellana. “They weren’t holding up signs expressing a political message. They were agitators.”
A man described by law enforcement as one of Southern California’s most prominent street racing influencers has been charged by Los Angeles County prosecutors with 16 counts of conspiracy for organizing a number of so-called “street takeovers.”
Erick Romero Quintana, 22, pleaded not guilty during a brief court appearance Thursday in downtown L.A. He faces at least a decade in prison after authorities charged him with running the Instagram account @privatemeetz, which blasted out the locations of 16 different takeover events across South L.A. to its more than 60,000 followers from December 2022 to November 2023, according to a criminal complaint filed last month.
At one of those events, a 24-year-old girl died after a spinning car careened into the crowd.
Street racing events have long proved to be a deadly part of Southern California’s broader car culture. A Times investigation found that at least 179 people were killed in street racing related incidents between 2000 and 2017. While people often think of street races as the quarter-mile one-on-one speed contests highlighted by the early installments in the “Fast & The Furious” film franchise, so-called “sideshows” or “takeovers” can often prove dangerous too.
At takeover events, racers and spectators rush to an intersection and block traffic, while motorists perform stunts in a small space with little room between the asphalt they’re skidding across and the audience itself. Drivers often perform “burnouts” or “doughnuts,” trying to see how many times they can spin their car in a circle, or compete to see who can skid to a stop closest to a fixed object without crashing into it.
The charges filed against Quintana represent a novel approach to target people involved in the racing scene who aren’t drivers. Sgt. Arnold Castellanos, a member of the LAPD’s Street Racing Task Force, said the first-of-its-kind prosecution is a necessary step.
“Street takeovers have evolved into so much more than just cars doing donuts. Over time ‘car clubs’ have formed, these car clubs ‘compete’ against each other to see who has the better drivers and can ‘bully’ other drivers out of the pit,” Castellanos said. “This has escalated tensions and has resulted in the car clubs acting like gangs.”
Quintana is due back in court in July. Each conspiracy count carries a minimum prison sentence of 16 months.
Los Angeles County Dist. Atty. Nathan Hochman said the charges against Quintana are the beginning of a broader effort to rein in street racers. Hochman noted that the takeovers can attract large and unruly crowds, which commit secondary crimes in the areas where they take place. He pointed to the large mob that smashed their way into a Compton bakery and robbed it after a takeover last year.
“People like Quintana are the ones bringing together the street racers and the spectators, they are as responsible and accountable for the crimes being committed as all the other participants in the conspiracy,” Hochman said.
Quintana’s attorney, Bart Kaspero, said he was “puzzled” by law enforcement’s approach to the case. While he didn’t dispute that Quintana was behind the account or that he posted locations of takeovers, he said his client didn’t attend the events or drive at any of them. He likened the prosecution to charging someone who handed out fliers to a party where a crime was committed.
“To target the guy who just announced where the meetings are, is a bit of overkill,” he said.
Kaspero described his client as a mere “car enthusiast” and rejected police and prosecutors’ depictions of street takeovers as havens of criminality, or the idea that his client should have known something bad would happen at the events he allegedly organized.
“I think it’s safe to say most people that are there are there for a spectacle,” Kaspero said.
Hochman said it would be impossible for Quintana to argue he didn’t know something dangerous might happen at a takeover event, considering he allegedly organized 15 additional takeovers after a woman died the Christmas Day event he posted locations for in Hyde Park.
Castellanos said Quintana’s account would post Instagram stories with “symbols or abbreviations which coincided with intersections allowing for all to respond in a flash mob fashion and overwhelm the location.” He said people like Quintana exploit the “carnage” that happens at takeover events to gain online clout, hoping they will gain enough of a following to monetize their accounts.
Castellanos said people who attend takeovers have a “Grand Theft Auto” mentality — invoking the popular video game franchise where players can turn pixelated versions of Los Angeles, Miami and New York into violent lawless playgrounds — “where individuals believe they are untouchable and do not fear law enforcement or the criminal justice system.”
On a recent morning inside San Quentin prison, Los Angeles County Dist. Atty. Nathan Hochman and more than a dozen other prosecutors crowded into a high-ceilinged meeting hall surrounded by killers, rapists and other serious offenders.
Name the crime, one of these guys has probably done it.
“It’s not every day that you’re in a room of 100 people, most of whom have committed murder, extremely violent crimes, and been convicted of it,” Hochman later said.
