National Perspective | COURTS Lovers' Spat Spins Directly Into Mandatory Sentencing Laws

Jeff Berryhill punched a rival for his girlfriend's affections. Now, he's facing 25 years in an Iowa prison, and common sense is taking a beating.

"[Berryhill] did each and every one of the elements," Meyer said. "My question is, why shouldn't he go to prison? . . . A man's house is his castle. He should be safe there."

Berryhill hadn't just punched his rival on a street corner. Berryhill had broken into Randy Jones' apartment and inflicted "bodily injury." The prosecutor couldn't help noticing that under Iowa law, those acts together constituted first-degree felony burglary. So that's how he charged Berryhill--even though in Iowa such "forcible felonies" come with a mandatory 25-year prison sentence.

His arrest came just hours later. Probation would be the expected result, perhaps linked to an anger-management course or a few AA sessions. Berryhill's case didn't draw the expected result, however. "We don't just laugh off lovers' spats anymore," is how Assistant Emmet County Atty. Richard Meyer would later explain his handling of the affair.

It appeared to be just another lovers' spat. One night up in the small northwestern Iowa town of Estherville, Jeff Berryhill, 21, a straight-arrow college student with a few too many beers in his stomach, argued with his girlfriend. She ended up in another fellow's apartment. Berryhill tracked her down, kicked in the door, resumed their argument. She decided to sit on the other fellow's lap; Berryhill decided to punch the other fellow in the face.

In the early going, neither Berryhill nor his parents understood what trouble they faced. The authorities released Jeff on his own recognizance, and everyone kept telling them the charges would eventually be dropped. Jeff, after all, had no prior record as a juvenile or adult.

He'd played four sports in high school; he'd been attending classes at the local community college since the fall of 1995. He lived at home with his parents, both laborers, Barry at a chicken-processing plant, Shirley at a fishing-pole company. He planned to transfer to Iowa State University upon receiving his AA degree; he aspired to be a coach and physical education teacher.

Then came his trial in late March. The Berryhills waived a jury because the law doesn't allow it to be told about the mandatory sentence. For two days, Judge Charles H. Barlow listened to the evidence; for seven months, he contemplated. On Nov. 7, he finally ruled.

Jones was a rival for Amber Baddeley's affections, the judge found. Jones had been spreading rumors about Berryhill, possibly trying to break up his relationship with Baddeley. Earlier on the night of the offense, in the front yard of Baddeley's grandmother, Berryhill had struck Jones. At the time he broke into Jones' apartment, Berryhill "exhibited an intent to commit an assault." From these facts, "the court concludes that the state has met its burden of proving each and every essential legal element of the charge of burglary in the first degree." Berryhill was "guilty as charged."

A forcible felony not being a bailable offense in Iowa, Berryhill was promptly led off to jail. Not everyone expressed dismay: "The justice system has done its job and now [Berryhill] must live with the consequences," Jones' parents declared. "Our family applauds the work of the Emmet County attorney's office." Yet many others in Estherville, a town of 7,500 just south of the Minnesota border, saw it otherwise.

A felony conviction, they cried, could ruin Berryhill's life. A convicted felon has no chance of becoming a coach and teacher. Berryhill was wrong, he made a mistake, he needs to be punished. Years in prison for punching a rival, though? Years away from his family? Years when he can't complete college? There's no common sense. This matter has gone beyond reason.

The groundswell of support for Berryhill grew ever larger as his sentencing hearing neared. Teachers from his community college brought homework to the Emmet County Jail so he could pass his fall-semester classes. More than 70 neighbors, friends, coaches, teachers and co-workers wrote letters to the judge. More than 120 citizens signed petitions. A good number turned to the local newspaper; others contacted state legislators; some begged for the governor's intervention.