Just a few minutes before, I had been outside with so much raw emotion being displayed from protesters and now I was in this incredibly sterile environment where it seemed I could almost smell the bureaucracy. Not to mention that I'd seen a lot of guns on the way in and I felt almost like I was walking to my own death in some strange way.
The kicker was as we approached the end of the hallway I saw a final picture with an eagle and the caption "Dare to Soar." It made me think of
Troy Davis dying in a few minutes and would his spirit soar? Would it be allowed to by WHOMEVER decides these things? Was that any of my business?
My escort took me to a room that looked like a hallway with a copy machine but there were some chairs there and I sat down. It was 6:02 p.m. A few minutes later,
a lawyer from the Georgia Attorney General's office came in. He said they were now waiting on the
U.S. Supreme Court and a last minute appeal filed by the Davis defense team. So I waited and waited and time passed. First 7:00, then 8:00, then 9:00 in that room. They checked on me about every fifteen minutes and at one point gave me a diet coke and a cookie. But I had a lot of time - as it would turn out, almost four and a half hours to think about what was most surely going to happen. And I thought about my own brother dying a few months ago and the grief I felt and still do. And I thought about the Davis sisters and how long and how hard they had fought for their brother and I wondered frankly if I would have done that for anyone in my family, and I was pretty sure the answer was yes. But I have been known to be selfish.
And then I thought about the MacPhail family and the siblings there and the brother they surely missed seeing become a mature man, the guy they missed laughing with and seeing at family reunions, the one they probably assumed they would grow old with. And the shock they must have felt when they were forced to reckon with the violent way their brother died. And I sat in that room and I wondered about love and grief and why some people have more than their share and why others who are lucky are often so stupid about their good fortune.
And time passed and I was amazed at how solitary that room became and how loud the sound of my own thoughts were and I thought of all those jailhouse converts who "find faith behind bars." And then I told myself if I had to sit in this room much longer I might need to find God myself. And then I thought of God and "Thou Shalt Not Kill" and I wondered where God really was in all this.
And by now, four hours had passed. And frankly, I thought of the years of appeals on one side of this true life drama and a heartbroken family on the other that said every time the case came up in the news, they felt the pain all over again. And how they wanted it to end and how police said that anyone who gunned down one of their own should be put to death. And then I thought about a family who had loyalty to their loved one, who said they believed he was innocent. And then I thought about all the manpower, security, guns and incredible time and money spent by the state of
Georgia to make this "thing" happen on this night. And to be honest I wondered if it wouldn't have been a lot easier over the years if they had just decided to let the guy live? He was in a maximum security prison and hadn't gone anywhere for 22 years. That's what I thought, maybe you would have thought something different, alone there in that room with the idea of death before you. And what it means to be alive one minute and gone the next. And I'm sure that the MacPhails had thought about that many times and I knew the Davis family was thinking about it in that very second.
By about 10:20 p.m., my escort came to the door and he told me we were going to the execution chamber. And I knew okay, it's real now.
Then I followed a group of about a dozen people, including
Attorney General Sam Olens and
the warden,
Carl Humphrey. The people ahead of me got into several black cars with tinted windows. By now it was dark and the black cars looked like a funeral procession as they traversed quickly through the prison grounds and through a huge gate with more armed guards.
Then the cars parked and we all went inside a brick building. The door opened immediately into the witness room, which strangely enough had what prison personnel called "pews" to sit in. There was no curtain drawn on the windows to the execution chamber. I was led up front, and sat probably four to five feet from the window.
The warden and another man came in. And then five guards came in backwards with
Troy Daviskind of sandwiched in between them. And they backed
him up and laid
him down on the gurney. He appeared calm, I remember that distinctly. There was no talking and things moved quickly after that. He was meticulously strapped to the gurney, not easy to watch. Then two women came from behind a curtain and stuck
him in each arm and quite quickly completed the process of attaching the intravenous lines which would carry the lethal injection. And I wondered if this was part of my job, if I would be able to agree to do it. And he looked up briefly and I wondered what he was thinking.
And for all the people who have been smarting off for weeks about how they would "love to be at that execution" I truly doubt it. This is a somber experience, there's no room for big talk. And trust me, you understand that when you sit in a room filled with the grim silence of those who know what is about to happen because they've seen it before. The reality is brought home by paper bags that are sitting everywhere because many people apparently throw up at the sight of a person actually dying before them. And it's not like that
Clint Eastwood movie, where
the governor calls right before they start the flow of lethal drugs. This is real, it is happening before your eyes. And the only sound you hear is the scraping of your pencil as you write down what you see.
When several members of the MacPhail family came in, I just felt tense. I couldn't think of anything except that they had wanted this and now it was about to happen. They sat in the front row, where I had been, close to
Davis. And I'm sure you've heard by now that he spoke to them, told them he was innocent, even told them he was sorry for their loss. I couldn't fathom what they were thinking since I know they have always been grounded in their conviction of his guilt.
And then
Troy Davis said "to all those about to end my life, I forgive you." Whether you think it sincere or not, it was said. His very last words were "God Bless You." I didn't know if I would offer anyone forgiveness if I was the one strapped to a gurney.
And then it began and
Troy Davis closed his eyes. And I don't remember them opening again. There was no clock on the wall but I think about ten to fifteen minutes passed, I'm not quite sure. And then
the wardenpronounced
him dead at 11:08 p.m. by saying "the lawful execution of
Troy Anthony Davis has been carried out by the state of
Georgia."
And later, one of the Davis defense attorneys who had been in the execution chamber said "just because it was legal doesn't mean it was right." And I saw pain in his eyes, like he should have been able to do more. I realize most people have no use for defense attorneys except when they need one. But they feel compassion and sorrow like anyone else. And his lawyers said "we loved Troy" and I thought how hard it must have been to watch someone you know die that way.
And as I left, I caught a glimpse of
Mark MacPhail, Jr. walking arm and arm with a relative. And I thought of what a nice guy he is, and how he reminds me of my nephew
Jay, who is young and handsome and kind just like
Mark, Jr. appears to be. And I just hoped somehow that this spectacle we had all just endured, would be worth it to
him.
I'm not sure why I did this. I think in some ways I wanted to know what all this means, what the people who have to do it go through, how the family members of the inmate bid farewell in that last visit, and how heartbroken they must be when they hear that cell clang shut for the very last time. And most of all, to try to figure out if it brings true closure or peace for the victims of the crime, who never had a chance at all to say goodbye to their loved one.
I saw something I will never forget and don't think that I should forget. And I found myself just hoping somehow I would end up being a better person and learn to appreciate every day of my life. And I found myself hoping that I would always have courage to try and tell the human side of the things I see. And I found myself thinking about another
Clint Eastwood movie, I'm sorry I like
him a lot. A line from Unforgiven - "It's a hell of a thing, killing a man. You take away all he's got and all he'll ever have." The MacPhails have known that for a long time. Now the Davis family knows it too. And now unfortunately, they have more in common than ever.
