“Coach, we can do it.”
“Do what?” Joe asked, agitated by the interruption.
“Kick a field goal. Doug can help Rico block the middle linebacker and Jimmy can kick it through.” Doug Kline was the left guard.
It was an absurd suggestion. They hadn’t made an extra point all year and hadn’t even attempted a field goal. Joe Sheffield looked out on the field and saw the Navajo defensive backs positioned well back near the end zone. A long pass was almost futile. He looked at Bobby Schmidt, who shrugged his shoulders. “It’s as good a shot as any, Coach,” he said.
“Doug, are you sure you can get that middle linebacker?” Joe asked.
“Don’t worry, Coach. He’s mine,” Doug replied.
Still Joe Sheffield hesitated. “Aw, what the hell. Let’s give it a shot. Jimmy, get in there and kick that ball through the uprights.”
Johnny, Rico, and Jimmy raced onto the field with the rest of the offensive team and huddled up. “Just like we did in practice,” Rico calmly told them. They broke the huddle and lined up.
“Hike!” Johnny shouted. Rico hiked the ball. As he did, the middle linebacker headed straight toward him. Off to the left, Doug Kline went airborne. As the linebacker reached Rico, Doug blindsided him.
Rico’s hike was a perfect spiral. Johnny caught the ball and set it in one fluid motion. As he put the ball on the ground, Jimmy Walsh took a step forward and swung his right leg back and then through the ball. It sailed off the turf. All eyes stayed on the football as it turned end over end toward the goalposts. The referees hesitated a moment as the ball passed the uprights before raising their hands and signaling that the kick was good. Just then the clock ran out.
Johnny, Rico, and Jimmy were hugging each other, jumping up and down.
“We did it! We did it!” Rico was yelling at them.
The rest of the team caught them on the field in mid-jump, and they were buried in a swarm of white and green jerseys. Joe Sheffield stayed on the sidelines and took it all in. It was a moment he would remember forever.
Coach Sheffield came to the Carlow East that night with the championship trophy. The Carlow regulars were as excited as the team, and nobody more so than Mary McKenna.
“Three cheers for Mary!” Frankie yelled out. And everybody cheered.
“Coach!” Frankie said when the cheers had died somewhat. “Will you say a few words?”
They got a chair for him and he stood on it with the trophy in his right hand. The place went dead silent.
“As you guys know, I’m not much for words. I just want to say that this might be a small league and an insignificant victory to the outside world, but I could not be prouder of a group of guys than I am of this team, and I would have said the same thing to you had you lost today. You are a team. You are so much of a team that I’ll bet none of you noticed throughout the entire season that you were the only integrated team in this league. That’s right. Some of you are colored.” Everybody in the bar laughed. Joe put his hands up to quiet them.
“There are leaders on this team who I assure you will be leaders in life. And there were friendships made that will also last a lifetime. For me, I will always cherish this trophy.”
Everybody clapped as Frankie helped Joe off the stool. There were more than a few misty eyes in the place. Johnny was standing with his buddies, Rico and Floyd.
“I’m with the coach,” Johnny told them. “I’ll never forget this season. And you guys are two of the leaders he was talking about.”
Floyd hoisted his glass. “To friendships that will last a lifetime,” he said, and all three tapped their glasses together before draining them.
They went their separate ways after that night, assembling only one more time as a team-six months after the Navajos game. They met at the Carlow East before heading to the funeral up in Harlem. Mary McKenna went with them. Her good friend Pink Floyd had been killed in Vietnam.
28
Jack spent several hours with Henry on his execution day.
He arrived around noon. As six o’clock came closer and closer, Henry’s treatment got better and better. He and Jack were taken to a room with a couch and two comfortable chairs. All Henry’s shackles were removed. He seemed unusually calm for a man about to die. Jack had not heard anything from Wofford, so they had no idea whether Judge Fletcher was going to intervene or not.
