The Commercial Appeal
Friendly Ark. town calmly observes a painful trial
Sad proceedings `put Corning on the map'
Date: February 5, 1994 Section: News Page: a9 Source: Marc Perrusquia The Commercial Appeal Dateline: CORNING, Ark.
Memo: The Miskelley Verdict Edition: Final
Marcus Price listened to tales of a satanic cult and sat through painful testimony about the murders of three children. The young rice farmer stirred restlessly when he considered an intriguing alibi that placed murder defendant Jessie Lloyd Misskelley Jr. at a wrestling match 50 miles from the crime scene on the night of the murders.
When the trial ended Friday, Price was shaken, but certain of one thing: People may never again look the same at this small farming community just west of the Missouri Bootheel.
``The trial put Corning on the map,'' said Price, 24. ``You tell people you're from Corning and they say, `Yeah, that's where the murder trial is.' ''
Corning seemed to enjoy its 15 minutes of fame, but never quite gave in to the dazzling flood of TV lights that swept into town last week.
A healthy skepticism toward this sensational trial pervaded this town of 3,323. It started with the local sheriff, Darvin Stow, now famous for his early warning to ``monkey jump'' any news media members who got out of line.
A sense of reservation also embraced resident Glen Rouse, 53. The Corning insurance agent said he placed little credence in claims a satanic cult was behind the murders of West Memphis 8-year-olds Steve Branch, Michael Moore and Christopher Byers.
``Nah,'' he said, dismissing the claim. ``I just believe what I see -- and half of that.''
What else should be expected from a town just 7 miles south of the ``Show Me State'' of Missouri?
Most of the local residents attending the trial said they weren't surprised when the jury convicted Misskelley, 18, of Marion, of one count of first-degree murder and two counts of second-degree murder.
``It's just the way I thought it would be,'' said local farmer Wilburn Mullins, 51, spitting tobacco into a cup. A few days earlier Mullins said the trial was too close to call, but then Corning is a town with a certain sense of pride.
``We offer no apology,'' warned a recent editorial in the Clay County Courier, the weekly newspaper published here. The editorial chastised big-city reporters for painting stereotypical small-town images of Corning.
``Don't think we're backward or old-fashioned just because the telephone company had to send workers to install portable pay telephones at the courthouse to handle the special needs of the trial. There was no shortage of telephones before,'' the editorial read.
``Don't call us a one-horse town because we don't have a horse. Come to think of it, we don't even have a stoplight.''
Yet, through it all, Corning offered compassion to the families and participants involuntarily swept up by this sad trial that was moved here from Crittenden County.
When the defendant's family rolled into town and announced they would sleep through the bitter cold nights in a camper on the back of a Chevy truck, a local church offered help.
The First United Methodist Church allowed four members of the family to sleep on the floor. The church also provided electricity for the camper where the defendant's father, Jessie Lloyd Misskelley Sr., slept.
``We felt as Christians, we're here to minister the grace of God and give people what they need,'' said Rev. Jim Roper, who dismissed criticisms from some corners. ``They didn't crucify Jesus for being a nice guy.''
Emotions stirred again Friday as a sad parade of families made their way from the courthouse.
Out front, Mark Byers and his wife, Melissa, held each other and wept. On the side, the elder Misskelly slowly and silently walked toward his listing truck, shaking his head with a blank expression.
Out back, the defendant held his boyish face ever downward as he had throughout the trial, as he was escorted to a car that would take him to prison for the rest of his life.
Out the front doors, detectives wheeled two bicycles from the courthouse, knocking down the kickstands and stopping them on the sidewalk. Steve Branch and Michael Moore rode those bikes the day they died.
``It just tears me up,'' said county employee Patsy Blaylock, 60, looking at the bikes through a large plate-glass window. ``I don't know how they stand to see it.''
Fellow employee Lita Wright answered, ``It's the feeling you have when you go to the cemetery . . . It's the ending of it.''
