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Return to: 2001:
A Year of Change
McVeigh's execution topped Indiana's criminal justice news
By Tom Spalding
tom.spalding@indystar.com
December 27, 2001
Notorious criminal justice news dominated the local 2001 headlines, particularly the execution of Timothy McVeigh and a three-month standoff between a church and the federal marshals ordered to seize it.
But the return of a nagging problem could have more lasting consequences
for the community -- a spike in homicides after two years of relative calm.
At times, the spotlight shone on public safety workers themselves, from the competitors of the World Police & Fire Games here to the heroic efforts of local rescuers in New York City.
Yet the year that brought more respect for those that keep the peace also showed a lack of respect for their lives. For the second year in a row, an officer was slain in the line of duty in Marion County.
Through Christmas Day, there had been 119 homicides in Marion County, ending a two-year decline. It's well short of the county record of 162 in 1998, but statistics, as always, contain their share of grisly stories with little regard for age, race or gender.
Included in the death toll was a 5-month-old boy named Willon Blanchard, whom police say was slain by his father and dumped in a Boone County drainage ditch. In October, 89-year-old Icie Roberts was found beaten to death in her Eastside home. And on Nov. 29, Brinks guard Eric Rigney was gunned down while making a delivery to a Far-Eastside bank branch.
Authorities also dealt with dozens of anthrax scares and an ongoing investigation into bingo operators suspected of skimming millions in profits intended for charity.
Still, it's the story that focused international attention on Indiana that will be written into the history books.
The execution The execution of Timothy McVeigh on June 11 was a first in many ways.
It was the first federal execution since 1963, the first by lethal injection and first ever at the U.S. Penitentiary near Terre Haute. No execution had been broadcast by closed-circuit feed before, as this one was to 232 people in a conference room in Oklahoma City. And no execution ever had garnered such an enormous international media circus.
But then, McVeigh's crime was unique and, at least until Sept. 11, the most unthinkable heinous act ever committed on U.S. soil by a citizen.
An anti-government zealot, he bombed the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building in Oklahoma City on April 19, 1995, killing 168 people, including 19 children. He was convicted and sentenced to death.
At age 33, with his eyes open, McVeigh died at 7:14 a.m. while strapped to a gurney in the prison's execution chamber. Outside, death penalty supporters cheered. Opponents prayed for McVeigh's soul. In Terre Haute and Oklahoma City, the survivors of the blast and the loved ones of the victims said they wanted McVeigh to know he had not broken their spirit.
Line of duty
The state of Indiana will try to add another inmate to its Death Row: Michael P. Shannon, accused of
shooting to death Deputy Jason Baker of the Marion County Sheriff's Department.
Baker, 24, was shot in the head Sept. 17 as he chased suspects with
high-powered assault rifles and flak jackets on the Near Northside. It was the
department's first line-of-duty death in 20 years.
Suspect Allen Dumperth, 20, was killed in the shootout with police. Shannon, 19, is awaiting trial without bond in the local jail.
A scholarship fund, which has grown to $15,000, was set up in Baker's name to foster educational opportunities for those interested in law enforcement and public safety careers. Sheriff Jack Cottey, who keeps on his desk a picture and other mementos of Baker's life, recently sent letters of appreciation to Butler University students and a professor who raised $400 for the fund.
"It helps us remember Jason," Cottey said.
Baker, a graduate of the Indiana Law Enforcement Academy, started at the department six years ago as a dispatcher and became a deputy. By all accounts, he was doing what he had wanted to do since he was a boy. He left behind a reputation of being a serious professional for whom honor was not an outdated concept.
"He handled a cat in a tree just like he'd handle a felony, recognizing that people see a person in a uniform first, and a man second," his father, Jerry Baker, said. "I still miss him, every day."
Heroes in New York After two hijacked jetliners slammed into the World Trade Center, eventually entombing thousands, it seemed everyone wanted to pitch in to help. Dozens of Hoosiers got the chance.
Just 36 hours after the attack, 62 men and women and four rescue
dogs of the Marion County Urban Search and Rescue Team were sent to New York
City by bus. They pitched tents inside a convention center and went to work
picking through the debris of the towers.
Their constant 12-hour shifts produced little more than uniforms stained gray from the ash.
Once home, they received a hero's welcome. Several thousand people cheered as the buses arrived Sept. 20
on the Circle. The adulation hasn't subsided, ranging from TV spots to public appearances.
"There's been so much fanfare. The fanfare has lasted longer than the deployment," said team member Anne Trout, a research manager at Methodist Hospital. "I would have given up all that if I had pulled one person out of the rubble.
"We had an opportunity to do something that very few people could do, and even though we didn't find anybody alive, I am proud to have had the opportunity to participate in such a monumental rescue effort."
Athletes from around the world The World Police & Fire Games, held in Indianapolis June 8-16, brought 9,023 firefighters, law enforcement officers and other public safety professionals from Croatia to California. Although the Olympics-like events were free and held at recognizable venues, the games drew few spectators.
But there were victories, such as the $27.3 million the games injected into the economy and the efforts of 6,000 volunteers. Organizers dubbed the public safety participants "heroes" -- three months before the rest of the nation gained a new appreciation for police and firefighters.
"It was definitely nice to be recognized and supported," said James Reno, an Indianapolis Police Department deputy chief who coordinated security for the games.
A peaceful resolution
After 91 days of watching and waiting, U.S. marshals seized the
property of the Indianapolis Baptist Temple in an anti-climactic raid Feb. 13.
The early morning takeover ended a seven-year conflict between the
church and the federal government involving unpaid taxes.
The church had unincorporated in 1983, relinquished its tax-exempt status and quit paying withholding income and Social Security taxes for staff members. By 1994, the Internal Revenue Service filed liens against the church's property and later sued to collect. U.S. District Judge Sarah Evans Barker ruled in 1999 that the church must pay about $6 million in back taxes, interest and penalties, a ruling that ultimately was upheld by a federal appeals court. On Sept. 28, 2000, Barker ordered the marshals to seize the property to satisfy the liens, but the church remained full many days and nights with members and sympathizers, some from out of state. In January, the U.S. Supreme Court refused to hear the church's appeal, and by the end of that month, the last of the militant out-of-state sympathizers departed. When Marshal Frank Anderson and 85 deputy marshals from across the country arrived at the church Feb. 13, only six members remained and surrendered peacefully, with prayers. The property at 2711 S. East St. remains vacant and for sale.
Return to: 2001:
A Year of Change
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