Zenith Man

By McCracken Poston Jr.

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Maya Angelou once said, “There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.” Since the 1999 acquittal of my client Alvin Ridley, an eccentric TV repairman accused of holding his wife captive in a basement for almost three decades before killing her, I knew I had to tell his story.

But there was one element missing—a satisfying ending.

I could easily explain, as I did to the jury, that Virginia Ridley was never held captive by Alvin. I could even show that she was not even murdered. What I could not explain was Alvin, the most difficult and demanding client I ever had as a small-town defense attorney. Why was he so hard to deal with? Before the trial, his entire social circle had consisted of his wife and one close friend, a character who was even odder than Alvin himself. Known as “Salesman Sam,” this pal rode around on his bicycle, pestering people to buy the promotional items he sold from catalogs he carried in his bike basket. He also (annoyingly, to me) often gave Alvin his so-called “expert legal advice,” which often countered and interfered with the legal advice I was giving my client.

After Alvin was acquitted, I continued to help him navigate the world that seemed to thwart him at every turn. We continued to have lunch together every week. Our friendship became important to both of us. But I still couldn’t figure the guy out. Forensic Files, A&E’s American Justice, the front page of the Washington Post, People magazine, NPR’s Snap Judgment, and FujiTV (Japan) all produced the basic outline of Alvin’s story, but none could explain the main character. The quirky TV repairman seemed beyond explanation.

A screenwriter friend wrote our story, and it was acquired by New Line Cinema under my suggested title of “The Zenith Man.” But after five years, it was clear that it was going nowhere. I tried finding co-writers to help write the book of my story, but one by one, each promising effort fell flat. I began to write down episodes from the case, just to preserve the story. I also sharpened the telling of the story in spoken-word, which I usually delivered to small social gatherings where drinking was involved. My friends could tell I was obsessed with it.

Then one day, someone pointed out a book being sold online with the same title that I had shared with New Line Cinema—Zenith Man — about a failed TV repairman accused of locking up his wife for decades. On brief inspection, I could see that it was our story! It changed all our names and location in this short story. What angered me was that it was being touted as original fiction. After my protests, the author of that book later changed her description of it to “inspired by true events.” But I was hurt, feeling like something very personal had been taken away from me. Frustrated at myself, mostly. We were “fair game” —I had been giving the story away!

Around this time, I was working on telling the story again with a podcaster at my undergraduate alma mater, the University of Tennessee at Chattanooga. A juror from our trial, who had moved to Alaska to work as a nurse, mentioned to the podcaster that she thought Alvin might be autistic. A lightbulb turned on in my mind. Within weeks, an expert on adult autism evaluated Alvin in Atlanta. The testing showed that he was very much in the autism spectrum.

The diagnosis gave me a new appreciation for the problems that Alvin had struggled with all his life and that had culminated in his murder trial. It also gave me what I had sought for Decades—an ending to my story. I could at last explain Alvin. That others like him could have similar experiences with the justice system in the future spurred me to action.

I met Bonnie Hearn Hill, an accomplished writer and editor, who read my scribblings and convinced me I could write Alvin’s story. She helped me develop a proposal and shared it with her curated short list of agents. That’s how I met Linda Konner, who agreed to represent me as a client. She sent the proposal to Michaela Hamilton, editor-in-chief of Citadel Press at Kensington Publishing Corp., who signed it up. I cannot stress enough the influence of these three women. If I have any success, it will be because of them.

My book contract called for a manuscript of 90,000 words. The problem was, the first draft weighed in at 177,000 words. Bonnie told me firmly but graciously what was working, what wasn’t working, and what should be cut. It was agonizing. We ended up with a lean and clean book of 98,000 words.

My excitement went through the roof when my book went online for presale on several bookseller sites in late May 2023. There it stood online alongside the “other” short story, which was now being given away for free. Soon they were both joined by yet another book, priced at $4.99, entitled “SUMMARY of Zenith Man by McCracken Poston Jr.” There, in 47 pages of A.I. drivel, a lawyer by the name of Rebecca Mitchell saved her client in a generic courtroom depiction of a trial. I was a woman! I went into action, and by the time I got through, the fake book was gone from all the major sites. Later I was told the project came out of Nigeria, in what seemed to be a scam designed to delude some confused or budget-minded purchasers.

Deciding that selling copies of my book was the best revenge, I signed up for Killer Nashville and had some promotional material printed up. I gave it to (or forced it on) everyone I met at the conference. The next day, I was thrilled to see a bump in Zenith Man’s Amazon Sales Rank. I learned that the ASR could fluctuate wildly, even in response to just a few sales, but it served to motivate me. It provided just enough dopamine to keep me going. I continued to drive the presale campaign at every opportunity.

At this writing, the publication date is a few weeks away.

As I continue my ground-level campaign, asking everyone I meet to support my book, I found an unusual sales aid from an unexpected source. Back in 1998, while I was defending Alvin’s case, I tried to get Salesman Sam on my side by buying some of his useless promotional items — cheap personalized pens inscribed with “McCracken Poston, Lawyer.” A gross of them soon arrived, and I quickly realized they were dried up and useless on arrival. Don’t ask me why I saved them. But it turns out, they now serve a purpose.

When I started talking to people about Zenith Man, I offered to give one of these twenty-five-year-old useless dried-up promotional pens to anyone who sent me or showed me their preorder receipt. To my amazement, people love them. After twenty-five years, the pens are finally of good use to me. You never know what can come in handy when you’re promoting your book.

And speaking of promoting, by the time this article is published, Zenith Man: Death, Love, and Redemption in a Georgia Courtroom will be a published book. And the campaign goes on!

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McCracken grew up just across a creek and the state line from Killer Nashville founder Clay Stafford. They frequented the same country store in his hometown of Graysville, Georgia. Poston is a criminal defense lawyer in Georgia and Tennessee. His book, "Zenith Man: Death, Love, and Redemption in a Georgia Courtroom" (Citadel, Hardcover, February 20, 2024), is about one of my cases. His client, failed TV repairman Alvin Ridley, was accused of some terrible things, including murder. We all had him wrong.