Haverkamp still waiting for chance at parole
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BY JoANNE YOUNG / Lincoln Journal Star
Matt Kinsley admits he was nervous — scared even — the first time he picked Tim Haverkamp up for an outing.
He figured the downtown Scooter’s Coffeehouse would be a safe, public place for a sponsor to take a prison inmate. He had gotten to know Haverkamp on visits to the governor's mansion, where the Community Corrections Center inmate works. But he had never spent time alone with him in a car.
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For a long time, he didn’t know Haverkamp was an inmate. But now, he knew this man he had come to like had pleaded guilty to second-degree murder for his role in the 1985 torture death of a man at a Rulo survivalist camp.
"I remember wondering, 'Is there that slight chance he could be the same guy he was,'" Kinsley said.
Once safely at Scooter’s during the December 2006 outing, Kinsley decided to ask about Rulo.
"How do you bring up that conversation?" he asked. "But I owed it to myself and my family to do due diligence."
Haverkamp didn't flinch. He answered his new sponsor's questions.
"What he said was very refreshing," Kinsley said. "He made no excuses, not a single one. ... I would have been hesitant if he had blamed it on somebody else. It showed me something about his integrity."
Many Nebraskans know something about what happened at the rural compound in extreme southeastern Nebraska. They know a 26-year-old Beatrice man and a 5-year-old boy were tortured and killed in the name of Yahweh, the god a charismatic Kansas truck driver used to control the group that came together to form a survivalist camp.
That leader, Michael Ryan, now sits on Nebraska's death row.
Three other men charged for crimes including theft, assault and second-degree murder served 11 to 12 years in prison.
Haverkamp, who pleaded guilty to second-degree murder in 1986, testified at Ryan’s trial that he had participated in the torture of James Thimm, a fellow survivalist Ryan killed at the farm in 1985.
In a court document, Haverkamp’s attorney, Daniel Wherry, said the prosecutor had admitted a charge of manslaughter may have been appropriate for Haverkamp, except for the fact that two others — James Haverkamp and David Andreas — were facing maximum prison sentences of 30 years. He, too, felt manslaughter the most justified charge, Wherry told Judge Robert Finn in a letter. But he was not able to achieve it.
Haverkamp joined the Rulo group when he was 22. Before that, he lived with his parents on their farm in Baileyville, Kan., about 62 miles southwest of Rulo, he said in an interview.
After graduating from B&B High School in 1980, Haverkamp spent a year at Kansas State University. He quit and returned to farming with his dad because he didn't know what he wanted to study and had no money, he said.
He got a construction job and worked 10 hours a day, then went home to help his dad.
On a Saturday morning during fall harvest in 1984, Haverkamp had a disagreement with his father and left to go to Rulo on business. Then he went to find his cousin Jim Haverkamp at the Rulo farm.
Not wanting to go right home, he agreed to stay the weekend. He also let Mike Ryan borrow his car.
Ryan and survivalist Rick Stice didn't return the car for three days. By then, members had convinced Haverkamp to stay.
"With Ryan it was, like, total control,” Haverkamp said. “There was no outside influence, no TVs, radios, newspapers. Nothing."
In the next months, horrific things would happen at the Rulo farm and Ryan's rule would tighten over the 20 or so adults and children there, including a new baby boy born to teenager Lisa Haverkamp.
The arrest of Tim Haverkamp's cousin and another survivalist, caught stealing away from the farm, would finally bring it to an end.
Three men involved in James Thimm's torture have been out of prison for at least a decade.
Jim Haverkamp and David Andreas were given mandatory discharges in 1998. Dennis Ryan, who is Michael Ryan’s son, was released in 1997 after a state Supreme Court ruling allowed for resentencing.
Tim Haverkamp's supporters wonder why he has never been granted a parole hearing, why he continues to be deferred year after year. He has been eligible for parole since 1992.
His April review ended in another deferment — to December.
The form they sent him said: “Your continued correctional treatment, medical care, vocational training, or other training in the facility will substantially enhance your capacity to lead a law-abiding life when released at a later date.”
Last year, 1,860 inmates got the same reason for deferred hearings, according to Parole Board records.
Haverkamp’s form said: Follow staff recommendation. Incur no misconduct reports.
Haverkamp said he has no misconduct reports. Officials could not confirm that, but seemed not to dispute it. Each year, Haverkamp said, his Community Corrections Center unit has recommended that he get a hearing.
Parole Board Chairwoman Esther Casmer said the board has received no letters of opposition to him being paroled. She could not discuss why he has never had a hearing.
By law, every offender is interviewed and his record is reviewed annually by two or more members of the parole board. If the reviewers believe the inmate is likely to be granted parole, the board schedules a public hearing.
Reviewers look at the circumstances of the offense, presentence investigation reports, previous social history and criminal record, conduct, employment, attitude and any physical and mental examination reports.
Former Nebraska State Patrol investigator Terry Becker, who worked the Rulo case, was surprised to hear Haverkamp is still in prison.
