The Sun Does Shine - Book Summary

Uncover the awe-inspiring tale of a man's survival amidst a harrowing ordeal of injustice.

Back in the scorching summer of 1985 in Alabama, Ray Hinton was tending to his mother's lawn without a shred of fear or guilt plaguing him. His peace was disrupted when the police arrived to arrest him, yet he remained unfazed, secure in his innocence. Little did he know then that freedom would elude him for nearly three decades. Even less imaginable was the fact that he would witness his fellow inmates being guided to their end at the electric chair, a chilling sight from his death row cell just 30 yards away — a horrifying prospect that lurked ahead for him, too.

Hinton's life is a striking example of a grave miscarriage of justice. As a Black man without sufficient resources, he was entrapped in a system riddled with biases. The stark evidence of his innocence seemed to vanish under the weight of a biased initial trial. The following years saw Hinton surviving the tormenting confines of solitary confinement on death row — until a relentless lawyer stepped in to wage a long-drawn battle for his freedom.

However, amid these soul-crushing circumstances, Hinton discovered unexpected elements of liberty, hope, and life within the gloomy walls of his death row cell. He experienced a profound sense of compassion for his fellow inmates, the magic of his own imagination, and most importantly, the irreplaceable value of hope.

Join us in this episode, as we delve into

how Hinton mentally transcended the oppressive bounds of his cell;

how ideological differences melted away in the face of shared destiny on death row; and

how Hinton remarkably chose the path of forgiveness over resentment.

A childhood in Alabama: A tale of racial prejudice and simmering tension.

As the 1970s dawned in Alabama, Hinton and his friends were about to set foot in a predominantly white school for the first time, thanks to the abolition of segregation laws. Yet, these newfound rights came with a dire warning from his mother — Don't engage with the white girls, keep your gaze lowered, adhere to the rules, and make a beeline for home as soon as school ends.

Being a Black youngster in Alabama during the 70s was synonymous with enduring relentless racism.

Alabama was still grappling with the remnants of deep-seated segregation. It was only at the advent of the decade that Black people could step into a diner, sit at the counter, and order food. And even then, it was palpable that the servers were far from comfortable with this societal shift.

The lingering shadow of violence, even post the dismantling of segregation laws, marred the 1970s. Hinton recalls an instance when a church was bombed, forcing him and other children to remain confined at home. His mother's constant advice was to run at the sight of a car filled with white men.

The hostile atmosphere seeped into his school life as well. During a school basketball match, Hinton set a new school record by scoring 30 points in one half. He expected to hear cheers of "Hin-ton! Hin-ton!" ringing in the air. But his elation waned when he noticed that even the opposing team's crowd was joining in the chants. That's when reality struck him — they weren't chanting his name, but a racial slur. His hard-earned pride instantaneously turned to shame.

Despite growing up under the specter of racial discrimination, Hinton managed to have a relatively content childhood, owing to his mother's loving care. Nevertheless, he wasn't completely free from mischief.

In 1975, Hinton stole a car. As a Black individual, hitchhiking was fraught with dangers, and he needed a mode of transportation for work, and of course, to meet women.

For two years, he managed to drive the stolen car under the radar until he heard that the police were on his tail. A mounting sense of guilt finally overwhelmed him, and following his mother's advice to own up to his wrongdoings, he surrendered himself to the police, serving a term in jail as a result.

His confession brought him relief, but jail life was far from easy. The repulsive food, foul-smelling cell, and deprivation of freedom took a heavy toll on him — he resolved that prison was certainly not where he wished to be.

The chilling tale of Hinton's arrest for unfounded accusations, amid blatant racial bias.

On February 23, 1985, an assistant restaurant manager in Birmingham, Alabama, was tragically shot twice during a robbery and succumbed to his injuries. On July 3, another similar event occurred at Captain D’s restaurant, with an employee killed by a gunshot to the head. In the wee hours of July 25, Quincy’s steakhouse manager, Sidney Smotherman, was also shot during a robbery, but thankfully, survived. Smotherman described the perpetrator as a Black man, almost six feet tall, weighing around 190 pounds, and sporting a mustache. Ironically, Hinton was at his warehouse job, diligently working the night shift, as confirmed by his supervisor, during the attack on Smotherman.

