‘I am so sorry’: Clemency hearings begin for Indiana death row inmate Benjamin Ritchie

Adobe Stock photo

Indiana death row inmate Benjamin Ritchie expressed remorse and shed tears as he pleaded Monday for the state’s parole board to spare his life.

Ritchie faces a May 20 execution date for the 2000 killing of Beech Grover law enforcement officer William Toney. The condemned man has been on death row since his conviction in 2002.

With clemency, the governor — in tandem with Indiana’s Parole Board — can elect to commute a death sentence to life imprisonment or grant a pardon for a criminal offense.

The five-member board heard from only Ritchie Monday morning and will make a final recommendation after a second hearing scheduled for next week.

“That night … was a train that left the station with no brakes, and multiple bad decisions led to losing the life of a man that should be here today,” Ritchie said during the meeting, which was live-streamed to the public. A small audience, including some members of the victim’s family and two correctional officers, were also present.

Ritchie sat before the board — flanked by two of his lawyers — in a meeting room at the Indiana State Prison in Michigan City. His hands were shackled. A cross necklace hung around his neck.

“The horrible actions that I took … there’s not a night that doesn’t go by that I don’t think about that person,” he continued. “I was just a kid … I didn’t care about myself, I didn’t care about anybody — nothing … I’ve ruined my life and other people’s lives, and I’m so sorry for that night.”

Another clemency hearing is scheduled for May 12 in Indianapolis. Friends and family of the slain police officer are expected to testify against Ritchie’s clemency petition at that meeting.

After both hearings, the parole board will submit a recommendation for or against clemency to Gov. Mike Braun.

He will then make the final decision about whether to commute Ritchie’s death sentence to life in prison without parole. There is no timetable for the decision.

‘I am so sorry’

Gwen Horth, chairwoman of the parole board, said the hour-long meeting was an opportunity for Ritchie to “share whatever you want to make sure we hear” amid the clemency deliberations.

“I mean, I can read all of this,” Horth said, referring to piles of case documents. “But you’re an eyewitness to all of it. And as I think back to that Sept. 29, that Friday night in 2000 … we want to hear your decision-making that ultimately lost a life.”

Per court documents, the underlying crime began as a police pursuit of a stolen van on Sept. 29, 2000. Toney later pursued Ritchie on foot. Ritchie ultimately fired four shots at the officer.

Board members asked Ritchie to retell his side of what happened and questioned him about his “thinking” before and during the fatal event.

Ritchie said that on the night of the incident, he was with a group trying to steal rims from car dealers. They took a van and parked it at an apartment complex. When they went back to get the van, a police officer pulled in behind them.

“Everything sped up then. It was like if you had a fast-forward button on a movie, and you hit the button, everything sped out of control,” Ritchie said.

“I ended up hitting and killing him. That’s something I have to live with every day. I wish I could take that back,” Ritchie continued, crying. “I don’t blame him. He was doing his job. I should have never been in a stolen car. I should never have had a gun. I should have just did the right thing when I got out.”

Ritchie additionally apologized to Toney’s family — and specifically regretted his treatment of the officer’s widow, Dee Dee. Toney was also survived by two daughters.

At the 2002 sentencing hearing, while Dee Dee Toney read her victim impact statement, she was repeatedly interrupted by Ritchie, who laughed and later called her a “b**ch” when she said Ritchie was a coward.

“I wish I could go back to the day in court, because that man’s wife deserved to say everything she needed to say to me, and that punk kid should have just kept his mouth shut and let her say whatever she needed to say, because that was her right,” Ritchie said. “I had no business mouthing off to that lady. … I just wish I could go back to that kid and tell him to keep his damn mouth shut, to take it like a man.”

Ritchie’s pleas for life sentence, not execution

Still, the board asked Ritchie how he could guarantee that he’d be able to “live productively” and not “detract” from society if allowed to carry out a life sentence in prison.

The inmate said his “decision skills were below par as a young man,” but now, at 44, “I can definitely say I’m not the young man I was then.”

For years, Ritchie “didn’t take credit” for his actions and “was in a dark hole.” But since receiving mental health counseling in prison, he’s learned “coping mechanisms” and “gotten control” of himself.

“I’m just not that kid I was 25 years ago. That kid was lost. He needed guidance, and I have guidance now,” Ritchie added. “I have a strong, positive family unit now — something I didn’t have back then. I have people that talk to me everyday and help me everyday to cope.”

He told the parole board he “would never hurt anybody again,” and that he’s “never attacked” a correctional officer, “not one time.” He admitted, however, to having past issues with other inmates.

“I had to cover myself with tattoos because I’m in a land of predators,” Ritchie said, with visible tattoos covering his neck and arms.

During incarceration, he’s learned to cut hair and give others tattoos. Ritchie said he uses those skills as opportunities to talk to younger inmates.

“I try to be encouraging … I try to help,” he said. “I wish I had that guy that pulled me to the side, because you don’t listen to guys in suits. They’re going to listen to the old convict, washed up, tattooed.”

“What I did was horrible. But it’s a blessing, because William Toney’s life could best be served by me helping other guys,” Ritchie reiterated. “I’m never going to go home. I’m OK with that. But if I’m in here, I’m trying to help guys not reoffend, not come back to this system.”

Ritchie further stated that he “crave(s) education” and is currently “cramming” for an upcoming GED exam. He said he’d always struggled academically but recalled “thriving” at a summer boot camp as a teenager and wished he would have “that structure” throughout more of his formative years.

And while “it waivers from time to time,” Ritchie said he’s developed “a stronger faith” as he’s aged.

“I don’t want to be one of those fake Christians that only prays to God when you need his help, but, you don’t get nowhere if you don’t try sometimes,” he told the board. “So, I just try to take it day by day and just ask God to give me strength to make it through one more day.”

Hoth maintained that — no matter the board’s clemency recommendation — “you are set free in your faith.” She suggested, as well, that Ritchie’s execution could serve as a deterrent for other crimes against law enforcement.

“If that’s the case, I’d be OK with it, too,” he said. “After taking so much, whatever I can do to give back, that’s what I’ll do.”

How clemency works

Ritchie’s clemency petition, signed by the inmate on April 22, argued that he was “born with a severely damaged brain due to prenatal alcohol exposure.”

“His mother drank nearly every day during her pregnancy with Ben. She also smoked marijuana daily and took other drugs,” according to the filing. Lawyers additionally noted that a geneticist diagnosed Ritchie with Partial Fetal Alcohol Syndrome (pFAS), “meaning his brain damage limits Ben’s functioning to that similar to a person with intellectual disability.”