probably a pump action and by slamming it down, a round went into the chamber without anyone realizing it. The gun got passed to Wesley, who slammed it down on the floor; only this time, it went off.
It killed Wesley instantly, nearly taking off his jaw, and splattering blood all over the place. Jon was devastated. He didn’t know what to do with his feelings. He loved his brother and couldn’t figure out how such an awful thing could have happened. Jon had all these questions and no answers. Bad things kept happening. It all boiled up in his brain, looking for an outlet.
Like many disturbed kids, Jon Lawrence was vulnerable to “conspiracy nut” philosophies. Whether to the left or right, fascism or communism, it was all fueled by an underlying desire to get out the aggression that had been building up for so many years. Jon Lawrence became a white supremacist.
The racist literature that Hand and McCurdy found in the Lawrence home when they executed their search warrant had its roots back in Jon Lawrence’s teens, with his first major crime. Young Jon Lawrence was a troubled teenager who hated blacks. It was not surprising, considering his father’s alleged background in the KKK. But Jon Lawrence really hated blacks. But he still wasn’t a violent guy, not by himself anyway. It just wasn’t his style. Jon hung with two guys, Rob Palmer and Brian Terhune, and they saw things in the same skewed way he did.
Alone, he couldn’t act, but together, things became possible.
Chumuckla Highway is a small, two-way street. There’s nothing notable about it, except the New Macedonia Church, a distinguished-looking wooden edifice. Just before midnight, Jonathan Lawrence drove by the church and parked about thirty feet down on Guernsey Road. Doors slammed as Lawrence and his companions got out of the car.
Brian Terhune and Rob Palmer followed Jon Lawrence up the deserted street to the church. They were carrying a can of gray spray paint. Jon took the can and started spraying the side of the church closest to Guernsey Road. Brian then took the can and sprayed the other side and the church’s sign. Rob acted as lookout. His job was to raise the alarm if anyone came along.
They didn’t. The streets stayed deserted and the teens did their business. Afterward, they walked away as nonchalantly as they had come. They got in Lawrence’s car and drove off into the night as if nothing had happened. Back at the church, the walls shouted out at anyone who chose to look:
ALL NIGGERS MUST DIE
ALL NIGGERS MUST HANG
FUCKIN NIGGERS
KKK
Brian Terhune got nervous. He figured the cops weren’t stupid. They’d figure out who was responsible and come after them. He didn’t wait; instead, he fingered Jonathan Lawrence. He and Rob Palmer, who also made a deal, filled in the details for the prosecutor John Molchan. A former officer in the United States Navy, Molchan had become a lawyer in the service, serving with the judge advocate general (JAG), and then became a prosecuting attorney when his hitch was up.
“Did you know the church was largely a black congregation?” Molchan asked Palmer.
“Yeah, I did,” Palmer answered. “I think Brian and Lawrence knew also.”
“Did you warn Brian and Lawrence if someone was coming while they sprayed the church?”
“I would have.”
The police theory of the crime was that Palmer was the lookout while the other two did the nasty racist work. Unfortunately for Justin Livingston and Jennifer Robinson, the concept of punishing hate crimes harshly did not exist in 1993 in the state of Florida.
The principle behind tougher sentences for hate crimes is that by deliberately targeting a particular group—religious, racial or otherwise—a perpetrator is hurting all. The same holds true for the use of racial or religious epithets scrawled on religious buildings. By doing so, the vandal is not only hurting the individual congregation, he is hurting anyone who subscribes to that congregation’s
It killed Wesley instantly, nearly taking off his jaw, and splattering blood all over the place. Jon was devastated. He didn’t know what to do with his feelings. He loved his brother and couldn’t figure out how such an awful thing could have happened. Jon had all these questions and no answers. Bad things kept happening. It all boiled up in his brain, looking for an outlet.
Like many disturbed kids, Jon Lawrence was vulnerable to “conspiracy nut” philosophies. Whether to the left or right, fascism or communism, it was all fueled by an underlying desire to get out the aggression that had been building up for so many years. Jon Lawrence became a white supremacist.
The racist literature that Hand and McCurdy found in the Lawrence home when they executed their search warrant had its roots back in Jon Lawrence’s teens, with his first major crime. Young Jon Lawrence was a troubled teenager who hated blacks. It was not surprising, considering his father’s alleged background in the KKK. But Jon Lawrence really hated blacks. But he still wasn’t a violent guy, not by himself anyway. It just wasn’t his style. Jon hung with two guys, Rob Palmer and Brian Terhune, and they saw things in the same skewed way he did.
Alone, he couldn’t act, but together, things became possible.
Chumuckla Highway is a small, two-way street. There’s nothing notable about it, except the New Macedonia Church, a distinguished-looking wooden edifice. Just before midnight, Jonathan Lawrence drove by the church and parked about thirty feet down on Guernsey Road. Doors slammed as Lawrence and his companions got out of the car.
Brian Terhune and Rob Palmer followed Jon Lawrence up the deserted street to the church. They were carrying a can of gray spray paint. Jon took the can and started spraying the side of the church closest to Guernsey Road. Brian then took the can and sprayed the other side and the church’s sign. Rob acted as lookout. His job was to raise the alarm if anyone came along.
They didn’t. The streets stayed deserted and the teens did their business. Afterward, they walked away as nonchalantly as they had come. They got in Lawrence’s car and drove off into the night as if nothing had happened. Back at the church, the walls shouted out at anyone who chose to look:
ALL NIGGERS MUST DIE
ALL NIGGERS MUST HANG
FUCKIN NIGGERS
KKK
Brian Terhune got nervous. He figured the cops weren’t stupid. They’d figure out who was responsible and come after them. He didn’t wait; instead, he fingered Jonathan Lawrence. He and Rob Palmer, who also made a deal, filled in the details for the prosecutor John Molchan. A former officer in the United States Navy, Molchan had become a lawyer in the service, serving with the judge advocate general (JAG), and then became a prosecuting attorney when his hitch was up.
“Did you know the church was largely a black congregation?” Molchan asked Palmer.
“Yeah, I did,” Palmer answered. “I think Brian and Lawrence knew also.”
“Did you warn Brian and Lawrence if someone was coming while they sprayed the church?”
“I would have.”
The police theory of the crime was that Palmer was the lookout while the other two did the nasty racist work. Unfortunately for Justin Livingston and Jennifer Robinson, the concept of punishing hate crimes harshly did not exist in 1993 in the state of Florida.
The principle behind tougher sentences for hate crimes is that by deliberately targeting a particular group—religious, racial or otherwise—a perpetrator is hurting all. The same holds true for the use of racial or religious epithets scrawled on religious buildings. By doing so, the vandal is not only hurting the individual congregation, he is hurting anyone who subscribes to that congregation’s
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