By ESPN
FOR JULIUS JONES, H Unit has been home for 18 years.
He’s on death row, serving time for a crime he maintains he didn’t commit, in a cell alongside 53 others stacked in two rows inside the Oklahoma State Penitentiary in McAlester.
In 2002, Jones was convicted of first-degree murder for the death of Paul Howell. The 45-year-old businessman was shot in the head on July 28, 1999, while sitting in a tan GMC Suburban in his parents’ driveway in Edmond, Oklahoma. Two shell casings were found at the scene. Howell’s sister, Megan Tobey, was the only eyewitness.
After a three-day search for a suspect described as a young black male wearing a white shirt, a skull or stocking cap, and a red bandana over his face, Jones, then 19, was arrested.
“As God is my witness, I was not involved in any way in the crimes that led to Howell being shot and killed,” Jones said in his clemency report. “I have spent the past 20 years on death row for a crime I did not commit, did not witness and was not at.”
In October 2019, Jones filed his clemency report, asking for his sentence to be commuted to time served. Jones has now exhausted every appeal and is eligible for an execution date, which could be as soon as this fall.
The Julius Jones Coalition, a group established in 2019 composed of family, friends and community organizers pursuing Jones’ innocence, has gathered support in recent months as NBA stars Blake Griffin, Russell Westbrook, Trae Young and Buddy Hield and NFL quarterback Baker Mayfield authored and sent letters to the governor’s office.
Each letter hit a key issue that led to Jones’ conviction — racial bias, a flawed investigation, an ill-equipped defense — and points to the wrong person sitting on death row.
“[Jones’] conviction was tainted by a deeply flawed process,” Westbrook, the longtime face of the Oklahoma City Thunder who is now with the Houston Rockets, wrote in his letter. “As more details come to light regarding his situation, I join with many voices to express sadness and profound concern regarding his conviction and death sentence.”
The name recognition of the athletes — all of whom have strong ties to Oklahoma — is something organizers hope will resonate, especially in the present moment. As protests against police brutality across the United States persist, Oklahoma City’s Black Lives Matter chapter has included a commutation for Jones in a list of demands presented to Oklahoma City Mayor David Holt.
For those fighting for Jones’ freedom, the goal has remained straightforward: draw as much attention to his case as possible, show the Pardon and Parole Board there’s a reason to consider his clemency and get it to the governor for approval.
The momentum behind Jones’ case wouldn’t have been possible without the state’s mishandling of two executions in 2014 and 2015. Following scathing reports that led to resignations and a full review of the prison’s procedures, all executions in Oklahoma were put on hold, keeping Jones from receiving an execution date.
But the state announced in February that it plans to resume executions this year. Jones’ legal team said when it does, he will likely be one of the first in line.
A couple hundred feet from Jones’ prison cell is the death chamber, remodeled since its last use. It replaced a version from the 1950s that was the site of 111 executions.
On the other side of a door leading into the chemical chamber of the execution room is the operations area, and as part of the renovations, three cream-colored phones were added.
One is labeled “external extension,” the line out of the prison. Another is “internal extension,” which is a line into the execution room to let the warden know it’s time to begin.
And on the right, under a label in a black frame, hangs the last phone: Governor’s office.
