Salvation on Death Row

by John T. Thorngren

  CHAPTER 17

  Two, Three, One, Two, Six, Eight, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven…

  A numbers game? Perhaps an IQ test to determine the next logical number in succession? No, just my history on Death Row. I started in the Goree Unit as one of two that were condemned in a three-person cellblock. From there, I entered the Mountain View Unit into a six-person cellblock where I became the number one. Next there were two of us, Karla Faye and me; then we moved to an eight-cell unit to make it three and four: Karla Faye, Betty, Frances, and me. In 1995, we received numbers five, six, and seven: Erica Sheppard, Cathy Lynn Henderson, and Darlie Routier. There might not be any logical mathematical progression for these numbers, but the number of unoccupied Death Row cells always increased before an increase in the number of female inmates—always maintaining a surplus. Maybe Texas foresaw another possible federal lawsuit because the state was executing a far lower ratio of women compared to men.(89)

  In 1996, I received a letter in the mail notifying me that Judge Curt F. Steib in a Texas district court had denied my habeas corpus appeal. My appeal was, of course, predicated upon the serpentine actions of my two-faced attorney, Jim Skelton. My attorneys, Gerard Desrochers and Robin Curtis with Baker Botts, immediately filed an appeal with the U.S. Court of Appeals, Fifth District. They not only noted Skelton’s actions but also pointed out that Judge Steib’s review was just a paper hearing and was not, by other factors, entitled to the presumption of correctness. The state continued forward, and I received my second execution date: March 24, 1996.

  I was scheduled for lethal injection on a Sunday at 12:01 a.m. On a Sunday, the day of our Lord, ironically, Texas would finally execute a female and send her to be with her Lord. TDCJ sends women, “those about to die,” to the Goree Unit located a few miles from the Walls Unit in Huntsville. There they stay for a few days and are “prepared” for execution. All executions, male and female, take place at the Walls Unit. The Ellis Unit houses male Death Row inmates and is also their place of preparation. Three days prior to my transport to Goree, my adopted mom and my son arrived in Gatesville. They stayed at a motel, and Warden Baggett, out of kindness, let us have contact visits those final three days.

  On Thursday, Warden Baggett talked with us about the TDCJ protocol package. The protocol package contains all the morbid details regarding the execution: what color clothes you will wear at your death, where your family will collect your body, to whom you will leave any property and any money left in your prison account (a last will and testament), and whom you will choose for the five witnesses to watch you die.

  The state may have five witnesses and the condemned, also five. The adjoining viewing rooms for the witnesses are, of course, separate. That for the state, which may include the victim’s family, is closer to the head of the gurney. After the condemned has been prepped (strapped down with five leather belts, IV started, arms strapped and extended on sideboards in a crucifixion pose, etc.), the witnesses enter the viewing rooms. A draw curtain is pulled back, revealing a plate-glass window covered with vertical and horizontal bars in a tic-tac-toe pattern. If you wanted to, you could raise your head from the death gurney and see who is cheering and who is crying as you prepare for your last gasp. There is also a witness room for the press. I did not know if Michael Graczyk would be there or not. Linda Strom, who wrote Karla Faye Tucker Set Free, was one of my witnesses. I did not put my son or adopted mother on the witness list. I did not want them watching me die. Of course, none of my family from California would be there. Warden Baggett allowed a correctional officer, Ms. Scott, to accompany me and sit outside the death-watch cell. Ms. Scott also agreed to be one of my witnesses. She said, “Pam, this will be very hard for me, but I will do it if the warden allows it,” which she did. These were the only two I had chosen to witness my death.

  I didn’t have in writing what my final words would be, but I knew what I would talk about: that I knew I would be with Jesus, and I knew I would see Karla Faye again when she joined me. I would turn the actual words over to God.

