Electric Chair
Firing Squad Restraint Chair
Gas Chamber
Hanging Chamber
Lethal Injection Gurney
A M O T H
E R ‘ S S T O R Y
Cathy
Harrington
“I
cannot wipe away your tears…I can only teach you how to make them holy”,
Anthony De Mello, Affirmation
My life changed forever the night I
received the call that my beautiful daughter and her roommate had been brutally
murdered on November 1, 2004. A shroud of darkness fell over me in heavy
layers, suffocating me with fear and despair. It was inconceivable that the
vibrant shining essence, that for twenty-six years had been Leslie Ann Mazzara,
the light of my life, my flesh, my blood, my youngest child, could be gone,
extinguished forever. Her beautiful and promising life was stolen in the night,
in an act of terror, in a gruesome act of selfish anger and rage. I was
thrust on a journey through hell seemingly without end, and began a mother’s
mission to make meaning out of the meaningless.
The next eleven months were an
unspeakable nightmare as the police investigation following false assumptions
that Leslie was the murderer’s target failed to find the killer. I fumbled
through each day in a broken-hearted daze, confused and unconvinced that anyone
would want to hurt Leslie. When Eric Copple, a friend of her roommate,
Adrienne, turned himself in after the police revealed that the killer smoked a
rare blend of Camel cigarettes, we were all stunned. I hadn’t realized
that I had been holding my breath all that time and that every muscle in my
body had been braced for that moment until I received that long-awaited call in
the middle of the night. I gasped for air like a victim of a near-drowning
accident. We had been held in trauma space for almost a year, while this
man, this murderer, married Adrienne’s best friend, and had gone about his life
as if nothing had happened. Stunned by the news, I braced myself for the
next steps of the journey.
The many months that followed were
filled with speculation about Eric Copple and about whether the prosecution
would seek the death penalty. The District Attorney assured us that it would be
his decision ultimately and after they did a full review of the case and a
psychological profile on Eric, they would ask the families for their views
before making that decision. We were told to be patient, to wait.
Meanwhile the media rushed in to
exploit and sensationalize our tragedy. The American entertainment industry has
developed an unsavory taste for violence and vulgarity. When murder is
turned into entertainment, the sacred gift of life is diminished and our minds
and hearts become calcified, our humanity suffers.
I sought counsel with anyone who
might help me preserve Leslie’s dignity and save us from the potential pain and
suffering of a lengthy and very public trial. Sister Helen Prejean generously
offered to speak with me, and her words of wisdom nourished me with hope.
Sister Helen told me heart-wrenching stories about mothers of murderers that
opened my mind and my heart to compassion. She pierced my darkness when she
said, “Jesus asks us to stretch, Cathy. There are two arms of the cross; one
side is for the victims and their loved ones and the other side of the cross
holds in the same light of love and hope, the murderer and his family.”
For the first time I felt a measure of compassion for Eric’s mother, and I
could feel my heart open, suddenly aware that it had been clenched tightly like
a fist. Looking back I must have been thinking that a broken heart had to be
bound tightly like a tourniquet.
There has been a gradual adjustment
since then as my eyes have slowly adapted to the dark. My Universalist faith
teaches that ultimately all will be reconciled with God and that everyone is
saved, even murderers. When I think of Eric as a child wounded by abuse, I feel
sadness, a too common history shared by those who grow up to commit violent
acts against each others. Remarkably, Jesus was capable of forgiving his
murderers as he suffered on the cross. As a Unitarian Universalist Christian
minister, I seek to follow the teachings and the exemplar of Jesus, but
forgiving the murderer of my daughter and for the loss of my never-to-be-born
grandchildren; babies that my arms ache to hold, still seems inconceivable to
me.
But, even in the worst that life has
to offer I’ve discovered that grace is present. “Grace is everywhere”. Georges Bernanos’ country priest
said on his death bed, borrowing his dying words from St. Therese of Liseaux. It
must be true, because I found that when I reached towards the heavens from the
hollow emptiness of my sorrow, I found grace. Grace was there waiting for
me, quenching my sorrow, a trusted companion on the lonely journey.
Will, a homeless friend that I
met along the way, gave me his grandmother’s Benedictine cross to remind me of
God’s love when I told him about Leslie’s murder. Moved by his compassion
and selfless generosity, the theology of the cross took on new meaning for me,
and at Sister Helen’s suggestion, I developed a relationship with Mary as a
peer. After all, her son was murdered, and Mary spent the rest of her life
making meaning. I carried that cross in my pocket for over two years and
often found my fingers tracing the lines of the two arms as if praying in Braille. My
life became a living prayer; there are two arms to the cross. Jesus asks us
to stretch....
