My Life After Prison

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Death-Penalty

TRAUMA – Where It Leads

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And where it comes from…

What IS trauma?

Trauma is defined as an emotional, psychological, or physical response to an event or series of events that are distressing or harmful, often overwhelming a person’s ability to cope.

This can include experiences such as violence, sexual abuse or physical abuse, accidents, or natural disasters that lead to feelings of intense fear, helplessness, or horror.

Trauma can manifest in various ways, including anxiety, depression, and post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), affecting an individual’s daily life, relationships, and overall mental health.

Understanding trauma is essential, especially in contexts like prisons, where individuals may face unique and compounding challenges that amplify their experiences of distress.

Here’s another question:

Does prison lead to trauma, or does trauma lead to prison? I think that in the majority of cases, trauma leads to prison…but prison ALWAYS leads to more trauma.

Trauma significantly influences why some people end up in prison. It often leads to harmful behaviors and poor coping skills. Experiencing violence, abuse, or serious neglect can warp a person’s self-view and how they see the world, leading to increased anxiety, aggression, or impulsive actions.

These traumatic events may push some to commit crimes for survival or to regain a sense of control. Furthermore, the lack of mental health resources and support can leave traumatized individuals without the means to heal, making them more susceptible to the justice system. In essence, unresolved trauma can create a tough cycle to break, contributing to the high number of traumatized people in prisons.

Trauma often leads to harmful behaviors and poor coping skills.

Trauma often has its origins in adverse childhood experiences, such as abuse within the home, unstable family structures like single-parent households, exposure to substance abuse, and community crime.

A young child growing up in such an environment may first feel unsafe and neglected, leading to emotional and behavioral issues. As they transition into adolescence, feelings of abandonment or rage may take hold, oftentimes impairing their ability to form healthy relationships and cope with stress.

Non-violent Gathering of Youth – Courtesy Shutterstock

If these individuals begin seeking “unhealthy” outlets—such as engaging in drug use or alcohol or associating with delinquent peers—they may further spiral into risky behaviors. This cycle of trauma can escalate, leading them into criminal activities as a means of survival or providing an escape. The compounded effects of untreated trauma can create a firmly entrenched path, ultimately steering them toward the criminal justice system and incarceration.

Home to School to Prison…and the Pipeline There

The “home to school” path for a child experiencing trauma is critical in understanding how environments influence their emotional and psychological well-being. For many children, home life can be a source of significant distress due to factors such as domestic violence, neglect, substance abuse, or instability. In the beginning, school may represent a refuge from these challenges, offering a comforting structure, a form of social interaction, and offering the potential for academic success.

Upon arriving at school, however, the child’s experience may be very complex. Some children find school to be a safe haven, as it allows them to escape the traumatic conditions at home, even if temporarily. In these instances, the structure provided by a school environment can facilitate healing in that it gives children a space where they can engage with peers and, as importantly, caring adults, which is essential for their emotional development.

Conversely, for some children, school can present a new set of challenges that may reinforce existing trauma. Factors such as bullying, academic pressure, social isolation, or rigid disciplinary practices can turn school, at first a refuge, into a traumatic environment. This contradiction can lead to heightened anxiety and distress, making the journey from home to school fraught with tension rather than relief.

School Classroom – courtesy Shutterstock

Additionally, trauma can deeply affect a child’s ability to engage with their environment. Symptoms such as hyper-vigilance, emotional dysfunction, or difficulties in forming relationships can affect how a child interacts with teachers and fellow students. These challenges can create a cycle of trauma, where the child feels unsafe both at home and in school, reinforcing that sense of vulnerability and isolation.

So, the “home to school” path is not a straightforward and clear transition. It often involves a complex interplay of escaping one form of trauma only to potentially face another. In some cases, the traumatized child will find comfort in structured learning. Understanding these dynamics is crucial for educators and advocates in creating supportive school environments that recognize and address the broader impacts of trauma on children.

Is School a Refuge – Or a Place of More Trauma?

And, School To Prison…The “school to prison pipeline” is a complex phenomenon where students, particularly those from marginalized communities, face disciplinary actions in schools that often lead to law enforcement involvement. For a child already experiencing trauma—whether from economic instability, domestic violence, or community violence, or abuse—the pressures of this pipeline are magnified.

A Mind In Trauma

Traumatized children may exhibit behaviors such as aggression, withdrawal, or defiance, which are often misinterpreted by educators. Instead of receiving support, they may face harsh disciplinary measures, such as suspensions or expulsions. This pushes them further away from education. Factors such as lack of access to mental health resources, negative school climates, and socio-economic disparities can lead these children to feel alienated and disengaged. This only increases their chances of indulging in criminal activity as a way to cope or seek validation. Understanding these connections is crucial for developing interventions that address the root causes of behavior rather than simply reacting to the symptoms.

How does this progression work in real life? Let’s meet Marcus.

A young boy named Marcus grew up in a home filled with domestic violence, often witnessing his parents fight, his father often beating his mother. This led to him feeling emotionally neglected and very alone. The unstable home life caused him to struggle in school, making it hard to focus on his classes and to connect with fellow students. Failing to make this connection led to bullying. Frustrated and helpless, Marcus acted out by skipping classes and hanging out with older “friends” who seemed to understand his pain. He was soon engaging in petty theft. His rebellious behavior escalated, and he was eventually caught vandalizing school property, resulting in a troubling encounter with police.

