Nevelyn Stokes, 25, must serve nearly 64 years before
he can be eligible for parole, lawyers say.
Despite being sentenced Friday to separate terms of
120 years and life in prison for setting a fire that killed six children,
Nevelyn Stokes will still be eligible for parole - but not until he is
at least 88 years old.
Stokes, 25, said nothing at the hearing before St.
Louis Circuit Judge Donald McCullin. The defense lawyer, Kris Kerr,
reminded the court of Stokes' testimony at trial that he did not know
anyone was home when he splashed a gallon of gasoline in anger and
ignited it.
Children
Grief that heals
St.
Louis Post-Dispatch - Editorial
March
17, 1999, Wednesday
The burgundy sedan
crawled up Blair Avenue unnoticed. It pulled over and a stocky man
wearing a scuffed hardhat and a construction jumpsuit opened the
passenger's door. He rambled up to the brick building, pressed himself
against it and gripped a pen. On a poster scribbled over with prayers
andpoems, he wrote only this: "To Family and Friends. Be Strong." Then
he bounded back into his getaway car and fled the pain.
His message joined
hundreds of prayers, holy cards, stuffed animals and flowers. They
spilled over the steps of the brick building in Hyde Park where six
children died last week.
The fire that killed
them grew out of a cycle of hatred and revenge.
The memorial that
honored them grew out of a cycle of grace and acceptance.
The fire started,
police say, after Nevelyn Stokes, 23, robbed a woman. The woman and her
boyfriend paid him back with a beating. He paid them back by burning the
woman's home - an apartment full of children.
The memorial, a raw
outpouring of grief and faith, evolved overnight. Cheryl Evans, 25, and
Denise Huber, 26, put a few dozen roses and carnations at the foot of
the brick building where the children died. Ms. Evans owns a pizza place
on the first floor of the building. The children died upstairs.
In the days and nights
since the fire and the first roses, folks have been circling the corner
of Blair Avenue and Salisbury Street. Children and adults arrive hand in
hand, depositing a Big Bird piggy bank full of coins here, a mangled
fluorescent pink teddy bear there. Ribbons and artificial flowers twist
around nearby stop signs and streetlights. Black and white neighbors
mingle, reading the prayers pasted against the windows, wiping away
silent tears, mourning for the children who will never have children of
their own.
In the silent reverence
of their grief, some also marvel at the sense of community and
acceptance around them, in a city neighborhood often known only for its
violence and poverty. They know and comforteach other. They hug and
mourn together. And all of St. Louis - a metropolitan area that
celebrates its distance from places like Hyde Park - mourns with them.
What if we mourned this
way every time a child died in our city? What if we comforted city
children this way every time they lost someone to a violent death? What
if we agonized this way every time an 18-year-old city student like Mr.
Stokes quit school and turned to crime?