Fast forward six days, Hinton was innocuously mowing his mother's lawn under the hot summer sun, when he noticed two white policemen sizing him up, their hands ominously close to their guns. But fear wasn't on Hinton's mind, for he had a clear conscience.

However, his tranquility was disrupted as he was abruptly arrested and taken into custody.

At the police station, he was asked to sign a blank paper, which the police explained would be typed up later to record his rights being read to him. Sensing a trap, he adamantly refused to sign.

In a shocking conversation, one police officer blatantly stated that he was indifferent to whether Hinton was guilty or not, suggesting that if he hadn't committed the crime, it was likely one of his "brothers"—an offensive term referring to another Black man. The officer listed five reasons why Hinton would be convicted — his Black identity, the white man who would identify him, the white district attorney, the white judge, and the white jury. The officer completed his deplorable speech with a smug smile.

As the trial loomed, the scales of justice seemed heavily tilted against Hinton. The police found an old, unused gun that belonged to Hinton's mother. He observed a neighbor witnessing a police officer examining the gun, stuffing a cloth into its barrel and retrieving a dust-clogged cloth. Despite Hinton knowing that the gun hadn't been fired in 25 years, the police forensics claimed that the bullets retrieved from the three crime scenes corresponded to this gun.

A lie detector test affirmed Hinton's innocence, but the prosecution exercised its right to prohibit this from being presented in court. Finally, Smotherman mistakenly identified Hinton from a photo lineup.

Hinton's concrete alibi seemed to fall on deaf ears, overshadowed by a prejudiced system that had seemingly already declared him guilty.

A lack of resources leads to Hinton's wrongful conviction on two counts of murder.

Hinton was raised with an innate faith in the justice system, making him harbor hope that his lawyer could extricate him from this predicament. However, disappointment was just around the corner.

The core of his problem was twofold — race and finances.

Hinton was short on money, which led to his representation by Sheldon Perhacs, a lawyer appointed to him who would receive a mere $1,000 for handling the case. Perhacs' murmurs about not having gone through law school to deal with pro bono work did not escape Hinton's ears. When Hinton professed his innocence to Perhacs, his reply was disdainful — according to him, "y'all" always claim innocence. It was clear to Hinton that Perhacs was using "y'all" as a racially charged term referring to Black people.

Perhacs mentioned that hiring a competent forensics expert to challenge the state's findings on the gun would cost around $15,000. Since this was an unaffordable sum, they resorted to appointing the best expert they could afford — Andrew Payne. Payne conducted tests and concluded that the bullets did not match Hinton's mother's gun. However, during the prosecution's cross-examination, Payne's credibility crumbled. He was forced to confess that he was unfamiliar with the specific comparison microscope available at the Forensics laboratory and had difficulty even sighting the bullet. To add insult to injury, under rigorous questioning by the prosecutors, Payne had to admit that he had only one eye.

Reggie White, a witness holding a personal grudge against Hinton, committed perjury to seal Hinton's fate. Years ago, Reggie had asked a girl out who had preferred Hinton over him. Currently, Reggie was working at Smotherman's restaurant and falsely claimed during his testimony that a few weeks prior to the attack, Hinton had inquired about the restaurant's closing time and its performance. Reggie was offered a $5,000 reward for assisting in catching the culprit, but surprisingly, no one questioned the ethical validity of this financial incentive during the trial.

There were lies strewn all over — by Reggie, by the police, by the state's firearms experts. Hinton's lawyer failed to summon character witnesses, nor did he venture into asking probing questions.

The jury spent merely two hours to announce Hinton guilty and took even lesser time — just under an hour, to decide on his penalty: death.

Death row — an existence marked by indignity and imprisonment.

