The PEN Prison Writing Contest just released the winners for the 2017-18 contest and Mike placed third in the essay category with this essay.
Written for MinutesBeforeSix
As if a scene straight out of The Twilight Zone, circumstances trapped
me within the cold and calculated process that resulted in the murder by
state sanctioned execution of Oscar Ray Bolin on January 7, 2016. In
all the years I´ve been on Florida´s death row, I´ve never been in such
close proximity to an execution as it unfolded around me, forcing me to
become part of the very process that they intended to then subject me to
in precisely five weeks’ time.
On November 30, 2015, Florida Governor Rick Scott signed my death
warrant and I was immediately transferred from the main death row unit
at Union Correctional (less than a mile away) to the “death watch”
housing area on the bottom floor of Q-Wing at Florida State Prison. I
joined Oscar down there—his own death warrant had been signed about 5
weeks earlier and they intended to murder him on January 7. There are
only three cells in the death watch area, and Oscar was in cell one, and
I was place in cell three, with an empty cell separating us.
Through those five weeks, each day brought him closer—his wife of almost
twenty years solidly by his side, uncompromised in her commitment to
stand by him and prove that he was innocent. And those familiar with the
case knew that recently developed evidence did establish a persuasive
issue of innocence, too.
His final rounds of appeals focused specifically on evidence supporting
his innocence and the hope that the courts would do the right thing. As
the New Year weekend passed, the Federal District Court summarily denied
review of his innocence claim upon the finding that the lower Federal
Court didn´t have jurisdiction to hear his claim of innocence. But there
was hope, as the District Court granted a “Certificate of
Appealability” (“C.O.A.”) authorizing appellate review before the
Eleventh Circuit, and soon after the Eleventh Circuit issued an order
establishing a “briefing schedule” in March…it seemed all but certain
that Oscar would be granted a stay of execution and his claim of
innocence would be fully briefed and heard by the appellate court.
Monday, January 4 passed as he anxiously awaited word that a stay of
execution would be granted, but there was only silence from the court.
Each day his wife spent every minute she could and it is impossible to
imagine the pain she felt—she too was unquestionably a victim caught up
in this cold process that unfolded around her.
I sat in my solitary cell not more than ten feet away and found myself
impressed with the strength Oscar exhibited, and the concern he held for
his wife and what this process inflicted on her. Society wanted to
label this man a cold-blooded killer, yet if only those only too willing
to throw stones could see the desperate concern he had for his wife,
they could see how wrong they are.
Now I struggle to find the words—and with a reluctance to even write
about what I involuntarily witnessed. But if I don´t, then who will? And
is it really fair that the record of what transpired would otherwise be
the state´s own version, leaving no perspective from those that they
kill?
I must emphasize that even as much as these events impacted me due to my
close proximity to this process, it is not comparable to what they were
forced to endure, and the loss those who loved Oscar Bolin suffered. My
attempt to share what transpired from my own unique perspective is done
in the hope that perhaps by bearing witness, others would see just how
incomprehensibly inhuman this process is, and how truly cold-blooded
this act of murder is…and to know it is carried out in all of our names.
And I apologize for rambling on—it is not easy for me to find the
necessary words. I can only hope that I can convey the true impact of
what unfolded and compel those that read this to ask themselves whether
this truly is what we aspire our society to be? It´s easy to justify the
death penalty by claiming that it is in the interest of justice to kill
those convicted of killing another—to become a killer ourselves.
But how many give a thought at all to just how much contemplation is put
into this process employed to take that life? I am again reminded of
what I once read, written by the philosopher Frederick Nietzsche,
“Beware that, when fighting monsters, you yourself do not become a
monster.”
Think about that. It´s easy to dismiss what I say by blindly insisting
that a jury convicted Oscar Bolin of murder and that justice demands
that society take his life. But really—who is actually investing more
conscious thought into the act of taking a human life?
It is for this reason I´m determined to share my own unique perspective
of what this process is, and how by these very actions it reduces
society itself to that very level of becoming “the monster.” Perhaps in
my attempt to share this, others can see just how wrong this is.
On the early morning of Monday, January 4, the day began with the death
watch staff advising both me and Oscar of our scheduled visits and phone
calls for that day, I had already asked my family and friends not to
visit that week as I didn´t want my visits to interfere in any way with
Oscar´s visits. All I had was a phone call from my son early that
morning and a legal phone call with my lawyer later that day.
Oscar had a visit with his wife and both anxiously awaited any word from
the Eleventh Circuit courts hoping that a full stay of execution would
come and the court would allow full and fair review of his innocence
claim. But the day passed without any word from the court. By that
evening Bolin was down to 72 hours—and I know from personal experience
how difficult that was, as I had come within hours of execution myself
when I was on death watch years earlier—only I was granted a stay.
