Charles Wakefield, finally free

It was, in the jargon of my people, a scoop.

I happened on it almost by accident. I had a habit of checking through probation, pardon, and parole records to see who was staying in prison and who was getting sprung. When I noticed the name “Charles Wakefield,” the word “murder,” and the word “parole,” I knew I’d found something important. I just didn’t know how important it was and how wrong I would be about so many things.

I did an archive search and discovered that Wakefield had been convicted of killing off-duty Greenville County deputy Frank Looper and his father back in the 70s. He was tried and convicted faster than anyone I’ve ever seen. He was sentenced to death. His life was over.

What happened over the next 25 years is a matter of record and a very long, unwritten book. (Update: It is also the subject of the Murder, etc true crime podcast debuting in 2019).The short version tells the story of a man who escaped the death penalty, but still faced life in prison. A few years before my little discovery, Wakefield had received parole and had it rescinded after a massive public outcry. Now, he had been released again. I knew that I, the local NBC affiliate’s crime beat reporter, had the lead story of the day.

I got it all confirmed and then did what I thought made the most sense. I called the former police chief, Mike Bridges, who also happened to be one of the investigating officers who put Wakefield in prison. Bridges was outraged. I put him in front of a TV camera and let him fume, red-faced and vitriolic. The outrage grew. Within a few days, Wakefield’s parole had again been rescinded. He would not go free.

I was so proud of myself. My discovery had resulted in a murderer staying in prison. It was a victory, I thought, for journalism.

That’s when Eric Gottlieb showed up at my office. He was a New York attorney and about the only soul in the world who gave a damn about whether Charles Wakefield ever got out of prison.

I’ll admit, I was suspicious of Gottlieb at first. Here was this attorney and documentary filmmaker who was helping out a guy that, for all I knew, had brutally murdered a narcotics officer and his father.

I fully expected Gottlieb to be furious. I expected him to try to shame me. I expected him to tell me how wrong and irresponsible I was. Instead, he gave me a big pile of papers and asked me to read from beginning to end. He told me a story about a man–a patsy– who had spent a quarter century in prison for a crime he didn’t commit. I was skeptical, but promised Gottlieb I would read.

I read every page of the photocopied file. And then I read it again. I started taking notes, putting yellow Post-Its all over the pages. By the time I’d made it through the second time, I believed that Charles Wakefield was an innocent man.

The file was not Gottlieb’s writing. It was a ream of paper containing police reports, arrest reports, indictments, and just about everything at which I considered myself an expert at deciphering. It wasn’t an interpretation. It was raw data.

Gottlieb didn’t have to make an argument to me. It was all there in black and white. All anyone had to do was read to see that Wakefield was a suspect and convict of convenience. He made one dumb move and investigators seized on it. The story is much too long to fully defend, and I wouldn’t expect you to take it at face value. Someday I expect you’ll hear the full story. For now, though, just accept that I believe in Wakefield’s innocence. Despite my love and respect for the law enforcement community, I believed the good ol’ boys of the 1970s had convicted the wrong man and had kept him in prison ever since.

What this meant was that my exuberant reporting had helped send an innocent man back to prison. I have never properly dealt with or been able to explain the guilt. My remaining years in television were spent trying to right that wrong. I never succeeded and I never forgot. Over the years, Gottlieb has kept in touch and given me occasional updates on the story. I think he knows that I’ve wrestled with the guilt even after leaving TV.

More than keeping up with me, Gottlieb never gave up on Wakefield. When people like me wandered off to new lives, Gottlieb kept fighting. He kept begging. He kept quietly convincing people that Wakefield should be set free. By the time it was all said and done, even members of the victims’ family were asking that Wakefield go free. Gottlieb did it all, not through tricks of lawyering and loopoholes, but through a patient and quiet belief that he was–for free-representing an innocent man. Because Gottlieb was also a documentary filmmaker, the southern law enforcment and legal establishment labeled him as a liberal, New York profiteer. It was an unfair characterization and one that only people who didn’t know him would believe.

I, a man who has a hard time believing in anybody, consider Gottlieb a hero. Why? Because last night he sent me the photo below (published here with Gottlieb’s permission) with the subject line “Free at last.”

Charles Wakefield is man I have never met, but has represented so many things in my life. He is a symbol of why reporters should be responsible. He is a symbol of how a justice system can go terribly astray. He is a symbol of why we should always ask if conventional wisdom is correct.

More than that, though…thanks to Eric Gottlieb, Charles Wakefield is free.

Charles Wakefield Jr.