On December 17, 1986, Hinton was yanked out of his county jail cell. After a thorough strip-search, he was restrained with chains and cuffs around his ankles and wrists, and then escorted on a three-hour drive to Holman prison. The ominous words "death row" etched above the prison doorway ominously welcomed him into his chilling new abode.

Hinton's cell, a claustrophobic space of seven feet by five feet, housed a metal toilet, a metal sink, a bed, a shelf, and a solitary copy of the King James Bible. Nothing more, nothing less.

Mealtimes adhered to an unusual routine — breakfast at 3 a.m., lunch at 10 a.m., and dinner at 2 p.m. Breakfast comprised powdered eggs, a stone-hard biscuit, and a dollop of a jelly-like substance. Lunch and dinner were no better, usually a tasteless mass of unidentified meat rumored to be horse meat. Hunger was a constant companion for Hinton.

Showers were scheduled every alternate day, sometimes at night, or even at midnight — without a predictable pattern. He showered in the company of another inmate, under the watchful eyes of two guards. The water was always unbearably cold or scalding hot, with the shower lasting only a fleeting two minutes. He was allotted daily solitary confinement in a cage in the yard, to pace back and forth for exercise.

The daytime atmosphere on death row was oppressive and stifling. The nights, however, were more akin to a scene from a horror movie.

The floor was rife with rats and other creatures, while cries, screams, or moans of inmates echoed incessantly through the corridors. Night was the only time an inmate could cry discreetly. Occasionally, someone would burst into disturbing, insane laughter. Initially, Hinton could barely sleep for more than 15-minute intervals.

Despite being aware of his innocence, Hinton was forced to endure these grim conditions. Stunned and in disbelief, he retreated into a shell for three years, hardly speaking a word to either the guards or his fellow inmates.

Nursing the hope of a quick appeal against his unjust sentence, Hinton was jolted into reality in 1988, two years post his arrival on death row. The Alabama Court of Criminal Appeals upheld his conviction. Freedom remained a distant dream.

The horrifying specter of execution loomed perpetually on death row.

The reek of death and burning flesh is unique and horrific — it's a gut-wrenching combination of smoke, vomit, decay, and excrement. In a practically ventilation-deprived prison, the stench of death lingers relentlessly.

Michael Lindsey, the inmate occupying the cell below Hinton's, was among the first slated for execution during Hinton's time on death row. The justice system mercifully gives convicts a month’s notice before their execution. In this final countdown to his inevitable demise, Lindsey was overwhelmed by tears, sobbing incessantly in his cell and the yard. The haunting spectacle of guards rehearsing his final walk sent him spiraling into dread and despair. They marched down the row, fetching another guard mimicking Lindsey, and escorted him to a holding cell. Lindsey wept as they tested the electric chair's generator, causing the prison lights to fluctuate under the electricity’s strain.

Hinton was helplessly subjected to these unnerving preparations — the confined space of death row and the proximity of the execution chamber, a mere 30 feet away from his cell, left him with no choice.

When a fellow inmate was led to the electric chair, the remaining prisoners resorted to a cacophony of noise. Some cried out against the guards, condemning them as executioners, while others gave out primal screams. For Hinton, it was about letting the condemned man hear the chaos, to know that even in his most terrifying moments, strapped to the chair with a black hood over his head, he wasn't alone.

The scent of Lindsay's execution on the fateful day had Hinton bent over in retching and despair. The sight of Hinton's reaction elicited laughter from a guard who taunted him that someday, everyone would be subjected to the odor of his execution too.

On June 19, 1989, Hinton received disheartening news from his lawyer, Perhacs, through a letter. His appeal for a retrial had been rejected and Perhacs could no longer continue being his legal representative. From where Hinton stood, justice seemed like a distant mirage.

Amidst stark differences on death row, a surprising commonality surfaced.

Confined within the high walls of a death row cell, one is often oblivious to the personal histories of other inmates.

