I Was Shot And Raped By An FSU Player. I Still Cheer For The Seminoles.
Florida
State quarterback Jameis Winston was in the process of driving the
Seminoles 80 yards in 1:06 to win a national championship, and Ashley
Witherspoon, class of '91, was getting loud.
"I was
excited and proud my team was playing for a national championship,"
Witherspoon says. "I was on the edge of my seat, wearing garnet and
gold, cheering as they marched down the field."
This
put Witherspoon in the company of just about every other 'Noles backer
on the planet. What separated her is that she had every reason not to
root for a Florida State football team, particularly one quarterbacked
by a man who had been accused of raping a fellow student.
Nineteen
years ago, Witherspoon was shot, raped, and left for dead by Michael
Gibson, a former Florida State running back. The state attorney handling
the case was Willie Meggs, the man who two decades later decided there
was insufficient evidence to file charges against Winston. Witherspoon's
assailant was convicted and sentenced to six life sentences, five of
which were upheld despite then-FSU coach Bobby Bowden's writing a letter
of reference on Gibson's behalf.
Today,
Witherspoon is a lawyer. She's married and lives in South Carolina. I
spoke with her in January, and what follows are her reflections on the
incident, culled from our interview.
[On
Dec. 12, 1993, Ashley Witherspoon had recently taken her LSAT and was in
the middle of filling out law-school applications. She was living in an
apartment near campus, taking an accounting class at a local community
college, working as a state employee, and enjoying her last days in
Tallahassee. At 7 a.m., someone knocked on her door.]
I was
upstairs and figured it was my boyfriend on his way to work, stopping by
for something. There was no peephole, and I couldn't see through the
blinds who was at the door. I opened it, and Gibson was standing there.
He asked if "John" was home. I said, no, he had the wrong apartment
and started to close the door. He asked again, "So John's not home?" At
this point, I knew something was wrong and didn't care if I appeared
impolite or rude. I went to shut the door. He immediately slammed into
it with his shoulder. I was pushing with my back against the door, my
feet wedged against stairs leading up to second floor, but I couldn't
hold it. He pushed his way in. He had a gun in his hand by that point
and a blue bandana covering his nose and mouth.
We
struggled. I was shot twice at point-blank range. I could smell smoke
and my ears were ringing so bad. The bullet went into my left breast and
came out the right side. I was standing at such an angle that the
bullet passed right through me—it carved a little tunnel, but didn't
damage anything. If you looked at me in a bikini, you could see a scar
right about the bikini line, but when I went to the emergency room, they
spent more time doing the rape exam than treating the wound.
Looking
back, I realize I was in shock because I said, "Did you just shoot me?" I
saw a gun, but thought if I'd been shot I'd be bleeding, on the floor,
or dead, not standing there breathing in smoke. In my 911 call, I kept
saying I must have been zapped by a stun gun because I had this burning
sensation.
Michael Gibson in 1992 and 2013.
What I've
never gotten over, never been able to stomach, is that at that point,
after shooting me, he made me lie down on the bed and raped me. How sick
is that? I was already compliant, already doing what he asked, and for
him to be that gross and inhumane …. The only things I used to beat
myself up about were opening the door, and not playing dead or falling
into a heap and screaming hysterically. But that's not how it happened.
On the way
out, Gibson stole my Christmas presents, the proverbial Grinch. I had
some presents wrapped for friends and family. He tore them open to see
what they were, then took them when he left.
I didn't
know Gibson, had never laid eyes on him. He lived a few blocks away from
my apartment complex and saw me going inside. He was driving home after
being out all night and our paths crossed that way. At the trial, he
didn't take the stand, but his lawyers tried to come up with some crazy
story that this was consensual and I knew him somehow. I never had
relations with him, or anyone on the football team for that matter.
That was not my world.
It's such a
weird, awful, awkward experience to have to talk about it, to tell
strangers about being forcibly ... I hate the word "rape." But you're
talking and hoping like hell they will believe you. I knew I was stating
facts. But it's still a feeling of "Please, listen to me."
It was a
slam-dunk case. I was the perfect victim. I wasn't drunk or high. It
happened during the day. Willie Meggs was my attorney. He was a bulldog.
I felt like he was going to help protect me and make it right. I
remember him saying something like what they needed was to set up an
electric bleacher, fill it with offenders, and have a "lights-out
party"—that it would really help in crime prevention.
