THE DEATH PENALTY:
A SHORT HISTORY
By Director an Al Parker

Since the 1930?s, executions had dwindled in the U.S. and in the late 1960?s the death penalty had lost popular support, so between 1967 and 1977 there were no executions whilst the Supreme Court evaluated its constitutionality. In 1972, execution for capital cases was suspended when the Supreme Court declared the death penalty unconstitutional as ?cruel and unusual punishment? in violation of the Eighth Amendment (1791). This was overturned in 1976 when the Supreme Court declared that, through restructure of capital trials and guiding the discretion of jurors, death sentences could once more be applied.

Texas resumed executions in 1982 and since then has led the nation (285, as of writing) out of a national total of 807. In 2002, half of all the executions in the United States took place in Texas, which still has 454 inmates on Death Row awaiting their dates. (There are 3,697 offenders under sentence of death in the United States.)

Although the methods of execution have changed in the U.S. over the last century (in Texas, 361 inmates were executed in the electric chair prior to 1982), death by lethal injection currently predominates in the 38 states that still authorize the death penalty. (Although many states still allow for, but rarely use, alternatives, namely: electrocution, gas chamber, hanging and firing squad.)

The ?Walls? prison in downtown Huntsville, Walker County, East Texas, is where all executions in Texas have taken place over two centuries. On this trip, we had the advantage of being shown around by the TDCJ?s public relations man, Larry Fitzgerald. Fitzgerald is an avuncular, articulate, forthright man, who is largely responsible for the open, ?nothing to hide? attitude of the TDCJ when it comes to Huntsville being dubbed ?the execution capital of America.? Charged as he is with patiently and continually explaining to the world?s media exactly what they?re up to down in Texas, with their proclivity for weekly executions, I felt that I already knew him, having seen him featured in the numerous documentaries that I had viewed during our research. He and Warden Neill Hodges courteously showed us around the death chamber, housed in the low 1950?s-style ?Building #1835? that is nestled within the high brick walls and approached by a neat garden with the occasional sprouting flower. Matter-of-factly they showed us the cells where the inmates spend their last hours after they are transferred from Death Row at the Polunsky Unit an hour away. A plastic curtain intersected the row of seven cells (useful for when they have two executions on the same day and need to isolate the condemned men). Walking past the beige, tiled shower (the coroner appreciates a clean corpse), we were guided through the door at the end into the green brick death chamber.

As we stood around the hospital gurney, the warden, who oversees and attends all executions, courteously and matter-of-factly explained the ?tie down? procedure, last words, and the clinically lethal injection of the three poisons: sodium thiopental (lethal dose - sedates person); pancuronium bromide (collapses diaphragm and lungs); potassium chloride (stops the heart). Death occurs in seven to ten minutes - maybe ten at most, he said. Larry explained how the proceedings are viewed, through a partition window, by the crime victim?s family (since 1996), members of the press and next to them, in a segregated room, the condemned inmate?s family can watch. The actual executioner is secreted in a tiny adjacent cubicle where he injects the poisons along three tubes poking through a square hole in the wall. (Since the American Medical Association barred physicians from taking part in executions, this task is now performed by a prison employee ? often by an ex-military paramedic. The attending physician only confirms time of death.)

I had thought that I could never even enter this room, if the opportunity ever arose, creepy as I thought it to be. But I soon found myself inured to the function of this place as I chatted away amiably with the same matter-of-factness as Warden Hodges. Engaging the warden in conversations as to the effectiveness or morality of the death penalty was short. He is a career correctional officer and notions of an alternative such as ?life without parole? are an anathema to him - someone who has spent his life looking after violent prisoners. As for Larry Fitzgerald, who has witnessed over one hundred executions, and who personally knew many of the inmates put to death, when asked, he always shrugs his shoulders philosophically: ?It?s the law. And whilst it?s the law, we do the best we can.?

