Crime bills get boost from victim's parents

The end of the session was in sight, and Capitol Republicans had failed to make any progress with the Democratic Assembly on a package of tough-on-crime bills.

So, at a news conference earlier this month in the governor's ornate chambers, state District Attorneys Association President William Fitzpatrick decided to break out the big guns.

"I'm going to mention two names that bring fear to the Assembly,'' Fitzpatrick said. The names he mentioned: Bruce and Janice Grieshaber.

"If you thought they were annoying to the Assembly last year,'' Fitzpatrick said, "they told me to tell you: 'You ain't seen nothing yet.' ''

One might think the Syracuse-area couple would need a break after last summer's feat of forcing Jenna's Law to a vote on the Assembly floor. Not so with the Grieshabers, who in the last year have embraced new issues -- and newly grieving relatives of crime victims -- with their trademark fervor.

In the months following the 1997 murder of their 22-year-old daughter, Jenna, in an Albany apartment, Bruce and Janice Grieshaber were key in forcing Assembly Speaker Sheldon Silver to bring legislators back to the Capitol for a special midsummer session to pass what came to be known as Jenna's Law. The measure virtually abolishes parole for violent felons.

A year later, the Grieshabers are still familiar faces around the Capitol. Now they are advocates for everything from passage of open-government measures to new crime bills.

They have counseled Pat Webdale, the mother of murder victim Kendra Webdale, on how to lobby for a law permitting judges to order mentally ill people to take their medication -- the bill known as Kendra's Law.

On Friday, they were in town to tout Suzanne's Law, which would ratchet up penalties for acts of violence near schools and colleges. That measure is named after Suzanne Lyall, a University at Albany sophomore who disappeared in March 1998.

So successful were they in lobbying for Jenna's Law that many lawmakers and advocates have begun to adhere to an unspoken mantra: If you can't get it past Silver, get it to the Grieshabers.

"A lot of people call and ask us, 'What happens now?' and 'Who is Sheldon Silver?' and 'What should we do?' '' Janice Grieshaber acknowledged Friday, wearing Jenna's Sage College nursing school pin on a chain around her neck. "I think we can eliminate some of the hurdles for people, and point out what the logistics are, and who's cooperative, and who isn't and why.''

Silver spokeswoman Patricia Lynch declined comment on the Grieshabers' growing role in legislative lobbying, saying: "I have no thoughts on that. It's the governor's prerogative to have whoever he wants (at news conferences) as his guests.''

Aside from making frequent trips to Albany from their home in Camillus, Onondaga County, Bruce and Janice Grieshaber have also spearheaded the Jenna Foundation, which offers clinical help to victims of violent crimes and, overall, aims to end violence in society. There, they are called upon to help other grass-roots advocates -- many of whom who are not as politically savvy -- navigate the Legislature's politically slippery landscape.

"After a year and a half, we now understand the politics,'' Janice Grieshaber said. "My main focus is to create an atmosphere in New York state where voters feel that they have some kind of a franchise in what is happening in Albany -- that they are not cut adrift.''

Politicians from Gov. George Pataki on down have capitalized on the Grieshabers' public power, inviting them to participate in news conferences and other high-profile events.

Flanked by the couple during Friday's call to pass Suzanne's Law, Pataki noted: "They've shown their courage and they've shown their tenacity in working hard to get Jenna's Law passed and not just stopping there, but . . . speaking out on other criminal justice initiatives.''

"It's ordinary citizens who have allowed us to change the criminal justice system in this state, and now we're confident, with their help, we will have a Suzanne's Law,'' the governor said of the Grieshabers.

At the suggestion they are being used by politicians simply to spite political enemies, the Grieshabers bristle. "We're not stupid,'' Janice said flatly.

"We just ask people to do what's common sense,'' Bruce said, calling for Suzanne's Law to be allowed to the Assembly floor for a vote. "There doesn't need to be a reason here -- that's the sad part. Just let it out and let democracy go to work.''

Their efforts have even been held in awe by professional lobbyists, who spend hundreds of thousands of dollars each legislative session to get their clients' bill passed.

"You've got to admire them,'' admitted James McMahon of Nixon, Hargrave, Devans and Doyle, one of the state's top lobbying firms. "It just goes to show: You can get something done if you hammer it home long enough and hard enough.''

But the Grieshabers are more concerned with the esteem they hold in the eyes of other relatives of crime victims, who, in turn, are grateful for the guidance.

"Their support is great,'' said Doug Lyall, Suzanne's father, who asked the Grieshabers to join their lobbying effort to pass the campus safety law named in honor of their daughter. "When I spoke to Bruce on the phone, he didn't even bat an eye. He said, 'Yep, we'll be there.' ''

"It's just fantastic,'' Lyall continued. "They've been through so much ... we're learning as we go along.''