But when fate intervened, he rose to the occasion. All across this country there is smoldering outrage against a criminal justice system that does not sufficiently protect us against street criminals. Mike Reynolds had the vision to do something about that infringement upon liberty. His personal loss has been great. Yet he is honored with the Sovereign Fund Award not for what he lost but rather for what he has helped so many to gain the knowledge that senseless violence relegates freedom to an ideal rather than a guarantee.
He is an unsung hero to countless Americans who might otherwise have fallen prey to heinous crime. Thanks to his insight and commitment, they will live longer and safer, even if they never know his name. Mike Reynolds, whose year-old daughter, Kimber, had also been murdered by a paroled felon, transformed his own loss into a crusade for justice as the citizen proponent of the "Three Strikes" law, a tough-on-crime initiative which called for harsh sentences for repeat felons.
Initially rebuked by legislators, he launched a signature drive to qualify "Three Strikes" as a voter initiative, with equally frustrating results.
Fueled by talk radio hosts, Reynold's initiative became the single most talked-about issue on the state's agenda. But the more Klaas learned about the law, the less he liked it.
Klaas hadn't understood the scope of the initiative and that it could impact nonviolent offenders. Two months after Klaas initially spoke out in favor of "Three Strikes," he became the law's most ardent opponent, and the bereaved fathers found themselves locked in a ferocious public struggle over the merits of "one-size-fits-all" justice. Through revealing archival news footage and candid interviews with Reynolds, Klaas, and other key players in the battle over "Three Strikes," including judges, legal analysts, and state officials, The Legacy illuminates both sides of this heated issue and reveals in stark and disturbing terms how criminal justice policy is debated and promoted in today's media-saturated political climate.
It became almost a mantra, repeated in the newspapers, on talk radio and on television. Jones and Costa revived their bill, and by last Monday, it was on the verge of passing its final committee. But first, Sen. Art Torres, a Los Angeles Democrat, wanted to amend it. It was an apple-pie idea.
State fiscal analysts had calculated that the bill would cost billions. Torres got the votes and the amendment was added to the bill. Reynolds, sitting in the committee room as he had done half a dozen times this year, was not sure what the lawmakers were up to. He stood and said he wanted to speak. Legislators generally do not allow people from the audience to speak when they are in the midst of a debate.
But Reynolds had attained special status. The senators gave him the microphone. It will also demonstrate to me at least the inability of the Legislature to act in a responsible way. Reynolds went on to point out that the November elections were nearing. Minutes later the committee rescinded the amendment. Torres got up from his seat, walked to Reynolds and whispered into his ear, smiled and shook his hand.
Later, Reynolds said, Torres told him that he was only trying to improve the measure and that he supported the bill. The Legislature that had rolled its eyes at his proposal last year now treated him with deference.
Nor does Reynolds trust the prosecutors and criminal justice experts who say there are ways to write a more focused statute that would ensure only violent felons would be locked up for life.
Even Jones, the author of the bill, believes it could be made better. President Clinton has invited him to the White House.
He has had offers to run for office and to work for the passage of other initiatives. In the process, they became national figures. John Stoos, director of the Gun Owners of California, one of the strongest pro-gun lobbies in Sacramento, makes it his business to keep track of the goings-on at the Capitol. When Reynolds showed up last April with four busloads of people from Fresno, Stoos was there to introduce himself.
Come , Stoos said, he hopes to enlist Reynolds in an initiative that gun owners hope to place on the ballot. I saw it in Paul. I see it Mike. But that is not real. What we have to do is go on with the cards that have been dealt. As he sits in his back yard, a squirrel climbs down a pine tree, and Reynolds hands it a peanut.
He recalls how Kimber spent hours feeding them. The phone rings, as it does constantly, and interrupts the memory.
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