'In the Interest of Justice' 

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It's a Wednesday morning and Steven Dinsmore is in the visiting hallway on the sixth floor of the south side of the Humboldt County jail, talking to the Journal by a two-way phone through a Plexiglass divide. Clad in an orange jumpsuit, small beads of sweat begin to form on his clean-shaven head as he speaks quickly, seemingly accustomed to making an impassioned case that he is rehabilitated and deserving of a second — no, third — chance at freedom, and knowing he only has the allotted 20-minute visitation to do so.

He rattles off the list of his accomplishments while in prison that convinced a judge to reduce his sentence after 17 years in prison. There's the GED earned and the 14-month substance abuse program completed, the certificates for successful completion of courses in parenting, victim impact, anger management and a dozen or so others, as well as the near decade in custody without so much as a disciplinary infraction. Then, he says, there's all he accomplished in the 15 months between, when Humboldt County Superior Court Judge John Feeney ordered him released from prison until an appellate court's ruling sent him back into custody six weeks ago. He says he reconnected with his two daughters — now both adults — and the six grandkids born while he was behind bars. He recounts how he not only never failed a drug test or missed an appointment with his parole officer, but was released from indeterminant parole after just seven months, how he landed full-time work with Caltrans, got engaged and found a house in Redding, and generally did everything asked of him.

He pauses, apologizing for talking so much, saying it's just that after spending the majority of his adult life in a 6-by-10-foot cell, he was grabbing ahold of his second chance with everything he had, trying to help people and live a life of value.

"I was so happy with everything," he says after a breath.

Dinsmore says he was even going to church every Sunday, not necessarily because he believes in "some supreme higher power" but because he wants to be around people trying to do good.

"Someplace where people say please and thank you, open doors for one another — these are the people I want to be around," he says.

But since he was ordered back into custody Aug. 29, that hasn't been Dinsmore's reality. Instead, while he awaits news on a proposed law that might offer his best chance to avoid returning to prison for another 10 years, he's been in a housing dormitory in the jail. He says he spends his time exercising — "every time I get frustrated, I work out," he says — and trying to share his experience with those who will listen, telling "youngsters in here not to do drugs anymore" and to surround themselves with good people.

Through a certain lens, Dinsmore's case cuts to core questions of the criminal justice system. Is it about rehabilitation or punishment? Is it meant to protect the public from dangerous people or ensure that one's debts to society are paid in full? Is it necessarily about the letter of the law or can it be malleable to the human experience?

For his part, Dinsmore says he's demonstrated that he's a success story, pointing out that no one throughout this process — not the prosecutor, the judge nor the appellate court — has argued that he is not rehabilitated, or that he poses a danger to the public.

"I'm working for the same state that's trying to put me back in," he says, conceding that he's frustrated. "It's supposed to be about rehabilitation — that's what the R in the CDCR stands for, the California Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation."

It was a little before 9 a.m. on May 20, 2022, and Dinsmore, sitting in Coalinga State Prison near Kettleman City and appearing in Humboldt County Superior Court via Zoom, was struggling to contain himself. Feeney, the judge who'd sentenced Dinsmore to serve 30 years in prison back in 2007, had just called to order a hearing to consider whether resentencing him was in the interest of justice and Ben McLaughlin, a deputy public defender representing Dinsmore, was introducing an advocate prepared to argue on his behalf.

"Your honor," Dinsmore interrupted, according to a transcript of the hearing. "I really need to say something. I really — before we get started — I want to say thank you very much. I believe you saved my life."

Asked about that moment more than two years later — after Feeney granted his request and ordered him released from prison only to see that order reversed 15 months later — Dinsmore says it was genuine.

"Honestly, I will tell you I just wanted him to know that he saved me," he says. "The punishment saved my life. It did. I was fucking up. ... [The sentence] gave me the time to pull my head out of my ass."

Amid all the argument about whether Dinsmore should have been released early from his sentence, about whether Feeney overstepped his authority in ordering him released and what should be done about it now, it shouldn't be forgotten that the crime that led Dinsmore to prison was a serious one. Feeney, who presided over Dinsmore's trial, noted as much in that May 20, 2022, hearing, saying it is "still amazing" to him that no one was shot, noting that's because of the "heroic actions" of then deputy Michael Fridley.

