海角大神

鈥楾his thing of darkness I acknowledge mine.鈥 How two murderers found grace performing Shakespeare.

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Melanie Stetson Freeman/Staff
Former inmate actors (from left) Howard Ralston, Sammie Byron, Charles Smith, and Jerry Guenthner pose onstage after a wedding ceremony in Louisville, July 30, 2025

鈥淒o as the heavens have done, forget your evil;
with them forgive yourself.鈥 鈥 鈥淭he Winter鈥檚 Tale,鈥 Act 5, Scene 1

Jerry Guenthner was walking through the prison yard at the break of dawn when he heard the voice.

Haven鈥檛 you put your mother through enough?

Why We Wrote This

The organization Shakespeare Behind Bars has helped violent offenders rediscover their humanity. In this story, two murderers come to 鈥渂e wise hereafter / And seek for grace.鈥

He spun around. Who鈥檇 just spoken to him? It was 6:15 a.m., June 6, 1990. There was no one else in the yard at the Kentucky State Reformatory, where he was four years into a 65-year sentence.

It wasn鈥檛 an apparition, like Banquo鈥檚 ghost or that of Hamlet鈥檚 father. He was just having a rare moment, alone in the yard, heading to chow, admiring the traffic of clouds across an open freeway of sky. Then the voice interrupted, unbidden. It was like somebody talking into his mind. Asking a question that lanced through his core.

Haven鈥檛 you put your mother through enough?

鈥淗e said it again, and then there was no doubt,鈥 Jerry recalls. But he didn鈥檛 feel fear. He didn鈥檛 feel judged. It felt like a conscious message filled with pure love and truth. A divine call.

Four years incarcerated, he鈥檇 become the leader of a crew. A former high school football player, he stood 6 feet, 4 inches tall. The other prisoners had nicknamed him Big G. They feared his reputation. Practically all of Louisville knew what he鈥檇 done, given the news coverage: He had killed a cop.

Now, the 24-year-old oversaw the flow of drugs into the penitentiary. He ran a loan-shark operation and controlled his own gambling ring. He was a fearsome fighter, and even the gangs inside showed him respect.

Jerry鈥檚 family was middle-class. His mother, Dorothy Guenthner, was an accountant, but her husband, also named Jerry, was a bookie and gambler who wore chunky, diamond-studded rings and looked like 鈥渁 cross between Pavarotti and Popeye.鈥 Father and son hung out together at a bar that was like a second home to them.

Not even a year out of high school, the younger Jerry was already dealing drugs such as methamphetamine, which people called 鈥渃rank.鈥 He had styled himself in an Al Capone-style fedora. On the night of Feb. 12, 1986, a friend hooked him up with a man looking to purchase an amount worth $5,600 鈥 a big haul for a night.

The man, John Robert Weiss, drove a sports car with flip-up headlights, and picked him up that night. But Jerry was unable to contact his supplier. The night ended in a parking lot with the men arguing, Jerry鈥檚 potential customer saying he had wasted his time. Mr. Weiss, it turned out, was an armed undercover police officer, wearing a wire. The argument escalated.

Melanie Stetson Freeman/Staff
Dorothy Guenthner sits in her home talking about the impact of her son Jerry鈥檚 38-year incarceration.

Two guns were drawn beneath a sickle moon. The first of the policeman鈥檚 six bullets blew the fedora off Jerry鈥檚 head. The last seared into Jerry鈥檚 arm. Three of Jerry鈥檚 five shots were on target. The wounded policeman staggered through the snow, calling for backup into his wire. It was a sting operation, so the police team arrived quickly, but the undercover officer would die from his wounds.

At Mr. Weiss鈥檚 funeral, his mother, Nimet, was presented with the Stars and Stripes. She cradled it against her heart with both hands. He had been her only child. Months later, she would weep every day in the courtroom during the trial.

After Jerry was convicted of murder and sentenced to prison, his father was stoic: 鈥淗ead up, chest out. One day at a time, and never let 鈥檈m see you sweat,鈥 he told his son.

Jerry began serving his time at the Kentucky State Reformatory, and he became something of an inmate boss. His mother, he knew, struggled to maintain her bearings during family visits. Jerry knew his activities in prison put him at risk of being sent to solitary confinement. He would then be handcuffed and behind glass for all future visits. That would deeply wound her.

These worries were just part of the backdrop of that June morning when he heard the voice 鈥 a 鈥渞oad to Damascus鈥 experience, he now calls it. But the fact is, the experience made him change dramatically.

