Alaska News

Does an Alaska bank robber deserve clemency?

Shortly after Brian Petrilla walked into a bank wearing a ski mask, pointed a loaded gun at a teller's head and demanded money, his recently chosen life of crime came to an abrupt halt.

He left with a few thousand dollars, a disappointing haul considering the risk. Petrilla spent 15 minutes on the run before the tracking device a bank employee stashed among the stolen cash led police directly to him.

Although Petrilla, now 35, has grown worlds apart from that boyish-looking teenage gang member, his current success and its limitations are inextricably tethered to that brief moment. He was fortunate no one got hurt, at least not physically.He did his time, went to college, got married, got a job and became a dad.

Yet for all of his successes, there's one thing the reformed armed robber still wants: Petrilla seeks forgiveness. He wants a pardon. And he's on a campaign to convince Gov. Sean Parnell to give it to him.

"There is no excuse for what I did," Petrilla said in an interview earlier this week. "This whole process is not to excuse what I did. It's that I did everything since then to be rehabilitated."

Petrilla's quest raises questions about the goals of Alaska's justice system and reveals a deficiency in the state's clemency policies. His story is one of a rehabilitated violent offender who, years later, returned to the same youth facility where he served his sentence. This time he entered as a staff member.

In December 2007, Petrilla signed on as a juvenile probation officer with the Division of Juvenile Justice, connecting the two ends of his transformative journey from hoodlum to law-abiding citizen -- and a person who has spent more than a decade contributing to the system that helped him turn his life around.

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Because he was 17 when he stormed into an Anchorage branch of Alaska USA Federal Credit Union, Petrilla could have been tried as an adult, but he was spared the harsher outcome when a judge ruled in his favor and allowed the case to be handled in the juvenile system.

When Petrilla turned 16, things weren't bad at home but he and his parents argued frequently, and he just decided it was time to leave, he said. Once on his own, he quickly fell in with the wrong crowd and made a lot of bad decisions. After Petrilla's arrest, Judge James Hanson described Petrilla as "17 going on 12 ... a very immature, self-centered, naïve young person with no sense of responsibility and no ability to provide for himself."

Hanson was troubled by Petrilla's brazen act that could have injured or killed someone, an action that had no specific underlying cause. His family wasn't abusive and he had no mental health or drug or alcohol problems. Still, Hanson had reason to believe there was hope for Petrilla after experts who testified at the hearing said with structure and therapy Petrilla should mature and be able to fit into society.

Eighteen years later, Petrilla believe the court made the right choice. "I think that it's undeniable the system worked in this case," he said.

Despite his achievements and the fact that his criminal past doesn't appear in background checks (juvenile records are confidential), Petrilla has encountered employment obstacles. He once hoped he might become a border guard, but was turned down when, during the application process, he was required to disclose his full criminal history. He could choose to lie but doesn't, he said. His wife would like to run a home day care but can't because of Petrilla's past.

In 2007, Alaska expanded its definition of "barrier crimes" -- crimes which bar a person from professions requiring state licensure or certification --to include violent crimes committed by juveniles. The same law will prevent Petrilla from advancing within the Department of Health and Social Services, should he choose to do so. Because of this, Petrilla asks "if the system is meant to rehabilitate, why not complete it?"

In 2007, then-Gov. Sarah Palin signed a law that requires the governor and the parole board for the Department of Corrections to work side-by-side when considering requests like Petrilla's. They have a mandate to keep victims informed about an offender's request and to take victims' feelings about it into consideration.

The arrangement has thus far not worked to Petrilla's advantage.

Petrilla first approached the parole board in 2009, but was turned away. It didn't have policies in place to deal with a request concerning a defendant's juvenile record. Had Petrilla been tried in adult court, the process would have been straightforward.

More recently, he has approached the governor's office only to again be referred back to the parole board. It appears, however, that policy changes are in motion; whether those changes relate to Petrilla's unique situation aren't known. Parnell spokeswoman Sharon Leighow was able to confirm that the state is "reviewing the clemency process," but state employees more familiar with the details weren't available Thursday or Friday for comment.

In pursuing a pardon, Petrilla has become his own historian, meticulously documenting his case, his rehabilitation, his resume, Alaska's clemency history and recent efforts in other states to provide a clemency mechanism for youth offenders. He organized the information into three ring binders, and sent them to anyone he thought could help -- the parole board, the governor, lieutenant governor, journalists.

While he doesn't know what the women he robbed -- he remembers the absolute fear on her face -- might have to say about offering him forgiveness, he has made an effort to contact the president of Alaska USA. Petrilla said the meeting went well. He doesn't know what has happened to the tellers in the years since his crime. They no longer work at the credit union and he doesn't believe it's appropriate for him to initiate contact with them.

Still, Petrilla has assembled a remarkable band of cheerleaders, including the prosecutor and defense attorneys in his case, a children's court judge and four colleagues, some of whom have known him as both a resident at McLaughlin Youth Center and a staff member. In a letter to Parnell in support of Petrilla's request, Lisa Nelson said she's glad she lost her argument at the trial to have Petrilla treated as an adult.

"He really has turned around and has devoted his life to helping kids in his same situation," she said. "He and his family should not have this single incident affect their life forever and hinder Brian's ability to use his knowledge, experience, talents, and education more fully – perhaps even in the area of law enforcement."

Children's court judge William D. Hitchcock, before whom Petrilla appears on a near weekly basis in his role as a juvenile probation officer, made a similar appeal. Calling Petrilla's case "very unique" in his "30-year career as a juvenile court judge," Hitchcock has urged Parnell to grant Petrilla a pardon.

"The juvenile justice system is grounded in the concept of balanced and restorative justice. Brian Petrilla is a prime example of the restorative principle of justice. He deserves the opportunity to move forward in his life and career without the specter of his juvenile record holding him back," he wrote.

Despite the stellar endorsements, Petrilla knows clemency may be an uphill battle. "I think any governor would be a tough sell on pardoning a bank robber," he said. But Petrilla sees no reason not to try.

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"I am no longer the 17-year-old juvenile delinquent adjudicated on felony charges some 18 years ago. I am clearly a responsible, productive and contributing member of our community," Petrilla states in his letter seeking clemency to Parnell. "Please forgive me for my criminal acts, not because they were insignificant but because I have done the work you asked me to do and deeply desire to be forgiven."

Contact Jill Burke at jill(at)alaskadispatch.com

Jill Burke

Jill Burke is a former writer and columnist for Alaska Dispatch News.

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