I learned that Linda Mae Burnett was allegedly a co-conspirator with Joe Dugas in the murder of Dugas’ in-laws. In return, Joe was going to help murder Burnett’s ex-husband so she could receive his Social Security. Joe could keep the $50,000 life insurance proceeds. This part of the conspiracy did not occur. Linda shot four of the adults among Joe’s in-laws. Joe shot a child. All of them were murdered execution style at a pre-dug grave. Joe bragged to his brother shortly afterward, and the brother then related the event to the Vidor, Texas, police. Linda was convicted and sentenced to death by lethal injection. She entered the Goree Unit at the end of 1978.
A television hung from the ceiling next to the bare wall across from our cells. Linda had fashioned a coat hanger so she could reach it and turn the channels. Thank goodness, or we would have had to watch soap operas on Channel 2, ad nauseam. It was an exceptionally dark period in my life—in every aspect of the word.
Physically dark. The walls were a dull, concrete-gray and there was no light in my cell. Not that we needed light during the day since multiple fluorescent bulbs flooded the hallway. Trying to watch TV required mental blinders to focus on the picture. A barred window on the back wall allowed the barest of diffused light through an opaque material during the day, with nothing visible or distinguishable outside. At night, dulled lights encased in round, thick glass outlined the interior of my cage in a dismal, yellow gloom. Only the flickering of the TV produced any useable light, sometimes accompanied by an occasional violent lightning storm that might add a stereo effect through the murky window at the other end of the cell.
Linda had seen on a TV newscast that I was Death Row-bound and therefore headed for Goree, so she saved up and bought me two Zero® candy bars. As a treat one night, I decided to eat both of them. I had finished one and was halfway through the other when a bright flash from the television lit my cell, revealing every detail of the remaining half-eaten candy bar. White worms were wiggling outward, some whole, some severed, and I immediately gagged and threw up. I was sick for days. Poor Linda, I know she tried; however, a lot of time had passed between my sentencing date and when I ate the candy bars. Also, I would not be surprised if they were wormy from the point of purchase. We have always suspected the lucrative prison commissary and vending business to be a tightly held family affair where low quality and high prices were well-known kin.
Mentally dark. Death Row inmates were confined to our cells 23/7 and allowed outside—alone—for just an hour a day in a little area they called the Rose Garden. The Rose Garden was to the rear of our cells behind the windows we couldn’t see through. It was a small fenced-in area with rose bushes around the perimeter. A round, white table with an umbrella in its center sat in the middle of this area, and two opposing chairs welcomed the inmate and any of her imaginary friends. The scene reminded me of the proverbial palm tree on a marooned island. Oh, so welcome, however, was this one precious hour per day to feel the sun’s warmth and to breathe air that didn’t carry the distinct waft of concrete and steel. Even my bed was steel, bolted into the wall and covered with a thin piece of padded, lumpy blue plastic for a mattress. No chairs, no furniture, nothing but a sink and a steel toilet—comfort was not in the Goree Prison vocabulary. And the icing on the cake: My birthday came and went while I sat in a cage of emptiness and despair.
Spiritually dark. But there were glimpses of light. I knew I was with God but felt like I was standing in the front yard of His house looking through an open door but not strong enough or not welcome enough to enter. How could He forgive my unspeakable act? My soul was in turmoil, and I was floundering in waves of angst. Levita Henley, the saint who led me to Christ, often came to visit me. She repeatedly told me that I must forgive myself before God could forgive me; to do otherwise was refusing His gift of grace.
Levita is a Christian, often called a two-by-four believer. Although this expression gives one the impression of a faith that is hard and unbending such as a 2-by-4-inch board—and rightfully so—it comes from the Bible, the Book of Acts, describing the miracle at Pentecost. Specifically, it is found in Acts, chapter 2, verses 2 through 4, and hence the 2-by-4 reference. In the upper room, the description in verse 4 is the crux (NIV): “All of them were filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak in other tongues, as the Spirit enabled them.” Then after Pentecost, in further describing the Acts of the Apostles, Paul questions approximately twelve disciples as to whether they had received the Holy Spirit since they believed. Acts 19:2–6 (NIV): “…and asked them. ‘Did you receive the Holy Spirit when you believed?’ They answered, ‘No, we have not even heard that there is a Holy Spirit.’ So Paul asked, ‘Then what baptism did you receive?’ ‘John’s baptism,’ they replied. Paul said, ‘John [the Baptist]’s baptism was a baptism of repentance. He told the people to believe in the one coming after him, that is, in Jesus.’ On hearing this, they were baptized into the name of the Lord Jesus. When Paul placed his hands on them, the Holy Spirit came on them, and they spoke in tongues, and prophesied.” (These verses, 2 through 6, conjure up an even larger and stronger board, a 2-by-6-inch board, frequently used for main beams and rafters). From these passages, most 2-by-4 believers consider salvation to be a two-step process in which the gift of speaking in tongues is proof of full salvation.
