HIS mother named him Darryl.

But at the Missouri State Prison, he was a number.

"I was 153063 Burton. They rarely used my real name."

Darryl Burton speaks with unusual grace for a man who, at age 22, was wrongly convicted of murder.

"I used to be filled with nothing but hate," he says. "Now, I forgive them."

In 1984, a drug dealer was shot in the face and killed at a St. Louis filling station. The police investigation was shoddy, the expedited trial was a sham. For the next 24 years, Burton endured Missouri's most violent and overcrowded prison. All the while, a secret remained hidden.

"On the night of the murder" Burton says, "police interviewed witnesses, including the filling-station attendant. The attendant told police that the killer was a light-skinned African American."

Although prosecutors had those statements, they were never shared with Burton or his lawyer, as the law requires. "I am as black as they come," says Burton. "My skin is still dark, even after a quarter of a century locked away from the sun."

More damningly, the prosecution's main witness later recanted his testimony against Burton.

It took more than 20 years for Burton's pleas to reach a sympathetic judge, who finally overturned his conviction. More than half his life in a noisy, dirty, crowded, soul-sucking prison. Two decades without seeing his daughter grow to be a woman.

On the day they opened the penitentiary gates, he stepped out in prison-issue pants, shirt and shoes. No apology. No compensation. Under Missouri law, the wrongfully convicted can apply for restitution only if DNA proves the police and prosecutor wrong. The lost years are worth nothing if the authorities merely withhold evidence that would surely have kept them out of prison in the first place.

Since 1997, 15 Washington state inmates have been freed after volunteer lawyers and law students uncovered evidence of wrongful convictions. The Innocence Project Clinic at the University of Washington School of Law receives more than 50 requests a month to review cases with the potential for exoneration.

Two bills are now before the Washington Legislature, eligible for hearings during the 2012 session. The proposals would allow citizens wrongly convicted in our state to be compensated for the lost years of their lives. Money to get job training. Money to pay the rent. Money to allow a child to go to college.

"The difficulty of re-entering society is profound for our clients because they were deprived for years of family and friends and the ability to establish themselves professionally," says UW Innocence Project clinic director Jackie McMurtrie. "We're hopeful that the Legislature will continue to take the issue seriously and join the 27 other states that provide compensation to the wrongly convicted."

I met Darryl Burton in Winnipeg; we were both speakers at an extraordinary annual conference, assembling judges, prosecutors, defense attorneys and police.

The first conference, 10 years ago, convened after a high-profile wrongful conviction was overturned. Since that time, Canada has been rocked by a series of embarrassing revelations about flawed prosecutions. In a couple of cases, men who were exonerated — by DNA evidence or otherwise — have received settlements exceeding a million dollars.

Five years after he was finally freed, Burton has forgiven his captors, but nonetheless has sued the state of Missouri for compensation. Should he — or should a Washington state exoneree — be entitled to millions of dollars?

"Would a sighted man sell his eyes for a million dollars? For a billion?" Burton asks. "I wouldn't."

"Would an innocent man sell his freedom? If not, what is that worth?"