Part V about Amanda Jo Stott-Smith and her children. Part I here; II, here; III, here, IV, here
Two weeks ago, I received emails from both Ken Hadley, defense attorney for Amanda Stott-Smith, and John Casalino, the DA who is prosecuting the case against her. Both wanted to let me know Amanda would be in court that morning, for another settlement hearing. For those who have not followed the news, or the story here: Amanda is charged with aggravated murder and attempted aggravated murder, stemming from her forcing her two children off Portland's Sellwood Bridge last May 23; her son, four-year-old Eldon, drowned; his seven-year-old sister survived. The aggravated murder charges meant, if the case went to trial, Amanda would face the possibility of the death penalty.
"There probably won't be much to see," Hadley told me. I told him, I wanted to go anyway. I have been writing steadily about Amanda since May 24 of last year, but had not seen her since her last court appearance, in June. That time it had been a zoo, of cameras and reporters and people needing to meet that day's deadline. They've all been gone for months. I've stayed. I have no idea if Amanda will be in court today but I will go anyway.
I get to the courtroom a little early. There is no one there but the attorneys; an investigator, and a woman with pale red hair. We sit quietly in the courtroom, beneath magisterially high ceilings, and walls hung with oil portraits of Alexander Hamilton, of George Washington. It is so quiet, we can hear all the gears of the trucks passing five stories below. I know the investigator, casually, and say hello. I ask the woman with red hair, whom I realize is Amanda's aunt, if I may speak with her in the hall. She will not face to me; says only, "I have nothing to say to you." I tell her, I don't want to interview her; I'd only like to give her my card. "I don't want it," she says.
I go back to my row. We sit in the quiet some more. The door to the courtroom opens. Two sheriff's deputies enter, holding Amanda by the arms. She is wearing French blue pants and top, like doctors' scrubs, a bit of coral-pink peeping at her shirt collar. Her hair is past her waist, and worn in a thick braid. She passes within five feet of me, a woman who has been on my mind every day for nearly a year. She is walked past; she sees her aunt; she begins to cry. The deputies lead Amanda to a seat, on the other side of the partition, behind the defense and prosecutor's tables and in front of us. She turns once to her aunt, who quietly gives Amanda her support.
Amanda faces forward. She has chains around her waist, her ankles, her wrists, but if there is a person who does not present a flight risk, it is the 32-year-old woman before us. Her body, heavier now than it was in June, appears to be trying to hunch in on itself; she looks pitched between deflation and anxiety, and very docile. She meets my eye, briefly. There is very little room, figuratively, to transmit anything. I am doing what I have always said I want to do; what I have told Amanda in my letters I want to do: just sit with her. That's all we can do, as humans, I think, when it comes to death, or at least all we can do for a while, just sit quietly with the bereaved.
Ah, I hear it - I hear you. She is the bereaved? Yes. I believe that. More on that later.
Ken Hadley is right; very little happens. The lawyers walk in and out of judge's chambers; they confer together and separately in every possible combination. Amanda's aunt is brought to judge's chambers. I speak for 15 minutes, in low tones, with the investigator. I tell her, it's always hard for me to get certain types of information, such as medical records and previous court record. I commend the investigator's fat sheaf; I tell her, I am jealous...
"You'll get to hear a lot of this in the future," she says, and also that, I must remember, she works for the defendant, who signs off on confidential information being released.
Forty-five minutes after the hearing began, it is over; nothing, so far as I can see, has transpired. But as I walk out with Ken Hadley, I feel his heaviness and sense his distraction.
I come home and stare all afternoon at a few pages I've been trying to write. They should have taken 45 minutes. All they have to say is, "This book is about; here's the thrust, here's the outline." This, to insert into the 75-page book proposal I have written about Amanda and what happened on May 23; what happened in the micro, and the macro; what it means. A friend who read the manuscript says I need this "definitive statement of purpose," so that is what I am trying to do. And the reason it has not taken 45 minutes; the reason what I have before me is the opposite of Orwell's window pane, is that the writing keeps slipping from why everyone else should be transfixed with this story, to why I am; to why I have stayed. I keep pushing open the door, and back it springs. I see myself as inside the calla lily; it's not open yet.
In her 2008 nonfiction book, The Suspicions of Mr. Whicher, about the murder investigation of a Victorian boy Eldon Smith's age, Kate Summerscale writes:
“Perhaps this is the purpose of detective investigations, real and fictional – to transform sensation, horror and grief into a puzzle, and then to solve the puzzle, to make it go away. 'The detective story,' observed Raymond Chandler in 1949, 'is a tragedy with a happy ending.' A storybook detective starts by confronting us with a murder and ends by absolving us of it. He clears us of guilt. He relieves us of uncertainty. He removes from us the presence of death.”
