March 26, 2010
A day with death’s embrace
I feel really out of place right now. Once you really prepare yourself for death and are convinced of its happening, it seems difficult to come back to life. Almost like I don’t want to be here. I’m at least somewhat used to the feeling. Having engaged transcendental states of being from a young age, I’ve felt odd like that, coming back onto this plane of existence. I’ve pierced the vale many times, peered over the wall into the eternal valleys. This one was different, though. Against my will, more intense, more lingering and with definite after effects. I still feel death’s bony digits clutching at my shoulders, trying to pull me down and over into the abyss.
The last 24 hours were hard. This officer I’d always traded shot with decided to get tetchy and wrote me a 2 cents case claiming I’d “threatened” him. They put me on level III and took all my stuff, then just continued to terrorize me endlessly until I left the hell hole at noon the 24th. By the last two weeks they were shaking me down every day and 7 days out started shaking me down twice a shift = 4 times a day. Then parked an officer in a chair in front of my door around the clock. I am the only person out of the last 6 prisoners executed to have been mistreated in this way and I know that for a fact because I was there, to see how they were treated, from October 13th until March 24th.
I really enjoyed my final visits, especially with my daughters. My oldest daughter, Natalie Jo, I have not held her since she was 5 or 6, not seen a photo of her since she was 11. My middle daughter, Kristen Nicole, I’ve never seen her in person although I’d been in her presence when she was a kid, it was very difficult for me to sit there and look at them as grown women. They are both good looking and well proportioned, no longer my “little girls”. Natalie looks just like me. If I put my picture at 28 beside hers now (she is 28) you’d think we were twin brother and sister, not father and daughter. I see “me” in Kristen too; but she is an almost 50/50 split of her mother and I. Kristen is very feminine and like her mother – sweetly emotional and a little gun shy. Natalie Jo has more of my temperament, kind of no bullshit and to the point. It was worth all I suffered this past month just to get them out here, sitting side-by-side and talk to them. There were no awkward moments. We fell right into it like we’d been there all along. At first it was a little disturbing to watch Natalie Jo. She is me, through and through. Hard to watch somebody with my face, my mannerisms, my viewpoints, etc, etc. 30 minutes into my first visit with her, she was finishing my sentences for me and I hers.
I got to see my wife, but didn’t get enough time with her. I didn’t get to see everyone I wanted to see but I guess 3 out 4 aint’t bad. I have to thank Warden Lester for that. For some reason he and I are now able to hold a civil conversation, which previously we’d never done in 13 years. Part of that time we weren’t in ambit of each other’s circles. i.e. he wasn’t here.
So we come to the day of death. Tuesday (23rd) night, Don Guido Todeschini from the Vatican in Rome, Italy, along with deacon Jose Angel Vitela from the Saint Francis Order, San Martin de Porres Mission in Corrigan, Texas, were supposed to give me confession, communion, the last rites, extreme unction and an apostolic blessing from the Pope (Don Guido tells me that this blessing will carry me straight to heaven to stand before St Peter, upon my death and that it carries the authority of the Pope, as if he, were actually here himself).
For whatever reason, someone in the chaplaincy made an issue of minor technical matters and cancelled the ceremony. This arbitrary action of course had a great negative effect on me, as by Wednesday (24th) morning it appeared I was going to die spiritually unprepared and lacking. Warden Simmons came to the rescue and assembled the crew at a table behind the visit area. Don Guido performed a beautiful ceremony in Italian and Latin, conferring upon me the sacraments and the apostolic blessing, along with the last rites and extreme unction. After this ceremony I felt blessed and totally at peace. I went back into the visit with my wife but time was short and I did not bet to tell her half of what I wanted/needed to.
Unfortunately this execution was to occur on Lt Raymond Duff’s card and no sooner had I come out of the visit booth than he started in with his Robocop routine, trying to show out for the warden and some of the assembled Huntsville brass, started jerking around on me, clamping the shackles and cuffs on overly officiously. We had a few tense moments when he tried to twist me around in the visit cage while my legs were stuck between the bench and the wall, nearly broke my ankles.
So they finally got me trussed up and took me out to the hall where I saw my favorite buddy Billy Hirsch smirking and gloating. I won’t repeat here what I told him.
