A Life Sentence: Victims, Offenders, Justice, And My Mother

Intro from Jay Allison: This is a story about a terrible crime and everything that followed. It's an intensely personal documentary, but it extends into public life and into the heart of our political and correctional systems.

Some stories take a long time. This one is an hour long, and took two and a half years to produce, after twenty years of living with it.

Speaking personally, I'm privileged to have worked with Samantha on her brave telling of her story, her mother's story, and, by proxy, the story of thousands of prisoners serving life sentences.

Listen to “A Life Sentence”

Revisiting Difficult Things

The story of the violent crime my mother survived in the fall of 1994 has never been something I share easily. It’s more something I offer after I’ve really gotten to know someone and feel that there’s something important they need to know about me, about my family.

I’m acutely aware of the impact this crime has had on my mother’s life, on our family’s life, and I’ve always had a sense of its larger consequences. I thought if I could tell the story of both the intimate and the public impact, it might be worthwhile.

There were a lot of people who warned me this would be hard. And it was. Hardest of all was hearing again the details of what happened to my mother that night. And then hearing them repeatedly as I transcribed our interviews, assembled the script, cut tape, and listened to mixes. I spent many days horizontal on my couch, literally knocked over and out again (nearly 20 years later) by what happened to her.

Revisiting difficult topics isn’t for everyone. When I interviewed my brother for this piece he said he doesn’t like to talk about it. I’ve come to respect that point of view. Over the past two plus years, I’ve had stomach aches and nightmares, I’ve locked my doors more than before, and one day was even sure I saw Reginald McFadden (the man who attacked my mother) walking down the street in the small town where I live. Still, I know myself well enough to know what I can tolerate and that ultimately, for me, it’s always better to stare hard stuff straight in the eye than to turn away from it.

Here are a few things I learned from producing this documentary.

My brother, my mother and me at a press conference in 1995 just after Reginald McFadden was sentenced for his crimes against my mother.
My brother, my mother and me at a press conference in 1995 just after Reginald McFadden was sentenced for his crimes against my mother.

Willingness To Talk

My mother started talking about what happened to her the night she landed in the emergency room and hasn’t stopped since. She says that talking about it has saved her life. Going into this, I knew she would be willing to talk with me about what happened to her. But I had no idea about how others — family members and strangers — would feel about me, out of the blue two decades later, asking them to talk on tape about their connection to events before and after the attack.

To my surprise, most people I reached out to said yes. Yes. Immediately yes. There was a sense that they had been waiting to talk to someone else who also carried this event around with them. And that’s often the way the interviews would go. After introductory awkwardness and pleasantries, we would jump right into what for some of the interviewees was one of the most difficult times in their lives. And our conversations would go deep.

I always left the interviews exhausted. I’m sure the people I interviewed did too. I think Mark Singel (who I talked with for three hours) summed it up best.

Listen to “Mark Singel Out Take”

Producer Me And Me Me

I have never done a personal piece before. While working on it, I became keenly aware of Producer Me (head) and Me Me (heart and belly). Producer Me would think about what was good for the piece, would handle details, would think about the story. Me Me was on a personal journey, was feeling lots of feelings. Me Me was seeking answers and resolution.

The beauty of this, it turns out, is that despite the fact that I was on my own in the field conducting these interviews, I never felt alone — these two parts of me worked together and helped each other through the rough patches. For example, it was Me Me that convinced me to go to McFadden’s sister’s house in Philadelphia and it was Me Me who got me out of the car to approach her. Meeting Charlotte was something I had thought about for 20 years; I knew if I left the city and didn’t at least try to find her, I would regret it. It was Producer Me, though, who thought to turn on my iPhone and record the whole thing.

On the other hand, Producer Me knew going to meet McFadden himself — or even trying to — would probably make great tape. But once I learned about his current mental state, it was Me Me who put a stop to the whole idea. Me Me knew that no matter how good the tape might be, it wouldn’t be a good for my own mental health for me to meet him.

I think the best interviews were those where both parts of myself showed up and were present in the conversation.


Going into this, I really did think I might end up forgiving McFadden. I asked nearly everyone I interviewed about forgiveness. And even though that didn’t end up happening, the conversations about forgiveness were some of the most poignant ones I experienced. I was sorry I couldn’t include more of them in the piece itself. I’m glad I can share some here.