Instead of receiving the support he needed, he was labeled a delinquent. Each time he came into contact with the authorities, his trauma deepened. This led to an arrest that put him on a path toward prison, continuing the cycle of trauma that started at home.

JUVENILE COURT PROCEEDINGS

Traumatized children may exhibit behaviors such as aggression, withdrawal, or defiance, which are often misinterpreted by educators. Instead of receiving support, they may face harsh disciplinary measures, such as suspensions or expulsions. This pushes them further away from education. Factors such as lack of access to mental health resources, negative school climates, and socio-economic disparities can lead these children to feel alienated and disengaged. This only increases their chances of indulging in criminal activity as a way to cope or seek validation. Understanding these connections is crucial for developing interventions that address the root causes of behavior rather than simply reacting to the symptoms.

JUVENILE COURT PROCEEDINGS

PRISON…And More Trauma

Juvenile Courtroom

What would have been the right time to intervene? What type of intervention would have been successful? Whose intervention would have been most valuable?

We will never be able to know. Marcus’ life continued to spiral out of control after he went to prison. By the time someone took the time and made the effort to intervene in his life, to attempt to get him to confront and defeat his trauma, it was too late. Marcus died of an overdose of fentanyl, alone, in a cell, in prison.

THIS is what “trauma” is, and what it does.

Below, you will find links to resources that may be of help. If trauma begins at home, that’s where it should be treated. Thank you for reading this!

TRAUMA RESOURCES FOR CHILDREN

TRAUMA RESOURCES FOR FAMILIES

RESOURCES WHEN THERE IS AN INCARCERATED PARENT

This post is dedicated to an unnamed Assistant Warden at Angola, who asked me to write about trauma, because they understand what trauma does, and where it leads.

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Seen Through The Fog of Dementia

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Ralph Menzies – Scheduled for Execution Sept. 5, 2025 (AP)

This is an exhausting journey to be on, this fight against the death penalty. Exhausting, but – yes, interesting. Interesting in that every case is similar yet different. Interesting in that we’re presented with so many different personalities as we trudge along this path, sometimes forward and sometimes walking backwards, sometimes being pushed backwards and off the path. The one consolation is that we never walk alone. The anti-death penalty community is a small but committed and tightly knit one, with friends and allies in the sometimes unlikeliest of places and at unlikely times.

He walked the cracked asphalt roads outside the state prison, his battered shoes softened by the hours of pacing with a placard in hand. The words, scrawled in uneven marker paint—”Mercy Is Justice” — alternating with — “Stop Gas Executions”, or “Execution Is NOT The Solution” — had long since grown heavy to him, acting more as a shield than a message. His voice was hoarse from chanting into the indifferent and non-hearing wind, yet he persisted, tracing the same worn path past chain-link fences, concrete walls, and rows of armed guards whose eyes followed him with cold amusement. Every step was a ritual, a prayer against the inevitability of a clock ticking toward midnight executions or stopping short at 6:00, praying for a stay, a reprieve, a gift from God.

Yet along this lonely march, allies emerged from unexpected shadows. A prison nurse, weary from tending to men who would not live to grow old, stopped to press a bottle of water into his hand, whispering, “I wish I could say this for myself, and say it out loud – but I must consider my retirement and my future.” A grizzled ex-guard—once his adversary across the fence—fell into step beside him one evening, muttering that the killing had rotted away at his soul until he could no longer bear it. Even a mother in mourning, her son murdered years ago, came not to condemn but to stand silently near him, carrying her grief as testimony that justice need not be sharpened to a blade.

The path wound longer than the road itself, each footfall carrying him deeper into a strange fellowship stitched from fragments of guilt, sorrow, and defiance, all pieces to a puzzle. He realized he no longer walked alone but at the head of a procession of unlikely companions, all tethered by the same invisible weight. Though the state’s machinery ground on, implacable and deaf, the protester found that his path was no longer only protest—it was pilgrimage. And on that path, every voice beside his own turned the solitary chant into something approaching a chorus.

These are the ghosts that join us. These are the voices that urge us on forward, to not give up the fight. To fight and protest for every death carried out by the State, for every murder committed by the State. We will not give up this fight.

UTAH’S FIRING SQUAD CHAIR (AP Photo)

Condemned killer Ralph Leroy Menzies, arguably has one last chance to avoid a firing squad execution by appealing to the Utah Supreme Court.

Repetitive application? By far. Chances of evading execution? You pick the numbers…

On Thursday, the state’s top court heard arguments over whether Menzies’ upcoming execution should have been halted pending appeal, and whether a lower court judge should have ordered a new competency evaluation once his attorneys disclosed his dementia had gotten worse.

That same judge previously found Menzies competent to be executed for the 1986 murder of Maurine Hunsaker, who was taken from her job at a Kearns gas station, tied to a tree and her throat was slit.

“Mr. Menzies has a progressive disease. He is always getting worse,” his attorney, Lindsey Layer, argued to the justices.

