LAWRENCEVILLE, Ga. -- Were it not for the intense love Gordon Peal felt for his son, he still would be living a quiet life in this Atlanta suburb, selling kitchen tables and sofas at Roberd's Furniture.
He would have celebrated his 41st birthday yesterday with his fiancee. And he'd be making plans to open his own furniture store.
But the Baltimore native didn't like the way his former girlfriend was treating their child, Jamaal, so he triggered a custody battle. In a settlement, he won visitation rights.
The ex-girlfriend, in turn, let the world in on a little secret that led to his arrest last month.
Gordon Peal was, in fact, Anthony D. Francis, a long-sought felon from Maryland -- on the state's 10-most-wanted list in 1991.
His holdup of an East Baltimore liquor store owner in 1976 sparked an extraordinary chain of events that haunt those involved with Francis to this day.
It sent the man Francis robbed and two of his relatives to prison, after they killed another man they believed was connected to the robbery. It led to a prison dispute that ended with Francis being charged with killing another inmate.
And though he was acquitted of the murder charge, a residue of enemies and fear remained. That prompted him to walk away from the Poplar Hill Pre-Release Unit on Aug. 10, 1986 -- despite being close to a parole hearing after serving half of a 20-year sentence -- and into a new life.
He became a successful salesman and doting father -- complete with credit cards, a driver's license, a birth certificate, a job paying $28,000 a year and a voter registration card.
Now, Francis, recaptured, is in the Gwinnett County Jail and is expected to be back in Maryland any day. He might have to serve the remainder of his 20-year robbery sentence and up to 10 years if an escape charge is filed and he is convicted.
"I gave up the right to be out here and free because of my son," Francis said in an interview from the jail Thursday. "I ask that they restore my liberty and freedom and let me go back to my life.
"The acts were done out of ignorance," Francis said. "It led to a robbery, an assault and a murder. Everybody's life was destroyed."
Many people who know him agree. Several co-workers plan to fly to Maryland at their own expense to plead that he has paid his debt to society. Even the man Francis robbed in 1976 wishes him well.
Maryland correctional officials won't comment on whether Francis will have to complete his sentence. "We stand ready to receive him whenever he comes back to the state of Maryland," said Division of Correction spokeswoman Maxine Eldridge.
Davis R. Ruark, state's attorney for Wicomico County, where the escape occurred, said his office likely would weigh both the circumstances of Francis' walkaway and the events afterward in deciding whether to pursue escape charges.
"This guy was out in the open," said John Bankhead, a spokesman for the Georgia Bureau of Investigation. "He got a job. He didn't try to hide. He just fooled people into believing he was a different person, and he had the paperwork to prove it. He got by until someone ratted on him. I think he has to pay his debt."
The saga began Halloween night, 1976, at the home of Ellsworth Jackson, who ran a small East Baltimore liquor store.
Mr. Jackson was about to enter his home in the 1400 block of N. Linwood Ave. when he encountered two anxious young men -- one with a shotgun, one with a pistol.
They took his wallet, a ring and a watch, none of which really mattered to him. But then they went for another ring. It was gold with a diamond cluster, a birthday present from Mr. Jackson's wife.
"This ring is what changed my whole life, right here," Mr. Jackson said last week, fingering it.
The robbers made him lie on the ground as they ran away and fired shots into a neighbor's door. But Mr. Jackson thought only about getting his ring back.
He went around the neighborhood asking business owners if they had seen it. In his travels, he heard that Albert Hardy, a neighborhood acquaintance known as "Bobie," planned the robbery, although he was not there.
Mr. Jackson, two of his brothers-in-law and a friend went looking for Mr. Hardy, Francis and a third man later convicted of the robbery, David Harris. Mr. Jackson says it was "just to talk to them, to see if I could get my ring back."
But the group took along a rifle, shotgun and pistol in case something happened. It did. Mr. Jackson, now 56, said that when his van pulled up next to the three men, one of them fired a shotgun. Mr. Jackson's group returned fire. When it was over, Mr. Hardy was dead.
Mr. Jackson eventually got the ring back -- while awaiting trial for the slaying. He served two years of a 12-year prison sentence for Mr. Hardy's killing; his brothers-in-law each served about four years in prison.
Meanwhile, Francis, who pleaded guilty to his part in the holdup, was having problems at the Maryland House of Correction in Jessup, where he was serving his sentence.
On Dec. 1, 1980, he was indicted in the fatal stabbing of inmate Theodore R. Parks. Prosecutors sought the death penalty, the first time since state legislators reinstated it in 1978.
Francis was acquitted of the killing, after claiming that he was on the other side of the prison at the time. He was moved to another facility, but said guards threatened to send him back to Jessup, where he claimed inmates had taken out a contract on his life. And he was still scared of being killed in Baltimore in retaliation for the armed robbery. So, he walked away from Poplar Hill.
"I wasn't going to make it in prison," Francis said. "I wasn't going to make it out of prison."
He took a train to Chicago, where he met Angela Lumpkin, now 38, in a bar. She set him up with fake identification, including a birth certificate, which he used to obtain a new Social Security number.
Gordon was his new first name, after a politician who espoused positive thinking and productivity. His last name, "Peal," is short for Court of Appeals. He rented an apartment with Ms. Lumpkin and got a job selling encyclopedias door to door for World Publishing. He was so good that the company wanted him to set up branch offices in other cities.
