CINCINNATI — Lorenzo Harris uses a tissue to wipe off his father’s grave. Then, he places a few pictures on the ground nearby. One is his dad, who served in the military and died in 2009.
The other is his brother.
“It was rough on everybody,” Harris said. “I mean, it’s like somebody stealing something from you.”
His brother isn’t dead, but there are times it feels like it. Especially at the cemetery.
“He’s never been out here,” Harris said. “And that’s the biggest thing. We just want our brother back.”
WATCH: No one was hurt, but now he's in prison for 52 years
When I met his brother, Willie Harris Jr. was wrapping Christmas presents for his grandkids, in prison. Where he says he cuts hair and made the dean’s list at Sinclair Community College.
In December, at Pickaway Correctional Institution near Columbus, Willie told me he hadn’t wrapped a gift in 22 years. He ripped some of the paper with his hands and had to start over multiple times. I was there to do a story about a Christmas event and only spoke to him because he grew up in Cincinnati.
I had no idea about his story. And when I asked him, he told me he was incarcerated for a crime he didn’t commit. I didn't know what to think. But after my story aired, his attorney called.
Kara Blackney told me Willie’s story is about a lot more than guilt or innocence. She told me it's about a system that excessively punishes people for taking cases to trial — and gives judges too much discretion in how they sentence people.
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“Based on the law, he wasn’t sentenced properly,” Blackney said. “Willie got screwed.”
Before his trial, Blackney says prosecutors offered him three years in prison if he pleaded guilty. He refused.
His release date is now 2055.
"It's too much," Blackney said. “Can you tell I’m frustrated? This is why innocent people plead guilty.”
In 2023, the attorney filed a motion in Hamilton County to re-sentence Willie. She argued there was no evidence the judge and prosecutors considered the appropriate factors that could allow for a sentence this long.
A few months after it was filed, Blackney’s motion was denied. The judge said he didn't have jurisdiction because an appeals court already ruled on the case decades ago.
“We’re not asking for him not to be punished,” Blackney said. “He’s been punished.”
Mike Donnelly was a trial and appellate judge for 14 years, working on Ohio’s Supreme Court. When asked about Willie’s case, he does not act surprised. He says experts who study criminal sentencing in Ohio call it "the wild wild west." Because he says each county across the state operates independently.
Even in the same building, he repeatedly tells me that going across the hallway can lead to a vastly different outcome.
“That’s a problem. That’s a fertile ground for implicit bias,” Donnelly said. “It’s almost a recipe for disaster.”
He told me he doesn’t blame judges, because he says they don’t have enough information to make consistent decisions. Donnelly has been pushing for more comprehensive data collection of sentences from courts to help maintain consistency and fairness.
“The public, if asked, would believe we already have that information," Donnelly said. "And we don’t."
At Willie’s home, his daughter, brother and mom look through pictures. Graduation pictures. Baby pictures. Christmas pictures.
His mom tells me they have hundreds of them. Then, she quickly corrects herself — thousands of them. Everyone laughs.
“This can last a lifetime and then some," said Helen Harris.
A lifetime that Willie has largely experienced away from home.
“You’re watching life just pass you by,” Willie said. “It’s definitely hard man. Every day is hard. But you know what? I think that’s what keeps me going.”