He sat in the narrow cell, its walls painted the color of old bone, staring at the blank steel door as though it might one day speak to him. His hair had thinned to wisps, his body frail beneath the coarse prison uniform, but his eyes—clouded, drifting—held no recognition of the years or the sentence hanging over him. Once, he had argued with lawyers, shouted at guards, clung to scraps of appeals and promises. Now he no longer remembered those battles. He asked instead when his mother might visit, though she had been buried for half a century, or whether he could go home soon, confused why they kept him here at all.

The warden visited, speaking carefully, slowly, about the scheduled execution. The condemned man nodded politely, then asked whether dinner would come on time. He did not know what a firing squad was, nor why so many solemn faces gathered to watch him shuffle down the corridor during rehearsals of protocol. To him, the preparations were rituals without meaning, the men with rifles perhaps soldiers in some far-off war that never touched his understanding. When guards whispered “he doesn’t even know anymore,” he only smiled faintly, humming a song half-remembered from boyhood, the words lost to the ravages of time.

“If this particular illness is progressive, it changes all the time, how do we not end up in this situation repeatedly?” asked Justice Paige Petersen.

“With this particular illness? That is true,” Layer replied.

Justice Diana Hagen questioned where the line is for a defendant to understand the nature of their crime and the punishment being handed down and what qualifies as a substantial change. Layer told the Court that Menzies’ circumstances have substantially changed.

Chief Justice Matthew Durrant raised the issue of some prison phone calls that Menzies had made that prosecutors submitted as evidence that he is competent.

“He does seem to understand who he’s speaking with, he’s giving appropriate responses,” Chief Justice Durrant said, later adding: “How does that level of understanding, let’s say, figure into the legal standard for competency to be executed?”

But Layer argued it did not show the whole picture, where Menzies struggled to even make some phone calls to his lawyers and others.

Decades of waiting had stripped him of context, leaving only a fragile shell of routine. Each day was measured by trays of food slid through a slot, by the rattle of keys at dawn and dusk. Death, as the state decreed it, was no longer real to him; he could not grasp it, could not fear it, could not prepare for it. And yet the machinery of law continued grinding forward, as indifferent to his forgetfulness as the concrete floor beneath his feet. For him, there was no looming end—only another morning, another question, another fragment of memory slipping into silence.

“He’s clearly struggling, he’s not able to complete those calls,” she told the Court.

Assistant Utah Attorney General Daniel Boyer argued that not enough has changed to justify a new competency evaluation.

“The defendant must specifically allege a substantial change in circumstances, the petition must be sufficient to raise a question about the inmate’s competency,” he said.

Utah last executed prisoners by firing squad in 2010, and South Carolina used the method on two men this year. Only three other states — Idaho, Mississippi and Oklahoma — allow firing squad executions.

Ralph Leroy Menzies, 67, is set to be executed Sept. 5 for abducting and killing a Utah mother of three, Maurine Hunsaker, in 1986. When given a choice decades ago, Menzies selected a firing squad as his method of execution. He would become only the sixth U.S. prisoner executed by firing squad since 1977.

The most notable, perhaps, was Gary Gilmore about whom the book, “The Executioner’s Song” was written by bestselling author, Norman Mailer.

GARY GILMORE – Utahan Executed By Firing Squad (AP Photo)

Utah has a particularly long and bloody history with firing squad executions. Utah’s history with firing squad executions dates back to its original statutes, which allowed it as a method of punishment alongside beheading and hanging. The state has historically been a leader in its use, especially in the modern era following the reinstatement of capital punishment in the 1970s.

Utah was the first state to resume executions after the national moratorium with Gary Gilmore’s execution in 1977, and remained the only state to carry out a firing squad execution in the modern era until the 2010 execution of Ronnie Lee Gardner.

Executing someone with dementia is problematic because competency laws require a prisoner to fully understand the punishment they face (to be executed), which dementia impairs. The primary concern is that a person with dementia cannot rationally comprehend their execution or the reasons for it, rendering the execution unconstitutional under the Eighth Amendment. The firing squad execution itself adds to the concern, as it potentially increases the risk of suffering and error.

Legal and Constitutional Issues

  • Incompetency:Federal and state laws mandate that a death row inmate must be competent, meaning they understand they are facing execution and the reasons for it, according to the Death Penalty Information Center.
  • Ford v. Wainwright:The U.S. Supreme Court ruled that executing someone who doesn’t understand the reasons for their punishment violates the Eighth Amendment’s prohibition against cruel and unusual punishment.
  • 2003  The Utah Legislature unan­i­mous­ly approves a bill that prohibits the execution of those with intellectual disabilities.
  • Attorneys for Mr. Menzies called the state’s deci­sion to move ahead with Mr. Menzies’ scheduled exe­cu­tion ​“deeply troubling,” noting “[Mr.] Menzies is a severely brain-damaged, wheelchair-bound, 67-year-old man with dementia and significant memory problems. His dementia is progressive and he is not going to get better.” They have appealed the ruling to the Utah Supreme Court.

  • “It is deeply troubling that Utah plans to remove Mr. Menzies from his wheelchair and oxygen tank to strap him into an exe­cu­tion chair and shoot him to death.”
    Lindsey Layer, Attorney for Ralph

  • Navigating through a thick fog is difficult, and people can easily lose their bearings. This reflects how dementia can disrupt a person’s sense of direction and familiarity.