Many of these men, in their casual blue uniforms, were serving long sentences with little chance of getting out, like Marlon Arturo Melendez, an L.A. native who is now in for murder.
Melendez sat in a “sharing circle,” close enough to Hochman that their knees could touch, no bars between them. They chatted about the decrease in gang violence in the decades since Melendez was first incarcerated more than 20 years ago, and Melendez said he found Hochman “interesting.”
Inside San Quentin, this kind of interaction between inmates and guests isn’t unusual. For decades, the prison by the Bay has been doing incarceration differently, cobbling together a system that focuses on accountability and rehabilitation.
Like the other men in the room, Melendez takes responsibility for the harm he caused, and every day works to be a better man. When he introduces himself, he names his victims — an acknowledgment that what he did can’t be undone but also an acknowledgment that he doesn’t have to remain the same man who pulled the trigger.
Whether or not Melendez or any of these men ever walk free, what was once California’s most notorious lockup is now a place that offers them the chance to change and provides the most elusive of emotions for prisoners — hope.
Creating that culture is a theory and practice of imprisonment that Gov. Gavin Newsom wants to make the standard across the state.
He’s dubbed it the California Model, but as I’ve written about before, it’s common practice in other countries (and even in a few places in the United States). It’s based on a simple truth about incarceration: Most people who go into prison come out again. Public safety demands that they behave differently when they do.
“We are either paying to keep them here or we are paying if they come back out and harm somebody,” said Brooke Jenkins, the district attorney of San Francisco, who has visited San Quentin regularly for years.
Jenkins was the organizer of this unusual day that brought district attorneys from around the state inside of San Quentin to gain a better understanding of how the California Model works, and why even tough-on-crime district attorneys should support transforming our prisons.
As California does an about-face away from a decade of progressive criminal justice advances with new crackdowns such as those promised by the recently passed Proposition 36 (which is expected to increase the state inmate population), it is also continuing to move ahead with the controversial plan to remake prison culture, both for inmates and guards, by centering on rehabilitation over punishment.
Despite a tough economic year that is requiring the state to slash spending, Newsom has kept intact more than $200 million from the prior budget to revamp San Quentin so that its outdated facilities can support more than just locking up folks in cells.
Some of that construction, already happening on the grounds, is expected to be completed next year. It will make San Quentin the most visible example of the California Model. But changes in how inmates and guards interact and what rehabilitation opportunities are available are already underway at prisons across the state.
It is an overdue and profound transformation that has the potential to not only improve public safety and save money in the long run, but to fundamentally reshape what incarceration means across the country.
Jenkins’ push to help more prosecutors understand and value this metamorphosis might be crucial to helping the public support it as well — especially for those D.A.s whose constituents are just fine with a system that locks up men to suffer for their (often atrocious) crimes. Or even those Californians, such as many in San Francisco and Los Angeles, who are just fed up with the perception that California is soft on criminals.
“It’s not about moderate or progressive, but I think all of us that are moderates have to admit that there are reforms that still need to happen,” Jenkins told me as we walked through the prison yard. She took office after the successful recall of her progressive predecessor, Chesa Boudin, and a rightward shift in San Francisco on crime policy.
Still, she is vocal about the need for second chances. For her, prison reform is about more than the California Model, but a broader lens that includes the perspectives of incarcerated people, and their insights on what they need to make rehabilitation work.
“It really grounds you in your obligation to make sure that the culture in the [district attorney’s] office is fair,” she said.
For Hochman, a former federal prosecutor and defense lawyer who resoundingly ousted progressive George Gascón last year, rehabilitation makes sense. He likes to paraphrase a Fyodor Dostoevsky quote, “The degree of civilization in a society is revealed by entering its prisons.”
“In my perfect world, the education system, the family system, the community, would have done all this work on the front end such that these people wouldn’t have been in position to commit crimes in the first place,” he said. But when that fails, it’s up to the criminal justice system to help people fix themselves.
Despite being perceived as a tough-on-crime D.A. (he prefers “fair on crime”) he’s so committed to that goal of rehabilitation that he is determined to push for a new Men’s Central Jail in Los Angeles County — an expensive (billions) and unpopular idea that he says is long overdue but critical to public safety.
“Los Angeles County is absolutely failing because our prisons and jails are woefully inadequate,” he said.
