Date with Death – Week One: Execution Scheduled for October 5, 2017
Shortly after 7:00 a.m. on the morning of Saturday, September 2, 2017, I
watched my first sunrise in well over a quarter of a century. I had
forgotten just how beautiful an early morning sunrise could be, and how
it had its way of drawing you in and mesmerizing you. At first it barely
peaked over that distant horizon and then, ever so very slowly, it grew
from that first orangish glow into a sudden explosion of even brighter,
almost crimson, radiance spreading to each side. A few clouds accented
its majestic appearance and I stood silently in awe of this event that I
never thought I would see again. It´s been a long time since I last saw
a sunrise.
In that moment, I forgot where I was, despite the fact that to see the
unexpected sunrise I had to look through a single set of steel bars and
then the seven-pane security window about ten-feet away. For nearly
34-years, I´ve been on Florida´s Death Row and, late yesterday
afternoon, I was taken from my regular death row confinement cell to the
bottom floor of Q-Wing. Once again, I was placed in Cell One (please
check out the PBS documentary “Cell One”, featuring me, at www.cellone.wlrn.digital/).
The Florida Governor has rescheduled my previously stayed execution and
now I am counting down my last days. If the State of Florida has their
way, at 6:00 p.m. on Thursday, October 5, 2017, I will be securely tied
down on a gurney with numerous I.V. tubes attached to my body and, with a
barely perceptible nod of Warden Reddish´s head, an unseen figure
behind a partition will then push the first of three plungers down. This
will force the sedative “Etomidate” into my body, with the intent to render me unconscious, before they then flow with the second drug, “rocuronium bromide”,
which is a paralytic that will ensure that, even if they screw the
execution up (as they have too many times before), I will not be able to
physically react. I will lie there experiencing incomprehensible
physical pain until the paid executioner pushes that last plunger down,
sending that lethal dose of “potassium acetate” into my body to cause a cardiac arrest, terminating my life.
I know exactly what will come as my final days count down and there´s
not a damned thing I can do about it. This is the fourth time I´ve been
placed in Cell One and watched as the clock counts down what are to be
my final days. In late 1988, I had my first death warrant signed,
scheduling my execution for November 30, 1988. I came within mere hours
of being executed. Back then, Florida´s method of execution was the
electric chair, and as I sat in this very same cell so long ago, I could
feel that distinctive hum, accompanied by a low vibration on the
concrete floor, as not more than 30-feet away they put “Old Sparky”
through tests to make sure that it would work properly when they planned
to kill me early the next morning.
By late afternoon of November 29, 1988, the Florida Supreme Court
rendered a decision on my first post-conviction appeal, denying our
demand for a new trial by a marginal 4 to 3 decision – refusing to
address the numerous claims supporting my consistently pled claim of
actual innocence because my legal counsel (who was only assigned to my
case after the Governor decided to kill me) failed to “properly” present
the innocence claims to the court (see, Lambrix v State, 534 So.2d.1151
(Fla. 1988)). The Florida Court subsequently found that the Supreme
Court´s refusal to address these claims was unprecedented and in clear
error (Order of May 12, 1992 by U.S. District Judge William Zloch in
Lambrix v Singletary, case no. 4;88-cv-12107-WJ2).
But the Florida Supreme Court did grant a 48-hour stay of execution, to
allow my lawyers to pursue an appeal to the Federal Courts. As I
anxiously waited in “Cell One” for word, the hours ticked down, and with
each tick of the clock my hour of death grew nearer. For days, I
remained in that excruciating state of limbo, not knowing whether I
would live or die, and overwhelming exhaustion set in, as I desperately
tried to maintain under those circumstances. Out of exhaustion I tried
to lay down and rest, only to be awoken by an intense spiritual
experience that, to this day, I cannot hope to adequately describe
(please read, “The Day God Died” and, “Scratching at the Scars of a Shattered Soul”).
