The nation's oldest Death Row inmate probably won't ever be executed. But he sure loves to write letters.
South Florida's lawless exotic rental car industry keeps rolling.
In Texas, restitution for victims is nothing but a state-sanctioned sham.
If you thought Seattle couldn't fetishize coffee any more, you haven't been to a "cupping" yet.
When he got home, Perryman crawled into bed with his wife and younger son, whom he had told to look out for his mother. They held each other all night long.
The day after the Perrymans laid their oldest son to rest, Mike went to Townview. In honor of his son, the students had draped gray ribbon throughout the halls and decorated Colt's locker with purple hearts inscribed with the words joyful, peaceful, and happiness. Principal Frank Michael Satarino asked Perryman to stop by because he had something he wanted to give him. It was a form that Perryman needed to complete and sign. He wasn't ready to look at paperwork and put the form in an envelope.
Before he left, he asked Satarino if there was going to be an investigation into his son's death. The principal didn't think so. He told Perryman that he had talked to the teachers on the trip and that he was satisfied all proper procedures had been followed.
A week later, Perryman opened the envelope. Inside was an insurance claim form entitling the Perrymans to $10,000. Lee Bloomfield, the trip faculty sponsor, had signed the form certifying that Colt's accident was sustained while participating in official activities under adequate supervision.
Perryman refused to sign it. He was suspicious about exactly what happened on top of that mountain. He couldn't believe his son, with his fear of heights, climbed on his own volition. No one had told the parents that their children would be involved in anything remotely dangerous. No one mentioned anything about a 30-foot, almost vertical rock climb.
Newspapers were reporting about the accident. The district, relying on information provided by Bloomfield, claimed that the students had more than adequate supervision during all their activities. On their hikes, there were adults in front and in back of groups of five students, Bloomfield was quoted as saying. A spokesman also told The Dallas Morning News that all district policies and procedures had been followed.
Perryman asked for a copy of the district's field-trip policy and was shocked at what he found -- an anemic page and a half of guidelines that dealt with transportation requirements and the chain of command for approving field trips, but nothing about safety requirements.
Perryman was now more determined than ever to find out exactly what happened to his son. Before he left Big Bend, he had asked the rangers to conduct an accident investigation. A few weeks after Colt died, the rangers gave him sobering news.
About 25 students and only one adult hiked all the way up to Emory Peak. The kids had been encouraged to walk at their own speed, so they were spread out along the trail. Many of the students had climbed the peak on their own. Perhaps the most damning evidence of the lack of supervision on the trip: Three hours had passed since Colt was last seen before anyone realized he was missing.
Perryman was anxious to get some answers of his own. He called some of the students on the trip. One girl told him that she was scared on the peak and needed help climbing down. She said that Colt had not wanted to make the final assault on Emory Peak but was encouraged to do so by Steve Jean, the parent in charge of his group and the only adult who climbed the peak. Perryman called Steve Jean, but he said he would talk only if Perryman promised not to sue him. He added that he did nothing wrong and had nothing to hide. Perryman asked a teacher to have Bloomfield call him, but he never did.
The ranger report was completed in March 1998. It contradicted the district's public assurances that the students had been adequately supervised. Perryman took a copy to acting Superintendent James Hughey and director of employee relations Robbie Collins and demanded that the district conduct its own investigation. Collins promised Perryman that the district's investigative team would get to the truth.
Above all, Perryman wanted to know why the district had no policies or procedures regarding the proper supervision of students on field trips. The investigation took the rest of the year and was not concluded until the summer. It pieced together a fairly detailed and alarming account of Colt's death.
Saturday, January 17, 1998, was to be the most grueling day of the Big Bend trip. Thirty-nine students and five adults opted to hike the Laguna Meadow Trail, a 14-mile loop that culminated with the assault on Emory Peak. The other 12 students and three parents chose to accompany teacher Marsha Evans on the Lost Mine Trail, a shorter and less rigorous hike.
The group headed to Emory Peak awoke early and reached the Chisos Basin by 7:30 a.m. to begin the hike. One of the students got sick and a parent accompanied her back to camp. Bloomfield encouraged them to walk at their own speed, and the group quickly spread out. Thin and long-legged, Colt was in one of the fastest groups and made it to South Rim, where the group was meeting for lunch, before the others. Bloomfield talked to Colt during lunch, and he seemed to be in good spirits.