He’s quick to add that rehabilitation isn’t for everyone. Some just aren’t ready for it. Some don’t care. The inmates of San Quentin agree with him. They are often fiercely vocal about who gets transferred to the prison, knowing that its success relies on having incarcerated people who want to change — one rogue inmate at San Quentin could ruin it for all of them.
“It has to be a choice. You have to understand that for yourself,” Oscar Acosta told me. Now 32, he’s a “CDC baby,” as he puts it — referring to the California Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation — and has been behind bars since he was 18. He credits San Quentin with helping him accept responsibility for his crimes and see a path forward.
When the California Model works, as the district attorneys saw, it’s obvious what its value is. Men who once were nothing but dangerous have the option to live different lives, with different values. Even if they remain incarcerated.
“After having been considered the worst of the worst, today I am a new man,” Melendez told me. “I hope (the district attorneys) were able to see real change in those who sat with them and be persuaded that rehabilitation over punishment is more fruitful and that justice seasoned with restoration is better for all.”
Melendez and the other incarcerated men at San Quentin aspire for us to see them as more than their worst actions. And they take heart that even prosecutors like Jenkins and Hochman, who put them behind bars, sometimes with triple-digit sentences, do see that the past does not always determine the future, and that investing in their change is an investment in safer communities.
When a Los Angeles County judge resentenced Erik and Lyle Menendez on Tuesday, he offered the brothers a path to freedom for the first time since they were given life in prison for killing their parents with shotguns in 1989.
The latest development makes Lyle, 57, and Erik, 54, eligible for parole — but that is just one of three avenues that could enable them to walk free after 35 years behind bars.
In the coming months, several different judges, parole commissioners and even Gov. Gavin Newsom could still have a hand in the brothers’ fate.
When could they get parole?
Tuesday’s decision by L.A. County Superior Court Judge Michael Jesic modifies the brothers’ original sentence to 50 years to life. Under the state’s youthful offender law, both are immediately eligible for parole because the shootings happened before they turned 26.
A parole hearing probably will be scheduled before the end of the year, according to lawyers working with the Menendez defense team. At the hearing, a panel of commissioners could deem the brothers suitable for parole, but that decision is not final on its own. A 90-day review period would follow, and Newsom could block their release.
Nothing had been scheduled as of Wednesday. At a parole hearing, the brothers will have to take accountability for their crimes and argue to commissioners that they are unlikely to re-offend. In statements delivered in court on Tuesday, they appeared contrite and emotional when revisiting the murders.
“My actions were criminal, selfish, cruel and cowardly,” Erik Menendez said Tuesday. “I have no excuse, no justification for what I did. … I take full responsibility for my crimes.”
Lyle also said he made “no excuses” for felling his mother and father with shotgun blasts, and apologized to the nearly two dozen relatives who have spent years fighting for his release.
“I’m so sorry to each and every one of you,” Lyle told the court Tuesday. “I lied to you and forced you into a spotlight of public humiliation you never asked for.”
How else could they be released?
Before the resentencing process began, Erik and Lyle’s attorneys also filed an application for clemency with Newsom. If the governor grants clemency, their sentence would be commuted immediately and they could walk right out of the Richard J. Donovan Correctional Facility in San Diego, where they’ve been housed for years.
A remote clemency hearing is scheduled for June 13, with the brothers set to appear virtually before the parole board. On that day, the board can make a recommendation to Newsom on their suitability for release — which could also forecast their fortunes at an eventual parole hearing.
The brothers also have a pending petition for a new trial. In the motion, defense attorney Mark Geragos pointed to additional evidence of sexual abuse committed by Jose Menendez, including a fresh allegation from a member of the boy band Menudo.
The brothers have long argued they carried out their crime for fear their parents would kill them to cover up years of sexual abuse committed by Jose.
What’s next for the district attorney?
Los Angeles County Dist. Atty. Nathan Hochman thrust himself into the center of the Menendez case even before he was elected, attacking his predecessor’s decision to seek to have the brothers resentenced last year despite having no access to files on the case.
Hochman asserted that former Dist. Atty. George Gascón filed the petition only to save his failing reelection bid and promised to review the case after he was inaugurated.
In March, Hochman formally announced his opposition to their resentencing, saying the brothers still had not shown proper “insight” into their crimes by atoning for lies they told about their motives in the case and attempts to get witnesses to give fabricated testimony at their original trials.
