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How many of the GD crowd will defend this guy? Before this thread gets locked I predict at least one will argue in favor of this POS's actions.
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Thanks for sharing. I have to admit. I teared up a couple of times.
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Bless this killer's parents for doing the right thing--turning him in.
Link to original newspaper series Parts 1-4 are linked on the right side of the screen; part 5 isn't posted until tomorrow. |
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What a patriot he shoots a hunter/gunowner in the back. I dont know how you guys in LE restrain yourselves, if I was close enough to that POS I think I would kill him.
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I will never understand people like this guy, what the hell made him think anything he could do would make the American people rise up against the "government"? Why does he think he's so important that people would follow him, must be something that liberal school pumped into his head. I only wish that the professor(s) at the school of liberal wonderfulness would get the same hotshot he's going to get.
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That is one of the most heart wrenching things I have ever read.
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Rest in Peace Office Mobilio.
May Luke Mobilio always carry the peace in his heart knowing that his daddy was a True Blue Hero |
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Part 5: Moving ahead
RED BLUFF, CA - In the early morning hours of April 28, Andy Mickel left Red Bluff for the last time. Sentenced to death for the murder of Red Bluff Police Officer Dave Mobilio, he was quietly moved from the Tehama County jail to his permanent home in California: San Quentin State Prison. Mickel was 26 years old; Mobilio would have turned 34 last Saturday. For many in Red Bluff and Colusa, Mickel's departure - and his death sentence - opened the window of closure. Mobilio had been gone for 2 1/2 years, ambushed and executed at a Red Bluff gas station on Nov. 19, 2002, a night he wasn't even supposed to be working. Over and over, residents had asked: Why Red Bluff? Why Dave? By the time a Colusa County jury convicted Mickel of first-degree murder on April 5, and the judge affirmed the jurors' recommended punishment, those questions had been answered. Bit by bit, life in Red Bluff returned to normal. After briefly using different gas stations for safety, Red Bluff officers insisted on returning to the scene of the murder to refuel their cars. A security camera and lighting have been added at the insistence of Linda Mobilio, Dave's widow. Three of the four Red Bluff officers who had left the force for better pay in Redding decided to return to Red Bluff after the murder. "We all have to move forward; our people have to move forward, as well," said Red Bluff Police Chief Al Shamblin. "It doesn't mean we're going to forget Dave. "We're never going to forget Dave." But closure is not a concept easily embraced by those who were closest to the victim - or to his killer, whose actions defy full explanation. The story goes on and on, with new chapters written daily in shattered lives and altered paths. Mobilio's only child, Luke - 19 months old at the time of the murder - is 4 and excited about entering pre-kindergarten this fall. But he hasn't forgotten his dad. "Mommy, you're so lucky," he told Linda Mobilio one recent morning. "Why, Luke?" she asked. "You got to know my dad a lot longer than I did." The pain is still acutely visible in the faces of the parents - both Mobilio's and Mickel's. Chantelle Estess, forewoman of the jury that convicted Mickel in April and sentenced him to die, sees the anguish on both sides of this story. "There are two mothers," she said, "who will never hold their sons again." Dave Mobilio is buried in Chico, where he met his wife. His parents, Richard and Laurie, had another headstone placed at the Madronia Cemetery near their home in Saratoga so they can visit more often and reflect on their remarkable son. Richard and Laurie Mobilio struggle with their emotions as they describe the agony of life without son Dave. "The regret is the future we lost with him," his mother says as his father openly weeps. But for them life has changed forever. "The agony is, you can't escape it," said Richard Mobilio. One person, one decision, one brutal act, has altered the course of many lives - in Red Bluff, in Colusa, in Saratoga and in Springfield, Ohio. In the aftermath of the trial, these are their stories. Andy Mickel, an Ohio boy who grew up digging worms with a neighbor girl and winning high school acting awards, will live out his remaining days in an aging, infamous prison on a beautiful stretch of land edging San Francisco Bay. San Quentin, which houses all of California's condemned male inmates, is almost medieval, with echoing hallways and clanking doors. Mickel is inmate No. V77400. By the time he stood trial, Mickel had been locked up in California long enough to watch the 2003 gubernatorial recall election from jail, telling a friend in a letter that he thought Arnold Schwarzenegger's election was "very funny" and his campaign "a joke." Mickel will not be executed any time soon. Unlike in Texas or other death penalty states, California's process for those sentenced to die is exceedingly slow. Under state law, Mickel's death penalty conviction will be appealed