Photo
Samuel Harrell, who died while imprisoned at Fishkill
Correctional Facility in Beacon, N.Y., in April, with a niece.
On
the evening of April 21 in Building 21 at the Fishkill Correctional Facility,
Samuel Harrell, an inmate with a history of erratic behavior linked to bipolar
disorder, packed his bags and announced he was going home, though he still had
several years left to serve on his drug sentence.
Not
long after, he got into a confrontation with corrections officers, was thrown
to the floor and was handcuffed. As many as 20 officers — including
members of a group known around the prison as the Beat Up Squad —
repeatedly kicked and punched Mr. Harrell, who is black, with some of them
shouting racial slurs, according to more than a dozen inmate witnesses.
“Like he was a trampoline, they were jumping on him,” said Edwin
Pearson, an inmate who watched from a nearby bathroom.
Mr.
Harrell was then thrown or dragged down a staircase, according to the
inmates’ accounts. One inmate reported seeing him lying on the landing,
“bent in an impossible position.”
“His
eyes were open,” the inmate wrote, “but they weren’t looking
at anything.”
Photo
Mr. Harrell's sister, Cerissa Harrell, left, and his wife,
Diane, in Cerissa Harrell's apartment in Kingston, N.Y. CreditRichard
Perry/The New York Times
Corrections
officers called for an ambulance, but according to medical records, the
officers mentioned nothing about a physical encounter. Rather, the records
showed, they told the ambulance crew that Mr. Harrell probably had an overdose
of K2, a synthetic marijuana.
He
was taken to St. Luke’s Cornwall Hospital and at 10:19 p.m. was
pronounced dead.
In
the four months since, state corrections officials have provided only the
barest details about what happened at Fishkill, a medium-security prison in
Beacon, N.Y., about 60 miles north of New York City. Citing a continuing
investigation by the State Police, officials for weeks had declined to comment
on the inmates’ accounts of a beating.
An
autopsy report by the Orange County medical examiner, obtained by The New York
Times, concluded that Mr. Harrell, 30, had cuts and bruises to the head and
extremities and had no illicit drugs in his system, only an antidepressant and
tobacco. He died of cardiac arrhythmia, the autopsy report said, “following
physical altercation with corrections officers.”
The
manner of death: Homicide.
Previous Reports of Violence
No
officers have been disciplined in connection with the death, officials said. A
classification of homicide is a medical term that indicates the death occurred
at the hands of other people, but it does not necessarily mean a crime was
committed.
Inmate
witnesses at Fishkill say they are the ones who have been punished. Several
described being put into solitary confinement and threatened with violence
after speaking with Mr. Harrell’s family, their lawyers and with news
reporters.
The
Times documented similar allegations of abuse from
inmates at the Clinton Correctional Facility in Dannemora, N.Y., where in June
two convicted murderers escaped, resulting in a three-week manhunt. There, inmates described
being beaten and choked with plastic bags by corrections officers seeking
information about the escapees. Many were then thrown into solitary
confinement.
The
prison building where Mr. Harrell died has long been singled out as a violent
place. In 2013, the Correctional Association of New York, a
171-year-old inmate advocacy group with a legislative mandate to inspect New
York State prisons, published a report documenting “harassment and
provocation” by officers working in Building 21 from 3 to
11 p.m. This was the same time frame when Mr. Harrell died. The association,
which found similar problems in 2005, briefed officials
with the Department of Corrections and Community Supervision in fall 2013,
including the acting commissioner, Anthony Annucci, as well as Fishkill’s
superintendent, William J. Connolly, who resigned this month.
Even
so, inmates said, the problems have persisted. Five weeks before Mr. Harrell’s
death, David Martinez, an inmate in Building 21 who was serving time for
attempted murder, among other charges, filed a grievance saying he was being
assaulted and harassed by officers, and asking that the officers on that shift
“be split up.” In a subsequent letter, he described them as
“a group of rogue officers” who “go around beating up
people.”
In
July, another inmate, Rickey Rodriguez, said that officers beat him so severely
that he lost his two front teeth and had to be hospitalized. Interviewed a
little more than a week after he was released from prison, Mr. Rodriguez, who
was serving time for attempted murder, was still covered with cuts and bruises,
and the white of his right eye was stained red with blood. “They go out
of their way to pick and choose to beat on guys,” he said.