I tried to speak in tongues like the melodious language that Levita used, but it just would not flow. One night as the TV’s light flickered through the bars, I crawled under the cantilevered iron slab of my bed and pulled the sheets down for a tent. “Lord, please accept me; please let me speak in tongues. Please, please give me the gift of tongues so I know I am saved.” Nothing came forth but “Uhh…Ahhg…Erugh” My eyes poured so many tears upon the concrete that I could see puddles growing like those during a rainstorm. A mélange of radiating TV colors penetrated the end-flaps of the sheets and bounced from these pools but never colored the surface beyond silver-black. Dark and deep waters. I was defeated.
I know that Levita’s unyielding conviction in the gift of tongues was God-purposed, for it encouraged me to read more and seek spiritual wisdom. I now know that He, the Holy Spirit, gives many other gifts in addition to speaking in tongues.(43) Often, it takes time in our Christian walk to realize our gifts and where to apply them. I know mine now, and I find peace in their presence.
***
Prison life is regimented and monotonous, but there are changes, and even small changes, good or bad, are welcome. At the beginning of 1981, I moved into the cell next to Linda and we could talk. Silence may be golden, but not so when you can’t speak to another person for excruciatingly long periods. We also could spend our one hour per day together in the Rose Garden. She was about seven years older than I, thin, quite attractive with dark, shoulder-length hair. She wore glasses. Linda and I talked about our children (she had three) and about how she had made peace with her Maker.
Many on Death Row seek salvation, but not all do. And I believe the negative term “jailhouse religion” would have no meaning to someone condemned to death. A prisoner who has jailhouse religion is often considered to be one who professes salvation in Christ Jesus but is only seeking special favors or an early parole. Although I am sure there are some who do so for personal gain, I believe many of them have been tragically mislabeled.
In this photo, you can see me after leaving my ninety-day (three long months’) isolation and having doubts about my salvation.
Pamela Perillo, 1981
Later in 1981, TDCJ converted the Goree Unit into an all-male population and transferred the female Death Row to the Mountain View Unit in Gatesville, Texas.
The state established the Mountain View Unit in 1962 for serious offenders (maximum security) formerly at the Gatesville State School for Boys. Mountain View operated separately from the Gatesville State School for Boys, which dated to the late 1800s. In 1971, a class-action lawsuit on behalf of juvenile offenders instigated major changes in the Texas juvenile justice system
. Judge William Wayne Justice ordered the large juvenile penal units to disperse and place the offenders in smaller and separate units. Gatesville closed in 1979 and Mountain View in 1975. Mountain View became the Mountain View Unit for Women and, as noted, acquired the female Death Row in 1981.(44, 45)
Warden Lucile Garrett Plane made some changes to the cells reserved for the female Death Row at Mountain View; she removed the bed slabs attached to the walls and replaced them with beds with springs and a real mattress. She painted the walls light yellow and added a small wooden desk and shelf. Warden Plane began her service in the Texas criminal system in 1970; she became the first female warden in Texas at the newly transformed female prison at Mountain View. Linda and I could crochet afghans and make pillows. Since we could move our beds around the cell, we would place them next to the window and cover them with our cell-made pillows to resemble a daybed. Warden Plane allowed us to hang pictures. I had lots and lots of horse pictures on my walls. They reminded me of my love of animals, and horses reflected my fondness for Western movies shared with my dad.
There were six cells at Mountain View, three on each side of the hallway, and each cell had a window from which you could see outside. Mine opened onto the rec yard (recreation area). Every bit twice as large as the Goree cell, this was a welcomed change. Like Goree, Death Row was at the end of a hall with a TV mounted for each row of cells to watch. A crash-gate (a locked gate across the hall) set these cells apart from the others.
The recreation facilities consisted of a day room at the far end of the hall near the officers’ control area and an outside yard. Unfortunately, it was still available just one hour per day. In the day room, we could watch TV and play Ping-Pong, dominoes, or Scrabble. In the yard, we could play volleyball, horseshoes, or croquet. Volleyball had always been one of my favorites growing up, so when others joined me later on Death Row, I always tried to get them to play.
In the fall of 1982, Linda Burnett had her trial reversed on appeal. The court had wrongly allowed introduction of a tape made during hypnosis, an act that violated her attorney-client privilege. A year later in her second trial, the jury gave her life imprisonment. I was now the only female on Death Row in Texas and looking at possibly becoming the first female executed since the mid-1800s, a dubious honor often delegated to Chipita Rodriguez.(46)
With Linda Burnett no longer with me on Death Row, I had a lot of time to think, to reflect, and to express in verse.