The first clip is from Jo DeMarco. She is the mother of Dana DeMarco, the 39-year-old woman McFadden murdered a couple of weeks after attacking my mother. McFadden was never tried for this crime. And Jo has been left for all these years not knowing exactly what happened to her daughter. She told me that after Dana’s murder she turned to religion to cope with her loss. When asked about forgiveness she said:

Listen to “Jo DeMarco Out Take”

Bobby Van Cura is one of the two local detectives (the other Steve Toth) who worked on my mother’s case. Bobby met my mother when she was in the emergency room, and he and Steve became huge parts of our lives for the next year. Thankfully, they are still part of our lives. My interview with Bobby was surprisingly emotional. I felt so vulnerable, as though all the cells in my body were on high alert all over again. He knows everything. What happened to my mom. How close she came to dying. He’s one of the guys who tackled McFadden literally trying to run away, and arrested him. When I listen back to our conversation, I can hear the vulnerability in my voice. This bit of tape of Bobby and I talking about forgiveness slays me.

Listen to “Bobby Van Cura Out Take”
The house where my mother was living in 1994.
The house where my mother was living in 1994.


There’s no way this piece could have been made without the time it took to make it: Twenty plus years from the actual event, nearly three years of field-work, and a month of close daily work with Jay Allison to write it and produce it.

Some things simply take as long as they take. I am grateful to have had huge support throughout — from family, friends, and co-workers — to keep on keeping on.

And yet, despite the fact that I worked on this for as long as I did and that the final piece is an hour long, I still wasn’t able to include all the people I interviewed or interview all the people I wanted to.

In addition to Jo De Marco and Bobby Van Cura (mentioned above) I also had the opportunity to interview James Gilligan. Gilligan is a psychiatrist who — among other things — served as the director for the Bridgewater State Hospital for the criminally insane.

His book, Violence: A National Epidemic first gave me perspective on the causes of violence in this country and in individuals like McFadden. When I interviewed Gilligan I kept thinking: This man sat across from the worst of the worst and he is still hopeful and optimistic that with the right supports, people can change. His book, meeting him — knowing there are others like him in the world — makes me feel hopeful.

Listen to “James Gilligan Out Take”
A recent photo of my mom and her longtime partner, John.
A recent photo of my mom and her longtime partner, John.

From My Mom

I asked my mother if there were anything she’d like to say here on Transom. This is what she sent:

“I have been asked by those close to me how it has been to have Samantha producing this piece. My answer has been that it has felt good. I am so proud of her work and I am grateful. My feeling of being pressed to write a book has been lifted and replaced by relief that the story of what has so strongly impacted my family and community of friends and those involved was being told so well by my very own daughter. Some of the interviews provide me with more strength and courage as I battle with day-to-day survival. Gratitude and many thanks to Jay Allison and the Transom team for unending support, compassion and willingness to listen over the many months it took to get this “just right.””

Thanks And Dedication

First and foremost, thank you to my mother for her extraordinary courage. I love you.

I am also hugely grateful to Jay Allison for taking this on — me, this story, this amount of tape, this amount of emotion, this amount of time. All of it. Jay was the perfect guide for both Producer Me and Me Me. He seemed to know the exact right moments to swoop in and — as he says — provide me with oxygen when I was deep in the cave of working on this.

Thank you to all the people I interviewed: Jeremy Brown, James Gilligan, Timothy Broun, Mark Singel, Ernest Preate, Martin Horn, Bobby Van Cura, Tyrone Werts, Tom Ridge, Charlotte McFadden, Dr. Julia Hall, John McCullough, Jo DeMarco, and Mark Safarik.

Thanks to Nancy Rosenbaum for her sleuthing skills and Daniel Denvir for doing a huge favor for a stranger. Thanks to Melissa Allison, Sydney Lewis and Viki Merrick for all their support. Thanks to my father, Daniel Broun, for always asking how the work was going, and to John Wolanski for being my mother’s rock. And to Rob Rosenthal, thank you for keeping me honest and upright (literally).

This piece is dedicated to Jeremy Brown, Sonia Rosenbaum, Robert Silk, Margaret Kierer, Dana Demarco; to their families; to the thousands of lifers who are behind bars in Pennsylvania without hope for a second chance; and to the Tombs Angel.