Out into the chain link fenced corridor of sidewalk from visitation to 12 building, which houses death row. My girl, D. Smith, the property officer, was waiting at the gate to blow me a kiss and wish me well. I love her so much. She’s so sweet.
All down the hallway were all kinds of officers, civilian personnel, etc. all lined up to see me off. It was easy to tell who was supportive, who was sad to see what was happening and who had the hater attitude (“Die, Skinner, die!” ha/ha). I just kept my head high and laughed. At the door I told Mr. Fisher (he is an officer who used to work the pods, was on the shakedown team, now he’s the shakedown man on the door coming into 12 bldg – he searches whoever comes in and runs their property through the X-Ray scanner) “this is the last time you’ll get to hold the door for me”.
So I go on the strip cage – more manhandling by Duff. Then he cinches my cuff chain down so tight to the shackles it’s got the chain between the shackles pulled in an “A” shape so I can’t walk unless I’m bent over in some humble/submissive-like posture.
Well, this won’t do for a Sthankvas like me, no Sir. My solution to that was to pull that shackle chain so hard it pulled the shackles up my legs and forced enough slack for me to walk while standing upright like my stiff spine was meant to do. Of course this scraped and cut my shins all to hell, but whatever. I bow to no man, nor to any group of Gray. If it’d pulled my hands off my wrists, I was gonna remain upright. I’ve seen them do worse to ad seg prisoners, though. I told Fisher going out the door “see you when I get back this evening”. Back through the gauntlet of gawkers. Most of them looked like a pack of buzzards on a power line just waiting on som’ to die. Sad but true. Some here are so small, like that. Then they don’t understand why I rebuff them when they “demand” my respect.
Into the van. Damn, what a bunch of guns. You ain’t never seen so many high tech weapons in your life. Red necks flaunting their toys. The van crew came from the Walls, all rank, Lt, Sgt, Capt, Major driving. The major was kind of stiff. The rest were ok. The Captain was in the jump seat right in front of the cage I was in. His name was Simmons. He’s been at the Walls 25 years, he said. So he was there both times I got paroled in 88 and 90. We visited a little bit. Someone told me he is the Warden Simmons’ little brother. I find that hard to believe. Maybe? Maybe he is.
On the ride to Huntsville I was thinking about what Billy Vickers told me in 2004 (
See “Three and a half steps” in the death row news section of my website). Each landmark we passed, I thought “well, I’ll never see that again”, then I though of what I truly know about Memento Mori, my Grigorian heritage. “Sure I will. In 9 more months I’ll see the world anew”. Once more I was calm.
My lawyers kept telling me I had some chance in the Supreme Court; but you know, all the courts to consider my case so far have turned it down on spurious grounds. The Fed Magistrate’s “Findings” in 2006 were a joke. The CCA’s Chapter 64 rulings on DNA were worse. The 5th circuit’s ruling in July last year was so against the weight of their own prior precedents, I guarantee you Judge Jerry Smith could not look me in the eye with a straight face and justify their idiotic ruling. The Parole Board’s denial of a recommendation for commutation or reprieve was laughable. So I fully expected to die last Wednesday. I did not expect zip out of the Supreme Court or Governor Perry.
When I got to the Walls unit (left) everything changed. They were exceedingly humane to me and I was grateful for that. I had issues with Chaplain Hart but we talked about it and settled it amicably. I’m not convinced that my concern about their practices weren’t valid but the solution he offered suited me fine and otherwise he was a very helpful and claming presence there in the domaine de la mort (domain of death).
They’d told me I could get in my last meal only what they had on hand in the kitchen, so I listed several things, to give them a choice of entrées to make sure I’d get some. They made it: 3 pieces of popeyes style fried chicken, 2 catfish fillets, 2 bacon double cheeseburgers, a large order of fries, a bowl of raw onion, bowl of shredded cheese, bowl each of Ranch dressing and Tartar sauce and a chocolate milkshake.