Shortly after that, I received word that the Federal District Court had
ordered a full stay of execution, and I was moved back to the regular
death row housing area. Many years of appeals followed. Evidence was
discovered substantiating my consistently pled claim of actual
innocence. The prosecution had tried to coerce me into pleading “guilty”
before my 1984 trial, to the reduced charge of second degree murder,
which would have led me to my release after 17-22 years, if I would
waive any appeals. I refused, as I naively believed our legal system
would work, and I would be exonerated and released. Once again, in July
2006, the prosecutor came to me with an offer to reduce my death
sentence to “life” (with the chance of eventual release) – if I would
drop my appeal arguing my innocence.
But I wouldn´t do it. Instead, I was sent back to Florida´s death row,
and as the years dragged by, both the State and Federal Courts invented
procedural rules as to why the readily available evidence substantiating
my consistently pled claim of innocence could not be heard. My fatal
fault became only too clear – trusting the courts to do the right thing
would cost me my life.
On the morning of Monday, November 30, 2015, the United States Supreme
Court summarily denied review of my actual innocence claim (see, In re: Cary Michael Lambrix vssc case no. 15-6163)
and, within hours, Governor Rick Scott signed a death warrant to
formally schedule me for execution on Thursday, February 11, 2016. I was
immediately moved to the bottom floor of Q-wing at Florida State Prison
and placed on Death Watch (please read, “Slippery Slope to State Sanctioned Murder”). I was housed in Cell Three, where I would spend
what was to be my last Christmas, only a few feet away from the
execution chamber.
I wasn´t alone. About ten-feet away, Cell One held Oscar Bolin, who was
scheduled to die on January 7, 2016. I took a back seat in Cell Three,
and Oscar moved forward. I remained in that cell immediately adjacent to
the heavy steel door that separated us from the execution chamber. Late
in the evening on January 7, 2016, they put Oscar Bolin to death
(please read, “Execution Day: Involuntary Witness to State Sanctioned Murder”).
Early that next morning of January 8, 2016, I was ordered to pack up my
property and moved from Cell Three to Cell One. Oscar´s body was still
warm, but they were already moving me into his now empty cell (see,
“Cell One” PBS Documentary www.cellone.wirn.digital//).
A few hours later, they brought Mark Asay, with an execution scheduled
for Thursday, March 17, 2016, to join me. They moved him into Cell
Three.
On Monday, January 11, 2016 – less than a week after Oscar Bolin’s execution – the Supreme Court issued its 8-to-1 opinion in Hurst v Florida
(136 Sct.61b (2016)), declaring that the way Florida sentences people
to death by allowing the judge to decide whether to impose a death
sentence was unconstitutional; as, under the Sixth Amendment, only the
jury could determine whether sufficient cause existed to enhance the
punishment to death.
Suddenly, the legality of the Florida death penalty was called into
question, and my lawyers expeditiously filed new appeals arguing that,
since my imposed death sentences were based on a non-unanimous jury vote
which the presiding judge used to impose sentence of death, under the
Supreme Court´s decision in Hurst v Florida, my death sentences were illegal.
The Florida Supreme Court heard my case the week before my scheduled
execution and, much to my disappointment, the whole case suddenly
focused on how the Supreme Court's Hurst decision would impact Florida's
death row population, since the vast majority of Florida´s death
sentences were by a non-unanimous jury vote (it should be noted
that Florida is only one of three states that even allowed a death
sentence to be imposed by a non-unanimous jury vote).
Later that same day, following oral arguments, the Florida Supreme Court
ordered a stay of execution in my case until they could figure out how Hurst v Florida
would affect these death sentences. But, because the death warrant
remained in effect even though a stay of execution was granted, I
remained on Death Watch until February 9. As coincidence would have it,
that was my older sister´s birthday. She was visiting me with my parents
and other sister, Mary, along with long-time close friend, Jan Arriens
(founder of Lifelines, an
international organization based in London, England) when the Warden
came to the visiting area and told me that I would be removed from Death
Watch, effective that day… Debbie immediately declared that was the
best birthday present she´d ever received.
