Convicted killer Francis Soffen, who admitted to murdering two accomplices in 1972, died in prison on Nov. 30.
SPRINGFIELD - Mike Perrot remembers pedaling his bike all the way home from Ludlow to Indian Orchard, the dirt kicking up under his feet, after learning a secret that sent him reeling.
His 8-year-old friend, Anthony Soffen, still recalls the stricken feeling a child feels when he spills a secret he didn't know he had to keep, as he watched his friend's retreating back.
During chance meetings at local bars as they grew older, they were cordial, but had little to say.
Perrot's father, Stephen Perrot, had been murdered by Soffen's father, Francis F. Soffen, behind a now-abandoned Howard Johnson's in 1972. He was shot six times in the face and the head.
The headlines were sensational stories of outlaws. Stephen Perrot had been a member of the "notorious Soffen crew." News accounts from that era indicate their primary source of revenue was armed bank heists.
The elder Soffen pleaded guilty to two counts of second-degree murder in connection with Perrot's execution-style slaying, and a similar fatal shooting of Gary J. Dube. He was shot twice in the head two months before Perrot. Dube's body was wrapped in a tarp and dumped in the Connecticut River. By all accounts, both Dube and Perrot were accomplices of Soffen.
Perrot's and Soffen's sons were left to carve out lives marked by being the children of victim and villain. Both boys clung to memories of their fathers that had nothing to do with either, as children do.
Oddly, the Soffen and Perrot families remained friendly in the year or so after Soffen was sentenced to life in prison. The second-degree murder pleas came with the possibility of parole after 15 years.
"I remember saying something to Tony when we were on that bike ride, like 'When I get big, I'm going to take care of the man who killed my father myself,' and Tony was like, 'Mike, it was my dad,'" Mike Perrot recalled during a recent interview, days after Francis Soffen died in prison on Nov 30.
The disclosure decades earlier sent Perrot racing home on his bike to confront his mother with the information. Anthony Soffen had a similar recollection.
"I remember telling him, and then my brother saying, 'Tony, you weren't supposed to tell,' But how did I know? I was just a kid,'" he said, during a separate interview after he learned of his father's death.
Forty years later, Soffen learned of his father's recent passing in prison from the unlikeliest source: not from the Department of Corrections, but Mike Perrot. Fran Soffen was never granted parole. Mike Perrot reached out to Tony Soffen via Facebook to offer condolences. Perrot says he meant it. There was no ill will toward his old friend, just a sense of sadness. Perrot eventually placed a phone call.
"I didn't do it for any reason that wasn't sincere. I just wanted to offer my sympathies. I know how it is to lose your father," Perrot said. "It was totally a sympathetic call. I'm bigger than most people regarding doing the right thing."
Although they had bumped into each other over the years and exchanged pleasantries, the two hadn't had a meaningful friendship since Perrot sped away on his bike more than 40 years ago. Tony Soffen knew what a random phone message from Perrot meant.
"I told my wife: the only reason Mike Perrot would call me is if my father died," Soffen, 49, said.
It had been some time since Soffen had seen his father. Carrying the torch was draining, and at times, distracting, while the younger Soffen worked to build a life. Growing up in the shadow of his father made him a scrappy kid, but eventually a fierce family man to his wife and two stepsons, plus a devout Baptist.
Perrot, 51, an electrician and divorced father of two, received a letter in the mail from the state Department of Correction Victim Service Unit.
"We fully recognize and respect the often devastating impact that crime has on innocent victims, witnesses, and their families," the boilerplate missive read. "Due to your certification that was filed with the Department of Criminal Justice Information Services and lodged with the Massachusetts Department of Correction, I am writing to notify you that inmate Francis Soffen W34022 died on November 30, 2015."
Perrot cannot single out a feeling after having read the letter.
"I had been getting ready for his next parole hearing in July. But now it's over, I guess," he said uncertainly.
Closure is an elusive thing.
Perrot has sentimental triggers around his father's death. Bright red cardinals have followed him throughout his childhood and adulthood. He is among those who believe cardinals are symbols of a loved one who has died. The birds have alighted on the windowsills and back decks of nearly every home he has owned, plus his daughter's swing set.
During his trek from home to work along Route I-91, Perrot also has driven hundreds of times by the empty parking lot where his father's body was found. He says a prayer each time he passes it. He occasionally stops at the abandoned spot, to think and make promises.
"I've talked to my father there. I've told him that I will never, ever stop fighting to make sure Soffen never gets out of prison," he said.