  • Disorientation: A person with dementia may feel lost even in familiar places or have trouble navigating familiar surroundings.

  • Social withdrawal: Like someone isolated in a fog, a person with dementia may withdraw from social situations due to communication difficulties and confusion.

  • This whole situation is frightening. It’s not frightening to Menzies, though, as he has no idea what’s happening to him. It’s only frightening to those who know and love him, to those working tirelessly to save his life, and to those who have a sense of responsibility and respect the rule of law.

  • Justice Diana Hagen questioned where the line is for a defendant to understand the nature of their crime and the punishment being handed down…

  • Your honor, there is no pill that one can take to force the defendant to understand the nature of their crime and the punishment being handed down, or meted out. There is no “alarm” that would alert the authorities that Mr. Menzies woke up one morning and was cognizant of all the factors involved here – his crime and the punishment, and how many years he spent wandering through the fog.

  • For now, he continues, still lost, still wandering….will he wander on September 6th, or will his journey end on September 5th, as ordered by the people who want to kill him?

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A Trip To The Planetarium For Kayle

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Carrying Our Veterans On Our Shoulders

Today I had the honor of being the final speaker at an event/press conference sponsored by Floridians For Alternatives To The Death Penalty and Death Penalty Action. I was joined by 3 other Veterans who are active in representing Veterans and, honestly? I felt a good bit out of my depth. Man, EVERYBODY outranked me! There was a retired Navy Captain, a retired Army Major, a retired Army Sergeant and finally, me, a lowly Airman 1st Class, USAF.

Everybody was smarter than me. Everybody dressed better than me. They were charismatic like you just wouldn’t believe! They all had 20, 30, even 40 years invested in their careers doing exactly what they were doing. And I was the last speaker, so I really faced an uphill battle going into the fight. But I had a clearly distinct advantage in one regard and outranked them all in one aspect – I was the ONLY one in the room who had served 47 years in one of the worst prisons in America. I’m pretty certain that I was the only convicted murderer present (though I cannot be entirely certain of that detail !). LoL!

(L-R) Tom Dunn, Esq. (USA) [Kayle Bates’ Trial Attorney] , Art Cody, Esq., (USN), Director Center for Veteran Criminal Advocacy, Bill Kissinger, A1st, (USAF), Justice Advocate, David Ferrier, retired Sergeant (USA) Mitigation Investigator

We were all gathered together in a room at the Challenger Learning Center in Tallahassee, Florida, a beautiful complex with scale models of the Challenger spacecraft, an IMAX theater, and a planetarium that will dazzle you.

TOP – The Planetarium BOTTOM – The Event Room

It was a beautiful setting for a serious discussion on a gruesome event – the pending execution of Kayle Bates, whose execution at time of this writing is scheduled for 6:00pm, August 19, 2025.

The four of us had only met the night before at a dinner organized by the bubbly and energetic Grace Ellen Hanna, the Board Secretary of FADP. I cannot stress enough how calming of a presence Grace carries with her effortlessly, and in all of my moments of vulnerability (frequent!) was there to push me forward. She also served as my personal taxi service for which I am forever grateful.

Grace Ellen Hanna, Board Secretary, FADP

Art Cody was the last to arrive to the dinner due to travel complications, so Dave Ferrier, Tom Dunn and his wife, Millie, (Litigation Attorney, Federal Public Defender Program), Grace and I proceeded to enjoy each other’s company and a great meal. In the process, we discovered that we actually knew other people in each other’s orbit. See, the capital punishment circle is actually very small and it’s like the old adage that “Everybody knows somebody and somebody knows everybody.” Millie knew Federal Public Defenders in Louisiana that I’ve worked with and Dave knew ex-convicts that I had known and seen go home many years before that Dave had worked to prove his innocence.

The reason the circle is small is actually multifold: the job of representing and defending or appealing a death-sentenced prisoner demands a dedication, passion and commitment that very few attorneys possess. The passion comes from believing that every human life is sacred and to put it all very simply

Killing people who kill people to show people that killing people is wrong just doesn’t work. It only kills more people.

The job also requires that a person be able to set aside all of their own biases and prejudices and fight to save this life – this hated and reviled and contemptible life, and that’s a pretty apt descriptor for virtually every single death-eligible prisoner ever to stand trial. But, it’s also the descriptor used by those who wholeheartedly support and actually energize the push for more and faster executions.

I have talked with and interviewed many wardens and high-ranking security officials and they are almost unanimous in their belief that capital punishment does not serve the purpose of deterrence and does much more harm than good. It only creates more victims. The executioners, also, become victims as they are forced to kill another human being with whom they have near-daily contact and become familiar with over time.

And then, there are those who simply take a “clinical” or “sanitized” viewpoint: “It’s a part of the job and I may not like it, but I have to do it so I’ll be humane and kind to him while I do it.” Like shooting him with a bullet made of sugar? Suffocating him with a fragrant and aromatic, flower-scented gas? Hanging him with a rope made of the finest silk? Or, there’s this:

“When Warden Burl Cain came that afternoon to my office, I poured him coffee. He’d hosted a new coroner’s technician for dinner the night before and told me how he’d described the execution to him, to calm his worries: “Four officers will escort Dobie from his cell. The strapdown team is well trained, each officer has an arm or a leg. If he resists, they’ll carry him. They’ll strap him to the gurney and it’ll be over quickly—then you’ll pronounce him dead.” He spoke as matter-of-factly as discussing the weather. I was appalled; Cain was serene. Before leaving, he slipped off to deliver a brand-new “Stone Cold” Steve Austin T-shirt to Dobie—an awkward farewell gift.”