These are just some of the books that have helped me make sense of all this the past 20 years. I recommend them all.

Violence: Reflections On A National Epidemic by James Gilligan

All God’s Children: The Bosket Family And The American Tradition of Violence by Fox Butterfield

Country of My Skull: Guilt, Sorrow and the Limits of Forgiveness in a New South Africa by Antije Krog

Crime And The Politics of Hysteria by David Anderson

True American: Murder And Mercy in Texas by Anand Giriharadas

Music In The Piece

“Remember Me As A Time Of Day” by Explosions In The Sky

Various by Stellwagen Symphonette

“Steep Hills of Vicodin Tears” by Stars Of The Lid

“Villa del Refugio” by This Will Destroy You

“They Move On Tracks Of Never Ending Light” by This Will Destroy You

“Ambient Shimmers” by Stellwagen Symphonette

“Elliot’s Dream” by 3 Leg Torso

“Luppulagio (Live)” by Sigur Ros

“Burial On The Presidio Banks” by This Will Destroy You

“Memorial” by Explosions In The Sky

“First Breath After Coma” by Explosions In The Sky

“Can Light Be Found In Darkness” by Gustavo Santaolalla, Soundtrack for 21 Grams

“Did This Really Happen” by Gustavo Santaolalla, Soundtrack for 21 Grams

“You Are My Sunshine” by Johnny Cash



Support for this work provided by the
National Endowment for the Arts
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  • John McCullough



    A Life Sentence” is a powerful story of Samantha’s journey through the stages of her own and her mother’s victimization and through the often confusing and usually frustrating criminal justice system. She touched with clarity the dilemmas of releasing lifers, the effects one horrible act on individuals and on society, and the agonies of being a victim of a violent crime. It was a refreshing look at a common issue because Samantha does not find fault or take sides or politicize the McFadden tragedy but instead explores with wisdom and understanding this tragic story. For those of us in corrections, and particularly in Pennsylvania prisons and parole at the time of the crime, it is a must listen which will renew but then close this chapter in our history with a new understanding.

    The interview with McFadden”s sister is riveting.

  • Joyce Dominguez



    I am grateful to you for this truthful, clear, personal, and deep look into this life episode. As a singer, I cried along with your mom when she talked of her loss. I will think of you both every time I sing You are my Sunshine to my grandkids for the rest of my life. As a sister, I cried along with my brother Mark and feel sorrow for all involved. My heart aches for lifers with no hope. I pray for healing for us all. Lord, have mercy.

  • Sara



    What an incredibly powerful and moving piece! Although I am a criminal defense attorney who has spent the last several years advocating for release of a lifer, I can never stop thinking about the victims of my client’s crime as well. Samantha’s piece is so nuanced and thoughtful. I wish all of society—DAs, defense attorneys, judges, politicians—would learn from Samantha and her very brave mother.

  • Ruby



    Samantha, thank you for this piece. Dana Demarco was my aunt- My mother’s sister and my grandmother’s daughter. Her murder was the first in three great tragedies that our family has encountered. I think the thing that stands out for me the most in your recordings and writings, as well as my personal experience is the overwhelming resiliency of the human spirit. I think that trait, that earmark of a survivor shines brightly in your mother, and in yourself, and I see the same light in my grandmother, who loves live and God in spite of all that has been. It is truly remarkable and gives me hope. It is stories of strength that I draw my own courage on in dealing with the passing of my own mother two years ago. It is no easy thing to face great horrors and not only endure but thrive, and stand up and tell your story for the world to see. I hope that as your mother’s story shared through your telling is passed around the world, you may find a small bit of peace in knowing that so many are here sharing this pain. And may that lessen the pain just a bit. I know for me, shared pain is dulled pain, and so I thank you again for the pain, humanity and hope shared here. Much peace and love to you and your family.

