Juror recalls sentencing for Officer Burke’s killer 40 years ago

By Alan Rammer

I was a bit taken back and shocked to read last week in The Daily World a piece by Hoquiam Police Chief Jeff Meyers on the 40th anniversary of the murder of Hoquiam Police Officer Donald Burke on April 16, 1980. Where have all those years gone? I am really now that old. You see, I was a 28-year-old who was called for my first jury duty in October 1980 to serve for the sentencing portion of that case. I thought readers might like to hear the “Paul Harvey” rest of the story.

I don’t remember how I was selected nor the judge’s name, but I do remember being the youngest member seated on the jury to decide the sentence for Robert John DeAngelis. I was in seat 12, I believe, as I was in the lower right corner of the jury box facing the judge. This is important to the story later on.

One of the things the judge explained to us was that Mr. DeAngelis had an extensive criminal record and he had been convicted of being a felon in possession of a firearm years earlier. This allowed the jury three choices: 1) the death penalty 2) multiple consecutive life sentences or 3) multiple concurrent life sentences. The judge explained what had to be agreed upon by us before we could convict for any of the three and it had to be unanimous.

We retired to the deliberation room and the many files that we were to use to guide us in deliberation were brought into the room by the bailiff. There was a mountain of overwhelming files. It still haunts me. We were instructed to chose a foreman and have him or her lead us through the stacks of files. I excused myself to use the bathroom and when I came out I asked the group if we should start choosing a foreman. With that they exclaimed, we chose you. I said, “Don’t we want to vote first?” To which they exclaimed, ”Go ahead if you want but we have chosen you.”

Having never been on a jury, I agreed and jumped into the files. Over the coming hours it became apparent to me and the group that Mr. DeAngelis should have never been in Grays Harbor. He had a 29-year record in California for various crimes. After I initially leafed through the files, I told the group as a way to break the severity of what we were facing: “We should free Mr. DeAngelis because he has a 29-year rap sheet on him”. In shock they asked me how I could say such a thing. I said, “Because the system has so blatantly let all law abiding citizens down in this case, especially the Burke family, if we were to let Mr. DeAngelis go for one more year, he would be eligible for retirement benefits as a 30-career criminal!” It was, I know, 28-year-old humor but I do believe the other jurors knew what I was alluding too.

The next day, we took an initial vote for the death penalty and could not get beyond 2-10 for it. Two of us felt if ever it was called for, this was it. But alas it wasn’t going to happen. We all abhorred the thought of two concurrent life sentences: one for murdering the police officer and the other for being a felon in possession of a fire arm, because that meant there was a chance of parole down the road. None of us wanted this. So we came to agreement for two life sentences: one for the murder of Officer Donald Burke and the other for being a felon in possession of a firearm. This meant he would never come out.

Early on that fall evening when we had decided unanimously, we called for the bailiff. We filed back into the room. It was starting to get dark in the courtroom now, the lighting was darker, and Mr. DeAngelis was dressed in orange prison garb and shackled, sitting not that far away from me. I handed our verdict to the bailiff who handed it to the judge. The judge then polled each jury member to ensure we all agreed, after which he handed our paperwork handed back to me. He then asked me to stand and deliver the sentence. This caught me completely off guard and I was scared. I stood, looking directly at Mr. DeAngelis, and said “We the jury, sentence you, Robert John DeAngelis to two consecutive life sentences.” With that Mr. DeAngelis jumped up, the shackles making a hellish noise and tried to lunge across the table. This scared me to death, such that I fell back into my seat. He yelled out at me, “Who in the hell do you think I am, Methuselah?” The lady juror sitting to my left, grabbed my wrist and asked me who Methuselah was, to which I replied in astonishment, “Not now, I will tell you later.” I then stood back up and the judge thanked us and told us we were free to go.

Mr. DeAngelis had a heart attack in prison at Walla Walla the following spring and died. The two of us who voted for the death sentence now had it.

In the ensuing years many of the police officers involved in the Bear Gulch shootout asked me to please share with them what happened and what was discussed behind those closed doors over two days and just how extensive Mr. DeAngelis’ record really was. To this day I am still puzzled as I think about all those files and files of rap sheets, why he was even out on our streets. The laws designed to protect us, failed us miserably that day in April 1980.

I never got to meet Mrs. Juna Burke in person during the trial and extend my condolences. I had to wait until the Hoquiam Police Station dedication to Officer Burke in 2005 in their lobby.

Now you have the rest of the story.

Alan D. Rammer lives in Central Park