Diana Harrington thought she''d lived through the worst nightmare of her life by the time a jury convicted the man who killed four members of her Evansville family. ....
By MAUREEN HAYDEN Courier & Press staff
October 16,
Diana Harrington thought she'd lived through the worst nightmare of her life by the time a jury convicted the man who killed four members of her Evansville family.
For nearly three years, the young wife and mother had suffered privately with grief and rage while stoically enduring the glare of publicity surrounding the execution-style murders of her sister, brother-in-law and their two small children. The trial had been delayed by their killer's fabricated claims of craziness, but Harrington was sure by late October 1982 - more than 33 months after the deaths of Theresa, Patrick, Lisa and Gregory Gilligan - the ordeal was finally over when convicted murderer Donald Ray Wallace Jr. was sentenced to death.
"But it wasn't over,' she recalls almost 23 years later. "It was just the beginning." The beginning, says the Evansville native, of years of victimization by a manipulative murderer and by a flawed legal system that she believes elevates the rights of criminal defendants far above those of their victims. By the time Wallace was finally executed in March, 23 years after he was sentenced to Indiana's death row, Harrington had more than enough. Weeks after his execution, she wrote the first of a series of letters to elected and appointed officials across the nation, demanding change.
Among the discrepancies she pointed out was the state of Indiana's expenditure of an estimated $2 million on Wallace's legal bills, care and feeding. She'd compared it to an invitation she got from Indiana's governor to come to the Michigan City prison, at her own expense, to sit in a windowless room, while Wallace's hand-picked witnesses viewed his execution. Harrington, who prided herself on an unfailingly polite public persona, had snapped back: "Isn't that like being invited to the Super Bowl and then being told you have to watch it from the convenience store down the street?"
Mostly, Harrington says, she got a lot of letters from buck-passing politicians in reply. But she was undeterred. The mother of two grown sons - both born after their relatives were slain - began to claim a new role. With support from her sons, Sean and Ryan, and her husband, Ted, she cast off the mantle of victim to claim the role of a victims' rights advocate. She didn't exactly intend to do it that way. But one of her first post-execution letters reached the head of the National Organization for Victims' Assistance, and that letter became a rallying cry for victims' rights advocates lobbying Congress this summer to keep the Bush administration from emptying the coffers of the federal Victims Crime Fund. In writing it, Harrington - who is ineligible for fund assistance because her family was slain before the program was established - recalled her surprise at finding out the state of Indiana required mandatory counseling for the prison guards who took part in Wallace's execution, but had no funds to pay for a psychiatrist to help her cope with her recurring nightmares.
She recounted how it took nearly three years to settle the Gilligan family's estate, leaving her and her parents with significant debt for their funeral expenses; and she told of how the Gilligans' home, where the gruesome murders had occurred, sat on the market for two years before it finally sold at a significant loss. "I do not understand a system that gives immediate counseling, reimbursement for loss of work, and financial support to prison guards after executions and nothing for the actual victims of crimes," wrote Harrington. "I also do not understand a system that spends millions on a criminal and then would even think of discontinuing a program for the assistance of the victim." The letter brought Harrington's story to a national audience. In August, she was quoted in a nationally distributed Associated Press story on pending federal legislation that would curtail the appeals rights of convicted killers. Next month, the national Crime Victims Report, a scholarly journal, will publish her article on a victim's perspective of death row.
This summer, she wrote a book now in the hands of several publishers. It's called "Surviving the Death Penalty."
Among those who hope to see it published soon are Anne Seymour, co-founder of the National Center for Victims of Crime, and now a consultant with the nonprofit Justice Solutions training center in Washington, D.C. "Diana has a powerful voice,' said Seymour. "She's been to a dark and terrible place and she's survived it ... You can't help but listen to her." Seymour said Harrington's candor about her own struggle to cope in the aftermath of her family's murders offers an understanding and empathy to others going through the same terrible kind of unimaginable tragedy. Harrington spares little criticism of the justice system in her book, which she made available to the Evansville Courier & Press. She's tough on judges, defense lawyers, the media, politicians and the prison system. She recounts in detail the murders, the investigation, the trial and 23 years of legal appeals that delayed Wallace's execution
But she's most revealing about the toll the ordeal took on her, her parents, her marriage, her emotional and physical health and on the Evansville community.
Harrington says the city suffered, too, with every delay in the execution and was traumatized again in March, when the punishment was finally carried out. She writes about a series of letters she exchanged with Wallace, including one he sent her in which he confesses to the killing and adds this line:
"I believe that I deserve to be executed and hope my death will bring peace and healing to all of you whom I have hurt." That letter arrived in 1994. Wallace would continue to publicly proclaim his innocence and fight his execution for more than a decade after. Harrington also writes of what kept her strong through the years. It's a story she shared recently with Dianne Litkenhus of Dale, Ind., whose 15-year-old niece, Stacy Payne, was murdered four years ago.
