Twenty years from now, how many pen pals will Aurora, Colo., killer James Holmes have?
Andrew Metz has several, and he murdered only two people.
He told the Oregon State Board of Parole and Post-Prison Supervision earlier this month he looks forward to a future that he hopes will include starting a family. (Interested? Check out his Pen-Pal Profile.)
The board could give him a jump-start if they agree that he is likely to be rehabilitated.
In September 1991, Metz was almost 21 and on probation for theft and criminal mischief. He worked off and on as a fast-food cook and needed money. He asked his younger brother to help him rob and kill a couple of people.
“Just stab them in the heart,” Metz told the younger brother, according to the latter’s court testimony. The younger brother had just finished drug treatment and was in Job Corps. He begged his big brother not to do anything.
The next day Andrew Metz prowled outside Best Western Ocean View Resort in Seaside where he found a window open about six inches. He raised it wider, pushed the curtains away and crawled inside and onto the bed where Duncan McKinnon, 73, and his wife Ellen, 68, lay sleeping.
The McKinnons, who lived in a suburb of Chicago, were vacationing on the Oregon coast along with their daughter, Thomasina, who was across the hall in another room. Mr. McKinnon was a retired UPS manager and several years earlier had undergone triple bypass surgery.
By his own admission, Metz considered Mr. McKinnon a greater threat so he stabbed him first. When Mrs. McKinnon awoke and started screaming, he stabbed her. Then Mr. McKinnon tried to yell, and Metz slashed at his throat.
In Metz’s own testimony before the board, it was hard to keep track of how many times he sank his knife into each of them, but he turned on the TV to block the noise from the dying couple. Even then, Mr. McKinnon struggled to crawl. Someone knocked on the door to inquire if everything was OK. Metz disguised his voice to sound like a woman’s and said everything was fine.
He washed himself in the bathroom and grabbed a wallet and some jewelry belonging to the couple. Out in the hallway, he knocked on a neighboring room and asked for a Band-Aid “for my grandma.” Twenty years ago, he told a psychologist that this piece of deception was to reassure the neighbors that nothing had happened.
The door behind him opened, and Thomasina McKinnon – who had heard a commotion – saw Metz and ran to check on her parents. Metz fled and was later caught.
He was convicted of aggravated murder in 1992, and a jury sentenced him to life without parole. The state Supreme Court overturned the verdict because the McKinnons’ son, Michael, had testified that his children had nightmares about Metz. This was deemed too prejudicial.
A second jury in 1997 also convicted Metz of aggravated murder. That verdict, too, was overturned by the state Supreme Court because Michael McKinnon had made comments about what his parents were like when they were alive. That also was too much information about the victims. Too prejudicial, the court ruled.
The thought of a third trial was too painful for Thomasina McKinnon and her family, so prosecutors sought a plea bargain.
Metz agreed to two consecutive 30-year terms. He would not be eligible for parole until 2051.
So what was he doing earlier this month asking the parole board to consider reducing his sentence?
Last year, the state Supreme Court ruled that prisoners convicted of aggravated murder could petition the board for a review after 20 years. If the board found the inmate capable of rehabilitation, it could override the minimum sentence.
The board’s hearing room at the Oregon State Penitentiary in Salem has dingy walls and rows of florescent lights, making it look like a scene from a 50’s-era movie about the Big House – back when a guy like Metz engendered little sympathy, and the public didn’t have to demand minimum-mandatory sentences.
On closed-circuit TV from Two Rivers Correctional Institution in Umatilla, where he is incarcerated, Metz is a boyish 41. (“I’m blessed with good health. No tattoos, no drug use, no chronic disease. I exercise,” he would later tell the board.)
About a dozen visitors in the hearing room looked on, including three who were there to support Metz. His brother was not among them. After the murders, the younger man was overcome with guilt for not trying to stop Metz.
The parole review began with a bit of theater — board member Candace Wheeler swearing in Metz to “tell the truth.”
What difference does it make if he tells the truth? If judges can rule that certain facts are “too prejudicial,” does the truth even matter? If a man can stab two people to death and steal from them, will he be afraid to lie? If he’s caught telling a lie, what are the consequences?
As it turned out, Metz started off with a lie: He told the parole board he thought the motel room was empty.
“I waited outside to make sure it was empty and to talk myself into committing a burglary,” he said.
What was he going to steal from an empty motel room, where everything of value is fastened down? The three parole board members didn’t ask him.