  • Ed Borrazzo



    Listening to “A Life Sentence” was both horrifying and hopeful at the same time. It is filled with raw human emotion. With nuance and without judgement, Samantha leads each interview with the same intellect, strength, insight, and grace that I remember. You see, I knew Samantha and her family from back home. We grew up together, went to school together, shared many great times. I’ve even been to that house in Nyack on a few occasions. We’ve moved apart over the years, and I never knew this horrific incident occurred. I remember Jeremy being a loving, caring, kind, sweet, funny individual, and I can hear that those qualities still exist in her today. The last segment brings hope to victims of violent crime that with time, recovery is possible, and deep inside are the same wonderful qualities that make you beautiful. Sam, I hope you and your mom are doing OK. What a deeply moving and insightful documentary (your best yet!). Thank you for sharing it with us.

  • Carmen Milano



    Deep thanks to Jeremy and Samantha for sharing this history. And deep gratitude to Samantha for examining and questioning the many and varied people affected by her testimony and the changes in Pennsylvania’s position on life sentencing. Being able to look out beyond the tragic personal harm, grief and loss is greatly appreciated. Listening to the conversations of mother and daughter reached quickly to my heart. Jeremy’s reply to the question about scars and not being able to sing after the assault was so unexpected and powerfully demonstrates the ability of violence to rob a person of their essence long after the physical body has perhaps repaired itself. Thank you for the reflections of McFadden’s sister, the politicians who ran for governor in the aftermath and the lifer who was one of the six released after the changes. This was a truly holistic examination of the life sentences that resulted from McFadden’s actions and beautifully presented.

  • jenniferroffe



    Beautifully done. Courageous, human, healing. My bird sings a bit more loudly as a result.

  • Stephen Stept



    Extraordinary piece, Samantha. I work with Lifers at the State Correctional Institution at Pittsburgh, PA, men who have been in prison for 20-40 years. These are brilliant, articulate, poetic and, especially, committed men determined to make a difference in their communities. Despite the despair of being unlikely to receive commutation, they are proof of a) that we are all, as Sister Helen Prejean has said, more than the worst thing we have ever done; and b) that “life means life” in both senses. I am also a colleague of Tyrone Werts as part of the Inside-Out Prison Exchange Program. (Check out its website.) The fallout from McFadden on men like these is devastating. They have so much to contribute, and after all their years in prison, they are not only NOT a danger to society, but men who are poised to make a positive impact on the cause of criminal justice reform in our society. Our people in power need to be circumspect, but also more forgiving.

    I wonder, Samantha, if you speak to prison populations. I hope you do or will. Thank you for telling your painful, yet hopeful story.

    • Samantha Broun



      Hi Stephen,

      It means a lot to me that lifers in Pennsylvania might hear this piece. If I can be there with them when they do, that would be even better. Please let me know if we can make that happen – either virtually or in person.

  • ColQuilts



    Wow. What an incredible piece. Sam, I am incredibly touched by insight, your compassion and quest for forgiveness. It is hard to put into words how I feel after listening to this. I am a rape crisis counselor and have seen many rape survivors but not as physically injured as your Mom. I could see of the face of each one I have accompanied to the ER as your Mom spoke of her experience. I have always viewed your Mom as a strong woman, but listening to her speak, she is really an incredible human being. Your interviews with Mark Singel and Charlotte McFadden were riveting. I always thought Tim’s little sister, was a cool kid, but you’ve grown up into a brave, intelligent and compassionate woman! I hope this has given you some peace.

  • John Barclay Photography



    So very proud of my cousin Samantha, my Aunt Jeremy and my cousin Tim. Sam, thank you for providing this important piece. I especially enjoyed the last minute with you and your mom singing… tears were streaming down my face as I listened. Love you all.

  • writealetta



    Dear Samantha, I am blown away. While i was moved to tears throughout the piece, my eyes spill again now, thinking of your mom describing your brothers reaction on seeing her. The heaviness. The pain. Your vulnerability. Your quest for forgiveness. The journey for healing and resilience. Sharing conversations that you have never had with your family, with us. Thank you. Listening to your story was surprisingly validating for me. I have spent the last 10 years or so working with people serving life in PA. Honestly, the effort to Restore Meaningful Commutation is an unpopular cause. Not only is it bureaucratic detail of parole in PA that is hard to comprehend and explain. It’s a process of mercy that would release people who have perpetrated violence, more specifically murderers. And people who have killed or were involved in a killing (outside of the military) are a class of people, who even in many prison justice circles are untouchable. So to hear you embrace the complexity as someone impacted by this great harm, someone who recognizes the injustice of excessive punishment, and someone who believes that people can change is remarkable. We just launched our Campaign to Restore Meaningful Commutation at the beginning of this month. Our goal is to create opportunities for deserving lifers to find relief Maybe you would be interested in working with us? We are heading to Harrisburg in June to lobby law makers about our reform ideas. Also, is there a written transcript of the piece? I would like to send it our friends inside. And – inspired by a previous comment – maybe we could organize you to go the Cambridge Springs and meet with the women there and listen to the story together. Over 50 women have applied for commutation in the last 25 years. Not one commuted.