“If he spent 22 years in prison, I’d say he’s done his time,” said Becker, who is an investigator at a Minneapolis law firm.
“It was a disaster what happened,” Becker said. “But I don’t know why they wouldn’t parole him. ... He’s not going to be a danger to society.”
Haverkamp's lead defense attorney doesn't understand why his client’s still in prison.
"He should not still be in jail,” said Wherry of the Mattson Ricketts law firm in Lincoln. “I don't understand how others have been released and he isn't.
"I felt that he was the least culpable of the bunch."
Haverkamp had never been in trouble before joining the Rulo encampment. He didn't come from a broken home.
He got taken up by Michael Ryan — he was compelled to be there, to do what Ryan said, Wherry said. No one felt Haverkamp was an instigator, he said.
"Maybe he contributed to the horror of the thing."
At the time, Wherry said, he asked Haverkamp why he didn't just get in a car and leave. Haverkamp didn't have an answer; he said he just felt he couldn't leave.
Together, attorney and client decided he would plead guilty to second-degree murder rather than sit shoulder to shoulder with Michael and Dennis Ryan in the courtroom.
"We were just afraid he would get caught up in the Michael Ryan stuff and get pulled down further," Wherry said. "We were between a rock and a hard place.”
Haverkamp spent three months at the Diagnostic and Evaluation Center and about 13 years at the Lincoln Correctional Center. He went to a minimum-custody facility in Hastings for a couple of years and then to work release at the Community Corrections Center in Lincoln.
Over the years, he completed an associate's degree and a diploma in machine tool technology. He worked as a teacher's assistant at the Hastings prison's school and with a mechanic at the Department of Roads.
He had been there five months when someone asked him if he would apply for an opening at the governor's mansion, where’s he’s been for seven years.
He also volunteers, about 150 hours a year with Habitat for Humanity, said executive director Nancy Muehling.
Haverkamp said he is sorry for what happened in Rulo.
"I hope, in how I live my life, to be a contributing member of society and hopefully to make amends," he said.
Two sisters of murder and torture victim James Thimm have different views about parole for Haverkamp.
Miriam Kelle, who lives in Beatrice and met Haverkamp in March, wrote letters in support of his release.
It has taken a long time for her to get to this point, she said, but she has gotten to know his cousin Jim Haverkamp, and she’d like to see Timothy get out while he can still do something with his life.
Karen Schmidt, who lives in Manhattan, Kan., would just like to avoid the whole discussion.
"This has been slapping me in the face for 25 years," she said. "I'm very tired of this."
Still, she understands the parole board is going to act sooner or later, probably sooner.
"I realize they're going to have to let him go," she said. "I'm not advocating that he be set free. But it's been 22 years."
She has never heard from him. He has never apologized to her family, she said.
"Does he ever think about James and little Luke?"
The last time she saw Tim Haverkamp he was testifying at Michael and Dennis Ryan's trial. Her memory is of a man who seemed to have enjoyed the torture inflicted on her brother.
If he is now allowed to work at the governor's mansion, it must mean he has worked hard to change his life, Schmidt said.
When he is released, she said, she wants him to be a useful, productive citizen. To make good decisions. To live a decent life.
Forgiveness, she said, paraphrasing the Bible, is not a one-time thing, but must be reenacted 70 times seven.
"I have to do it over and over," she said. "Not just for his sake, but for my own sake. ... It can never be forgotten, just forgiven, day after day."
Matt Kinsley and his wife, Christa, who now live in New York, got to know Tim Haverkamp during events at the governor's mansion in summer 2005. They didn’t know until the next spring that he was an inmate.
“Tim was just the nicest guy," Kinsley said. "We got to be friends."
Roxanne and Dan Pratt, and Sam Keyzer, pastor at Northern Lighthouse Church, met Haverkamp when he began to attend their church.
Like Kinsley, Dan Pratt is a sponsor for Haverkamp. The Pratts have had him at their house for furloughs and see him every weekend.
He's quiet, if you don't know him, kind-hearted, soft-spoken, thoughtful, they said.
He helps with building maintenance at the church. On Saturdays he helps fix cars with the church’s charity auto program, and he volunteers in the kitchen, does yard work and shovels snow.
He has taken numerous life skills classes there.
Keyzer said he has no question Haverkamp would do well if he is paroled.
“Obviously, he is a different person today than when he committed the crime.”
As a sponsor, Kinsley took Haverkamp to play pool and foosball, get a haircut, go out to eat.
"I would have no problem with him being paroled, and living in my neighborhood,” he said.
"It breaks my heart every time they defer him."
If he is paroled, Haverkamp plans to leave Nebraska.
In the 16 years since he became eligible, he's had different ideas about what to do.
"You know, you make plans and make plans and make plans," he said.
He’s 46 now, and he wants to settle down. He is open to opportunities that may be available when he gets out.
"There are jobs that starting out may not be the most ideal jobs, but if you work hard — I believe in hard work — and don't give up, you can achieve a lot in life."
Reach JoAnne Young at 473-7228 or jyoung@journalstar.com.
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