'Procedural Justice for All'
At Multnomah County Courthouse, the appearance of justice is a work of art
On a beautiful summer afternoon, kind of like the one when he shot and killed Thomas Hammond, Quentin Blackmon learned he was going to prison for 330 months.
Make that 330 months — minus a few years.
More than most Oregonians, Blackmon knows that a prison sentence isn’t always what it appears to be.
In his case, it’s a given that the 34-year-old man will be well into middle age before he’s free again to shoot someone so he can steal their vehicle.
Violence is a daily occurrence. While some violent acts (Saturday’s shooting in Butler, Pa. for example) touch millions nationwide, most killings like the death of Thomas Hammond pass without much notice.
Blackmon was a leader of sorts among the drug-addicted thieves and hustlers who hang out in various corners of Portland. Hammond, a retired business owner, crossed paths with Blackmon and his friends, as detailed in Portland Dissent’s “Easy Trick, Easy Lick.”
After they left Hammond dead on a street near The Grotto, a shrine and garden in Northeast Portland known for its Christmas Festival of Lights, Blackmon and his cohorts partied at a motel, celebrating their good fortune. One of them had won $300 on video poker and bought Hammond’s Honda CRV from Blackmon for $100.
He was charged with murder, but a jury found him guilty of first-degree manslaughter, finding he lacked the intent to kill.
“The jury screwed this verdict up…,” one of Hammond’s sons told Multnomah County Circuit Court Judge Kelly Skye. “It was planned and executed.”
His daughter and father shared a birthday, and they had dinner to celebrate every year at the same restaurant. It was a wonderful tradition, he said. Now when she blows out the candles on her cake, she says, “I miss Grandpa.”
Multnomah County Deputy District Attorney Christopher Shull pointed out that Blackmon confronted someone who was “physically his inferior” — the 66-year-old Hammond, whose car carried a Handicapped placard. The killer could have chosen to strong-arm him.
Judge Skye, who was once chief lobbyist for the ACLU, noted that while the jury found Blackmon didn’t intend to kill, he showed up at a carjacking with a loaded firearm.
That, she said, outweighed the mitigating measures Blackmon’s attorneys offered in hopes of getting him a shorter sentence.
The mitigating measures will sound familiar to anyone who follows crime news or social justice advocacy. Blackmon had a cycle of arrest and release on numerous crimes. He was drug addicted and homeless.
Euphemisms can help soften the truth. For example, while Blackmon was on release for one crime, attorney Sohaye Lee said, “He did pick up another offense … assault in third degree.”
Not “commit” another offense but “pick up,” as if he picked up something off the ground. (Another euphemism offenders and defense attorneys like is “caught” as in “He caught a felony.”)
Senior Deputy District Attorney Glen Ujifusa turned to a Pre-Sentence Investigation report detailing Blackmon’s criminal history and behavior. (Notably, these PSI reports are not public record.) Among the important factors Ujifusa cited were Blackmon’s continued lack of control, continued drug use, eroded community and family support — “when others don’t see his point of view, he becomes violent” — difficult to supervise, a chronic absconder who refuses to report and has a callous disregard for human life.
“It seems unlikely the defendant can be rehabilitated,” Ujifusa concluded.
Lee and Blackmon’s other attorney, Dianna Gentry, submitted an 83-page sentencing memorandum calling for a “downward departure.”
Newcomers to the criminal justice system learn this term quickly. It refers to the sentencing guidelines established by the state legislature for certain crimes. A “downward departure” is what offenders and their supporters want — a shorter sentence. An “upward departure” is what victims and their supporters want — a longer sentence.
What can contribute to an upward departure is a history of persistent involvement in similar crimes. Attorneys will argue about what that means. Blackmon’s attorneys said that two of his prior second-degree robberies were when he was 16 and 17. With that gap in time, they should not be included in the current calculations.
Another enhancement that can contribute to an upward departure is if the offender was already on release for other crimes. In Blackmon’s case, he had been on post-prison-supervision for assault in the third degree at the time of Hammond’s killing. Here, his attorneys found another mitigating factor.