He immediately gave up control of the drug trade and disentangled himself from his gambling operations. Jerry began going to the prison chapel regularly, attending the services of multiple denominations. He felt a kinship with the prodigal son.

The inmate had never thought about abstractions such as redemption, or forgiveness, or finding healing 鈥 for both himself and those he鈥檇 harmed in numerous ways. Jerry wrestled with guilt and confronted major existential questions: Who am I? How do I want to spend my remaining years before I die? What is my gift to humankind?

In 1996, Jerry was up for parole. He had been a model prisoner for six years. The parole board, however, denied the request. Police officials were adamantly opposed to his release. It would be another 12 years before he could apply again.

When Jerry returned from the hearing, he fell back into some of his old ways and got high.

Melanie Stetson Freeman/Staff
Jerry Guenthner (left) shows friend Sammie Byron photos of the house he and his fianc茅e are buying. The two men were in prison at the same time and participated in the Shakespeare Behind Bars program.

Finding light in prison performing Shakespeare

In the late 1980s, when Jerry was working out in the Kentucky State Reformatory gym, he noticed an inmate who was 鈥渓ike the strongest person on the entire planet.鈥

The person was a competitive weightlifter named Sammie Byron. Sammie exemplified the proverbial scrawny kid who bulks up after repeatedly getting bullied at school, which for him included boys sexually assaulting him. At the same time, he was beaten by alcoholic parents at home. Having no one to turn to, Sammie kept a silence that was shrouded in shame.

Sammie, who was finding solace in weightlifting, had also been volatile and violent as he grew older. His first felony as an adult was shooting Wiley, one of the bullies who had sexually assaulted him as a child. Wiley survived.

Then, in 1983, Sammie strangled and killed his lover, Carol Fox. She had been threatening to expose Sammie鈥檚 serial cheating to his wife, Barb, with whom he had a son. He was convicted of murder and sentenced to life in prison. 鈥淭he first thing I did was ask [Barb] to divorce me, because I didn鈥檛 want to imprison my wife and son with me,鈥 Sammie says.

Jerry got to know Sammie better after they both were transferred to Luther Luckett Correctional Complex near La Grange, Kentucky, in the 1990s. Sammie had an easy smile, which creased into his freckled cheeks, conveying his mental fortitude and calm. In a movie, he鈥檇 be played by Morgan Freeman. And Sammie never once got into a fight in prison, a rarity 鈥 and probably because of his size and extraordinary strength.

They lifted weights together and participated in other athletic events, but weren鈥檛 particularly close. But Sammie was a founding member of a program called Shakespeare Behind Bars, and Jerry soon found himself drawn to Sammie鈥檚 crew of inmate actors.

They staged the Bard鈥檚 plays with the help of Curt Tofteland, then-director of the Kentucky Shakespeare Festival. The actors sometimes wore makeup and, when cast in female roles, used balloons as breasts. Jerry noticed that, like Sammie, the participants were different from most of the other inmates.

鈥淭heir light was on,鈥 Jerry says. 鈥淭hey weren鈥檛 dark anymore.鈥

Andy Nelson/海角大神/File
Sammie memorizes lines for a Shakespeare play in his cell at Luther Luckett prison, May 2002.

It wasn鈥檛 easy to keep your light on in prison. Jerry maintained his faith and avoided trouble. But it could be hard to imagine going on with a life inside walls for decades to come.

At the first production, Jerry became a 鈥淪hakespeare groupie,鈥 rapt as he attended all three performances of 鈥淭he Two Gentlemen of Verona,鈥 he recalls. But the play was not just the thing. It was the players.

鈥淚 was like, 鈥業鈥檝e seen these guys do this and have the fun 鈥 and goodness in their heart,鈥欌 he says. 鈥淎nd so I knew it was opening something in them. And I was like, 鈥業 got to get me some of that.鈥欌

Sammie sponsored Jerry鈥檚 application to join. It was an exclusive group. Unreliable inmates could jeopardize the productions. 鈥淐urt鈥檚 first question to me was, 鈥榊ou don鈥檛 get in trouble, do you?鈥欌 Jerry chuckles. 鈥淚 said, 鈥榃ell, not no more.鈥欌

The group opened a new world for Jerry. The men, by design, devise their core values and hold one another accountable in abiding by them. One of these is respect for emotional intimacy.

