I was assigned to cover an execution in Mississippi yesterday. I've already filed my report for radio, and I'm writing a freelance piece for the local independent paper, but I wanted to share what I saw with the DKos community as well.
Personal musings and snippets from memory below the fold.
Preparation
Picture this:
Walking into a small room, escorted by three police officers, you look through a mirrored window to see an incredibly large man clad in orange, approximately 307 pounds, lying on his back on a gurney. Seven straps cover his body; one around each ankle, a strap around the shins, one above the knees, one above the inmate's rising and falling belly, and two straps criss-crossing each other over his chest.
His arms are supported by two extensions coming out of the gurney, and strapped down at the bicep and forearm. His fingers are hidden in leather sleeves at the end of each gurney, presumably so we won't see them twitch when the drugs are administered. An IV tube runs up the length of each arm and under each sleeve of Woodward's jumpsuit, each tube exiting the top of the gurney near his head, and running into two small holes in the wall, on either side of a large door with mirrored glass. One can assume this is where the executioner will flip the switch that turns on the IV machine, where a deadly three-drug cocktail of sodium piothental, pancuronium bromide and potassium chloride waits to enter his body through the saline drip.
As his belly rises and falls somewhat quickly but not rapidly with each breath, Woodward cranes his neck from left to right, attempting to take in the most of the last room he'll ever see. His eyes dart from the beige brick wall to the white tile floor to the hospital ceiling. Maybe he's drawing back on his last meal; he had saved room in his stomach all day by hardly touching his breakfast or lunch. The last food he would ever eat was a hamburger grilled well-done on a "real bun," with lettuce, tomato, onion, dill pickle, mustard and mayo. He also ordered french fries with salt, fried onion rings, a bowl of chili with no beans, a pint of vanilla ice cream, and two 20 oz. root beers. He did not request a sedative before being transferred to the execution chamber.
The Commissioner of Corrections stands somberly by another door on the other end of the room, facing the inmate's sandal-clad feet. The Sunflower County Coroner stands next to the Department of Corrections' Internal Affairs person to Woodward's right, and the Deputy Corrections Commissioner stands alone in a corner. None of them say a word to each other, none of them take their eyes off of Woodward.
I file in with three other media witnesses in the offender's chamber, where those attending on the behalf of the convict sit. Woodward, however, being that he's a 24-year veteran of death row, had no family request to visit him or to watch his death. I presume his 5 kids, and maybe one or two of the 11 grandkids the 62 year-old claims as family know about the horrendous crime he committed back in 1986, and confessed to in 1987. Depending on the age of the grandchildren, they may or may not know the grisly details of how Paul Everette Woodward backed up his logging truck to block a small two-lane road in Escatawpa, forcing a pretty young blonde 24 year-old Rhonda Crane to get out of her car and see what the problem was.
Maybe his children and grandchildren chose not to watch the execution of a man who confessed to kidnapping a woman he had never met at gunpoint around 12 noon, forcing her into his truck, and driving off into the woods where he beat her, raped her, shot her in the back of the head, dumped her body, and went to work a few minutes later than usual. The only person present on his behalf at the execution was his lawyer, who sat emotionless, his right leg resting atop his left, hands clasped around his knee, dressed comfortably in sneakers and a denim jacket.
The victim's family had two witnesses, however. Crane's sister, Renee Lander, who brought Crane's niece, Kelli Belcher, all the way to the heart of the Mississippi Delta from Moss Point, near the Gulf Coast. That's about a six-hour trip, just one way. Lander's face is weathered and weary, riddled with lines. She looks like she's nearly sixty, although if she was Crane's age at the time of the murder, she's hardly even fifty. Kelli looks to be in her early twenties, and she's struggling to maintain her composure in the midst of somber reporters, prison guards and MDOC officials.
The Execution
The clock reads 6:25 PM. The witnesses are all seated. The Deputy Commissioner asks Mr. Woodward if he has any last words.
"Yes sir," he says. The Deputy Commissioner lowers a microphone from the ceiling toward Woodward's face. His voice is weak and quavering. His belly is rising and falling quicker than normal.
"I'd like to say the Lord's Prayer. Anyone who wishes to do so, please join me. Our Father, who art in heaven..."
As Woodward recites the Lord's Prayer, I can see the MDOC internal affairs guy mouthing the words along with Woodward. Everyone else in the room is silent. Woodward finishes the prayer.
"...For thine is the Kingdom, and the Power, and the Glory forever. Amen. Thank you Warden- I'm sorry- Commissioner."
We think Woodward was apologizing for referring to the Commissioner as "Warden," as he made no reference to his crime or the victim's family in his final statement. The Deputy Commissioner lifts the mic back towards the ceiling, and closes each curtain briefly. The Commissioner told us all later that they had to adjust the IV, and chose to do that with the curtains closed.
The curtains reopen, and I watch Woodward's monstrous belly start to heave quicker than it had been. I try to estimate when each drug is introduced into Woodward's bloodstream. His head drifts to the right, and his breathing slows down. This is likely when the first barbituate is deployed into the IV; sodium piothental is meant to render the inmate unconscious, although lethal injection has been criticized as cruel and unusual because oftentimes the first dose of the barbituate is insufficient to keep the inmate knocked out through the process.
The second drug is now being administered- pancuronium bromide effectively paralyzes the body; those with expertise on lethal injection say this drug isn't necessary for the execution process, but is instead meant to keep the body from bucking and jerking when the last, fatal drug is introduced.