And so, on February 9, 2016 – only two-days before they had scheduled me
for execution – I was removed from Death Watch and placed back on
G-wing, the regular death row housing unit at Florida State Prison. Not
long after that, Mark Asay received a stay of execution too.
All executions in Florida would remain on-hold until this legal issue
could be resolved. As those months passed, and then a year, and then
more, we had reason to believe that the courts would rule favorably and
throw out all death sentences based on less than a unanimous jury vote;
especially after the Florida Supreme Court issued its own opinion in
Hurst v State (202 So.3d.40 (Fla. 2016)).
But then, only two-days before Christmas, the Florida Supreme Court released its decisions in Mark Asay v State of Florida (210 So.3d.1 (Fla. 2016)) and John Mosley v State of Florida
(210 So.3d. (Fla. 2016)), in which a sharply divided court decided that
while all death sentences imposed by less than a unanimous jury vote
were now clearly illegal, the court would only retroactively apply this
new rule to capital cases that were finalized (determined by the date
which the first “direct appeal” was decided) after June 24, 2002. In Asay v State,
the court declared that allowing retroactive application of this new
rule to capital cases prior to June 2002 would be too burdensome on the
state.
Bottom line, the Florida Supreme Court (by marginal majority) declared
that it would throw out the illegally imposed sentences of death only as
far back as June 2002, but those sentenced prior to that “arbitrary
line in the sand” would not be granted relief – and they ordered Mark
Asay´s previously granted stay of execution lifted. This meant that
approximately half of the almost 400 death sentenced prisoners in
Florida would have their illegally imposed death sentences thrown out,
but the other half would not.
My own case would drag on for a few months longer. Despite the ruling in
Mark Asay´s case, which made it clear that I would not receive relief
from the illegally imposed sentences of death, I remained hopeful that
the Florida Supreme Court would rule favorably on my innocence-related
issues, especially our request for DNA testing of evidence that could
substantiate my claim of innocence.
But on March 8, 2017, the Florida Supreme Court issued its opinion in my pending case, denying all relief, Lambrix v State
(217 So.3d.977 (Fla. 2017)), and ordered that my previously granted
stay of execution be lifted. My lawyers filed a motion for a rehearing,
arguing that the court´s denial of DNA testing was clearly wrong; as the
court ruled that DNA testing had already been conducted – and it
clearly had not. Further, the court violated its own state procedures by
refusing to address our claim of entitlement to a new trial based on
F.B.I. records conclusively showing that my trial lawyer (an appointed
public defender) was secretly acting as a witness against me in an
unrelated F.B.I. investigation while representing me. Because that act
established an irreconcilable conflict of interest, under applicable
law, that violation should have entitled me to a new trial.
Refusing to address its clear mistakes of both fact and law, the Florida
Supreme Court summarily denied the request for a rehearing, and as of
May 10, 2017, the previously entered stay of execution was formally
lifted. I knew that they would come get me and take me back to Death
Watch again, even though I had my other appeals still pending before the
courts.
On Monday, July 3, 2017, they came and took Mark Asay back to Death
Watch, with a new execution date of August 24. Although he was
previously scheduled 5-weeks after me when our death warrants we signed
prior to the Supreme Court´s Hurst v Florida decision, since his case was ruled on, this time months before mine was, he was now at the front of the line.
And Mark was tired. He said he was ready to go, even though new evidence
came to light supporting his long-standing claim that he did not kill
one of the two victims in his case, but he had enough and was ready to
die. Like too many others, he had lost the will to fight.
That is an element of the death penalty few give any thought to – after
years of fighting the system (and sometimes our appointed lawyers), many
become broken and just want the nightmare to end. By the time the
condemned prisoner is led into the execution chamber, he (or she) has
accepted their fate and their inability to do anything about it. They
then surrender themselves to this ritual of death. That’s just the way
it is.
At precisely 6:22 p.m., Mark Asay was pronounced dead by lethal
injection. It appears that the execution went off as intended, and the
unprecedented use of this new drug protocol (Etomidate, rocuronium
bromide, and potassium acetate) worked; although some witnesses did
report that in his final moments, Asay involuntarily “twitched”,
whatever that may mean.