  On Thursday evening after my son and adopted mother left, I was in turmoil. My death was scheduled in three days. I felt a lot of fear. It wasn’t a fear of dying, because I knew I would go to heaven and meet Jesus face to face. It was more of a fear, rather an anxiety, of being strapped to that gurney and having to say my last words with all those people watching me die. Then a feeling of guilt followed this because, as a Christian, I knew I shouldn’t have fear. Subsequently, the feeling of guilt turned inward as anger at myself for feeling such, but then I reflected on Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane before His crucifixion. In His anxiety, He sweated drops of blood and prayed to His Father, “…if it is possible, may this cup be taken from me. Yet not as I will, but as you will.”(90) At last I was comforted because He had come down in the flesh and I, being also flesh on bone, had felt His fear. In that passage, He showed me it was okay. From that point on, I prayed that God would give me the strength to walk into that room with my head held high, to get up on that gurney and say I was sorry to the family of my victims, and to say that I was going home to be with Jesus.

  That night as I was flipping through my Bible in the book of Psalms—I had been reading a lot from Psalms at that time—I happened on Psalms 102:19, 20 (NIV): “The Lord looked down from his sanctuary on high, from Heaven He viewed the earth, to hear the groans of the prisoners and release those condemned to death.” I’ve read my Bible through many times and don’t remember seeing this passage, and yet these verses seemed to jump from the page into my very being—the living word, Rhema(91)—comfort to my soul. I slept in peace, a peace that encompassed my whole body, physically, mentally, and spiritually. Knowing that either way God decided, if I departed, my reward would be with Jesus, and if I stayed, He had a purpose for me here.

  The next morning, a Friday, I told Christina and Joseph goodbye in an emotional embrace. Later that day, TDCJ would transport me to Huntsville for my appointed execution at one minute into Sunday.

  As I was walking out the door, I received notice of a telephone call from my attorneys saying that I had received a stay of execution and a rehearing. I returned to the visiting room to tell Christina and Joseph. Tears of goodbye were now tears of hallelujah—an unforgettable emotional upheaval that I will never forget.

  CHAPTER 18

  Two primary states of waiting occur on Death Row: waiting for the state to finalize the appointed day of your execution and waiting for that day, once known, to come. Waiting to find out when is akin to closing the closet door in your bedroom when you were a little girl and placing a chair in front of it to try to protect yourself from something lurking outside. Surely that would keep the bogeyman away while you slept, even though you knew he was in there. You knew he had earthly, manmade powers to tear down any barrier. You knew he was plotting to get you. You also knew, however, that the day of his re-entry was random; it could be in several weeks or many years. Such was my wait after the stay of execution.

  In March 1996, the U.S. Court of Appeals, Fifth Circuit,(92) vacated the state court’s dismissal of my habeas corpus petition and remanded my case for “appropriate discovery and an evidentiary hearing.” An evidentiary hearing after a conviction occurs before a judge without a jury present to determine if certain evidence not presented at trial needs consideration, evidence that would require a retrial. Our primary point for retrial was, of course, the conflict of interest pertaining to my attorney, Jim Skelton. That November, the court held its first evidentiary hearing, consisting largely of affidavits and exhibits from Skelton and others involved in both of my trials. On August 5, 1997, the court denied my habeas corpus relief. My state of waiting became gloomy again until one day later, when one of my attorneys called.

  “Jim Skelton has been disbarred and is no longer able to practice law in the state of Texas. He lied to a client about his status on a federal conviction appeal, when the court dismissed his client�
��s appeal long before Skelton told him about a fictitious oral argument. Unfortunately for Mr. Skelton’s defense, his client had tape recordings to back it up. We will be filing an appeal for a new evidentiary hearing based on this new evidence, namely Mr. Skelton’s lack of credibility.”

  Words and phrases from old sayings ran through my mind like school children galloping out for recess—phrases like “chickens roosting,” “pants on fire,” “shooting yourself in the foot,” “what goes around comes around,” “given enough rope,” etc. Hallelujah! The truth had come out into the light. This should be called the third state of waiting, or better titled “hope”:

  1) Hope for new evidence and a retrial (for Karla Faye, Betty Lou, and certainly now in my case);

  2) Hope for a confession from the real killer (in Frances’ case); and

  3) Hope for clemency, a commutation to life imprisonment from the governor (for all of us nearing the final moment).