The director of the program, Mr. Tofteland, does not choose the roles the inmates play. The men themselves make those decisions. And when Jerry joined the group, Sammie was playing the lead role in 鈥淥thello.鈥

In one of his first rehearsals as a member of the group, Jerry witnessed Sammie repeatedly break down in sobs as he tried to perform his lines.

鈥淭he death scene of Othello鈥檚 wife, Desdemona, paralleled the real-life murder I committed,鈥 Sammie says. 鈥淪eeing the look of terror on Desdemona鈥檚 face, I came to see the humanity in my victim, Carol. When I saw the disbelief, the fear, the betrayal in Desdemona鈥檚 eyes, my rage transformed to life.鈥

Sammie chose life, even as he performed Othello鈥檚 final words:

I pray you in your letters,
When you shall these unlucky
deeds relate,
Speak of me as I am.
Nothing extenuate,
Nor set down aught in malice.

Jerry and Sammie became close friends as they continued on as members of Shakespeare Behind Bars. Eventually, the group decided to take on 鈥淗amlet.鈥

As they were deciding on who to play the titular role, Sammie gave Jerry a nudge.

Andy Nelson/海角大神/File
Mr. Guenthner (left) bellows while playing Hamlet next to Philip Rieger, who plays Ophelia, during a Shakespeare Behind Bars production at Luther Luckett Correctional Complex in Kentucky, May 2002.

The question, 鈥淭o be, or not to be?鈥 in the silence of a prison cell

Jerry鈥檚 voice was squeaky for a big guy.

So, Mr. Tofteland gave him a tip: lie on the floor in the visiting room and yell your lines at the ceiling until you learn to use your diaphragm. 鈥淚鈥檝e been bellowing ever since!鈥 Jerry says.

At the time, Jerry had a job in the prison laundry. While folding clothes from the industrial-sized dryer, he鈥檇 memorize Hamlet鈥檚 dialogue. Jerry鈥檚 goal was to learn 30 lines per day. Cumulatively, Hamlet speaks more than 1,400 lines of dialogue 鈥 the most of any role in Shakespeare鈥檚 catalog.

Jerry learned a lot from Mr. Tofteland, in fact. To prepare for each play, the director would ask the group to answer fundamental questions: What does it mean to be human? What do I love? How will I live my life knowing I will die?

Prisons are repositories for shame and guilt, Mr. Tofteland would say. But shame and guilt doesn鈥檛 change behavior.

鈥淭he only way that you change behavior is to change thinking,鈥 Mr. Tofteland says. 鈥淪o, what you begin to introduce is a different way of thinking, a different way of looking at the world, a different way of seeing each of themselves in the world.

鈥淵ou can鈥檛 say, 鈥楾ell us about the time you were raped,鈥 or 鈥楾ell us the time that you saw your father murdered,鈥欌 he says. 鈥淵ou don鈥檛 have language for that. But Shakespeare has language for it. ... So, I can find any event that鈥檚 happened in your life. I can find parallel events that happen in Shakespeare鈥檚 characters.鈥

That鈥檚 how Jerry came to portray Hamlet not so much as a melancholy mope but as someone consumed by anger. In the play, Claudius murders Hamlet鈥檚 father. Jerry could relate to betrayal. An old friend had set up the drug sting by introducing Jerry to the undercover officer.

Shakespeare also pushed Jerry to confront his own existential burdens. 鈥溾楾o be or not to be,鈥 that wasn鈥檛 just a line, you know? It was a question that I had to ask myself in the silence of the cell. The easy way out is to kill yourself,鈥 he says. 鈥淚 had a whole lot of time to do, and it鈥檚 like, 鈥榃ouldn鈥檛 it just be easy not to be?鈥欌

If Hamlet offered Jerry an outlet for venting frustration at outward forces, a later role challenged him to look inward at his own culpability. In 鈥淩ichard III,鈥 the physically deformed protagonist murders his brothers and nephews to become king. Hadn鈥檛 Jerry also destroyed his relationships with his sister, his mother, and his father in a bid to become a drug kingpin? He was ready to take responsibility for being so selfish, so greedy.

During an ugly cry, tears slaloming down his cheeks and snot bubbling through his nose, he got down on his knees. Jerry felt God鈥檚 forgiveness.

He came to view himself in a different way. Jerry says the person who had
been a gangster and drug dealer was a guy with a mask on. He didn鈥檛 have to change who he fundamentally was to be a good man. But he did have to quit wearing the mask.

