Innocence Clinic founder Bridget McCormack took DeShawn Reed's case before the clinic even opened. She heard about the case from Steven Drizin, a professor at the Northwestern University Law School's Center on Wrongful Convictions.

DeShawn's plight reached Drizin's radar in December 2007, when he received a package containing trial transcripts and a passionate letter from Samantha Smith, a Reed family friend who sent similar mailings to innocence clinics around the country.

Drizin contacted McCormack just as she was planning to found the only non-DNA innocence clinic in Michigan.

Problem is, McCormack only signed on to represent DeShawn, not his uncle Marvin, who was serving his term in Saginaw (DeShawn did his time at Mound Correctional Facility). The clinic would open itself to conflict-of-interest concerns by representing both men, McCormack warned.

"Say the prosecutors came to Marvin with a deal and wanted him to testify against me,” DeShawn said, “[The Innocence Clinic] would've been forced to bring that deal to Marvin, while representing me at the same time."

Had that happened, DeShawn said, the Innocence Clinic might have been forced to drop both men as clients. Their search for a lawyer would have gone back to square one.

That was a risk DeShawn was willing to take; he felt responsible for his uncle Marvin being in prison. DeShawn said he believes some members of Gholston's family have held a grudge against him since he won over Gholston's girlfriend - a family friend Gholston had known since childhood - back in the eighth grade.

"Their problem was with me, not Marvin," he said.

Going to trial again

But prosecutors never tried to drive that wedge between DeShawn and Marvin. The Innocence Clinic represented both men and got them a new trial in July.

Between Gholston's videotaped 2005 recantation and the fact that the gun used in the shooting was found on another man when he was killed in 2001, Wayne County Prosecutor Kym Worthy decided there wasn't enough evidence to re-try the case. The men were released.

Still, DeShawn and Marvin find themselves dogged by the years they spent behind bars. Both men's files can still be found on the state's online criminal database.

The Offender Tracking Information System Web page says entries are removed "after three years have elapsed from the discharge date," according to state law. That means they'll be on the site until 2012.

Little help starting over

DeShawn and Marvin have returned home to Ecorse and River Rouge, respectively, without a dime of compensation for the years they lost behind bars or an apology.

In Michigan, prisoners granted parole are given more resources to start their lives anew than the men and women who never should have been behind bars in the first place.

The Michigan Prisoner ReEntry Initiative links parolees with community health care organizations and service providers. The program prepares future parolees in making perhaps the toughest transition of all - rejoining and taking a productive role in their families.

These are the same challenges faced by exonerees. But Michigan has no laws on the books granting compensation or any form of assistance to the wrongfully convicted.

Had DeShawn and Marvin been wrongfully convicted in Ohio, each man would've been entitled to nearly $40,000 for each year spent in prison, "in addition to lost wages, costs, and attorney's fees" according to the national Innocence Project.

The state of Illinois employs a sliding scale. For DeShawn and Marvin's eight years, each man would've been entitled to $170,000, in addition to job search and placement services.

State Rep. Jon Switalski, D-Warren/Sterling Heights, introduced legislation in the House Judiciary Committe in April that would compensate exonerees when the legal system misfires. In February, Sen. Martha Scott, D-Highland Park, referred similar legislation to the Senate Judiciary Committee. Neither bill has made it to the floor of its respective chamber.

In return for agreeing to forgo lawsuits against the state, Switalski's bill would grant exonerees $40,000 for each year spent behind bars, damages for costs related to legal defense and medical care, and health insurance for 10 years. Exonerees would also have related fingerprints and arrest records removed from the state's law enforcement information network. 

As it stands, the only assistance DeShawn and Marvin can expect are $500 checks from the Ken Wyniemko Foundation. Wyniemko's foundation helps exonerees get back on their feet once they're released from prison. Wyniemko himself spent more than eight years behind bars for a rape and robbery he didn't commit.

DeShawn's been able to get back on his feet by throwing parties, including his own welcome back party - an Aug. 8 affair called "I Do It For My Hood."

"If it wasn't for my parties I'd be eating out of the trash," he said.

Marvin, meanwhile, makes ends meet by working odd jobs for his brother, Derrick. "I'm just trying to do an honest day's work," he said.

Next steps

If DeShawn and Marvin are going to be made whole for the years they lost behind bars, it will have to come from bringing a successful civil suit related to their wrongful conviction.

McCormack is helping the men screen attorneys for a possible federal lawsuit against the Ecorse Police Department for its role in the Reeds' incarceration.

Ecorse Sgt. Cornelius Herring defended the department's investigation. Herring was an officer at the time of the Reeds' case.

"What were we supposed to do?" Herring asked, explaining that eyewitness testimony from Gholston placed the Reeds at the scene of the crime.

Herring said Gholston was the only shooting victim in Ecorse he's ever known to recant his testimony. Herring also said the case taught him to "be a little more careful" in viewing eyewitness and victim testimony with a degree of skepticism.

Once DeShawn and Marvin get their bearings, they say they'll take a vocal role in speaking out on the problem of wrongful convictions. They started with a speech before the Innocence Clinic on Sept. 8. As the human faces of the clinic's first victory, DeShawn and Marvin feel responsible for letting the clinic's students know their work is necessary and appreciated.

"Our story needs to be heard," DeShawn said.

DeShawn is considering getting his GED degree. He's inspired by the example of his brother, Tienail Reed, who earned his GED and is now close to getting a bachelor's degree in electrical engineering.

DeShawn's not sure which school he might attend or when he might start, but he's read the pamphlets that arrive at his door with interest.

"I just gotta try to take things one day at a time," he said. "It's by the grace of God that I'm even free right now."

James David Dickson reports on human interest stories for AnnArbor.com. He can be reached at (734) 623-2532.