[Gibson
received six life sentences: four for rape, and one each for armed
burglary and for attempted felony murder. But in 2003 Florida's Supreme
Court ruled in an unrelated case that there is no such crime as
attempted felony murder, and, as a procedural matter, Gibson received a
new sentencing hearing. Then-FSU coach Bobby Bowden wrote a letter of
reference on Gibson's behalf. It concluded: "Thank you for reading my
letter and may God direct you in your decision." Ultimately, Gibson's
other five life sentences were upheld. Bowden has never contacted Ashley
Witherspoon.]
The letter
seemed to be boilerplate. Bowden came off as stand-offish. He wasn't
saying, "Please, please, please, you have to reduce this guy's
sentence." It was a fluke that we even had that hearing, dropping the
attempted felony murder charge. I now tell people "I got shot for free."
When I gave
my statement to the police I said Gibson was so calm about the whole
thing. He wasn't a bit worried and I knew he'd done it before. At the
re-sentencing, I learned that Gibson held a screwdriver to a woman's
throat and raped her because he tried to use that same woman as his
alibi in my case. She'd never mentioned the attack to anyone because
they'd gone out on a consensual date. After they caught him, they found
out he'd also held a man at gunpoint while raping his girlfriend. I met
the boyfriend and the father. They were no longer together and he
explained how Gibson had destroyed their relationship. The father talked
about how his daughter was a shell of a person, hasn't had a life since
the rape. I'm glad I put a stop to it. He was only going to get worse.
Florida
State head coach Bobby Bowden is escorted off the field after the
Seminoles' victory over Nebraska in the 1994 Orange Bowl.
There's a
pattern. We keep looking the other way because these guys are a frigging
commodity. Football is a fraternity, a club for life for these people.
The thing that sticks in my craw is that he signed the letter "Coach
Bowden," as if we all wouldn't know who Bobby Bowden was. Who signs
"Coach Bowden" unless you're signing a poster or a football? And you're
signing this to a judge? Maybe it was a secretary, but someone signed it
with his authorization. It bothers me there was no thought to find out
from me, or the other victims …. On the one hand, I want to remember the
school, the team and Bowden fondly, but if I did sit down and think
about it …. I don't know, it's always pissed me off.
[On
Nov. 13, 2013, word leaked that Jameis Winston was the subject of a
sexual battery investigation. The next month, Willie Meggs, now a state
attorney, announced that no charges would be brought.]
The Winston
charges did sting and hit close to home, so by choice, I didn't pay
close attention. I hope for his sake and the victim's that nothing did
happen, but I feel powerless. What can I do? So, why let it get to me? I
tuned it out. Honestly, when it first came up, and given the little bit
I allowed myself to hear, I did think the timing of it was strange.
Like maybe someone was trying to derail Winston's Heisman campaign or
the national championship. And it wasn't because I root for Florida
State. It could have been the Auburn quarterback, or A.J. McCarron. I'm
fairly jaded about our media. I feel like people want to sling mud and
knock another one off the stand.
When I was
at Florida State there were these "Bat Girls"—maybe they're still
there—and they were used for recruiting purposes for the baseball team.
Why do high school seniors and college freshmen need beautiful girls to
show them around and take them out? What's really going on? What are we
teaching them? What are we offering them? I'm not making excuses for
offenders, but sex, drugs, and rock and roll is a big part of it.
[I
filled Witherspoon in on some of the details she had missed: that the
victim claimed a detective had warned her against pressing charges
because "Tallahassee is a big football town," and that Meggs and
reporters had laughed their way through their press conference announcing that Winston would not be charged.]
I guess
we'll always be a football school in a football town. I believe a
detective could have said that. It hurts me to think that's the truth,
but it is possible, as important as football is to Florida State. That's
the identity of that school. I didn't know she reported it right away.
I'm a little embarrassed now. In hindsight, I guess I should have paid
attention.
I did read
up on the Willie Meggs press conference, I was flat-out surprised that
Meggs is still the state attorney after all these years. I was upset and
disgusted. This isn't a speeding ticket. After that, I went the
opposite direction: This is not just someone trying to dig up dirt.
These are serious allegations. This isn't Facebook or Twitter. We're not
here for Tallahassee to say, "Hooray, the Florida State quarterback can
play in the ACC championship."
Everything
about it stunk and put a completely different spin on it, in my mind.
When I had dealings with Meggs, he was a protector. He was incredibly
invested in my trial. Hardcore. So to hear that he could laugh and not
take it seriously, so it became a media joke session—it hurt me. That
wasn't the Willie Meggs I knew. He was my knight in shining armor way
back when. That luster is gone.
