West Memphis Three: Crime, Case, and Metal Community’s Role

From a shocking murder to a powerful documentary and the metal community’s backing, the West Memphis Three’s ordeal sparks a deep look at justice and truth.

Three individual male portraits displayed side by side. From left to right: Damien Echols with long dark hair and wearing a black Blazers t-shirt; Jason Baldwin with curly hair, wearing a black Metallica t-shirt and a Chicago Bulls cap; Jessie Misskelley Jr. with short-cropped hair, wearing a light-green t-shirt.
Damien Echols, Jason Baldwin and Jessie Misskelley Jr.
Key Takeaways
  • In 1994, three teenagers, Damien Echols, Jason Baldwin, and Jessie Misskelley Jr., known as the West Memphis Three, were convicted of murders they insisted they did not commit, with questionable evidence and a focus on their metal music taste as part of the prosecution’s narrative.
  • The HBO documentary “Paradise Lost” and its sequels played a pivotal role in shifting public perception of the case, highlighting flaws in the trial and contributing to a broader debate on justice.
  • The metal community, including prominent figures like Metallica, rallied in support of the West Memphis Three, influencing a campaign that eventually led to their release after 18 years in prison, following new DNA evidence and a controversial Alford plea.

Three Teens and a Tragic Crime

In 1994, a court case in West Memphis, Arkansas, grabbed headlines. Three teenagers, Damien Echols, Jason Baldwin, and Jessie Misskelley Jr., were convicted of a crime they would argue for decades they didn’t commit. This was no ordinary case. The stakes were high, the accusations grave, and the evidence? Questionable.

May 5, 1993, was the day that changed everything for these teens. On that day, three boys, each eight years old — Chris Byers, Stevie Branch, and Michael Moore — disappeared. They had been riding bikes and never came home. The next day, a search party found a horrific scene: the boys’ bodies in a ditch, tied up and showing they had been badly beaten. Chris Byers, in particular, had suffered mutilation.

The investigation moved fast, and the finger was pointed at Damien Echols, an 18-year-old who didn’t finish high school and was open about his Wiccan beliefs. His interest in the occult and struggles with mental health put him in the spotlight. Vicki Hutcheson, a local, supported the police’s theory, claiming she witnessed disturbing events with Echols and Misskelley. She later took her words back.

Jessie Misskelley, with an IQ around 72, at first said he had no part in this. After hours of questioning by the police, he gave a statement that would later be seen as inconsistent with the facts. The teens had alibis, and there was no physical proof against them. But by June 1993, they were in custody, and the following year, they faced the verdict.

They said the teens’ look, their taste in heavy metal music, was proof of guilt, linking them to satanic acts.

The trial stirred national attention, partly because of how the prosecution painted the three. They said the teens’ look, their taste in heavy metal music, was proof of guilt, linking them to satanic acts. This argument was central, especially against Damien Echols, whose appearance and musical preferences drew a straight line, in the eyes of the police and some in the community, to the gruesome crimes.

The evidence, though, didn’t add up. No DNA linked them to the crime scene. The case hinged on Misskelley’s shaky confession and statements from witnesses that didn’t hold up. Yet, Misskelley was convicted of both first and second-degree murder, while Echols and Baldwin were found guilty of first-degree murder. The judgment was clear: death for Echols, life without parole for Baldwin and Misskelley.

Looking back, it’s clear the West Memphis Three’s interest in metal music became a part of the trial in ways it never should have. It was used to paint a picture of them belonging to a dark cult — a narrative that, without hard evidence, shouldn’t have influenced the outcome of their lives.

The Documentary That Reopened a Case

The case of the West Memphis Three didn’t just end in the courtroom; it stretched into living rooms across the country, thanks to a 1996 HBO documentary called “Paradise Lost: The Child Murders at Robin Hood Hills”. This film did more than just tell a story; it stirred the public, shook opinions, and set the stage for a broader conversation about justice.

When “Paradise Lost” hit the screens, it wasn’t just another documentary. People watched, absorbed, and began to question. The film didn’t push viewers to take sides. Instead, it laid out the raw, unpolished truth of the trial and the deep pain of the victims’ families. This approach let everyone watching draw their own conclusions. For some, those conclusions led to a conviction of their own: the three teens, they felt, were victims of a flawed system.

The ripple effect was enormous. “Paradise Lost” didn’t just influence public opinion; it reshaped the documentary landscape. The style it championed—a careful, observational storytelling—can now be seen in many modern docuseries that leave narrators out and let the facts speak for themselves. “Making a Murderer” is one such series that owes a debt to the paths “Paradise Lost” paved.

The impact of “Paradise Lost” didn’t stop with its storytelling. It was a critical darling, too. It grabbed an Emmy for Outstanding Informational Programming and earned nods at film festivals like Sundance, not to mention the Independent Spirit Awards.

But the story of the West Memphis Three needed more than one film. It needed a trilogy. Two more “Paradise Lost” sequels dug deeper, uncovering new leads, challenging old evidence, and keeping the conversation alive.

They didn’t just see three teens caught in a nightmare; they saw something of themselves, of their music, and of the culture they lived in, all put on trial.

