Internet ads unlock cell doors

Kim Smith

Sunday, Feb. 20, 2000 | 9:43 a.m.

Shannon Grillo's personal ad doesn't give her measurements. It also doesn't mention her favorite color, her sexual fantasies or her description of the perfect man.

It does say that she's a murderer, however.

The 29-year-old is serving two life sentences for the stabbing death of Las Vegas resident Paul Taylor, 73, eight years ago. She also is one of a growing number of inmates in Nevada and across the nation who are placing personal ads on the World Wide Web.

Grillo, a former prostitute and drug addict who is serving her time at the Southern Nevada Women's Correctional Facility in North Las Vegas, is eligible for parole in 2006. She says developing relationships with people outside of prison will help her from sliding back into the life she was leading when she killed and robbed Taylor, one of her customers.

"Someday I'm going to get out, and I'm going to live next door to you and your children. I will have been sitting in prison 13, 14, 15 years. Who do you want living next to you, an animal in a cage or someone who made some bad choices in her life who has gotten some help and gotten an education?" Grillo, 29, said. "If you treat me like an animal, I will become an animal. If you treat me like a human, I will respect that."

A family friend paid for Grillo's one-year membership to PrisonPenPals.Com, an Internet provider based in East Berlin, Pa., that lists more than 6,000 inmates on its site. She is one of nine Nevada women currently listed on the site. She said she gets three or four letters a week.

Howard Skolnik, a spokesman for the Nevada Department of Prisons, said he doesn't know how many of the states' 9,500 inmates have Internet ads because the state doesn't track them. He admits that, personally, he has mixed emotions on the subject.

"There are those inmates who just do their time and want to get out, and then there are others who still want to take advantage of everyone and everybody they can," Skolnik said. "So, I have some concerns, but at the same time, anything that helps them maintain a sense of belonging to the community is a good thing. Most of these people do tend to get out and if they've been isolated they tend to feel bitter and anti-social."

Grillo's ad is at odds with many of the other inmate ads, which range from racy to self-serving to pitiful.

Her ad reads, "Hello, prospective pen pals. Looking at my picture you see who I am on the outside, but the only way to know who I am inside is by writing. Please note that I have a lengthy sentence to carry out and if you can look past this, then I look forward to your response. Thank you for taking the time to visit me on this site."

And while many inmate ads don't give the reader any information about their crimes, Grillo's says she is serving time for second-degree murder.

Grillo admits that some inmates advertising on the Internet are looking for sexual thrills, others are looking for love and still others are looking for potential victims. She just wants to communicate with someone.

"I like to hear from the outside world," Grillo said. "Prison is a very lonely place and I like to get birthday cards on my birthday and Christmas cards on Christmas and mail throughout the year."

Nevada State Prison inmate William Bryon Leonard, 39, has two ads on the Internet. One is seeking donations to his defense fund and the other is seeking pen pals.

Leonard was serving time on a second-degree murder conviction when he stabbed a fellow inmate 21 times in October 1987, killing him. He was convicted and placed on death row. He also has served time in connection with a Florida slaying.

His personal ad reads, in part, "I'm on Nevada's death row -- a forgotten being, a discarded human ... I'm oppressed, ostracized and seemingly unsalvageable ... If you can sympathize and want to improve the quality of my life situation, please write me."

Although Leonard did not respond to requests for an interview, his mother, Carol Weaver of Sarasota, Fla., did.

Weaver said her son is desperate.

"He's striving to save his life," Weaver said. "He wants to survive, to stay alive. That's what his goal is. I think he needs pen pals just to stay sane."

Weaver said she isn't sure how many letters her son receives, but he has gotten a "small" donation from a Denmark nurse who supports his cause. She, too, supports his endeavor.

"He's killed some people in his drug-related days. I don't understand that, but I'm still his mother," Weaver said. "If he had taken the right path, he would have been someone because he is a very intelligent man. But he didn't."

The letters he receives break up the monotony of reading books, working out with weights and watching a black-and-white TV, Weaver said.

Las Vegas resident Ron Cornell doesn't sympathize.

Cornell's 16-year-old son, Joey, was gunned down on July 16, 1998. Although the man suspected in the slaying has not yet been caught, the very idea of him one day having an Internet ad outrages Cornell.

"I wouldn't mind them having a website as along as I could talk to my son on the Internet, but until there's a link between Heaven and Earth, I don't think they should have that right," Cornell said.

His sense of injustice is shared by Sandy and Les Sharp, executive director and president of Family of Murder Victims, respectively. The Las Vegas couple lost their son, Roy, 15, eight years ago.

"They can use the Internet to communicate with their family members and their pen pals, but we have to communicate with our son through a picture. They're lucky enough to get visits from family and friends; that's more than what we have," Sandy Sharp said. "They chose to do what they did, and they should have to pay the price. They're there for a reason, and I think it's crazy that they still have the right to communicate with whomever they want to."

Inmate ads on the Internet are a growing industry, said Priscilla Pletcher-Wilcox, founder of PrisonPenPals.Com, which lists prisoners from six countries for a yearly fee of $19.95.

"The Internet allows the best value for their advertising dollar," Pletcher-Wilcox said. "It also gives them the chance to get pen pals from all over the world, not just locally."

Pletcher-Wilcox said that although she knows of one female inmate who got 1,000 letters in one week, the average is four to five. It's not just about having someone to talk to, though, she said.

"Many prisoners have met their future spouse, secured a position after their release, or gotten help with their education from a pen pal," Pletcher-Wilcox said. "We have a retired English teacher who writes to over 50 prisoners and helps them with their writing skills."

Pletcher-Wilcox pointed out that people can find out more about prison inmates through freedom of information laws than they can about their neighbors or the person they meet on the street.

"Our bottom line is getting prisoners' mail, which is their number three request for things they would like the most," Pletcher-Wilcox said. "The first, of course, is freedom, the second is a visit and the third is a letter. By providing them with number three, they sometimes get number two and number one filled, too."

Grillo said that what is written depends on the comfort level of the person writing. She doesn't like to give too much information out about herself until she feels she knows the person, and she respects those who are nervous about writing to her. If she were writing someone in prison, she would use a post office box.

Once she knows someone, she writes about herself, what brought her to prison, her pursuit of an associate's degree, the tutoring she provides other inmates and her hopes for the future.

"I don't go into details of my case, and that's more out of respect for the deceased. It's horrible enough what I did," Grillo said.

Grillo would like to think Taylor's daughter doesn't mind her website. The woman wrote her a few years ago and said she forgave her.

"She's a bigger person than I could ever be," Grillo said, wiping the tears from her eyes. "I know what I took. I took birthdays, holidays and so many more things than a life, and I know that."

Those who write her come from every walk of life, Grillo said.

"I have a couple of married men who write me with permission of their wives," Grillo said. "There's no pretense, and there is not sexual talk. The people who write me are like 'Hey, you're in prison, and I thought you might need someone to write to.' I have guys who are in the military write me and women, too."

By writing with honesty, Grillo said she gets something more than letters back.

"It lets me see how people are going to react when I get out," Grillo said. "My crime was murder, and there's no way around that. To know that people are willing to take a chance on me means a lot."

Kim Smith covers courts for the Sun. She can be reached at (702) 259-2321 or by e-mail at kimberly@lasvegassun.com.

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