    Sending beams of gratitude,
    etta cetera – letsgetfreepa@gmail.com

  • John W. Morris



    By chance I heard this superb production on a subject of renewed interest to me. When I was at Penn Law, I took a job as pardons caseworker at a Delaware prisoners aid organization. At that time, clemency formed an integral part of the criminal justice system, performing several functions. It equalized sentences that were overly harsh, it recognized rehabilitation and served as an aid to rehabilitation, it was used as a compassionate measure for the sick and elderly and it provided an economical process in cases of actual innocence. Most important, it provided hope for inmates and a method of exemplifying the productive use of a prison sentence.
    As pointed out, Reginald McFadden put an end to the role of clemency and gave one more example of how politicians can always capitalize on crime. And it ended hope for aging lifers in Pennsylvania.
    Then,almost 50 years after my last experience with pardons, a retired social worker , a former prison mate, and a current justice official asked me to assist in a clemency application for Robert Altland who as an aimless, drug using 19 year old pointlessly shot a colleague. Sentenced to life without parole, Bob endured the usual tough couple of years of prison before recognizing that life was still his to define. Starting with personal issues of dependencies and anger management, he moved on to acquiring skills useful in prison: maintenance, electronics, hospice care, etc. Then he caught up on education: GED, an associates degree and finally a bachelors degree (summa cum laude) from Villanova. His prison record is spotless. Bob is now 55 years old and has spent the last 36 years in prison. He is described as an example to all long-term inmates. He is smart, compassionate and, of course, regretful that he was not at age 19 the person that he is today.
    Bob and I are working on his application. He presents a model case for clemency and has the benefit of legal representation that most lifers lack. Yet, we both know that the odds are not good.

  • Jonathan Feist



    Brave, beautiful, amazing piece. So sorry you and your family have had to live through this. Thank you for sharing your story and your unique insight.

  • Wendy Ripp-Bounan, LCSW-R



    Thank you, Samantha, for undertaking this difficult act of being both wounded by, and seeking to help your beloved Mother, Jeremy, your family, all connected to this enduring trauma, and the rest of us with similar wounds of our own, to understand where the road to healing can be found. I had the blessing of working with Jeremy at the time of the incident, and used to work late in the church building where our job was. I usually felt safe there, but about 10 days before Jeremy was attacked, I started to pick up a very unsavory and scary vibe, and decided that it was best not to be alone in that building, which was in the neighborhood of where your mother lived. I will always remember how horrified and shocked we all were to learn what crevasse in time opened and swallowed her up. When your mother bravely returned to work, I hugged her, amazed that she used her great soul to reach her tormentor, and enable her to be given back her life. I empathized with her, because I, too, survived being savaged by 3 men, at night in a Guatemalan coffee plantation. I recall looking up at the full moon, and crying out, ‘but I have to see my mother again!’ in response to their terrifying threats to tie me up, kill me and dispose of my body… and somehow, felt that talking about my mother touched a chord in their hearts. They relented, they did not tie me up, did not smash my head in with the boulders lying all around me…they all raped me, and then let me go, to walk another hour through the moon-lit woods back to the host Cakchiquel Mayan family where I lived. That was in 1972, and 44 years later, I sometimes forget it happened. However, it resurfaces in myriad ways. Like the garden rocks pushed up by the heaving spring thaw, I often stumble across the shards of the past. And until I listened to your work, I never thought about forgiving those men. They didn’t have to do what they chose to do, but they did, because I was there, and they could step into that crevasse in time, when humans trade their humanity for a twirl with ultimate power. I am still learning from that time, and send my prayers to you, Jeremy, your family, and all who have been marked by their experiences with inhumanity. Blessings and peace!