I can guess when the potassium chloride is injected, when I see Woodward's breathing slow to a very small rising and falling of his belly. This drug sends the inmate into cardiac arrest. His body is strapped down completely, his fingers are hidden, and his feet aren't moving, but I can barely tell a slight hint of movement by looking at the reflection of the lights through the lenses of Woodward's glasses. The lights are slightly quivering in the reflection, and I take a closer look at his head, and see it shaking rapidly after watching for a few seconds.
The shaking stops. His belly is still, and his eyes are closed. Woodward lies there for several more long minutes. Nobody in the witness room says a word. Nobody in the execution chamber once takes their eyes off of Woodward throughout the 15-minute process. After several more minutes, the coroner puts her stethoscope on and listens to Woodward's heart. She nods her head slightly.
"Time of death, 6:39 PM. May 19th."
Nobody in the execution chamber moves, but the officers who escorted us in open the door in the back of the room, and gesture myself and the other three reporters outside. We climb into the van and compare notes on the steno pads given to us by MDOC officials, after they had taken all of our equipment and patted us down to make sure we weren't bringing any cameras or sound recorders into the witness room with us.
As we ride back in the prisoner van with a cage separating us from the driver and the front seat passenger, the MDOC communications director tells my group that we'll need to elect a media witness who will address the reporters who chose to stay behind in the media center and not witness the act at the post-execution press conference. Nobody wants to do it, so I volunteer myself.
The ride back to the main complex is quiet, and we all choose to watch the twilight orange sun set into the flat Delta horizon instead of make small talk. The van leaves the execution complex behind, and I watch the electric fence slide shut behind me as we drive off.
The press conference is brief, and the MDOC commissioner gives the time of death, and remarks about how scary it was, even after 30 years in law enforcement, that the victim was randomly selected. It could have been any young girl. He told us that Woodward had been remorseful in private, with the commissioner, although he made no statements of remorse in his final statement.
Renee Lander addressed us, saying that she wished the execution had been more brutal, "at least as brutal as he was with my sister." She said she was sad and bitter that the death sentence was carried out 24 years after her sister was killed. She remarked how Woodward had only given her sister an hour to live, but had fought through appeals for over 20 years so he could live.
Lander talked about how her sister "lived a Christian life" up until her death. She was the valedictorian of her graduating class at Moss Point High School in 1979. She worked many, many hours volunteering to help abused and neglected children. She spent a lot of her own money to get those kids things they needed. She loved life. She loved her family. She said her niece, Kelli, was like her own daughter.
I asked her about the brutality of his particular form of execution, and she shook her head and said "It was like watching someone be put to sleep before surgery. Personally, it wasn't brutal enough. For me."
Then it was my turn to address the audience, and I recounted everything I could remember about watching Woodward's death, from seeing him strapped down, to his breathing patterns, to the sound of his voice when giving his last words, to the reflection of the quivering lights in his glasses. Nobody asked any questions directly to me afterward, so I left the stage and went back to the floor.
Conclusion
I thought that when I signed up to be included in the lottery drawing to be a media witness to the execution, that this would be something that finally puts a full scope on the death penalty debate. That I would have a complete understanding and be able to give an informed opinion about it after seeing it carried out firsthand. However, I'm even more conflicted about the issue now.
On one hand, Woodward's death did not bring back Rhonda Crane. It did not ease the pain of the family. And the numbers show that the death penalty's existence does not deter violent criminals.
On the other hand, if there was ever a cause for someone to be killed for their crime, it was this case. The man who did it was clearly a sociopath with little regard for life. He committed an unspeakably violent sexual crime against a woman he had never met, and then went about his day. His boss, shortly after his conviction, had said that Woodward came to work a little later than usual, and looked like he had been sweating. Crane was a kind, decent, gentle soul, who died scared, alone and violated by a monster who had kidnapped her and invaded her body at gunpoint. Maybe she thought she could get away after Woodward had had his way with her. Maybe she was hatching a plot in her mind as she was being raped, about how she could just reach over and unlock the truck door and roll out and run for dear life. But she never made it that far.
I look at the death penalty as a symbol, rather than a form of justice. It is a symbol for the ultimate outrage a state can show for contempt of a crime committed. I think in cases of extreme violence, or sexual assault, and especially for violence/assault on children, the death penalty should not only be in effect, but it should be swift- it shouldn't take 20 years of appeals, in essence. I say either do it within a year of the conviction, or let them sit in jail for the rest of their life, alone with their thoughts, to think about what they did. I still believe that life in prison is a much harsher form of punishment than lethal injection.
However, I was surprised at myself, even when researching the brutality of the case, listening to the anguish of the sister, that I felt compassion towards the man being put to death, particularly when he chose to say the Lord's Prayer.
"Our Father, who art in Heaven,
Hallowed be Thy Name.
Thy Kingdom come.
Thy Will be done.
On Earth, as it is in Heaven.
Give us this day our daily bread.
And forgive us our trespasses,
As we forgive those who trespass against us.
And lead us not into temptation,
But deliver us from evil.
For Thine is the Kingdom,
and the Power,
and the Glory forever.
Amen."
Forgive us our trespasses. Deliver us from evil. Thy will be done.
I think the Lord's Prayer from Woodward was his last plea to God to save his soul. To ask forgiveness from an all-loving, all-forgiving God. Or maybe it was for the girl he raped and killed, and the ultimate form of apology. Or maybe it was acceptance of what was about to happen to him.
I'm a different person after watching what I watched. It will take awhile for me to process it. It wasn't emotionally traumatizing or by any means difficult to watch, but I don't feel the need to sign up to the witness list if I'm assigned to another execution.
My two cents. What are yours?