The death
of a child is a tragedy. There is no more unnatural
death.
The killing of a child is of the worst kinds of
murder. Those parents
who suffer the loss of the child suffer
immeasurably.
I am John Schoonover, nearing 68 years of age, having the
experience of being licensed for 10 years by the State of Idaho
for the care of a total of 16 children from 2 years old to 17
years old. Several of
whom have suffered the abuse of permanent physical – as well as
mental – damage from beatings to literally torture. I know what child abuse
is.
Eight years ago, I was introduced to Benjamin Michael
Stanart, an innocent infant that took my heart. Little did I then know
that in two short years, my wife and I would be able to bring him
to our home and begin adoption proceedings. Ben soon learned his name
was, in his own words, “Bengermun Micknell
Hoonoverrrr”.
Ben and his mother, Laura Stanart, had stayed with us a few
months before Ben had turned one year old. My wife, Marie, gave Ben
daily baths in the kitchen sink. There was nothing
unusual. Ben enjoyed
his baths as any normal infant does when it is done with loving
kindness.
We had a rather unusual and unexpected experience, however,
with Ben’s first and second baths, following his re-entry into our
home. Ben was
terrified of the water!
Marie was beside herself not knowing why Ben was terrified
of the water or what to do about it. The simple act of me
quickly getting into the tub myself, and laughing and playing with
Ben’s floating toys did the trick. He quickly learned the
bath was a good time; there were no bad baths. We never learned what had
been done to Ben to cause his terror of the
water.
Following the second bath, those subsequent baths quickly
turned into anticipated ‘play times’ for
Ben.
There was a lot of jealousy in the Stanart family over
Ben. Ben’s
grandfather, Jim Stanart, did not want us to have Ben. He wanted his nephew, Wade
Farbro, to take Ben, and that caused Marie and I considerable
trouble.
3
We were ‘reported’ to D.H.S. for child abuse. Simultaneously Jim Stanart
financed Wade Farbro’s expenses of hiring attorneys to petition
the Court to terminate our adoption of Benjamin and give custody
to Wade and Lisa Farbro.
We were told by other Stanart family members that Wade and
Lisa were the instigators of the child abuse
accusations.
D.H.S. concluded, after a lengthy investigation, that the
complaints were groundless and that our adoption of Ben should
continue expeditiously.
Ben was a very active child, very articulate in his speech,
very playful, and loved by everyone.
Late in 1999, Ben was visiting his grandfather, Jim
Stanart, and the two were racing and Ben took a pretty hard fall
on a wooden deck. It
was witnessed by Jim’s parents (Ben’s great-grandparents, James
and Nora Stanart).
The result of the tumble was several facial scratches and
bruises. Nora’s later
testimony of this accident included, “He took a pretty good
lickin’”.
Having nothing to hide, I carried
Ben openly on my shoulders in public. He was in shorts and a
T-shirt. The results
of the tumble on the deck was obvious. A visit to the Mayes
County Courthouse to deliver a document to the desk of a secretary
in the County Attorney’s office, Tanya Bible, resulted in her
reporting Ben’s appearance to D.H.S., resulting in another visit
of inquiry from D.H.S.
Ben was interrogated and explained as best he could about
the fall on the deck at “Pa-Pah’s house with Pa-Pah Jim”. The investigation was
concluded when D.H.S. confirmed Ben’s account with the witnesses
to the accident, James and Nora Stanart. The interview was
videotaped.
Tanya Bible testified in Court to the bruises, but could
not describe them.
After she left the room, Judge McBride said, “I didn’t hear
her say they looked like fingerprints”, and asked that she be
brought back in and she was again asked to describe the
bruises. She
testified, “They
looked like fingerprints.”
Is this enough proof that she was quickly coached? Looking for a problem where
there was none?
This is not to say that Ben did not get an occasional
scrape, bruise or insect bite at home, he did. We did not keep him in a
plastic bubble and he was quite active – equal to the affection he
gave us.
After 10 months, Ben still exhibited a small fragment of
insecurity. He liked
to know where each of us was at all times. The three of us were
rarely separated, though when one of us had to leave on an errand,
for example, there were no problems. At home, Ben liked to
‘keep an eye’ on us.
4
I will
interject here a statement I casually made after reading an
adoption article – in which it was noted that President Gerald
Ford, Wendy’s Dave Thomas, and Jeffrey Dahmer were all three
adopted babies.
