AP’S witness to Texas executions
Writer recalls deaths as 500th takes place
Editor’s note: In this first person story, Michael Graczyk of The Associated Press describes his experience covering executions.
HUNTSVILLE, Texas — Every three weeks or so, I watch someone die.
Beginning in 1984 when I arrived in Texas for The Associated Press, I’ve been just a few feet away as one convicted killer after another took a final breath in the Texas death chamber in Huntsville, where the state’s 500th execution in modern times took place Wednesday.
I really don’t know how many I’ve seen. I lost count years ago.
While death penalty cases are not the only assignments I cover, those certainly leave the strongest impressions.
One inmate, Jonathan Nobles, sang “Silent Night” as his last words as he was receiving the lethal injection. He got to “Round yon virgin, mother and child” before gasping and losing consciousness. Christmas, for me, never has been the same.
When I walked into the death chamber to witness Bob Black’s execution, he called my name and asked how I was doing. What do you say to a man seconds away from death?
J. D. “Cowboy” Autry was the first lethal injection I saw, in March 1984. A female friend of his who was a witness loudly sobbed about his “pretty brown eyes.” Moments later, Autry’s eyelids popped open as he died, revealing those eyes for a final time.
I remember Charles Rumbaugh’s mangled hand, the result of being shot by a federal marshal he attacked. Henry Lee Lucas, who avoided execution when it was determined he hadn’t really committed the hundreds of murders he had copped to, always had orange-tinged fingertips from rolling his own cigarettes. The arms of Angel Resendiz were scarred by self-inflicted razor cuts. Markham Duff-Smith, who insisted he didn’t kill four relatives, made a death chamber confession.
Years ago, Texas carried out executions just after midnight. Now, death warrants take effect at 6 p.m., more convenient for lawyers and judges and less costly in prison overtime. A painless death and everyone’s home in time for dinner.
Some executions came with raucous public demonstrations outside. When Ronald Clark O’Bryan, known as “The Candy Man,” was executed for lacing his son’s Halloween candy — a Pixy Stick — with cyanide so he could collect on an insurance policy, dozens of students dressed in Halloween costumes filled the streets. One carried a giant Pixy Stick replica that looked like a barber pole.
One convict, Ponchai Wilkerson, spit out a hidden handcuff key in his mouth as he was about to die. A Houston judge added a smiley face to his signature on Robert Drew’s execution warrant. Carl Kinnamon gave a long final statement in hopes of delaying the procedure until his death warrant expired.
The final statements have included songs, poems, prayers and Bible verses. Some inmates have spouted profanity.
At least two prisoners thanked the Dallas Cowboys for brightening their lives.
Patrick Knight held a contest dubbed “Dead Man Laughing,” encouraging people to send him a joke to tell from the chamber. He said he got 1,300 responses. The “joke” turned out to be Knight’s claim that the person being executed wasn’t really Patrick Knight. But it was.
Johnny Frank Garrett thanked his family for loving him, then added: “And the rest of the world can kiss my ass.”