"I thought that maybe if I completely surround myself with good ** people, maintain good thoughts and do good things, no matter what the odds were, I could do something right," Francis recalled.
4 In March 1988, Ms. Lumpkin gave birth to Jamaal.
"I wanted to mold him into a great human being who could be respected," Francis said.
Four years later, they moved to the Atlanta area. Ms. Lumpkin, who had bronchitis, sought a warmer climate. Francis took a job at Roberd's, just outside Atlanta, and became one of the store's sales leaders.
"One thing about him, he sure works hard," said fellow salesman Phillip Cofield. "He made a lot of money. He was always in the top five."
Co-workers were envious of Francis' ability, especially after he earned an award for selling one couple $20,000 worth of furniture, Mr. Co- field said. "He could lead a customer away from what they really wanted and toward items that got him bonuses. I've never seen anything like it in my life."
But Francis' personal life was far from perfect. His relationship with Ms. Lumpkin began to sour. He moved out of her apartment, while continuing to send her money to help pay for his son and the bills.
Meanwhile, he became engaged to another woman, Dawn Alexander. And he continued to take Jamaal swimming, bought him scuba gear and rented movies that promoted positive thinking among African-Americans. "If you saw Gordon, you saw his kid," Mr. Cofield recalled.
Ms. Lumpkin struggled while Francis prospered. Francis said his ex-girlfriend was jealous of his successful new life and began curtailing his visits with 6-year-old Jamaal. After one visit, she threatened to file kidnapping charges against Francis, according his Atlanta lawyer, Alice F. Brown.
In July, Ms. Lumpkin allegedly scrawled an obscenity -- using red lipstick -- on the windshield of one of Ms. Alexander's cars and "Stay away from my son" on another, according to a report filed with the Gwinnett County Police Department.
Francis decided to sue for joint custody, and had Ms. Brown draw up the paperwork. But he didn't have the money to pay the lawyer or for filing fees, so the case languished for several weeks.
Meanwhile, Ms. Lumpkin sued, demanding child support.
During a settlement conference, Francis and his lawyer said, Ms. Lumpkin made veiled threats to turn him in, asking the court to get his fingerprints.
The couple eventually settled, with Francis winning joint custody while agreeing to pay up to $274 a month in child support -- money he says he had been paying all along. The settlement papers have not yet been presented to a judge, so the case is still open.
His ex-girlfriend's threats to expose Francis didn't matter, he said. "I told her, 'If you want to threaten me with that, you go right ahead.' I felt I owed it to [Jamaal]."
Ms. Lumpkin followed through and called police.
Francis' life as Gordon Peal came to an end Sept. 26. Co-workers found out his secret when police went to the store looking for him. He wasn't there, so police went to his house. Three officers staked out the modest house on the outskirts of Lawrenceville for six hours and converged with guns drawn on Francis' new Chevy S-10 truck as it pulled into the driveway about 10:30 p.m.
"You had a nice vacation, didn't you?" asked Agent Dick Davis, with the Georgia Bureau of Investigation, cuffing Francis as he sat behind the wheel.
Ms. Alexander -- who didn't know about Francis' stormy past -- said she was petrified as she sat in the passenger seat. "I thought we were being robbed," recalled Ms. Alexander, 27, a librarian at Mercer University and a substitute teacher in Atlanta public schools. "Gordon did not say one word.
"I asked the supervisor what was going on. He said they were going to take him back to Maryland. I said, 'What for?' He said, 'He knows what for. He's got time to finish.' "
Francis' lawyer believes he still will win joint custody. "What he did 15 years ago does not make him a bad father today," Ms. Brown said.
But impassioned arguments from co-workers and Ms. Alexander, who agreed to put her new $40,000 house up as collateral, did not help Francis at a bail hearing held after his arrest. Gwinnett County Magistrate Joe Iannazzone set bail at $500,000, too high for Francis or his friends to post. So many friends crowded the hearing room that the normally routine proceeding took 45 minutes, and Mr. Iannazzone complained about how many good people Francis had deluded.
"He has carried off this charade for an extended period of time," the magistrate said. "Even the defendant's own evidence indicates he has been less than honest with the individuals he has worked with."
At her modest, four-bedroom house about 30 miles north of Atlanta, Ms. Alexander is alone.
"I have mixed feelings about him," she said of her fiance. "I feel obligated to him because of the person I know, Gordon Peal. He has showed me nothing but kindness and support. I do have a little animosity because he dragged me into a situation I would have never been in.
"There is a lot for me to think about right now, but I do consider us still engaged. I don't want him to feel abandoned."
Back in Baltimore, Mr. Jackson and Jerome Carter, one of his brothers-in-law who went to prison for Mr. Hardy's killing, were astounded to learn of the events of Francis' life since he dramatically transformed theirs. Both said they had not even heard of his escape from prison.
Neither professed any ill will toward him. In fact, they hoped the pain that emanated from that long-ago robbery might finally be stanched.
"I would like to see him go ahead and continue his life," Mr. Jackson said.
Mr. Carter added, "We lost a best friend. I just wish him luck that he stay right -- and don't hurt nobody else."