Thanksgiving 2020, “COVID style,” has just wrapped up, and the Christmas season is now upon us. As I take down the Thanksgiving decorations in my house and begin to put up the Christmas decorations, I find myself getting sentimental as I take a virtual walk down memory lane.
The memories aren’t all warm and fuzzy as I touch specific decorations, including a Christmas stocking I crocheted for my son or the green clay Christmas tree dish I made in ceramics class while I was in a federal prison. Seeing these ornaments again brings back so many of the painful memories of eight Thanksgivings and eight Christmases spent in prison, away from my only child — my beloved son, Adam.
This part of my story begins in 1993 when, fresh out of college, I began my dream job as a police officer in Prince George’s County, Maryland. Being a police officer was all I ever wanted to do, from the time I was a little girl idolizing Wonder Woman to the four years I spent at Towson University studying sociology with a concentration in criminal justice and corrections. I wanted to work in a profession where I could make a difference in the world, where I could help others, where the day-to-day routine would always be new and fresh. I was excited for the ever-changing, unknown challenges that would inevitably come my way.
Fast forward to 1995, I was one of the newest and first female members of the Prince George’s County Police K-9 Unit, marrying my love of law enforcement with another passion of mine, a love for animals. On Sept. 21, 1995, I was riding with my K-9 training officer when we were called to the scene of a nighttime commercial breaking-and-entering in progress. Two male suspects were found on the roof of a building, attempting to break in.
The two suspects failed to comply with police commands to come off the roof and surrender. So, following my training officer’s instructions and the K-9 Standard Operating Procedures for my police department at that time, I utilized my dog to arrest one of the two bad guys. My “partner,” Valk, apprehended the suspect by biting and holding him in the calf, causing him to require 10 stitches.
Both suspects were ultimately arrested, charged, convicted, and deported back to their home countries because they were immigrants who resided in America illegally. The arrest report I wrote about the incident was sent up my chain of command, and my supervisors had no issues with the arrest or use of the dog that night. It was a “by the book” arrest.
Five years later, one day before the statute of limitations was to expire, and much to my shock and disbelief, my training officer and I were indicted by the federal Department of Justice for this incident. Officially, we were charged with “Deprivation of Civil Rights Under Color of Law and Conspiracy.”
My case is disturbing in so many ways — from the way the case came about, to the DOJ’s overzealous actions, to the timing of the indictment, to the fact that I withstood not one but two jury trials, to my shocking conviction and extremely harsh 10-year prison sentence … just for doing my job to the best of my ability.
On March 14, 2003, I took the most difficult trip of my lifetime, leaving my only child behind as I drove 5 1/2 hours to surrender to prison. My son Adam was just three years old. His father told me later that he cried for two weeks straight after I left.
In addition to missing eight years of holidays (my sentence was 10 years but with credit for good behavior and halfway house time, I spent 98 months in prison and six months in a halfway house), I missed so much of my son’s life. I missed all his “firsts” — the first time he lost a tooth, his first day of kindergarten, his first day of little league, his first day of middle school. I had to watch him grow up with once or twice a month visits over those 10 long years.
Holidays in prison are tough. The feelings of sadness, loneliness, and isolation (from being away from home, away from my loved ones (especially my son), missing all the family traditions I so enjoyed) would always overwhelm me.
Each Thanksgiving and Christmas I was in prison, I would find myself thinking about my son at home without me, decorating the Christmas tree. I would think back to how excited he would be on Christmas Eve, waiting for Santa’s arrival. I wished with all my heart I could see the joy on his face as he woke up Christmas morning and saw his presents under the tree.
It has now been nine years since I was released from federal prison. My son was three years old when I left for prison and 12 years old when I came home. I have done so much in those nine years since my release. I reconnected with my family and my son and reestablished myself professionally as a Construction Standards Inspector for a local county government agency. I bought a house and, of course, got a dog.
Now 21 years old in his senior year of college looking forward to his own career in law enforcement, Adam knows I have worked hard to never allow anger or bitterness to overtake my life. He has watched me start over and create a new life for us. Today, he watches me again as I wait for word from the White House about a possible presidential pardon.
I know a pardon won’t erase the sadness I still feel about the time I lost with Adam or give me those precious years back. But maybe it would send a message to the world that this young police officer was simply doing the very best she could on that September 1995 day to keep her community safe and to help people. At the end of the day, that’s really all I ever wanted.
Stephanie Mohr is a former Prince George’s County police officer. She currently lives in southern Maryland.