They did call him out, though, when he blamed Duncan McKinnon for stabbing himself. Metz said he was trying to back out of the window after Mr. McKinnon had taken the knife from him. “The knife slipped out of … Duncan’s hand and went into his chest.”
Listening to all this was Michael McKinnon, the eldest son, who traveled from his home in California to remind the parole board that his parents were once as alive as Andrew Metz – only far better people.
But the hearing was all about Metz. With assistance from his attorney, Corrine Lai, he told his story: His mother was a hippie who introduced him to marijuana and alcohol; her husbands and boyfriends abused him. He lived on the “poor side of the tracks,” so he thought it was all right to steal and beat up people. He joined the Navy but had trouble there, too.
In prison he has become a better person.
“I have a strong moral outlook,” Metz said.
He listed his activities and accomplishments: He did a year of college work towards a degree in general studies; he has read a lot of self-help books (including “Toxic Parents”); he has learned numerous job skills – food services, electrical and mechanical maintenance, computer programming, cartography, photography.
“My main passion in life … has been programming computers. … I want to get into that profession when I get out,” he said. (He is no longer allowed near computers in prison after he was caught in 2003 with an unauthorized database.)
Metz has started to lay the groundwork for his future. He wants to live with a former inmate he met, Mark Kitzman, a physician who served time for sexually abusing children and who has had his medical license suspended for performing liposuction surgeries for which he was not qualified.
Kitzman, his wife, and Metz’s former attorney, Ken Hadley, appeared at the hearing to show their support but did not stay to offer testimony and undergo questioning.
The parole board members – Wheeler, Jeremiah Stromberg and Aaron Felton – challenged Metz about minimizing his crimes and blaming the victims.
Then Wheeler, a social worker, massaged him with a series of questions:
Have you forgiven yourself? (“I am a better man today …”)
What is your greatest strength? (“My ability to get along with people …”)
Your greatest weakness? (“I have to struggle to be assertive …”).
Finally she asked, “What do you do for fun?”
Metz sounded eager. “I read books – fiction and nonfiction. A lot of my free time I study Spanish and math … I watch TV, listen to the radio … I have several pen pals I write.”
He might be better off in prison. Life on the outside can go for long stretches without fun. Especially if you have a loved one who has been murdered.
In Aurora, Colo., there are parents, sisters, brothers, daughters and sons who probably feel like they will never laugh again. The man who killed their loved ones can still make plans for some kind of future.
So can Metz. If the board decides he can be rehabilitated, his future can include a chance at freedom.
– Pamela Fitzsimmons
I was over here reading something else and saw this. I don’t know anything about the parole board but the social worker seems too sympathetic towards this man. I’ve never figured out why prison sentences can’t mean what they are supposed to. The sentence might as well be whatever.
This social worker could be a candidate for Portland school board.
Oh my God! I was with a group of people from U S WEST who were involved in this trial. I have had to live with what Andrew Metz did for more than 20 years. I walked into the McKinnons room with Thomasina and stayed withg her parents. I watched her mother’s eyes as the life flickered from her, while trying to assure her dying father that his loving wife was OK.
I cannot tell you about the abject horror witnessed by Thomasina and myself in that room.
My understanding was that if Andrew Metz was going to be considered for parole that each of us would be notified. I am saddened and sickened that this may happen. As I am typing, I am shaking uncontrollably with anger, sadness and fear — yes, fear – after all these years.
Brenda:
I’m so sorry you have to live with those memories.
Your message came in while I was attending a meeting of the Commission on Public Safety, a group appointed by Oregon Gov. John Kitzhaber to look at changing sentencing policies. He insists he doesn’t want to release violent offenders, but citizens have to be vigilant.
Andrew Metz is alive and can exchange pleasantries with the prison staff. He can make eye contact with visitors. He can revel in the simple fact of being alive and having his existence acknowledged. He can be rewarded with sympathy. All of that seems so huge compared to what he took from the McKinnons. He reduced them to a memory.
Update: The parole board earlier today denied Andrew Metz’s request to have his sentence reduced. The board also told him that he cannot apply again for at least four years.
Had he served the sentence that he agreed to, he would not have been eligible for parole until 2051.
The McKinnons were exceptional people. Gentle and kind are the first words that I think of. Mac and Ellen would have GIVEN this poor excuse of a human whatever he wanted. To open the door and let this animal out is insanity. If some group of fools lets this person back into society the blood is on their hands. I refuse to remember them for their death, but will smile when I think of the lives they lived.You are missed. B.L.