Bill Kissinger, from “The Last Breakfast”, in the Harvard Inquest Magazine.

How do we distance ourselves from this mindset, from this policy-directed death, from this sanitized version of pre-meditated murder? By opposing it, fighting against it and demanding by every possible measure that we abolish it. Here is where the passion and commitment comes in. This is the passion that Tom Dunn carries with him to trial, that Art Cody defends his clients with and that David Ferrier investigates and searches for mitigating evidence with.

Kayle Bates was Tom’s first capital case after leaving the Army. It turned into a decades-long journey with Kayle that continues today.

Kayle Bates – Scheduled for execution August 19, 2025

After graduating from high school, Kyle Bates followed his lifetime dream and he enlisted in the military with the Florida National Guard. He served for six years. He participated in the unit’s activation to quell the race riots in Liberty City in Miami in 1980. He also attended and completed the Army’s rigorous jungle training in Panama. Essentially, his wife said after those two incidences, Kyle was different. He had nightmares. He’d wake up screaming loudly, acting crazy, and not recognizing or remembering where he was.

As Art explained, every veteran on death row has service connected, post-traumatic stress disorder, traumatic brain injury, or other service related disabilities. It is a service connected disability because were it not for the fact he served, had he not raised his hand and volunteered for duty, he would not have this mental health problem and would not have committed this crime and never found himself on death row.

Every veteran who served – especially in combat or combat zones – brings home scars that are sometimes plainly visible, and sometimes invisible and unseen, and sometimes don’t manifest themselves for months, years, or even decades later. Such close and frequent association with violent death does not leave one unscathed. Of the general population of the United States, only about 5% are veterans. Yet the segment of veterans on death row is 10%, or twice the rate of normal population. That rate is growing – the United States has been in more wars in the past 30 years than any other period in history. More veterans are exposed to the horrors of war and ever more powerful and destructive weapons.

Sgt. David Ferrier, U.S. Army, a Vietnam veteran and longtime capital defense investigator, talked about how little the system accounts for veterans’ trauma. He said, “In criminal cases, it’s very common that the only person in the courtroom familiar with the veterans’ experience, with the veterans’ military experience, are the veterans themselves.”

He reminded the audience that PTSD is not a new thing, and neither is the state’s neglect of it.

“Although it’s been referred to by many different names over the centuries — soldier’s heart, shell shock, battle fatigue, Vietnam syndrome, post-traumatic stress disorder — it has been part of warfare since ancient times,” Dave said. “It’s written about in The Odyssey, it’s written about in All Quiet on the Western Front. It’s written about in a variety of Vietnam oriented books. Such close and frequent association with violent death in combat does not leave one unscathed.”

And then, it was my turn. I spoke not only as a former Airman First Class, U.S. Air Force, Vietnam veteran and criminal justice reform advocate, but also as an ex-offender who spent 47 years in prison. During much of my time in prison I served as an Inmate Counsel Substitute (paralegal) and much of it working on death row.

When I began, I recalled the lessons of military service from the first day of basic training through tech school and on to the combat zone:

“When a brother is hurting, when a brother is wounded, you run to him, you put him on your shoulders and you carry him as far as you can towards safety.”

I described the day I brought a petition with 4,000 signatures to Governor DeSantis’ office pleading to halt the execution of Edward “Zak” Zakzwreski only 2 weeks before this day on behalf of FADP and Death Penalty Action.

“When I did this, it reawakened something in me and it was hard for me to deal with, but it reminded me that when I went down that hall, I was carrying every veteran on death row with me.”

I also spoke about sitting with a condemned man on death row during his final hours.

I was given permission by the warden to spend the last 24 hours of his life with Dobie Gillis Williams. Dobie, at the time of his execution, was a 39-year-old black man that was tried and convicted by an all white jury with a white prosecutor, a white judge, a white defense attorney, white sheriffs in the courtroom, and he was terrified. The night before his execution, I stood at the bars with him talking to him, and we had his lawyer on the phone and she was just crying and screaming, “Dobie, there’s nothing else I can do! I can’t do anything else.”

I tell that whole story here on Substack in “The Last Breakfast.”

Our veterans are in the same shape. We send them to war. They face the horrors of war. They come home and we ignore them. Governor DeSantis has had the opportunity four times this year to pick a veteran up and put him on his shoulder and carry him to safety. He’s not doing it. Instead, he’s choosing to rush them to the chamber of death and it’s wrong. It is time to stop executions for everyone, but most especially for our most vulnerable, and our most vulnerable are our veterans. They’re the most deserving of our care, our empathy, and they’re deserving of us picking them up and putting them on our shoulders and carrying them to safety.

