by Gary Kinder
In Utah, as in all states, public funds support judges and the judicial system, the prosecutors, the public defenders, the Utah State Prison, the Attorney General’s Office, the county jails, and the city police. No agency, institution, or fund has been established to aid financially, emotionally, or otherwise the victims of violent crime. Except for the incalculable damage to his health and his potential, the loss of formative teen-age years, and the death of his mother, all of Cortney’s expenses as a result of the murders can be determined to the penny, because as a victim he is solely responsible for their payment.
Byron Naisbitt carried extensive medical insurance with Blue Cross and Blue Shield, and Cortney was covered under the policy. As of 1981 the company had paid claims on Cortney of just under $75,000. A breakdown of the bill showed the sixty-six days at St. Benedict’s to cost $21,562.30. One hundred forty-five days at McKay-Dee came to $35,241.42. And Cortney’s fifty-six days at LDS Hospital ran $9,933.90. Twenty-seven physicians filed claims for services on Cortney, totaling $7,767.30. The claims would have been far higher but most of the physicians also carried insurance with Blue Cross and Blue Shield and were precluded from charging their usual fees. Dr. Rees, Dr. Hauser, and Dr. Grua charged nothing for their services.
Though the policy covering Cortney paid for physical therapy, it did not pay for such things as occupational therapy, speech therapy, or other professional services designed to help Cortney cope with his handicaps and lead a more productive and self-supporting life. In addition to the $75,000 paid out by Blue Cross-Blue Shield, Byron Naisbitt has paid out of his own pocket another $20,000.
Gary: I don’t really think I had any feelings of anger or revenge. I have to admit, I avoided hearing about it on TV. I avoided talking to people in general about it as time went on. I avoided listening to the trial, though I often heard the synopsis during the ten o’clock news. The gory details and the pictures I wanted to avoid. I didn’t want it to be thrown back at me. I was fortunate enough to cope with my feelings immediately, put them out of the way, and have been grateful ever since that I was able to do that.
I removed the result from the cause. That’s how I coped with it, I just separated them. Mother’s dead because she was murdered. It’s not something I would have chosen. But she’s dead. You can’t bring her back, you can’t do anything about it. You’re helpless. When I separated the two, I put that particular murder in the class of all other murders, and, as with all other murders, the state has laws to deal with it. Knowledge of the details of how mother died makes it harder to separate the cause from the effect. If I associate a painful loss with somebody who willfully caused it, that excites a lot of anger. If I’m angry, what can I do about it? Not a lot. If every time I thought about her and her death, I ended up thinking about Pierre and Andrews, then that just brings back anger and feelings of revenge. And those are frustrating. Because you can’t do anything about them anyway.
It’s an emotional response. The mechanism that I did it by, I think is, first, dive into Cort. Exhaust myself staying with Cort, until I had to sleep. And then sleep. And then go back and exhaust myself again with Cort. And not get too involved in the funeral services until they happen. And in a sense, that was running away. After I got the thing pretty well encapsulated, my anger and my fear, why burst the capsule? I took my curiosity about the trial, and whether these guys are the guys who did it and so on and I said, “Look, if I satisfy myself that these are the guys, then one, it brings the details before my eyes, and second of all, it gives me an object for revenge.” Now, none of this happened cognitively, it happened more subconsciously. And that’s why I say I was blessed, because it was not something that I realized, planned and did. It more or less evolved.
I don’t know the law. I will admit that every time I hear they are given a date for execution, I say, “Okay, I don’t have to confront this another time.” And then all of a sudden, in the same breath, they end up saying they’ve been given a stay of execution. I get a little confused and in a little bit of turmoil, and I say, “What’s going on?” I mean, we say one thing and do the other. I’d like the privilege of that system if I were in their shoes. At the same time, it looks like it’s a real screwy system. But I’m able to cope with that, it doesn’t make me angry. I don’t go around and slug the wall or anything like that. I just sort of shrug and say, “Oh well, one of these days something will happen.” One of these days they’ll finally either run out of appeals or else they’ll have things found in their favor.
But in terms of revenge or whatever, I don’t care. We have laws to do whatever laws do. They do their best to find them, and to prove they’re the right ones. There are laws prescribed to do certain things with them. In this case the death penalty was possible. And I didn’t really care. I wasn’t real excited about having them back in society and having to live with them again. I wasn’t very excited about having to support them. Personally, I think the death penalty is probably all right. There’s no way you can have true knowledge that those are the right guys. Without absolute knowledge it’s hard to judge. But by the nature of our society we have to have laws to live by, and those laws stipulate what to do in this circumstance. And I think that they’re probably well-founded. You want to make sure that they’re the right guys and you want to get them out of society one way or another. Those are the two basic objectives.
From what I heard while the cops were putting the case together, the case was pretty sound. And that was enough for me to decide, “Okay, I’ll go along with that.” I don’t know any of the details. You have fingerprints and eyewitness reports and the guy gives you a description before you pick up the people, and he picks them out of mug shots and he picks them out of a lineup and their hair samples match, and blood samples match and the bullets match, and, you know, it’s a pretty sound case. I understand they hit most of those points. I wasn’t at the trial. It sounded like it was pretty solid to me.
