This past Saturday morning, at around 1 AM, Amanda Jo Stott-Smith, 31, apparently threw or otherwise caused her two children to fall off the Sellwood Bridge in Portland, Oregon. The children, four-year-old Eldon Jay Rebhan Smith, 4, and a 7-year-old girl landed 75 feet below in the Willamette River. People living along the water heard moans, and at about 1:30, residents David Haag and Cheryl Robb took their boat onto the river, and found the children. Haag jumped into the water and retrieved the boy, who was dead, and the girl, still alive despite having spent up to 30 minutes in the 56-degree water. She was taken to the hospital, where her condition continues to improve.
Stott-Smith was found later that morning, around ten, on the ninth floor of a downtown Portland parking garage. When the police confronted her, she threatened to jump, but was talked out of it and taken into custody.
Today at 2 PM, she was to be arraigned. I arrive at 1:30, and walk in just behind a photographer for the Oregonian. Doug Beghtel and I are the only two people in the gallery. When one of the women working on the other side of the divider ask if we're with the Oregonian, Doug says yes and I say, "Not yet." I am there simply because I am compelled, as well as having been urged by a friend to write about Stott-Smith.
Doug and I are joined by James, a cameraman for Channel 12. We talk about whether Stott-Smith will appear with her face down or facing forward; what her condition might be and what caused her to do this; we talk about other cases, other murders. We talk about the helplessness of schizophrenics, and the coolness and calculation of psychopaths.
"When they start letting people in, it's going to get really crowded," says Doug, which is when I realize, I'd ridden his draft; I am not supposed to be in the room yet at all; that they let in the photographers early in oder that they might secure good angles.
At 2:10, the room fills, with 22 people on four rows of pew-like benches. Someone from the Tribune hands Doug his card and says, "Make sure we get a photo, too." One of the deputies in city-park-green uniform tells people, no cells phones, no cameras, or we'll be asked to leave. I see only one laptop. There are perhaps four reporters there, tops. I am not sure who the other people are. But I think perhaps the young man in the back row, the one flanked by two women and snuffling loudly, is related to Stott-Smith in some way; he looks as though he's been crying. If he is here because of her, or is some relation to her, I think, I want to speak with him. I glance back. He meets my eye.
There are a dozen people on the other side of the divide, women filing and talking and using computers. Something one of them says makes them laugh, and I think, this seems an affront, in light of what's happened; it seems almost cruel, but then I think, it's another workday for them, and how, in fact, I'd like to write about one of them, perhaps the heavy-set one drinking a diet Shasta. I'd like to know how she lives through her days.
I look back again at the young man. I give a very small, hopefully respectful smile. He gives me one back. I think now, if I can get him in the hall later, I will say, do you want to talk? And then we will talk, or I can walk him over to the Oregonian; I can stand in the lobby with him and his mother and who I think is his sister, and I can ask the receptionist to call George Rede, the Sunday Opinion editor, and I can say, George, can you walk this young man upstairs to talk with whomever is writing about Stott-Smith? I will do this not for glory, but for the story.
A DA comes in and reads off ten names of people who are not facing criminal charges right now. I don't know what this means. The young woman next to me audibly exhales.
At 2:27, Judge Julia Philbrook enters. We all rise. The DA tells her, she will be seeing three defendants today, whom I will call AH and NJA, in addition to Stott-Smith. They call AH. The young man in the back row, my snuffling boy, gets up -- he is AH. He's accused of third degree assault. He pleads not guilty. He's ordered to come back on such and such a date and then, he leaves. His tear-creased mother meets my gaze before she joins her son, and they all walk out. I think, they have no idea who they were on the docket with.
Next, from the back of the room and led in by a guard, is NJA, in prison blues. He's charged with murder. The judge asks if he can afford an attorney; he answers in the affirmative, but it seems he has misunderstood the question. She appoints him an attorney and instructs that he will reappear on June 3rd,9:30 AM.