I sincerely hope that I am able to continue carrying this weight towards safety for at least a bit farther. My appreciation extends to everyone who helps to shoulder the burden and help me carry it. My thanks to Grace, Bridget, Art, Dave, Tom and Millie, and to all the unseen hands that help to make it a little bit lighter.

The Collision Course of Ron DeSantis and Edward Zakrzewski

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It Ends In The Death House

My trip to see the Governor – or the Floridian, His Excellency of Death – was eventful in that I met a wonderful Episcopal priest by the name of Reverend Susan Gage. Just as everything seemed as if it were going to go all the way off the rails, she showed up staring intently at my T-Shirt and Vietnam Veteran cap, as if God Himself had sent her to rescue me from my shortcomings. Made me wonder if God was either partial to Episcopalians or showing a bit of mercy to a blundering sinner.

In my very first solo mission for Floridians for Alternatives to the Death Penalty and Death Penalty Action, I made a tremendous boo-boo. I made a miscalculation timewise and presented the dual Petitions for Clemency for Edward Zakrzewski 30 minutes early.

The only saving grace for me was twofold – no media timely made an appearance and I did have the foresight to take photos of my presentation to the beaming young lady sitting behind the imposing barrier of Reception. It appears that – as Susan patiently explained to me – it is very difficult to catch the attention of the media in Tallahassee. It seems as though executions have become so commonplace in Florida that they don’t even bother to show up any more unless, of course, there might possibly be an “illegal alien” lurking in the crowd for FHP and ICE to grab..

First though, before making my way haltingly to Reception. I had to traverse the Security barricades manned at the moment by no less than five big and burly armed officers, X-ray machines, bowls for metallic odds and ends and wands which they use to scan your person. Now, to be quite honest with you, this was an intimidating process; however, not one I am completely unfamiliar with. You see, I was in prison for 47 calendar years in Louisiana, so I am well-versed in intrusive – and abusive – searches.

This was neither intrusive or abusive, yet I knew the drill perfectly: empty your pockets, open the backpack, deposit phone(s) in the bowl, set laptop to the side, lift arms and follow directions, turning when told, and when approved gather everything back up. Ask for and receive directions. Simple, right? Absolutely. Traumatic and triggering? Absolutely!

It brought to mind all of the many, many times I had been shaken down in Angola by angry officers or scared officers or rookie guards who felt they had to make an impression. Though, honestly, they never impressed me. After a while you don’t let it affect you, just let them do their thing and hope for the best. Back in the game, we used the old trick of placing a hard-core porno magazine about 1/3 of the way down in our boxes, and it’d get them every time. They’d lock in on that and sit there for an hour slowly paging through the mag, and “forget” to shake us down and their lieutenant would call for them to go somewhere else. Then the new policies went into effect and porn was contraband, so we had to find new ways – and, of course, we did.

I got through this shakedown without incident, and was so relieved I thought I might pass out. Just a few short years before in prison, I had been fortunate to get in to a Shift Supervisor’s office without risking either a serious cursing out or lockdown or at the extreme, an ass-kicking and a stay in extended lockdown. They gave me directions and I gathered my belongings, stuffing pockets and lugging my backpack into place and sat off on this amazing journey. Once the necessary turns and corners were navigated, there it sat before me, this imposing hallway – the Pathway to Power.

Hallway To The Governor’s Office – Tallahassee, FL

It was an impressive Pathway for sure, a long and wide gleaming corridor of marble lined with gilt-framed oversized oil paintings of former Governors, some of whom went on to become US Congressmen. I am an Air Force Vietnam veteran and had the distinct pleasure of delivering a dispatch to a Brigadier General who was based in Saigon (now Ho Chi Minh City) in much less grand quarters but who had equally impressive powers. The General had the power to summarily kill hundreds or thousands of people via a radioed order with no qualms, no hesitation, no regrets. This man at the end of this corridor had the power to kill only one at a time and solely with the stroke of a pen, but his actions would affect dozens now, and perhaps even future generations.

What struck me as I turned to enter this hallway was a section with an elegant display of plaques attached to the wall, marked “Florida’s Medal of Honor Recipients” in bold black lettering. There is an accompanying inscription explaining the Medal and describing in summation, “These members of the Armed Forces have brought great credit upon themselves, their military units, and the State of Florida. We salute them!”

Tribute Wall In The Capitol, Tallahassee, FL

Edward “Zak” Zakrzewski was an Air Force veteran. His military records consistently rated him as exemplary in conduct, appearance, and compliance with Air Force standards — both on and off duty. He was often described as a role model for others. He was no Medal of Honor recipient by far, but he did his job and was prepared to sacrifice himself in service to this country if called upon. His crime was horrific, but it was also completely out of character, and proof that he was plagued with emotional and mental burdens too heavy to bear.

These thoughts would not escape my mind as I crossed the final few feet into the opening to the sanctum. My heart was thundering in my chest as the lovely young lady behind the high desk asked if she could help me. Remembering my mission, I said very clearly and confidently

“I hope so, ma’am. I’m here as a representative of Death Penalty Action – a nationwide organization opposed to the death penalty – and Floridians for Alternatives to the Death Penalty. I have petitions from both groups with thousands of signatures calling upon Governor DeSantis to halt tomorrow’s execution of Edward Zakrzewski. We ask that he honor this man’s military service, and the fact that half of his jury wanted to spare him death. I would like to submit these petitions to him. Would you accept them and may I speak with him?”