Someone adopted Jeffrey Dahmer? “Well,” I noted, “He was
probably a sweet little baby, too.” Little could I fathom how
that simple incontrovertible statement of not judging a baby would
come back to haunt me - and my wife – and paint us almost
as bad as Simon Lagrees!
The death of a child is a tragedy, and what crime could be
worse than the killing of a child? Viciously accusing and
plotting to cage for life the two innocent parents of their child,
who tragically died as a result of an unanticipated and
unwitnessed accident.
The adoption decree was ready to sign. Judge Goodpaster had set
the appointment for November 3rd, 1999. Less than a week away, and
“Bengermun Micknell Hoonoverrrr” (though spelled correctly) would
be Ben’s legal name.
October 29th was a good day; nothing
extraordinary. In the
morning, we drove to Pryor (a 19 mile drive) to the optometrist,
and across the street to visit with Charles Jordan, a friend and
the administrator of Mayes County Medical Center. Ben talked quite a while
with him; they had birthdates in common – December
16th. Charles Jordan’s Mother’s
birthdate; same as Benjamin’s birthdate. We then went to Arby’s for
lunch, then to Wal-Mart to buy three koi for our pond, and
arriving back home around 3 p.m. The fish had been put in
the tank, Ben was taking his usual nap, I was standing on the
front porch, and Marie was throwing out leftovers to the chickens
when our renter, Vallerie Millikin drove by. She could not see me on
the porch, as cannas blocked her view. She would later testify
that at 3 p.m., “Marie was out feeding the chickens and John was
in the house with Ben when the incident happened”. She would conclude her
testimony with “I seen everything”. The prosecutor did not
inquire that she elucidate.
Ben awakened from his nap during the evening newscast;
between 5:30 p.m. and 6:00 p.m. I took him to potty, after
which he played with his Lego toys while I continued to watch the
news and weather.
Ben climbed up in my lap and said, “I’m hungry!” I said, “Let’s go ask Mama
to fix you some supper”.
We did, and Ben went back to playing with his Lego’s. After the weather
indicated a possible freeze, I got up to go outside. Marie was in the kitchen
fixing Ben’s supper while she was talking on the phone with Nora
Stanart, Marie’s mother; Ben’s
great-grandmother.
“Ben, I’m going out to water the flowers. Let me know when supper is
ready and I’ll come back in.” “OK, daddy” were the last
words I would hear my son speak.
5
“No
one goes out at night to water flowers when it is dark”,
the prosecutor would tell the jury. “It’s almost winter. John was in the
house. Marie was
outside feeding the chickens.”
The Dead Sea Scrolls contains judicial instructions for a
jury. Twelve (males
only, of course) from age 25-50, trained and learned in the
law. Professional,
well-educated jurors, and paid a professional
wage.
In 1903 English philosopher Herbert Spencer described our
contemporary “finders of fact”: “A Jury is a group of twelve
people of average ignorance.” The prosecutor could not
fool 12 well-educated jurors into not knowing that to save tender
blooms on a frosting, full moon night, one sprays a mist on
them. Farmers
Almanac! Not knowing
that chickens don’t feed at night; they roost before the sun
sets.
Confusing the jurors into believing Ben’s “incident”
happened at about 3 p.m., which is an impossibility. Testimony was given that,
at 6:30 p.m., Ben was talking on the phone with Nora Stanart; a
short but pleasant typical conversation, during which Ben was
lucid and articulate in his responses to Nora’s
questions.
All physicians testified Ben lost consciousness upon impact
and would not regain it.
The accident could therefore only have happened after 6:30
p.m.
As I walked from one flower bed to another, past the dining
room window, I could and did see through the window into the
kitchen; Ben was holding the phone in his hands talking to his
great-grandmother.
Nora Stanart testified this conversation was about 6:30
p.m.
I had watered a small apple tree and started toward the
final flower bed when the front door screeched open. “Jonathan! Come quick! Something’s wrong with our
boy!”
“You don’t have to yell; I’m right
here.”
“Get in here now!”
I
did not know what had happened. Neither did Marie. Ben had handed the phone
back to Marie and had taken off running again toward the dining
room. Marie had
restarted her conversation with Nora when she heard a loud
‘crack’. “I’ve got to
go, Mom; something’s happened to Ben.” She laid the phone on the
counter – not turning it off – and ran to find Ben laying
prone
on his back on the edge of the cement floor
foyer.