To me, this seems exactly right. It is a puzzle, one that unlikely people have pieces to. Some find you and they know the most amazing and generous things. Some people have pieces and will not give them to you, because they are so wounded, they want it all to go away. And how dare you, how dare you seek to bring this all out? Haven't we had enough? Don't you realize you are hurting us? They do not say this out loud, but you hear it. I have also been told, on this blog, that I might find the grace to leave this story alone. My response to that is unwavering: is is better for this boy to have died and that no one learn anything? That people, in their impotence and rage, call Amanda "evil, pure and simple" (and much worse) and wish her dead and then walk away? Who does this help? And how have we honored anybody? So no, I don't think it is better not to examine what's happened; to not relieve of us uncertainty. I think we have had one tragedy; it ought not be compounded by never speaking of it again.
Yesterday morning, I received another email from Ken Hadley. Amanda, he said, was switching her plea, from "not guilty" to "guilty"; she would be in court a little after two; he predicted it would be a media zoo.
It is. The hall, in contrast to two weeks before, is packed, with Amanda's family, with the press; with many members of both legal teams. I watch Amanda's mother, in a pretty gray A-line skirt and black boots, her long hair loose; she looks like a schoolgirl, or perhaps someone who teaches schoolgirls. The red-haired woman is there, other family members. I approach no one. The cameras are let into the courtroom first. Then the family, then the press. Four of us are moved into a row on the other side of the partition, just behind the defense table. I sit next to the Oregonian's lead crime reporter, a woman who files something like three stories a day. I express my admiration; tell her, it's the first time the press has been back on Amanda's story since last summer.
And then, without warning, Amanda is brought in. She barely resembles the woman of two weeks earlier. Today, she looks as though she were going to a party, in a black velvet top and pants, with her hair loose and shiny. But that is not the striking difference. The striking difference is her face, which today is calm. Her face last time was blotched, and bloated. Today, she glows. Her almond eyes are at rest. I think, she's done what she needed to do, she needed to admit it.
As soon as Amanda is seated, Jason Smith and several family members and his lawyer enter. They sit just behind us. I have met them before, in a different courtroom, an encounter I might characterize as a debacle but will not write about here except to say, despite the bizarre and volatile nature of our first meeting, Jason had been cordial to me, and I appreciated it. Today, there will be no communication. It is a terrible day. I will learn, later, that he has had no contact with Amanda since she killed their son, and tried to kill their daughter. He, they, the families find themselves in a nightmare that no family can anticipate, and from which there is no waking up. There may be moving on, if in increments, and we are all grateful to hear, his daughter is doing very well. I know this from people who know her, and have told me, she is an amazing child, full of courage and friendly and beautiful. Yes.
As Amanda sits between her attorneys, as the gallery stays nearly silent, the lawyers disappear into various rooms, whisper to Amanda, to Jason, to each other. We again listen to the trucks outside; watch a tunnel of sunlight appear, brighten the floor, recede. And then it is four o'clock, and we are told to all rise.
The judge enters. Casalino explains that Amanda is changing her plea; that she is pleading guilty to Count 1, aggravated murder, which means she will serve a life sentence, with the possibility of parole after 30 years. Pleading guilty to Count 6, attempted aggravated murder, carries a sentence of ten years, five of which will be served concurrently. Casalino says that he, Jason, and the two detectives in attendance support this plea. Amanda's attorneys concur. Then it is time for the judge to ask Amanda: did she read the petition?
"Yes," says Amanda.
Is that her signature on it?
"Yes."
Did her attorneys explain the implications?
"Yes."
Does her taking of the prescription medication Abilify in any way hamper her ability to proceed?
"No."
t is determined that Amanda had made a "clear-headed, reasoned decision," and that her lawyers are proceeding with "no reservations." The judge explains to Amanda that she does not have to plead guilty and thereby give up her right to a jury trial, and the opportunity to or not to testify; that she has "rights and options." At every turn, Amanda calmly replies, she is aware of what she was doing; she knows that by pleading guilty and forgoing a trial (also, the possibility of being sentenced to death), her recourse is "very, very limited." She knows, yes.
The judge asks Amanda to rise; this, though formal sentencing will not be until next week. Amanda rises. Asked how she pleads to Count 1, she says, "I am guilty." To Count 6, "I am guilty." Her voice does not crack, she remains composed, and because she is facing away from us, I do not until the next day see, on video, that she closes her eyes when the judge recounts the date of the incident, the children's names, their ages. The judge asks, in conclusion, whether Amanda has done these things. Amanda opens her eyes. "Yeah."
And then Amanda is on her feet, being walked by a deputy to judge's chamber, she was walking right past me, taking tiny mincing steps like a geisha, and I see it is because she is wearing black shiny high-heeled sandals, the silver chains around her ankles looking like jewelry, and then she is gone.
