In his story, “The Curious Case of the Prisoners in the Wrong Cellblock,” Oregon State Penitentiary inmate Sterling Cunio reveals the fears that grip him as he tries to make a phone call from inside the prison, while keeping an eye on two suspicious inmates who show up. This is not their cellblock, and they are wearing winter coats on a hot, summer day – coats with big pockets that can hide weapons.
“This alarms me,” he writes.
He details the various indignities he endures (voice mail hell!) while calling his wife to find out the fate of a story he has submitted to The Marshall Project and Vice. It will turn out that the two strangers who don’t belong in his cell block are there to dash into the general-purpose room and snag three Cokes.
The intent of the story is to make us feel the injustice of Life Inside.
The bio box at the end of the story states that Cunio “was convicted of double aggravated murder, kidnapping and robbery for his role in a carjacking committed when he was 16.” Then, in what is supposed to hit as the unfairness of it all: “His earliest release date is 2066.”
Adding to the poignancy of Cunio’s plight was the news this month that he has won a PEN America Writing For Justice Fellowship. According to PEN America’s website, the goal of this fellowship is “to ignite a broad, sustained conversation about the dangers of over-incarceration.”
Earlier this year, he received a $3,500 grant from the Oregon Literary Arts Fellowship.
Could Cunio be another Malcolm Braly? That would be the ultimate best-case scenario for a writer of the prison genre. Braly was a good writer, and he made a living off his writing after he was paroled. But Braly never did time for killing anyone. (Today, a burglar like Braly can even avoid prison entirely in some states, including Oregon.)
Could Cunio be another Jack Henry Abbott? That would be a worst-case scenario. Abbott’s writing was raw and distinctive, but he was clearly disturbed and had no business being paroled. Courtesy of Norman Mailer and various celebrities who thought it was wrong for an artist of Abbott’s caliber to languish in prison, he was released even though he had killed a prison inmate, and even though a casual reading of his “In the Belly of the Beast” revealed a man who would never be able to assimilate among the law-abiding.
Four weeks after Abbott was paroled, he stabbed to death a young waiter in New York.
Like Braly and Abbott, Cunio will probably have a shot at parole. It seems that everyone is pushing to end mass incarceration now, including politicians in both major parties.
Cunio’s fellowship announcement this month arrived a couple of weeks after MacArthur Fellowships (also called genius grants) worth about $625,000 each were awarded to Sujatha Baliga and Lisa Daugaard, two criminal justice reformers working to end “mass criminalization.” They don’t even like seeing offenders get arrested.
Baliga, an attorney in Oakland, wants to move away from courts and punitiveness and towards healing and restorative justice. When she was interviewed on NPR, journalist Michel Martin mostly gushed, using as an example of “restorative justice” a case where someone defaces a football field and has to clean it up. How does that translate to violent crime? The genius winner mentions dialogue – “where someone takes responsibility for what they’ve done.” Martin didn’t press her.
Daugaard, a former public defender in Seattle, is opposed to punitive policing and pushes a program called Law Enforcement Assisted Diversion (LEAD). Instead of arresting offenders, police are encouraged to refer them to various services. Could this be why Seattle’s homeless problems are getting worse? Has she seen “Seattle is Dying?” When she was interviewed by Oregon Public Broadcasting’s Dave Miller, he didn’t broach the subject.
All of this bodes well for Cunio. When the Salem Reporter covered the announcement of his fellowship win, it buried the nature of his crime and gave no details.
When he was 16 years old (one month away from turning 17), Cunio and his buddy, Wilford Hill, 18, kidnapped Bridget Camber and Ian Dahl – a young couple engaged to be married. Dahl, 21, was kissing his 18-year-old fiancé good night in the parking lot of his Salem, Ore., apartment when Cunio and Hill struck.
They kidnapped the couple at gunpoint and forced Camber into the passenger seat of her car and Dahl into the back seat. With Cunio driving, they headed to a rural area outside Albany. On the drive, they ordered Camber and Dahl to give up their wallets, jewelry and other personal items. When they arrived near Hyak Park, they tied them up and forced them into a ditch. Cunio shot and killed Dahl, while Hill shot and killed Camber.
