Guilt and the Innocence Project

In an era of email, the handwritten letters arrive the old-fashioned way—by US Postal Service. The penmanship is frequently awful, and my street address is sometimes rendered incorrectly. But year after year, mail carrier John Williams (and his substitutes) deliver the letters and packages to the oversized green mailbox with a red flag, the assemblage perched four feet off the ground on a wooden post.

The letters and packages come from convicted felons, or their loved ones, or their lawyers. They are contacting me because it seems I am one of the few journalists who pay attention to their claims of innocence.