automatically to the state Supreme Court, and that process alone will take years. He is not likely even to be assigned an appellate lawyer for at least five years. Mickel will reside alone in a 6-by-10-foot cell on death row with 640 others, some of whom have been there more than 25 years. Among the 11 executed since 1992, the average wait has been about 16 years. While no one disputes his guilt, friends of Mickel and his family do question whether justice was served for a man they believe is desperately mentally ill. Before his extradition to California, a judge in New Hampshire had ordered Mickel to undergo a competency exam, a report that remains sealed. Once in California, Mickel - who wanted a public platform for his ideas - refused to have his competency evaluated. In California, only the judge and the defendant or his attorney can halt the proceedings to have the accused examined for mental competency. Had he chosen to do so, Mickel could have pursued an insanity defense, potentially escaping the death penalty. But Mickel, who represented himself with help from an advisory counsel who offered help or advice when Mickel asked for it, did not choose this path. Nor did the judge. "It just seems like there's no advocate for him, " said Judi Smith of Springfield, a neighbor of Mickel's parents who has known him since he was a child. "I'm not exonerating Andy because I think he has mental illness - but I think he has mental illness. And it breaks my heart they're taking a mentally ill person's word that he doesn't need help." Smith's daughter, 25-year-old Rachel Wilson, was among those who wrote impassioned pleas to Colusa Superior Court Judge S. William Abel, asking him to spare her friend's life. She was the neighbor girl who joined Mickel in little adventures and, as a teen, walked alongside him at Prom Court. "I'll never understand what Andy did or why he did it," wrote Wilson, who had known Mickel from the first grade and considered him a dear friend. "As a Christian, I pray for Andy ... Please, show mercy to Andy and spare his life." Wilson believes her lifelong friend may be suffering from schizophrenia. If he were ever treated, and realized the enormity of what he had done, he would "just be overcome," she said. Another close childhood friend, Griffin House, urged the judge in an e-mail to show "compassion and forgiveness." "I know he is claiming sanity, and I believe he would be terribly upset with me for saying that he is mentally ill, but I don't see how Andy could possibly be in his right mind," wrote House, a 25-year-old musician living in Nashville. "I want to ask from one human to another to look at Andy as someone who is sick and needs to be helped and loved and cared for, not exterminated." What psychiatric treatment Mickel is getting in San Quentin, if any, is not a matter of public record. A spokeswoman for the state Department of Corrections said she couldn't comment on any aspect of Mickel's health because of privacy laws. But all inmates are evaluated, she said, and those identified with mental health conditions are given appropriate medication and regular contact with a psychiatrist or psychologist. In a jailhouse interview with The Bee before he was shipped to San Quentin, Mickel pointedly rejected any notion that he suffered from a mental illness. He made it clear at trial that he would not seek an insanity defense, and James Reichle, a former district attorney in Sierra and Plumas counties who was his advisory counsel, thought Mickel perfectly capable of understanding the proceedings and putting forth a defense. "You obviously have to get the idea in dealing with him that his mind functions a bit differently than other people's do," said Reichle, who lives near Quincy. "But he's also extremely intelligent and he's extremely articulate ... "You can't say he's incompetent in any functional sense in terms of not understanding things." Reichle said Mickel was "adamant" that he did not want to pursue an insanity defense. And given the planning and preparation he undertook for the murder, Reichle said, it probably wouldn't have worked anyway. "Yes, you can be mentally ill, but if you understand what you're doing, and if you understand the consequences of what you're doing, under the criminal law you're responsible," he said. "California does not give you a break if you're mentally ill." Mickel has recently acknowledged he has bouts of depression. In a letter to Ben Poston from the Tehama County jail, he told his childhood friend that "one good thing about jail is that it gave me an opportunity to directly see my depression ... "I had lied to myself about having depression for a long time," he wrote, then segued into chitchat about his parents, brothers and the beauty of Cincinnati. He signed the letter: "Later Bro, Andy." Stan and Karen Mickel do not want to discuss in any detail their son's case or possible mental condition - a lawyer has advised against it, they say - but the toll it has taken on them is obvious. The two, who traveled to California and remained throughout the trial, have appeared haggard and worn in recent months. When they returned home from California following the trial, neighbor Judi Smith's husband, Richard, couldn't help noticing his frail-looking neighbors, out for a stroll in their tree-lined neighborhood. "He said they just looked like if you touched them, they'd fall over," said Smith, a third-grade teacher and mother of four. Inside the Mickels' comfortable two-story home, which they share with an enthusiastic black Lab, the