Andrew Metz may very well be paroled, despite the 60-year minimum sentence he received. The only thing that could stop it would be public outrage at his future parole hearings. Metz’s attorneys likely count on family and friends of the victims wearing out, moving on or dying off. That is often the case when the victims are poor and have trouble navigating the system. At least the McKinnons have friends like you.
Currently, there is a movement afoot in the U.S. called “Justice Reinvestment.” The theory is that if we take the money used to send people to prison and instead spend it on education, training, jobs and housing for offenders it will reduce the crime rate and keep all of us safer. Supposedly, only the most violent offenders would end up with long prison terms. You would think that Metz would qualify as one of the most violent, but that’s how deceptive Justice Reinvestment can be.
Other signs of “Justice Reinvestment” at work: The city of Portland recently passed a Ban the Box law that goes beyond simply removing the box from job applications asking if the applicant is a felon. Portland’s law goes further — prohibiting employers from inquiring about an applicant’s criminal history until AFTER a job offer has been made.
I believe this is an attempt to make ex-felons a protected class, similar to protections offered based on gender, race and sexual orientation. City Deputy Attorney Judy Prosper even warned that if an employer rescinded a job offer after learning the applicant had been convicted of a crime, the applicant would know the real reason for his rejection. The unspoken threat is that the rejected job applicant might have grounds for a lawsuit claiming discrimination.
Thank you for remembering the McKinnons.
Hello this is jason metz now 42 this man should never get out he has ruined many lives and to allow him another chance to kill rape yes this man raped me growing up.i to fear this man monster getting out.i begged him not to hurt people the night before he didnt need to kill. I saved eight people on the beach that night but I live with the guilt everyday not saying and saving McKinnons when i left seaside that morning.people need not to write monsters in prison like me brother.
Oops my brother I’m hoping he dies on prison.i have moved to Nevada to raise my two daughter’s i have no contact with andrew not since i testified against him in 1997.damn cant the DA’s office get it done right why all the mess ups you want this man free.had i came forward instead of going to the state hospital this man would of got the death penalty.he should spend his natural life behind locked wall’s.and to have a sex preditor as a person of character witness shows he hasn’t changed
Thanks for the comments, Jason. The fault does not lie with the DA’s office, especially the DA who prosecuted your brother. Josh Marquis is one of Oregon’s most aggressive prosecutors.
We do not have truth-in-sentencing in our criminal justice system. It’s all a big poker game. Read my earlier comment to Bob about “Justice Reinvestment.” Politicians are more interested in saving money than saving lives. Why? Because for the most part, crime victims tend to be from the lower socio-economic classes. They don’t tend to be elected officials or lawyers or doctors or academicians.
What will halt “Justice Reinvestment” will be when there are more victims like the McKinnons.
[…] Having Fun in Prison […]
I met Metz in prison. I considered him my friend at that time. He seemed intelligent, and soft spoken when you compare him to some of the other inmates. Neither of us asked what each other was in for which made it easier to socially blend into the situation. In hind sight I have to say he was deliberate, calculating, (which I think is why he liked programming), but always seemed distant. After I was released I eventually looked up his name to determine why he was incarcerated. It was a shock, but knowing him, I do not doubt it. I wrote him for a while after I was released, and in one letter I mentioned I had learned why he was incarcerated. I never received another response from him. He seemed content living, and socializing as long as the truth was hidden, but the moment it was revealed all bets were off. Well that shows how shallow our “friendship” was.
Thank you for writing. I checked, and Metz is still in prison.
I found your comment to be reassuring. In my work, I spend a lot of time watching Oregon legislative hearings. In the recently concluded legislative session, you would think there was only one crime victim in all of the state, a mother named Angela Foster, who testified about the murder of her child.
For the most part, people who testified in various hearings regarding police and prison reform pushed for sympathy towards criminal offenders — even those who committed the most violent crimes. Legislators listened attentively and nodded in agreement.
I know there are offenders who go to prison and come out changed for the better. I have a family member who fits that description. He grew up, got off drugs, became responsible and learned a skill while he was in prison. Politicians don’t hear enough from those men and women. The media don’t seek them out for their stories.
“Abolition now” has become a rallying cry to close all prisons. Last century, across the U.S., states closed many of their mental hospitals. What was the result? Check the streets. Close the prisons, and watch what happens. Guys like Andrew Metz will multiply and thrive.