The courtroom clears, Jason's attorney telling him as they leave, "You don't have to talk to anyone." The room empties quickly, so quickly, except for one woman in the back row, smiling as she comes towards me, and it is such an odd occurrence, to be in a courtroom on this story and have someone smiling, but I can't place the woman, perhaps because I am trying not to cry.
"It's Pati," she says, and I throw my arms around her. She is the woman who called 9-1-1 when the children landed in the water, so close to her patio. I have spoken to her many times; we have gone out with our husbands. She is part of this story, part of how I am trying to tell the story, how a story like this tentacles out and affects us all, if we let it, and how do we not let it?
By six that night, the Oregonian writer has written and posted her story. I'm amazed. But then, I know, we are writing different stories.
Today, this morning, is a hard day. I cry intermittently. I know that in the year I have spent thinking and writing about Amanda, of talking to people whose lives were impacted if not ruined by what she did, who were there that night and who knew Eldon, I have paved a way to Amanda. Not yet in person, but beyond the vale; that somehow our membranes have eclipsed. This, though what she did is to me so ghastly; just the thought of my having done this to my child when she was four, makes me feel as though the world has no floor.
And still I think, as I walk throughthe morning, look at all this space all around me, all this air, how high the sky; Amanda has none of this. She will never have it again. I walk into my bank. My banker asks, "How are you?" and I start to cry. She takes a tissue box from a shelf, which makes me wonder whether a lot of people cry in her office; she is a very sympathetic gal. And then I try to explain, that I know how horrific this story is, but how can it be better not to tell it? How can we do that? How can we let the act, Eldon's death, how Amanda got to where she did, just be put away?
"And then people don't learn anything," she says. "They just learn to hate more because they understand less."
I drive to CostCo -- because you see, my life goes on -- and I know, I know from the way she closed her eyes, that Amanda has already lived through the worst anyone can. She broke her own heart, she broke it and smashed and stood up and let the world hate her. What else can we do that she has not done to herself?
I may be a fool. I may not have the skill, or the fortitude, or the creative mind to take what I have found, and have sought, and continue to be given, and put the pieces together so that it hurts less, but I am going to try.
Part VI, here
I think you're so great and admire you so much, but I also think that Amanda's on some pretty heavy-duty antidepressants, which would enable her to get through this. Switching her plea is the right thing to do, and her lawyer (and others) are to be commended to getting her to do it.
Posted by: KateC | April 14, 2010 at 09:27 PM
Buried within the really pretty grotesque comments (what's new?) on the Oregonian site is one that says, it would be very difficult for Trinity (the child who survived) to know her father had anything to do with the possible execution of her mother. I agree with you that it's incredibly wise that she pleaded guilty and that she had people helping her make that choice. I also believe, she needed to do it for herself. The difference in her countenance (she was on meds two weeks ago, too) was incredible.
Posted by: Nancy Rommelmann | April 14, 2010 at 09:33 PM
"Some people have pieces and will not give them to you, because they are so wounded, they want it all to go away. And how dare you, how dare you seek to bring this all out? Haven't we had enough? Don't you realize you are hurting us? They do not say this out loud, but you hear it."
Nance, this is the kind of insight of yours that I can't get other places. Your work is filled with insights like this. It's something true, and I recognize it as true, but only because you put it into words.
The Oregonian writer has posted her story, but your story is not the easy linear story with just the facts, Ma'am. You'll get there -- and I can't wait to read it.
Posted by: Amy Alkon | April 14, 2010 at 10:35 PM
Speaking on behalf of Amanda's family (without permission mind you), they will not talk to you about her story or the events leading up to it. Amanda won't either, the last thing she needs right now is a book written about "The crazy mom who threw her kids off the bridge". We don't need another Dianne Downs Documentary. I am also very proud of Mandy for pleading guilty and saving Trinity and the rest of her family the gory details and reliving that night. Mandy has been my friend for a long time and will continue to be regardless of her crimes - just please don't make her out to be a psycho killer. She's not. She's just like you and me who hit her breaking point. What's different from you or me is that she went through with it. Thanks for letting me vent, but please, please leave the Stott Family alone. They have been through enough.
Posted by: Samantha | April 15, 2010 at 06:51 AM
I have answered you directly, Samantha. But I must state here: my intention, as I hope is evident in what I have written, is to write the opposite of the book that you put in quotes. I wouldn't even know how to write that book. I have never characterized Amanda as... what you wrote above. Others do, yes, because they think a momentary spew of hatred is going to make them feel better. Of course it does not; it only makes everything else worse, for Amanda and her family and for our understanding of the world. I stand against that. I always have. I am trying to bring some relief.