The judge is informed that Stott-Smith is not yet ready to appear. Instead, it's W, also in prison blues, tall, lanky, with rocker-boy hair. He's accused of possessing heroin; the judge asks if he understands this.
" 'K," says W.
He is told, he can go to the STOP program, and then come and report back to her. W says to a woman near him, who speaks for him to the judge, "Will I be released today." She says, he will.
"Cool," he says.
Next is another young man, charged I think with second degree assault, though some priors may move it up to a felony. The judge asks whether he can afford a lawyer.
"It depends on how much it costs," he says.
"Do you have a bank account?" asks the judge.
"Yes."
"And how much is in it?"
"Well, it's overdrawn," he says. The judge assigns him a lawyer.
All four have been dispensed within maybe eight minutes.
Stott-Smith is led in by two guards. She is wearing a sleeveless forest-green top; it's hard to tell, because she's in the corner and flanked by the guards as well as a tall attorney, if this is prison issue. She is not looking down. She has a wide, coffee-with-cream-colored face, and her thick glossy hair is loose and not untidy. Her expression is unreadable from this distance, besides to see, she is not smiling, nor is she crying. What she is going through, where she finds herself now, is as yet unnameable. I imagine it's like being pinned in chaos, no release, no relief, no hope of being let go.
The judge reads the charges: aggravated murder and attempted aggravated murder. She asks the lawyer to speak.
"I am James McIntyre, M-C-I-N-T-Y-R-E," he says, and adds some sort of ID number, and that he is here as a courtesy for attorney somebody Gray; I wish I had heard the first name but I am too busy looking at Stott-Smith. She looks worn. She looks as though standing is taking some effort, as though the weight of her shoulders is dragging her forward and down.
"Do you understand the nature of the charges against you?" the judge asks. Stott-Smith does not answer. The judge says again, "Do you understand the charges against you?" This time, Stott-Smith appears to move her lips, but all that comes out is a syllable that sounds like, "Muh."
The judge orders Stott-Smith to remain in custody until she reappears on June 3rd, 9:30 AM. Stott-Smith is physically turned by the guards, and moves back out the door as though she were moving through deep water.
To be continued.
Part II: On the Bridge
This is so horrifying, and the sense of that comes right out of your words undiluted. Looking forward to the next installment, if "looking forward" is the way to put it.
Posted by: Alice Bachini-Smith | May 26, 2009 at 07:10 PM
Why'd they talk her out of jumping? We'd have been well rid of this cruel and evil person.
Posted by: Zev | May 27, 2009 at 08:00 AM
I'm fascinated by this. Well told.
As always in these inexplicably horrific cases, the reaction is more of a Rorschach for the public than it is any explanation for what could've happened.
Posted by: Kevin | May 27, 2009 at 08:25 AM
"As always in these inexplicably horrific cases, the reaction is more of a Rorschach for the public than it is any explanation for what could've happened."
Yes; 100% yes. I have had people write saying, this must have been incredibly difficult for me to write. Actually, it wasn't, and probably because I am walking one step at a time toward this story, taking in one inch of the frame at a time. We hear about stories like this, and we think, never! Never! But if you stop for a minute and think about the most horrible you can possibly imagine, just horrible, being flayed, or dipped in acid, or killing your own children... we are capable of thinking these thoughts, and it doesn't make us evil, and it doesn't make us callous. It makes us human, and my drive is to understand how a woman gets to where she got. It's too easy, in my line of work, to say, she's evil. That doesn't answer anything. Better, for me, to walk very slowly around and around and start to take the measure of things.
Posted by: Nancy Rommelmann | May 27, 2009 at 08:46 AM
I can't even think the thought about my own children; the mind recoils. Same with others, if to a lesser degree. But even if I could think it, from thinking to speaking to planning to doing is a journey of a million million miles. I have not the least interest in the precise moments of selfishness and cruelty that brought this creature to her depraved state. I wish they had let her jump.
Posted by: Zev | May 27, 2009 at 12:23 PM
zev,
two things:
there's a truck load and a half of mental illness out there
and
who taught you to wish death on another person?
