Death of American Virtue - Ken Gormley [309]
McDougal’s book was in galley form and ready for its national release. The publishers were stretching out the publication date until April, so that McDougal could hit the speaking circuit the moment he was paroled and make a big splash. To the extent that a silver lining existed on Jim McDougal’s horizon, the anticipated release of the book was it. As Clark recounted, “The idea was that he’d be paroled in late April of 1998, that the book would come out, that he would spend some time promoting the book and then would settle back down in Arkadelphia near the college. He was telling me about how he really enjoyed having university students come by, and he was hoping that he would just be living a quiet life in Arkadelphia with occasional opportunities to be able to lecture at the university.”
Although McDougal’s conviction on nineteen counts of fraud and conspiracy could have led to eighty-three years in prison, his cooperation with OIC had shaved that sentence down to three years with eligibility for parole based on “good behavior” in a third of that time. Starr’s deputy, Hickman Ewing, Jr., had written a glowing letter for him, in which Ewing had recommended that McDougal “be paroled due to his acceptance of responsibility for his crimes and his cooperation with authorities in the investigative process.” The magic April day was not far off.
On February 2, prison medical records indicate that McDougal requested a special counseling session, or a “cop-out,” with the Psychology Unit. In this meeting, the prisoner questioned the right of guards to make him “pee on demand.” In early January, officers had rounded up the entire wing of his unit in a maneuver called “saturation,” requiring inmates to provide urine samples for drug testing. Once again, McDougal had “locked up,” unable to perform. After protesting that the psychologists had placed in his file a document recommending that he be given “dry cell status” for urinalysis, he had been told by Philip Shanks, the caseworker assigned to assembling materials for his parole hearing, that his “central file does not contain a copy of the evaluation report recommending dry cell status.”
Clark found the situation extremely odd. First, it had always troubled Clark that McDougal’s name had been placed on the suspect list for drug screenings in the first place, since nothing in his file (evidence of drug use, etc.) would justify such a step under the prison’s procedures. Even more perplexing, Clark knew that he had directed, personally, that the “dry status” report be placed in McDougal’s central file. The unit manager had confirmed that they had “received the report.”
To correct this problem, Clark arranged for a new copy of the report to be sent out immediately. Scribbling notes in longhand, the young doctor assured Jim McDougal that his “request would be honored.” This problem would not occur again.
ON the afternoon of Sunday, March 8, Clark was at home celebrating his wife’s birthday when the phone rang. His supervisor, Jim Womack, was on the other end. Womack’s voice sounded subdued. “Have you heard the news?” he asked.
Clark sank into a kitchen chair. His boss continued in a tentative voice: “I just heard about it on television. They’re saying that he died at a local hospital today.” Womack added that he wanted the young psychologist to have some time “to process all of this before going back into the institution.”
A single thought immediately lodged itself in Richard Clark’s mind. “They killed him,” he told himself. It was the only conclusion he could reach, looking at everything that had occurred since October, including Jim McDougal’s “placement in the hole, and all the controversy about the suspect list… [and then] the evaluation