However, the primary question of whether the Florida Supreme Court´s
arbitrary and unprecedented “partial retroactivity” rule, which has
already held that those illegally sentenced to death after June 2002
would have their sentences thrown out, while simultaneously denying all
pre-2002 cases under identical circumstances relief, can withstand
constitutional challenge remains to be addressed and resolved – and now
my own case will be the lead case in that fight, which will most likely
be resolved by the U.S. Supreme Court… sooner or later.
This should have been addressed in Mark Asay´s case, especially since it
was his case that established this partial retroactivity rule. But Mark
didn´t want his lawyers to pursue that issue again. He considered a
reduction of his death sentence to life to amount to a fate even worse
than death, and refused to allow his lawyers to pursue the issue.
I´m not too happy about my case being the one that will now try to
decide this issue, as, if the courts get focused on that issue, they
will likely ignore my other pending “actual innocence” issues.
And I know, very well, that the Supreme Court could simply refuse to
accept review of that partial retroactivity issue, just as they did
after the Supreme Court first established the foundation of requiring a
jury sentencing in Ring v Arizona (2002), and for 14-years (and
47 executions) the Supreme Court refused to accept review – until they
finally did in 2015, which resulted in the early-2016 decision in Hurst v Florida.
No matter what life throws at you, you got to play the cards you´re
dealt, and the reality is that when Governor Rick Scott signed that
order on September 1, 2017, rescheduling my execution for Thursday,
October 5, 2017, from that day I was given only 35-days left to live.
Maybe I won´t be executed, but since Florida adopted a law that makes a
death warrant “indefinite” (that is, it never expires), nobody has
survived a death warrant under Governor Scott. A few have received
temporary stays, only to then be rescheduled, and they´re all dead now.
Was today´s sunrise an omen, or a curse? Or, was it simply a sunrise
that held no meaning other than its beauty? Before I was brought down to
Death Watch (yet again), I had previously spent about 141-days in
late-1988, and then the winter of 2015-16 here. It´s an environment I´ve
become familiar with.
As I was escorted into this Death Watch cell, the first thing I noticed
was the smell of a fresh coat of paint. The substantially larger size of
the cell no longer surprised me. I stepped into it, then obediently
held my hands to the cell-front bars, so the guards could remove the
handcuffs and chains, while engaging them in casual conversation.
The Death Watch Lieutenant knew that I already knew the Death Watch
routine, so he didn't explain to me again that things work different
down here, and that they would try to make my last days as easy as they
could, short of compromising security.
Directly outside this Cell One, there is a generic and rather plain
state-issued desk, and nobody had to tell me it was built by inmates in
the woodshop. It very well could have been the same prisoners who, when
ordered to do so, also constructed the electric chair many years ago.
There are two multi-colored blue chairs, with obviously aged paisley
patterned cushions accented by a heavy wood frame. They looked
comfortable, and I asked the Death Watch Sargent if he´d mind moving one
of those chars into my cell and we both laughed, a moment of
intentional levity to break the ice.
It was hot, and I quickly began sweating. Late summer in Florida is like
this, hot and humid. It didn´t help that I was wearing the heavy denim
prison uniform we are required to wear anytime outside our cells (as
well as when official visitors come around on one of their “tours” of
death row). Without further thought, I began to strip down to nothing
but my boxers – and the guards thought nothing of it, as that is the
standard uniform we wear in our cells during the hot summers.
Directly in front of Cell One, securely fastened to the wall between the
two windows, hangs a 40-inch flat screen T.V., a luxury only afforded
to those condemned prisoners scheduled to die. Perhaps it was for that
reason I asked the Sargent if he´d mind if I used my own small 13-inch
color T.V. in the cell, but I already knew they´d allow me to do so, if I
wanted to. My personal property had not yet been brought over from the
adjacent regular death row housing wing (G-wing), however, it would
arrive soon. I knew the Property Room Sargent and his crew were already
collecting it and, as they did, they were going through what I had to
make sure I wasn´t given anything that could be a threat to the
heightened state of security on Death Watch.