Here is a poem I composed:
Brick and Steel
Pamela Perillo
We walk into this place
Broken and bent
With our heads bowed low
We had no idea
What all of this meant
As the cloud begins to lift
And our feelings come back in tune
We slowly look around us
At our new life we are
Beginning
In this one little room
From a world without boundaries
Where your dreams
Reach the sky
To the same incessant question
You ask over and over
“WHY”
Our world is stripped of color
Turned to brick and steel
As we look around and realize
It doesn’t matter
How we feel
We now answer to a new name
With a number on our back
We watch people come and go
Along with fear
And sorrow
Too
Never quite knowing
Exactly what to do
We no longer have a choice
Of what goes on
In our lives
That choice has been
Turned over
For others to decide
We pay for our mistakes early
Baring them each and every day
I will never be able
To forget this
There’s absolutely no way
Our hearts begin
To put up walls
To shield us from the pain
Either we fight for
Everything it’s worth
Or we bow our heads in shame
Some of us choose
To keep our feelings
To fight for what we have left
Instead of handing them over
Like a possession
They have kept
You may hold my body in chains
But my soul
You will never claim
CHAPTER 10
Several months after my trial in August 1980, Linda Briddle, Mike’s wife, relinquished her fight against extradition from Denver in a plea bargain arranged by her lawyer, Jim Skelton. The State of Texas offered Linda the opportunity to plead guilty to non-capital murder, which meant that the death penalty would not be a consideration. Jim Skelton declined this plea, however, and Linda accepted her return to Houston based on two counts of aggravated robbery after Skelton pointed out that Linda was not involved in the homicides per my confession in Denver.
Jim Skelton was a well-known prosecutor who later went into private practice as a criminal attorney in Houston. He defended David Owen Brooks, who confessed to being present at the sexually motivated killings of twenty-five to thirty boys by Dean Corll and Elmer Wayne Henley, Jr. in Texas during the early 1970s. David Owen Brooks received a life sentence.
At Linda Briddle’s trial, Skelton argued that all the blame belonged to Mike Briddle and me. Skelton cited our criminal records and described us as being of a different ilk than Linda, who he said came from an educated family and had accidentally become mixed up with Mike through some sort of bizarre sociology experiment during her college years. Skelton described me as “heartless and without remorse,” a plausible impression during my trial since I was somewhere near comatose on Elavil and Valium. Neither Mike nor I testified at Linda’s trial, but Skelton presented degrading photographs of us alongside “beautiful-people-type” images of Linda.
The jury bought her clean-background defense and sentenced her to five years’ probation. Linda returned to California to serve her probation and had her marriage to Mike annulled in April 1981. In July, she married again and became Linda Fletcher. Jim Skelton kept in close contact with her and traveled to California to the wedding to give the bride away. She is often referred to in court documents even prior to her second marriage as Linda Fletcher rather than Linda Briddle (I assume as a means to distance her from the crimes).
Mike fought his extradition from Colorado, going even so far as to appeal to the Supreme Court of Colorado. His argument included such legal haystack needles as an erroneous statement at his hearing that the police recovered the M-1 rifle from Mike rather than a bar patron. After losing his extradition battle, he returned to Texas in 1981, the same year I transferred to Mountain View and became the only woman in Texas on Death Row.
The Harris County Grand Jury indicted Mike at the same time as me on both counts of capital murder against Bob Skeens and Robert Banks. Whereas the State decided on the murder conviction of Skeens for me, they chose Banks for Mike. I understand this is rather common in cases involving more than one homicide victim. If, by some legal glitch, Mike or I were not convicted of murdering one of the victims, they could then try us on the other one.
With Skelton’s encouragement—civic duty to country and justice for the victims—and not by any subpoena, Linda returned from California to Houston to testify against Mike. Her annulment from Mike eliminated any spousal-immunity issues. Further, acting as her attorney, Skelton made sure there would be no future problems with any prosecution against Linda by insisting that the State grant her immunity for her testimony against Mike. The type of immunity that he o
btained was not clear regarding a “use” or “transactional” provision, however, and this would become a legal issue in the future. Skelton was present with Linda at Mike’s trial and had coached her on her testimony while she stayed with him in Houston at his one-bedroom condominium for seven to ten days.
Just prior to Mike’s trial, the prosecution offered to commute my death penalty to life if I would appear in court against him. I told them, “No, I can’t do that. I don’t believe in the death penalty, and I can’t be responsible for ending another’s life.”
“But, Ms. Perillo,” said a bewildered-looking assistant district attorney, “we are offering you life over your current death sentence.”
“No, I just can’t be a party to that.”
Mike’s attorney sent me a note in which Mike thanked me and said that he understood and knew that if I did testify, he would surely die. He also said that Linda Fletcher was here and was going to testify against him. Earlier, however, in a pre-trial, recorded statement, Mike said, “It doesn’t bother me to get the death penalty because I have not made much of my life.” This statement brought back memories about my burning urge to confess, which I did physically in the Denver jail and spiritually in the Houston jail. I think that sometimes the soul crumbles within from the very weight of its own evil.
Mike’s trial in February 1982 lasted about twice as long as mine. In the punishment phase, the prosecution brought up Mike’s previous confinement in San Quentin and his membership in the Aryan Brotherhood. If looks could kill, Mike didn’t stand a chance for life imprisonment over the death penalty regarding the special punishment question: “Is there a probability that the defendant would commit acts of violence that would constitute a continuing threat to society?” All it would have taken is for one juror to have voted “no.” Instead, “Oh, yes,” responded all twelve jurors. Hang ’em Texas-high.
Salvation on Death Row Page 8