“Have you ever heard of a pinhole
camera?” retired astronomer, Dr. Ed Dennison asked when I mentioned to him
that Sister Helen had poked a tiny hole in my darkness. He demonstrated it
to me by covering the window in his laundry room with foil and poking a tiny
hole in the foil. We huddled in the darkness and waited. Impatiently, I
squirmed in the dark stuffy, room as my eyes slowly adjusted. I thought
five minutes was surely enough, but Ed told us that it takes a full thirty
minutes for our eyes to adjust to the dark. After ten minutes, he held up a
white paper to the beam of light coming in through the tiny hole and we were
astounded to see the trees from outside outlined on the paper. Gradually, we
could see the details of the leaves and as we waited they became more intricate
and clear. I was amazed at how I was sure that I could see clearly in a
few minutes and how much more clarity there was in fifteen, and even more in twenty
and twenty-five minutes. The trees were upside down, and though I haven’t found
a metaphor to properly explain that phenomenon, I had no problem understanding
the metaphor of the pinhole camera and my journey toward forgiveness, parting
my sea of despair and hopelessness one step at a time. I may never arrive,
but it is the goal of forgiveness that I have set my compass. I believe it
is our true north as Jesus demonstrated on the cross, the destiny of human
potential that some have called becoming fully human, and perhaps this is the kingdom of God that Jesus understood so
clearly. Forgiveness is not a destination, it is a journey I have come to
understand.
Which brings me to my understanding
of the death penalty and what I believe to be the multi-layered hidden tragedy
beneath the conviction that the death penalty is “just” punishment, I don’t
have time to build a case for the multitude of reasons that the death penalty
is impractical economically, unjust, racist, and so on. I can best speak
to my own experience and to the insights that I have gained over the past four
and one half years of finding my way in the dark. I likened it to four and one
half minutes in the pinhole camera experiment. I am just beginning to
see. If we had been forced to endure a trial and remain defended and held
in trauma, there would have been no beam of light to penetrate and relieve the
oppressive darkness - nothing to illumine the path. The death penalty not
only serves to keep us in a dark stagnating hope; it serves to compound the
violence, and escalates the conflict, limiting our human potential to find our
true north. I don’t yet have a glimpse of what forgiving the murderer of
my precious child would be like, but I know that if I don’t walk towards that
hope, I will be doomed to dwell in despair and pain forever. It is about
choosing life, again and again, day after day.
The German poet, Rainer Maria Rilke
suggests that we think of God as a direction. I hold that in my heart as I put one step in front of
the other, and as I slowly move toward clarity, I begin to think about the
possibility of meeting Eric Copple face to face; a stipulation written into the
plea agreement for a facilitated victim/offender dialogue. If Sister Helen
is right about the two arms of the cross, and I believe she is, then Eric can
also find his way towards wholeness. But, it is Eric’s responsibility to take
fully into his heart the reality of what he has done and let the guilt tear and rip apart his heart
from the inside out, as his senseless and violent act resulting in the murders
of Leslie and Adrienne have done to all who loved them and whose lives they
touched. It is only then that healing will be possible for Eric. I pray it
will be so.
I would say that what might be the
most insidious tragedy of the death penalty is that if we wilfully murder murderers,
how can we ever hope to become fully human, to complete the journey? Honestly,
I’m terrified of facing the murderer of my child one day, and I don’t know if I
will have the courage and the grace to ever forgive but it is my hope and
prayer. All I can do is keep on walking in that direction and leave the rest up
to the grace that I have come to know and trust.
Cathy Harrington is a parish minister
in the Unitarian Universalist faith. Her daughter Leslie Ann Mazzara was
murdered on November 1, 2004 at her home in Napa, California.
Cathy negotiated a life sentence for her daughter’s murderer, who had potentially
been facing the death penalty.
The
Day of an Execution
I will describe what a
typical execution day consisted of for me when I was the warden of the
Huntsville “Walls” Unit, where all of the State’s executions have taken place. The
scene described is of an inmate who was fully cooperative, which approximately
86 of the 89 that I presided over were so.
The reality of it being an
execution day sometimes came to me as soon as I awoke. At other times it was
with my first cup of coffee.
My morning began much like
any other day for the warden, fielding phone calls, visiting with employees and
inmates, and answering correspondence, until nine o’clock. At that time I made
a phone call to the Attorney General’s Office in Austin. The purpose of this
call was to talk with the attorney who was assigned this case. He would give me
an update on how the case was going in the courts. It was rare not to have
something working in the courts – the condemned inmate’s attorney making every
effort to stop the execution on various grounds. Once I got off the phone with
the attorney, I’d call my supervisors and relay the information I’d just
learned on to them. There were several other people that I’d call, those who’d
be helping with the execution that night but who did not work on the Walls Unit
with me. Some of these people were not regularly employees of the prison
system. The Huntsville Funeral Home was also apprised of where things were in
the process.