For his part, Tony Soffen says he's had a sharp retort for the many people who have slapped him on the back over the years, calling his father a "great guy."
"I always tell them: 'A great guy is someone who goes to work every day, and supports his family, and manages the ups and downs of raising children,'" he says, noting that he remained loyal to his father.
Of the parole board hearings, Mike Perrot has attended many. The state Parole Board denied Fran Soffen's release 15 times since 1987. Perrot has made several impassioned pleas for Fran Soffen to remain behind bars. He often rode in a car with Bonnie Dube Clark, Gary Dube's sister.
After the parole board made its decision following the 2011 hearing, Dube Clark told a reporter that she hoped Soffen would die in prison before the next one. She got her wish.
Tony Soffen also has attended his share of hearings, with his own pleas to free his father. The younger Soffen said, however, he remained mindful of the family on the other side of the room.
"Quite frankly, I have nothing but respect for Mike and his family, and for what they've gone through," said Tony Soffen, a supervisor at a trucking company. "But as for my father, I went to all those hearings, and told the board members ... I haven't had him in all these years. My dad did serve 40 years. I just had the feeling that once my family started talking, the board just didn't look as interested."
While he hadn't visited his father very often over the past couple of years, they spoke by phone and Tony Soffen sent his father money for his prison commissary account.
"I regret not visiting more recently, but I can't turn back the clock. I still remained loyal to him. I didn't abandon him," he said.
At the end, Fran Soffen was sick with diabetes, hepatitis and other illnesses. He was confined to a wheelchair in the final years of his life.
"He was clearly no longer a threat to anyone. I would have taken care of him at the end," Tony Soffen said, adding that the only memories he has of his father as a free man are trips to the barbershop when he was very small.
Before the most recent parole hearing in 2011, Fran Soffen wrote in a prison blog that he was dying.
"Hurts to admit it, but the truth is often painful," he wrote.
Tony Soffen points out that his father survived the prison race riots of the 1970s, and had been commended for saving the life of a corrections officer. Fran Soffen developed Hepatitis C after he had been stabbed and thrown over a balcony during the same clashes, according to his son.
Mike Perrot said he often walked away from the parole board hearings with more questions than answers.
"Fran Soffen told so many stories. I just wanted the truth," Perrot said. "And I told the parole board members, that I would go visit him in prison if he would just tell me the whole story. If he had, I may have reconsidered my opposition. But he never responded, and the next thing I heard ... I got the call that he was dead."
For many years, Fran Soffen told board members he shot Dube and Perrot in self-defense, which flew in the face of the evidence. He later conceded that his own paranoia may have contributed to a heightened sense of threat on his part. Prosecutors maintained Soffen executed the men in cold blood to keep them from testifying against him about the bank robberies.
Governor's Councilor and former Parole Board member Michael J. Albano said he recalls feeling dissatisfied with Fran Soffen's perspective on the murders during the hearings.
"He had a very, very hard time taking responsibility and showing remorse, for whatever reason," Albano said.
He added that Soffen's chances at release also were stymied when the late Hampden District Attorney, Matthew "Matty" Ryan, reneged on his agreement not to oppose Soffen's release once he came up for parole.
"I can still remembers Matty's face. It was beet red and he was screaming and yelling," Albano said. "I think Franny filed something against Matty's office two weeks before the hearing. And, Soffen could never say he was sorry."
Even after Ryan left office and later died, Soffen's chances didn't get any better.
Tony Soffen said that although he did not attend the last parole hearing for his father in 2011, he intended to go to the one in July. Instead, he traveled to a medical examiner's office in early December to identify his father's body and spare him from being buried at the Massachusetts Prison Cemetery.
Fran Soffen was cremated; Tony Soffen brought his ashes to sit beside Fran Soffen's mother's and father's plots at Oak Grove Cemetery in Springfield.
"I figured it would be a chance for my dad to be an innocent little boy again next to his mother, before he turned into ... whatever he was; whatever that lifestyle was," Tony Soffen said. "I believe my father found God and I hope God forgives him."
Soffen credits his mother with raising him and his siblings alone. He notes that neither he nor his siblings followed "a bad path" despite the legacy of their father. Perrot has similar thoughts of escaping the same fate.
"It hasn't been all bad. Even with all the negative history, I moved, I got married; I had children. I've had good jobs. I didn't end up in jail. I continued my life," Perrot said.
Both said they might meet over a beer one day, and will likely talk about anything but their common ground.