Normally, the staff use inmate labor to do the work, but once a person
is placed on Death Watch, no contact with other inmates is allowed. The
guards serve me my meals, each plastic-wrapped by the Kitchen Supervisor
and marked “Death Watch.” The Laundry Room Sargent will personally pick
up my laundry and then wash and neatly fold it before bringing it back.
And the guards assigned to work Death Watch will also do the janitorial
work that inmate trustees typically do. Even when I have legal or
(non-contact) social visits while under active death warrant, I will be
escorted up the long main hall (check out “Alcatraz of the South” Part I and II), only after the entire prison is fully locked-down.
As I finally move around a bit in this Death Watch cell that I´m already
far too familiar with, I make up the bunk, using the small stack of
freshly washed and folded linen piled at the foot of the plastic covered
foam mattress, and check the sink to make sure that the water works.
Everything appears to be in order.
I´m allowed one legal phone call and one call to family when a death
warrant is signed and, once I´m situated in the cell, the Sargent puts
the call through to my lawyers. They already knew that the Governor had
rescheduled my execution and assured me that they were already putting
together what needed to be done. We filed numerous appeals in both the
State and Federal courts in recent months, and these remain pending but
there´s more to be done. They would talk again next week.
My personal property arrived and, with the help of the Sargent, it was
passed through the open feed slot (what we call a “bean flap”) a handful
at a time and I stacked it up against the walls. I would put it up in
the large steel footlocker bolted firmly to the floor the next day.
A few hours later, the Sargent puts the phone call through to my sister.
She already knew about where I was, as my lawyer had contacted my
family. My parents were at her house and she put the call on speaker
phone, and I did my best to be positive and tell them not to worry,
reminding them we have the appeals pending and the question of illegally
imposed death sentence should stop all of this. But we all know that
the courts don´t do what they should, and there´s a reason that
of the last 25 men who occupied this Cell One here on Death Watch, I am
the sole survivor. Nobody has survived a rescheduled execution on a
fourth date with death.
But, for now, I will enjoy watching that unexpected sunrise through that
window, and I will watch the next thirty-four to come; enjoying each as
if it will be my last. And that last one will most likely come on the
morning of October 5, 2017. By that evening, I will be dead.
Date With Death - Week Two: Countdown to Execution
When I was brought down to Death Watch on Friday, September 1, 2017,
they gave me 34-days to live and, at precisely 6:00p.m. on that
thirty-fourth day, they plan to pump lethal drugs into my immobolized
veins and kill me. As I sit at this small steel table in Cell One
waiting, I'm now down to only 25-days. Just that quickly, nine days have
already passed. That's almost a full one-third of the rest of my life.
I've been here before, and this Death Watch cell is familiar. But the
last few times I've counted down what were to be my last days, I was not
alone. This time I am, and I'm still trying to figure out whether
that's a good thing or a bad thing. On the plus side, it's often very
quiet for long periods of time. No one else is around other than the
guard sitting at the desk on the other side of the steel bar gate. He
makes his rounds about every 30-minutes to check on me before returning
to his desk. More often than not, we will momentarily engage in idle
conversation, as, like me, he too is alone. It’s just the two of us down
here.
On the negative side, it's very quiet down here when there's nobody
around. I feel isolated and this enhances my feelings of loneliness. I
have a t.v. outside my cell to keep me entertained, and I have my MP3
player to get my head out of this place. But it just doesn't feel the
same this time, being down here all by myself. Not that I'd wish this
on anyone – I wouldn’t do that. I'd rather be down here alone than put
anyone else through this.
As luck would have it, shortly after Governor Scott signed the order on
September 1, rescheduling my execution for October 5, a major hurricane,
“Irma”, developed and grew into what was soon being called one of the
worst ever. The projected path had it heading straight for South Florida
and, as I write this, it's still coming this way.
Just a week earlier, Hurricane Harvey slammed into Texas, with record
rain and within days at least 60 people died. I read that Texas had an
execution scheduled that week that was postponed.