6
Marie knelt down and lifted Ben to get a response. Not getting one, she
twisted her body to lay Ben down on the edge of the dining room
carpet, and then ran to get me.
When I entered the foyer I saw Ben lying on the dining room
carpet, having what appeared to be an epileptic
seizure.
I immediately picked Ben up; my right hand under his butt,
my left arm between his shoulders cradling his head with my left
hand. Instinctively,
I felt for a lump; there was none. “Thank God! He’d fallen on the carpet
and not in the foyer”, was my first thought. His pants were
saturated.
“Put some dry pants on him. We’re taking him to the
hospital.”
“Shouldn’t we call for an
ambulance?”
“No. We will
get to the hospital before an ambulance could get here, even if it
didn’t get lost.”
This was said on the way to the bedroom to get the car
keys, garage door opener, billfold, and my cell phone. I laid Ben on the bed to
quickly grab the four items from the night stand and Ben’s dry
pants were on him before I could turn on the phone, push
‘Hospital’, and start the garage door up with the
opener.
I picked Ben up, headed down the hall and said only two
words, “You drive!”
The garage door had not fully completed its open cycle as
we entered the garage.
It was now as late as 6:35 p.m. when Marie backed the car
out of the garage.
There was four miles of dirt road to travel before I had an
ample signal on my telephone to push ‘Send’ and get the
hospital. Their
records reflected that I called at 6:45 p.m. We were still 15 miles
from the hospital. It
would take that many more minutes to get there as we were logged
in at the emergency room at exactly 7
p.m.
Five minutes prior to arrival at the hospital, I made a
second call to confirm our location and ETA, and inform that our
boy had stopped breathing and that I had begun vigorous artificial
resuscitation.
Nora Stanart testified her conversation with Ben ended
after 6:30 p.m. It
took less than two minutes from
the time I picked Ben up to when we were turning out of our
driveway onto the dirt road which runs in front of our home. Nineteen miles were
traveled in less than 22 minutes.
7
But in
Prosecutor Charles Ramsey’s closing argument: “We don’t know what
happened to Ben. All
I know is this little boy is laying there with his brains
squishing out the top of his head for 45 minutes. Brains gushing, 45 minutes
while John is changing his clothes and doing other things.” “ We don’t know what John
was trying to hide for 45 minutes – before he finally decided to
call the hospital.”
12 jurors that fooled into not knowing that there is not 45
minutes between 6:35 and 6:45 or even between 6:35 and 7:00 p.m.
and 22 minutes of that time was consumed racing to the
hospital for as immediate medical attention as
possible.
In his closing, Ramsey also convinced the jurors that our
boy’s brains were gushing out the top of his head for 45 minutes –
forgetting the testimony of all attending physicians that there
were no visible signs of any injury.
Testimony of Dr Mark Krouse, the Tarrant County, Texas,
Medical Examiner, described a video he viewed of a child falling a
lesser distance than did Ben onto a carpet-covered cement garage
floor which resulted in the same injury as Ben, same loss of
consciousness, same death, and “that the finding of a child such
as Ben, with no signs of abuse, no old or new bruises, no visible
injuries; it is likely a fall”.
All that could have happened was that Ben climbed up
on the chair, piano bench, or table, as his grandmother, Mary
Stanart, wrote that he frequently did. This time, perhaps, to
look out over the café curtains to see me (?) and lost his grip or
balance and fell over backwards onto the cement
floor.
We were not allowed to use this defense, as Judge Dynda
Post clearly overruled; “The State did not present any evidence
that there was any furniture in that
house”.2
Prosecutor Ramsey’s final question to Dr Krouse was, “Is it
likely that Ben would have done this injury to himself while
running and slipping?”
Dr Krouse’s answer was, “No, not likely.” The jury forgot this
question and answer when Ramsey reminded them: “The last question I asked
Dr Krouse is that is it ‘possible’ that Ben could have done
this to himself while running and falling? And Dr Krouse said very
clearly, “No, it’s
impossible.”3
8
This serious misquote, deliberately misleading the jury,
was addressed by the defense attorneys, who reminded Judge Post of
the misstatement.
Judge Post asked Ramsey if he said “impossible”, to which
he replied: “No,
Judge. I said ‘not
likely’”.
The transcript exposes Ramsey’s
deception.