And here’s where the metal community turned up the volume on the case. Big names from the music world—Patti Smith, Henry Rollins, Tom Waits, Ozzy Osbourne and many others—stepped into the fray. They didn’t just see three teens caught in a nightmare; they saw something of themselves, of their music, and of the culture they lived in, all put on trial. Their support helped amplify the call for justice, adding a powerful chorus to the growing demand to free the West Memphis Three.

Musicians Mobilize for Justice

In the early days after the HBO documentary “Paradise Lost” aired, the plight of the West Memphis Three stirred the metal community to action. Metallica, a titan of the genre, stepped forward, offering their music to the film—a bold move that underscored their stand for justice. This gesture marked the beginning of a robust campaign, “Free the West Memphis Three”, which would become a rallying cry for supporters.

The argument was clear: without concrete evidence, the conviction should not stand.

The campaign took aim at the flimsy case built on coerced statements and the questionable trials that seemed influenced by the three’s music tastes and outward appearances. The argument was clear: without concrete evidence, the conviction should not stand. Supporters weren’t shy to voice this, and the movement grew in strength and numbers.

In October 2000, an album titled “Free the West Memphis 3” was released to underpin the legal defense efforts. It was a collection of passion and protest, with tracks from diverse artists, including the unique blend of Joe Strummer with the Long Beach Dub Allstars and a memorable collaboration between the Supersuckers and Eddie Vedder.

The album didn’t just deliver music; it carried a message. Burk Sauls’s liner notes dissected the judicial failings and directed the listeners to the Justice Project and wm3.org, a beacon for the cause. The music was a medium, but the mission was freedom.

Concerts to benefit the West Memphis Three became high-profile events, with names like Maines and Vedder headlining, turning the spotlight onto the case and bringing in vital funds for the ongoing legal battles. Henry Rollins, a vocal critic and a supporter who saw himself reflected in the accused, was relentless in his advocacy. He spearheaded benefit shows and released “Rise Above: 24 Black Flag Songs to Benefit the West Memphis Three” in 2002, roping in stars like Iggy Pop and Lemmy Kilmister to lend their voices.

The impact of these efforts was measurable. By 2005, Rollins had raised a formidable $100,000, ensuring new DNA tests on crime scene evidence could be conducted. The metal community had shown its solidarity and strength, standing united not just in music but in the fight for justice.

The Release of the West Memphis Three

A breakthrough in forensic technology revealed new evidence in 2007, showing the DNA collected from the crime scene didn’t match any of the West Memphis Three.

The advanced DNA testing techniques, which hadn’t been available at the time of the first trial, were pivotal. They not only challenged the previous findings but also fueled the arguments of those who had long advocated for the innocence of the trio.

Complications with the jury from the original trial also emerged, suggesting that they may have been influenced by factors outside of the evidence presented in court. This led the Arkansas Supreme Court to take notice, and in 2010, they ruled in a way that opened the door for a new trial for the three men.

Fast forward to 2011, and a significant twist in the legal saga occurred. The West Memphis Three made a move that was both complex and controversial. They entered Alford pleas. This legal maneuver allowed them to assert their innocence while admitting that the prosecution could likely secure a conviction against them based on the evidence. This resulted in a deal that included their immediate release after 18 years behind bars, subject to a decade-long suspended sentence.

Their release from prison was the culmination of several forces working in tandem: new DNA findings, a swell of public support bolstered by celebrity advocacy, and a defense strategy that adeptly navigated the intricacies of the legal system.

The investigation and subsequent trials were marred by controversy from the start. Accusations of police coercion and evidence mishandling were rampant, and the defense contended that the crime scene was tainted and the police investigation was not up to par. After their release, the case didn’t fade from the public eye but remained a hotly debated topic, inspiring a slew of documentaries and books that continued to dissect the many layers of this complex case.

Where Are They Now

Years after the cell doors swung open, the West Memphis Three have each taken distinct paths in a world that once labeled them guilty.

Damien Echols took to New York after being released, a move made possible by his correspondence with Lorri Davis, who became his wife. The pair originally set up home in Tribeca but later moved to Salem, Massachusetts. In Salem, Echols has carved out a new path as an artist and writer, actively touring the country and engaging in activism. He lends his voice to those he feels are wrongfully imprisoned and has openly supported Steven Avery, the central figure in the Netflix series “Making a Murderer”.

Jason Baldwin, now a Seattle resident, turned the page to a new chapter in his life. He wrote a book, “Dark Spell: Surviving the Sentence”, sharing his harrowing experiences. His creative influence extended into the world of film as the Executive Producer of “Devil’s Knot”, a movie based on the events that once ensnared him. Baldwin harbors ambitions of legal study, aiming to extend a helping hand to others trapped in wrongful convictions.

Jessie Misskelley chose a different route, returning to his roots in West Memphis. Shying away from the limelight, he has tried to live a life away from public scrutiny. Last heard, he was working in construction while enjoying domestic life with his girlfriend. However, facing unemployment, Misskelley remains cautious around media, a sentiment shaped by their impact on his trial.

As they move forward with their lives, the West Memphis Three’s story remains a vivid chapter of American legal history. Discussions about their guilt or innocence persist, keeping the case alive in the public consciousness.