You are welcome to vent here, and I thank you for your comment x
Posted by: Nancy Rommelmann | April 15, 2010 at 07:49 AM
"Perhaps this is the purpose of detective investigations, real and fictional – to transform sensation, horror and grief into a puzzle, and then to solve the puzzle, to make it go away"
Fictional, maybe, but who cares? It's just a story. Real, no. The purpose is to find the perpetrator and punish him, and to keep him from killing again.
"That people, in their impotence and rage, call Amanda "evil, pure and simple" (and much worse) and wish her dead and then walk away? Who does this help? And how have we honored anybody?"
Punishing murderers is the right thing to do. It helps us as a moral people to do the moral thing by meting out justice to the selfish and cold-blooded among us who murder their own children. It's not about honoring anybody.
And I'll say again what you already know I believe: The murderer, the reaver, doesn't get to be the bereaved. She doesn't deserve our sympathy.
Posted by: Zev | April 15, 2010 at 08:27 AM
God save me from a world where the only people who get sympathy are those who earned it. Although I think learning is the only way to evolve this human species- how do we learn more without being willing to look deeper?
I always thought Nazi Germany would have taught us humans how close we are to becoming murderers and tacit murder-enablers. Then I stopped thinking that. We don't want to know how close we might be, but it's our only real route to the kind of insight needed to civilise ourselves out of this mess.
I'm so moved and excited and inspired by what you're doing, Nancy. It made me cry too, reading this.
Posted by: Alice Bachini-Smith | April 15, 2010 at 09:27 AM
Alice, you're putting words in my mouth. I didn't say she didn't "earn" our sympathy; I said she doesn't "deserve" it. There's quite a difference.
Posted by: Zev | April 15, 2010 at 09:51 AM
> I always thought Nazi Germany would have taught us humans how close we are to becoming murderers and tacit murder-enablers.
wow. So we are all Nazis on the inside? We are all *this close* to throwing our kids off a bridge? Please. Speak for yourself.
I like your writing, but I guess I'm not sure why this woman (if she still deserves that label) deserves anyone's attention, sympathy, or understanding. Being a member of civilization is a privilege, not a right. She committed an inhuman act. She doesn't get to be treated like a human anymore.
Posted by: brett | April 15, 2010 at 09:54 AM
She's had those privileges taken away; she will be in prison 35 years, at least.
As for what and how deeply we should search in order to come to a larger understanding of humanity: as is evident, we all close the door at different points. I don't expect us to agree, and I appreciate those who believe that in this case, the door must stay open.
Posted by: Nancy Rommelmann | April 15, 2010 at 10:02 AM
Samantha wrote: "the last thing she needs right now is a book written about "The crazy mom who threw her kids off the bridge"."
Nancy responded: "I have never characterized Amanda as... what you wrote above."
And why not? That in fact is precisely what she is: The crazy mom who threw her kids off the bridge. It is not a characterization of the woman; it is a factually correct description.
"Others do, yes, because they think a momentary spew of hatred is going to make them feel better"
Speaking for myself, no, that's not why I scorn this wicked woman. I feel no hatred for her, only revulsion, and I don't think saying so will make me feel better about what she's done. I make these comments only as counterweight to the touchy-feely notion that there is some value in coming to an understanding of the motives of a woman who murdered one of her children and attempted to murder another.
Posted by: Zev | April 15, 2010 at 10:59 AM
I'm not seeing any difference between earning and deserving, you're right. And I'm a little intrigued by that idea. I do feel that a wide range of different reasonable responses, depending on many variables, including yours. And I do think understanding evil acts is key to preventing them in the future. We don't do enough to stop things like this from happening in the first place, but before they occur, the criminals can barely be distinguished from whatever we regard as normal people. So we're always shocked.
My stupid for talking about WWII. I genuinely think in those extremes, as parameters, and forget how annoying it is when people feel personally compared to evildoers. I make this comparison every day, it's part of my life and thinking process to put myself in those contexts and ask those questions of myself. Which is not relevant to every other person on the planet, of course not.
Anyway, a tough set of issues and I admire Nancy vey much for dealing with them. Much better than I ever could in a comment like this.
Posted by: Alice Bachini-Smith | April 15, 2010 at 01:27 PM
Alice, my point was this: Had I said she didn't earn our sympathy, you'd be justified in your response of: "God save me from a world where the only people who get sympathy are those who earned it," which was meant to imply that I would withhold sympathy from anyone who didn't earn it. But that's not the case. I sympathize with all kinds of people who haven't earned it, who have made poor choices etc. Sympathy comes from identifying common humanity, and so can and should be extended to almost anyone.
