The Education of Mr. J.

Thad Jesperson, jailed for nearly four years on molestation charges that spanned three trials before an appeals court threw out his convictions, now faces the sentence he believes he’s always deserved: freedom

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IN APRIL 2003, Jesperson was arrested, then released on $100,000 bail. Trial began the following March on 13 counts of molesting eight girls. Emily, who came forward only after the school sent the warning letters home, said the touching was over her underwear but inside her pants on the back area of her private parts.

Court documents show Emily had at first said only that Jesperson patted her leg after helping her tie her shoes. The seven other girls described various touching episodes; their parents testified about what their daughters had told them. Detective Newbold, who did not re cord her interviews, testified, as did hospital social workers, whose videotaped interviews were entered into evidence.

Aside from a parade of character witnesses, the cornerstone of Jesperson’s defense was that the children’s inconsistent, sometimes improbable, stories were the result of suggestibility.

Alison Clarke-Stewart, a professor of psychology and social behavior at the University of California, Irvine who is an expert on child suggestibility and memory, was not allowed by the court to give her opinion. Instead, the professor testified that children are more susceptible to suggestibility than adults, and if they are led to believe that someone is “a bad person,” they will reinterpret innocuous actions as inappropriate.

But in an interview, Clarke-Stewart was unequivocal about her conclusions. “I absolutely do not believe this man did any inappropriate touching with these children,” she says. “Much of it was a congratulatory thing, a pat on the leg, an arm around a child where, because he’s so large, his hand may have extended to the outside of the hip or leg. I thought it was pretty clear what happened in this case.

“The kids and parents [thought] something bad happened at the school. The girls talked a lot among themselves; contamination was likely here. Parents are in no position to do this kind of questioning—they are not trained, and they have an obvious conflict of interest. That letter [from the school to parents] was a very bad idea.”

Clarke-Stewart says she did not believe the questioning at Children’s Hospital was egregious, though. “In San Diego, people are very aware of leading children in questioning, because of previous cases, like Akiki,” she says. “Suggestibility is more subtle these days.”

A main problem: Interviewers offered children no innocent alternative explanation for Mr. J’s occasional pats on the back or leg, she says. “It was only viewed as molestation.”

The second prong of Jesperson’s defense involved personality evaluations. Forensic psychologist Clark Clipson examines sexually violent predators for local courts and usually testifies for the prosecution. Clipson, who was hired by Boyce, has evaluated hundreds of sex offenders, including many teachers.

“I felt much more strongly about this case than I do about most,” says the soft-spoken Clipson. “I saw nothing to indicate this man is sexually attracted to children in any way. He came out with a very clean psychological evaluation.”

The jury in the first trial found Jesperson guilty on a single count involving Emily. Jurors either voted for acquittal or were unable to reach verdicts on the 12 other counts. They did reach a verdict, however, on the allegation that he had abused multiple victims: That was not true, the jury said.

With the conviction, Jesperson’s bail was revoked, and he went to jail. Prosecutors prepared to try him a second time on the hung charges.

WHEN THE KID with the gruesome tattoo on his skull swung with his right, Jesperson threw his left arm up and blocked the blow. Then he stood to his full 6 feet 4 inches, held the attacker at arm’s length and said: “You don’t know who I am.”

“You mean you’re not a Chester?” the kid said.

“No,” Jesperson replied, “I am definitely not a Chester. I am a father of four children, been married for 20 years, and my only objective is to get home safely. You have no worries with me.”

With that, the situation was defused. It turned out to be Jesperson’s only violent confrontation behind bars.

Early on in county jail at Vista, Jesperson says, he encountered a 300-pound, heavily tattooed lifer named San Quentin Steve “who scared me to death.” But San Quentin Steve befriended him on the spot, Jesperson says, telling him it was obvious he did not belong there. The convicted killer and former addict then proceeded to teach him how to survive.

Jesperson believes San Quentin Steve was an angel sent by God.