A week before Blackmon killed Hammond, he called Amy Vetters, his supervisor with the Multnomah County Department of Community Justice, and admitted he was having trouble complying with supervision. She had been assigned his supervisor five months earlier — but had never met him because of the Covid pandemic.
Vetters couldn’t direct him to treatment because “things were kind of difficult as far as services due to the pandemic.”
If you remove the reference to “pandemic,” Vetters’ words will resonate and be repeated by defense attorneys as the state continues to deal with drug-related crimes in the face of no proven treatment or cure for addiction.
“What (Blackmon) really needed was one-on-one treatment and residential substance abuse treatment. He couldn’t get it,” said Lee.
But if you plow through every word of that 83-page sentencing memorandum, it turns out Blackmon was in housing at Bridges to Change and had a mentor while he was engaged in treatment services. At one point in 2016, though, he was asked to leave Bridges to Change “due to safety concerns.” He had also been involved with Volunteers of America.
At another time, there was a spot offered Blackmon at DePaul Industries (now DPI Group), a nonprofit that assists people with employment “barriers,” but Blackmon was in custody. He also was on a waitlist for CODA inpatient treatment, perhaps the longest established drug treatment program in Oregon.
In trying to build a case in favor of a shorter sentence for their client, Lee and Gentry reached back to Ballot Measure 11, passed by voters in 1994 to require minimum-mandatory sentences for certain violent crimes. It also required juveniles 15 and older who committed certain violent crimes to have their cases moved to adult court where they could be conducted in public.
Because of Measure 11, Blackmon was tried in adult court and given probation. His attorneys said he would have received better care as a juvenile. That doesn’t seem likely in his case. He couldn’t stop committing crimes and eventually ended up housed in the Oregon Youth Authority.
It’s often incorrectly stated in the media that juveniles can be sent to adult prisons. Not true in Oregon. Even a juvenile convicted of murder will remain in the Oregon Youth Authority until his 26th birthday — unless his behavior after he becomes an adult is so dangerous to staff or inmates that he is transferred to an adult facility.
When Blackmon was free as a juvenile and young adult, for reasons not detailed in court, he couldn’t live with his mother or father. But having his case in adult court guaranteed that Blackmon’s criminal record would be public and available to those trying to sort through his life.
In 2019, the state legislature passed Senate Bill 1008, removing juveniles from Measure 11. By then, Blackmon was 29. Today, a teenager like Blackmon could more easily escape the public scrutiny of adult court.
The state’s criminal justice system was so larded with leniency that Blackmon kept getting out and bouncing back until he killed someone. On Aug. 14, 2020 — six days before he shot Hammond — Blackmon had been booked into jail and released on two charges of stealing cars.
His criminal history is a twisted tale that almost requires a flow chart to follow. Blackmon’s sentencing in Hammond’s death isn’t the end. He faces a possible third trial in the shooting death of Michael Epps, 38. Two previous trials in that case ended in mistrial. (See Portland Dissent’s “The State vs. Quentin Pernell Blackmon” and The Oregonian’s follow on the second trial.)
Meanwhile the killing of Epps led to still another shooting, when the dead man’s brother tried to shoot Blackmon and killed Jimmy Lee Melton, 52, instead.
Throughout his trials, the only emotion I’ve witnessed from Blackmon was when he cried in his first trial. Judge Skye had declined to dismiss the charges after he submitted a hand-written complaint that he didn’t get to testify before the Grand Jury.
At his sentencing on Friday, he let his attorney and his mother do the talking.
Attorney Lee said because of the pending case in Epps’ death her client was choosing not to address the court personally. Of the Hammond case, she said, “Mr. Blackmon never intended for anyone to die.”
His silence at his sentencing “doesn’t lessen how sorry he feels that someone lost their life,” she added.
His mother, Kuana Blackmon, stood next to Lee and leaned into the attorney’s microphone, “As a woman that birthed him and raised him … I can speak on his character and his intent. … He cares for people and looks out for the betterment of people.”