It’s roughly 22 miles from Salem to Albany. What was going through the minds of Camber and Dahl during the journey? What does it feel like to be at the mercy of two teenage guys with guns? Did Camber and Dahl cooperate – “Go ahead and take the car – you can have it.” Did they try to befriend them – “You guys must be going through a rough time. We won’t call the cops.”
We will never know what really happened in the final hour of life for Bridget Camber and Ian Dahl, who weren’t much older than their killers.
Camber, the daughter of a school teacher, was attending Chemeketa Community College and hoped to become a counselor. Dahl had just been accepted into an electrician apprenticeship. In the meantime, they were working at Pietro’s Pizza in East Salem.
According to the Albany Democrat-Herald, Cunio’s ex-girlfriend, Shawn Taylor, testified the killers took her to see the bodies:
“Standing by the bodies on the gravel road, in the glare of Camber’s car’s lights, Cunio told Taylor, ‘I want you to meet Bridget and her boyfriend.’ She watched as Hill and Cunio took identification and other property from the pockets of the dead couple. … They returned to Salem in Camber’s car and went to Dahl’s apartment where they stole a television, a stereo, video games, beer and other items. She (Taylor) asked Cunio who lived there. ‘Them fools that I shot,’ he said.”
Later while driving, with music blaring from the car stereo (Snoop Dogg’s “Murder Was the Case” was Cunio’s favorite), they bragged to each other: “Did you see how they jumped?”
Nine months after the murders, the Statesman-Journal in Salem carried a story in which Cunio declared he was the victim:
“As he sees things, he wasn’t given a chance. The system is set up to fail, and it failed him. Those who run the system are hypocrites who don’t really care about people like him.”
But the story notes that from the age of 14, Cunio was offered rehabilitation programs and counseling. He wasn’t interested. He wanted to do what he wanted to do, and nobody stopped him – until he committed aggravated murder.
Ten months after he murdered Camber and Dahl, Oregon voters passed Measure 11 to get tougher with violent criminals like Cunio. But earlier this year, the Oregon Legislature passed SB 1008 overturning portions of Measure 11 so it will be easier for a young guy to kill two people in cold blood and catch a second chance.
Cunio was among those cheering for the change and frustrated that it wasn’t retroactive. He had been sentenced to two consecutive life terms. If SB 1008 were retroactive, he would be entitled to a parole hearing today.
Cunio is making plans and moving ahead with his life as if a loophole – or new legislation – awaits. Times have changed, and he has changed with them. Back in 1994, Cunio considered himself “mixed race (in his photos at the time he could easily pass for white). In 2019, he calls himself black and wears his hair in long braids.
At 17 when he was sentenced, he understood even then the power of words to manipulate. He chose – against his attorney’s advice – to take the witness stand in his own defense at the sentencing. From the Albany Democrat-Herald on Aug. 31, 1994:
“The way I was living out there, it was control or be controlled. No 12-year-old can make it on they own. … Yeah, I feel bad. It’s a sad situation all the way around. I feel even sadder that the DA had to drag this out for three days. … Those two young people is dead. I’ve lost people in my family, too. I know I’m gonna be hated. I’m not gonna be forgave. They’s four individuals whose lives are gone and many, many more who are affected. It’s a sad situation, all around.”
In prison, he had time to read and work on his words. Now he writes on his website: “Compassion for the families of Ian and Bridget was beyond my capacity for many years. I did not begin to make connections to the emotional impacts my actions (had) on others until I began to recognize my own dysfunction.”
Where have I read that before? Shaka Senghor, maybe? Author of “Writing My Wrongs: Life, Death, and Redemption in an American Prison,” Senghor (real name: James White) now counts Oprah Winfrey among his fans.
It’s hard to tell since prison writing has become a popular genre, and much of it covers the same ground. The writers are often given a gentle touch when interviewed by the media. There isn’t a deep dive into the particulars of the crimes committed. Standard excuse: You wouldn’t want to be judged by the worst day of your life, would you?
There’s money to be made off of prison memoirs. An inmate with a book deal – or a recognized literary fellowship – can sell himself to Hollywood as a consultant for various TV and movie projects.