By Tuesday morning, January 5, Oscar was down to sixty hours, and the
clock continued to tick away and yet still nothing from the courts on
whether they would allow his claim of innocence to be heard. Oscar spent
from late morning until mid-afternoon with his wife in the non-contact
visiting area. Upon his return, his demeanor was more subdued and the
stress and anxiety he felt became all but tangible. And as I sat
silently a few feet away in my own solitary cell, I wondered whether any
of those willing to take his life gave even so much as a moment of
thought into what they were inflicting upon other human beings—and
again, Oscar was not the only one forced to count down those final hours
anxiously hoping that phone would ring with the news that the court
would allow his claim of innocence to be heard…every second of every
moment, every hour that passed inflicted incomprehensible pain upon his
wife and those that cared for him.
That evening passed in an uncomfortable silence as the courts would have
closed their doors for the night and no news would come until at least
that next morning. That psychological trauma of uncertainty weighed
heavily upon them.
I doubt Oscar slept much that Tuesday night—I know I didn´t. His T.V.
remained on into the early morning hours. By that next morning
(Wednesday) he was down to about thirty six hours until his still
scheduled execution and still no word from the court. It would be a long
day. They brought the breakfast trays as they did each morning, but
neither of us had any interest in eating. Down here on death watch, our
meals are kept under direct supervision of security staff to ensure
nobody (other prisoners or staff) has any chance of tampering with the
food or smuggling anything to the condemned prisoner.
This methodical countdown to the intended execution actually starts a
full week before, when they remove all personal property from the
condemned prisoner´s cell, placing him (or her) on “Phase II.” From the
moment they place the condemned prisoner on Phase II (that final week) a
guard is posted directly in front of the cell twenty four hours a day,
his only job to observe the condemned prisoner to ensure he (or she)
doesn´t attempt suicide or harm themselves—and a few have tried. Any
activity is written in a forest green “Death Watch Log.” Throughout this
time, not even for one second are you allowed to forget that they are
counting down your last days—and last hours.
Oscar again had a visit with his wife as she stood faithfully by him
spending every moment she could—even if those visits were restricted to a
few hours of non-contact (through glass) visits.
By early afternoon Oscar returned to his death watch cell—still no word
from the court. The hours dragged by as Oscar talked to the guard
stationed in front of his cell, simply talking about anything at all.
Warden Palmer came down, accompanied by Deputy Secretary Dixon (the
second highest Department of Corrections employee). They talked to Oscar
for a while mostly just to check on how he was holding up. But the
preparations had begun and that final twenty four hours was quickly
approaching. After they talked to Oscar, they stepped that few feet
further down to the front of my cell and spoke to me.
I must admit that I was impressed by their professionalism and their
sincerity that bordered on genuine concern. Perhaps the most heard
expression on death watch is an almost apologetic “we´re just doing our
job” and the truth is that the current staff assigned to work the death
watch area and interact with the condemned prisoners counting down their
final hours do go to great lengths to treat us with a sense of dignity
and respect seldom even seen in the prison system.
The significance of this cannot be understated. I´ve been down here on
death watch before years ago and came within hours of being executed
myself, and there´s always been a deliberate distance between the
condemned and the staff—especially the higher ranking staff. But it´s
different this time. In the five weeks that I´ve been down here almost
daily high ranking staff have come down to the death watch housing area
and made a point of talking to us in an informal manner, abandoning that
implicit wall of separation between them and us.
And now none other than the Deputy Secretary himself personally came
down to talk to us—I´ve never heard of this before. Shortly after they
left, Oscar asked the sergeant for the barber clippers. He wanted to
shave his own chest and legs, rather than have them do it the next day.
It had to be done, as the lethal injection process requires the
attachment of heart monitors and Oscar preferred to shave it himself—as
most would.
Oscar received another legal phone call later that afternoon—now down to
almost twenty four hours until his scheduled execution and still no
decision by the Eleventh Circuit as to whether or not they´d allow
review of his innocence claim. The lawyers would call if any news came,
but it was assumed that the judges deciding his fate already called it a
day and went home. No further phone call came that night. Again Oscar
stayed up late, unable to sleep until sometime in the early morning
hours and he was not alone, as sleep would be hard to come by.
We reached the day of execution. Typically, they change shifts at 6:00
a.m. working a full twelve hour shift. But on days of scheduled
execution, they change shifts at 4:30 a.m., as with the execution
scheduled at 6:00 p.m. they cannot do a shift change then, as the entire
institution will go on lockdown during that time.