What I actually said was that this woman doesn't deserve sympathy. So far as I'm concerned, she is a pariah. Her actions have placed her beyond the pale. I cannot, nor do I wish to, find common ground with someone who did what she has done, nor do I wish to "understand" her wickedness. 35 years is too lenient a sentence.
A question: I keep hearing that understanding her motivations could have some sort of positive effect. That sounds good, but it's too nebulous for me. I'd like some specifics. What kind of positive effect do you mean, and how would it manifest itself in the real world? Nancy, you've studied and written about murderers before. Can you point to any positive change that accrued because of your work? And if not, why would it be different this time? This is not meant as a "gotcha" question; I'm genuinely interested. B/c to me it seems that these justifications are self-serving, and I'd like to know if and why I'm wrong.
Posted by: Zev | April 15, 2010 at 07:12 PM
"She's just like you and me who hit her breaking point. What's different from you or me is that she went through with it."
I think this statement by Samantha is what should be considered. How is she like me and what made her break whereas I would not? I think Nancy is trying to see this and not just a criminal. Something positive can come from knowing that and recognizing it, if not within ourselves, but when dealing with others. How many times have we heard after an event like this or a suicide do we hear, "If I had only known" or some other statement of disbelief? And we feel helpless and like we failed them in some way.
I am not saying we will all be so enlightened that we will be able to prevent this ever happening again, but isn't that what we should work towards?
Posted by: Shannon | April 16, 2010 at 10:49 AM
I think this is an excellent question, both for me to ponder and answer. Here goes: if I shoot a basketball through a hoop, it does not mean I am a basketball player. It means I shot a basket. That's all we know.
In the case of Amanda: nearly everyone who has heard of her, has heard of her because of this one act. From that, they deduce she is evil, a pariah, a monster. I posit she did something we consider monstrous, but that does not make her a monster.
I have no doubt that, aside from her family and friends and the legal system that's attended her case, I have spent more time than anyone on the planet speaking with people about Amanda and her life. I will not go into details here (more than I have) because it's not the time and place. But I will say with certainty that, until the moment she did what she did, Amanda would have been as horrified as the rest of us at the thought of her children going off a bridge. She is not, as I've seen people comment, a sociopath. I've interviewed several sociopaths (and briefly dated one!) and read more about the pathology than I can list. She is not this.
But people say she is. People who know nothing about her, except for that one act. What good can come from their labeling her thus? They don't understand the situation, and yet make themselves heard and comfortable with the assumption. I would say that is dangerous, because it sets precedent, and influences law. Get enough people riled up about a falsehood (i.e., [and to tie-in Alice's Nazi allusion] that Jews eat Christian children), and you see what happens.
I believe -- in fact, I know -- that Amanda is a person who broke. She did not break all at once; she broke in increments. People that might have helped her did not. She also hurt herself, a lot. And she had the most important things in her life taken away. And she broke. It happens. She's a human being. So are we all.
I believe it is better for us as humans to see the point-to-point navigation, and to also examine and chronicle our reactions to people who commit these crimes. I received a beautiful email yesterday from a fellow writer, who wrote:
"I think it is so important that we look at people society has turned into vultures and ask readers, 'But what about this person, this human we scorn?'"
I know people will read that and think, society did not turn her into a vulture, she turned herself into one. I hear you. But we are the ones that feed and feed and feed the hate machine, and if we're going to do that, I think it our responsibility to really know what we're feeding.
You know, I understand the impulse to hate; to with our words and hatred, build a fence that puts "us" squarely on one side, and "them" on the other. I will go further, and admit that, in the post linked below, I fantasized about dropping from a plane the man who murdered my colleague's daughter. But I have rethought this -- I spend half my working hours reading and writing about murder -- and I think I was wrong. I have no interest in deconstructing that man's life; I am not out stumping for every killer out there. But I have nothing but compassion for Amanda. That's how it is.
http://nancyrommelmann.typepad.com/nancy_rommelmann/2009/08/the-monstrousness-of-empathy.html
Posted by: Nancy Rommelmann | April 16, 2010 at 11:00 AM
I'm going to echo what Shannon said.
Have you ever read a book titled "why they kill". It presents the story of criminologist Lonnie Athens and his theory of violentization. It's interesting and there are summaries out there on the web.
Posted by: Michelle | April 16, 2010 at 12:19 PM
Here's a link:
http://www.csudh.edu/dearhabermas/tchessay64.htm
I'm with Terentius:
"Nothing human is alien to me."
While I might not want to be Amanda or do the things she did, I know, buried inside me, there's a part that could do those things, when placed in all those circumstances and situations. I think that's why people react so strongly--they don't want to think that they could ever do the same.
And if they were really, really, really honest--they know they could. None of us are as innocent as we'd like to be.
And that's why we read the books, watch the news, make the comments.
