Every redemption story starts in a bad place: a grave sin, a destructive lapse, a serious crime. In the case of James Wolcott, it was exceptionally bad: his murder of his parents and sister in 1967, when he was 15.

Psychiatrists diagnosed the teenager with paranoid schizophrenia, which can cause its victims to hear voices and suffer terrifying delusions. A Texas jury found him not guilty by reason of insanity, and he was ordered to be held in a state mental hospital. In 1974, after years of treatment, he was deemed sane and released.

From there, Wolcott could have reverted to psychosis. He could have been arrested for new crimes. He could have ended up a drug addict. He might have become homeless.

But Wolcott took a different course. He changed his name to James St. James, graduated from college and went on to get a master's degree and a doctorate in psychology. He joined the faculty of Millikin University, a small private institution in Decatur, Ill., where he got tenure and became chair of the psychology department.

But the past, as readers of mystery novels know, doesn't always stay buried. Recently, a weekly paper in Texas unearthed St. James' whereabouts and revealed his secret. The fallout was predictable. Decatur Mayor Mike McElroy urged him to resign. U.S. Rep. Rodney Davis, whose district includes Decatur and who graduated from Millikin, said the school should put him on leave while it investigates his hiring.

But the university stood by its professor. "For 27 years, he has taught a variety of courses at Millikin, served in various leadership roles and built a successful academic career receiving academic awards including the 1997 Teaching Excellence and Leadership Award," it said in a statement. "Millikin University has only recently been made aware of Dr. St. James' past. Given the traumatic experiences of his childhood, Dr. St. James' efforts to rebuild his life and obtain a successful professional career have been remarkable."

Plenty of those he has taught have also praised him. St. James has declined interviews.

If a private institution thinks an employee deserves to be retained despite the discovery of adverse information, it's really not the place of elected officials to interfere. His superiors and colleagues know him well, and they apparently are comfortable keeping him around.

Will everyone agree? Obviously not. Some will conclude that nothing can redeem a man who carried out three murders. Others will dismiss the idea that insanity can explain, much less excuse, such carnage. But parents and students are free to reach their own conclusions and decide if Millikin is the place for them.

It's worth keeping in mind, though, that we don't want people who do ghastly things to stay as they are. We want them to confront the wrongs they have done, transform their lives and use their remaining time on Earth to make at least some sort of amends.

St. James gives every indication of having done that. He overcame a severe mental illness. He got an education. He's been a good teacher and mentor for students, and a respected colleague to faculty members.

No one should forget how his story began. But it's vital to remember that it didn't stop there. Tales of redemption never do.