Nebraska's first DNA exonerations shocked members of the legal community - none more than a young prosecutor in the attorney general's office.
"You can call me naive, but despite hearing about innocence claims in other states I honestly never thought a claim would or even could (happen) here in Nebraska," Corey O'Brien said.
But the system did fail, and O'Brien found himself asking the governor, the attorney general and the secretary of state to pardon five of the six people who went to prison for killing Helen Wilson. Charges against the sixth were dismissed, as if it never happened.
All six, O'Brien said, were innocent.
"Not beyond a reasonable doubt, but beyond all doubt."
DNA cleared their names, but it didn't erase the past. All are now sorting out what it means to be exonerated.
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* Soon after her release from prison, Ada JoAnn Taylor, 45, married a man she met in work release.
She has reconciled with one of her three children and lives in Bellevue, where she plans to continue college classes. She wants to help former inmates.
* Thomas Winslow, 43, works a quality control job at an Omaha factory. He has found life outside prison harder than he thought it would be.
He calls his mother every night to let her know he's safe.
* James Dean, 44, a truck driver in Salina, Kan., is engaged.
Everywhere he goes, he chats up cashiers and clerks, making sure they remember his face. He'll never be without an alibi again.
* Kathy Gonzalez, 48, lives in York, where she longs for the quiet life she had before the exoneration.
She lost her job after the news came out and said people have literally spit on her. Their notion, she said, is that anyone linked to a murder - even though she's been cleared - must be guilty of something.
* Debra Kay Shelden, 50, lives in Lincoln with her husband, Cliff. She finds it hard to get even minimum-wage jobs because of her past.
For nearly 20 years, she clung to her testimony that placed all six in Wilson's Beatrice apartment that frozen winter night. Now, she says authorities must have brainwashed her into believing she was there.
The family
The news that DNA pointed to someone other than the six hit Helen Wilson's family hard.
"It was a total, total shock," said her daughter, Jan Houseman. "It was so mind-boggling."
Houseman and her brothers, Larry and Darrell Wilson, believe that while DNA proves Bruce Allen Smith raped their mother, it doesn't prove he was alone.
They lived through losing her in a horrible way.
They waited four years for authorities to catch her killers.
They listened to every word of testimony.
Decades later, they went to the Capitol in Lincoln to oppose the pardons and spoke out in letters to the editor and interviews.
They say people who pleaded guilty should take responsibility for their decisions and not be compensated by the state. Put another way, those who accepted guilt should prove their innocence before collecting a dime.
They still see Burt Searcey as the man who came to them in their darkest hour and offered his help. Despite what the attorney general said, they're not convinced Searcey got the wrong people.
"We still can't believe it," Houseman said. "I don't think I ever will."
The psychologist
Dr. Wayne Price retired two years ago as head of the Blue Valley Community Mental Health Center. He lives in Beatrice and practices geriatric psychology out of a Lincoln office.
Price continues to work part time as a Gage County Sheriff's deputy.
The prosecutorRichard Smith practices law in Beatrice and said he was unfairly criticized by the attorney general.
The system, with its investigators, defense attorneys, judges, juries and constitutional protections, convicted the six. He played one role and played it above board, he insisted.
He never saw investigators do anything illegal. If they intentionally fed facts to the witnesses, he knew nothing about it.
"You've got to be kidding," Smith said. "Why would I throw away my career on one murder case?"
If DNA technology had been available in 1989, the case's outcome might have been different, Smith conceded. But he can't let go of the fact that five people accepted guilt for the crime.
He pointed to a 1993 letter written by JoAnn Taylor, seeking forgiveness from the judge and the Wilson family for what she had done.
"I think it's almost unbelievable that you people can believe these five people are telling the truth today."
Finally, he strongly disputed suggestions that he, or anyone, orchestrated a wrongful conviction.
"Who ever wants to put somebody who is innocent in jail? I don't want to live with that."
The deputy
In the months after the DNA exonerations, people in Beatrice offered Burt Searcey their support.
And that's good enough for the deputy.
He stands by his investigation.
"DNA didn't put my people not there," he said. "It only says Bruce Smith sexually assaulted her. Did he kill her? I don't know."
Those who claim he coerced false confessions are wrong, he said.
Those who think he told the witnesses what to say are mistaken.
He bullied no one, on or off camera.
Keep in mind, except for White, they all admitted their guilt, he said.
"If I had to do it today, I'd do the same thing again. I never done anything wrong."
The wolf
He's back in the Deep South, back in the sweet home.
He's spending time with his parents and other relatives, including nieces and nephews he'd never met.
He's reconnecting with a son who was an infant when Nebraska locked him away. He's looking for another son given up for adoption after his conviction.
Joseph Edgar White won't consider his years in prison wasted time.
He made friends he'll have for life.
Prison gave him time to read, to study Christianity, Buddhism and other religions. He went on his own spiritual quest, which led him to shamanism and Wicca. He believes the divine can be found in nature.
He's already forgiven those whose lies put him in prison. He doesn't want to carry hate.
He's less forbearing toward the authorities.
"They have to answer for their own actions, if not here, then in the next life."
One absolute peeve: the label "Beatrice 6."
"It was the Beatrice 5. The Beatrice One never said he did it."
He is pursuing a federal lawsuit, and he thinks Nebraska should compensate him. Had he not spent two decades in prison on a wrongful conviction, he would own a home and a financial future.
"I was building a life."
Now he's rebuilding.
There's no time to waste.
He walks outside as much as possible.
He smokes cigarettes again, a bit of lost freedom reclaimed.
He's got a cell phone so he can talk to whoever he wants whenever he wants.
And he enjoys e-mail. It reminds him of the Teletype he used to run in the Army.
"Wolf" is in his address.
Reach Joe Duggan at 473-7239 or jduggan@journalstar.com. Reach Catharine Huddle at 473-7222 or chuddle@journalstar.com.
