Obsession (56 page)

In fact, when a friend and dorm mate of Gideon’s first victim learned that Stephanie was missing and that Don was being sought, she told a reporter, “I knew that girl wasn’t going to be found alive. This time,” she explained, Gideon “wasn’t going to leave [any] witnesses.”

We know what Dr. Samenow thinks about rehabilitation. There is an equally interesting perspective from Fairfax County, Virginia, chief of police M. Douglas Scott, a man responsible not only for protecting the public’s safety, but also for allocating the increasingly limited budgets which that public grants him.

“Over the course of my law enforcement career, I have seen very, very few examples where somebody could point out an offender to me and say, ‘That person’s clearly been rehabilitated; that even though they committed a serious felony, they’re back out there leading a productive life today.’

“The public in general sees the good in all people and thinks that most people are capable of being good. The public even wants to believe that evil people can be rehabilitated or brought back into society with some level of assistance. But I think our society would go broke trying to rehabilitate the number of evil individuals that are out there on our streets today.”

Let me put it another way. If you’re one of those corrections or parole or good-hearted-in-general types who states that it is impossible to completely predict future violent behavior but wants to give these guys a second chance, to parole them into the community once they’ve served the requisite amount of “good time,” I say this:

What is your acceptable failure rate?

Let’s take a sample of one hundred offenders and
let’s let Don Gideon define that sample: men in their early thirties who have raped at knifepoint, threatening to kill their victim if she resisted, who then let her go, were identified, tried, convicted, and sent to prison. We’ll forget about bad family backgrounds and other trouble with the law for the sake of this example.

Okay, now, if we parole each of these hundred men after having served half his sentence, what is your acceptable failure rate for this experiment in rehabilitation? In other words, how many of them can rape and murder innocent young women like Stephanie Schmidt before we call the experiment a failure?

Is two an acceptable failure rate? How about three? Five? More, maybe? Stated in these terms, I have yet to encounter anyone who will agree that the loss of even one life—one Stephanie Schmidt and all the joy and goodness that Don Gideon took out of the world when he killed her—is acceptable.

As David Beatty of the National Victim Center says, “We can all quote by heart since we were children that ‘I’d rather see a hundred guilty men go free than one innocent man convicted.’ And of course we all agree with that. But what about the at least hundred victims of these men? What about their innocence? Is anyone concerned about them? I was on a National Public Radio debate with someone who works with violent sexual offenders and he was talking about his fabulous success in treating them. He said sometimes the recidivism rates are as low as twenty percent! I said, ‘Let me ask you a question. Do you have children?’ He said, ‘Yes, I do.’

“I said, ‘Would you be willing to bet your child’s life that you are right with any of the clients that you work with, and if you’re wrong, your child is going to die or be sexually assaulted? Are you willing to take that risk?’

“He said, ‘Well, that’s not a fair question because
I couldn’t function objectively under those circumstances.’ And I said, ‘Every time you let someone out, you’re betting somebody else’s child. And that ought to be the standard we think about.’”

These predators aren’t going to stop on their own. As Stanton Samenow, Park Dietz, and many others can tell you, they don’t choose to, they don’t care to, they have no normal conscience or feeling.

I just want to mention one item in our discussion of rehabilitation and its attendant question of remorse, and that is a letter Gideon wrote from prison to Jim Adler in response to his request that Gideon agree to a deposition in the civil suit. He refused, saying the Schmidt family was of no concern to him and suggested that they “let it go.” Later, he said he felt in no way obligated to them.

The only thing that need be added about this letter is that it is punctuated with little hand-drawn smiley faces after a number of the exclamation points.

If we’re going to let some of these guys back into society, as Don Gideon was let back after his first violent attack on a woman, don’t we at least have a right to know about it?

