Carrollton Leader > News
Wrongfully-convicted prisoner relocates to Carrollton
Matt Nachtrieb / Staff Photo. In his first apartment in Carrollton, Charles Chatman displays a photograph of his mother and stepfather.
Chatman was let free in January after a DNA test proved that he wasnt guilty of rape. His nearly 27 years in prison have left him confused with the new surroundings Chatman gets gas at the same Chevron each week because he doesn’t know how to work the pumps. Chatman has also become a regular at a Carrollton Starbucks, where his usual French vanilla cappucino is a nice departure from life in prison, he said. This photo is available at
www.scntx.com.
By SARAH BLASKOVICH, Community Editor
Published: Tuesday, February 26, 2008 10:48 PM CST
Charles Chatman can still remember that day in 1981, standing in a lineup at the Dallas County Jail when he was 20 years old. A woman on the other side of the screen looked vaguely familiar to him a neighbor maybe, Chatman remembered. But he wasn’t worried.
Then, through the screen, the woman zeroed in on Chatman. He was the man who broke into her home, raped her and left, she said.
Chatman’s mind went blank. He didn’t even know her name, he said.
Not long after, Chatman was sentenced to 99 years in the state penitentiary for aggravated sexual assault, a crime he said he didn’t commit.
It took 27 years of jail time all the while professing his innocence until Chatman’s judgment day came. A DNA test on Jan. 3, 2008, proved Chatman didn’t rape his Oak Cliff neighbor nearly 30 years ago. Chatman, the 15th wrongfully convicted prisoner in Dallas County since 2001, was free.
He was cleared Tuesday, but his lawyer, Michelle Moore, is still pushing to get his record erased.
“We still need to get everything cleared for Charles so nobody can ever look at a computer and see he’d been charged with this crime,” she said. Though he was declared innocent, his record still shows he was imprisoned for nearly 27 years.
On Friday, the soft spoken man ambled out of his new north Carrollton apartment, the place he has decided to call home after years in prison. Carrollton, he said, is safe.
“I won’t go to Dallas unless it’s an extreme emergency,” Chatman said. “I feel a lot more comfortable here in the Carrollton area. The people here are wonderful.”
His apartment is dim and cozy, not a pillow out of place. The lights aren’t on that’s the way he likes it.
In his jail cell at the Coffield and Michael state prison units near Palestine, Texas, Chatman was frozen in time. Credit cards became a new form of paper money. The Internet craze began. Chatman remained in his cell for almost three decades, nearly oblivious to it all.
Now in his brand new place, his plush tan leather couches are surrounded with the latest gadgets all which Chatman said he still can’t figure out.
Chatman forgets that his Razr cell phone is attached to his belt. And to answer a call, he often hangs up while trying to press the “talk” button. He uses his computer to play chess but is afraid to venture into cyberspace.
“It’s really been overwhelming for me, at times,” he said.
The new furniture, laptop and other housewares were gifts from his niece and nephew “welcome home” gifts that seem long overdue. The apartment is the first place Chatman has lived alone. And the new 2008 black truck parked out back is the 47-year-old’s first vehicle.
But nearly 30 years of suffering has left Chatman quiet and reserved. His constant faith carried him through years of false hopes and failed DNA testing. When Chatman was taken to jail when he was 20 years old, he thought he’d be out in a year, he said.
“I trusted the system, but the system let me down,” he said. “But, I trusted God also, and in that trust, I was able to do 27 years. But, I had to do them one at a time. I had to let God work on his time.”
Dumped’ back into society
Chatman’s release from the state penitentiary was a blur of relief, he said.
Dallas County judge John Creuzot, the man who followed Chatman’s case since 2001 and pushed for his DNA to be tested one last time, delivered the news.
“I was shocked, of course,” said Creuzot, who said the results came about a month earlier than he expected. “(Chatman) didn’t know what to say or what to do.”
After Chatman was free, he felt lost, Chatman said. He’d spent more than half his life in prison. He grew accustomed to the hostile guards and didn’t know life outside the cell, he said.
Chatman’s family carried him through most of the tough times, he said. After his release, Chatman stayed with his 43-year-old nephew Larry the relative who came to see him once a month throughout most of his time in prison. On Jan. 18, Chatman moved into his Carrollton apartment.
Still, the rehabilitation process has been slow, Chatman said.
“When you get out like I did, we are just virtually dumped back into society,” he said.
He cited halfway houses, job opportunities and transportation available for prisoners out on parole. But, none of those options were available to Chatman, he said.
“Really, I am not a parolee,” he said. “Had it not been for the family support I had, I’d probably be like some of those other guys. Some end right back up in the penitentiary.”
Chatman has been offered $50,000 per year for the 27 years he was imprisoned, as compensation for his incorrect verdict. The money comes with a promise not to sue Dallas County. However, he is “leaning toward” filing a lawsuit instead, he said.
“I’m trying to absolve all this,” he said. “I’m angry at the judicial system.”
Free and clear
At Chatman’s court appearance Tuesday, the room was a sea of laughter. His family members filled the pews, snapping photos and bragging about Chatman.
“It’s nice to hear laughter in this place,” Creuzot said of the usually-somber courtroom.
When the judge delivered Chatman’s innocent verdict by signing the docket stating that Chatman was free and clear, a hush came over the room. Then, a murmur of Amens.
“That’s the biggest smile I’ve seen you let out so far,” Creuzot said to Chatman.
Even Chatman’s dentist who performed several surgeries and filled in the four-tooth gap at the front of Chatman’s mouth was in attendance.
Chatman hugged Creuzot, Moore and anyone else nearby. It was official: He was free.
What’s next
Chatman’s innocence proves that the man who actually committed the crime in 1981 may still be at large, Creuzot said.
However, the judge said current technology would make it virtually impossible to find the real perpetrator. The DNA test that Chatman used to prove his innocence used almost all of the remaining biological samples, making the evidence nearly gone.
“There’s enough DNA profile to say it’s not Charles Chatman. There’s not enough to include anyone else,” Creuzot said.
The test, called YTSR, compared a vaginal swab taken from the female rape victim to Chatman’s DNA. Though Chatman had requested DNA testing in the past, the technology never yielded a positive result for him, until now.
The testing was a gamble for Chatman, because he knew regardless of the outcome that there wasn’t enough evidence left to try again.
Chatman said the decision wasn’t as hard as it seems.
“Like I do, I just prayed about it at night. It’s just my belief that I didn’t have any control over it anyway; it was all God,” he said. “If the test hadn’t been favorable, God would have been with me in that possibility too.”
Chatman was also advised by Moore and Creuzot to go forward with the testing, after a test a year-and-a-half earlier failed to prove his innocence.
“Charles’ case is one of the few ones that I’ve gone home and just cried,” Moore said. “You’ve got this perfect case for testing it’s exactly what the statute is meant for and he has to make the decision that gambles with his life.”
Chatman may have been eligible for parole after 20 years if he had confessed to the crime, he said. Still, he persisted.
“I was asked about this crime, but I was turned down for parole because they asked me to give my version,’” he said. “There is no my version,’ because the situation never happened.”
Chatman plans to take some time to himself, and then possibly pursue vocational classes to be an auto mechanic, he said. He received his GED while in prison.
“At times, I just want to have a place to be by myself and get my bearings,” he said.
Contact Community Editor Sarah Blaskovich at 972-628-4074 or SBlaskovich@acnpaperscom.