How a former BYU professor became an ardent crusader for the innocent

SALT LAKE CITY — In 1997, midway through a 38-year career teaching statistics and psychology at BYU, the closest professor Dick Galbraith got to the criminal justice system was if one of his kids was watching "Law and Order" on TV.

Then Gailbraith's father was charged with murder, and everything changed.

The case of Santa Clara County (California) v. Nelson Galbraith alleged that Nelson murdered Josephine Galbraith — his wife and Dick's mother — by strangulation.

At first it was assumed that Josephine had taken her own life when she was found hanging in the bedroom of her Palo Alto home with a red sash tied around her neck. The 76-year-old woman had recently been diagnosed with Parkinson's disease and was depressed, her family knew; days earlier she'd mentioned she wanted to jump off the Golden Gate Bridge.

But months later the cause of death was changed to homicide based on a coroner's sloppy autopsy and a police investigation that theorized Josephine had to have help tying the knots in the sash.

The passage of more than a quarter-century has only amplified Dick's memory of the conversation he had with his father after the police entered Nelson's home with guns drawn and arrested him for murder.

"I could possibly understand if you assisted mom," Dick said to his father. "She had friends who went through long, slow, agonizing deaths after the diagnosis of Parkinson's — did you have anything to do with Mom's death?"

To that, "He said, 'No,'" recalls Dick. "And I said, 'OK, Dad, I don't need to know anything more; we're going to circle the wagons.'"

He remembers thinking: "Well, he's innocent, this will take a few minutes — and it took 12½ years."

Dick and those members of his family — particularly his brother Don — who chose to defend their father were clueless about what they were wading into.

"When they come after you or a member of your family, you have no idea of the power of the machine that is coming at you," says Dick. "All of a sudden you're up against all these trained professionals whose agenda is not in your best interest. You have walked into the gates of hell."

It took two years and hundreds of thousands of dollars, in addition to pro bono help from legal scholars, to get the case to a jury trial, where 12 people, holding the fate of a man the media branded "the red sash murderer," found Nelson Galbraith not guilty.

The ordeal might have ended then and there if county officials had followed with an apology and shown some indication that they would put in place safeguards to prevent something like this happening again.

But the county didn't do that. So the Galbraiths, traumatized by the incompetence, indifference and injustice they had endured and hoping to spare someone else from going through what they went through, filed suit against Santa Clara County and the coroner who they'd proved had falsified records.

The suit slow-marched through the courts until a settlement was finally reached in 2008, in which the county agreed to admit wrongdoing, pay the family $400,000, issue a public apology, change the cause of death to suicide and fund ethics training for its pathologists.

That battle was won, but for Dick, unable to unsee what he'd seen, the war was far from over. Ever since, he's been a tireless advocate for the falsely accused.

His ability to financially help the cause improved substantially a few years after the final verdict — and, as fate would have it, the windfall can be traced directly back to the crusade to clear his father's name.

Knowing his professor's salary wasn't enough, Dick took a second job working for a friend's startup to help pay for legal expenses. Part of his compensation was in stock and, as it turned out, the company was a runaway success. In 2014, the year Dick retired from BYU, he cashed in his stock for unexpected millions.

First thing he and his wife Sandy did was deposit $3.5 million into a fund dedicated exclusively to criminal justice reform.

Two significant recipients of the Galbraiths' ongoing largesse are the BYU Law School and the Rocky Mountain Innocence Center in Salt Lake City.

Each year, the Nelson Galbraith Fellowship/Externship Program pays living expenses for first- and second-year BYU law students who choose to spend their summers working in public defense. Additionally, the Galbraiths pay for guest speakers who come to the law school to encourage pro bono work and careers in criminal justice reform.

"We're trying to get them (the students) not to go to law school to drive a Lexus but to actually help those who are truly in need," says Dick.

At the Rocky Mountain Innocence Center, the Galbraiths, in addition to a yearly donation, fund salaries — to the tune of $60,000, plus benefits — for members of the staff.

Kristy Columbia, executive director of the innocence center, said, "The support of people like Dick and Sandy is absolutely critical for our success to efficiently and effectively represent those who have been unjustly charged. This is what keeps us going."

David Moore, dean of the BYU law school, is equally effusive. "It's encouraging and inspiring to see Dick's work. He's supported students who have worked on innocence projects, helping to secure release for those who have been wrongfully convicted, but his commitment is broader than that, extending to providing legal assistance to people who are in precarious situations and who the legal system might not provide adequate representation. This aligns well with our commitment to try and produce graduates that are both top notch lawyers and disciples of Jesus Christ."

And still, for Dick and Sandy, the family fight goes on. In an ironic twist of fate, another family member has locked horns with the criminal justice system. Sandy's brother, Mark, is serving a long-term prison term after being convicted of sexual assault in a he-said-she-said jury trial.

Barring a recant by his accuser, Mark's guilty verdict will stand, even as he steadfastly insists his innocence.

"I will go down in flames before I'll ever admit to something I didn't do," said Mark from his jail cell.

The problem is that by not showing remorse, his chances of parole are lessened.

"It's a system that requires you to plead guilty when you're not guilty," says Dick. "That's how you get the sex therapy treatment that is required to be considered for parole. So you admit guilt even if you're not guilty so you can get therapy — and the fact that everybody does it doesn't make it better for the one who won't."

His father's case, he remembers, had a similar circumstance.

"When the county realized it didn't have much of a case they tried to plea bargain. If my dad admitted to second degree manslaughter they'd release him. He told them to go to hell. When you're innocent, how can you ever say otherwise?"

Related topics