After getting caught stealing $34,000 in federal funds meant for a youth basketball program, former Hillhouse High Assistant Principal Ben Hunter (pictured at left) considered his illustrious career as a mentor and role model “destroyed.” Not so, said Judge Janet Bond Arterton: Swayed by a torrent of testimony in his favor, she spared him prison and instead ordered him to keep on mentoring youth — on how to be a productive member of society and a felon.
After hearing an outpouring of support for the man who shaped the lives of hundreds of New Haven kids, Arterton sentenced Hunter to six months of home confinement and three years of probation in federal court Tuesday. Hunter, who has pleaded guilty to theft of federal funds and falsifying a federal tax return, faced a possible 12 to 18 months in prison, according to federal sentencing guidelines. Arterton ordered him to perform 300 hours of community service, including mentoring young felons, and to pay restitution in the amount of $34,050.
Over a period of at least five years, Hunter stole the funds from the Connecticut Shoot-Out Basketball Camp through an elaborate scheme of falsified paychecks and forged signatures, according to his guilty plea. Hunter retired in the fall of 2004 after charges were made.
“I want to apologize for everything that has happened — if I had to do it all over again, it wouldn’t have happened,” said Hunter to the judge after hobbling to the podium on a polished wooden cane.
Hunter described himself as a “fall guy” in a benevolent plan. “I was trying to do someone a favor, but it got out of hand,” he said.
Arterton didn’t buy his excuse. But she did buy the outpouring of testimony that celebrated Ben Hunter’s civic contributions, painting a moving tale of a Southern plantation worker who rose to be an esteemed educator and pillar of New Haven’s black community.
Educators and black leaders filled the courtroom Tuesday, professing they’d forgiven Hunter his transgressions, and pleading for his return to the people whose lives he’d touched over his 32 years of service in the city’s public schools.
From Plantation to Principal’s Office
Taking the stand in the courtroom, Hunter’s lawyer, Hugh F. Keefe (at right in the picture at top), told what he contended wasn’t a criminal’s sob story, but a “Classic American Story.”
Born in 1947 to sharecroppers in North Carolina, Hunter was the sixth of eight children. He and his family were “in effect, indentured workers for the plantation owner,” said Keefe. They paid off debt through physical labor. When it didn’t rain for two years, they were forced to move out.
The family migrated north to New Haven, where Hunter soon excelled a triple athlete in basketball, football and track. Living in Fair Haven and in the projects on Ashmun Street, he worked hard and ended up getting admitted to West Virginia State University on a basketball scholarship.
Shortly after his return to New Haven, Hunter got involved with the work that would become his legacy: Teaching youth basketball at the Q House (aka Dixwell Community House). He then taught delinquent kids at Troup Middle School, and became an associate principal at Hillhouse High in 1972. (Click here to read his life story, in a court document submitted by Keefe).
Letters that poured into the court on Hunter’s behalf recounted how he gave generously to students, buying sneakers for basketball players, a cap and gown for a graduate, a yearbook, and, often, a school lunch.
One told of how he single-handedly disarmed a boy who was reaching for a loaded gun.
In court Tuesday, a half-dozen supporters got up to speak of how Hunter had touched their lives. Edgewood Alderwoman Liz McCormack, who taught with Hunter back at Troup, commended him for inspiring kids who were on the verge of expulsion from school. “He was their last hope to stay in school.”
McCormack now teaches classes at Gateway Community College. “Every year, at least one or two students in my classes will tell me what a difference he made in their lives.” For many, Hunter — or “Big Ben,” “Huntman,” “The Hunt,” as students affectionately called him throughout the years — was the reason they made it to college, she said.
Despite Hunter’s stealing money from the Shoot-Out basketball camp, the program was still a grand success, testified Jeffie Frazier, principal of the Wexler/Grant School, in an emotional speech to Judge Arterton.
“Mr. Hunter made sure these young men had a chance to achieve,” both on the court and in the classroom, she said.
“Mr. Hunter is the man,” said Frazier, “trust me, Judge, he is.”
We’ve Forgiven You
Leaders in New Haven’s black community spoke of disappointment, but forgiveness.
Willie Greene, who said Hunter had convinced him to get back in school after dropping out, admitted to the judge, “it’s disappointing to have to stand in front of you to talk about what he’s done.”
But “we’ve all forgiven him as a community. … We’d be doing a great disservice to our community to put him away.”