One of the best prison books is still Eldridge Cleaver’s “Soul on Ice,” which today might have trouble finding a publisher because he brags about rape. The writing is brutally honest:
“I became a rapist. To refine my technique and modus operandi, I started out by practicing on black girls – in the black ghetto where dark and vicious deeds appear not as aberrations or deviations from the norm, but as part of the sufficiency of the Evil of a day – and when I considered myself smooth enough, I crossed the tracks and sought out white prey.”
Cleaver actually uses the word “evil,” a concept that is not addressed often in prison writing or, for that matter, in criminal justice reform. He acknowledges that had he not been stopped and sent to prison, he would have started “slitting white throats.”
Cleaver writes: “After I returned to prison, I took a long look at myself and, for the first time in my life, admitted that I was wrong, that I had gone astray – astray not so much from the white man’s law as from being human, civilized – for I could not approve the act of rape. … I realized that no one could save me but myself.”
He understood prison authorities could not help him.
Cleaver’s post-prison career never lived up to the promises of “Soul on Ice.” He deviated so far from what the media and literati expected of him that he ended up running for U.S. Senate – as a Republican.
Cunio won’t make that mistake should he be paroled someday. I don’t fear him committing another double aggravated murder. He’s 42 now, married for about 15 years, has taken real estate classes inside prison and has even purchased property. He has earned two associate arts degrees and is working on a degree from the University of Oregon, where he is majoring in crime, law and society.
Instead of using his freedom to kill and rob people, Cunio will turn his criminal history into a career advocating for a progressive agenda that explains away crime.
It wouldn’t surprise me if there were a MacArthur Genius Grant in his future.
– Pamela Fitzsimmons
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This crime is still remembered by people in Salem. Bridget’s mom taught at Grant Elementary. I’m sure Mr. Cunio isn’t the same violent man he used to be. That’s no comfort to his victims. It’s hard not to feel like he’s being rewarded.
If you click one the links you include about the reward you find, “At age 16, Sterling was sentenced to life without parole and has spent twenty-six years in prison where he’s devoted himself to hospice volunteering, mentoring younger prisoners, transforming the culture of street crime and building peace. Sterling is a frequent contributor to community-based efforts to raise awareness around issues of mass incarceration, food scarcity, and Restorative Justice.”
Nothing about the two good kids he killed.
I think that particular link you refer to is from PEN America. Cunio probably didn’t write it, although he likely provided the information on himself. In some of his writings, he readily acknowledges what he did to land in prison. He even refers to “Ian and Bridget” almost as if they are old friends, which is kind of creepy.
It’s more than creepy. He’s appropriating their story to embellish his own.
I’m sure you’ve heard “Hurt people hurt people.” My daughter brought it home from a college sociology class. Sterling Cunio has been taught to believe he hurt people because he was hurt.
If he wants freedom to become a hip-hop star and represent hurt people who hurt people, he can stay in prison. I’d prefer he use freedom to disappear into an anonymous life. No need to glorify his past crimes.
It’s great that he finally feels remorse!! Now he can do society a favor and do good works from prison where he should stay and do his entire sentence. The murders were brutal and senseless and I don’t believe for one min that he didn’t know how wrong it was when he kidnapped them, robbed them and murdered them in cold blood!
He should never be free!
I remember when it happened and I recall there was a racial element to the murders but can’t find much online about the murders. My recollection (it’s been many years so I may be wrong) is that they (Hill & Cunio) said they choose Ian and Bridget because “they wanted to know what it was like to kill a white person”. Does anyone else recall this element of the crime?
It wouldn’t be shocking if Cunio said something like that, but it would be surprising if the media reported it. When I was a reporter in Southern California in the 90’s, the media tread carefully regarding race when it came to black-on-white or black-on-Hispanic or black-on-Asian crime. It has only gotten worse in recent years. You would think only white people are capable of racial hatred.
I didn’t see anything in the trial coverage by the Salem Statesman-Journal or the Albany Democrat-Herald that Ian Dahl and Bridget Camber were targeted because of their race. At the time of the murders, Cunio referred to himself as white. Perhaps he thought that would help him catch a break at sentencing. In prison, he became a mulatto and then black.
He may be released soon, in which case he may claim to be BIPOC — the popular acronym for Black, Indegenous, Person of Color. The Oregon State Legislature now has a BIPOC caucus.