During one such day, Hinton was taken aback upon discovering a horrifying truth about a fellow inmate he had come to consider a friend. This inmate, Henry Hays, was responsible for the most recent lynching of a Black individual in the United States. In 1981, Hays, a member of the white supremacist faction Ku Klux Klan, had kidnapped, brutally beaten, and stabbed a young Black man before hanging him from a tree. Hays had been raised by parents who were high-ranking members of this hate group.

Upon this revelation, Hinton called out to Hays from his own cell, letting him know he'd uncovered his dark past. The silence that followed was finally broken by Hays' confession that the entire ideology of racial hatred and prejudice ingrained in him by his parents was a lie. Hinton paused to absorb this, and then responded. He recounted how he had also learned much from his mother, but his lessons were of love, forgiveness, and compassion towards others. He expressed his sadness that Hays’ had not had the same learning experience.

During the next visiting session, Hays introduced Hinton, his 'best friend', to his parents. While Hays’ mother managed a weak smile, his father remained stoic, refraining from shaking Hinton's extended hand. On his return to his own visitor, his friend Lester, curious about the interaction, Hinton simply responded that it signified progress.

Death row, as Hinton saw it, created an ironic bond among inmates that transcended their personal differences. Regardless of one's race, guilt, or innocence, everyone on death row battled a common struggle — the everyday struggle to survive and the deeper struggle to make sense of their presence on death row.

When Hays was executed in June 1997, marking the first execution of a white man for murdering a Black individual in over 85 years, it sent shockwaves through the world outside. But for Hinton, it was merely the loss of another friend.

Despite physical confinement, Hinton found an unexpected liberty on death row.

The notion of escape is a universal fantasy among prisoners, one that often remains just that – a fantasy. However, Hinton discovered an unusual way to break these physical confines, despite never actually leaving the prison.

While in his embrace of the solitary cell, Hinton's fertile imagination blossomed, providing him an unconventional doorway to freedom. He started spending hours mentally envisioning situations he longed for. During one such daydream, he saw himself stepping onto a private jet waiting for him just outside the prison. Onboard, a flight attendant offered him bubbly champagne and shared the exciting news that they were en route to London for a meeting with the Queen of England. Eventually, in his elaborate imagination, Hinton found himself sipping tea and sharing his death-row experiences with the Queen on a luxurious sofa.

This alluring daydream was interrupted abruptly by a guard announcing a visitor for him, and that's when it dawned on him — he had been lost in this fantasy for two whole days. The realization of having mentally distanced himself from his harrowing circumstances left him with a newfound sense of freedom.

Over the years, he repeatedly sought solace in his world of dreams. He imagined thrilling victories with the Yankees, winning the Wimbledon championship, and even being married to, and then divorcing, actress Halle Berry for Sandra Bullock. Even though it was a far cry from actual freedom, these fantasies offered a momentary yet precious escape from the harsh reality of death row.

With a new idea to offer a similar mental escape to his fellow inmates, Hinton proposed starting a book club to the warden. While his stated intention was to maintain a peaceful environment among inmates, his hidden agenda was to intellectually transport his peers away from the confines of their cells. With the warden's approval, they received two copies of James Baldwin’s Go Tell It on the Mountain. For a whole month, seven inmates shared and read the book. The subsequent book club meeting allowed them the rare opportunity to discuss, face-to-face and candidly, something other than their legal battles and prospects of release, a breath of fresh air amidst the daily drudgery.

However, despite its euphoric effects, the book club couldn't completely erase the harshness of their reality. Larry, a club member, was the first among them to be executed. In the next meeting, Hinton chose to leave Larry's chair empty, a poignant reminder of their inescapable reality.

Beacon of hope: The relentless lawyer determined to bring justice to Hinton.

By 1997, Hinton had navigated the legal labyrinth through various lawyers, enduring multiple failed attempts to trigger a retrial. The latest lawyer offered a glimmer of hope with a deal - life imprisonment without parole.

But Hinton's immediate response was one of refusal. He dismissed his lawyer, unwilling to accept lifelong imprisonment for a crime he did not commit. The person he envisioned to champion his cause was Bryan Stevenson – a ferociously diligent lawyer known for his relentless battle for death-row inmates.