I have a
sticker on my car. I'm proud of my university and that my team won, but
I'm not a Seminole fanatic. I love sports, all college football. My
husband went to Clemson, so we go to a lot of games up there. I wear
orange, except when they play Florida State and I'm in our colors, doing
the war chant and all that stuff. This year, that game was a lot of
fun. … No, it wasn't even that much fun because it was such a thrashing,
but I'm not a crazed fan who lives and dies with the 'Noles.
At FSU,
like a lot of schools, football is what get the public's attention, in
both a positive and negative way. Free Shoes University, right? I love
it when athletics are the key to a kid staying in school, using his or
her talents to advance and get an education, in addition to sports. We,
universities in general, not just FSU, don't get much national attention
for Rhodes Scholars or winning a debate/math/science bowl. However, I
think that overall we're doing a majority of these athletes a disservice
by promoting them as some kind of demigods, allowing them to think that
they are making a significant impact in the world because of their
physical prowess. The realistic part of me understands that they are
helping to fund an industry: They help employ contractors to build
stadiums, guards to secure it, vendors to sell hot dogs, IT companies to
manage ticket sales, so on and so forth. But football is technically
not a degree.
I almost
got into a fistfight with a soccer coach friend of mine who believes
athletes should get paid. It offends me. I love sports, but it's
ridiculous that we idolize athletes. I don't care if football raises
money for other college sports. If college football is just a mini-NFL
training ground, then put them in the goddamn NFL. I just wish athletics
in college were clean and pure. But they're not. We're not stupid. You
can't tell me these programs aren't crooked as hell. I hope there's an overhaul. If Florida State covered something up, shut them down.
And yet,
there I was rooting for them to beat Auburn, excited for them because
it's my school. I guess that will always be with me. The Winston charges
hurt, and I will say after the game …. Well, it's great that he was
smiling and excited, that he's talkative and not a lump, but I wanted
him to shut his mouth. The "adversities" he kept referring to—Florida
State didn't have a tough season, no bad losses, major injuries, no
quarterback controversies other than the question of if he's another
rapist. That was the only adversity.
[Witherspoon doesn't mind talking about her own attack; sometimes, she's even grateful for the chance.]
The way my
mind works is I tell people, "You'll never believe this story." I watch
their mouths go up and down as they hear the details, but to me, it has a
happy ending. Not that I don't think about the attack, get melancholy,
or get spooked by it, but I'm the one who came out on top.
You may not
believe me, but I feel sad for Gibson. I feel sad for the dumb, dumb
decision that he made, but he had a choice. I never believed he shot me
intentionally, but what he did afterward …. He could have left right
away. He could have said, "I'm so sorry," or even, "Shit! I gotta get
out of here!" Instead, he saw me alive and breathing and finished what
he started. He saw a woman and wanted sex.
I don't
blame his upbringing or society or whatever. He could have stopped then
and there. He didn't, so he's the idiot in jail for the rest of his
life, missing out on raising a child, Christmases, birthdays ...
The attack
didn't bring me down. Even back then, I kept right on, finishing my law
school applications and enrolling at LSU. I didn't miss any school
except for the week I had to testify.
And it's
not because I made a conscious decision. I have little to no willpower.
For whatever reason, I never had to wake up and make a daily choice to
go on about my business. I had a hard time in the re-sentencing trial
because I wasn't able to give some dramatic presentation on how much
this event traumatized me. It happened for some reason, and I'm able to
deal with it. I feel guilty or awkward sometimes that I'm not the
"victim" people expect. In no way am I downplaying this for other
people who've experienced an assault or rape. This is just the way I
perceive my event.
I'm not
deeply religious. I don't practice, read the Bible, or preach to anyone.
As I get older, I've become more spiritual, and the Gibson thing did
make me believe in something bigger. I'm sincere when I say I'm lucky.
It could have been worse. He didn't sodomize me, he didn't beat
me...Before I got shot, I tried to use the phone. He ripped it out of
the wall and hit me on the cheek. I'd never been hit intentionally by
anybody. That hurt worse than anything. I will never understand why guys
fight. I had an awful yellow bruise on my face and I couldn't smile,
but when I put on a tank top and see the scar. How did it miss my heart?
How did I not die? There was some higher power at work.
When I
first got your email, I didn't know what to say, but I was glad you sent
it. Nobody's ever paid any attention. One of the reasons I'm talking to
you is that I'd like to help women who've been attacked. If my story
offers any comfort, or if I can be a role model in some way …. I wish I
could do more for people. I have a loving husband, a daughter in seventh
grade, and a son in fifth. I have a great life. A normal life.
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