Chaplain Hart told me prisoners prepare the last meals. I asked him to be sure and tell them how much I truly appreciated that food. I ate as much of it as I could and if I had gotten another hour or two, I’d ate it all. I was hoping the Supreme Court wouldn’t rule until about 8:30pm-9:00pm. Then either way, I’d a really been fat and full. That was the best spread I’ve seen since I went on bench warrant in 2005. Even at that, what I ate in 2005 came out of a restaurant on the way to Amarillo and this last meal was all homemade. It was the best food I’ve had in 13+ years, hands down. My eternal thanks to the convicts who cooked it. The only persons who could have done better is Mrs. Maggard (my pastor’s wife) or my mama.
I’m told that most guys who go over there can’t eat their last meal. Too nervous. I was calm as a cucumber. I truly felt like I had God’s hand on my shoulder. I can’t say why but I also had the idea that there were thousands of prayers being said for me, all over the world. Even my friend Kirsten was there and I had not written her in awhile. Nancy Bailey and Dave Atwood were there. I talked on the phone to everyone but Dave and one of the loves of my life, Lori Rorrer – my middle daughter Kristen’s mother. (We’ve loved each other 28 years now, we always will), but I couldn’t get hold of her.
The warden come in there to see me. I’d braced myself for some cool hand Luke’s walkin’ boss kinda speech – “what we have heah is, failure to communicate” ha/ha. But no, the guy, Warden O’Reilley, was nice as he could be. He has a real Andy Griffith kind of personality. There was a Lt (Seitz) and a Sgt (I think his name was Gonzales?) back there serving me food and drinks – coffee, tea sweet, tea unsweet and cold water. They had cookies and stuff to nibble on. I spent most of the afternoon on the phone and talking to Chaplain Hart about my spiritual adventures with Don Guido.
At 3:00pm Chaplain Hart went over to see the witnesses at the Hospitality House, to prepare them. The Major told me 3 lawyers were here to see me but I could only see one of them. I told him to get me the short pretty one but somehow he came back with Doug Robinson, who is neither short nor pretty. Either that Major had exceedingly poor eyesight or, Maria Cruz Melendez was not one of the three out there. At our visit the day before I could easily tell she was having a hard time with this. So, I wanted to talk to her privately and try to put her mind at ease. I was able to convey my thoughts to Doug, so he promised to tell her for me. Really I needed to talk to Doug too but at least Maria would know I cared enough to ask for her. For me, chivalry is never dead. Ha/Ha.
I spent 30 minutes with Doug, then my Pastor, Albert Maggard, came in for 30 minutes. We had a good prayer and visit, which gave me more strength. I went back to the holding cell at 4:00pm to devour more of that fine meal and talk on the phone. Even Doug remarked on how calm I was, before he left. I’m not afraid of death. I
am scared of those noxious chemicals they use to kill you. 8-10 minutes would seem an
eternity when you’re paralyzed and suffocating to death. (
See my article “the lethal injection conundrum” in the death row news section of my website).
Like I said, I had God’s hand on my shoulder and all the love and support in the world to back me up, so I was ok. I think some of the guys who’ve died over there all alone and it makes me want to cry. There is definitely a spiritual pall, an ethereal darkness over that place. I can “see” shades and remnants. I brought their psychic spoor back here with me. For the past 3 days I’ve slept a lot and dreamed of many who died there; all of whom I knew and whom I called an associate or friend. It’s now Sunday 28th and I’m still tired and I give out. I’ve been writing on this since late Thursday after meeting with my priest early Thursday morning. He had to fly back to Rome but at least we got to talk some about the stay, the current legal landscape of the case and what we need to do in the immediate future. In short, we need to try to raise some funds to continue paying the legal expenses. The HSDF is broke.
No wonder I felt such love on the evening of the 24th. Don Guido told me he was live with Telepace, beaming satellite TV coverage all over the world and, at many cathedrals and churches he had organized prayer vigils for me. When news of the stay came, they rang the bells at St Peters and at churches all over the world. Wow! That was a momentous event for real!
(Left:
March 24, 2010, 6:00 PM local time - Activists protest Hank Skinner's imminent execution in Paris, on Place de la Concorde, a stone's throw away from the US Embassy entrenched behind rows of crash barriers and heavily guarded by French police carrying automatic weapons.)
