Kwame Kilpatrick looked and sounded like a broken man in court Thursday, and that was before Judge Nancy G. Edmunds sentenced him to 28 years in prison.

At the end, when it was his turn to talk, Kilpatrick stood at the podium, silent, for several seconds and tapped his finger on the wood. He spoke slowly and softly, with none of the cocky ward-heeler theatrics of the “hip-hop mayor” who charmed downtown tycoons, Midtown hipsters and West-Side church ladies alike.

"i respectfully ask for fairness," he said.

At the beginning, Kilpatrick entered the courtroom with hands cuffed behind him and wearing a khaki prison outfit with a grey T-shirt. He appeared forlorn and showed little emotion during the three-and-half-hour hearing in U.S. District Court.

The court -- filled with about 70 spectators, lawyers, journalists, federal agents and court employees -- fell to a sudden hush when Kilpatrick appeared. He had short hair, a neatly trimmed beard and looked slimmer than in the past.

Kilpatrick laughed briefly a handful of times when talking with his lawyers, and he seemed most animated when, during a break, he turned around a chatted with four supporters, including his mother’s nephew and a large man associated with the Nation of Islam.

His mother, former U.S. Rep Carolyn Cheeks-Kilpatrick; his father, Bernard Kilpatrick, a fellow defendant scheduled to be sentenced Thursday; his wife, Carlita, and his three sons were not in court, nor were any other close relatives.

Subdued Tone

When he addressed the judge, Kwame Kilpatrick said he asked them to stay away to spare them the pain.

Kilpatrick displayed none of the brashness that was a trademark, not only during his troubled reign in city hall, but even during the months-long trial that ended in March with convictions for running a criminal enterprise that enriched himself, his family and his friends while the city he loved careened toward bankruptcy.

As his lawyers and the judge discussed technical points about sentencing guidelines, Kilpatrick slumped in his chair, rubbed his face, closed his eyes, rested his chin on his hand and listened impassively. His legal team won only a couple of minor challenges, a suggestion of what was to come.

In speaking on behalf of Kilpatrick, attorney Harold Gurewitz recalled Kilpatrick’s talent and accomplishments as mayor and said the enormous publicity that accompanied the indictment and trial tended to make Kilpatrick into a scapegoat for everything that is wrong with Detroit today.

Gurewitz argued for a sentence of 15 years, saying Kilpatrick had already heard “the clang and the echo of the door on that cell” and “the feeling of loneliness" in prison.

“He hopes that his life can still be productive and meaningful,” Gurewitz said.

"Turn the Page"

When it was Kilpatrick’s time to address the court, he rose slowly, appearing to display none of the effects of the knee surgery he underwent while in prison for the past seven months since the conclusion of his trial.

In a rambling speech, Kilpatrick told Edmunds he had “really, really, really messed up” and said he wanted the city to heal. But he denied he had stolen public money.

“I want the city to focus,” he said. “It’s over, and I want the city to turn the page.”

At another point, he acknowledged the city is hurting, and said: “A great deal of that hurt I accept full responsibility for.”

Kilpatrick teared up when he brought up his father, who faces sentencing on a single tax charge. He asked Edmunds to go easy on him, saying he has been spending time with Kwame’s fatherless boys while Kwame has been in prison.

“My father is a good man,” Kilpatrick said. “He’s a real good man.”

Kilpatrick ended on a solemn note.

“I’m incredibly remorseful,” he said.

"One thing Is Certain . . ." 

In handing down her sentence, Edmunds explained procedural points and described the consequences of Kilpatrick’s actions.

“One thing is certain,” she said. “It was the citizens of Detroit who suffered.”

She also recalled that Kilpatrick lived large, hosting lavish parties, accepting cash and filling his administration with friends and family.

Edmunds said Kilpatrick had shown little remorse, and she ticked off the months he would spend in prison for the various charges.

"At the very least, a significant sentence will send a message that this kind of conduct will not be tolerated,” she said.

Edmunds methodically added up the months and translated the total into years – 28.

When she spoke the words "28 years," Kilpatrick moved his head back and forth, like he was stretching his neck. His face was blank.

Before long, Kilpatrick stood, put his hands behind his back, and a U.S.marshal put the cuffs back on. The marshal put a legal folder in Kilpatrick’s hands and led the former mayor out of the courtroom.

For 28 years.