According to news reports and court documents, Dinsmore was the passenger in a vehicle pulled over for expired registration around midnight on Nov. 6, 2005. When then deputy — now undersheriff — Justin Braud approached the vehicle, he learned that Dinsmore had a misdemeanor warrant for his arrest. Dinsmore attempted to flee and then fought with Braud, Fridley and two other deputies as they attempted to take him into custody. According to a report in the Times-Standard, Dinsmore then took a .50-caliber "Desert Eagle" handgun from his waistband and pointed it at Braud, threatening to shoot him if deputies didn't allow him to leave, at which point Fridley grabbed the weapon as Dinsmore pulled the trigger, with Fridley's finger blocking the hammer from reaching the firing pin.

"A deputy could have died that night if it wasn't for Mike Fridley putting his hand between that hammer and that firearm," says Sheriff William Honsal, adding that while all the deputies involved that night say they have put the incident behind them and wish no ill upon Dinsmore, he knows what happened that night still affects them. (Braud did not respond to a Journal request to comment for this story.)

Dinsmore, for his part, says he doesn't remember much about that night and indicated he doesn't care to talk about what he does remember. He says he was at the bottom of a months-long downward spiral that started when he got hurt working for CalFire and got hooked on pain pills, which led to his separation and ultimate divorce from his wife, and a spiral of addiction.

"I stopped caring," he says. "I wasn't in my right mind."

A jury convicted Dinsmore of assault on a peace officer, resisting arrest and two counts of being a felon in possession of a firearm in 2006, along with a special firearm allegation that carried a mandatory 10-year sentencing enhancement. The following year, Feeney handed down a determinant sentence of 30 years, four months in state prison — the longest imposed by a Humboldt judge in 2007, according to the Times-Standard. Dinsmore was sent to San Quentin State Prison.

"I didn't think I was ever going to get out," Dinsmore says, adding that he spent some years in darkness with little hope.

Over time, that began to change, though he has a hard time pointing to a single lightbulb moment. He says he took victim impact courses and learned about the ripple effects of victimization, noting that his crimes impacted not just the deputies on scene that night, but their families and his, as well as the ambulance driver who took him for treatment, and eventually even the journalists who wrote about the incident and the jurors who sat through his trial. He sent letters to the involved deputies, he says, saying he knows his actions "impacted them in bad ways," that he's sorry and that he wishes them the best.

Dinsmore soon set his sights on getting a GED and pursued it with vigor, according to a letter from his instructor, who says he was "an exceptional student, diligent in the pursuit of his studies, polite, respectful and focused," adding that he routinely assisted other students with their work.

"Mr. Dinsmore was among the most motivated students I have ever seen," she wrote.

He completed the 14-month substance abuse program and thought that if released, maybe he could become a counselor, figuring if he could help one person avoid his path, maybe it would all be worth it. Then, when the Legislature passed a law giving judges discretion over the mandatory firearm enhancement that had added 10 years to his sentence, with the help of a family friend, Dinsmore began working toward a final attempt to be released from custody early.

He'd already unsuccessfully appealed his conviction and sentence, rendering his judgement final, so the only avenue that remained was petitioning for a writ of habeas corpus, essentially a chance to be brought before a local judge to argue his continued incarceration was unjust.

And so, on May 20, 2022, Dinsmore found himself addressing Feeney through a Zoom screen as a prison guard kept watch nearby. Dinsmore listened as Denise Naylor, an advocate on his behalf, made the case for his release. She walked the court through his "exemplary record" in custody and how he worked toward self-improvement even while serving a determinant sentence without the hope of parole. She noted that he had served as chapel clerk for eight months and helped facilitate group discussions on domestic violence and "mental awareness." She detailed the more than 20 "rehabilitative classes" he took, and the laudatory letters in his file from prison guards and instructors. She told the court that Dinsmore had put together detailed plans to maintain his sobriety outside of custody, noting he'd proactively contacted the head of the AA chapter near where he hoped to live in a small cottage his parents had "lovingly built for him right next door to their own home."

"He is rehabilitated and justice has been served in his case," Naylor told the court.

Dinsmore himself then addressed the court.

"Your honor, I regret sincerely for my actions that night and any time, for that matter, where I put lives in danger," he said. "I truly can never be sorry enough. Sir, I am not the man you sentenced 17 years ago. I have grown and matured. I have furthered my education by using my time wisely. I have a new perspective on life."