“Henry,” Jack asked after a few minutes of awkward silence, “tell me how you have come to be so articulate.” They were sitting in the two chairs facing each other. Of course, the chair Henry was sitting in was too small for him.
“I surprised you, didn’t I?”
“You sure did.”
“Well, I’ve had a lot of time in this prison. After a while, I decided I was going to make use of it. I started reading everything I could read-educating myself. Eventually, I got a letter from an inmate-a guard had told him about me-asking for my help. I filed a petition on his behalf and got him a reduced sentence. After that, I was a jailhouse lawyer. I’ll bet I’ve written over a hundred briefs.”
“So how come you never filed a brief on behalf of yourself? You knew about the Brady rule.”
“I’m not exactly sure. Maybe I knew I would only have one shot, and I didn’t want to waste it by filing myself. The appellate hill becomes a mountain when you’re representing yourself. I figured somebody would come along before they gave me that final cocktail.”
“And that somebody was me.” And I haven’t been able to get it done.
“There are some good things that are going to come from this execution, Jack,” Henry told him. “I’m pretty sure I’m going to see my mother. I just have a good feeling about that. We’ve got a lot to talk about, her and I. The other good thing is, I’m getting out of here. Seventeen years in a six-by-nine cell is enough. I almost prefer death.”
“You never talked about your mother before.”
“There’s not much to tell. She died when I was six.”
“Really? From what?”
“A series of very bad decisions. My mom was a heroin addict. All her boyfriends were drug addicts who used to beat the shit out of her and me. It wasn’t a model childhood.”
“I can only imagine.”
“No you can’t, Jack. There’s nothing in your universe that could help you imagine what happened to me. There was a little creek by the apartment complex where we lived. One day I couldn’t find my mother anywhere. She hadn’t come home the night before, which was rare even for her. I looked everywhere. I found her down by the creek. She was lying there, naked-naked and dead. Her latest boyfriend had strangled her for who knows what reason. They finally caught him, but that didn’t do me any good. I went from the hell of living with my mother to the hell of foster care. From getting the shit beat out of me by drug addicts to getting the shit beat out of me by people who were paid by the government. I can’t even tell you what happened to me in foster care. It was worse than anything that goes on in here.”
“And you’re looking forward to seeing your mom after all that?”
“Yeah. She had her own hell. Mom and I can compare notes. I’m just going to hug her and tell her I love her and she’s going to tell me how sorry she is and we’ll go from there. I think it’s going to be lovely.”
“I hope that’s the way it is, Henry-I mean, if the worst happens.” Jack felt awkward and a little guilty that they were having this conversation at all.
“It will, Jack. I feel it. I’m not very religious-as a matter of fact, I think I’m going to throw that minister out on his ear when he comes to pray with me. I believe in a higher power, though, and I just feel closer to that power and to my mother lately. I can’t explain it.”
Henry stood up at that point. He towered over Jack, who was still seated. Henry’s inner serenity at this most crucial time in his life made him seem otherworldly to Jack-larger than life itself.
“Jack, why don’t you go home now? You don’t need to hang around here and hold my
hand.”
“I’m not going anywhere, Henry, until we have a final decision one way or the other.”
Henry’s last meal was scheduled for three o’clock, and he invited Jack to be his guest. It was a little unusual, but the warden approved the request. They had broiled grouper and broccoli. Any Las Vegas bookie, looking at the size of Henry, would have taken odds that it would be a porterhouse with baked potato and sour cream.
They were mostly silent during the meal. Henry’s face brightened, however, when they brought in dessert-tiramisu.
“I’ve been reading about this stuff in books and magazines for years, Jack. I’ve never actually had it before, but I’ve been dreaming about it.”
Henry wasn’t disappointed. The tiramisu was delicious.
The guards made Jack leave right after dinner. The final preparations were about to begin. As the two men said their good-byes, Henry took Jack’s hand and held it.
“I just want you to know that I could never have had a better person fight for me than you. I know that you did everything that could be done, even though you weren’t ever sure in your own mind whether I was innocent or not.”