Hosting his operations at the Equal Justice Initiative located in Montgomery, Alabama, Stevenson had built up a reputation that reached Hinton back in 1989. Stevenson had been the attorney for a Vietnam veteran who, despite his untiring efforts, succumbed to execution. Undeterred, Stevenson had stayed with his client till the final moments, relentlessly fighting to prevent the execution.

Convinced by Stevenson’s unwavering dedication, Hinton successfully roped him into his case in 1998. Over the next 16 years, both Hinton and Stevenson tirelessly endeavored to push for a retrial through various court reviews, with the singular goal of securing Hinton’s freedom.

In his pursuit, Stevenson uncovered substantial evidence highlighting the questionable proceedings during Hinton's arrest and subsequent trial. He discovered that witnesses had been pressured into falsely placing Hinton at the crime location. It was further unearthed that Smotherman, the injured restaurant manager, had been coerced into recognizing Hinton as his assailant - an identification based on Hinton’s photograph inscribed with his initials, after the police had already tainted Smotherman’s perspective by identifying Hinton as a suspect.

To add to the pile of suspicious evidence, it was revealed that Hinton’s initial lawyer, Perhacs, shared a close friendship with the state prosecutor - a man who had amassed an infamous reputation for his biased conduct towards Black individuals during jury selection.

Eager to rectify the initial mishandling of evidence, Stevenson sought the opinion of three white male ballistics experts to review the incriminating gun. This was Hinton's suggestion, as he believed these men would be capable of swaying an Alabama court. Following their analysis, all three experts independently disapproved of the gun-to-bullet match, categorically stating that the bullets did not originate from Hinton’s mother's gun.

Ironically, despite the growing evidence supporting Hinton's innocence, the journey towards justice progressed at a frustratingly slow pace.

A landmark Supreme Court decision led Hinton a step closer to freedom.

The cogs of justice turn slowly, especially when it involves an individual on death-row in Alabama. Compounding this was Alabama's stubborn determination to confine Hinton within its prison walls. Acknowledging their mistake would mean confessing to the world that they had knowingly and wrongfully sent an innocent Black man to death-row.

In 2002, just before a pivotal hearing was due, Alabama's attorney general office intervened to dismiss it, under the pretext of saving taxpayer's money that would potentially be spent over two to three days. However, their attempt proved futile, and the hearing proceeded as scheduled. At this juncture, the key point of contention was whether Hinton had suffered from an incompetent legal defense. The state's stance bizarrely oscillated between discrediting Hinton's original ballistics expert to asserting his impeccable credibility. By doing so, they strived to establish that Hinton's original defense was strong, diminishing the need to consider the new set of experts that Stevenson had brought on board.

Sadly, the hearing did not swing in Hinton's favor. For two years, the ruling judge demonstrated an alarming apathy, allowing the heavy pall of uncertainty to hang over Hinton. Eventually, he issued an order siding with the state.

As years slipped by, Hinton bore witness to more inmates being led to their final walk, which made holding onto hope increasingly challenging.

Fast forward to 2013, Hinton and Stevenson chose to stake all their chips in one decisive gamble — taking their case to the US Supreme Court. It was a move fraught with risk. A negative verdict from the nation's highest court would end their fight once and for all, disallowing any other court from reconsidering the case. Despite the potentially dire consequences, Hinton decided to move forward, unwilling to languish for another decade fighting through lower courts. In October 2013, Stevenson took the bold step of filing at the Supreme Court, their last shot at justice.

Four months later, in February, Stevenson delivered the heartening news over a phone call with Hinton. The Supreme Court had unanimously ruled that Hinton's initial attorney had grossly failed him, thus mandating the state courts to reexamine the impact of these shortcomings on the original trial.

While this ruling did not signal the end of Hinton's protracted ordeal, it brought with it a renewed spark of hope for a brighter future.

The sun finally shines for Hinton as the state revokes his charges.