Posted by: KateC | April 16, 2010 at 06:21 PM
Nancy is right about trying to get down to why Amanda broke. The fact is people, it's done. I hate to sound so matter-of-fact about it, but it is. Now we have to find out why so it doesn't happen in the future. Mandy had contact with several different doctors beforehand - chemical imbalance? Wrong chemical mix? I was on an antidepressant once that made me think of killing myself and taking my infant daughter with me! Thank God I didn't have the extra stressors Amanda had and a fight w/ my ex at the same time - then who knows? I believe we are all people, human, flawed, and capable. No, I don't agree with what Mandy did, heck I don't know if I even forgive her completely yet as I see Eldon's picture on my desk every morning and by my bed every night. I do know this: Mandy took those kids to the fireworks show that night expecting fun for them, not to kill them. I don't believe this was planned, it was a desperate act by a desperate woman. And I, for one, am glad that the officer caught her going off the side of the parking garage and saved her life. I know that doesn't make me popular, but I don't care - Amanda Jo Stott-Smith is my friend and always will be and I will forever try in my best of human compacity to not understand, but forgive. We have to stop feeding the hate monster.
Posted by: Samantha | April 17, 2010 at 05:58 AM
To Samantha, again, my gratitude, and again, emailed directly
Posted by: Nancy Rommelmann | April 17, 2010 at 02:11 PM
The study of human behavior is an interesting and a worthy subject,even more so to study behavior which is abnormal. I think Nancy can accomplish something positive from this as long as this story does not attempt to understand the behavior in a way as to minimize it in any way at all. I am not so ready to give my sympathies to the killer. I may pity her but I can not sympathize with her at all.
It seems Amanda, having had an argument with the children's father, is acting out a hatred so vicious it turned to violence. It seems she is determined to punish him by depriving him of the children forever, even going so far as to attempt to commit a cruel murder of her own helpless children.Can you imagine the terror, confusion and fear of the children as she lifted them over the railing? The last thoughts of that terrified boy as his little body was hurled toward the dark water must have been confusion at being rejected by the mother he loved. Why is she doing this to me? Did he struggle? Or did he trust her and go willingly over the side?
This is an evil act. If she were so desparate why didn't she simply commit the selfish act of suicide and leave the children to live? But to go as far as to murder her own child is not simply desparation. It is hatred, selfishness, and cruelty beyond what most of us can understand.
No, I would not be capable of such an act toward an innocent child, even my own child. It is not in my nature. It is unthinkable. If you are that desparate take your own life, not that of innocents. Even suicide is pathetic enough as it is a purely selfish act.
She disgusts me. But finding out why is still a worthy goal. I doubt we'll ever really know. I doubt Amanda would ever admit it even if she were honest enough with herself to think it through.
Posted by: Brett K. | April 18, 2010 at 12:07 AM
Nancy, your words are riveting. Thank you for sharing your thoughts and insights here.
Posted by: Brett K. | April 18, 2010 at 12:13 AM
There are definitely some people whose humanity I'm not interested in connecting with, because of their deeds. Some of these people are relatively normal citizens living acceptable lies, but their choices, traits, addictions, delusions render them repulsive to me. Where I think we need to get to grips with people who commit horrific deeds, is in order to stop them from recurring again elsewhere. Looking rationally at the events and the psychology leading up to the crime is highly likely to give us important information about what went wrong, and what could have changed things. There are many opportunities before someone commits a sudden horrific act, many clues, many signs, many chances. We're not educated about them, we don't know how to see them. This is true of many horrific crimes from domestic murder to serial paedophile kidnapping.
I realise the debate here is more about how should we *feel* about Amanda, but I don't have an opinion about that. I think people will have a range of feelings, and are probably entitled to most all of them.
But we must keep trying to understand how evil acts happen, in order to learn better how they may be prevented. We can't just give up on it. So it amazes me when people want other people *not* to do that work. Unless it demonstrably causes more horrific crime, research is always better than none, surely.
Posted by: Alice Bachini-Smith | April 18, 2010 at 11:19 AM
"research is always better than none, surely."
Is it? There have been many books written on this or that sensational murder. Can anyone point to the lessons that have been learned? Have any lessons been learned? In the forty-odd years since publication of "In Cold Blood," have we gleaned insights from it and its imitators that have prevented further such acts? If not, why ever would we suppose that yet another book about yet another murderer would accomplish this?
Posted by: Zev | April 19, 2010 at 09:35 AM
Because doing nothing produces nothing, Zev. Because just taking into account one act a person does and judging them for that one act, as horrendous as it may be, is not productive. If I told you I set up a picnic table at the waterfront filled with food for the homeless with no cost - just take what you want, what would you think of me from that one act? Do you really know anything about me but from that one act? You may think of me as generous or kind hearted - but then you find out I poisoned the brownies. Now what am I? My point is, you cannot just hate hate hate - yes, stories, many, have been written. I always get insight into the human mind when I read these stories myself, have you tried?