Representing the Humboldt County District Attorney's Office, Deputy District Attorney Luke Bernthal said he appreciated "all the comments this morning" but said the legal matter before the court was "fairly black and white." The new law making the firearms enhancement discretionary only gave judges that discretion at the time of sentencing or resentencing, he said, and "this hearing is neither of those things." The law, he said, did not apply retroactively and did not allow a judge to simply reconsider an underlying conviction or sentence that, in this case, was "very final."

When the matter came back to the court, Feeney said he would "construe" Dinsmore's petition for a writ of habeas as a request for resentencing. Then, pointing to Dinsmore's "sincere remorse" for the underlying crimes and "impressive record of rehabilitative work," Feeney ruled that "continued incarceration of Mr. Dinsmore is no longer in the interest of justice" and ordered him released that day.

Sitting in that room in Coalinga State Prison, Dinsmore says he was stunned. A prison guard — the only other person in the room with him — gave him a high-five.

By the time Dinsmore was actually released from prison, picked up by his parents Karen and Tom Dinsmore about a week later, then Humboldt County District Attorney Maggie Fleming had already appealed Feeney's order, arguing it overstepped his authority. In fact, prosecutors had asked Feeney to keep Dinsmore in custody pending the appeal, saying that releasing him could create "a dangerous situation" in which law enforcement could be put in the place of having to "unwind that decision." But Feeney declined, saying if the appellate court found he exceeded his authority in ordering Dinsmore released, he would simply need to return to the CDCR to "serve the balance of his original prison commitment."

For his part, Dinsmore says he was too elated to be a free man and too overwhelmed with navigating a changed world to worry too much about the appeal. Through the jail visitation phone, he laughs, recalling how he became overwhelmed outside the door of a gender-neutral bathroom at a pit stop on the drive home from prison, unsure what to do, saying he eventually asked his mom to go in and make sure no one was inside before he would enter. He says he also struggled to learn to use smart phones and navigate the technological advancements that were now seemingly everywhere.

But he says he soon settled into his new life. He got work doing handy-man type labor around his parents' neighborhood, refinishing decks, painting houses, stacking firewood and doing other odd jobs. In August, he reconnected with a high school acquaintance and, in time, they began dating and then got engaged. He enrolled at College of the Siskiyous and began taking classes toward becoming a substance abuse counselor. He attended class three days a week, leaving home at 5:30 a.m. to make the hour-and-a-half drive to campus, not returning home until 9 p.m. But when wildfires cut off his access to the school for several weeks, Dinsmore says he decided to pivot and find full-time work, not wanting to sit idle.

He landed a job with Caltrans in January, moved into a Redding home with his fiancé and started working 12-hour days doing road work and clearing snow. Dinsmore says he'd wake up every day at 4 a.m. to have some coffee and shower before feeding the horses and doing some work on the property. Then he'd head off to work, making sure he always arrived 30 minutes before his shift. He said he loved the job for Caltrans because it gave him the chance to help people, noting that he'd pack extra water when it was hot to offer to homeless people or anyone in need he'd come across, and recalling with a smile how he helped an elder and a pregnant woman put chains on their tires in the snow. Dinsmore also says he re-connected with his two daughters, who were both little when he was sent to prison but are now grown, with six children between them.

Not content to sit idle, Dinsmore says he started a big garden at his house, growing cucumbers, zucchini, tomatoes, watermelon and more.

"I loved being able to grow my own stuff," he says with a sigh, adding that he would also mow the lawn frequently because it smelled like "productivity — it's fresh."

"I absolutely love my freedom," he says, noting he's keenly aware of all he missed out on during his time in custody. "You start realizing that your family and your friends, and especially your kids and your grandkids, are the only things that matter."

But while Dinsmore was settling into his second chance, the district attorney's appeal was moving forward. A staff attorney with the First District Appellate Project, Richard Braucher, had agreed to represent Dinsmore but he faced an uphill battle. While no one was disputing that Dinsmore had been rehabilitated, the district attorney's office continued to argue that the law simply didn't support Feeney's order.

Honsal, for his part, says he was glad prosecutors decided to appeal. He says he holds no ill will toward Dinsmore, who was two years behind him at Eureka High School, but he's "not in favor of judges not following the law or arbitrarily following the law."