The
State Police plan to turn over the evidence gathered to the Dutchess County
district attorney’s office “in the very near future,” said
Beau Duffy, an agency spokesman. The corrections department said it was cooperating
with the State Police.
Photo
A memorial program for Mr. Harrell. Credit Richard
Perry/The New York Times
“Anyone
found to have engaged in any misconduct or in any legal violations will be
disciplined and prosecuted,” the department said in a statement.
The
Times pieced together the events leading to Mr. Harrell’s death from 19
affidavits and letters written by inmates and obtained through the law
firm Beldock
Levine & Hoffman, which is representing Mr. Harrell’s
family. Most of the inmates shared their affidavits on the condition that their
names not be used, because they said they feared retribution from corrections
officers. Three agreed to be interviewed with their names made public.
According
to Luna Droubi, a lawyer at the firm, at least nine of the inmates who saw what
happened had been placed at some point in solitary confinement. She said that
the firm would soon file a lawsuit in connection with the death, and that there
was a need for the appointment of a special prosecutor to investigate.
The
inmates witnessed the encounter from several vantage points, including a day
room and bathroom just a few feet away. Two described being at the bottom of
the staircase and seeing Mr. Harrell come falling down.
Inmate
witnesses are typically viewed with skepticism by investigators, but the
accounts from Fishkill are strikingly consistent. Inmates there are serving
sentences for felonies, such as drug crimes and murder, but have earned the
right to take part in programs like work-release.
Mental Illness
No
one could say for sure what set off the confrontation with Mr. Harrell. There
were no surveillance cameras in that area, according to inmates, and
corrections officials acknowledged that there are only a few for the entire
prison.
James
Miller, a spokesman for the corrections officers’ union, the New York State
Correctional Officers & Police Benevolent Association, said in
an email last month that Mr. Harrell was “acting violently and appeared
delusional as a result of apparently ingesting drugs.” While trying to
subdue him, one guard had several ribs broken, Mr. Miller said.
Officials
have described abuse of K2 by inmates as a problem throughout the state prison
system.
On
Monday, Mr. Miller wrote in an email that the union was “reviewing all
the facts before rushing to judgment.”
“Rather
than simply relying on allegations made by a handful of violent convicted
felons,” he wrote, “we will continue to work with our partners in
law enforcement to ensure a resolution to this tragic incident.”
Mr.
Harrell had served several stints in prison for drug crimes starting in 2002.
He had five disciplinary infractions while incarcerated, including one days
before his death for possessing contraband, according to prison records. None
involved violence.
Inmates
and family members say that any erratic behavior more likely stemmed from his
mental illness. In the weeks before his death, they said, he had been
depressed. In 2010 he learned he had bipolar disorder and was hospitalized,
according to medical records. His wife, Diane Harrell, said that when he was
not taking his medication, he would go through the house turning over family
photographs for fear they were staring at him. He also believed the television
was talking to him, she said.
Mr.
Harrell also had a history of heart disease and drug abuse, which the autopsy
report said contributed to his death.
The
day he died, several inmates described him as being depressed and withdrawn.
Ibrahim Camara said he found Mr. Harrell sitting alone, watching television and
asked what was wrong. “I said, ‘Is it your mom, family or
something?’” Mr. Camara recalled in a phone interview from prison.
“He shook his head yes.” Mr. Harrell’s mother had died in
November.
Around
8:30 that night, Mr. Harrell — whose nickname was JRock — told two
officers that his wife and sister were coming to pick him up and take him home,
according to one inmate’s affidavit.
His
earliest release date from prison was September 2020.
The
officers called for medical and mental health assistance but could not reach
anyone, the inmate reported. Soon after, the inmate said that two more officers
arrived. “I believe JRock panicked after seeing all those officers
surrounding him,” the inmate wrote. “JRock jumped up and
ran.”
Mr.
Camara said he was in the day room, watching a playoff game between the Boston
Celtics and Cleveland Cavaliers, when he heard a commotion in the hallway.
“Me and other inmates, we hear the walls shaking, doom, doom, doom,
doom,” he recalled. “Somebody opened up the door and looked
outside, and said, ‘Yo, that’s JRock they got out
there.’”
He
was on the floor, face down and handcuffed, several inmates said. In short
order, a large group of officers converged around him. The inmates in their
affidavits and letters identified nine officers by name as being involved.