Following these calls the
day generally returned to normal. By now the warden’s secretary had brought
several folders with certain bits of information for myself and some others. Another
folder from the Public Information Office from across the street at the Old
Administration Building would arrive also. It was basically the information
that was being made available to the media. But the little manila folder held
my interest more. It told me who was planning to attend the execution,
including the inmate’s invited guests, the victim’s family members, and the
media people who would attend the execution. Also, in this folder was the condemned
man’s last meal request. This seemed to be of interest to a lot of folks on the
outside, although something the Walls Unit kitchen captain and the inmate cook
had known for a couple of weeks. But this was the first time I’d laid eyes on
the request. There was a picture of the condemned man also, but sometimes the
fellow wound up not looking much like the photo. He’d aged a lot in a short
period of time or maybe hadn’t exercised much and the prison food had added
pounds to his frame.
Throughout the morning
there was the usual. Telephone calls coming in about routine goings on of the
unit. Papers to sign. Written requests from inmates. Usually I’d have lunch in the Officers Dining
Hall around eleven, something I did most every day. Afterwards was more of the
normal routine until early afternoon.
The inmate arrives at the Death House and his (or her) restraints
are removed once inside and the door to the building is secured. The inmate is
strip-searched and then finger printed. Next he is placed in a cell and given a
fresh set of clothes.
Most of them wanted to
clean the ink from their hands and then I’d talk with the inmate to tell him
what to expect for the afternoon and to also find out the mood of the inmate. Sometimes
these conversations were short and to the point and other times I might have to
cut the inmate short and tell him I’d see him later. It all was dependent on
the inmate and his willingness to talk. If it was obvious that the inmate did
not care to have a long conversation then I went with the basics and left him for
the chaplain to deal with. At the least I told him when and what to expect for
the remainder of the day. I always asked if he expected to have any visitors,
which at this point was down to a spiritual advisor and/or an attorney. I was
lenient with phone calls and found out if the inmate wanted to make any phone
calls. Often they wanted to call family and talk one last time. Sometimes they
had a relative that had not been able to make the trip to visit at Death Row during
the last visiting period. Sometimes these family members, and we had one
mother, was locked up in the penitentiary. One brother was even in another
state. This all calls for some coordination between the prisons. I always tried
to find out from the inmate about the last statement. Did he plan to make one? If
so, I warned him not to go over five minutes or so, or that I’d tell him to
wrap it up. Also, I wanted him to tell me how I’d know when he was through. The
reason for this was so I’d not cut him off before he was through with his last
statement. And one thing I did that was outside the rules, I found out if they’d
like a cigarette to smoke. Some rather strange conversations took place back
there. Others had hardly a thing to say.
For the remainder of the
afternoon the inmate will be in the presence of the prison chaplain and two
security supervisors. Throughout the afternoon there will be other people who come
and go to the cell block. The major and captain of the shift will likely drop
in several times just to make sure everything is going smoothly.
The inmate is allowed only
two types of visits while at the Walls Unit. One from a spiritual advisor and
one from his attorney. The visits begin at 3 P.M. and last for thirty minutes
each. During this time the inmate will be moved to #1 cell which is the
visiting cell. It is covered with a heavy black mesh wire to stop any
contraband from being passed to the inmate. Once the inmate is secured in the
cell, the visitor is escorted to the Death House and allowed to sit in a chair
in front of the cell. During this visitation time the chaplain will go about
two blocks north of the Walls to the Hospitality House where the inmate’s
family will be waiting. At this time he will tell them what to expect as they
witness the execution.
At about 4:30 P.M. the inmate
is given his last meal. The most requested last meal since lethal injections
began in 1982 has been a cheeseburger and french fries. Some of the inmates eat
a hearty meal only a couple of hours before the scheduled execution.