  Then, almost a year later, after my stay in 1996, Karla Faye’s wait for the appointed day ended when the U.S. Court of Appeals, Fifth Circuit, ruled against her rehearing. Her appeals exhausted, the state set her execution for early the next year, February 3, 1998. We felt immense sorrow for Karla Faye—dejection—but we came together, joined hands, and prayed in emphasis of our belief that we were “…cast down, but not destroyed.”(93) I would not let Karla Faye fade quietly away, and certainly Karla Faye herself wasn’t going out without letting the world know what “born again” meant. I wrote to Sister Helen Prejean (the death penalty opponent of Dead Man Walking fame)(94) to let her know that she needed to come here and fight for Karla Faye Tucker, one of God’s most dramatic salvations.

  When Sister Helen arrived, she, Karla Faye, and I sat in the prison chapel for an hour and talked. She described her efforts and travels over the world to denounce the death penalty. I will never forget her saying, “Is it right to kill people to show people that killing is wrong?” And also, “Even an officer who handcuffs you and escorts you to the van that takes you to your execution is taking a part in your death.” She pledged to do everything she could for Karla Faye’s cause and mine as well. The call went out to petition then-governor, now former U.S. President, George W. Bush for clemency.

  In the next few months, Karla Faye escalated from being a famous person to a very famous person. Not only was she to be the first female executed in over one hundred years, she was a poster child for redemption in Jesus. The reporters and writers swarmed in so heavily for interviews that some of the girls complained about all the media coming into Death Row and taking over the recreation room. They had also complained about our four (Karla Faye, Betty Lou, Frances, and me) commandeering the rec room for Bible study with groups like Mike Barber Ministries and the Bill Glass Crusade for Life.(95) All it took was one Death Row inmate to block the entrance of the media or a ministry. For more than a decade, the four of us had been a tight family group, our own little island. Now the river of time was changing its course. The loss of our prayer and study groups was most upsetting. Karla Faye wanted some privacy, some place where she could be alone and commune with her Lord. With Warden Baggett’s permission, she transferred over to MPF (the MultiPurpose Facility) on November 17, 1997. Since Karla Faye’s birthday was on the 18th, Warden Baggett let us have a small party for her before she left. Warden Baggett also allowed Frances and me to meet with Karla Faye every two weeks in the visiting area at MPF for about an hour. Betty Lou didn’t join us.

  It was in MPF that Larry King(96) did his live interview with Karla Faye in January, less than a month before her execution. We were able to see the broadcast live, and I have its transcript, which does follow the show accurately. Karla Faye was eloquent, as I knew she would be, in her testimony for Christ. Early into the interview, Larry King delved extensively into Karla Faye’s spiritual marriage to Dana Brown and especially—for listener appeal, I am sure—that Death Row prisoners were not allowed contact visits, not even a handshake. Also discussed was the fact that Governor Bush had never pardoned anyone. Clemency was Karla Faye’s last hope, for certainly she was “a new creature in Christ” and no longer a threat to society.

  Sister Helen(97) states her views—in an altogether unfavorable analysis—as to why Governor Bush refused clemency. In summary, she notes that if he displayed an act of compassion, it would endanger his political aspirations, would not endear him to the pro-death voters, and would encourage all condemned prisoners to claim “born again” as grounds for mercy.