Now I'm going through the same thing. Shortly after my execution was
rescheduled, the Florida Supreme Court issued an order instructing that
all appeals had to be completed before the lower state courts no later
then Monday September 11, so that any review before the Florida Supreme
Court could be expedited. But with Hurricane Irma heading straight for
South Florida, by early Thursday (September 7), the Governor ordered a
statewide emergency and all state offices (including the courts) were
shutdown.
It’s kind of hard to file an appeal if the courthouse is closed. My
lawyers quickly filed a motion asking the Florida Supreme Court to
rescind its order, due to their inability to work the case, and it
didn't take long before the court issued an order granting another full
week to file whatever had to be filed in the lower courts - but they
refused to postpone the execution date. So, even though neither my
lawyers or the lower courts could do anything for that week, and
probably wouldn't be able to do much after Hurricane Irma blows through,
the Florida Supreme Court wasn't going to postpone my execution.
The prison system has been locked-down for days as this hurricane draws
closer and, other than a quick phone call with my lawyers, I haven't had
any contact with them. One of my lawyers had a visit scheduled for this
past Thursday, but couldn’t get any flights out of the Fort Lauderdale
airport, as that part of Florida was being evacuated, and the
investigator assigned to my case is a Coast Guard reservist, and was
called up for duty.
I don't blame them. Call it an act of God. But I'm quickly running out
of time and I haven't had any meaningful communication with my lawyers.
We’ve already lost valuable time, and that clock keeps ticking away, and
there's nothing I can do about it.
Funny how not even what appears to be the worst hurricane in Florida's
history can slow down the machinery of death. This unexpected natural
disaster serves to stack an already loaded deck against me, as this
inability to get the work done favors the state.
But is isn’t all bad. On Monday (September 06), my younger sister came
up for a visit. My other sister planned to come up with her, but
couldn’t make it due to the hurricane. Still, it was a great visit, even
though restricted to non-contact through glass.
Here in Florida (unlike Texas and a few other states), death-sentenced
prisoners are allowed regular contact visits each weekend from 9:00 a.m.
- 3:00 p.m., in a large open visiting park. Although relatively few get
regular visits, it means a lot to be able to give someone you love a
big hug, and to be able to sit at a table and talk and eat a meal bought
from the prison store.
But, once the Governor sets an execution date, then they immediately
terminate those contact visits and all social visits become non-contact.
That means that they are conducted though a glass wall with a small
hole covered by a steel plate with holes in it so you can talk through
it.
Even as much as these visits mean, they are also one of the hardest
parts about facing an execution date. Regardless if what any of us in
here may have done, our families remain innocent victims of this
circumstance. While the victims families, and the justice system are
driven by vengeance to push for our deaths, those that care about us are
driven by love and want us to live, and nothing brings them more pain
then to know that, in a matter of weeks, or even days, or hours, we may
be put to death.
That's the reality that hangs over these Death Watch visits and I do
what I can to keep the positive, to find a way to joke and laugh and
talk about long ago memories of the good times that we shared together.
But how I wished I could just reach through that thick plate of security
glass and give her a big hug and tell her that it will all be alright.
Those few hours passed quickly and we said our goodbyes. My sister tried
to hide the tears as she turned to walk out the door, but I could see
that she was crying. All I could do was smile and wave as she
disappeared through that steel door. At least I had that time with her.
It was a long walk back to my Death Watch cell. The area where the
non-contact visits are conducted is at the front of the prison, just
inside the main door. But the Death Watch area is at the opposite end of
this long building, over a quarter of a mile walk and, with each slow
step in my shackled and chained feet, I felt that I was walking further
away from all that means so much to me; leaving what gave me the
strength to keep going (my family, friends, etc.) and returning to that
cold loneliness of a Death Watch cell only a few feet away from the
steel door that leads into the execution chamber.
If not for those visits, I wouldn't have had the strength to maintain my
sanity through the years. If I've learned nothing else in the too many
decades I've spent in this manmade hell, it is that all of us have our
breaking point, and no matter how strong you may want to be, this place
can break you. It will break you.