“Basically, he said to hold my head up high, no matter what,” says Jesperson. “He said respect is something that is earned and I would ultimately be judged by who I was, and that regardless of what was being said about me, I knew in my heart who I was . . . the rest would work itself out. And he was right.”

During nearly four years in county jails and state prisons, Thad Jesperson saw stabbings and beatings, riots and lockdowns. He spent almost 100 days in solitary confinement “for my own safety.” He was denied visits by his children, even though a judge had approved them.

While Jesperson was locked up, his daughter Lauren, now 19, learned to drive, graduated from high school, had her first dates and became an independent, working college student. His daughter Sherie, now 18, was voted homecoming princess at her high school, was elected junior-class president and accepted at two universities. His son, James, now 13, took up the clarinet and soccer, qualified for his Eagle Scout badge and won several writing awards. And youngest son Thomas, 11, finished elementary school, joined a soccer team, learned to play the saxophone and guitar and embarked on his own Boy Scout career.

In addition to working on her husband’s defense cases and interacting with hundreds of supporters, Sydney Jesperson built a home-based accounting career. Those skills came in handy as three trials devastated the family’s finances. Donations from church members, family and hundreds of friends are what sustained his family, Jesperson says, enabling them to keep their house and keep the kids clothed and fed.

Jesperson’s second trial mirrored his first. Jurors struggled with the case, eventually convicting him on a single count while acquitting him or disagreeing on 10 others. Their lone conviction was vacated by the trial judge, who ruled juror bias had tainted the verdict.

In his third trial, however, Jesperson was found guilty on seven counts of molesting four of his former students. In February 2005, Superior Court Judge David Danielson sentenced him to 15 years to life in prison, with no possibility of parole for 12 years.

Jesperson, who had refused to discuss plea-bargains that may have gained his freedom earlier—one huge concern was having to register as a sex offender and not being able to be around children ever again, especially future grandchildren—vowed to rely on his faith in God, the love of his family and many supporters and the positive bonds he had forged with several prisoners, to see him through. Steeling himself for the ordeal ahead, he said he dared not hope an appeal filed on his behalf by esteemed San Diego attorney Chuck Sevillia would bear fruit.

ON THE MORNING of September 15, 2007, Jesperson walked into the visitors’ room at Pleasant Valley State prison in Fresno County, took one look at his wife, his sister Shauna and her husband, Dave, and “my good friend Mike, the parent of two of my former students,” and knew immediately something was up. They were allowed to step out onto a private patio, where Sydney told her husband the news: In an 80-page ruling, a state appeals court had overturned his convictions on grounds that he did not get fair trials due to juror misconduct; failures by his attorney, Robert Boyce; and mistakes made by his trial judge.

“Sydney held both of my hands and, looking into my eyes through tears of joy, said, ‘Thad, all eight counts have been re versed,’ ” Jesperson recalls. “It was as if a rush of wind went through my whole body. My legs began to give way as my dear wife held me. I did my best to retain the tough-prisoner facade I had become accustomed to—there is no crying in prison—as an incredible feeling of joy washed over me.”

In mid-December, when Jesperson was released on bail pending new charges and a possible fourth trial, more than 300 family members, neighbors and friends crowded his cul-de-sac. They carried welcome-home signs and candles and sang Christmas carols.

A month later, District Attorney Bonnie Dumanis decided against trying him a fourth time, saying it was time to “spare these brave children” the ordeal of having to testify again.

The dismissal hearing, hastily arranged late on a Friday afternoon, played out in a near-empty courtroom. Prior made one last impassioned speech about how “36 jurors across three trials” had declared Jesperson a child molester, words that rang specious and hollow in light of the ruling by the appeals court. Boyce accepted the dismissal of all charges, speaking not a word for the record in Jesperson’s defense.

What will the ex-teacher do now?

“My plans are simple: We take one day at a time,” Jesperson says. “I will never teach in a classroom again, but I will seek out some meaningful employment to make a living.

“Every day is Christmas. I wake up and realize where I am, and I can’t wait to spend time with my family and friends.

“Life is really great now. I have been very blessed.”

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