Back to the drama on death watch. I’d finished making all my calls but I ran over, past 5:00pm. So my last call was to my lawyer. Official news of the stay came at 5:40pm, the Sgt told me. So I was 20 minutes away from death – they kill you at 6:01pm. Doug told me, “hello? Hank? You have the most uncanny sense of timing of anyone I know.” I’m like “Yeah? Why is that?”; he said “Well…” and hesitated. The way I heard “well”… I thought he was gonna say “the Supreme Court just turned you down, I’m so sorry”; but instead he said “we just got word the Supreme Court granted you a stay and set the case for their conference calendar”. He said some other stuff but I couldn’t hear it ‘cause I’d dropped the phone and was too busy whooping and hollering to hear anything. I kinda slid down the wall and caught the receiver up and thought I heard him say they’d be up to see me tomorrow. So I quickly hung up and asked to call my daughter Kristen so I could tell her and Natalie Jo, which I did. Kristen immediately started crying – I’m like “child, I swear. First you’re crying ‘cause I’m gonna die, now you’re crying ‘cause I’m gonna live?” She says “but Daddy, I’m so happy!” Well, Hell. I guess I couldn’t argue with that, huh.
Mentally though, I could not process this stay right away. I felt, physically, like a thousand pound weight was lifted off my chest. Then I felt so light and thought I was gonna float off the ground and my chest started hurting ‘cause my heart was beating so hard. I was trying to talk to Chaplain Hart and Lt Seitz but I really couldn’t hear what they were saying because of the buzzing in my ears.
They wanted to take me back to Polunsky asap. I wanted to see the nurse and try to finish eating my food, my blood pressure was high, I needed the nurse to check it and give me some medication – they called her, she did. I ate, but couldn’t eat all of it.
TDCJ PIO spokesman, Jason Clark, came back there and asked me if I had a statement. I can’t really remember what I told him; I think it was something like “I’m really relieved to get a stay; I thought it was over with, that I was going to die. I’d made up my mind that I was going to die.” Maybe I said also “I didn’t expect this, but I’m glad it happened” or something like that. At that moment, right after I was told of the stay, I couldn’t really talk; I was kinda numb.
(03/30 – I just read a story today, I said “I’m eager for the DNA testing so I can prove my innocence and get the hell out of here”. Touché!) Like I said, my ears were buzzing. If you’ve never experienced that, I can give you a hint of how serious it is – it’s happened to me previously only after a hard blow to the head.
They put me in the van and brought me back here to Polunsky at dusk, in a light rain. I was glad to see the rain.
Once here, I got some hearty congratulations from the officers I know, whom I get along with well and even from some I don’t care for at all.
They left me level III of course – illegally. I’m still level III. See, when I left here at noon on 03.24.10 to: execution warrant, that constitutes a discharge from the unit – I took all my property, my account was closed, everything. When I came back from the dead, on that stay from the Supremes, they should have considered that a re-intake situation and given me the default classification – level I. But hey, I’m Hank Skinner, Baby! So they ain’t never gonna miss a chance to screw over me, huh. Ha/ha. So here I sit on F-Pod (for F**k-ups ha/ha) level III in my old 2007-08 cell #76, where I was when Tabler decided to stupidly become close friends with Whitmire and Moe (Joshua Maxwell) was here beside me. Moe is dead. We were on death watch together; they killed him on 03.11. RIP, Moe. It was hard going over there to that death chamber right after him; he was on my mind a lot that day. For those of you who don’t know, Moe and I spent most of the last three and a half years around each other, usually side by side. The way we accomplished that was hilarious in the extreme. But that’s a story for another trick… I mean, time. J Live and learn, we do. The cell is all burned up in a fire; no electricity, freezing cold, etc. So that’s the end (to date) of “Hank’s big execution adventure”. Pee-Weee hearman ain’t go shit on me. Ha/ha!
I want to thank everyone who so unselfishly support me through this ordeal – all the letters, card and JPays meant a lot! I’d like to write everyone but I can’t. First problem is postage. On level III (ditto on level II) I can only buy $10 of correspondence supplies every 14 days. Lots of the legal parcels I mail $2,50 - $5 or more each so my postage situation is lacking.