  • Anna MatherAn



    I was able to hear the broadcast tonight while driving and am thankful I did. As a survivor of multiple and various assaults I too shut down for years and couldn’t sing…I had lost my joy. Years later I am singing again and surrounded by loving supportive people. Healing is horrendous and valuable. I ache for your mom, do me, for others…the years of joy lost…but what a reminder to be thankful for all things…through all of this the person I have become is someone I prefer to be…most of the time. I still get edgy and short with my kids when I allow a trigger to trig…..but….I am singing again and believing in my dreams for the first time….hearing that your mom cant sing anymore inspires me even more to step onto stage after stage and speak up for all of us…only shame is in silence. Love to you both. It was a beautiful story.

  • Anna Mather



    Oh typos!! Sigh….I need to listen to everything here…i only heard the radio version

  • Reeca Gaspari



    I happened upon the middle of your story while driving my car listening to This American Life on NPR. (At least I think that was the program.) I wasn’t able to complete the story and felt such a strong urge to hear it in its entirety. I returned home, found you again and felt incredibly gifted to hear and read about this journey of yours, your mother and the interviewees.
    Thank you for your perseverance, and honesty. Thank you to your mom who spoke out, and claimed her name out loud…that was SO powerful! (What a lineage of strong women in your family!) And I was touched listening to the people you interviewed who weren’t afraid to speak their truth. Even reading some of the comments has reminded me of the dignity of the human spirit, that it can shine through in the darkest of moments.
    Thank you.

  • Erin



    I, too, heard maybe the last third today on This American Life. You are an amazing woman to have the strength to speak to all of the people involved and to share such intimate pain with us. I especially admire your ability to see that each person is unique and that there may be others who do deserve clemency. I pray that you and your mother and all involved continue to heal and move forward, and that your mother continues to sing. May your lives be filled with serenity and good fortune.

  • Elise



    Thank you for this powerful piece.
    I heard most of the story on This American Life, but missed the final act. I sought it out this evening, and I’m glad that I did. Finishing the story, reading the extra material here, listening to the extra audio, and even seeing images (especially your mom and her partner by the ocean) helped me digest the piece in full. I’m sure the ideas of this work will stay with me for a long time to come. I’ll also look into the books you recommend.
    Thank you.

  • Julie Cahn



    To : Samantha Broun
    I listened to your story yesterday on NPR and it is still reverberating in me. What difficult , amazing work you did with a personal , painful but far reaching story. Hopefully, your brother sees now ‘what the point of it all’ was. We all come into the world with our own default defenses against fear and pain and sorrow. Not everyone is able to face the pain head on as you obviously are. Thank goodness for courageous people like you who, with great sensitivity, help the rest of us deal with what otherwise would be overwhelming.
    I listened yesterday with a friend of mine, a neighbor in South Nyack when we both lived just down the block from where your mother lived and was atracked on that dreadful night 22 years ago. We reminisced about our memories of that night. Eva said, ” It was Open School Night, when we were driving home, I noticed all of the blinds were drawn on her windows , not the usual. Next thing you know , the streets were swarming with cop cars. I think about that incident every day when I drive past her house’ ‘Me too, “I said’ ” And every Monday when I put out the recycycling”
    We didn’t know your Mom, we were about 10 years her junior with young kids still in elementary school- but we were no less effected by the horror of the crime committed againgst her down the block in our sweet little otherwise safe and friendly village. Many of us never even locked our front doors before that night or our car doors while we were driving. I still remember the feeling in our community during those long scary days when Reginald McFadden was still at large. There were no
    locks strong enough to make us feel safe. ‘It could have been me’ was the refrain that kept repeating itself over and over again in our heads, ‘ It could have been me’
    I tell you all this not because I think that the impact of the crime on us comes at all close to the effect it has had on your mother, you, your family and loved ones or all the people connected to the case but to underline how these crimes have such a far reaching effect not just around the block but to individuals around the world. You know that already and conveyed that so beautifully in your radio documentary. Bravo to you …and your Mom. Send her my warm wishes and encouragement to keep singing. We, her neighbors, were horriffied by what happened to her 22 years ago but are also so proud that a woman as strong and couragous as she lived down the block in a place we call home.
    Julie Cahn

  • Carol Bemmels



    Dear Samantha – I just heard the last half of your amazing story as I drove home and had to immediately go online to find out how I can hear the first part. But before I do that I just want to thank you for telling your family’s story – all of you – and the different ways you are dealing with the trauma. And thank you too for expanding your personal story to include all the others who have been impacted. I’m sure there are a lot of people whose lives will be touched because you had the courage and talent and persistence to tell this story. Hopefully the lifers in the Pennsylvania prisons.