I remind myself of what Victor Frankl wrote about in the book Man's Search for Meaning;
how, as long as a man has a reason to live, he can find the will to
live, even under the worst of circumstances. To love and to be loved
gives reason.
For a long time I thought it was hope that gave me the strength to keep
going. But, in recent years, I've come to accept that hope is a fragile
thing, which fades away with each new setback. Hope builds its
foundation on circumstances beyond our control, and crushes our souls
when what we hoped for is taken away.
Love is what keeps us going. The love of family, the love of friends,
and if the stars even momentarily align themselves in just the right
way, even the love of a new romance before it to quickly fades away.
It's the love that others so generously extend to me that gives me
strength.
Even before the Governor signed the order rescheduling my execution, I
was expecting it. Earlier this year, the Florida Supreme Court denied my
appeal that argued that I'm entitled to DNA testing of evidence.
Evidence, that if tested, could substantiate my innocence, and that
under the 2016 U.S. Supreme Court decision in Hurst v Florida, I was illegally sentenced to death.
Knowing that this was coming, and that there wasn't anything I could do
to stop the State of Florida from killing me for something I didn't do, I
decided awhile back that once the Governor did reschedule my execution,
I would begin a hunger strike while on Death Watch. This would be a
means of protesting against the intent to kill me without allowing the
readily available evidence that will substantiate my innocence from
being heard.
But my family and friends didn't like that idea. They worry about me,
and were afraid it would cause me harm. My lawyers expressed their
opposition because they remain confident that I will get another stay of
execution, as I have four appeals pending and a number of strong issues
(including my innocence) that still are not resolved.
I don't want to argue with them (and didn't), as these are people who
have stood by me for many years. And I didn't want to add any more
stress to what they were already going through as it is.
For that reason, I reached a compromise - I would delay initiating this
intended hunger strike until after I had the visit with my sister. I’d
then talk to her and explain why it is important to me that I do
something, as I don't want to just lay down and die... Maybe a hunger
strike wouldn't accomplish anything, maybe some would even laugh at me,
but this is something I had to do.
So, I agreed to wait until after her visit that Wednesday (September 06) to begin, and it was a great visit.
Once I returned to my Death Watch cell, it was almost 4:00 p.m., and I
knew that at 4:00 p.m. I would receive a phone call from my dear friend
Geesje, who lives in Athens, Greece. For so many years, Geesje has stood
by me, giving so much of herself to help fight the injustice of my
wrongful convictions, as well as advocate on behalf of others. In my
world, it's only too easy to forget that there are good people in this
world. For reasons I will never understand, I have been blessed with a
number of family and friends who are genuinely nothing less than
angels... and Geesje is, unquestionably, one.
The call came through and I smiled when I heard her voice, her Dutch
accent always frosted with a healthy dose of humor, and soon we were
laughing despite the reality of my date with death. We only had a few
moments, but just hearing her voice, especially after spending the
earlier hours with my sister, just brought a happiness to my heart that
had me smiling long after I had to hang up the phone.
Then I turned my attention to what could very well be my last meal as,
beginning that following morning (Thursday September 7), I would start
the Death Watch hunger strike and continue it until I either receive a
stay of execution, or I'm put to death.
For months I had saved a “Roast Beef with Gravy” that I got from the
food packages we are allowed to receive from the outside twice-a-year.
It was a ready-to-eat meal that only needed heating up. I also saved a
small bag of instant mashed potatoes, just for this occasion.
On Death Watch, we have access to a microwave oven and need only ask the
Sergeant to put whatever we need heated in it, so I knew that I could
prepare my meal as it should be.
I planned every detail for months. I began by first taking the small bag
of instant mashed potatoes and pouring that into my bowl. Then I pulled
out ten individual servings of liquid coffee creamer, that I bought
from the canteen, and added that to the instant potatoes, stirring it
into a paste.
