I trekked on over to Mansfield Wednesday and visited Keith, my death row pen pal. Most of the trip was fog-bound, but the sun shone shortly before Mansfield. Then on into the prison, through the id process, the metal detector, the double doors that open for you with a buzz, into the golf cart, past the double fences with rolls of razor wire on top in between and everywhere else, to death row. I waited patiently in my little concrete cubicle for my friend. This time I only waited twenty five minutes. Last time it was more than forty five.
Keith emerged, smiling as always, hands cuffed to a chain around his waist. He brought gum and cigarettes with him and asked if I wanted any. Yeah, I said, send it through the glass. We chatted for three hours; mostly the lighter topics--cars, politics, high school memories, current events. Talk was short about his family--I know his mother let him down again this year--she has yet to visit him after ten plus years on death row. This has been a hard year for him, he said, with the realization that men will put their careers before other people's lives. He's referring to the fact that his public defender made many errors during his trial and refuses now to admit them. It has hurt his case. My innocent friend on death row. I asked him if I could do anything for him. No, he said, it is up to a judge now. In the labyrinthine justice system, his appeals await. After ten years.
Sometimes I ask myself how I will feel if this man is executed and I did nothing to help. Maybe I've lightened his stay a little, but his life is at stake, and here I am living my free life three and a half hours away. It's hard to realize that I may never be able to give him a hug, to touch his hand. There is always the concrete and glass between us. A little telephone with crappy reception at my ear. A guard who comes in at 2 hours and 45 minutes and says, you can have about five more minutes. Then it's another goodbye, and I emerge to sunshine and God's green earth while Keith goes back to his cell. I question justice, corrections, rehabilitation, people's decisions, mercy and forgiveness and it's place in America. I'm thinking about you today, Keith.
Keith emerged, smiling as always, hands cuffed to a chain around his waist. He brought gum and cigarettes with him and asked if I wanted any. Yeah, I said, send it through the glass. We chatted for three hours; mostly the lighter topics--cars, politics, high school memories, current events. Talk was short about his family--I know his mother let him down again this year--she has yet to visit him after ten plus years on death row. This has been a hard year for him, he said, with the realization that men will put their careers before other people's lives. He's referring to the fact that his public defender made many errors during his trial and refuses now to admit them. It has hurt his case. My innocent friend on death row. I asked him if I could do anything for him. No, he said, it is up to a judge now. In the labyrinthine justice system, his appeals await. After ten years.
Sometimes I ask myself how I will feel if this man is executed and I did nothing to help. Maybe I've lightened his stay a little, but his life is at stake, and here I am living my free life three and a half hours away. It's hard to realize that I may never be able to give him a hug, to touch his hand. There is always the concrete and glass between us. A little telephone with crappy reception at my ear. A guard who comes in at 2 hours and 45 minutes and says, you can have about five more minutes. Then it's another goodbye, and I emerge to sunshine and God's green earth while Keith goes back to his cell. I question justice, corrections, rehabilitation, people's decisions, mercy and forgiveness and it's place in America. I'm thinking about you today, Keith.
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