    I don’t know if you have ever heard of EFT, also called tapping. There are many trauma victims that have found incredible relief using this self-help tool. There are videos on Youtube about its use in Newtown Connecticut after the Sandy Hook shootings and some very moving ones about using it for PTSD with Rwandan orphan genocide survivors. You might want to pass this along to your mom.
    There are therapists all over the world now who use this. It’s just the gentlest, safest, fastest way to let go of trauma that I know. I have great hope for her singing again.

  • Eg



    Just heard Samantha’s documentary. Wish she had asked further questions of Reginald McFadden younger sister who said of her brother whom she loved
    ” he protected me.” From what I wondered?
    The following statement from Reginald McFadden under the asterisks might be a clue. I had a sickening feeling of wishing this mass murder had been my older brother rather than my true older brother who was my perpetrator and ruined my life.

    “My first arrest happen (sic) when I was only 12 years old . . . one year after the death of my grandmother, who was my ONLY refuge from the brutality of my stepfather, who beaten (sic) me from 1960 til 1967, with an extention (sic) cord, which has left marks on my body. . . . My mother would always take his side . . . I hated my mother for not helping me.

  • Kristin




    Hearing your story has been life affirming. Thank you for sharing!

    Our society know so little about the mind of a psychotic/sociopathic person. They are people who understand good and bad, but simply don’t care. They hurt so many people and there is currently no known treatment or cure.

    I grew up with a sociopathic father and one of the best pieces of advice I received from a therapist was that: “The only time you need to be alone in a room with that man is if he is in a coffin.” Whew! That freed me. He was such a con man (he escaped from prison and was never caught) that when my brother told me our father had died, I asked him, “Did you see the corpse?” My loving brother went to the funeral just so he could assure me I was safe at last.

    You have no responsibility to forgive this person. One symptom of this illness is that the he is obsessed with himself. He can never experience connection with others. He neither understands nor misses the feeling of human connection and mutual respect. I love and hate my father. I am sad that he had never truly loved another soul nor known the feeling of being loved.

    I celebrate you and thank you for describing so eloquently your experiences. Thankfully, these people are few and far between and do not represent the vast majority of criminals. Your family and my family survived our encounters. I find that amazing!


  • Christopher Lyke



    These events obviously have enormous personal impact for so many people, and there is also the change to the commutation policy in PA which you explicitly address. It sounds like you think now that the almost complete elimination of commutation possibility in PA may have been an overreaction since McFadden’s recidivism appears to be an exception to the general rule. In fact, at one point in the story you say he is diagnosed as a psychopath. That raises the question, of course, whether it would have been better to improve the system for granting commutation rather than simply virtually eliminating it. You say in the piece that at the time of McFadden’s commutation the board did not even meet the prisoner and his commutation was sponsored by the prison administration as a quid pro quo. Those would seem to be obvious elements to look at in an improved rather than eliminated system though they would not necessarily have changed the outcome by themselves. You also refer to a psychologist, however, who was on the board and voted in favor of commutation so it seems like there should already have been a chance for McFadden to be identified as a psychopath and these terrible events to have been avoided. Without necessarily looking to cast blame, but trying to understand what went wrong and whether it could be fixed short of the drastic crackdown which occurred, I wish I knew more about the general role of the psychologist on the commutation board and what that person in the McFadden case had to say about that process. I thank you and all involved for the bravery of sharing this story.

  • terry thayer



    I listened to “A Life Sentence” with mixed emotions from start to finish. At first it was just a general interest story that caught my attention and held it. However, as the story progressed and the extent of the violence and aftermath were detailed I found myself revisiting events in my past. As I listened to Ms. Broun discuss her emotions while trying to digest and work through the anger, resentment, and grief of her mother’s experience I found myself also regurgitating the very same emotions I felt and endured when confronted with my own mother’s encounters with violence.