"I'm not saying I don't believe in rehabilitation — I do. But I also believe in people repaying their debt to society," he says, adding that he believes Dinsmore's debt is his original sentence. "We want the system of justice to treat everyone equitably under the law."

Asked about her office’s stance on the case by email, Humboldt County District Attorney Stacey Eads recounted the series of events that led to Dinsmore’s conviction and Feeney’s order releasing him from custody. She said that “resentencing occurred without legal authority to do so,” which is what led her office to appeal. She did not answer questions about whether her office considered alternatives to sending Dinsmore back to prison, given his apparent success reintegrating himself into society after being released from prison. Similarly, Eads did not answer questions about whether she believes Dinsmore has been rehabilitated or poses a danger to society.

By the time the California First District Court of Appeals issued a ruling in Dinsmore's case, Braucher had already begun working toward a legislative solution to giving judges more retroactive authority to strike firearms sentencing enhancements, working with Assemblymember Philip Ting to craft what would become Assembly Bill 600.

But before the bill could come to a vote on the Assembly floor, the appellate court reversed Feeney's order resentencing Dinsmore and releasing him from custody, finding the judge had overstepped the law. However, within the ruling, Dinsmore and his attorneys found a glimmer of hope in the form of a footnote that said: "In light of defendant's post-conviction efforts and community support, the prosecution may wish to exercise its discretion in favor of considering appropriate alternatives to returning defendant to state prison for the remainder of his term."

So when Dinsmore arrived in Humboldt County Superior Court for a post-appeal hearing on Aug. 29, he was optimistic, so much so, in fact, that he wore his Caltrans uniform, expecting to leave court and head to work. But when Feeney asked prosecutors if they would consider alternatives to sending Dinsmore back to prison they reportedly refused, at which point Feeney had no choice. Despite requests to be given 30 days — or even three — to get his affairs in order, Dinsmore was handcuffed and taken into custody.

"My heart dropped," he says.

Dinsmore has been in a state of purgatory since, held in the Humboldt County jail, his transfer to state prison stayed at his attorney Ben McLaughlin's request. Meanwhile, A.B. 600 has worked its way through the Legislature, passed by both the Senate and the Assembly amid a flurry of votes on Sept. 13 before the close of session.

Since then, Dinsmore says he's been calling his attorneys daily to see if the governor has taken action. On Oct. 8, he got the news he was looking for: Gov. Gavin Newsom had signed the bill into law.

But exactly where things go from here is a bit unclear, as the new law won't take effect until Jan. 1. While it seems from past comments and actions that Feeney would be inclined to exercise his new legal authority to reduce Dinsmore's sentence and again order him released, almost three months remain until he has the ability to do so.

Ben McLaughlin, Dinsmore's attorney, says a hearing is set in the case for Oct. 16 to figure out how to proceed. McLaughlin says he will ask that Dinsmore be released to the supervision of Humboldt County probation or state parole until his sentence can be officially reduced in January, but it's unclear whether prosecutors will oppose the request.

But McLaughlin says he believes it's only a matter of time — at most months, not years — before Dinsmore is again a free man.

"He is very excited and I think he's going to be a lot of help to a lot of people," McLaughlin says, adding that it's been very rewarding to work on behalf of someone so deserving of another chance.

Talking to the Journal a couple days before Newsom signed A.B. 600, Dinsmore says he has mixed feelings about the bill, saying he knows "there are probably a few people who will get out that shouldn't" but that there are also people like him, who deserve another chance. While frustrated to be back in custody, Dinsmore says incarceration taught him patience.

"You learn patience in here because you can't get nothing immediately," he says, noting that if you order some coffee or peanut butter through the commissary system on Sunday, it doesn't arrive until Thursday. "It's never even tomorrow. It's a week from tomorrow, two weeks from tomorrow."

But he says 15 months of life outside also taught him the importance of now and the true value of time, noting that he lost grandparents while in custody as his daughters grew up and gave birth to grandchildren he wasn't there to meet.

Staring through the Plexiglass partition, he says, "I think a lot of people who are free don't realize what they have."

Editor's note: This story was updated from the version that appeared in print to include the comments of Humboldt County District Attorney Stacey Eads, who responded to a Journal inquiry after our print deadline.

Thadeus Greenson (he/him) is the Journal's news editor. Reach him at (707) 442-1400, extension 321, or [email protected].