Petition Delivery At The Governor’s Office

To make it short, she accepted them with a smile and a few kind words and said that the Governor was not available. I thanked her and left, my heart rate slowing as I did until I came to the Medal of Honor display, and turned to ponder it again. It was tragic that politicians constantly harp on and on about how they “care for our Veterans,” and “honor their service” and “respect their sacrifices.” In reality, Veterans are expendable on the fields of battle and in everyday life. Why else would there be thousands of veterans battling addiction, sleeping on the streets and in whatever shelter they can find? Why else would vital physical and mental health services be cut and benefits denied?

Edward Zakrzewski sought treatment and sought help for his demons. He remained deeply remorseful for many years. Five members of his jury voted for life instead of death. The judge overrode their decision. If he stood trial under today’s laws in Florida, he would be ineligible for execution. Edward Zakrzewski deserved mercy, and hardly merited a moment’s thought as DeSantis’ pen scrawled across the warrant calling for his execution.

Florida this year has carried out more executions than any other state, while Texas and South Carolina are tied for second with four each. A 10th execution is scheduled in Florida on Aug. 19 and an 11th on Aug. 28 under death warrants signed by Republican Gov. Ron DeSantis.

Florida is setting records already – it’s just now August 1 – and not in a good way.

My mission was complete, if not a success. RIP, Zak.

The Desperate Client

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Left At The Altar

The interview meeting was not my first. It was to my knowledge, however, the first of its’ kind. I had been an Inmate Counsel (“lawyer” in the jailhouse sense) for a fair number of years and had encountered many entirely new and different – some might go so far as to say “unique” – situations. The guy sitting across from my desk I had talked to a number of times when I made my morning rounds of the tiers on Death Row. Just never at length, never without bars separating us, and never in such a tense moment.

His wrists were wrapped with solid stainless steel handcuffs threaded through the notorious ‘black box’ and his feet were shackled to his chair. Two security officers had brought him into the Legal Aid Office and strapped him in and cautioned him; “Do NOT fuck up! Act like you’ve got some sense now.”

At the time, I was kind of a hero, as I had just a few years before beaten the Warden, Burl Cain, in a huge lawsuit wherein I was portrayed as the hero and he the villain. It was not much of a stretch to frame Cain as a villain – he was wildly popular with Louisiana’s legislature – his brother, James David Cain (R) from Pitkin, Louisiana, was a legislator for some 36 years – and was often caught up in mildly scandalous affairs and various goings-on. Burl testified that I “used bad words,” and deserved to be punished for saying them. All I had said (in a letter to the FDA requesting an investigation into a private enterprise on prison grounds) was that it was “shrouded in secrecy and stinks of impropriety”

So he locked me up in solitary, I was threatened with being “shot while attempting to escape,” and various other forms of not-so-pleasurable treatment. However, thanks to a friend who smuggled a letter detailing my experiences to a federal judge, a volunteer lawyer who fought tooth-and-nail on my behalf (Keith Nordyke), and favorable public opinion, I eventually prevailed in a federal lawsuit. Instant fame amongst the convicts, instant landfall monies, and an instant target on my back from several different quarters.

I had fought my assignment to Death Row for some time. Burl Cain had summoned me to the A-Building late one night and asked me to take on the role. He explained why I was the perfect candidate for the job. I demurred with the best initial answer I could come up with at the moment – “Warden, how do you expect me to go in at night and lay my head down on that pillow and sleep, not knowing if I had correctly and effectively done everything possible to save that man’s life knowing that next week or the week after you’ll be the one to kill him?! I can’t do that.”

Well, as Wardens will do, he let me go with that, and then a week later Colonel Sam Smith called me in to an Internal Review Board and basically told me I had better take the assignment or…else. He said (off the taped record, of course) he had received instructions from Burl Cain. I abandoned my clients on the Civil Litigation Team and I accepted the assignment.

I had settled in fairly well and grown to learn most of my clients – all condemned to die by lethal injection – and become familiar with most of them and their needs. I had Shepardized cases for them, fetched and delivered law books to them, drafted motions on their behalf, filed public records requests for them, obtained DNA tests and located “lost” evidence in police files for them, and advocated with everybody on earth I could think of on their behalf.

This, however, was a beast of a different stripe. When I made morning rounds on the Tiers, Kevin S. had stopped me and thrust a piece of paper in my face. Shaking from fear or anger or worry or some emotion, he said, “Man, these mother-fuckers trying to kill me and I ain’t even got a lawyer!” Well, this wasn’t right or…was it? I mean, everybody on Death Row has lawyers, don’t they? Don’t they?

It was very simple – it was an Order from the 19th Judicial District Court in Baton Rouge (the state’s capital) setting his date of execution. The date that the State of Louisiana would calmly, methodically and purposefully kill him had been set.

But, to my way of thinking, it hadn’t been set in stone. And that’s the only thing that counts. You see, when a convict (especially an Inmate Counsel) thinks there’s a way to get past something, he’s going to find it. Now, it might be around it, over it, under it, or through it…but he’s going to find it.