I live with the rules and the regulations, and I’m willing to do that here. Even though there were only twelve people on the jury, everybody in society lives by the rules, and therefore they take their proportionate part of the responsibility. And I’m willing to do that. So, if they get the death penalty, fine. If they don’t get the death penalty, that’s fine with me, too. I knew that our law had not been tested. I knew that there were umpteen million ways they could try to get out of it. I know that if I were in their shoes, I certainly would want to have every possibility to get out and try to prove my innocence. Consequently, I knew it was going to take a long, long time. The chances of actually having them put to death, and I’m not even sold that that’s the best thing to do with them, are, I won’t say remote, they’re pretty good, but it’s going to take a long time. And so, what the heck. Whatever’s going to happen’s going to happen. There’s no way to sit around and wait for them to get theirs. There’s no reason for it. Just accept it that it’s going to take a long time.
I feel like we have been very well blessed with Cort, and I feel that Cort has some sort of a mission somewhere, somehow to fulfill, and that’s why he’s here. And I think that with his physical problems he’s either going to have to master them to prepare himself for another role, or that somehow those physical handicaps will play some sort of a part. Conjecture. That’s my own personal faith. For some reason, Cort has been saved to work in some capacity, because medically he should have died. I think he is better off now than he had all rights to be, and I think if he’d really try he’d be better off than he is now.
Mother’s death had a strong impact, but it was over and done with, that was the whole story. And it hurt, a lot. But at the same time, although Cort was as bad as he was, there was still hope. And it was such an intense hope that it kind of made Mother’s death easier. It was matter-of-fact, it was open-and-shut, she’s dead. But maybe Cort’ll be better, you know, let’s hope. Cort and hope. I really think that’s where most of the emotions went, and it’s one of the things that kept the family togeth
er.
At Utah State Prison, Dale Pierre grows fat and wears glasses with brown plastic frames, something he selected to be “commensurate” with his image. He varies his sleeping and waking hours, but rarely misses the late morning, early afternoon “soaps” on TV. One Life to Live is his favorite. He watches ball games, writes short critiques of TV movies and educational programs, plays volleyball in the yard, reads, braids his hair, tries to hypnotize himself, listens to music. Once, he did a painting of a red bird on black velvet from a paint-by-numbers set and sold it to a guard. His parents send him money when they can. He is not liked by the other inmates in maximum, and more than one have threatened to kill him. For years he studied books with titles like How I turned $1,000 into $3 Million in Real Estate, The Young Millionaires, and The Very, Very Rich. In June 1976 he wrote in a letter:
I’m going to make history for myself. In effect, what I’m trying to do is accomplish what no other inmate in America has accomplished. I intend to build a corporation with an annual earnings capacity of forty (40) million dollars. That may sound like an outrageous dream but if I can get the assistance I need I will accomplish my goals—the same way Carnegie, Wool-worth, Ford, Tiffany, etc. accomplished their goals. They all had one thing in common, “success” and that’s what I’m after.
While incarcerated Pierre founded a company he called Poboi Enterprises Corporation, and on November 18, 1976, had the company legally incorporated in the state of Delaware. He had no charter, no by-laws, no stock, no assets, and no officers except himself, but he was incorporated. With that done, he subscribed to investment magazines and wrote letters inquiring about classified ads that offered large, income-producing properties for sale. He signed the letters, “Dale S. Pierre, President, Poboi Enterprises.”
-For two years, February 1977 to January 1979, Pierre kept a journal. Interspersed with observations on who was getting marijuana from the outside and to whom they were selling it on the inside, and who was engaging in homosexual activities with whom through the fence in the yard, Pierre wrote:
I have come up with a simple idea for acquiring property without any down payment. I also took seven brown bombers—I want to purge myself. Nothing more.
I have now formulated some specific plans for building a $250 million company.
I have decided on a new name to use “Clayton Leon Cassiram”.
Andrews is fascinated by the amount of material I have collected on real-estate business and amazed at my persistence to see this corporation come to fruitation. I think that success is my destiny, I can feel it, especially for the last week or so.
My mom dreamt that my appeals fell through and I was the first to go. What a sordid dream!! Anyway today is laundry day.
Andrews’ girlfriend wrote to him today. She warned him to be careful that he don’t get taken by me. I must keep this in mind. People always get skeptical when I try to help. I wonder why …
Hoorah! Hoorah!! The state has provided us with a television today. We got it hooked up quickly and it works beautifully. It’s a Quasar, about 21”.
I have decided to change my name again. This time its “Phil-bert Hamilton Bailey.”
I started back on my soap operas today. It seems as though I have lost a lot of the story on “The Doctors” and “Ryan’s Hope”. But I don’t seem to have lost anything on “All My Children”.
I read up on Playboy’s mansion west. If I am ultimately able to afford it I will duplicate his efforts on a smaller scale. 20 to 30 room mansion on 3-10 acres.