Payne was killed in her own home allegedly by a repeat sex offender who'd gotten the Spencer County teen to open the door to her home by telling her a story about his lost dog. Her alleged killer, Roy Lee Ward, was sentenced to death, but his conviction and penalty were overturned last year by the Indiana Supreme Court. The court found pretrial publicity had tainted the jury's decision. Now Payne's family faces the ordeal of a second trial. Litkenhus told Harrington she worried how the family would survive it. Harrington urged Litkenhus to keep Stacy foremost in their minds and ever-present in their hearts.
Harrington had vowed to do the same the day after her family's murders when she says the spirit of her dead sister came to speak to her. Harrington was awakened by noises in her living room, and when she went in to investigate, this is what she found: "Pat was sitting in a chair with Theresa on the side. Lisa and Greg were playing and waving at me. They were all smiling such big happy smiles. Theresa spoke, 'It was horrible, but it's over and we are all together. We are happy. Take care of Mom and Dad.' She and Pat smiled and as quickly as they were there, they were gone."
Harrington found the strength and comfort in that moment to get her through the next 25 years and says it will keep her going in what she calls the "next chapter" of her life as she sets out to reclaim the rights of victims. "I don't know what it will take to make the government hear me," Harrington says. "But I will speak out loud every chance I get."
Read an excerpt from Harrington's book...
Author, Diana Harrington,
PRELUDE....Wednesday, March 9, 2005
It was 11:30AM as we slowly drove down the narrow winding road at St. Joseph’s Cemetery in Evansville, Indiana. I thought to myself how much the cemetery had grown and how many monuments were new to this section. The stones recorded history going back several hundred years and yet there were monuments with dates as recent as 2005. A sadness prevailed, as I’m sure it had for countless others, when looking to the nearly full hillside.
We stopped the car at the familiar site and I opened the door. I took a deep breath as I had each time I visited. It was as overwhelming at that moment as it had been 25 years ago. The pain was as fresh as it had been on January 14th, 1980. My heart once again was beating fast and my body was beginning to tremble.
We walked under the large oak tree that had grown tall, full and stately in the many years since I first came here. I approached the third row, third marker from the left with the same sense of loss as I had every previous time.
There was a large double monument inscribed,
DOROTHY JAMES SAHM....OCTOBER 26, 1920 - AUGUST 1, 1999
&
LAWRENCE A SAHM....MAY 1, 1920 - JANUARY 14, 1989
My Dad and Mom. I missed them and anguished over how much they had suffered after that fateful day in January, 1980.
Would today be the end that had started with one insane moment? That brief instant in time that had changed their lives, my life and the lives of so many. It was too late for them but would it be the end to my suffering?
My parents were not vengeful people but had waited so long for justice and an end to so many years of living each day with the pain of this tragedy. Not that there would have ever been closure for them but they died without an apology or seeing any remorse from the criminal that had changed their world.
I had watched how my Dad went from a vivacious active man, full of life, love and humor to a lonely sad man that died exactly nine years, to the day, of the crime that claimed his eldest daughter. He had been ill for some months leading up to the 14th of January in 1989. I believe he simply allowed himself to die on that ninth anniversary when so much of his life and those he loved were destroyed. He had never been able to reconcile himself to the loss and began the slow descent leading to this day when his heart could no longer accept the emptiness of loss. Some thought it ironic, bizarre or miraculous, depending on who you spoke with, that Dad passed away on that exact anniversary date. I think it was what he wanted most. I think he finally found the peace he deserved.
I also watched my Mom, a wonderful lady with such drive, ambition, energy and kindness become one of the strongest women I had ever met. She looked to God and never lost faith. Holding her head high for years, while inside, I knew she had pain so unbearable that she uttered the word "Why ?" on her deathbed and " Not yet ! " I knew what she was asking but I did not have the answers that might bring her peace nor was I able to give strength to a heart that had suffered too much.
They were victims of a crime. If you look at their death certificates you will find that they died of natural causes. That they died of broken hearts speaks to the real truth of their deaths.
I said a quiet prayer and told them I loved them dearly.
I moved just a step away, to the right from their gravesite to a larger monument. The silk flowers were looking quite ragged from the long winter and there were several cards neatly laid along the side of the monument.
The name GILLIGAN was inscribed along the top portion with lovely engraved cascading flowers and vines on each of the sloping sides. The name had been chiseled across the entire length of the monument. Large and bold, suggesting a special memorial to someone equally special.