couple recently displayed a collage of childhood photos of Andy that they keep neatly framed - Andy in a high chair, Andy as a teenager on a Monterey beach, Andy as a soldier. A senior portrait of Andy that Stan Mickel keeps in his wallet now has his son's San Quentin information taped to the protective plastic. The murder is a hard matter for them to escape in a town of 65,000 where Stan Mickel still teaches at Wittenberg University and Karen, a math teacher at nearby Dayton University, once served on the school board. The story has drifted from the local news, but memories rush back in other ways. In November 2002, when the Mickels realized what their son had done, they decided to turn him in. The person they sought out for help was police Capt. Stephen Moody, who was elevated to the chief's position just two months later. Moody, a Springfield native who had known the couple for years before the crime, considered their decision courageous. He feels certain that Andy Mickel was raised in a "compassionate home." But to this day, he feels uncomfortable when he encounters the Mickels around town, wondering if his mere presence reminds them of their worst moment. "What bothers me, when we see each other - my concern is, 'What does that bring up in their minds? Does it bring it all back to the surface?' " said the 49-year-old chief, the father of five. "Because that was the night they had to confront this, and then deal with it. "It makes you feel bad." The Mickels say they plan to visit their son in prison. Several of his friends would like to visit, also. Yet for a 26-year-old man from a small city in Ohio, who grew up in a sheltered suburban pocket with neatly kept lawns and lush trees, the neighborhood has certainly changed. Among his fellow death row prisoners are Richard Allen Davis, who kidnapped and murdered 12-year-old Polly Klaas; mass murderer Charles Ng; "Night Stalker" Richard Ramirez; and a more recent addition, Scott Peterson of Modesto, sentenced to die for the murder of his pregnant wife, Laci, and their unborn son. Andy Mickel says he expected, even planned, for this, going so far as to visit a Washington state prison before the murder. In the jailhouse interview three days before he was sentenced to death, Mickel said he had apologized to his family but had no regrets. While in jail over the past 2 1/2 years, he said he prayed about his decision to murder a cop and felt that decision was spiritually affirmed. "There was no other course I really could've taken," he said, speaking in flat, calm tones from behind the glass partition of Station 7 at the Tehama County jail, where the fluorescent lighting accentuated his pale skin. "I don't want to be doing the wrong thing. I want to be doing the right thing." As in Springfield, the news in Red Bluff has drifted back to the more mundane. Instead of daily stories on the life and death of Dave Mobilio and the trial of Andy Mickel, the Red Bluff Daily News has moved on to other items of interest: the selection of a building site for Tehama College. The arraignment of a man accused of killing his girlfriend's kitten. The police department's latest sobriety checkpoint. Routines have resumed. Tehama County District Attorney Gregg Cohen is making plans to run for a third term in office after the current one expires in December 2006. Deputy District Attorney Lynn Strom no longer has nightmares about Mickel and is still hard at work, balancing career and family. Her first case following Mickel's: a marijuana bust involving three plants growing in a pot atop the suspect's TV. Jury forewoman Chantelle Estess signed on with Keller Williams Realty in Yuba City and has sold two houses. She was the only woman to compete in June in the demolition derby at the Colusa County Fair, where her fiancé cheered her on in her '68 Dodge New Yorker. She plans to get married in September at Lake Tahoe. Her transition from capital murder trial to everyday life has not been seamless. Estess finds she isn't so trusting of strangers anymore. Shortly after the verdict, Estess overheard a woman at Rainbow Market loudly exclaim: "There's the woman who put that guy to death!" Estess wheeled around the corner and retorted: "It's a good thing you weren't on the jury, or he'd be let free." The turning point in the healing was, for some, the trial - a long-awaited event especially crucial for Mobilio's fellow officers, who led the chorus asking: Why Red Bluff? Why Dave? "That was the only thing they wanted out of this trial," said police Chaplain Ron Fortenberry, who was called to the scene the night of the murder, and would later help notify Mobilio's young widow. "I think the answer really did do some healing for those cops." But scars remain. Fortenberry does his job differently now. Chagrined that he did not know Linda Mobilio the night her husband died, he makes a point of going on ride-alongs with Red Bluff police officers and taking their wives up on dinner invitations. "There's not a day that goes by that I don't go by that gas station and see Dave on the ground," said the father of three. Brett McAllister, the Red Bluff patrolman whose shift Mobilio had to fill that night, still feels guilt that he wasn't the one at the station. "If I hadn't called in that night, maybe it would have been me and not Dave," McAllister said in court. "I know it's not my fault. But there is still a tremendous amount of guilt, which is just something that is going to take time to get over." The trial proved to be hard on Linda Mobilio, who moved back to Chico