Success magazine has a very good article about Amway in it. It is the size of corporation I intend to build. The silver limousine, the yacht, the three corporate jets—yes sir—that’s me.
I will try to borrow $50.00 to move the corporation. I definitely have to get it going. I am to build a corporation with combined assets of $1 billion. Acquiring at least $100 million within the first 24 months, expanding to about $500 million in 36 months.
My new name as chosen today is Cody Jaye Cavalho.
This has to be the most depressing day of my three year stay here. Athay called to tell me that the Supreme Court of Utah has turned down my appeal… . I may write a book called “Follow that Dream”, about my personal views and feelings about being on Death Row and about my struggles to build my business empire.
I think I am getting depressed about everything. There is an article in the Deseret News about Andrews and myself. They are still trying to put a bad light on us. I am determined to dispense with these dirty tacticians and Mormon degenerates. I hope this doesn’t sound violent.
I’ve started to read the Paul Getty books and it seems that being a business man is harder than I thought.
I have changed my name again. It is now “Houston Lee Hoyt”—after H. L. Hunt.
I go to court tomorrow. They have to set a new execution date for me.
Well, the bad, tough guys have rung in the new year with a most pathetic display of criminal stupidity. They all shouted “Drano” as the clock wound down on the television.
Andrews was telling me that the richest black man in America has a net worth of about $23 million. I intend to be worth 5 times this amount.
Ebony Artists Corporation will be my answer to Hefner’s Playboy. I plan to make my corporate ventures open to all races. I am not planning to be an ethnic hero.
I have changed my name again. It is now “Del Ray Hoyt” for business and Del Ray Khanhai for legal purposes. [In all, Pierre changed his name twenty-seven times, finally taking his own middle name and making it his last, making his last name his first and his first name his middle. His legal name is now P. Dale Selby.]
Myself and Andrews had another argument about fornication, adultery and a mother’s responsibility to her children. As can be expected my arguments were based on puritanical Bible doctrine, his was not.
This may sound very crass but I had my pre-execution physical check-up at about 1:45 PM today. The doctor says that my heart beat registers about 90. It is now about 3:40 pm and the warden has requested to see me. I went out to see him and he wanted to know how I wanted my body to be disposed of… . I saw the 6 o’clock local news. I got a stay of execution from the Utah Supreme Court. I don’t feel very different except that the feeling of impending doom is not present anymore.
Andrews isn’t doing a damn thing but watching television, listening to the radio, eating and sleeping. He doesn’t seem to be interested in studying what is to be required of him as a tentative executive.
I must continue to make plans and plot my ultimate corporate destiny.
On September 25, 1981, Cortney turned twenty-four. He now weighs 190 pounds. A pulpy red scar runs from the left side of his neck, across his chest, and disappears in a roll of fat near his navel. Smaller scars, little half-moon swirls, dot his chest and arms where tubes and needles once fed into his body to keep him alive.
Cortney can remember nothing of a period of four months, from late April to late August of 1974. He remembers nothing of his stay at St. Benedict’s and nothing of McKay-Dee until one day when he felt as if he were awakening from a night’s sleep to see two nurses, Ladora Davidson and Annette Wilson, at his bedside. But these two nurses never worked the same shift. Cortney’s “awakening” was a gradual process of ever increasing awareness, images from the ICU blending into one scene until he was fully awake. He remembers clearly the Labor Day outing with his father, Gary, and Claire when he was told of his mother’s death.
Thinking back to the day of the murders Cortney can recall none of his solo flight and only four isolated incidents that occurred that night at the Hi-Fi Shop. He remembers being stopped at the back door by a faceless man, shouting to Stan as they lay tied up on the basement floor, listening to the footsteps passing back and forth overhead. The last thing he remembers is hearing his mother’s voice at the top of the stairs. Psychiatrists doubt that he will ever remember more than this.
Since his graduation in 1976 Cortney has continued to improve physic
ally and mentally, though during this time he has hit plateaus when it seemed he was not improving at all. Then, almost suddenly, after six months or a year had passed, Cortney once again would exhibit signs of capabilities he had not exhibited before. His speech would become a little clearer, a little quicker, his gait more steady, his posture more erect.
After graduation from high school, Cortney attended classes at Weber State College, but his grades were poor and the number of hours he took not sufficient for him to advance onto his sophomore, junior, and senior years. Eventually, he merely dabbled at college work, taking two, sometimes three, courses a quarter, most of those some form of computer science. One quarter he surprised himself by making an A and two B’s.
Each year since the murders Cortney has had an EEG and a C.A.T. Scan to test the functioning of his brain. Eight and a half years after he was shot, there appears to be no residual physical damage, no atrophy. Over the years his IQ has been measured and has climbed steadily. Most recently it was 123. But Cortney still has trouble performing intellectually. “He can’t get it out,” says his father. “It gets lost in there someplace.” Dr. Iverson feels that the tremendous emotional overlay still existing in Cortney’s mind is interfering with his intellectual functioning.
