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THE FUTURE OF JACK KEVORKIAN: HIS FREEDOM WILL HAVE MANY LIMITS
By Kathleen Gray
Free Press Staff Writer
Detroit Free Press, MI
May 30 2007
Officials to keep tabs on actions, words
Second of two parts
Jack Kevorkian will be among thousands of parolees with a predictable
future when he puts on his new navy blue suit and crisp white shirt
Friday morning and walks out of a state prison near Coldwater.
He'll have regular, required visits with his parole officer in
Waterford, drug and alcohol testing and standard requirements to
stay away from felons, weapons and anything that constitutes criminal
behavior.
But the man known as Dr. Death -- he claims to have helped more than
130 terminally or chronically ill people die from 1990 to 1998 --
will have some restrictions most parolees don't.
For example: He cannot provide care for anyone older than 62 or who
is disabled. He can't be present at any suicide or euthanasia and he
cannot counsel people on how to commit suicide.
But Kevorkian, who turned 79 on Saturday, can still be a vocal advocate
for assisted suicide. He likely won't shy away from his past. Kevorkian
has told friends and corrections officials that he plans to continue
his crusade to legalize assisted suicide, but that he will be less
defiant in interviews and on the lecture circuit.
"He is totally out of the business of helping people die," said Ruth
Holmes, a friend and jury consultant who met Kevorkian during one of
his many criminal trials. "He's entering another phase of his life.
He paid a big price for taking a stand."
Watching his every move
His word alone, however, will not be enough for state officials who
will monitor Kevorkian during his two-year parole.
They will monitor his speeches and appearances to make sure free-speech
advocacy doesn't turn into a how-to.
"His parole office will discuss any plans of what he has to say and
they may ask for his written testimony or comments," said Russ Marlan,
spokesman for the Michigan Department of Corrections. "And certainly,
we can Google him and find out exactly what he's saying."
Parole officer Anthony Yambrick has been assigned to follow Kevorkian
for the next two years.
"It's just all part of my job," he said.
Kevorkian isn't as Internet-savvy as his keepers. He told corrections
officials that he doesn't know how to use e-mail and simply laughed
at the prospect of setting up a Web site or a blog.
But Holmes said Kevorkian is curious about the Internet and its
limitless reach into history, art and music. He can't wait to visit
the Detroit Public Library and explore the new horizons.
Making the transition
During his first week of freedom from the Lakeland Correctional
Facility, however, he likely will be a hostage to the news media,
doing almost nonstop interviews with national and local television,
radio and newspaper reporters. The first interview is to air Sunday on
"60 Minutes," the CBS newsmagazine show.
"He's going to be interviewed by everybody and his brother," said
Kevorkian's attorney Mayer Morganroth.
Then, Kevorkian will try to rejoin the ranks of regular citizens,
living on $980 a month he gets from Social Security and a pension
from the St. John Health System.
He will settle into the Bloomfield Township home of friends where
he will live, buy some clothes, get a state identification card
(he no longer drives), have several broken teeth fixed and meet with
doctors to try to stabilize his health. He has battled hepatitis C,
high blood pressure and hardening of the arteries.
The owners of the home where Kevorkian will stay asked not to be
identified to protect their privacy.
"And the first thing he's going to want to see is his keyboard,"
said Neal Nicol, of Springfield Township, who helped Kevorkian with
about 100 assisted suicides. Several died in Nicol's home, which at
the time was in Waterford.
"He can't wait for a burned, toasted cheese sandwich from his favorite
restaurant in Troy," Holmes said. "And grapes, he hasn't had those
in a really long time."
What he really is looking forward to, say friends, is a quiet night
alone in his bedroom, without the snoring of a cellmate or the clanging
of metal bars, a visit from friends without first being strip-searched
and listening to music without wearing headphones.
"He wants to do his reading and writing in peace. He wants to do his
music and painting. And talking," Morganroth said.
What lies ahead
Holmes said she hopes Kevorkian will help her compile a book of the
best correspondence from the thousands of letters he received while
in prison. And there might be travel to his native Armenia and to
visit a sister in Germany, with the permission of his parole officer,
of course.
As for lectures, Morganroth said Kevorkian isn't too keen on the idea.
"He's not going to become a jet-setter. He doesn't like to fly at
all," Morganroth said. "And first, he's got to be able to physically
withstand the pace."
Even if he doesn't spread his crusade through public lectures, Carol
Poenisch, who helped start Merian's Friends, a Michigan group that
supports legalizing assisted suicide, said she believes Kevorkian's
work has been worthwhile.
"He's been good because he raised the issue," said Poenisch, a
53-year-old Northville resident whose mother, Merian Frederick, died
in 1993 with Kevorkian's help. "He'll be remembered as the person who
brought the issue to the forefront and kept it on the front page every
day. I think of him as a physician who just wanted to do his job."
But Nicol said he hopes Kevorkian will rejoin the fight for the right
to die.
