Harry Tuttle
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A long journey from punishment to pardon
Airman is forgiven for car theft in 1963
By Mac Daniel, Globe Staff ?|? November 20, 2004
It was 1963, and Airman Richard Arthur Morse was 19 and on weekend leave. He had hitchhiked to Pensacola, Fla., to have some fun and walk the endless white beaches, but rides were scarce as he tried to get back to his Air Force base in Biloxi, Miss.
With just a few hours before he would be declared absent without leave, he spotted a 1958 light pink Cadillac with the keys in the ignition, and no one around.
Morse got in and turned the key.
It was a stupid move, one Morse regrets to this day. ''I should have kept walking," he said yesterday.
It also gave him a criminal record, until this week, when the government finally, officially forgave the 61-year-old electrician from Rowley.
''Among those pardoned Wednesday was Richard Arthur Morse of Rowley, Mass., who was sentenced to five months in jail in 1963 in Mississippi for interstate transportation of a stolen vehicle," said a brief national news item.
That was all it said.
''It doesn't tell anybody what happened," Morse said.
The stolen pink Cadillac ran out of gas in Alabama, and Morse was quickly picked up by a local policeman, who apparently had heard an all-points bulletin. The officer took him to a local gas station, where Morse said he contemplated running into nearby woods to escape.
''But my feet wouldn't move," he recalled. ''My mind wanted to go, but my feet wouldn't budge. And that's when I realized I just had to face this. I just had to face up to what I'd done."
He was taken back to his base.
The Air Force was kind to him, Morse said, giving him a general discharge under honorable conditions. But an Alabama judge sentenced him to five months in jail at a short-timers work camp, where Morse spent most of his time outdoors on a farm.
After doing his time, he returned to his native Lynn with a tan in the midst of a pale New England winter. After nearly five years on probation, Morse said, he never got in trouble with the law again, except for the occasional traffic ticket. He married, moved to Rowley, set up Morse Electric, and raised a family, his misdeed fading with each passing year.
But in 1998, Morse, a lifelong hunter, tried to buy his son his first shotgun. The new Brady Bill flagged Morse's criminal record, and the Maine gun dealership said no. ''I didn't think that was fair," said Morse, an avowed gun activist. ''It's almost like when your sentence is over, you still have this thing hanging around."
Thus began a six-year effort to clear his name, he said.
His character witnesses, including the principal of Triton Regional High School in Byfield, filled out questionnaires from the Department of Justice's Office of the Pardon Attorney nearly five years ago. Interviews with FBI agents followed. Every six months or so, Morse would call or write and inquire about his case, seemingly lost in the federal bureaucracy. He wrote his last letter to Justice Department officials in January. ''Basically, I kind of joked a little bit," Morse said. ''I was sort of getting exasperated. Basically, I guess I asked what does a pardon attorney do when he's not doing pardons."
Morse sent a similar letter to President Bush. ''I know last year you pardoned a turkey," Morse recalled writing. ''Now where am I compared to this turkey?"
The letter to the president made its way into Morse's folder, and Morse thought his case was nearly dead.
''I opened my mouth, but didn't really put my foot in it," he said. ''But that's me. I'm a very independent, outspoken person."
The only hint that the case was heading somewhere came Monday, when a Justice Department official called to verify some information. On Wednesday, in a ceremony dominated by Bush pardoning two turkeys named Biscuits and Gravy, Morse got his pardon.
His cellphone rang at 11:15 a.m. Wednesday, with US Pardon Attorney Roger C. Adams on the other end.
Morse called his children and friends and announced his news, telling them he was worried that if he talked to the press, they would be embarrassed. They said they would not. ''My son said, 'Go for it,' " Morse said. He went back to work on Thursday.
''It's just a relief," he said. ''Just a small relief."
http://www.boston.com/news/local/articles/2004/11/20/a_long_journey_from_punishment_to_pardon/
Airman is forgiven for car theft in 1963
By Mac Daniel, Globe Staff ?|? November 20, 2004
It was 1963, and Airman Richard Arthur Morse was 19 and on weekend leave. He had hitchhiked to Pensacola, Fla., to have some fun and walk the endless white beaches, but rides were scarce as he tried to get back to his Air Force base in Biloxi, Miss.
With just a few hours before he would be declared absent without leave, he spotted a 1958 light pink Cadillac with the keys in the ignition, and no one around.
Morse got in and turned the key.
It was a stupid move, one Morse regrets to this day. ''I should have kept walking," he said yesterday.
It also gave him a criminal record, until this week, when the government finally, officially forgave the 61-year-old electrician from Rowley.
''Among those pardoned Wednesday was Richard Arthur Morse of Rowley, Mass., who was sentenced to five months in jail in 1963 in Mississippi for interstate transportation of a stolen vehicle," said a brief national news item.
That was all it said.
''It doesn't tell anybody what happened," Morse said.
The stolen pink Cadillac ran out of gas in Alabama, and Morse was quickly picked up by a local policeman, who apparently had heard an all-points bulletin. The officer took him to a local gas station, where Morse said he contemplated running into nearby woods to escape.
''But my feet wouldn't move," he recalled. ''My mind wanted to go, but my feet wouldn't budge. And that's when I realized I just had to face this. I just had to face up to what I'd done."
He was taken back to his base.
The Air Force was kind to him, Morse said, giving him a general discharge under honorable conditions. But an Alabama judge sentenced him to five months in jail at a short-timers work camp, where Morse spent most of his time outdoors on a farm.
After doing his time, he returned to his native Lynn with a tan in the midst of a pale New England winter. After nearly five years on probation, Morse said, he never got in trouble with the law again, except for the occasional traffic ticket. He married, moved to Rowley, set up Morse Electric, and raised a family, his misdeed fading with each passing year.
But in 1998, Morse, a lifelong hunter, tried to buy his son his first shotgun. The new Brady Bill flagged Morse's criminal record, and the Maine gun dealership said no. ''I didn't think that was fair," said Morse, an avowed gun activist. ''It's almost like when your sentence is over, you still have this thing hanging around."
Thus began a six-year effort to clear his name, he said.
His character witnesses, including the principal of Triton Regional High School in Byfield, filled out questionnaires from the Department of Justice's Office of the Pardon Attorney nearly five years ago. Interviews with FBI agents followed. Every six months or so, Morse would call or write and inquire about his case, seemingly lost in the federal bureaucracy. He wrote his last letter to Justice Department officials in January. ''Basically, I kind of joked a little bit," Morse said. ''I was sort of getting exasperated. Basically, I guess I asked what does a pardon attorney do when he's not doing pardons."
Morse sent a similar letter to President Bush. ''I know last year you pardoned a turkey," Morse recalled writing. ''Now where am I compared to this turkey?"
The letter to the president made its way into Morse's folder, and Morse thought his case was nearly dead.
''I opened my mouth, but didn't really put my foot in it," he said. ''But that's me. I'm a very independent, outspoken person."
The only hint that the case was heading somewhere came Monday, when a Justice Department official called to verify some information. On Wednesday, in a ceremony dominated by Bush pardoning two turkeys named Biscuits and Gravy, Morse got his pardon.
His cellphone rang at 11:15 a.m. Wednesday, with US Pardon Attorney Roger C. Adams on the other end.
Morse called his children and friends and announced his news, telling them he was worried that if he talked to the press, they would be embarrassed. They said they would not. ''My son said, 'Go for it,' " Morse said. He went back to work on Thursday.
''It's just a relief," he said. ''Just a small relief."
http://www.boston.com/news/local/articles/2004/11/20/a_long_journey_from_punishment_to_pardon/