“I
saw the officers kicking him, jumping on his head multiple times and screaming,
‘Stop resisting,’ even though I didn’t see him moving,”
wrote Mr. Pearson, who has since been released after serving two years on a
weapons charge.
None
of the affidavits or letters mentioned Mr. Harrell’s fighting back or
speaking during the encounter. Several said that once he was on the floor,
handcuffed, he stopped moving, and a few of the inmates speculated he may have
already been dead by then.
Indeed,
Mr. Camara said inmates were surprised that Mr. Harrell, who was over six feet
tall and weighed 235 pounds, did not try to defend himself. “People was
even mad, I was mad,” he said. “You’re a big guy and you let
these people literally kill you.”
The
inmates said that during the encounter, an officer they identified as Robert
Michels appeared to have a medical emergency. Mr. Pearson, who later identified
Officer Michels through a Facebook photo, said he saw the officer “rip
open his shirt and he was gasping for air and grabbing his chest.”
Officers
went to attend to Officer Michels, who was soon carried out on a stretcher,
inmates said.
Identifying the Guards
Photo
Mr. Rodriguez at his home in Albany. Credit Nathaniel
Brooks for The New York Times
While
Mr. Harrell lay still on the floor, officers periodically walked by, kicking
him and hitting him, Mr. Camara said.
Most
of the inmates could identify the officers by last names only, which they
spelled in a variety of ways in their affidavits. In a database of New York
State employees, seethroughny.net,
there are several Fishkill officers who appeared to match the guards most often
named by the inmates as being directly involved in the encounter. They are
Thomas Dickenson (named by 10 of the inmates), John Yager (10), Officer Michels
(nine), Bryan Eull (five) and a white woman they knew only as “Ms.
B” (four).
They
also identified the ranking officer at the scene as Sgt. Joseph Guarino.
Reached by telephone, Sergeant Guarino confirmed he was present that night but
said he could not comment.
Neither
the corrections department nor the union would confirm the names of the
officers. Reached by phone, several of the officers declined to comment. Others
did not respond to voice mail messages, emails or messages sent through
Facebook.
Through
the years, Sergeant Guarino, 60, has been sued several times by inmates
accusing him of brutality. One case was settled by the state in 2012 for
$60,000 and another in 2011 for $65,000. In a 2011 deposition, he said inmates
typically filed about 30 grievances against him a year and referred to him by
the nickname Sergeant Searchalot.
Four
inmates wrote that after Officer Michels was taken away, they heard Sergeant
Guarino order officers to throw Mr. Harrell down the stairs.
“Harrell
came rolling sideways down the stairs,” Mr. Martinez wrote, adding that
he had a “bedsheet tied all around his body and he was in mechanical
restraints.”
Mr.
Martinez said that two officers he identified as Mr. Eull and Mr. Dickenson
then tried to put Mr. Harrell into a wheelchair but had difficulty lifting him.
Mr.
Harrell, he wrote, “was not responsive at all” and “kept
sliding off the wheelchair.”
Another
inmate who was nearby said that Officer Eull ordered him to stop looking, and
then grabbed him and pushed him into a corner. “He then told me,
‘You better forget what you saw here if you ever want to make it home,’”
the affidavit said.
An
inmate looking out of his cell wrote that he saw Mr. Harrell being taken away.
The inmate wrote that he had seen 10 to 15 corrections officers
“surrounding a wheelchair being wheeled out of the building with a white
sheet draped over a body that could have been naked because I seen bare feet
dragging on the ground.”
According
to records from the ambulance service, a call came reporting a possible
overdose at the Fishkill prison at 9:16 p.m.; the ambulance team arrived there
at 9:30 p.m. and reached Mr. Harrell by 9:34 p.m. “Staff reports that pt.
was possibly smoking K2 and became very aggressive, shortly after he went
unresponsive and into cardiac arrest,” the records said.
The
next morning at 7:30, Mr. Harrell’s sister, Cerissa Harrell, received an
anonymous call from an inmate in Building 21. “He called me and said,
‘Sam got hit the night before and they took him and he hasn’t been
back and nobody has heard or seen from him.’”
“You
could hear the franticness in his voice,” she said.
A
half-hour later, she said, someone from the corrections agency called to say
her brother was dead.
Susan C. Beachy contributed research.
Free All Political Prisoners!
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