  For her last meal, Karla Faye had a banana, a peach, and a garden salad. Perhaps such a light meal might have been to protect her “delicate intestines,” as she often said. Relief was a constant problem of Karla Faye’s, one that often required an emergency trip to the restroom when in public. She could have ordered just about anything for her last meal, a sort of before-the-fact tradition that has been in existence since ancient times—a symbolic act of truce and mercy offered to the condemned to prevent them from returning to haunt the executioners.(98) Also, many consider it to be symbolic of the Lord’s Last Supper.(99, 100)

  For her five witnesses, Karla Faye chose Dana Brown, her husband; Kari Weeks, her sister; George Secrest, her lead attorney; Jackie Oncken, a close friend and wife of one of her court-appointed attorneys, Henry Oncken; and—most unusually—Ron Carlson, the brother of Deborah Thornton, one of her two victims. As noted, Ron Carlson had converted to Christianity through contact with Karla. Life is a journey, and the people we touch along the way always amaze me. One never knows the effect of what even our mere presence may have on others. Jesus sums this up in such a beautiful verse: “The wind blows wherever it pleases. You hear its sound, but you cannot tell where it comes from or where it is going. So it is with everyone born of the Spirit.”(101)

  Former warden Jim Willett(102) was present at the execution and said, “I was at the Huntsville Unit during her execution. For several years while I was the warden at the Diagnostic Unit, I would go over to the Huntsville Unit during executions and be the person who manned a live telephone connection with the attorney general’s office in Austin. I’d usually get a call from them just prior to 6 p.m. and stay on the line with the attorney who had that case, until the execution was completed. This was a precautionary position in case something suddenly came out of the courts and to keep the AG’s office informed of the proceedings here in Huntsville. This was, without a close comparison, the largest crowd I saw during the years I did this job for Warden Jones. There were several television satellite trucks and hundreds of people out front of the prison. But it was a peaceful crowd.”

  I believe that Karla Faye may have had a general idea of what she would say for her last statement, but—as she did so often—she turned the actual wording over to the Lord:

  “Yes sir, I would like to say to all of you, the Thornton family and Jerry Dean’s family, that I am so sorry. I hope God will give you peace with this. Baby, I love you. Ron, give Peggy a hug for me. Everybody has been so good to me. I love all of you very much. I am going to be face to face with Jesus now. Warden Baggett, thank all of you so much. You have been so good to me. I love all of you very much. I will see you all when you get there. I will wait for you.”(103)

  I have heard that the bond between men is always stronger than that between women. I disagree. Karla Faye and I had been Death Row inmates for over fourteen years. Our bond was not only in the flesh but also like iron in the Spirit. I don’t know how many lakes of tears I filled in her passing. I would have gladly gone in her place.

  Karla Faye

  Pamela Lynn Perillo

  A little girl lost

  Her world full of pain

  He said it feels good

  She gave him her vein

  The dope made her numb

  And the numbness felt free

  Until she came down

  To a new misery

  A junkie, a whore

 
Living for the next high

  She’d lie, cheat, and steal

  She forgot how to cry

  Wide awake for two weeks

  Shooting heroin then speed

  When she killed in cold blood

  She felt nothing but her need

  It’s an eye for any eye

  Now you’re going to die

  A tooth for a tooth

  It’s your moment of truth

  There’s no mercy here

  Your stay is denied

  Go ahead and pray

  There’s no mercy

  In the sky

  Alone in her cell

  No dope in her veins

  The killer becomes

  The little girl lost again

  She fell to her knees

  She prayed she would die

  On the cold cement floor

  She finally cried

  And love came like the wind

  Love whispered her name

  It reached through and held her

  It lifted her pain

  14 years on death row

  Her faith deeper each day

  Her last words were

  I love you all

  Goodbye Karla Faye

  Now it’s an eye for an eye

  And alone you will die

  A tooth for a tooth

  It’s your moment of truth

  Karla Faye Tucker, 1959-1998

  CHAPTER 19

  In May of 1998, shortly after the State of Texas killed my best friend, the district court granted me a second evidentiary hearing. Hopefully, this would be a full evidentiary hearing, not just with affidavits, but with the testimonies of real people. From conversations with my attorneys, I learned that this would take time. The bogeyman could be in the closet for several more years.