Posted by: steve | May 27, 2009 at 02:07 PM
There's also a truckload and a half of people who plead insanity but who are merely wicked.
I have no problem wishing death on people who deal it out themselves, especially when the victims are their own children.
Posted by: Zev | May 27, 2009 at 02:48 PM
Steve,
There's also two truckloads and a half of people who plead insanity but who are merely wicked. And there's another truckload or two of people who are both insane and wicked. Since when is mental illness a free pass to murder?
I have no problem wishing death upon people who deal it out themselves, especially when the victims are their own children. There's such a thing as misplaced compassion, and for me, murderes fall on the other side of the line.
And in any case, I didn't recommend anyone kill her, but only that she not be saved from herself.
Posted by: Zev | May 27, 2009 at 02:56 PM
Sorry about the double post. I posted and then wanted to add something and it looked like the whole thing disappeared, so I rewrote.
Posted by: Zev | May 27, 2009 at 03:32 PM
I just did the same thing on a friend's site! No worries x
Posted by: Nancy Rommelmann | May 27, 2009 at 03:36 PM
I think we disagree.
Posted by: steve | May 27, 2009 at 04:17 PM
Steve: Definitely.
Nancy: Well, I did this one on a friend's site too. :)
Posted by: Zev | May 27, 2009 at 04:47 PM
Nancy - I like that you are slowly taking in this story. It takes a lot to push a person to the point that she was at and I am interested in finding out what was going through her brain and how she reached that point. It IS easy to say that people are evil, but really, if we knew what they went through, what they were thinking, they are not so far from us. At least that's what I've found.
Posted by: Lizzy | May 27, 2009 at 09:27 PM
There hung an awkwardness in the air today, as the adults gave fake half-grins to each other, slowly greeting each child to the last day of preschool. It’s one thing to see a story in the news(and be horrified), and I have found it is quite another when you’ve tousled the hair of the victim and knew what character was on their lunchbox; when your child was their buddy in class.
They tell me she went to George Fox and was a doting stay-at-home mom. I didn’t know her, but she has stood right next to me….if she is so evil, why couldn’t I tell? And if she’s not evil, what “broke in her?” “Broke in her” are the words my homicide detective-friend used to try and help me make sense of it all (everyone should have one of those kinds of friends).
And as I sit here, reading this blog, I think of the numerous divorces I have witnessed. The cruelty once-lovers punch out to each other, the screaming, premeditated manipulation with the children as pawns….and I think…hell, it’s no wonder some people snap. And that kids are messed up. How dare people think it is okay to treat each other this way when they have parented children….PRECIOUS children together. As horrified as I am about what Amanda did, I keep thinking of the cop telling me she was broken….and I am starting to wonder if he is right….and that this is what can happen when broken people are pushed and pushed and pushed and don’t get the right help or support. And I don’t find myself feeling too much empathy for the father, because I wonder what he did to contribute to her mental snap. What did he say to her on the last phone call just prior to her horrific downfall? I bet he plays that conversation over and over in his head.
I think you are on to something and hope you find an answer.
Posted by: Dovie | May 27, 2009 at 10:40 PM
Nancy, Well written.
I hope you will take the time to talk to some lawyers and court staff because there is a lot of information that you provided above that has more meaning to someone used to dealing with the court system. (For example, if she was wearing the green 'turtle suit' that means she is on a mental health watch of some sort in the jail. All "in custody" people will be wearing jail issued clothing.)
Posted by: r | May 27, 2009 at 10:46 PM
Nancy, I hope you write the story Dovie needs to read. I think it's also the story Zev needs to read whether he knows it or not. And knowing you, it's the one you can't not write.
Posted by: Hillary Johnson | May 28, 2009 at 10:35 PM
If Nancy writes it I'll read it.
Posted by: Zev | May 30, 2009 at 07:52 PM
I'm kinda going nuts waiting for an update, Nancy.
Posted by: Eric | May 31, 2009 at 03:53 PM