"It would be a tremendous waste of resources if he stopped," Nicol
said. "But his attorney has him scared to death that he'll go back
to prison even if he has a traffic stop."
http://www.freep.com/apps/pbcs.dll/ar ticle?AID=/20070530/NEWS06/705300366/0/SPORTS03
From: Emil Lazarian | Ararat NewsPress
By Kathleen Gray
Free Press Staff Writer
Detroit Free Press, MI
May 30 2007
Officials to keep tabs on actions, words
Second of two parts
Jack Kevorkian will be among thousands of parolees with a predictable
future when he puts on his new navy blue suit and crisp white shirt
Friday morning and walks out of a state prison near Coldwater.
He'll have regular, required visits with his parole officer in
Waterford, drug and alcohol testing and standard requirements to
stay away from felons, weapons and anything that constitutes criminal
behavior.
But the man known as Dr. Death -- he claims to have helped more than
130 terminally or chronically ill people die from 1990 to 1998 --
will have some restrictions most parolees don't.
For example: He cannot provide care for anyone older than 62 or who
is disabled. He can't be present at any suicide or euthanasia and he
cannot counsel people on how to commit suicide.
But Kevorkian, who turned 79 on Saturday, can still be a vocal advocate
for assisted suicide. He likely won't shy away from his past. Kevorkian
has told friends and corrections officials that he plans to continue
his crusade to legalize assisted suicide, but that he will be less
defiant in interviews and on the lecture circuit.
"He is totally out of the business of helping people die," said Ruth
Holmes, a friend and jury consultant who met Kevorkian during one of
his many criminal trials. "He's entering another phase of his life.
He paid a big price for taking a stand."
Watching his every move
His word alone, however, will not be enough for state officials who
will monitor Kevorkian during his two-year parole.
They will monitor his speeches and appearances to make sure free-speech
advocacy doesn't turn into a how-to.
"His parole office will discuss any plans of what he has to say and
they may ask for his written testimony or comments," said Russ Marlan,
spokesman for the Michigan Department of Corrections. "And certainly,
we can Google him and find out exactly what he's saying."
Parole officer Anthony Yambrick has been assigned to follow Kevorkian
for the next two years.
"It's just all part of my job," he said.
Kevorkian isn't as Internet-savvy as his keepers. He told corrections
officials that he doesn't know how to use e-mail and simply laughed
at the prospect of setting up a Web site or a blog.
But Holmes said Kevorkian is curious about the Internet and its
limitless reach into history, art and music. He can't wait to visit
the Detroit Public Library and explore the new horizons.
Making the transition
During his first week of freedom from the Lakeland Correctional
Facility, however, he likely will be a hostage to the news media,
doing almost nonstop interviews with national and local television,
radio and newspaper reporters. The first interview is to air Sunday on
"60 Minutes," the CBS newsmagazine show.
"He's going to be interviewed by everybody and his brother," said
Kevorkian's attorney Mayer Morganroth.
Then, Kevorkian will try to rejoin the ranks of regular citizens,
living on $980 a month he gets from Social Security and a pension
from the St. John Health System.
He will settle into the Bloomfield Township home of friends where
he will live, buy some clothes, get a state identification card
(he no longer drives), have several broken teeth fixed and meet with
doctors to try to stabilize his health. He has battled hepatitis C,
high blood pressure and hardening of the arteries.
The owners of the home where Kevorkian will stay asked not to be
identified to protect their privacy.
"And the first thing he's going to want to see is his keyboard,"
said Neal Nicol, of Springfield Township, who helped Kevorkian with
about 100 assisted suicides. Several died in Nicol's home, which at
the time was in Waterford.
"He can't wait for a burned, toasted cheese sandwich from his favorite
restaurant in Troy," Holmes said. "And grapes, he hasn't had those
in a really long time."
What he really is looking forward to, say friends, is a quiet night
alone in his bedroom, without the snoring of a cellmate or the clanging
of metal bars, a visit from friends without first being strip-searched
and listening to music without wearing headphones.
"He wants to do his reading and writing in peace. He wants to do his
music and painting. And talking," Morganroth said.
What lies ahead
Holmes said she hopes Kevorkian will help her compile a book of the
best correspondence from the thousands of letters he received while
in prison. And there might be travel to his native Armenia and to
visit a sister in Germany, with the permission of his parole officer,
of course.
As for lectures, Morganroth said Kevorkian isn't too keen on the idea.
"He's not going to become a jet-setter. He doesn't like to fly at
all," Morganroth said. "And first, he's got to be able to physically
withstand the pace."
Even if he doesn't spread his crusade through public lectures, Carol
Poenisch, who helped start Merian's Friends, a Michigan group that
supports legalizing assisted suicide, said she believes Kevorkian's
work has been worthwhile.
"He's been good because he raised the issue," said Poenisch, a
53-year-old Northville resident whose mother, Merian Frederick, died
in 1993 with Kevorkian's help. "He'll be remembered as the person who
brought the issue to the forefront and kept it on the front page every
day. I think of him as a physician who just wanted to do his job."
But Nicol said he hopes Kevorkian will rejoin the fight for the right
to die.
"It would be a tremendous waste of resources if he stopped," Nicol
said. "But his attorney has him scared to death that he'll go back
to prison even if he has a traffic stop."
http://www.freep.com/apps/pbcs.dll/ar ticle?AID=/20070530/NEWS06/705300366/0/SPORTS03
From: Emil Lazarian | Ararat NewsPress