We then visited The Terrell Unit where Death Row is now housed. Until 1965, Death Row was at the Walls unit in Huntsville, when it was moved to the Ellis Unit, 12 miles north of town. Then in 1998, the first escape from Death Row in 64 years occurred when inmate Martin Gurule fled from an Ellis work detail and scaled two fences of razor wire, his body protected by thick layers of newspapers strapped around his body. He had, however, taken a bullet on escape and a week later was found dead in a nearby creek, the sodden newspapers having dragged him to the bottom. Consequently, in 1999 Death Row was moved to the more secure Terrell Unit in Livingston. To be accurate, at the time we visited ?Terrell? but it is now named the Polunsky Unit. When it was built in 1993, this ultra-modern prison was named, as tradition has it, after an ex-Chairman of the Texas Board of Criminal Justice - in this case, Charles T. Terrell. However, when Death Row was moved there six years later, they didn?t consult with Mr. Terrell, who later took umbrage because, ironically, of late he has had a change of heart about the death penalty, particularly as it pertains to the potential executions of innocents. He now favors a policy of life without parole. As the prison he built was now home to the most famous and certainly the busiest Death Row in the U.S. he was displeased with it being synonymous with his family name and so he politely asked them to change it. It is now called the Polunsky Unit, not surprisingly, after the next Chairman, Allan B. Polunsky, who has no such qualms about the death penalty apparently.

The first view of Terrell/Polunsky is quite startling. Its massive (2,800 inmates) and crisp, no-nonsense architecture, with pretty flowerbeds nestling amongst the well-clipped and watered grass behind the acres of razor wire (invisible from a distance) give it the appearance of a very modern automobile factory.

Passing through the many layers of security along the razor wire tunnels, it?s very impressive as the numerous automatic salle-portes zip open and whoosh shut - very shut - behind you. Through smoked glass I could see a control center that had more video screens than a CNN newsroom. We passed a reassuring sign that said, ?Hostages will not exit.? The shiny floors and pristine walls belie the fact that Polunsky is considered one of the toughest prisons in Texas. It?s certainly the most secure. There are 450 prisoners currently awaiting execution here, in a special wing. Curiously, in spite of all the hightech gadgetry on display, the six-foot by ten-foot cells, with solid doors, have no air conditioning. Since the 1998 Ellis breakout the TDCJ is not messing around. The work program has been suspended and Death Row prisoners now reside in solitary confinement for twenty-three hours a day, and all communication with other inmates is forbidden. For our visit, as always, the prison officer showing us around - on this occasion Major Tim Lester, the unit?s ?family liaison officer? - was extremely courteous and open, as he led us deep into the prison. It was a quiet day, he told us. ?You should have been here last month on our busiest day - Mother?s Day.?

In the visitation area families were chatting away to the Death Row inmates, communicating through the solid glass via telephone handsets while children ran around and their parents worked the soft drink and snack vending machines. If they wished, for a few dollars, they could even have a Polaroid taken against the armor-plated glass with their condemned relative, courtesy of the TDCJ. It?s all very ordered and matter-of-fact.

As we left and looked back at the Death Row wing, with its narrow, four-foot by six-inch window slats, the duty officer said, ?Give them a wave, there?s four hundred pairs of eyes looking at you right now.?

A corpse is something like the cover of an old book, its contents torn out, and stript of its lettering and gilding . . . yet the work itself shall not be lost, for it will appear once more in a new and more beautiful edition.
--BENJAMIN FRANKLIN (1706–1790)

A funeral among men is a wedding feast among the angels.
--KAHLIL GIBRAN (1883–1931)

A good man never dies—
In worthy deed and prayer
And helpful hands, and honest eyes,
If smiles or tears be there;
Who lives for you and me—
Lives for the world he tries
To help—he lives eternally.
A good man never dies.
--JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY (1849–1916)

Be near me, Lord, when dying;
O show thy cross to me;
And, for my succour flying,
Come, Lord to set me free;
These eyes, new faith receiving,
From thee shall never move;
For he who dies believing
Dies safely through thy love.
--BERNARD OF CLAIRVAUX (1090–1153)

OFFICIAL SITE
Publicity information and images ? 2003 Universal Studios. All Rights Reserved.
No other uses are permitted without the prior written consent of owner. Use of the material in violation of the foregoing may result in civil and/or criminal penalties. Credits and dates are subject to change. For more information, please visit their official site.

Hollywood Jesus News Letter
Receive the Hollywood Jesus Newsletter FREE.
SIGN UP HERE