Despite Jesic repeatedly warning prosecutors that those arguments weren’t legally appropriate for a resentencing hearing, Hochman’s team barreled ahead, ultimately ending in the most high-profile loss of Hochman’s early tenure as district attorney.
Hochman said Wednesday he still considered his opposition to their resentencing a success because it presented to the judge, parole board and governor — all of whom would have a say in the brothers’ fate — a “full record of the facts.”
Hochman maintained that he did not believe the brothers should be released and said prosecutors will “participate” in any future parole hearings.
Hochman could also potentially appeal Jesic’s ruling. The district attorney’s office did not immediately respond to an inquiry about that approach.
Times staff writers Richard Winton and Matthew Ormseth contributed to this report.
The resentencing hearing for brothers Erik and Lyle Menendez kicked off Tuesday morning with emotional testimony from family members, one of whom testified in court that they should be freed from prison for the shotgun killing of their parents more than 30 years ago.
Annmaria Baralt, often wiping away her tears, testified that the relatives of victims Jose and Kitty Menendez want a judge to give the brothers a lesser sentence than life without parole for the 1989 murders inside their Beverly Hills mansion.
“Yes, we all on both sides of the family say 35 years is enough,” she told Los Angeles Superior Court Judge Michael Jesic in a Van Nuys courtroom. “They are universally forgiven by both sides of their families.”
Baralt, whose mother was Jose Menendez’s older sister, said the family had endured decades of pain from the scrutiny of the murders.
“From the day it happened… it has been a relentless examination of our family in the public eye,” she said, beginning to cry. “It has been torture for decades.” She said the family was the butt of repeated jokes on “Saturday Night Live” and lived like outcasts who wore a “scarlet M.”
The Menendez brothers have been in prison for more than 35 years after being sentenced to life without the possibility of parole in the gruesome 1989 murders. The brothers bought shotguns with cash and opened fire as their mother and father watched a movie. Jose Menendez was shot five times, including in the kneecaps and the back of the head. Kitty Menendez crawled on the floor, wounded, before one of the brothers reloaded and fired a fatal blast, jurors heard at their two trials.
On the stand Tuesday, Baralt echoed the brothers’ justification for killing their parents — saying it was out of fear their father was going to kill them to cover up his past sexual abuse of the boys.
She told the judge that she believes they have changed and are “very aware of the consequences of their actions.”
“I don’t think they are the same people they were 30 years ago,” she said.
If Jesic agrees to resentence them, the brothers would become eligible for parole under California’s youthful offender law, since the murders happened when they were under 26. If the judge sides with Los Angeles Dist. Atty. Nathan Hochman, they would still have a path to freedom through Gov. Gavin Newsom, who is weighing a clemency petition. Regardless, Erik and Lyle would still have to appear before the state parole board before they could walk free. Jesic on Tuesday emphasized that the bar to keep them from being resentenced is high, and that they would have to still pose a serious danger to the public.
Prosecutor Habib Balian spent the morning trying to punch holes in the brothers’ relatively clean reputations they’ve gotten behind bars.
Under cross-examination, Baralt admitted that she never thought her cousins were capable of killing their parents until they’d done it, and that prior to their criminal trial decades ago, Lyle Menendez had asked a witness to lie for him on the stand.
Nearly two dozen of the brothers’ relatives, including several who testified Tuesday, formed the Justice for Erik and Lyle Coalition to advocate for their release as interest in the case reignited in recent years. The release of a popular Netflix documentary on the murder, which included the unearthing of additional documentation of Jose Menendez’s alleged sexual abuse, helped fuel a motion for a new trial.
The family has become increasingly public in its fight for Erik and Lyle’s release after Hochman opposed his predecessor’s recommendation to re-sentence them. They have repeatedly accused Hochman of bias against the brothers, called for him to be disqualified from the case and alleged he intimidated and bullied them during a private meeting. Hochman has denied all accusations of bias and wrongdoing, and says he simply disagrees with their position.
Kitty Menendez’s brother, Milton, was the only member of the family opposed to Erik and Lyle’s release, but he died earlier this year. Kathy Cady, who served as his victims’ rights attorney, is now the head of Hochman’s Bureau of Victims’ Services, another point of aggravation for the relatives fighting for the brothers release.