Posted by: Samantha | April 19, 2010 at 07:27 PM
Oh, Samantha, I disagree. Sure, usually a single act doesn't tell you everything about a person, but there are certain acts that tell you (or at least me) everything you'd ever want to know about a person. Murdering one's own children (and so cruelly to boot) is one of those.
To be honest, I'm not much interested in the details of your friend's life. You're under the impression that b/c you're her friend, and know all her other facets, the rest of us too are obligated to familiarize ourselves with the rest of her life before we judge her. Well, no. I could have gone through life happily without ever hearing of Ms. Stott-Smith. The fact that she has forced herself on our attention does not change that. The one thing I know about her now - that she threw her kids off a bridge - is more than I ever wanted to know. I owe her nothing. Hers is not a human mind into which I crave insight.
Posted by: Zev | April 20, 2010 at 08:21 AM
It only seemed as if you were interested because of your many comments. Usually someone who comments a bit on one particular subject is interested in it otherwise they'd leave it alone.
I don't expect anyone to have any sort of feelings for Mandy just because I am her friend. I know people hate her, I know people have that right - that's okay.
Eldon's murder horrifies me as well. I don't know all the details, nor do I know if I want to. Right now, I am only here as a support for her and her family. I want to give Amanda a human face and not lump her into the "serial killer" category. There IS a reason - there IS a history that led up to this desperate act. I'd like to know what took this kindhearted woman who wouldn't hurt another to the Sellwood Bridge that night and made her decide to do what she did. I want to know because I feel anyone like her is capable and if not but for the grace of God I could be where she is now.
And just for the record, she did try to commit suicide - but was saved by an officer. I know that disappoints a lot of people.
Posted by: Samantha | April 20, 2010 at 10:22 AM
Samantha raises (many) good points. First, how do we know what we know? Brett (whose opinions I respect) wrote, "It seems Amanda, having had an argument with the children's father, is acting out a hatred so vicious it turned to violence." This is not the case, but how would Brett know otherwise, when that is what is superficially reported? Though sometimes I wonder where even those reports come from: I've read now, a half-dozen times, that the police said, in a press conference, that Amanda told them she did this for revenge. I was at that press conference; I taped it; the police never said any such thing.
Not everyone - for instance, Zev -- has the interest or patience to go deeper, to know more about Amanda. (Though I agree that Zev has more interest than he thinks he does. I think this is a good thing.) But those of us that do, must.
I had something happen two days ago that is in stunning contrast to my interest in and devotion to Amanda, someone whose situation, quite apart from arousing sympathy, made me physically ill (though I suspect that was his intent). I am going to write an essay about this; about how we -- or I -- am not universally sympathetic. I will post the essay soon, though maybe not today, as tomorrow my little girl (age 20) leaves Portland for NYC for five months.
Posted by: Nancy Rommelmann | April 20, 2010 at 10:54 AM
Believe what you will, I assure you I have no interest in Stott-Smith as a person. My interest is in the subject of our discussion: Is there value in discovering her motives? Does the perceived value justify the pain caused to family members and does it risk the normalization of her actions? Are family members and friends justified in refusing to speak with Nancy? You know my views on these questions. They are my sole interest here.
Posted by: Zev | April 20, 2010 at 12:43 PM
I think Nancy got lumped into the "madness media". Meaning when this story first appeared, the family on both sides were (as I'm sure you could imagine) inundated with phone calls and people literally camping on their lawns waiting for "the big story". The family (obviously) didn't ask for this and yes, they have every right to say no to interviews of any kind.
No one is trying to normalize Mandy's actions - not even her family. Everyone is horrified and just as confused as the general public. It's just that we also have that link to her and we are not the kind of people who reject family and friends because they made a horrible decision. If that were the case, God help us all because as humans we have an innate need of each other.
Please understand I am not condoning her actions, I don't agree with it, I don't pretend to understand it. But, I don't have to - all I know is someone I care about is in trouble and her and her family need support right now. As a human being I am there for ALL of them and will do my best to protect them from the media mongers - Nancy not being lumped into that category since I've talked a little to her(not about the case)and realize she's not of the same character. I also respect the family's wishes and won't speak to media. I won't talk to Nancy about the case, either, unless I am told otherwise by Mandy's family. They are going through the worst time of their lives right now and the Stott family has lost not only their grandson, but their granddaughter and daughter all in one foul decision that took a matter of seconds. It's tragic, it's horrifying. It will happen again and again as much as we'd like it not to, just not by Amanda.
