I’m pleased for Kenny Richey. No, really. I hope he’s enjoying sitting at his mother’s table again, deciding to go for a walk if he wants, watching the telly, basically suiting himself.
20 years on death row is too long for anyone, especially someone who didn’t deliberately commit murder. It’s the square end of the juiciest years of a life. So it’s good that he’s home.
To mix a metaphor, I can’t blame him for wanting to make hay during the 15 minutes the spotlight of fame will shine on him. After all, he’s got no house, no job and no money. But I hope he doesn’t start to believe that all this attention makes him into something of a hero.
A reasonably big disservice was done to him, but that’s it. He didn’t invent anything, save anyone, fix anything, teach anything or even seem to have been especially kind to animals.
Does he ever think about Cynthia Collins – who would be 22 by now, if she hadn’t burned to death because no one was there to save her from the flames? I really really hope so.