Bethany Watkins, a former Hillhouse student who’s been guided by Hunter’s encouraging words through graduation and beyond, echoed Greene’s sentiments.
“I’m not happy to be here in front of you, but I do understand that in life we all have failures,” she said. “I have forgiven Mr. Hunter for what he has done, because I serve a God that forgives what I have done.” She urged the judge to let Hunter stay in the community, involved with youth — “That is his passion, that’s why he is here. As a community, we have forgiven him.”
Government prosecutors, as could be expected, didn’t feel the same way. “They all spoke beautifully about their feelings for Mr. Hunter,” but lost was the “severity of the offense,” said James Glasser, counsel to the U.S. Attorney, after the testimony.
Hunter “was consciously and deliberately taking money for his own use and his own benefit,” Glasser reminded the court, pushing for imprisonment for six to 12 months.
“The money he was taking was meant to benefit the kids who were involved in the acts of violence in the city of New Haven,” said Glasser. The Shoot-out program targeted low-income youth from seven to 14 years old. Donors such as Yale may hesitate in donating to such programs in the future, he argued, for fear the funds might be embezzled. (Au contraire, Yale’s Mike Morand submitted a letter in support of Hunter, commending him for running “one of the best” youth programs the city had seen.)
The “Fall Guy”
Hunter, wearing in a black suit and stiped tie, with a thick notebook stuck in his breast pocket, approached the stand to say his final piece. He apologized to the court, and touted his accomplishments, especially one incident that earned him commendation: After he wrestled the gun away from a student, he had to wear a bullet-proof vest for two years “because I was threatened by a gang.”
His accomplishments were admitted in Arterton’s court, but his self-pity was not.
“This incident has destroyed my life, my entire life,” Hunter told the judge. “I worked 33 years for a dream” — to build the Hunter Instructional Technology School. He got funding, and had a building picked out.
“That’s been taken away from me — I’m a felon,” said Hunter. “It’s a shame that something you work for all your life, and one incident, you have to be the fall guy.”
Arterton (pictured) stopped him there. “I don’t’ understand about this ‘fall guy’ business. You admitted to stealing federal funds. You admitted to making materially false statements on tax returns. Those are your acts.”
Hunter appealed to his bad hip, his age and his diabetes. “The thing I love has been taken away. I want to beg you, your honor, for leniency — if you can see it in your heart to do that, I would never be involved in another incident in my life.” The former principal repeated: “Everything I love … has been taken away.”
Arterton wouldn’t have it. “People here have expressed their deep respect and admiration,” and their acceptance of the crime, she told him. “It seems to me you owe them some introspection … I think there should be some introspection other than this ‘fall guy’ and this sense that something has been taken away.” You’ve had since March 2004 to reflect, she told him. “What is the result of that reflection?”
Hunter gave one sentence of explanation: “I was trying to take care of people.”
“By stealing?” responded the judge. “From a program that benefits them?”
Hunter remained silent.
“All right,” said the judge, proceeding with the sentencing.
In A Student’s Shoes
Putting Hunter in a reversed role for a minute, Arterton took issue with his assertion that his life as an educator had been “destroyed.” She argued for a no-excuses recovery from the mistakes he made.
“I disagree with you that there are things you cannot do,” she told him. “That seems to me to be the kind of things your students would say, and you would say, ‘Why not?’”
Think on the many students you’ve mentored who’ve become felons, she told him. Would you let them say, “My lawful life is over”?
“There is a role you have to play — it’s the role of a person who is a convicted felon who says, ‘I’m a convicted felon, and I can do things,’” Arterton continued. Given the number of teens with felony records, “there’s a lot of work that needs to be done” to reintroduce them to society.
After uttering the terms of Hunter’s new career, and citing evidence of his civic contributions and charitable work, Arterton pronounced: “A term of incarceration is inappropriate.”
The courtroom sighed in relief. Supporters soon leapt up to surround the educator with hugs.
Willie Greene joined stream of elated supporters trickling onto Church Street.
“I’m very pleased and thankful,” said Greene, relieved Hunter had not been locked away. “He does more good on the outside.”
“All I can say is that I’m happy it was fair and just, and it’s over,” said supporter Deidra Dennis as Hunter, 59, made a slow exit down the courtroom steps with Keefe. Hunter deferred comment to Keefe.
“We think it was a fair disposition,” said the attorney. Of the charge to mentor young felons, he added: “Ben will be delighted to do it.”
Do you ever get the feeling like you're the only one NOT stealing tens of thousands of dollars from this town?