shortly after the murder and is ready to get on with her life. She resumed teaching a combination second-and third-grade class in the fall of 2004 - a team-teaching position in Magalia, 18 miles northeast of Chico. "Every time I discuss what this has done to me, I spiral backwards, then have to work to bring myself back up again," she told The Bee. "You have no idea how difficult this has been. The trial opened all of my old, deep wounds, and I am finally feeling a bit of relief from all the months of sorrow, hurt and pain." She declined to discuss the case in detail or allow her son to be photographed, saying that "for the past 2 1/2 years I have done nothing but be consumed with Dave's death, and now am very anxious to move on with my life." She is engaged to be remarried this fall to a deputy with the Butte County Sheriff's Department. The couple will live in Chico, where Linda plans to quit teaching and become a full-time mom to 4-year-old Luke, whom she describes as a "healthy, sensitive and loving, extremely bright and active youngster." Mobilio's parents, Richard and Laurie Mobilio, see their grandson often and are buoyed by his and Linda's presence. But the pain of their son's loss is present at every family gathering, every birthday, every holiday. They stopped hanging the Christmas stockings for Dave, Linda and Luke on their fireplace after Dave's death. But they have added a new tradition: every year they decorate "a David Tree," a small pine strung with blue lights and blue ribbon and photographs to honor their only son and his police work. Stan and Karen Mickel sent them letters shortly after the murder, but they've never felt strong enough to open them. Their anguish remains palpable. Richard Mobilio wonders if he'll ever heal. They are back at work and are grateful for a strong, enduring marriage. Despite the heartache, they do not look at their life with Dave and nurse regrets. "It wasn't as if he didn't know how proud we were of him," Laurie said softly, while Richard openly wept. "He knew how happy we were for him. I knew how much he loved us. There were none of those things left unsaid that one could regret. "The regret is the future we lost with him." A granite memorial at Jackson Heights Elementary School in Red Bluff honors Dave Mobilio, who, as "DAREman Dave" taught youngsters to avoid drugs. A school penny drive raised thousands of dollars for the monument. About the writer: The Bee's Marjie Lundstrom can be reached at (916) 321-1055 or [email protected]. The Bee's Sam Stanton can be reached at (916) 321-1091 or [email protected]. |
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Are you fucking retarded? He didn't call him a liberal. He was reffering to the school and it's teaching staff....
Sounds like pretty liberal school for our republican army ranger, but what do I know |
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Dave Mobilio was a hero and will be missed, but not forgotten.
Rest Easy. |
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Wow those pctures do really hit the heart. Rest in Pease officer.....
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His rantings sound familiar..... Anybody hang out in General Discussions lately? Rest in Peace, brother. |
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Notice the silence from the usual GD crowd? They certainly know this thread is here, they cruise this forum like bangers looking for a drive-by. That's tacit approval in my book. |
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R.I.P officer Mobilio
Is what I don't get with people like this POS is why they blame LE for the laws. Why is it so hard for fucking morons like him to understand LE does not make the laws. I agree with the fact the gov is getting over reaching but what the hell does that have to do with LE. If the POS would have put those rounds through Dianne Feinstein's head I would have thrown a party for him. Instead the POS Shoots and innocent person simply doing their job. I hope he rots in hell. |
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This guy needs a razor blade enema. After his eyeballs and sliced with an exacto knife.
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Not halfway done with the first part of the story and I'm already pissed off.
Tag for later. |
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so since they have not posted here already by a time that you've determined, they are silently agreeing to this murder? I've seen some leaps of logic here before but that one is a definite moon shot. wganz ¶ |
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Terrible loss.
One question, though - the article specifically calls the bullets used as armor-piercing. True, or media hype? |
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Well, enough of them certainly advocate it often enough. Might be nice for a few of them to read about what they actually talk about doing with so little thought. I also bet none of them ever think about their words actually convincing someone else to do it. But, I would not be surprised to find a few of them silently cheering. |
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Rip for the officer... anyone catch the line about AP ammo being used
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What a total piece of shit that killer is , I think they should let deceased hero's coworkers carry out the execution by drawing and quartering in public, slowly, oh so slowly.
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