鈥淭hat light goes back on, and you realize you don鈥檛 have to stay that person,鈥 says Jerry. 鈥淵ou can turn your back on that person and go back to always being the person God intended you to be.鈥

Melanie Stetson Freeman/Staff
Filmmakers Jilann Spitzmiller, running camera, and her husband, Hank Rogerson, standing with mic, work on their documentary 鈥淪hakespeare Beyond Bars" with former prisoner Jerry Guenthner (center, in blue shirt), retired warden Larry Chandler, and former prisoner Sammie Byron during a baseball game at Louisville Slugger Park. Ms. Spitzmiller and Mr. Rogerson produced a documentary about them 20 years ago called 鈥淪hakespeare Behind Bars."

鈥淚 still grieve for the life that I have taken.鈥

In 2011, Jerry sat before a parole board again. The hearing was packed with supporters. The prison鈥檚 warden, Larry Chandler, had submitted a letter about the positive impact Jerry had had on other incarcerated men. It was the only time he had ever testified on an inmate鈥檚 behalf. The board, however, ruled Jerry would have to wait another decade for his next opportunity.

By then, Shakespeare Behind Bars was having an effect far beyond Luther Luckett鈥檚 barbed-wire fences. In 2001, the Monitor had been the first newspaper to report on the program. Then, it became the subject of Hank Rogerson and Jilann Spitzmiller鈥檚 2005 award-winning documentary.

鈥淥ne of the things that 鈥楽hakespeare Behind Bars鈥 the documentary did was bring to light that people can change,鈥 says Mr. Chandler. 鈥淗opefully, people can understand that they can change and find some forgiveness in their heart for the heinous crime that they did, and understand that they鈥檙e trying to do good now.鈥

Sammie, whose story was front and center in the documentary, was paroled from his life sentence in 2014. Prior to his release, Sammie had embarked on his own personal tour of reconciliation. First, with his mother. Then, with his father through a series of letters.

One day at Luther Luckett, Sammie spotted Wiley, the bully who had molested him and whom he鈥檇 shot. Wiley was undergoing rehab at the Kentucky Correctional Psychiatric Center and was visiting Luther Luckett to access its library of law books. Sammie went over to him.

鈥淭he first thing I did was I apologized for shooting him,鈥 says Sammie. 鈥淗e says, 鈥楿h, you know, Sammie, I kind of deserved that. ... It鈥檚 a good thing you were not a very good shot.鈥 So, we laughed together.鈥

Melanie Stetson Freeman/Staff
Barb and Sammie Byron sit together at a wedding. Barb divorced Sammie when he went to prison for murdering his lover in 1982. They remarried in 2016.

Following Sammie鈥檚 release, he worked up the courage to reach out to his ex-wife. Barb, initially skeptical, agreed to meet. They remarried in 2016. 鈥淚 didn鈥檛 marry the same man twice,鈥 she says. 鈥淗e was a totally different person.鈥 Yes, he was bald, she jokes, but he could now recite chunks of Shakespeare and was willing to be emotionally vulnerable.

鈥淚 think the hardest thing was for me to forgive myself,鈥 says Sammie. 鈥淚 still grieve for the life that I have taken 鈥 and I used to hide from that feeling. I never know when it鈥檚 going to overwhelm me.鈥

He remained in regular contact with Jerry, still serving his time in prison. In addition to acting in Shakespeare plays, Jerry fostered dogs as part of the Paws Behind Bars program and acted as a mentor for other inmates. He also earned several associate degrees.

One thing that still nagged him was wishing he could reach out to Nimet Weiss to express remorse for killing her son.

鈥淚t always was on my conscience, even after I changed my fact of being the real me, that I had hurt her,鈥 Jerry says. 鈥淗ow can I fix that? How can I even have the audacity to ask her for forgiveness? And what would that even look like?鈥

Jerry was surprised to find out that a prison psychologist knew Ms. Weiss. Recounting what the psychologist shared with him, Jerry鈥檚 voice breaks and his eyes thicken with tears. She had died, but she had let people know that she had forgiven the man who killed her only son.

In 2021, the parole board once again denied Jerry鈥檚 request for supervised release. He wondered whether he鈥檇 get another chance to live outside prison walls. His father and sister had both died. Would his mother even still be alive?

Melanie Stetson Freeman/Staff
Beverly Lewgood shows Georgie Cain and Jerry Guenthner rings at a jewelry store before their wedding.

I鈥檒l be wise hereafter / And seek for grace.