    It seemed to me that Ms. Broun was very much looking for some kind of relief from the experience and a way to ‘leave it behind’ so to speak. I wanted to reach out to her as a kindred spirit. I watched the very same thing happen to my mother from the time I was born until I was seven years old. During that time she was repeatedly beaten bloody, raped, tortured, and intimidated. I KNOW what it’s like to see your dear mother in those states afterwards. Now, if you can, try to imagine what its like to see your mother like that and know that it was your own father that did it to her. That we all had to sit around the dinner table and act like nothing was out of order while she tried to see through eyes swollen shut, eat through lips bloodied and swollen and loose teeth. There was nothing to say because if and when we did, he dished it out to all of us regardless of age or size.

    There is absolutely no way to understand what happens inside yourself when you see someone you love brutalized to that degree. I grew up at war with the world in an effort to find a way to protect her and myself from future similar situations. I became a practicing alcoholic and drug addict and travelled in a lot of the wrong crowds. Fighting, carousing, and troublemaking were common activities for me. I got sober in 1986 – and from there my healing began.

    I now live a life full of quality of life and have gratitude galore for how fortunate I have been and continue to be. Even though I was diagnosed with terminal illness (Idiopathic Pulmonary Fibrosis) in 2011 and told I’d be dead by 2017 I’m STILL living a wonderful life and doing everything I can to share my gratitude.

    I would like to pass this message along to Ms. Broun – Hearing remorse from someone else for their part may be helpful in finding forgiveness for them, but don’t make the mistake of it being a requirement. Your mother has found a way to navigate past what happened to her and in that you can find your gratitude and forgiveness. There are silver linings to every cloud, even the darkest ones, and I hope you are able to find your silver linings as you progress through your adventure.

    Thank you for the story – it opened old wounds and allowed me another chance to view those experiences with new eyes and find new relief from the grief I think will stick with me for all of my life. It’s a hard road to travel – but if you can find the silver linings it’s much, much easier. And more fun –

    Thanks again for having the courage to do this story. Best of luck to you and yours.

  • forgive



    It’s very brave of your mother and yourself to do what you do / did.

    There are various new ways to treat severe PTSD like your mother has – psychodelic psychotherapy / Ayahausca.

  • Elizabeth Cotton



    This piece was so beautiful. I admire your courage to share this story. It is hard to imagine the pain for you and your family. I also admire your desire to pursue the idea of forgiveness. I want to encourage you in that effort. I think that many view withholding forgiveness as justice – afterall McFadden does not deserve it. That’s right – he doesn’t deserve forgiveness, but you do. Not forgiving McFadden doesn’t affect him at all, but it does affect you and it does affect your heart. I can’t imagine how anyone – especially you or your mother – could forgive someone like McFadden. I can’t even imagine that I could do it if I were in your place. Having said that, I pray that you and your mother can reach a place where you can forgive. Unforgiveness allows McFadden to have power over you – I think that forgiving him helps you by taking his power away. I don’t know if you are a Christian or if you believe in God, but please know that I am praying for healing for you and your mom and the rest of those involved in this case. I believe that God can change hearts and heal. A good book on the subject of Forgiveness and the effects of the lack of if is Enemies of the Heart by Andy Stanley. He doesn’t necessarily offer the best advice on how to go about forgiving the unforgivable, but he does explain the effects of not forgiving.

  • Marian



    Through a coincidence I only recently learned about this audio documentary.
    I had the honor of meeting Jeremy in around 2001. I was invited to a housewarming party at her new next door neighbor Rick’s house in Nyack. He was burning sage while a bagpiper winded through his rooms, as a cleansing ritual. Jeremy explained that she had done a similar thing in her house. Intrigued about possibly hearing a ghost story, Jeremy bravely shared her story of a more real kind of horror.

    She left such an impression that I couldn’t get her out of my head. Being a songwriter, I was inspired to try to capture her story. When I had finished the song, I enlisted Rick to ask her if she’d be okay with me sharing it. Jeremy invited me over to her house and I played it for her. This was emotional for both of us. She gave me her blessing; and also came to see it performed for the first time, at a theatre in Nyack.

    I remain in awe of her bravery and heart, and now Samantha’s too. I didn’t realize Jeremy is a singer– I so hope she finds her voice and the joy of music again.

    May peace find you both, Samantha, and I send my best wishes to your mom.

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