When a Missouri judge overturned Lamar Johnson’s first-degree murder conviction, the first thing he remembers is feeling lighter. “It felt like 28 years of weight was slowly being lifted,” said Johnson, 49, who spent 28 years behind bars for a murder a court found in February he did not commit.
Johnson had always denied his involvement in the 1994 murder of 25-year-old Marcus Boyd — who was one of his closest friends.
Among his supporters in the courtroom during his final hearing, someone stood out: His pen pal of more than 20 years who had always believed in his innocence. Upon hearing the judge’s order, Ginny Schrappen, 80, jumped up from her seat in the packed St. Louis courtroom and joined others cheering in delight.
Schrappen had been present for most of Johnson’s hearings, as he fought for nearly three decades to defend his innocence.
“It was very emotional,” said Schrappen, who wrote him weekly letters while he was in prison. As the judge read the order, Schrappen felt “relieved and happy and joyous,” especially considering everything her friend had been through to clear his name.
Although Johnson said he was with his then-girlfriend when Boyd was killed, the state’s sole witness identified Johnson as one of the shooters, and he was sent to prison for life — with no possibility of parole.
In 1996 and 2002, the men responsible for Boyd’s murder confessed to the crime, and claimed Johnson was not involved. Still, he remained in prison, and lost several appeals in state and federal courts.
Then, a 2019 report uncovered that police and prosecutors falsified evidence in Johnson’s case. In addition to writing fake police reports, the St. Louis Circuit Attorney’s Office also secretly paid its only eyewitness to identify Johnson as a shooter. Despite the new information, Johnson’s case hit more setbacks, and he remained behind bars for another four years.
“I had to fight for 28 years to regain my freedom,” he said.
While languishing in a prison cell, receiving regular letters from Schrappen — a retired teacher in St. Louis — was a lifeline for Johnson, he said. Unlike others, she never doubted his innocence.
“I don’t know how to explain how valuable that was,” said Johnson.
Johnson and Schrappen became pen pals by chance. When they first connected, Johnson was a few years into his imprisonment, and was feeling lost and lonely.
“I was at a low point. I had my mother and my sister, but they couldn’t give me as much attention I needed,” said Johnson.
Even though he was not particularly religious, he started writing letters to churches, “seeking somebody who could give me support and friendship,” he said.
One letter ended up in Schrappen’s hands. She was a congregant at Mary, Mother of the Church in St. Louis County, and a deacon who received the letter passed it along to her and asked her to find someone to reply to it. She decided to do it herself.
When she opened Johnson’s letter, “I was blown away by his handwriting,” Schrappen said. “His cursive just put me to shame.”
As a teacher, Schrappen took note of “his language skills,” and “I could see immediately how intelligent he was.”
She responded to Johnson’s letter, introducing herself and sharing some surface details. Johnson was touched to receive a response.
“From that point on, we just wrote, and she became a source of support for me,” Johnson said.
With each correspondence, “the letters got a little deeper,” Schrappen said, explaining that, from the very beginning, she believed Johnson was innocent. “I knew that he was a very, very good person.”
Johnson quickly felt comfortable sharing his inner thoughts with Schrappen, who never shied away from being open about her own life and personal struggles.
“She shared a lot about what was going on in her life,” Johnson said, explaining that he felt he could “lean on her and express how I was feeling about my situation.”
“That drew us closer, because we had honest conversations and not surface conversations,” Johnson said. “We just connected so well.”
Schrappen felt likewise.
“I did share things with Lamar, and he shared things with me, because we were that connected,” she said. “I was always happy when I saw a letter in the mailbox that was from him.”
After several years of corresponding through snail mail, the pair began having occasional phone calls, and eventually, in-person visits, usually along with two other members of the congregation, and they all “became a surrogate family,” to Johnson, he said.
“I remember the first time,” Schrappen said. “To see somebody in person, to hug them and sit across the table from them, which is what we did, I was almost out of my skin.”
Occasionally, people would judge Schrappen’s friendship with a felon. She shrugged off the rude remarks.
“I think they thought I was crazy,” Schrappen said. “But it didn’t stop me from doing it.”
In addition to writing letters, having phone calls and spending time together in person whenever possible, Schrappen made sure to show up at legal proceedings, too.
“I always told him, ‘Lamar, I’ll be there,’” said Schrappen, who has three adult children, and two grandchildren. “I was one of the people that kept him connected to the world.”
Johnson said her unwavering support meant the world, because “it was genuine.”
After 28 years serving time he didn’t owe, Johnson is finally free, thanks to his lawyers and the Innocence Project, a nonprofit that supports people who are wrongly convicted. They spent years investigating the case and advocating for Johnson’s release. The Innocence Project has also raised more than $570,500 for Johnson.
Though securing his freedom took far longer than it should have, Johnson — who plans to dedicate his life to raising awareness about wrongful convictions — said he is not angry, and is focused on making up for lost time and enjoying his life.
“If you hold onto anger, you’re just going to swap one prison for another,” he said. “As much as there was a lot of setbacks over the years, there is a lot to be happy and grateful for.”
That includes his enduring friendship with Schrappen, which is no longer confined to a penitentiary. Their post-prison reunion at her home was captured in a segment on CBS News last week.
Schrappen hopes the story of their unlikely bond inspires others to be more open-minded and accepting of others — regardless of the circumstances they find themselves in, or the cards they are dealt in life.
“Reach out to somebody that might need a friend,” she advised. “It could mean more than you know.”
