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As clock ticks toward another Trump presidency, federal death row prisoners appeal for clemency

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President-elect Donald Trump’s return to office is putting a spotlight on the U.S. penitentiary in Terre Haute, which houses federal death row. In Bloomington, a small community of death row spiritual advisors is struggling to support the prisoners to whom they minister.  Ross Martinie Eiler is a Mennonite, Episcopal lay minister and member of the Catholic Worker movement, which assists the homeless. And for the past three years, he’s served as a spiritual advisor for a man on federal death row.

NEW HELL HOLE NEWS #5, DECEMBER 17, 2008

Hey, ya’ll. Here I am again, just before Christmas. It’s been a rough three (3) weeks here, I’m tellin’ you, since my last.

I was readin’ over the capital case law opinions out of the CCA to see if anyone won anything and ran across the case of Andre Thomas. This poor fellow is seriously mentally ill, schizophrenic (or however you spell it), suffering hallucinations and delusions. Killed his ex-wife, son and step-daughter, pulled out their hearts and put them in his pocket and took ‘em home with him, then stabbed himself in the heart too, but did not die – they did open-heart emergency surgery on him and he survived! In the county jail awaiting trial he pulled out his right eye. Just put his finger in there and dug behind it, popped it right out. Said it had a demon in it.

Readin’ this I’m shocked beyond comprehension. I tell my neighbor “Whoa! Look at this! Would you not like to talk to him and see what was going through his mind!”

Couple days later they locked us all down again – more shakedown, “the chair”, “the wand”, x-ray you…………x-ray all your property and mattress.

Fiero is my neightbor, “ol’ el loco grande cabrone” a real nut. Poor fellow, screams and hollers all day, all night. Throws trays and food all over his cell. Beats the table at odd hours. Crazy as a bedbug. Table sounds like a gong. He likes that. Try to talk to him, he just mumbles incoherently. Sometimes he’ll bust out cussin’ in Spanish at the top of his lungs. He affectionately calls me “pinché cabrone”. Ha/ha!

The consulate people come to see him. Sometimes he goes out, sometimes not. They always clean him up first. They need to come more often! He don’t smell good. I worry about him. Try to talk to him. He ain’t tryin’ to hear it. So his door wouldn’t close, they move him to 73 cage. Blessed relief! Ha/ha! Nah, not really. He’s AGG but at least he makes noise, lets you know he’s alive over there.

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Source: Hank Skinner's blog, December 24, 2008

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