With that final twenty four hours now counting down, each minute was
managed by strict “Execution Day” protocol, and the day started earlier
than usual. As if an invisible cloud hung in the air, you could all but
feel the weight of this day as it was that tangible, and undoubtedly
more so on Oscar. But he was holding up remarkably well, maintaining his
composure even though the strain was obvious in his voice. How does one
go about the day that they know they are to die? Again, I´ve been there
myself and I know how he felt and it cannot easily be put into words.
Oscar was diabetic and as with each morning, the nurse came to check his
blood sugar level and administer insulin, if necessary. Now within that
final twelve hours, nothing would be left to chance. Around 7:00 a.m.,
they let Oscar take a shower, and then after locking down the entire
institution, they took him up front for a last visit with his wife. They
would be allowed a two hour non-contact visit until 10:00 a.m., then an
additional one hour contact visit—the last visit before the scheduled
execution.
Shortly after 11:00 a.m. they escorted Oscar back to the Q-Wing death
watch cell. A few minutes later “Brother Dale” Recinella was allowed to
come down and spend a few hours with Oscar as his designated spiritual
advisor. Contrary to the Hollywood movies depicting the execution
process, the prison chaplain is rarely, if ever, involved as each of us
are allowed to have our own religious representative—and many choose
“Brother Dale” as he is well-known and respected amongst the death row
population.
Many years ago Brother Dale was a very successful lawyer, making more
money than most can dream of. But then he experienced a life-changing
event and spiritual transformation, as chronicled in his book “And I
Walk on Death Row”.
Brother Dale and his equally-devoted wife Susan gave up their wealth
and privilege and devoted their lives to their faith and ministering to
death row.
Even as these final hours continued to count down, I remained in that solitary cell only a few feet away and unable to escape the events as the continued to unfold around me. There are only three cells on death watch and I found it odd that they kept me down here as they proceeded with this final process—when I was on death watch in 1988, they moved me upstairs to another cell removed from the death watch area as they didn´t want any other prisoners in the death watch area as these final events unfolded.
Brother Dale left about 2:00 p.m. and the death watch lieutenant, a
familiar presence on death watch, then made a point of talking to Oscar
and they went over the protocol—shortly before 4:00 p.m. he would shower
again and then be brought around to the west side of the wing where
they had only one cell immediately adjacent to the door that led to the
execution chamber. I listened as this process was explained, knowing
only too well that in precisely five more weeks I would be given the
same talk.
The warden and Asst. warden came down again and talked to Oscar. A few
minutes later the Secretary (director) of the Florida Department of
Corrections, Julie Jones, personally came to Oscar´s cell and sat in a
chair and talked to him—I´ve never heard of that happening before. But
her tone of voice and mannerisms reflected genuine empathy towards
Oscar, and he thanked her for taking that time to talk to him.
As they now closed in on that final two hours before the scheduled
execution, Oscar received another phone call from his lawyer—the
Eleventh Circuit Court of Appeals still had not ruled on whether they
would grant a stay of execution and allow a full review of his pled
innocence claim. Oscar´s voice was obviously stressed. Per protocol, the
nurse gave him 5 mg. valium to calm his nerves.
Just before 4:00 p.m., Oscar spoke to me, wanting to talk about a
problem he and I had years ago—a problem that I alone was responsible
for and of which I have often regretted. In the five weeks we had been
on death watch together, it was not spoken of. But now, to my amazement,
even dealing with all that he was dealing with, Oscar wanted me to know
that he forgave me for what I did. And for a few minutes we talked. And
then the warden and his staff removed Oscar from his cell and escorted
him around to the west side of the wing, to the execution chamber
holding cell, where he would remain until the court cleared the way for
execution, or he received a stay of execution and was brought back to
this side.
A single sergeant remained on this side, and for the first time since I
was brought to death watch I was alone as the sergeant remained at the
desk just outside the cell block area—and I didn´t want to be alone. As I
do often, especially when stressed, I paced in my cell anxious to hear
any word on what was going on and checking my watch almost every minute,
and each minute dragged by so slowly it was almost as if time itself
had stopped and I couldn´t begin to imagine what Oscar and his wife were
going through.
At irregular intervals the sergeant would walk down to my cell to check
on me and I asked whether there was any more news. The Eleventh Circuit
had denied his appeal and the case quickly moved on to the U.S. Supreme
Court. The designated time of scheduled execution—6:00 p.m.—came and
went without any word from the Supreme Court.
Oscar would remain in that holding cell until the Supreme Court cleared
the way for execution—but at least both he and his loved ones still had
hope as the minutes continued to tick away.
Most don´t realize just how many people are involved in this execution
process and everybody remained on hold not knowing whether the execution
would proceed or not. Immediately adjacent to my cell was a solid steel
door that led directly into a hallway stretching the entire width of
the wing. Just inside this door was an area with a coffee pot and
chairs, and I could hear a number of unknown people congregated only a
few feet away from me on the other side of the door as they discussed
the continued uncertainty.
