They pay $15 a day for jury duty in Clermont County. That's not nearly enough to deal with a 275-pound pile of pure evil named Jesse James Cowans.
''Look me in the mother----ing eye,'' he spit as the 12 jurors delivered their guilty verdict. So one man did.
''This one juror turned to him and glared and outstared him. Cowans finally looked away,'' said Prosecutor Daniel Breyer.
''You all pieces of ----,'' the killer raged as the jury was excused. Then the career convict with the killer outlaw name went off on the judge and prosecutor, spewing obscenities. And all the while, he wore a harness that could deliver 50,000 volts to his XXXL body at the touch of a remote control.
He had been warned: Misbehave, act unruly, go out of control, and ZZZAP: You hit the ground like a sack of sand and lose control of bodily functions.
Still, he ranted on. Deputies took him to a basement cell to protect his ''rights'' via a courtroom TV monitor, and he kicked over the table and tried to smash the TV.
He wasn't zapped. Too bad. With Ohio's impotent death penalty, that was probably as close as he will get to the electric chair, even if the jury sends him to death row when they meet April 10.
But even 50,000 volts wouldn't have done much good. It's too late to push the reset button on someone who started out robbing a store with a gun at age 8, was convicted of forgery at age 15, then graduated to murder and strangled a ''friend'' in a wheelchair at age 17. He was paroled after 12 1/3 years of a 15-to-life sentence. He lasted 16 months until he was back in lockdown, fighting with inmates, trying to stab guards with pencils, setting fires because he was ''mad.''
''Attitude hostile and negative,'' the prison records warned. ''Angry.'' ''Really bad attitude.'' ''Behavior adjustment below average.'' ''A risk to persons and property.''
A 1996 parole board report ranked him just three points short of maximum danger, 37 of 40. That put him in category V: ''Release is not appropriate.''
Then a month later - May 17, 1996 - he was released. The parole board gave him another chance.
To kill someone.
His victim was a Monroe Township neighbor, Clara Swart, 69. Last August, he broke into her house, bound her hand and foot, tied her to a refrigerator, then strangled her with her own purse strap. He left fingerprints behind, and carried off a figurine of a clown and a toy car that had been glued to a jewelry box.
Mr. Breyer said it was one of the strongest cases he's prosecuted, even without being allowed to tell the jury about the first murder in 1977. But Mr. Breyer is troubled by two things:
''One: What in the world got him out of prison? I just can't understand how that guy was released.
''And two: It's just a tragedy what has happened to her family because of what was at best a tragic mistake.''
People who were in the tiny courtroom described Jesse James Cowans as ''creepy,'' ''mean to the core,'' ''very dangerous,'' and ''pure evil.'' But he may not be a total waste.
His disastrous parole may open prison and parole records to the public.
When he was arrested for murdering Mrs. Swart, a parole board member said he had been classified as ''unlikely to commit another crime'' when they set him free. But prison and parole-hearing records that were obtained by The Enquirer showed the parole board's own records rated him as a maximum risk.
Reginald Wilkinson, director of Ohio Department of Rehabilitation and Correction, says the case convinced him such records should be open, so the public can judge the parole board and the prisoners it releases.
Corrections spokesman Joe Andrews said on Wednesday that the change may take effect in a couple of months, as soon as guidelines are written for an administrative change or legislation.
''We all agree the public has a right to know,'' he said. ''I think we're going to be seeing more things like that to let communities know who is in their midst.''
R. Daniel Hannon, the public defender who represented Jesse James Cowans until he was fired by his explosive client, thinks that's a great idea - to find out who is doing too much time as well as who gets out of jail free.
''They are rolling everybody over and keeping everybody because it's job security,'' he said. A 1996 state law will disband the Ohio Parole Board as soon as it releases the last inmate who was sentenced before the law took effect.
''Jesse is really a major exception. I'm shocked they let him slip through the cracks,'' Mr. Hannon said.
The 12 parole board members who let him out to kill Mrs. Swart have a starting salary of $55,000 a year.
The 12 jurors who had to endure insults, threats and profanity to send him back to prison were paid $15 a day.
Something doesn't add up here. Let's open those records soon and find out how many other ''major exceptions'' slip through the cracks.
Peter Bronson is editorial page editor of The Enquirer. Call 768-8301, or write to 312 Elm Street, Cincinnati, Ohio 45202.
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