I don't think one book is going to make a magic difference and all of the sudden people will stop acting like people and doing stupid horrific things. I am truly interested only in this one case, yes because I have a connection to it. Do I think it's right for someone else to make money off the misfortune of others - no. That I guess is the only thing so far that I'm not in agreement with for this whole book deal - but I am interested in what actually happened. Sorry this is so long - but it is sort of therapeutic, so thanks for that Nancy.
Posted by: Samantha | April 21, 2010 at 06:40 AM
I think Zev's position, stated not above but earlier, was that any writing about what happened would cause the family more pain. I have no crystal ball. But I do know (or, I surmise, and Samantha confirms) that the pain now is excruciating; there's no relief, and none in sight, only the hope that time will prove some sort of balm. It may be because it's the work that I do, but I don't see how talking, calmly, and looking for understanding, and writing, can make it hurt more. I do believe, and it will be my intent, to make it hurt less.
I also believe that there is redemption in this. I have communicated this privately to Samantha, that Amanda is here, and there is a reason she is, and I don't think that reason is so she can sit in prison for 35 years. I realize that this is the end result that some people want, and they're going to get it; she'll be sentenced. But I think there is another door in that room, one through which we, and she, can walk and learn, and heal as can be healed. I'm not saying understanding how this happened is going to be easy; it's not. But I will guarantee, it will be better than not understanding.
The money issue is interesting. I am a writer. It's my work, and we all need to be paid for our work. To date, I have made $500, for the Oregonian profile I wrote about Ken Hadley, Amanda's attorney. No one has offered me a red cent, and it's not why I am here. If I sell a book, I will be paid; but my dedication to writing about Amanda is not dependent on a payday. It is predicated on understanding this story with respect, to the families and to the readers.
Posted by: Nancy Rommelmann | April 21, 2010 at 07:33 AM
Actually, I don't think 35 years is long enough, particularly if means she could become eligible for parole. (Could she?) I'd like to see her locked up forever. I wouldn't object to the death penalty either. I don't care about her healing. I think it's a moral travesty to talk about the desirability of her healing when her victim will never heal, will never draw another breath. I protest the idea that we - society - owe this woman anything: not healing, not redemption, not interest in her story. So far as I'm concerned, she has removed herself, through her actions, from the human community.
Posted by: Zev | April 21, 2010 at 08:30 AM
I'm glad you are keeping at it. I'd be interested to know whether she suffers from depression. That would explain absolutely everything. What was she like as a child... a teenager, and as a young mother? As a child, did she see lights in the sky or feel heartbreak on a sunny spring day?
What have people told you about her? Were here friends (current and old) stunned by her action? What was her relationship with her parents? Are there stories about her that almost defy belief? Or maybe she was "normal" until the kids arrived...
Has anyone ever whispered "borderline personality disorder?"
My family spent the last five years trying to help (emotionally and financially) a very talented and very depressed musician. In the process we saw real, hardball depression close up. I walked into her Silver Lake apartment six years ago to find nine months of unopened mail, unwashed dishes, unfed animals and our friend who couldn't move from the couch. Guns and ammo boxes that had been gnawed by hungry dogs. Plastic bags and boxes of dust masks. Drugs I had never heard of but now can talk about in detail.
Depression is overwhelming in the suffering it causes its victim and it can ravage anyone who comes too close... whether exhausted family member or well-intentioned friend. Maybe someone who writes about her. I can only imagine what might happen to a child of a depressive.
We last saw our friend when she played the Aladdin one last time last September. A brilliant performance, as usual. Backstage she said goodbye to Michelle and me. She had just turned forty and had run out of road. Three, four or five years ago I would have talked her back... talks between me and what some call the "noonday demon" that began to seep into my mind. You start out putting your life-long mental health up against such an obvious form of crazy and you end up shaken by the encounter. You have to pull away.
Two weeks later I read about her death in the LA Times. I respect/fear her suffering and I respect her choice to end her life. It was interesting to read all that was written about her by her (largely unknowing) friends and peers. But I guess it would take a Dostoevsky to get it all right.
Posted by: Loren | April 27, 2010 at 08:47 PM
The best book I ever read about depression was Darkness Visible by William Styron. Really harrowing.
Posted by: Zev | April 28, 2010 at 06:34 PM
I want to thank all my readers so much. I hope you know how much all your differing opinions inform me and keep the work moving forward. Thank you xx
Posted by: Nancy Rommelmann | April 28, 2010 at 06:58 PM
We love you too!
Posted by: Zev | April 29, 2010 at 05:57 AM
I have to say, this discussion reminds me of an old joke, which I'll modify slightly for this occasion.
"Live a good life for how many years, then throw just one of your kids off a bridge, and suddenly you're 'a murderer'!"
Posted by: David Steinhardt | May 29, 2010 at 09:32 AM