A larger crowd of unknown participants congregated on the lower
quarter-deck area between the west side of the wing where the death
watch housing area was and the door that led into the east side where
Oscar remained in the holding cell. I couldn´t make out what they were
saying and wondered, especially when I periodically heard laughter. I
suppose this long wait was stressful on them, too, and a moment of
levity could be forgiven. And yet I found myself wondering what they
could possibly find funny as they awaited that moment of time when they
would each assume their assigned task and take the life of another human
being.
One hour passed, and then another, and another yet. Then at almost 10:00
p.m. it suddenly got quiet—very quiet. All the voices that continuously
hummed both behind that steel door and the quarter-deck area just
suddenly went silent and without anyone around to tell me; I knew that
they all moved to their positions in the execution chamber.
Vigil Oscar Bolin
It remained utterly silent—so quiet that I could hear the coffee pot
percolating at the sergeant´s desk on the other side of the gate and I
held my watch as the minutes passed and I strained to hear any sound at
all. But there was nothing and I knew they were now putting Oscar to
death. I cannot explain it, but I just felt it—and I got on my knees and
I prayed, and yet I couldn´t find any words and found myself kneeling
at my bunk in silence for several minutes.
Then I heard what sounded like a door on the other side of that concrete
wall that separated my cell from the execution chamber. Then I once
again heard muffled voices on the other side of that steel door. It was
over and it went quickly…Oscar was dead. A few minutes later I heard the
sound of a number of people going up the stairs leading away from the
execution chamber. Their job was done and in an orderly manner they were
leaving.
For obvious reasons, I didn´t sleep that night. Only a few feet behind
that wall of my cell, Oscar´s body now lay growing cold. There are no
words that can describe how I felt, but that emptiness that consumed me
and left me laying in my bunk in complete silence through the night.
Somewhere in the early morning hours I fell asleep, only to awaken just
after 7:00 a.m. It was a new day. The death watch Lieutenant was already
here and I was now the only one left on death watch. But just that
quickly, I was instructed that I had to immediately pack my property as
they had to move me to cell one—the cell that Oscar only recently
vacated.
I didn´t want to move to that cell, but I didn´t have any choice. That
was the same cell I previously occupied in late 1988 when I myself came
within hours of my own execution (read, “The Day God Died”)
and especially knowing that only a few hours again Oscar was in that
cell still alive and holding on to hope, I just didn´t want to be moved
to that cell. Every person who has been executed in the State of Florida
in the past forty years was housed in that cell prior to their
execution.
But it wasn´t a choice and I obediently packed my property and with the
officer´s assistance, I was moved from cell three to cell one. And as I
worked on putting all my property back where it belonged (storing it in
the single steel footlocker bolted firmly to the floor), a long-awaited
phone call from my close friend Jan Arriens came through.
While on death watch, we are allowed two personal phone calls each week,
and since my warrant was signed five weeks earlier, I had anxiously
awaited the opportunity to talk to Jan, but through the Christmas
holiday he was visiting his family in Australia. Having only recently
returned to his home in England, he arranged this phone call.
It was good to hear a friendly voice just at that time when I most
especially needed a friend. But we only had a few minutes to talk and
unlike those eternal moments of the night before, these minutes passed
far too quickly. But just hearing the voice of a friend comforted me.
Shortly after that phone call, I then had a legal visit and was escorted
to the front of the prison to meet with my lawyer´s investigator. We
spent hours going over legal issues and then it was back to the death
watch cell. Not long after I returned, I learned that the governor had
already signed another death warrant. This machinery of death continued
to roll along. By mid-afternoon a familiar face was brought down to join
me…Mark Asay (who we call “Catfish”) had his death warrant signed that
morning, with his execution scheduled for March 17, exactly 5 weeks
after my own scheduled execution.
With the methodical precision of a mechanical machine, Florida has
resumed executions with a vengeance, establishing a predictable pattern
of signing a new death warrant even before the body of the last executed
prisoner has grown cold.
Now I remain in the infamous “cell one,” next in line to be executed—and
on February 11, 2016 at 6:00 p.m., the State of Florida plans to kill
me. Until then, I will remain in a cell in which the last twenty three
occupants, without exception, resided until their own execution. I do
not like being in this solitary cell.
Mike Lambrix
Mike's website: Southern Injustice
(Mike was executed by the state of Florida on October 5, 2017, Mark Asay was executed August 24, 2017)
Mike Lambrix
Mike's website: Southern Injustice
(Mike was executed by the state of Florida on October 5, 2017, Mark Asay was executed August 24, 2017)
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