Recall now the innocent comment that Jeffrey Dahmer was
probably a sweet little boy?
There is no evidence anywhere that he was not a sweet
little boy when he was two years old!
Ramsey asked a witness if I had made that comment. The witness replied,
“Yes.”
“So John compared Ben to Jeffrey Dahmer?”
“Why, yes, I
guess he did.”
“Who was Jeffrey Dahmer?”
“He was a
serial killer who cuts up his victims and eats them.”
“You’re saying John compared little Benjamin to a serial
killer who cuts up his victims and eats them!?”
“Why, yes, I guess he did.”
At no time was Ben ever compared with
anyone.
Ramsey’s final words mushroomed from my innocent comment
that Jeffrey Dahmer was probably a sweet little baby to include
Marie: “People who
compare their boy to a psychopathic cannibal serial killer are not
normal people and they do abnormal things. They murdered
Benjamin
Schoonover.”4
Why, when there is no evidence whatsoever of anything but a
tragic accident, would a prosecutor contrive such deceit to
condemn not one, but two, innocent people to die in prison? When he has told Stanart
family members face-to-face that he knows Marie is innocent? Why would he seek
perjured testimony?
Why coach a witness to say what the judge wants to
hear. Why would an
‘honest’ prosecutor suppress exculpatory evidence? An ‘honest’ prosecutor
would not.5
9
Ramsey conducted no investigation. He refused to interview
Marie or myself. By
the time he learned the truth and realized his mistake, there was
no way out for this Knight.
It was chaos at Mayes County Medical Center. Marie was in a panic – and
in the way – there was a shortage of staff – I had to assist with
equipment and even help irrigate Ben. I was asked only one
question upon entry; “How long has this boy been having these
seizures?” Not
immediately remembering the one he had 18 months earlier, or told
of the others, I erroneously answered, “This is the first
one”. There had been
others, but I did not recognize the one I did see as a
seizure.
Ben was stabilized, and within minutes Life Flight arrived
to rush Ben to St Francis Hospital in Tulsa, approximately 60 air
miles away. I was
still unaware of the nature of Ben’s condition. I thought he had had a
seizure and fallen.
Marie knew only that he had
fallen.
Ben’s grandfather (Jim Stanart) arrived at Mayes County
Medical Center before Life Flight, and he rode with us (I drove)
to St Francis hospital in Tulsa. Comforting Marie, his
sister, he would not speak to me.
Ben had a 12mm hairline fracture at the base of his
skull. It was barely
visible on the MRI.
It was in the radiologist’s report. Dr. Philip Barton,
however, did not note it in his report. The fracture was ‘found’
only days later when Dr. Robert Block examined the MRI. As he testified, “The
fracture actually wasn’t discovered until
autopsy”!
At the first trial, Dr. Barton did acknowledge that the
half-inch fracture {12mm} did show on the MRI, and he felt it was
insignificant. Why
didn’t he note it in his report? He didn’t see
it!
It had taken us an hour+ to get to St. Francis
Hospital. Upon Ben’s
arrival, some 45 minutes earlier, he was given the MRI which,
though the 12mm fracture was not noticed by Dr. Barton, did reveal
that Ben had a subdural hematoma and needed immediate surgery. That surgery was not
performed until I arrived to sign the hospital release form for
the surgery. Immediate surgery may
have saved our boy’s life.
That factual unnecessary delay could very well have been a
contributing factor of such gravity that it made the difference
between life and the death that occurred. We will never
know.
10
After signing the release for Ben’s surgery, Marie, Jim,
and I were directed to a waiting room where Jim continued to
console Marie.
Dr. Alan Fell came in and announced he had some bad news –
Ben had but a slim chance at survival. Marie’s hysteria was
unabatable and Dr. Fell ordered 10 milligrams of diazepam to calm
her.
Dr. Alan Fell commented with a question; “This appears to
be drug-related. Were
either of you two on drugs or alcohol when this boy was
conceived?”
I replied, “The mother was; we know nothing about the
father”.
“I thought you were the
parents.”
“We are adopting him.”
“If you are not his natural parents, I can’t talk to
you.”
We were directed to go to PICU and wait. After two hours, the
prescribed diazepam had rendered Marie near somnambulistic when
Dr. Phillip Barton came into the waiting room. He was obviously in a
state of anger. He
was still wearing his scrubs. Without even asking who I
was, he exclaimed, “I want to know what happened to this
boy!”
