The Department of Corrections’ decision hinged on a hairsplitting reading of Longworth’s original 1986 murder sentence, which specified that punishment for his robbery conviction would be served consecutive to his life sentence, making it essentially hypothetical.
But a legal ruling last year upended that calculus. Handed down by state Supreme Court, the Monschke decision holds that anyone automatically sentenced to life without parole for a crime committed before age 21 may have that punishment reconsidered through the lens of their youth at the time.
Though Monschke does not focus on the role of trauma in crime, during Longworth’s resentencing the abuse he suffered in foster care became an important factor. In one group home, Longworth endured violence so extreme that it was included in a class action lawsuit and won him a significant settlement from Washington state—even as he sat behind bars.
“I was raised to be an animal, and that’s what happened,” Longworth testified about his life in state care.
Sandra Rodgers, the sister of Longworth’s murder victim, made much the same point in protesting his release. Why wasn’t Longworth locked away after committing those robberies when he was 18? she asked, criticizing an “overly permissive justice system” that had allowed a violent youth onto the streets.
Why had he been permitted to earn a college education in prison, and get married, and become a property owner through his legal settlement, when he had obliterated any chance for her sister to have similar opportunities?
“Please don’t dishonor Cindy’s life by elevating the value of his,” Rodgers begged Judge Alexander.
Longworth wept as she spoke.
“My actions as a young person are indefensible, and I’m sorry,” he said. “Prison did not make me sorry. I’ve always been horrified by what I did.”
The crux of Longworth’s argument for release centered on his efforts to atone by working with policymakers to change foster care and prevent future cases like his own, rather than remaining locked behind prison walls.
But none of this mattered to the Department of Corrections, which held to wording that stipulated Longworth serve time for his crimes consecutively, rather than concurrently. That’s where lawyer Casey Trupin stepped in with one last Hail Mary pass.
A new law allows prosecutors to request changes to criminal sentences if an old punishment “no longer serves the interests of justice.” In Trupin’s mind, Longworth was a walking exemplar of that concept.
Yet Trupin had almost no experience in criminal court. He wasn’t even a practicing attorney anymore.
A longtime advocate for foster kids, Trupin had moved from work at Columbia Legal Services into philanthropy. He had kept his law license current but spent his days at the Raikes Foundation, coordinating strategies for homeless youth. Longworth reached out to him after they met at a presentation of his state-raised inmates group at the Monroe Correctional Complex.
“I thought, great guy, but this is absolutely not my bag,” Trupin recalled.
Then he reconsidered. Longworth got back in touch in 2018, by which time he had amassed an enormous network of supporters through his prison work and writing, and he was speaking to issues Trupin had worked on for his entire career.
“He’s such an amazing person,” the lawyer sighed. “I thought, how can I turn my back?”
But had Trupin anticipated the herculean efforts required in the months after Longworth’s resentencing — corralling prosecutors, badgering corrections officials, and buttonholing legal experts — he might never have signed on.
“It was stunning how many times we got close, only to have it ripped out from under us,” Trupin said of the winding road to Longworth’s release. “There was not much question in anyone’s mind that Art could do a lot of good, yet it was incredibly complicated to get him out — in that way, the system is broken.”
In the end, Longworth’s freedom hinged on a quick signature from King County Judge Hillary Madsen, which changed the word consecutive to concurrent. With that, Longworth’s 1983 robbery sentence was satisfied.
After 37 years behind bars, the first place he headed was a pizza joint. The options were overwhelming — sausage? pepperoni? vegetarian? — so Longworth let a friend order for him: barbecue chicken pizza, a dish that didn’t exist in Washington the last time he’d tasted food as a free man.
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Abused in foster care, convicted of murder and a complex story of second chances - Crosscut
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