Update: It took them a few days to hear about the story, but the local news media finally picked up on it. Here are the local pieces (in order of making it onto the air/into print with the story):



Greenville News

Brad Willis

Brad Willis is a writer based in Greenville, South Carolina. Willis spent a decade as an award-winning broadcast journalist. He has worked as a freelance writer, columnist, and professional blogger since 2005. He has also served as a commentator and guest on a wide variety of television, radio, and internet shows.

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12 Responses

  1. IG says:

    I’ll say the same thing Ive said to P. I love reading all your poker stuff (Yours and Pauly’s and Nicky’s). But you all really show your talents when writing an article/piece such as this.

    You have a conscience and integrity and are true to yourself, character traits not everyone in the field of journalism possesses.

    We all make mistakes in life. It takes a bigger person to own up to them, make amends rather then to point the finger of blame on someone else.

  2. Dr. Chako says:

    You need to teach a journalism class. You can start by asking the students what they were doing 25 years ago (if they were even born yet). Ask them about their experiences over the last quarter century. Then tell them about the mundane experience of a 25 year prisoner, wrongfully convicted.

    It’s the thought of those lost experiences I can’t get out of my head.


  3. Linda Casey says:

    You never cease to amaze me. Perhaps that is why I trust you.

  4. G-Rob says:

    I don’t understand this story. Was he paroled? Was he acquitted? Was he pardoned? Why is he out of jail?

  5. otis says:

    G-Rob, if it wasn’t clear, he was paroled. You might check your local TV’s station’s website for recent news about the case. Oh wait…

  6. Pura Vida says:

    I hope I can locate a copy of Mr. Gottlieb’s documentary. His tireless advocacy inspires me, as does your post.

    Write this book (if you haven’t written it yet), Otis.

  7. Derrick Goold says:

    What a story, and well-told, Brad. Over in the playpen that is sports journalism we don’t run into stories with much gravity — at least too, too often. But the lesson remains the same. Sometimes things aren’t what they seem and very rarely are people as they seem.

  8. Vanessa Wakefield McKinney says:

    Brad, Thank you for this beautiful story on my big brother. My family will be eternally greatful to Eric for being there for him and with him through it all. We have waited for what seems like a life time to be able to see him free again. I also thank you for taking the time to read the facts, unlike so many others. We have always known the truth and pray that some day the whole world will too.

  9. Andy Ethridge says:

    Hi Vanessa, my name is Andy Ethridge and I am somewhat of an amateur historian. I do not know if your brother wishes to maintain his privacy, of which he deserves. If he would be willing to talk could you please email me a good way to get in touch with him? [email protected]
    Thanks for your time and if you do not wish to be bothered I completely respect that

  10. Donna Hammett says:

    Justice will never be served in this case, but an innocent man has returned home. i will never forget this experience.

  11. Ted Mann says:

    I knew the Looper family very well. Frank was my first cousin as his mother Vera was my dad’s sister (Elmo Mann, who is still alive at 93). I don’t hear this discussed, but someone seemed to be sending the Looper family a serious message some time before the 1975 murders. One night, I sat on the sofa at the back of their home. Frank and his mom Vera showed us how a shooter had fired a single shot through the front door and lodge in the wall behind me. This terrified me as I discreetly slide over from my direct line with the door. My dad told Frank that night, “You need to find another job before they kill you”. Frank was known to be a very tough drug enforcement officer and I am sure he had ruffled some feathers. Frank was not about quitting because of the single gunshot. Years earlier, Frank took me to see Steve McQueen in “Bullitt”. I think he related to the Bullitt character and loved what he did. The beautiful day of 1975 came and ended abrutly. I had just arrived home from Clemson for the weekend. My parents worked and I was the only one home. The phone rang. A woman ask me if I knew anything about something that had happened at the Loopers earlier that day. I did not know who this was or what she what talking about. Not long after, I got the news from my dad. My Aunt Vera spent the following week with us and we helped her relocate to Kings Estate in Berea where she needed assistance until her death. Her account of what happened that day went something like this. She was in the kitchen and noticed a black male seemed to be suspicious as he walked up the drive to enter the Loopers garage where Rufus ran a car repair. It was around mid-day. Frank was in bed as he worked a lot of night shifts. Vera went to his room and made him aware of her concern. Frank left the house, armed, but most likely not expecting to use it. Shortly after Frank entered the garage, my aunt heard to gunshots. She saw the black male run down the driveway to Pendelton Street. A person across the street said he jumped and slapped the Looper Garage sign as if he had accomplished something. There was no evidence of a robbery while Frank and Rufus were fatally shot with one gunshot each to the head.