Punishment for Killing Pumpkin Thief Is Tough Choice

It’s always been obvious to me that Pete Solomona was guilty of something. I never really understood the confusion over that; if someone takes a loaded gun into the street to settle a score, puts it near another person’s head and it goes off, the resulting death demands retribution.

But while sure about the crime, I’m not at all about the punishment.

We can debate abstract concepts all we want about what Solomona did the night of Oct. 18, 1999, when he shot and killed 17-year-old Brandon Ketsdever. But now comes the concrete part.

Solomona is probably going to prison.

This previously law-abiding citizen who lost it in the span of just a few minutes suddenly finds himself in a position he probably never would have imagined. Freedom is going to become a memory, not a given.

Talks with his family will be scheduled, not spontaneous. His new circle of acquaintances will be inmates.

The world Solomona knew is staying behind. It’s just him that’s going away.

I don’t say that with the slightest satisfaction.

At his third trial last week, Solomona was convicted of voluntary manslaughter, which may be as close to the truth as a jury of non-psychics could get.

It was impossible to know exactly what was in Solomona’s mind when he took his .357 magnum into the street to confront Ketsdever and two friends as they sat in their car, fatefully blocked by another car outside Solomona’s house.

Not long before, the boys had swiped a plastic pumpkin decoration from Solomona’s front porch, a theft that angered him and, if he is to be believed, made him feel threatened. In his ensuing confrontation with Ketsdever, who was behind the wheel, Solomona’s gun went off and a bullet struck Ketsdever in the head and injured a passenger.

As soon as the story broke, it became a public Rorschach test. Some condemned Solomona; others just as angrily said the boys created the situation by stealing the pumpkin and that Solomona wasn’t guilty of anything.

The jury that convicted him last week agreed with the previous two--it didn’t think Solomona intended to kill Ketsdever. The first guilty verdict was thrown out on a technicality, and the second jury couldn’t reach a unanimous decision.

So, up to now, the public interest in the case has centered on whether he was guilty of anything.

Now comes the real ball game. This summer, Superior Court Judge Richard F. Toohey will decide how much of the 11-year maximum sentence he should give Solomona, 50.

Good luck, judge.

At times like this, I’m glad I went into the news business instead of the judicial business. If the judge has some magic formula to figure this one out, I’d love to hear what it is.

Most likely, it’ll come down to a feeling in his gut.

He’ll replay what he thinks Solomona was thinking, just as he weighs what society should demand for the death of a 17-year-old high school student shot over a petty theft.

The prosecution wanted too much--a second-degree murder conviction with a possible life sentence.

Beyond that, I’m clueless. No strong gut feeling here.

We toss out numbers--one year, five years, six, eight--as if it’s some kind of scintillating “Wheel of Fortune” game.

Imagine yourself in prison. The difference between two years and seven, for example, is no small thing. This ain’t a game show.

The Ketsdever family wanted the book thrown at Solomona. Understandable--Brandon is gone forever. Understandable--but it doesn’t feel right in this case.

My job entitles me to offer up an opinion on the sentence, if only to provoke conversation. But I’m not going to con you--I don’t have a number.

The easy part was deciding Solomona committed a crime.

The next part is way too tough for me.

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Readers may reach Dana Parsons by calling (714) 966-7821 or by writing to him at The Times’ Orange County edition, 1375 Sunflower Ave., Costa Mesa, CA 92626, or by e-mail to dana.parsons@latimes.com.