'My Brother's Horrific Murder Shocked Police. His Killer Is Up for Parole'

For anyone following San Francisco Bay Area social media, it's apparent that there has been a rise in posts about crime and safety. Neighborhood-focused sites like Nextdoor and Patch regularly recount stories of robberies, break-ins, and home invasions. While home invasions are infrequent, they are real and they have lasting effects.

On April 18, 1974, my older brother, Frank Carlson, was murdered in a brutal San Francisco home invasion. After beating my brother to death, his killer, Angelo Pavageau, spent the next four hours raping and torturing Frank's wife, Annette. He abused her mercilessly and left her for dead after stealing her jewelry. In an attempt to cover his tracks, he then set their home on fire.

I still vividly remember the morning of April 19. I was getting ready to go to school. It was around 7 a.m. when I learned what had happened. My father had already gone to work and my mother was getting ready to go to her job as a volunteer at Peninsula Hospital in Burlingame, California. She had the radio on while she was getting ready, and it was tuned to a news station.

I heard a scream from my parent's bedroom. That's when my mother heard the story of my brother's murder on the radio. We telephoned the San Francisco police and they confirmed the story. I was shocked and horrified, I felt a sense of detachment from reality. The events of the day were a blur, but I remember moments extremely well–it felt like I was living in a movie.

Everything after that was a blur too. We took daily trips to the hospital to be with Annette, my brother's wife. My parents met privately with the police detectives, and just a few weeks later, I was attending high school again. Many of my friends were shell-shocked and simply did not know what to say to me. But thankfully, some of them knew exactly what to say, and are friends to this day.

I learned quickly that sharing what happened to my brother was problematic because telling people around me about something like this, was difficult. For me, now, it's not hard; I am numb to the horror. This is a burden many victims of violent crime share.

My brother's killer, Pavageau, was caught, convicted, and sentenced to death, plus 54 years for ancillary crimes. Annette survived despite the grave wounds she suffered, both physical and psychological. A website I created, justiceforfrank.org, tells the story of this horrible event.

Even today, 49 years later, first responders and law enforcement officials still describe it as the most gruesome crime scene they have ever encountered.

I was 16 at the time, but even then, I knew that the death sentence would never be carried out. California has a complex relationship with the death penalty. By 1976, after the state abolished the death penalty, Pavageau's sentence was commuted. He was re-sentenced to the next most severe term, life in prison with the possibility of parole. By 1980, annual parole hearings became a fact of life for my family.

I remember waiting for my parents in the room adjacent to the hearings. My family has always felt we were caught up in a bureaucratic maze. When the death penalty was reinstated in 1978, Pavageau's sentence was not upgraded to the original term. Instead, we began a 45-year struggle to keep this man in prison.

Over the years, my parents became victim advocates. My mother started an organization, called Justice for Murder Victims, and worked in Sacramento and Washington DC with other victims to change the rules surrounding parole hearings and sentencing. This was not easy.

I continued this fight after my parents' passing in 2010 and 2011. I am active in an organization that works to help people like us, which I feel are thrown into a cold and bureaucratic judicial system that can be overwhelming. My parents found meaning in doing work that gave back to the community and I try to follow in their footsteps.

On April 25, 2023, Pavageau will come up for parole once again. I will appear before the California State Parole Board to provide a victim's impact statement, and I will ask the board to keep this cold-blooded killer in custody. It is the 18th time our family has been obligated to do this.

For my sister-in-law, the hearings are traumatizing beyond words. She is represented by legal counsel as she cannot bring herself to appear in a situation where she would have to face the person who destroyed her life.

The parole board has the leeway to keep Pavageau incarcerated for up to 15 years, but I already feel like they will not take that step, and it is possible he will instead be released.

Hearing the details of the crime over and over and seeing no change in the attitude of the inmate is difficult to endure.

Thankfully, murder committed by a random stranger is an infrequent occurrence. But when it happens, the collateral damage to the victim's family and friends is significant. The recent slaying of Dr. Michael Mammone in Laguna Beach is a grim reminder of the fragility of our existence. My heart breaks for his family and what is ahead for them.

My parents used this crime and the subsequent parole hearings as a platform for activism. Thanks to their efforts and the efforts of other people in similar circumstances, laws gradually changed.

Annual parole hearings became biennial by the late 1980s. In later years we fought for changes to provide greater latitude to extend sentences when appropriate. By 2008, Marsy's Law provided additional ways for victims to ensure their rights were given as much consideration as the criminals.

But the pendulum has swung back. In recent years, new conditions have been added to an already complex process. Pavageau has been reclassified as a youth offender as he was just under the age of 26 at the time of the crime. Now 74, he is also considered elderly.

It's much easier for the board to recommend release when the victim is forgotten. Preparing for this event is time-consuming and draining as we rally support among politicians, law enforcement officials, friends, and family to remind the board of the consequences of granting freedom to this person.

Some may read the details of this crime and think how random it was and how fortunate they are that something like this didn't happen to them. I understand that emotion.

So, on April 25 perhaps I won't be doing this only for my brother or my sister-in-law. Maybe, in some way, I'm also doing it for you.

Sten Eric Carlson is a retired automotive industry executive. He and his wife live in San Juan Capistrano.

All views expressed in this article are the author's own.

As told to Newsweek associate editor, Carine Harb.

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