Under the name GILLIGAN was an engraved circle in the shape of a plate with deep-set rims. There were two delicate doves in the middle, detailed and drawn together as one. The artistry was compelling and drew you to the image. On the bottom rim of the circle were two intertwined wedding rings and at the top of the circle was chiseled in lovely script lettering, "WE ARE ONE LOVE FOREVER". When I read the inscription it had such deep meaning and spoke the greatest truth of those resting beneath the shadow of the stone. I remembered the first time I saw this plate and knew later it was the perfect eulogy for the monument.
Under the circle, to the left read:
Gregory P.
Sept. 25, 1975
Jan. 14, 1980
To the right was:
G. Patrick
Apr. 10, 1949
Jan. 14, 1980
Next was:
Theresa Sahm
Oct. 5, 1949
Jan. 14, 1980
And at the end was:
Lisa Lynne
May 6, 1974
Jan 14, 1980
My family…. My sister, brother-in-law, niece and nephew.
Words still could not explain the feelings, the depth of loss, the pain of remembering, even after all these years.
I thought, what a long time it had been. However, even today, I can close my eyes and feel as if the clock had been turned back 25 years. The sadness, the emptiness in my heart and the agony had always been there, the same over all these years. Would today be different?
This evening, or actually at 12:01am, March 10, 2005, a drug infused execution was to take place in Michigan City, Indiana. It would end the life of Donald Ray Wallace Jr., the person who had brutally murdered four innocent people. Wallace had tied all four with a cord, tortured them, beat my brother-in-law with barbells and fired six fatal shots to their heads execution style at close range They were my thirty year old sister and brother-in-law, Theresa and Pat, my niece Lisa , five years old and my four year old nephew, Greg.
I shook my head in disbelief. After years of denial, he now claimed "It happened in an instant. A brief moment of insanity," I wondered...how could anyone have committed such a senseless and callous murder...not once...but four times?”
He had brought his own gun with him to ensure the success of his crime. He purposely, and with careful thought, willfully decided in that moment to execute these people in an effort to escape the consequences of a burglary. The community and I came to see him as a compulsive liar, a diagnosed sociopath and a mass murderer.
He had claimed his innocence to this crime. He had blamed accomplices and never took responsibility for his actions. However, I knew for over twelve years that he had been the only killer. He had confessed in letters to me the real chain of events leading to the last moments of what happened that night. Yes, he had confessed the entire crime to me while denying to the world his involvement.
As I stood at my family's graves, I felt a renewed anger that the week before his scheduled execution, he made a pubic confession. Why had he waited 25 years? Would tonight's execution quench this new anger?
Was it worth killing still another person? I had already been told I would not and could not make this stop. Why would I expect my words to make any difference today? Over the entire 25 years, my voice was deaf to everyone's ears.
My mission was to make everyone remember the crime, the victims and the brutality of the crime but Wallace was always in the forefront. The protests, hostage taking, hunger strikes, trial, appeals, feigning insanity..... it never stopped.
No matter how much I tried to convince people that it wasn't the criminal that should be heard but the victims, no one took action. Wallace still got his way. He manipulated and orchestrated the system from Death Row and used it to his advantage at every opportunity. I wanted him to just go away.
Maybe I would have thought differently today had it not been such a rebellious 25 years or if I did not have to deal with him. Did I really hate him so much to want him dead? I had always said it was what he did and the situation I hated and not Donald Ray Wallace Jr. Was that true?
It had been such a long time and the journey had been an unbelievable nightmare of highs and lows. The highs too shallow and the lows a frightening depth to climb above. In this cold brisk March wind, I distinctly remembered all the strange and incredible paths my life had taken. Would that stop tonight or would there be a continuance to this past?
All I knew was I was in the right place right now….with those I had loved and those that had loved me.
I was in Evansville, Indiana, not Michigan City, as Donald Wallace approached his end. I too, was ending a chapter in my life. I was with all the people that had stood by my family and me for 25 years. Tonight we would be gathered at Saint Theresa's Church for a prayer vigil, for the entire city, to remember the lives of my sister and her family. Tonight was for everyone who had suffered from this crime. We would pray for strength, guidance and support. We would start the healing process and maybe, for some, find an end to a long ordeal.
This was not a night of prayers for Donald Wallace Jr.. Tonight was a night to remember the victims and their lives. I had no answers nor was I sure that tomorrow would hold any answers. But right here, right now, I was in the right place.
Chapter 1.........1980
I always adored and admired Theresa, my only sister. Theresa was older than me by two years, an outgoing and social individual. She had been a member of the drama, business and pep clubs and Catholic Students Mission Crusade in high school. She won several awards at Evansville College for her piano concerts. She pursued her piano studies throughout her high school years and continued them even after graduation. She had a talent and a gift that she willingly shared with family and friends.
We were extremely close and, even though we had the normal sibling rivalries between us, she was always there for me. Sometimes she
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What Jeannie and Kevin McDonough saw was a wanted, multi-state serial killer about to take his next victim - their own daughter. W
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