I then took a two-ounce pack of Philadelphia Cream Cheese (with
jaleapeno's) and added that to the instant potatoes, and then a small
bag of sour cream and onion potato chips, which I crunched up into a
fine powder before mixing that into the potatoes as well. Finally, I
imposed upon the Sergeant to boil a cup of water, which I then slowly
mixed into the potatoes until they were just the right thickness. I
tried not to eat too much under the guise of tasting them - that was not
easy!
Using my other bowl, I poured the generous portion of roast beef with
thick brown gravy into that bowl and, again, imposed upon the Sergeant
to heat it. Once that was steaming hot, I had him throw my potatoes into
the microwave for a few minutes and then, using a couple of paper
plates, I laid out a small mountain of my flavored potatoes in the
middle of a plate, carefully creating a small bowl in the very middle. I
then slowly poured the roast beef with gravy into that hollowed out
cavity, until the thick gravy generously poured over the sides, with the
chunks of roast beef spread to the side of that mountain.
I then sat down at my small table - the same table that so many others
who previously occupied this Death Watch cell before me had eaten their
own last meal before being put to death - and I took a moment to say Grace and remember those who went before me. Then I slowly ate that
meal, savoring every bite, and knowing that it very well could be my
last meal.
That plate of potatoes and roast beef with gravy filled me up, but I
wasn't quite done yet. I reached into my footlocker and took out the
last two small bags of Keebler Fudge Stripe Mini's cookies that I’d also
saved from my food package. I had bought two small Kraft chocolate
pudding cups from the canteen, and had them placed in the Death Watch
refrigerator. I poured that thick, and almost frozen, chocolate pudding
into the bowl, then poured the mini cookies on top, and began to eat my
dessert. With each bite, I made sure that I had just the right mixture
of pudding and mini fudge cookies. I deliberately took my time with each
slow bite until, finally, it was gone. Then, like a child in his
mother's kitchen, I licked the bowl clean, putting extra effort into
making sure that I got every bit of that chocolate.
Once I had finished, I began to wash my bowls in the small sink, then
dry them out. It was now early evening and I laid back on my bunk. I put
my headphones on and watched t.v. for the next few hours, before I
finally fell asleep. For a day on Death Watch, and only a few feet away
from that steel door that leads into the execution chamber that
patiently awaits me (please read, “Execution Day: Involuntary Witness to State Sanctioned Murder"), it wasn't a bad one.
But, it was also a long day, and I was tired and ready for sleep.
However, sleep didn't come easy, as I struggled to focus on the time
spent earlier that day with my sister and the way we laughed and shared
memories of better days, and on the sound of my dearest friend Geesje's
voice.
I fell asleep, then woke again, and pushed myself to sleep again. Before
long it was almost 5:00 a.m., and the Death Watch Sergeant was standing
at my cell door holding a white styrofoam food tray. I already knew it
contained two biscuits with what they claim to be meat gravy, and
potatoes and grits... that was our Thursday morning breakfast for, at
least, the past ten-years.
Politely, I refused that breakfast tray, just as I would every meal they
brought after that. Making his routine rounds, the Warden came by and I
explained to him why I was doing this hunger strike, and that it had
nothing to do with prison staff.
A few hours later, the Assistant Warden came by with a small folder of
paperwork and, just as I had done when my death warrant was signed in
November 2015, he advised me that they needed to go over a few things.
He asked whether there were any changes to my previously stated next of
kin, and how I wanted my body to be disposed of if the execution took
place.
I answered each question as if I had that conversation every day, and
within minutes we were finished. Just that quickly, the decision on how
my body, as well as my personal property, would be disposed of was
decided, and it brought me another step closer to death.
By Friday (September 8), the prison was already shutting everything down
as they prepared for Hurricane Irma to blow through by early-Monday.
Because of the hurricane, my previously scheduled visit with my elderly
parents and other sister was cancelled, as was any communication with my
lawyers. It would be a long weekend, until Tuesday.
As I write this, I have 25-days to go until they will come to take me to
the other side of this floor and countdown those last minutes until, as
I lay strapped to that gurney, they pump a cocktail of lethal drugs
into my body and kill me. And there's not a damned thing I can do to
stop them.