Breaking into tears, she said, “I wasn’t there. I can’t speak on what happened. … I am sincerely sorry for my son … I don’t know what happened to him.”
Judge Skye appreciated learning more about Blackmon and the “barriers” in his life. But he is now “a significant public safety risk,” she said.
Thus, 330 months in prison.
For the first 120 months, Blackmon will not get credit for “good time.” Not mentioned was that when his first 120 months are up, and the second 120 months kick in, he will get 20 percent — two years — lobbed off at the beginning as “earned time” unless he commits serious offenses in prison. Or maybe even if he does. Perhaps another Gov. Kate Brown will take office and issue record commutations. Or perhaps the state legislature could get rid of Measure 11 entirely, shortening all prison sentences.
When Hammond’s family members and Blackmon’s mother entered the Multnomah County Courthouse for his sentencing, they would have passed by a video of court staffers greeting visitors and explaining that the county’s policy is to provide “procedural justice for all.”
Procedural justice? It’s currently a popular concept. It’s a way to make an unpleasant situation better. The idea came about from studies that showed people didn’t mind getting traffic tickets. What they didn’t like was a cop being disrespectful to them. So at the Multnomah County Courthouse, visitors are made to feel welcomed and treated with courtesy.
When the new courthouse was designed, art was included and given serious attention as a healing aid. There is art on almost all of the floors. On the 10th floor where Blackmon’s trial and sentencing were held, there is “Multnomah County: Land and Water” by Michael Brophy, gouache on paper, small paintings of forest, water fall, river, fields, farm land, sky and clouds — linking the city with the “balm of the natural world.”
At the other end of the hall, near Judge Skye’s office, is a big piece: “Welcome to the Neighborhood” by Robert Dozono. Recyclable items and acrylic on canvas.
Dozono hasn’t had regular garbage service for almost 30 years. He recycles his garbage into his paintings. Among the items in this large work are a tennis shoe, tooth brushes and toothbrush containers, a plastic jug, lots of plastic caps and lids, including one from a Planter’s Peanut jar, a narrow yellow lei. Holding it together are swirls of acrylic paint, mostly in blue and yellow. The outline of a tree peeks through the garbage.
“Nowadays I am happier…,” the artist writes in his accompanying note. “I still feel uncomfortable having too many shoes, shirts, cars and too much fishing equipment and have a difficult time throwing things away. I think we don’t respect or take enough responsibility for our natural environment. In this age and economy, it is almost impossible not to waste. I almost wish that we could return to a time where nothing was wasted and we reused everything.”
Like that work of art on the 10th floor, all neighborhoods are filled with detritus. Some of it can be salvaged, and some should never be recycled.
Quentin Blackmon is headed to prison — the neighborhood where he belongs.
I routinely pass by the street where Mr Hammond lost his life. What a tragedy for him, his family and the neighbors that got a first hand look at Blackmon’s criminal lifestyle and deadly outcomes. And just like yesterday, the prostitutes are out and about, very present, working the area. Seems they’re continuing to look for their next “easy trick, easy lick”. And to think there’s a segment of our population that thinks this should be legalized.
It is seldom if ever noted how good is Fitzsimmons's writing. Most important, I suppose, is its structure, the clarity with which the matter under consideration is shown, when actors are introduced, key quotations employed, pefect, apt, and concise characterizations, usually in the subject's own words and always by his or her own deeds.
The interweaving of the players and their backgrounds. The ear for professional or contemporary speech locutions and the incisive employment of those terms. I would like to go on but I literally have to leave this building. But, analyzing and exploring her craftsmanship is its own satisfaction and I am certain to take it up later.
But, the structural power of the article is a marvel, nothing to heavy, nothing too long, nothing too early nor too late. To be silly, the infelicitous is eschewed; the important question and/or problem is always clear to the meanest understanding. The shortcomings of community self-management have been laid bare and so are open to an urgently needed remedy (often provided or implied)- should those in power bother themselves to do the right thing.