Secondly to all of you who sent me JPays expecting or asking for a response, please understand that I have
no access to any electronic media at all: you can send messages to me. To reply, I need your snail mail address or an e-mail address. Unless you include that info in your JPay message, I can’t reply. If you send it to my wife, my pastor’s wife or some other friend of mine and them type it up and zap it to you. But I have to write it out and snail mail it to them. Likewise, if you e-mail me at
h.w.skinner@gmail.com or
hwskinner@yahoo.com my wife or pastor’s wife is who gets it, out there. They print it out and mail it to me. So, the fastest way for you to contact me is by JPay, not my e-mail addresses. My fastest way to contact you is by air mail or (priority, domestic) or e-mail. Although my wife is in Paris, France, I have a domestic address through which to contact her which converts to electronic format. i.e. I have someone there who’ll scan and zap my letters to her. (Pay attention Steve Cargill of New Zealand! This applies to you!).
So since I can’t write everyone, I’m at least going to try to list everyone’s name here – I’m getting these names of JPay and return address portions of letters, cards, etc. Going to the Walls and back my property was “searched” and inventoried three (3) different times and I’m sure material has been destroyed and/or “lost” along the way. So, If I leave out anyone, I’m sorry, it’s sure not intentional, ok? My thanks and eternal gratitude to you all:
Brandi Grissom, Mike Graczyk, Ron Keine, Bill Pelke, Shujaa Graham, Curtis McCarty, Perry Cobb, Derrick Jamison, Juan Melendez, all the people at the 4th World Congress against the death penalty, Professor David Protess and his students, Nancy Bailey, Dave Atwood, Dorothée Degaille, Ward Larkin, Rhonda Sherron, Lyndee Stark, Joaquina Rodriguez Esq, Armene Vi-Errah P Armstrong, Evelyne Giordani, Rev Albert & Mary Maggard, Charles Ed Brooks, Ursula Corbin, Jüergin Ramsbrock, Penny Hauser, Gloria Colonello, Christina Markey, Cedric Dorlencourt, Sam Milsap, Hon. H. Lee Sarokin, Claire Kinnear, Robin Elisa, Elizabeth Stahly, Alon Shulman, Aurore Garçon, Christy Chavez, Ben Briscoe Channel 10 Amarillo, Yvette Holden, Kirsten Salzano, Nadine Roussial, Lyn Cote, John Allen – the Skeptical spouse and skeptical niece, Julien Marin, Tordis Fallberg, Brunhilde Koppenburg, Gloria Garcia, Stéphane Guérin, Geneviève Chauvenent – no more Guérian ha/ha!, Damien Tudo, Hedva & Nufar, Manuel Cedeno, Sandra Blumhorst, Fred Chosson, Valérie Colas, Sylvie SB Baldeck, Nadya Van Dyk, Elizabeth and John Grotius, Laura Aubert, Ricordeau Gwenola, Christian Wennicke, Mary Mings, Basma Guizani, “the twins” Njeri Shakur and Gloria Rubac, Emelyne, Annie Hosatte, Anna Sperber, Kelly Reid, Sylvie Gibault, Dalila Hamdaoui, Aude Londeix, Br Joseph Debrizzi, Reime Poëdras, Marc Pinquier UGBU, Dr Terry Kupers, Franck Zanni, Michael Wagner alive c.v, Kay Bandell, Renée Makdisi, Kevin Smyth, Diane D. BTG, Jane Kent, L.H. Charles, Hilary Hughes, Emmanuelle from Paris, Britta Slopianka, Anita Oberleghner, Roberto & Maria Letizia Sforza, Janet Peterson-Bryan, Catherine Rugoni, Bev Allan, André Dumoulin, Arianna Huffington (I love that name, Arianna!), Dr Glen Larkin, KADP, FMA Molly Finch, Gemma Uyleman vd Veijden, Jo Royston, Inge Koch, Rolando Espada, Heidi Moan, everybody at CEDP Austin, Andrea Ashford, Gloria Killian, Renate Mari, Mathieu Loreal, Bastien Noisette, Lydia Palomo, Vincent Podin, David Battiston, Regina Kelly, Regina G, Angie, Chalandra and Gloria, Michael Denson, Kathy Brown, Richard Nodine, Samuel-London, Dorothy Miller-El, Alex c/o Legion of Mary, Christiane Bitze, Anne-Lise Wood, Mary Gorske – Sisters of St Agnes, Sister Helen Prejean, Inueue Degreef, Jacqueline Mellana, Dana Gray, Marisol, Genie Foster, Daniel Bean, Dawn Reyes-Oero, Marta Glass, Mary Helen Taft, Angie Asapleties (SP?) and Delia Perez-Meyer.