Is it additional punishment to inform a community of a sexual offender now living in their midst? Is it an intrusion on his civil rights, his ability to make a fresh start after he’s “paid his debt to society?” Well, first of all, anyone who willfully kills another human being can never fully pay his debt to society, and if he is ever let out on the street again, he is already way ahead of the game. But again we can turn to David Beatty for some perspective:

“We balance constitutional rights every day. The truth of the matter is, convicted offenders do not have the same rights as every other citizen. They can’t vote; they have all kinds of limitations on their rights. And guess what? They chose. Unlike all the civil liberties
that were taken away from their victims, the most heinous invasion of their privacy is to let other people know about them. And as for anyone who argues against things like public notification, what they’re really arguing against is the principle of keeping criminal justice records. I’ve actually heard so-called civil liberties attorneys say, ‘We ought to forgive and forget.’

“I nailed one of these guys in a debate. I said, ‘Your position is that public records should be public and that access to government information is one of the most important protections against the evils of society.’ Anyone can go down and get the criminal justice records. What this guy was complaining about was that by informing communities about sexual predators living there that we’re doing too good a job of effectuating the principles that underlie the open-records laws.”

In other words, this is information that the public already legally has a right to; just don’t tell them about it.

“I tell people in the speeches I give all the time that Gene and Peggy Schmidt are heroes,” says Carla Stovall. “They were absolutely a catalyst and the impetus for this law. A bill like this was introduced in the Kansas legislature prior to Stephanie’s death. It didn’t go anyplace, didn’t even get out of committee. It was Gene’s and Peggy’s advocacy and the message of Stephanie—that is the reason this law was passed. They made a difference. Two people who were not rich or powerful or famous, who weren’t elected officials, they were ordinary people who went to the legislature with a message. And the legislature responded. Our law was patterned after the State of Washington’s. And I hope that the court’s decision in upholding this will let other states take the courageous step
of enacting this law now. It doesn’t need courage now like it did for Kansas, but to enact this law now before any other tragedy happens—that demands a law and a response like this.”

And it is only one of the many principles that have become the central focus of Gene and Peggy Schmidt’s life. They should never have been placed into the situation of having to become heroes or fighters, but they have, without becoming bitter, without becoming strident, by still being simply the decent people they always were.

Stephanie is still very much part of a great many lives, and what they all say they miss is the unique sound of her laughter. Shannon Marsh, one of her best friends, says that Stephanie left a legacy of “years and years of great memories and a way to laugh at yourself and to laugh at some of your situations when things get too tough. I think of her every day.”

Kelli Farha reminisces, “She would laugh so hard that her curly hair would stand up on its ends.”

Darron Farha and the former Kelli Gariglietti are married to each other because of Stephanie, who knew Darron in high school, and like her, he decided to go to Pittsburg State. Kelli was from Pittsburg, and that was where Stephanie introduced them.

Their union is one of Stephanie’s legacies, and they lit a candle for her at their wedding. “Even though she died, she’s still working her goodness,” Kelli comments.

Jeni is determined to make sure those people important to her know the kind of person Stephanie was. “If I ever have children,” she says, “I think from the very beginning I would introduce them to who she is: pictures, sharing experiences, try and make her a part of their lives as if she were here. She’s part of my life, and I think whether it’s a child or a husband or whomever who comes in contact with me, they’re
going to know Stephanie through me; I’m not going to let that go. I want to live what she could not.

“It’s kind of ironic that when she moved away to college, I felt that we became even closer, and now that she is far removed, I feel as if we are closer still. At the same time, I miss her physical presence and advice. And even though I grow older and she doesn’t, she was my older sister and I will always feel an older-sisterly power about it. Even when she was alive, we knew each other in a spiritual sense, so I don’t see why that would change. She’ll definitely grow with me.”

Gene and Peggy admit that while the love is still apparent, despite their best intentions there is less laughter. They still go through difficult times; some weeks are harder than others. It distresses them when other people just don’t understand. They were saddened recently when a longtime friend couldn’t empathize enough to comprehend why they couldn’t handle going to his daughter’s wedding. Ever since Stephanie died and a world of future possibilities was stolen from them, they have found weddings—particularly those of bright and beautiful and vivacious young women—exceedingly difficult.

