My contact visit on August, 4th was only the third time I was able to touch my son since his arrest in April of '03. The first opportunity was at a family memorial service for Laci and Conner inside Stanislaus County Jail. This was shortly after Scott's arrest. We had one half hour in a room used for storage of old furniture. He was shackled, but we were allowed to hug him at the beginning and end of the short service.
 
The next time I was able to hug my son was after he was sentenced and condemned to die by lethal injection. The San Mateo authorities allowed Jackie and me one hour before he was moved to San Quentin. We were under the close scrutiny of four deputies who could hear our conversations. Not ideal conditions, but we were grateful to again be allowed to touch our son. During all other visits we were separated by glass and talking on a phone to Scott. Scott always attempted to be upbeat and keep the conversation cheerful. We mostly talked about what we had recently been doing. Inevitably the subject of Laci and the baby would come up and Scott would tear up. In Modesto, he was shackled and had difficulty wiping his eyes with his shirt cuffs. The visits were always stressful and tiring. I would leave feeling depressed, saddened, and angry at the people who had put him in these circumstances. An innocent man living in a cage deprived of all freedom of movement. Deprived of even seeing the sky.

On August 4th, 2005, I passed through the twin iron doors of the prison sally-port and glanced around. There were approximately eight plexi-glass enclosures for contact visits, roughly five by six feet in size. A small table sat in the middle of the cubicle with plastic chairs. I looked to my left and there was Scott. His hands were cuffed behind him, and a guard was holding one of his arms. Scott was wearing a light blue dungaree shirt and dark dungaree trousers. On his feet were black low-cut canvas shoes. I remember thinking Scott looked small, smaller than he had in high school. He has lost perhaps thirty pounds from his once muscular build. Scott was moved to one of the cubicles while I went to several vending machines and bought food and drinks for us. Upon entering the cubicle we hugged for a long time, and then sat down on either side of the table. He looked good up close. A jail house rash on his face has cleared up almost entirely and best of all he was his smiley self. We sat eating our food, and began talking away about all kinds of subjects; family, friends, books, golf, TV, everything. Scott would tear up occasionally. He had a tissue in one hand which he used to dry his eyes. We spoke about trips we took with him and Laci, restaurants we favored, their favorite recipes and pastimes. In what seemed like 20 minutes the 2 hours had passed. I hugged my son tightly on leaving and pressed the side of my face into his. It was awkward to watch as the guards handcuffed him.
 
He was led away and I thought "Oh, God, how can this be happening?" I thought of what a sweet, man he grew to be. And now this. Sentenced to die because of a stupid affair. Sentenced to die because of an out of control media, corrupt police, and a DA's office bent on conviction. A jury fearful of the community's reaction should they not convict. Never mind the facts. In short, a travesty by any measure.
 
As I walked the quarter mile to my car I met a dignified lady who had also been visiting her son. She was rushing to catch a bus to the airport where I was to catch my flight home. I offered her a ride which she accepted. On the ride she told me her son had been on death row for 14 years. I asked where she found the strength to persevere and she said, "My son needs me." We too will persevere because Scott needs us.

Lee Peterson on his first "contact" visit with Scott at San Quentin

ScottPetersonAppeal.Org