Ameen Hurst sentenced to 55 to 110 years in prison for four murders, robberies as a teenager

By the time Ameen Hurst becomes eligible for parole, he will be an elderly man — nearly three-quarters of the way to 100 years old, and nearly five times the age he was when he committed the crimes that landed him in prison.

For shooting and killing four people, robbing two convenience stores at gunpoint, and then escaping from prison while awaiting trial, Hurst was sentenced Thursday to 55 to 110 years in prison. The sentence surprised even veteran Philadelphia prosecutors — Hurst, after all, was just 16 when he committed the crimes.

But as Common Pleas Court Judge J. Scott O’Keefe put it, “These crimes are outrageous.” Depraved, even, he said.

Hurst shot his victims more than a dozen times, prosecutors said, then laughed about it with callousness.

And so, the judge said, Hurst deserved to be behind bars for nearly the rest of his life.

Upon that judgment, Hurst, now 20, held his face in his hands. Then he turned to his lawyer, Gary Silver, in frustration.

“You told me, bro!” he said with exasperation. He balled his fists and said, “I should f― you up,” before he was led out of the courtroom.

Just moments earlier, Hurst had pleaded for mercy from the judge and forgiveness from the families of the four young people he killed.

First, there was Dyewou Scruggs, 20, shot on Christmas Eve 2020 as he filmed himself on Instagram Live at a bus stop.

Then, a few months later, there were Naquan Smith, 24, and Tamir Brown, 17, people Hurst saw as enemies in a back-and-forth gang war.

Finally, Hurst killed 20-year-old Rodney Hargrove in a case of mistaken identity, shooting him nearly 20 times just outside the gates of a city jail.

And in between those shootings, Hurst admitted, he robbed two convenience stores at gunpoint.

All of this, he and his lawyers said, was because of a rough childhood, mental health struggles, and immaturity. Hurst began receiving mental health treatment at age 10, and unsuccessfully received substance abuse treatment at 12, said one of his lawyers, Lee Mandell.

Hurst said his father was addicted to drugs and absent from his life, and his mother spent four years of his childhood in jail. Floating between houses and guardians, he fell in with the streets, he said, becoming infatuated with guns and crime, and was easily influenced by the negative forces and gangs around him. His actions, he said, were “disgusting.”

“I ask myself every day how I can be so stupid,” he said through tears. “I’m going to use this to better myself … to be the man I know I can be.”

Silver asked the judge to take into consideration Hurst’s age and the trials of his youth and asked for a sentence of 20 to 50 years.

But Hurst’s words and those of his lawyers were not enough to overcome the words spoken by prosecutors and the five members of Hargrove’s family.

They remembered the best of Hargrove, whom they affectionately called “Roddy”: his high-pitched laugh, his love for family, how he never outgrew sleepovers at his Pop Pop’s.

They also shared the depths of their grief.

Paulette Hackney said that since her nephew’s killing, his grandmother’s health has rapidly declined. She no longer leaves home, Hackney said, and just sits and clutches the dog her grandson left behind “as if it was Rodney.”

The Rev. John Hargrove III, an uncle, said he can no longer write or preach sermons about forgiveness, one of the most important tenets of his faith.

“I have been shaken to my core,” he said.

The relatives of the three other victims were too frightened to attend the sentencing, prosecutors said.

Assistant District Attorneys Anthony Voci and Ed Jaramillo spoke on their behalf.

Voci showed a collection of photos of Hurst holding up guns, saying he “glorifies guns, gun culture, and gun violence.”

“I give him very little credit for accepting responsibility,” he said, noting the overwhelming evidence against him. “He had no hand to play.”

Among that evidence was a series of videos of Hurst during a video call from jail, where he bragged about the murders and mocked the victims and their last words with laughs.

Jaramillo read the victims’ pleas for help aloud — how Scruggs “yelled out for mercy,” and Smith and Brown screamed they’d been hit in the neck and groin.

“Each one of these victims was a different person, and every one of them cried out,” he said.

Of the victims, he told the judge: “You need not worry about sentencing them. They were sentenced to death.”

Hurst’s lawyers tried to explain how far he had come in the three years since he was arrested. The Rev. Damone Jones, who mentored Hurst while he was incarcerated, said he has seen him mature and feel remorse for what he had done.

But prosecutor Brett Zakeosian said no one who had learned from his mistakes would plot to escape jail — as Hurst did in May 2023, igniting a 10-day manhunt — and then spend his time on the lam recording a rap song to brag about what he’d done.

“He holds contempt for the law,” the prosecutor said.

When O’Keefe pronounced his lengthy sentence, the courtroom erupted in whispers and sobs. Nearly 60 people had come in support of Hurst, and filled the benches behind him.

As Hurst stood up to leave, some yelled out that they loved him. He tried to turn back, struggling briefly in the doorway, before he was led out of the room in shackles, back to a cell and a life behind bars, where he would sleep for decades to come.