By February 2015, Hinton had spent an agonizing 29 years in the solitary confinement of a death row cell at Holman prison — a muted spectator to 54 individuals embarking on their final journeys past his cell door.

In anticipation of his retrial, he was transferred back to county jail. As he exited his dreaded cell, Hinton couldn't contain his excitement. He shouted to his fellow inmates, heralding his imminent departure.

Celebrations are rare on death row, but for Hinton, the recent days had been spotted with moments of joy. He had gifted his television, books, food, and spare clothes to the inmates. And now, he made a declaration, filled with optimism, echoing through the prison halls. He had endured for 30 long years to reach this point. His fellow inmates shouldn't lose heart even if it took 31 or 32 years for them.

In response, the inmates echoed his name, banging on their cell bars, chanting, "Hin-ton! Hin-ton!" This moment transported Hinton back to his high-school basketball games, drawing a stark contrast from the time when racial slurs were hurled at him instead of his name. It offered a poignant reflection on his life, brimming with a chaotic blend of tragedy, grief, and joy.

Back in the county jail, Hinton patiently waited months for his retrial, grappling with more delays. In a ludicrous turn of events, the district attorney's office misplaced the gun and bullets from the original case and falsely accused Stevenson of theft. This underscored the state's unyielding stance against Hinton's liberation.

Eventually, an ecstatic phone call from Stevenson brought the long-awaited good news. The state, without notifying anyone, filed papers stating they were revoking Hinton's charges. He was scheduled to return home on the upcoming Friday.

Overwhelmed by emotion, Hinton crumpled to the floor, weeping tears of relief.

On Friday, April 3, 2015, dressed sharply in a black suit gifted by Stevenson, Hinton finally stepped out to embrace his freedom. He hugged his best friend Lester and shared tender moments with his nieces and sisters. As he took in the multitude of faces surrounding him, he reveled in the realization that none of them could dictate his actions.

At last, he was free.

Emerging into the world, Hinton grapples with his newfound freedom and leans into the power of forgiveness.

As Hinton's close friend Lester drove him away from prison, he experienced his first brush with a world that had changed dramatically during his incarceration. A woman's voice suggesting a left turn startled Hinton, leading him to question where the voice was coming from. Between laughter, Lester explained the workings of the GPS system — one of the many new realities Hinton had to become familiar with after having been cut off from the world for 30 years.

His first night at home turned out to be more challenging than he had expected. As he sunk into the plush comfort of his bed, a sense of panic overwhelmed him. Turning to the bathroom for solace, he discovered a strange comfort in its dimensions, remarkably similar to his cell. The familiarity of the confined space provided him with a sense of comfort, and he chose to spend the night there, sprawled on the bathroom floor, his head cushioned by a bath mat.

With his past still looming in the background, Hinton began a personal routine that helped him feel secure in his freedom. He purposefully created a daily alibi, ensuring his presence was recorded on security cameras, informing people of his whereabouts, and always saving receipts from his shopping trips.

Despite his dark journey, Hinton emerged with a heart embracing forgiveness.

The prosecutor who condemned Hinton, fully aware of his probable innocence, authored a book before his death. In it, he accused Hinton of being a shrewd killer, merely based on his appearances. Despite the unfair hand he was dealt, Hinton forgave the prosecutor, his initial lawyer, his judges, and everyone else who contributed to his wrongful conviction. His mother's teachings on forgiveness and his introspective journey on death row instilled in him the transformative power of forgiveness.

Death row offered Hinton profound life lessons. It emphasized the value in how we choose to live — whether we opt for love over hate or aid over harm. And the reason these choices matter is because life can take a dramatic turn in just a single moment, catching you completely off guard.

Summing it up

The crux of the narrative lies here:

Hinton's real transgression was being a Black man burdened by poverty in Alabama. The state was hell-bent on sending him to the gallows, turning a blind eye towards his innocence, focused solely on his skin color. His unwavering hope allowed him to carve out a life and semblance of freedom while on death row. Yet, the stark truth remains — an innocent man like Hinton should not have had to endure such a dreadful ordeal.