They devote themselves nearly full-time to the foundation and Speak Out for Stephanie. “Why speak out?” they ask rhetorically. Because silence can kill.

The work of the Stephanie Schmidt Foundation goes on, and more and more campus chapters of Speak Out for Stephanie are being established. Peggy and Gene maintain an active speaking schedule on the critical issues of parole, notification, and the nature of sexual predators and have become prominent advocates in the national victims’ rights movement. They publish a newsletter called
Speak Out
, and continue lobbying for a victims’ rights amendment to the Constitution.

Employing Gene’s experience with school photography and marketing, the Schmidt Foundation started out by developing a photo ID program for grades kindergarten through twelve. When it became clear that other organizations could serve this function, they shifted their focus to other programs. This is typical of the way they work. They look for voids and try to fill them.

If there is one word that summarizes all of the foundation’s work, it would be
awareness
. Through programs they have developed for middle schools and the campus chapters of Speak Out for Stephanie, the Schmidts teach, preach, and, if necessary, screech the need for awareness. They teach college students to be able to extend their own reach, working with elementary and middle-school students. We’ll concentrate on some of their suggestions in the next chapter.

On the college level, a particular focus lately has been awareness of Rohypnol, the so-called “date rape” drug. But overall, what they are working toward on college campuses is establishing both a sense of responsibility and a sense of community in which everyone looks out for everyone else. The first S.O.S. chapter was established at Pittsburg State, and Gene and Peggy are actively working to establish chapters throughout the United States.

As we were completing this chapter, the Schmidts’ dog, Sandi, died at age fifteen. She was one of the last pure, innocent reminders of the wonderful way things used to be for them.

The fight continues. On the very day of the Schmidts’ Supreme Celebration, an article appeared on the front page of the
Indianapolis Star
of a man who had a nine-year criminal record, including stabbing, escape history, and drug trafficking in prison. While he was awaiting trial on another charge, the
judge released him from the county jail on his own recognizance. Nine days later, he molested and murdered a thirteen-year-old girl, stabbing her seventy-six times with the same knife he had used in an earlier assault. The judge stated he had no idea about this man’s violent past. “This guy slipped through,” he lamented.

How much more of this are we going to accept and tolerate? How many more Stephanie Schmidts have to die?

Tax-deductible contributions to the Stephanie Schmidt Foundation may be sent to P.O. Box 7829, Overland Park, Kansas 66207. To get more information, or to start a Speak Out for Stephanie chapter, the phone number for the Fax and Message Center is (913) 345-0362.

H
ans Hageman is one of those guys who seem to have everything going for them. Despite the sound of his name, he is dark with compelling good looks, a shaved head, and compact, muscular build, all this the legacy of his Midwestern white father and Puerto Rican mother, both of whom were missionaries. He is articulate, funny, impassioned. He went to tony Collegiate Prep, then Princeton University and Columbia Law School. Along the way he squeezed in an ROTC commission and married an equally intelligent, attractive, and charming wife. He joined a prestigious New York firm and specialized in corporate law, then went to Washington and worked on Capitol Hill for a while as counsel to a Senate subcommittee, where he made all the right connections. He came back to New York and became a narcotics prosecutor. With the combination of his intellect, experience, powerful charm, and social grace, he was courted by big Wall Street and Washington law firms, where he would become a major partner and power broker with a seven-figure annual salary.

But none of this is why we’re writing about Hans Hageman. We’re writing about him because of his particular
obsession—an obsession to do good and make a difference. Because, you see, Hans walked away from the fancy firm, the fancy office, and the fancy income, and with his Harvard-educated brother, Ivan, established a private school on 103rd Street between First and Second Avenues, which he called the East Harlem School at Exodus House. Exodus House, the building in which the school was established, had been a residential drug treatment center founded by the Reverend Mr. and Mrs. Hageman. It was where Hans, Ivan, and their sister grew up. Hans is executive director and Ivan is principal. The assistant principal is Inge Hanson.