On the eve of his sentencing, John Berchielli received a piece of ominous news – his hearing had suddenly been moved from the state courthouse to one of the courtrooms at the county jail. Suspicious minds interpreted the change of venue as a mechanism for inching the new convict ever closer to a waiting cell. Was he being requested to deliver himself into the lion’s mouth before he had even been sentenced? Could his case really be so hopeless?
This sinister theory rattled his hopes for probation, but Berchielli didn’t let the bad omens get him down. He continued with his typical Sunday plans, which meant a field trip to a local farmer’s market with his class on urban food gardening. He walked his students by stand after stand, squeezing and sniffing the farm-fresh produce, and pausing to expound on the finer points. He looked every bit like a physician with a brood of interns following him on his rounds, and to Berchielli, this kind of instruction is just as important as the practice of medicine. Since his students are rehabilitated homeless families, a great deal depends on them developing sustainable strategies for living. “What I’m teaching them is how to turn an empty patch of dirt into a place where food is being grown,” Berchielli explained. “I’m doing this right up to my last day of freedom.”
By the next morning he had been inserted into the middle of a gargantuan list of arraignments at the modest jailhouse courtroom. There, the humanity showed off their Monday best as they packed into the tiny audience area and waited…and waited…and waited some more. Finally, after much incoherent bustling and fidgeting, the 8:30am calendar began -- promptly at 10:00am. But the robed figure that took the bench was not in the familiar shape of Rothwell B. Mason. This new adjudicator, Timothy M. Frawley, was younger, leaner, and more agile than the trial judge. He bit the bullet and dove straight into the discouragingly long calendar.
As the hours dragged by, Berchielli sat in the audience seats and anticipated his fate. Using a permanent pen, he wrote important phone numbers on his forearm in preparation for the moment he would be whisked off to the jail and stripped of his possessions. He exchanged occasional comments with the entourage of friends and associates who had come to speak on his behalf. And he flipped though a manila envelope containing copies of the character letters that had been submitted in his case, rereading the displays of confidence from an impressive array of upstanding citizens.
It was a thick stack indeed, detailing years of dedicated work with many improvement organizations: Head Start Alumni Association, Childhood Obesity Prevention Coalition, California Kids and Families Coalition, and dozens of others. But more poignant than the facts and dates of Berchielli’s résumé was the emotional impact of his community service. It took only a glance at the letters to be moved by the gratitude expressed within them. Overwhelmingly, the authors conveyed their dread and dismay at the prospect of losing the work of this invaluable volunteer.
Iselin Austrheim-Smith, a First 5 grant coordinator, wrote glowingly of Berchielli’s extensive work with the members of a transitional housing program. “The participants…are formerly homeless and John has taken an interest in each and every one of them,” she noted with pride and admiration. “I have never experienced another individual who has made the type of impact he has. Keeping him from the community places the community in dire straits. The community will be losing one of the only people who has given them strength and hope in turning their lives around.”
The loss that would result from Berchielli’s incarceration was a common theme that echoed strongly through the letters. The threat of his jailing seemed to ricochet around in all the correspondence, inspiring some authors to righteous declarations.
“This man is not a threat to society,” asserted the Executive Director of the Heritage Institute for Family Advocacy. “Mr. Berchielli’s contributions to the North Highlands and Sacramento community, and his family, so far outweigh any benefit that might be derived from incarceration that to imprison him, in this writer’s opinion, would be criminal in itself.”
Another evocative line came from a representative of the Rio Linda Union School District, who spoke of Berchielli helping elementary school children to set up student gardens, “More importantly than the seeds and plants he has planted, are the seeds he has planted in the hearts of his students.”
Even the president of the local Chamber of Commerce had weighed in with an assessment of Berchielli’s worth. “Individuals like John are ‘rare’ in our community. I mean that in the good and beautiful sense of the word,” wrote Keith Weber of the Antelope-Highlands Chamber of Commerce. “The benefits and value of his presence in our community would be sorely missed should he be removed from it.”
It was the letters that illustrated Berchielli’s role as a nurturing family man, however, that registered on a deeper emotional level. Reverend William Ellis of the Zion Lutheran Church described Berchielli winning custody of his daughter and the positive changes that resulted from his parenting. “It has been wonderful to watch her blossom under his tender care,” the pastor wrote. “For the first time she is doing well in school and is becoming a very responsible young lady.” It was not only a pleasant description, but one that starkly contradicted the prosecution’s portrayal of a distant child who had been emotionally desensitized by drug-related trauma.
But one small note, written on a prescription pad, addressed an even more dire consequence of incarcerating Berchielli. In it, the physician verified that Berchielli is the sole caregiver for his grandmother May Reimann, then speculated about what might happen in the absence of this assistance. “May has senile dementia and chronic heart problems,” the doctor scrawled on the slip of paper. “She cannot survive without John’s care.”
Following that was the most heartrending submission: the letter from the grandmother herself. It began with a description of Berchielli’s daily visits to her home to make sure she was eating and taking her medicine, and went on to credit him with taking her to all of her shopping errands, doctor’s visits and church services. The tender tone set in, however, when she began to address hardships she suffered during the brief time her grandson spent in jail following his February 2006 bust.
“When John did not come over while he was in jail, I forgot to eat and I lost a lot of weight. I also fell several times,” Mrs. Reimann penned, before concluding with a touching plea. “I need John. I have no one else who will come and take care for me. If John is put in jail, I am afraid they will put me in a home.”
All things considered, the possibility of Berchielli’s incarceration was a bitter pill for many to swallow, and the community awaited the results of the sentencing hearing with keen ears. But as noon passed, the matter still stalled, and Berchielli hadn’t received a single sign about his fate. He got bumped to the 1:30pm calendar…and then, oddly enough, to the 1:35pm calendar. His attorney, public defender Joni O’Connor, soon appeared in her trademark gray skirt-suit and excruciatingly sensible pumps, and with her came an unexpected but promising revelation. Given the absence of both the trial judge and the prosecuting attorney, there was a good chance the hearing would be continued.
Her prediction eventually came true, and during a brief address at mid-afternoon, the defense was granted a delay “in order to locate Judge Mason.” It was only a week-long reprieve, but it was a reprieve nonetheless, and Berchielli was happy to take it.
It meant more time to get his affairs in order, or, as he put it, “work on the contingency plans.” He was particularly worried about what the future would hold for his grandmother, should he be incarcerated. “If I get sent to jail, it will basically be a death sentence for her,” he said grimly.
In the meantime, waiting has its downside, and the idleness of a distressed imagination is its own unique agony. For Berchielli, however, the discomfort of an unresolved fate is far outweighed by the one simple fact: he still has a fighting chance at freedom.
John Berchielli and Sheldon Webber will have a scheduling hearing on August 6th, 2007, at 8:30am. This conference will determine the date and time for the delayed sentencing hearing, and finalize the question of which judge will hold these proceedings. The scheduling will take place in Dept. 61 at 651 "I" Street in Sacramento, CA.
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