Friendly Ark. town calmly observes a painful trial
Sad proceedings `put Corning on the map'
Date: February 5, 1994 Section: News Page: a9 Source: Marc Perrusquia The Commercial Appeal Dateline: CORNING, Ark.
Memo: The Miskelley Verdict Edition: Final
Marcus Price listened to tales of a satanic cult and sat through painful testimony about the murders of three children. The young rice farmer stirred restlessly when he considered an intriguing alibi that placed murder defendant Jessie Lloyd Misskelley Jr. at a wrestling match 50 miles from the crime scene on the night of the murders.
When the trial ended Friday, Price was shaken, but certain of one thing: People may never again look the same at this small farming community just west of the Missouri Bootheel.
``The trial put Corning on the map,'' said Price, 24. ``You tell people you're from Corning and they say, `Yeah, that's where the murder trial is.' ''
Corning seemed to enjoy its 15 minutes of fame, but never quite gave in to the dazzling flood of TV lights that swept into town last week.
A healthy skepticism toward this sensational trial pervaded this town of 3,323. It started with the local sheriff, Darvin Stow, now famous for his early warning to ``monkey jump'' any news media members who got out of line.
A sense of reservation also embraced resident Glen Rouse, 53. The Corning insurance agent said he placed little credence in claims a satanic cult was behind the murders of West Memphis 8-year-olds Steve Branch, Michael Moore and Christopher Byers.
``Nah,'' he said, dismissing the claim. ``I just believe what I see -- and half of that.''
What else should be expected from a town just 7 miles south of the ``Show Me State'' of Missouri?
Most of the local residents attending the trial said they weren't surprised when the jury convicted Misskelley, 18, of Marion, of one count of first-degree murder and two counts of second-degree murder.
``It's just the way I thought it would be,'' said local farmer Wilburn Mullins, 51, spitting tobacco into a cup. A few days earlier Mullins said the trial was too close to call, but then Corning is a town with a certain sense of pride.
``We offer no apology,'' warned a recent editorial in the Clay County Courier, the weekly newspaper published here. The editorial chastised big-city reporters for painting stereotypical small-town images of Corning.
``Don't think we're backward or old-fashioned just because the telephone company had to send workers to install portable pay telephones at the courthouse to handle the special needs of the trial. There was no shortage of telephones before,'' the editorial read.
``Don't call us a one-horse town because we don't have a horse. Come to think of it, we don't even have a stoplight.''
Yet, through it all, Corning offered compassion to the families and participants involuntarily swept up by this sad trial that was moved here from Crittenden County.
When the defendant's family rolled into town and announced they would sleep through the bitter cold nights in a camper on the back of a Chevy truck, a local church offered help.
The First United Methodist Church allowed four members of the family to sleep on the floor. The church also provided electricity for the camper where the defendant's father, Jessie Lloyd Misskelley Sr., slept.
``We felt as Christians, we're here to minister the grace of God and give people what they need,'' said Rev. Jim Roper, who dismissed criticisms from some corners. ``They didn't crucify Jesus for being a nice guy.''
Emotions stirred again Friday as a sad parade of families made their way from the courthouse.
Out front, Mark Byers and his wife, Melissa, held each other and wept. On the side, the elder Misskelly slowly and silently walked toward his listing truck, shaking his head with a blank expression.
Out back, the defendant held his boyish face ever downward as he had throughout the trial, as he was escorted to a car that would take him to prison for the rest of his life.
Out the front doors, detectives wheeled two bicycles from the courthouse, knocking down the kickstands and stopping them on the sidewalk. Steve Branch and Michael Moore rode those bikes the day they died.
``It just tears me up,'' said county employee Patsy Blaylock, 60, looking at the bikes through a large plate-glass window. ``I don't know how they stand to see it.''
Fellow employee Lita Wright answered, ``It's the feeling you have when you go to the cemetery . . . It's the ending of it.''