At about five minutes
before six o’clock I’d put my coat on and tell everyone in the wardens offices
that it was time to head to the back (to the Death House). Myself, along with
whatever supervisors of mine that were present would go to the room where the
executioner was and await the phone calls. At six o’clock an official who ranks
above the warden will receive two phone calls from Austin. The phone calls will
be taken in what is known as the IV Room, next to the Death Chamber. One phone
call is from the Attorney General’s Office and the other from the Governor’s
Office. They will tell the official that we may proceed with the execution. At
this point I would cross the Death Chamber and enter into the Death Row cell
block. I would walk up to the front of the cell where the inmate was waiting. I
called him by his last name and told him that it was time to come with me to
the next room, meaning the Death Chamber. One of the officers would then unlock
the locks to the cell and open the door. I would tell the inmate to follow me
to the next room. The tie down team would have joined the other Death House
officers shortly before six o’clock. These officers along with the chaplain
would escort the inmate, unrestrained, usually, and without placing a hand on
him, into the Death Chamber. Once the inmate is in the Death Chamber he is
told, usually by me, to get onto the gurney and lie down with his head on the
pillow. The straps to the gurney are all undone. The officers quickly strap the
inmate with all of the straps (one around each ankle and arm and others over
the body). When they were done with the straps I physically checked each one
and asked the inmate if any were too tight. On two or three occasions the
inmate stated that a certain one was tight and one of the officers loosened it
a notch. I then dismissed the officers back into the cell block.
At this point I walked
over and opened the door to the IV Room. The medical team would enter the room
and in a matter of minutes would have the inmate hooked up with an IV in each
arm. While they worked, I would talk to the inmate, if he wanted to talk. I
stood opposite the medical team. They always began with the inmate’s right arm.
Tubes run from the arms through a small window on the wall of the IV Room where
the drugs have been mixed a short time earlier and sit on a table in the room.
The medical team returns to the IV Room. The inmate is now completely hooked up
on the gurney with only the chaplain and me in the room with him. During the
time the medical team was hooking up the IV’s, a mike has been lowered to just
above his head. The amplifier is hooked to speakers that are in the other rooms
of the Death House. Another line feeds a speaker that is in the Warden’s
Office. The warden’s secretary would record the inmate’s last statement for the
press. She also keeps a record of what is going on and when. A person on the
phone watching through a slightly opened crack in the cell block door will
relay this information to her.
For a few short moments it
is just the three of us in that little room, the chaplain, myself, and the
inmate strapped to the gurney. The chaplain and I are usually close to the
inmate’s head at this time but we will back away as the witnesses begin
entering the witness rooms. I will be nearest the inmate’s head and the
chaplain beside his feet. Soon the victim’s witnesses are brought into the west
witness room. They are escorted by Victims Services staff and usually the major
of the Walls Unit. Five witnesses are allowed unless there are multiple victims
and then a sixth person is allowed. Once they are in the room other members of
the staff will escort the inmate’s witnesses to the east witness room. The
inmate can invite five witnesses but can have a sixth if he wishes to invite
his spiritual advisor. There are also five members of the news media allowed
and they are scattered in both rooms. The Huntsville Item newspaper, the
Huntsville radio station, a member of the Associated Press, and two others,
usually from the area of the crime scene, are the normal makeup. There is also
a captain in the east room along with a Texas Ranger. Our own Public Relations
Office will have at least one person in a witness room.
Once the witnesses are in
place, I would tell the inmate that he may make a last statement. Most of them
made a statement. Most lasted three minutes or less. When the inmate completes
his statement I would give a signal to the executioner to begin the execution
process. The executioner is, of course, in the IV Room behind a one way glass
window. He can see through to the Chamber but no one can see into the IV Room
through the glass.
About 30 seconds after I
gave the signal, the inmate would take his last breath. About two and a half
minutes from the time of the signal, the executioner would signal me that all
the drugs have been put into the inmate. I waited three minutes before bringing
in the doctor. The reason I did this is simply that the warden before me
advised me to wait to make sure all the fluids had taken effect. It worked for
me the first time and I chose not to mess with changing something that worked.
I can tell you that the first time was the longest three minutes of my life. I
would then get the doctor who is waiting in the cell block. The doctor would
examine the inmate, doing all those things that doctors do to make sure a body
is dead, checking for pulse, checking the eyes with a small flashlight, etc.,
and then he would pronounce the inmate dead, giving a time of death in doing
so. The doctor then goes through the door back into the cell block. The
process, from the time of the two phone calls until the doctor pronounces
death, usually took in the neighborhood of 25 minutes.
The witnesses were taken
from the witness rooms one group at a time beginning with the victim’s
witnesses. Once the rooms were cleared the medical team would remove the
medical devices and retreat back into the IV Room. The officers would then
remove the leather straps. The funeral home immediately came in and took the
body.
The legal papers are then
signed in the warden’s secretary office by the doctor and the top ranking
official.
Everyone then goes home.
Jim Willett, 2009
’No Human Way to Kill’ project
http://www.robert-priseman.com/?s=+No+Human+Way+to+Kill
http://www.robert-priseman.com/
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