“How did you know?” Jack asked.
“You told me so in the beginning, and you never told me that you changed your mind. Right up to now. Why did you stick with me?”
“It was my wife. She convinced me to stay with your case-not to prejudge you.”
“Well, that is one hell of a woman you’ve got there, Jack. Here’s the truth. I’m guilty as hell-of a lot of very bad things that I never got caught for. However, I did not kill Clarence Waterman.”
Jack was glad that his efforts were not in vain-that Henry was truly innocent. Unfortunately, at that particular moment, Henry’s confession did not make him feel any better. Guilty or innocent, Henry was about to die.
“It’s not over yet, Henry. We still have time. Something could happen. I’ll be here with you right to the end.”
“Jack, I don’t want you sitting in that gallery when they open those curtains. I don’t want any friend of mine to witness this. Promise me you won’t be there.”
Jack hesitated a moment before answering. Part of him felt that if he left he would be abandoning Henry. But there was nothing he could do, and it was Henry’s call.
“All right, if that’s your wish, Henry, I won’t be there.”
Even though the Florida Supreme Court had found the electric chair to be a constitutional method of execution, the Florida legislature in 1996 had passed a law making death by lethal injection a legal alternative. Unless an inmate affirmatively opted for Old Sparky, he would be killed by lethal injection. Henry was a sane man. He had not opted for Old Sparky.
The death chamber was still the same. The electric chair was simply removed and replaced by a gurney on which the prisoner lay. At the appropriate time, the curtain would be drawn, and those in attendance in the little theater adjacent to the chamber could watch as the protocol, as it was called, was administered. There were only a few people in the theater to witness Henry’s execution. Normally, family members of both the accused and the victim would attend. In this case, neither the victim nor Henry had any family in attendance. A few reporters were there, as were some representatives from the state legislature and the governor’s office.
After Jack left, the warden made his ceremonial visit to Henry to read him the death warrant and to ask him if he had any questions. “They want to make sure you understand that they’re killing you,” Henry had told Jack earlier in the day. After that it was the chaplain’s turn. Henry did not kick him out as he had threatened to. Instead, they read from scripture and talked some about the afterlife. When Henry told the preacher he was looking forward to seeing his mother, the man didn’t respond. He just kept talking about the Almighty. I was better off talking to Jack, Henry told himself.
When the chaplain left, preparations began in earnest for Henry’s demise. He was brought from the death cell to a special place where he was fitted with a heart monitor and then strapped to the gurney. Two IVs were set up in his arms and flushed with saline solution, the final preparation for the death cocktail. At the appropriate time-in Henry’s case, six p.m.-the signal would be given to the executioner by the warden, and the procedure would begin. There were eight syringes in all. The first two contained no less than two grams of sodium pentothal, which was designed to make the victim unconscious. The third syringe was again a saline solution to flush the arteries. The fourth and fifth syringes contained pancuronium chloride, to paralyze the muscles. The sixth was another saline flush, and the seventh and eighth syringes contained 150 milliequivalents of potassium chloride, which would cause a massive heart attack and almost instantaneous death. The doses would be administered by the executioner; a doctor and a nurse were present to observe. Doctors did not take part in the actual execution because it violated their Hippocratic oath to “do no harm.”
A special phone was set up outside the death chamber, where the warden would stand. If there was going to be a last-minute reprieve, that phone would ring. In the final minutes and seconds, while Henry was in the death chamber strapped to the gurney, his IVs prepared, all eyes would be on that phone.
Jack had followed his own procedure, the one he used when he was last at Starke awaiting word on Rudy Kelly’s fate. He went outside the prison gates and stood with the death penalty protesters and sang hymns and said prayers. He felt totally helpless.
