Kenny Richey Has Left the Building

Kenny Richey survived 21 years on death row in Ohio before being freed from prison in January this year. He has returned to Edinburgh where he now faces another battle, this time with mouth cancer.

As he sits down at the table in his local bar, he confesses, “I’m not particularly keen on journalists,” before turning to look at the dictaphone placed on the table in front of him. He picks it up and looks at what can best be described as a small mobile phone; he is interested in what it can do, how many hours of recording it can hold and how much it cost. He looks like a child fawning over a newly opened Christmas present. “It’s cool” he says, as the little red button burns red for record.

Immaculately dressed in a black suit, shirt and tie, he is the picture that we have seen on the front pages of our newspapers. There’s something missing from those images, though, his US Marine tie-pin, which he lost on a recent trip to England. He stares at his tie, which he’s stroking hopelessly with his fingers.

“It broke my heart, 2 hours I spent walking up and down that street looking for that pin.” He joined the US Marines after moving to America in the 1980’s, the homeland of his father. “It was great; I loved it. You are skilled in knife fighting, hand-to-hand combat, bayonet fighting, no one deadlier than a US marine with a bayonet,” he chimes like a proud parent.

He moved to the US as a teenager. “It was hard, they’re very xenophobic. I got in a few fights.” He pauses for a minute before picking up the Dictaphone again and doing an Elvis impersonation. “I’m off for a ciggie,” he coughs.

He returns, still coughing, eyes fixed on the digital recorder; he grabs it and starts to sing an Elvis song, before tilting his head forward to give his muffled impression of Presley’s deep tone. “I loved Elvis growing up, I still love Elvis. I used to play him from morning till night, Elvis-Elvis-Elvis. It used to drive my mum nuts. I used to dress like him.” His favourite Presley hit is “I just can’t help believing.”

Born in Amsterdam in 1964, to an American dad and Scottish mother, Kenny grew up in Edinburgh.

“I loved Edinburgh growing up, I really didn’t want to go to live in America, but at the time I was looking at prison time.” Pausing to laugh, he continues, “and look where I ended up.” Over 20 years later, he’s back in a different city. “The only thing that’s stayed the same is the castle”, he says, as he examines the dictaphone, again.

Within three years of arriving in America, Kenny had been through a failed marriage, which had produced a son, and had been thrown out of the US Marines. He had been planning to return to live in Scotland when he was arrested in 1986 for the murder of two-year-old Cynthia Collins, who died in a house fire, Kenny was convicted of starting. Amnesty International has described the case as “one of the most compelling cases of apparent innocence that human rights campaigners have ever seen.”

“How was I convicted? Corruption. They didn’t care about justice; all they wanted was a conviction. I met 21 other people that I know were innocent, on death row.”

What kept Kenny believing on death row? “You’ve just got to reach down inside yourself and find the strength. It’s either that, or die. What would you rather do? Hey, check that out.” He was pointing at the television mounted on the bar wall. “I love that advert, it’s so funny.“ The DR Pepper advert has Kenny in hysterics.

He was supported by a number of people when he was on death row but says, “Huh, now that I’m out, where are they?”

Edinburgh independent politician, Margo Macdonald, was one person who had supported the Free Kenny Richey Campaign. “Margo Macdonald has been behind me but ever since that crappy assed lying article about me snorting cocaine I haven’t heard a word out of her.” Those articles carried pictures that showed, what some papers claimed, was Kenny snorting cocaine. “That was bullshit. I can’t snort cocaine. It would kill me if I snort cocaine. They are using me to sell papers and I’m not getting paid for it.” His cough worsens as he picks up the Dictaphone and breaks into another Elvis song before declaring he is “off for a smoke.”

He returned with two pints of lager quipping, “I got more support from the European Parliament than I got from the British government. At first they didn’t even want to acknowledge I was British.”

When he was imprisoned, the law stated that you could only be granted British citizenship if your father was British. It was Kenny Richey’s appeal for a British passport that resulted in a change to that law.

Nearly 21 years after his initial conviction, Kenny Richey pled ‘no contest’ to involuntary manslaughter, child endangerment and breaking and entering. He wanted to clear his name completely, but feared that by refusing to plead, he may suffer further at the hands of the American justice system. He decided to accept the ‘no contest’ verdict, and was released on January 7th this year. He was in Scotland two days later, returning to live with his mum in Edinburgh. He laughs when talking about his return, “I didn’t go straight to my mum’s flat. I went to a hotel; we had tracer cars, decoy cars, the works.”

It’s time for another cigarette.

He returns looking pale, and he is finding it difficult to control his coughing. How is he coping with a new battle, fighting the mouth cancer he was diagnosed with a couple of weeks ago? “I’ve never been beaten in my life. I’ll go to Livingston to have the fun of getting my mouth cut up.”

He picks up the recorder, not to sing an Elvis hit this time; the humour has gone, his face looks like granite. “I haven’t felt shit since I’ve been out because I’m still numb inside. I feel numb, I don’t know how to feel and I’m being serious. I should be more excited, more everything. But I’m not. Inside what I feel is just dead, I don’t have any friends.”

“I dunno what the future holds, don’t know what I want to do, that’s the problem.” He looks at the table for a time before looking up again. “I would like to be a campaigner, help those facing injustice.”

His eyes move to the bar door as a woman enters the pub. He smiles, he recognises her. “Where’s my kiss?” he shouts, and she runs over to Kenny, hugging and kissing him.” They chat and laugh together for a few minutes, and then she leaves to buy a drink. “She’s a nice looking lassie, eh?”

After another cigarette, he mentions the Edinburgh Festival, “I’ve got a ten minute movie coming out at the festival. Irvine Welsh did it. I plan to write a book; I just need someone I can do it with.”

He waves to a man standing at the bar, sips on his lager and talks about his desire to visit the States, not something he would recommend to others. “Don’t go to America, period, not even for a holiday. His father and son are there, though, and he plans to go and see them as soon as possible. His father has cancer and Kenny wants to spend some time with him while he still can.

A middle-aged man approaches the table, apologises for interrupting the conversation, and holds out his hand for Kenny to shake, but the man asks for his hand back as soon as their palms touch; Kenny doesn’t get offended but obliges, and the two chat for a couple of minutes. The man shakes his hand to say good bye, “give me my hand back” Kenny jokes with the man, and they’re both laughing.

He finishes the last of his lager, “I better go home now, I’m going to watch Trainspotting. I rented it earlier.” As he stands up, he smiles, “I met this boy today who knows my best mate. I’ve been looking for this guy for ages; he was more like a brother than a best mate.”

Lighting up at the door, he sighs. “Kenny, give up smoking.” He turns. “It was a pleasure to meet you. Take care.” He looks to the sky, and puffs out his chest, “Don’t you just love the rain?”

Elvis has left the building.