So, after getting past my initial uneasiness at the way the meeting had started out, we got into the details. Kevin S. – a tall, heavily built and very dark Black man – had been convicted of the July 30, 1991, 1st Degree Murder of one Kenny Ray Cooper, a young guy working at a Church’s Fried Chicken. As he continued with the story, my skepticism began to wane. He told me that it was NOT an armed robbery, as the DA had presented it to the jury. It was actually a case of self-defense.

Louisiana defined 1st Degree Murder (Louisiana Revised Statute R.S. 14.30) at the time as:

“The killing of a human being:

(1) When the offender has specific intent to kill or to inflict great bodily harm and is engaged in the perpetration or attempted perpetration of certain listed felonies (e.g., aggravated kidnapping, rape, robbery, arson, burglary, assault, etc.),

OR

(2) When the offender has specific intent to kill or inflict great bodily harm and meets other aggravating factors.”

As Kevin unraveled the story to me, Kenny owed him money from a previous drug deal, and he had gone to collect after several failed attempts. An argument ensued, and Kenny pulled a gun and Kevin pulled his and they exchanged shots. Kenny died – Kevin survived. Now, Kevin was awaiting the horror of being killed by Louisiana for defending himself.

Before I go further into the story and my reliving of the moment, let me tell you a few things about Louisiana’s death penalty and its’ prosecution and application in Louisiana. Louisiana is inherently a racist state, and always has been. It has a rich and vibrant history of horrific racism. Even today, Louisiana’s justice system fights to maintain Jim Crow-era laws that are responsible for the mass incarceration crisis in the state, and which even now, threatens to dominate the nation in the numbers of prisoners stuck behind bars for the remainder of their natural lives.

When I was in Angola prison (where I served 47 flat calendar years), at one point I was fortunate enough to meet the artist Debra Luster, while she was working on her beautiful exhibit One Big Self: Prisoners of Louisiana. As a wooden bowl maker and erstwhile craftsman, I participated in her project. This was only one of the myriad of experiences where I began to realize that Louisiana had a serious problem with racism and mass incarceration.

However, as I sat across the desk from Kevin on that day, these were all thoughts far from my mind. I was focused on one thing and one thing only: saving his life from being murdered by the State of Louisiana. It really made no difference to me whether Kevin was truly guilty or truly innocent – at moments such as this, innocence is never the point – the point is taking the next in a series of breaths.

Now, I believe I had told you that Kevin said to me, “…trying to kill me and I ain’t even got a lawyer!” Well, that wasn’t entirely correct, Turns out that he did indeed have attorneys appearing on his behalf. They just weren’t there. Turns out there was a big fancy wedding taking place in England, and his attorney was doing the most vitally important task of attending the wedding. Hmmm…balancing the scales between attending a wedding and getting a stay on Kevin’s case….I believe I would have chosen the latter. But, I digress….

I called Ms. Dora Rabalais, (Director of Legal Programs at Angola for 26 years) and explained the situation to her. At that point in time, we had a pretty good relationship because (secretly) she had admired my first battle with Warden Burl Cain, (wherein I wrote the now-famous “shrouded in secrecy” letter). At the conclusion of my case in Federal District Court, she had told me that I had brought credibility and strength back to the program. So, today, she was willing to help in this seemingly urgent matter.

She called the Death Row Warden who was in charge of both CCR (Close Cell Restriction) and Death Row, and I have no clue as to how the conversation went. I do know that it was only about an hour later that one of the post officers came to my office and told me that they would be bringing Kevin to the office in about thirty minutes. So, that’s how we came to be sitting across from each other, how I heard his story, and how the first-of-its-kind meeting was arranged, and how the next events took place.

Kevin and I talked for at least an hour or two and I told him what we would do. I would file for a Stay of Execution and go from there. I prepared it (my first one in such a critical matter!) using a Louisiana Formulary, and had it carried to Ms. Dora’s office where she faxed it to the court. As expected, a few hours later it was DENIED. I had already prepared an appeal of the denial and sent that back to Ms. Dora, where it was faxed to the Louisiana State Supreme Court. Baby stuff, right?

Maybe ‘baby stuff’, but for me, for Kevin, for everybody, it was huge. In times of clear pressure, Legal Programs was thriving and delivering on the promise of effective assistance of counsel substitutes to all inmates.

Under her leadership, Angola’s legal programs became a model for other states. States like Florida, Mississippi, and Texas adopted similar programs to enhance legal assistance for inmates without the need to hire additional attorneys.

Kevin eventually received his stay order. That night, if no other, I could lay my head down and rest knowing that I had done everything I could to help Kevin, and that it would not be the next week that Louisiana would kill him.

We had several more interactions over the next year or so, and I continued my work for Death Row, Treatment Center, and Infirmary Center inmate clients. Years later, I looked up one day in the chow line and Kevin was standing there – free from the promise of death. He had been re-sentenced and now had a LWOP (life without parole) sentence.

Sadly, though, my battles with Burl would resume some time later. We would get into a war over my accusations of financial impropriety and he would again send me to another institution. It was a harrowing experience to endure for what I felt was – again -doing the right thing. Ultimately, I prevailed again,

I have now been free for 781 days. I just turned 72. I’m living my best life. I hope you are too!

The Author – Bill Kissinger

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