At 5:45, Henry was wheeled into the death chamber. The curtain was pulled open and the waiting began. At 5:57, Henry thanked God in advance for answering his prayer, closed his eyes, and dreamed of his mother and their joyful reunion. Jack too offered his final prayer at roughly the same time, a simple Hail Mary. At exactly six o’clock, as tears streamed down his face, Jack was singing, with all his heart and soul, the hymn “Peace Is Flowing Like a River.”
Jack didn’t learn what happened in the death chamber until an hour later, when a guard came to the outer gate to let him in and to give him the news. At exactly six p.m., the executioner had begun to administer the sodium pentothal just as the phone rang. He stopped immediately, but Henry was already unconscious. Somehow, Wofford had convinced Judge Susan Fletcher to read the motion for rehearing. She granted it and the request for an evidentiary hearing and entered an order stopping the execution. Henry was by no means out of the woods, but he was about to have his first real day in court with Jack Tobin as his lawyer.
Two hours later, Jack was in the prison hospital with Henry when Henry woke up. It took him a few minutes to focus and a few more to realize he wasn’t dead. Although he was still quite groggy, he clearly saw Jack.
“How did you beat me here? And where’s my mother?” he asked.
Jack smiled and put his hand on Henry’s shoulder. “The judge signed the order, Henry, but not before they gave you a little juice.”
“I guess that’s as close as you come,” Henry said before again closing his eyes.
Henry didn’t fall right back to sleep. He lay there thinking about what had transpired in the preceding hours. He had started on a journey that had been aborted at the absolute last minute. Something, however, had irrevocably changed. He could feel it in his core. Even though the reprieve might only be temporary, Henry knew that from the moment this journey began, he had embarked on a new life.
29
Benny was escorted from the cell block by two guards. They walked for several minutes down long, narrow corridors. Eventually the guards placed him in a small room and told him to sit in a chair facing a rectangular opening with bars across it. One of the guards stayed in the room with him and stood against the back wall. My own little private visiting room with a butler, Benny thought. I wonder if they have carpeting on death row.
I’m wisecracking to myself, he decided. I must be going crazy!
Moments later a short, stocky Latino man came into the part of the room on the opposite side of the barred window and sat down facing Benny. Benny ha
d never seen him before.
“Who are you?” he asked.
“Luis Melendez,” the man answered.
Benny struggled for a few minutes to remember where he had heard the name before. Then it came to him from deep in the recesses of his brain, behind closed doors. As he remembered, he stiffened. His stomach started to churn. Rage began to swell. Part of him wanted to leap through the bars and grab the man by the throat. Another part wanted to bolt from the chair and run like lightning as far away from this man as he could.
Benny caught his rage before it got out. He struggled with it for several moments, acutely aware of the guard behind him. He finally concluded he had two options: ask the guard to take him back to his cell, or quietly ask Luis Melendez what he wanted. He chose the latter.
“What do you want?” he said quietly.
“I want to help.”
Once again the rage began to build and once again Benny fought it down. This needs to be said, he told himself. He bit his lip and waited for the beast within to subside. Then he began to speak, again in a low voice so the guard would not hear.
“Where were you when I was four years old and I was taken from my mother because she was strung out on drugs? Where were you when I was dumped in a foster home with two animals who beat me every day and locked me in the closet when I cried? I called out to you every day for help. I wanted you to rescue me, to tell me everything was going to be all right. But neither of you ever came.”
“I tried to find you, Benny, I did.”
“Oh yeah, it’s pretty hard to find foster kids, especially when you’re the real parent.”
“I wasn’t thinking straight back then,” his father protested. “I didn’t think to look right away in the foster care program for you. When I finally did, you were gone.”
“Whatever. You’re too late now. You know, back when I was a kid, I went from fear to terror to ‘I don’t give a shit’ to being so angry I could scream. I took it and took it and stuffed it in every day and it built and built. Eventually I dreamed of killing those two animals and then finding you and killing you and her.” Benny was struggling to keep his voice low. “I never went near a gun my whole life, but I thought about it plenty-about putting one right between your eyes. That man stood over me and I had a gun. I killed him and now you’re too late.”
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