How to Make a Murderer Part 2: The FBI’s Cover-Up (Part 3)
I just received an email from a reader who wants to get my thoughts on the FBI’s cover-up of Steven Avery’s wrongful conviction.
I’m writing this article from my home in Pennsylvania, where I live with my wife and daughter.
My wife and I were living with Steven Avery when he was convicted of rape, kidnapping, and burglary, and he was sentenced to life in prison.
I was living with him in Wisconsin when he finally confessed to the crimes.
My own family, I was told, had been wrongfully convicted and sentenced to a life in state prison.
Steven Avery, as I later learned, was a liar and a thief.
But he didn’t deserve to die, and the United States Government and the FBI were quick to jump on the Avery bandwagon and frame him as a serial killer.
The only problem was, I didn’t think that Steven Avery deserved to die at all.
I had no idea that he was innocent until I was exonerated.
In fact, I hadn’t thought that he should be dead.
As I told my daughter, I’m glad I didn and have always felt that he deserved to be dead: I was never innocent.
As a child growing up in a Jewish family in rural West Virginia, I grew up with a strict set of Jewish laws.
Our family’s strict laws made me uncomfortable when it came to certain subjects, and I was raised to keep myself out of trouble.
My father, who had an intellectual disability, often called me “the dumb child.”
My mother was often very angry when she heard me talk about the Holocaust, and she wouldn’t let me go to school until I learned about the atrocities committed by the Nazis and their collaborators.
We were both very proud of our Jewish heritage, but I was always taught that my father was not Jewish.
I felt so bad for him.
The day I was born, my father told me he was a Jew and would continue to be one until his death.
He was born in Poland and went to a Jewish school in Brooklyn.
He and his mother married a Polish woman, and they lived in a modest Jewish home on a hillside in Brooklyn, in an area known as Little Poland.
I didn’st know it then, but the year before I was a toddler, I had a vivid dream in which my father appeared to me in a Polish school uniform and said, “I am your grandfather, Steven Avery.
My name is Avery.
What do you want to do with yourself now?”
In the dream, my dad was explaining to me how his father would want me to get into business: “You want to be an accountant?
How about being a dentist?”
I was fascinated by the idea of being an accountant.
As an adult, I have a long list of jobs, from bartenders to carpenters to accountants.
I wanted to be a lawyer.
I just couldn’t imagine being a criminal.
When I was young, I wanted an MBA, and then I dreamed of becoming a surgeon.
I remember a dream where I dreamed that my dad, in his doctor’s robes, walked into the room.
He took off his surgical mask and said to me, “You are going to become a surgeon.”
I was completely dumbfounded, and my father didn’t know what to say.
It was so strange to think about that and to see my dream come true.
After I graduated from high school in 1979, my parents were forced to move to a small town outside of town where I was forced to live with the couple of Jewish family members who were living in the apartment building I was in.
My parents had a hard time accepting that I had Jewish heritage.
I knew that my Jewishness had nothing to do a person should be able to identify with.
My mother said, as she read this, “Your parents will always think you’re a Jew.”
But she had no intention of saying it out loud.
The fact that I was so young, that I didn t know the Holocaust was happening, that my parents felt so strongly about it, that it was a problem for them to accept that, and that my family had been misled by a person who had committed a crime for personal gain, all contributed to the belief that I must be Jewish.
My dad was the only person in my family who was able to speak up for me, and when I asked for an apology from him, he told me that I should never be a Jew.
I told him, “Dad, I never thought about being Jewish.
If anything, I should be proud of being a Jew because it means I was chosen.”
But he insisted that I would never feel proud of my Jewish heritage because I would always be a criminal and that I needed to change my life.
The following day, he called me and told me, I can’t go to the dentist.
I asked, “What do you mean?”
He told me I needed a job, and told my mother to