The Passing of "Big John" Colwell

For I was in prison and you visited me.  (Matthew 25:36)

A couple of months ago, I posted two messages (here and here) about prisoner rights cases that had been won in the U.S. Court of Appeals for the Ninth Circuit through our Appellate Clinic at the University of St. Thomas, working in partnership with the University of Arkansas Federal Appellate Litigation Project.

One of those cases, Colwell v. Bannister (decision here), was handled primarily by our Arkansas partners.  The case involved a prisoner who had suffered for a decade from blindness in one eye due to a cataract, which could easily be removed by surgery.  The Nevada prison refused to approve cataract surgery despite the recommendations of his doctors.

In a published opinion, the Court of Appeals reversed the District Court’s grant of summary judgment to the Nevada Department of Corrections. In words that speak eloquently to the fundamental dignity of all persons, including our neighbors held in prison, the Ninth Circuit held “that the blanket, categorical denial of medically indicated surgery solely on the basis of an administrative policy that ‘one eye is good enough for prison inmates’ is the paradigm of deliberate indifference.”

Shortly after the Colwell opinion was issued in August, the University of Arkansas appellate team received a letter from “Big John” Colwell saying, “I cannot express how much I appreciate you and your team.  I’m proud that you chose to represent me and went way beyond my expectations.”  Mr. Colwell also praised the information and attentive communications they had maintained with him.  He went on to say that he learned of his victory in the Ninth Circuit even before a letter arrived from the Arkansas team or they were allowed to make a telephone call into the prison.  A corrections officer had stopped to congratulate Mr. Colwell and told him that his story was in the Nevada newspapers that day.

Inside the legal academy, I know this kind of appreciation from clients who were well-served by faithful lawyers is a regular part of the experience of our colleagues who teach in clinical programs, as well as many others in law schools who do pro bono work for the disadvantaged.  So this episode might otherwise go without further mention, beyond the satisfaction taken by those of us involved with the case.

But I take the time to relate this particular story because the impact we were able to make on the life on this man, giving him a sense of dignity well beyond the success in the appeal, was brought home powerfully to me last week.  Shortly after we got the word that the Ninth Circuit had denied Nevada’s petition for rehearing en banc, we learned that Mr. Colwell had passed away in his prison cell.

Mr. Colwell’s last contacts with the world outside of prison walls were his communications with University of Arkansas Professor Dustin Buehler and students (now graduates) Lauren Eldridge and Mason Boling, who had been his counsel in this matter.  Although Mr. Colwell now will never receive the full medical treatment to which he was entitled as a human being, he did know that his rights had been vindicated.  The justice system had confirmed that he did matter.

When we agreed to take on Mr. Colwell’s case in our pro bono clinic work, he had already lost in two venues.  The prison had denied him cataract surgery, despite his requests through the prison grievance system, and the District Court had granted summary judgment against his request to be treated for blindness in that eye.  Without the diligent work, attention to detail, command of the case-law, mastery of the factual record, and powerful briefs and arguments presented by the University of Arkansas team, that loss would have been the final word on his plea for help.  Thank God that it was not and that he lived to hear the final word.  As Dustin Buehler reminds us, “Lawyering can be such a powerful tool in the hands of those who are passionate enough and dedicated enough to use our craft for good.  Let us never forget that.”

As Lauren Eldridge said so eloquently after the passing of “Big John,” to his representatives, he was not a criminal confined to a cell, but a victim:  “We saw him for who he was at the time we came into his life and did what we could to help him.”  Big John Colwell’s epitaph should read, as he often would say to his appellate counsel, “I don't know the law, but I know what's right.”