Now, if I missed anyone, whoever you are, you have to write and tell me, please. Since I could not write each of you individually and tell this story over and over and over, I want each of you to consider this to be my personal letter to you, ok? I love you all and I look forward to hearing from you. I will try to write each of you individually in the future; I just can’t do it all at once. Dalila, my sweet Maroc girl, I love you too! I have missed you a lot and I’m glad we are back in contact.
Let me give you all some advice about writing to any prisoner in here and especially to me. I’ve been isolated in her for 16 years. Regardless of what you put in a letter, it’s just a bunch of words from a faceless entity if you don’t include a photo(s) of you and describe yourself to me. Stop and think of what you’re doing – introducing yourself to someone who doesn’t know you, who’s never laid eyes on you before! Before I can become truly understanding of whatever you say, I’ve got to know who you are and what you look like – only then do you actually represent a person, to me. That’s what isolation does to you. It’s called SHU syndrome and it is a serious debility. If you send me photos of you, your husband or wife, kids, dog, house, car, neighborhood, whatever helps me see and understand you as a real person – it puts a face, a life with your words. I do not care what you look like, whether you think you’re too fat, skinny, ugly, cute, whatever. I want to see you as “you”. I’m not looking for models and movie stars, I’m looking for real friends. Substance means more to me than mere appearances. I’m interested for you to describe yourself to me, tell me about you, your life. How you grew up, where, what you do for a living, what your interests are, etc. That’s how people get to know each other when they meet. If we met “out there”, of course I’d see you when I met you – so it’s the same “in here”; you just use pictures to compensate for the lack of tactile sense and vision, no? Sure. It helps me to form a reference for you in my mind.
Emelyne from Lille, North of France – send me your address! It wasn’t on the letter.
Now I’ve got some more names to add to the thank you list:
Veronica Bryant, Agnes Chevrier, Annie Troutot, Jacqueline Stadtler, Kaori Oteri, Sophie Ducharme, Bernard Tremblay, Simona Brunel-Ferrarelli, Daniel R. Beau and Maiken Liefeith (I wonder if that’s not Gaelic for “making life”?).
Lastly, many people after reading the news stories of my statement saying I expected to die, seemed disappointed I would believe such a thing and ask me, why, in the face of all the support I have worldwide, would I say such a thing if I’m innocent?
Let me first say, it’s certainly not because I lack faith in my attorneys or those who support me. It’s because this is Texas and I’ve spent 16 years here seeing what Texas does. The levels of blood thirst by the public and corruption of local county governments in this state, particularly of district attorneys/prosecutors, is rampant. These two realities have lead to the state sanctioned murders of quite a few men here whom I believe were likely innocent and at least one whom I know for a fact was definitely innocent; my friend Todd Willingham. The cases of Rodney Reed*, Jesse Jacobs, Leonnel Herrera and Odell Barnes come readily to mind… David Spence, Norman Green, Rick Jones, Ivan Murphy, Roy Pippin, Lonnie Johnson, Gregory Wright and several others had plausible claims of innocence or, serious questions about their actual guilt. Texas didn’t care and killed them all. These are just the ones I’m aware of because, for whatever reason I ended up looking at their cases and appeals. Some of them asked me to; some I did in reference of researching issues in my own case (* Rodney Reed, like me, is still alive, but just barely. I believe he is definitely innocent.) What about Anthony Graves? So, perhaps you can now better understand why I believe Texas would kill me without batting an eye, even if they knew without a doubt I am innocent, they’d do it just to shut me up and silence my supporters. Look what the Governor did with the Forensic Science Commission after the evidence of Todd’s innocence came to light. Suffice to say, I try to be a pragmatist and live in reality. Unfortunately, the “reality” in this state for the innocent but convicted does not bode well. So far, all the courts have done in this case, the federal courts especially, is pass the buck and deny relief on meritorious claims. Now they’ve passed the buck all the way to the U.S. Supreme Court. So now I wait to see what they will do.
Best regards,
Hank
999143 Polunsky Unit
H W Hank Skinner
3872 FM 350 South
Livingston TX 77351-8580
USA