On a midweek August morning earlier this year, a small audience has gathered in an amphitheater in Louisville鈥檚 Central Park, site of the city鈥檚 annual Shakespeare festival.

A Shakespearean actor takes the stage, surrounded by a minimalist set for 鈥淭welfth Night,鈥 the final play of the festival鈥檚 2025 season.

The actor is about to deliver the most important soliloquy of his life 鈥 but this time, he鈥檚 not acting.

Like a number of Shakespearean comedies, Jerry鈥檚 story at this moment is culminating in a wedding, and he鈥檚 about to say his vows to a woman named Georgie Cain.

Jerry takes a breath and addresses his audience. 鈥淏efore all the people we love and with all the love I have in me, I stand before you today in awe and wonder,鈥 he bellows. 鈥淔ive and a half years ago, I never imagined this moment could be realized.鈥

Melanie Stetson Freeman/Staff
Sammie Byron walks Georgie down the aisle during her wedding to Jerry in Louisville.

Jerry Jerome Guenthner was released from prison in January 2024. Consistent good behavior and credits for becoming the first person in the Kentucky Department of Corrections to get a bachelor鈥檚 degree helped earn his release. He had been behind bars 37 years, 11 months, and 16 days.

Jerry and Georgie 鈥渕et鈥 early during the pandemic. Georgie, thousands of miles away in Australia, was browsing profiles in a 鈥渨rite a prisoner鈥 program.

She was taken with Jerry鈥檚 photo with two huskies he was fostering. They began talking every day; Jerry was smitten by Georgie鈥檚 accent. He describes her as kind, loyal, and generous.

鈥淲e had the most stable love for each other,鈥 says Georgie, who has just moved into their new home. Jerry now works with Sammie at an organization called The Spot, a center that helps at-risk youth learn life skills and find employment.

It is Sammie who gives Georgie away. (鈥淒o I have to call you 鈥楧ad鈥 now?鈥 Jerry later jokes to his dear friend.) Mr. Tofteland, the Shakespeare Behind Bars director, is the officiant. Mr. Rogerson and Ms. Spitzmiller, the documentary filmmakers, are here, too, filming a follow-up documentary titled 鈥淪hakespeare Beyond Bars.鈥

Sitting near Barb, Sammie鈥檚 reconciled wife, is Jerry鈥檚 grinning mother, Dorothy.

鈥淵ou saw me, past my time, past the headlines, past the shadows of my past, and something worth loving, something worth waiting for,鈥 Jerry says to Georgie.

The setting of the wedding, a Shakespeare stage, is meaningful to the couple for a number of reasons. Jerry had fallen in love with the words of the Bard after watching his fellow inmates perform 鈥淭he Two Gentlemen of Verona鈥 nearly 30 years earlier.

Melanie Stetson Freeman/Staff
Curt Tofteland, who founded Shakespeare Behind Bars, officiates at Jerry and Georgie鈥檚 wedding. Mr. Tofteland鈥檚 wife, Michelle Bombe (left), stands as matron of honor, and Charles Smith, Jerry鈥檚 cellmate for 10 years, serves as best man. The wedding was held on a stage with a Shakespearean backdrop in Louisville鈥檚 Central Park.

At a later moment, Jerry would recount how performing the role of Caliban in 鈥淭he Tempest鈥 continues to impact his own self-understanding. In the play, Prospero says of the creature he helped create, 鈥淭his thing of darkness I / acknowledge mine.鈥

鈥淚 acknowledge that I was this person, you know 鈥 I was capable of doing that,鈥 Jerry says of his crime. He still identifies with Caliban, and especially one of his final lines. 鈥淎t the end, he comes to, at the end of his journey, I promise to 鈥榖e wise hereafter / And seek for grace.鈥欌

鈥淚 once identified as a monster 鈥 you identified me as a monster 鈥 but now, I learned from that character, as I grew, [who] hurt other people,鈥 he says. 鈥淣ow, I can come out at the other end and be smart enough to know that I need to 鈥榖e wise hereafter / And seek for grace.鈥 And, so, I think that鈥檚 what we鈥檙e all doing. And that鈥檚 what we learn from our characters.鈥

It is a moment of grace for the man who killed a police officer.

The newly married couple gaze at each other, wishing they鈥檇 thought to bring tissues to the stage, as Jerry continues his wedding vows.

鈥淵ou are God鈥檚 gift and promise to me,鈥 he says. 鈥淎 rainbow that shines in the sky of my heart.鈥

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