THE EXECUTION

A Play About the Execution of Robert Wayne Williams

ACT ONE – Scene One

(The night is January 5, 1979). An old Black man named Willie Kelly lies in a puddle of blood on the floor in front of an open cash register. His face has been blown away by a blast from a sawed-off shotgun. Two police officers stand approximately ten feet from the body taking statements from crying, hysterical witnesses. Assistant District Attorney John Sinquefield walks through the door, stopping several feet from the body. One of the uniformed officers approaches him.)

Sinquefield (staring at the body, noting that victim is Black): What do we have here?

Officer (placing a hand on Sinquefield’s arm, leading him away from the body): Two men – one armed with a sawed-off shotgun – walked into the store. Both wore ski-masks. They approached the old Black fella, a part-time security guard, and one of the perpetrators attempted to remove his gun from his holster. The old guy resists, moving his hand toward the weapon. The asshole with the sawed-off yelled, ‘don’t try it’ and pulled the trigger. As you can see, there’s not much left of the old man’s face.”

Sinquefield: The call I got said there were several victims.

Officer: Right. After the two sonuvabitches wasted the guard, they continued with the robbery. The second robber – he’s armed with a pistol, revolver I think – gets nervous and dropped some of the money on the floor while rifling one of the registers. The shooter got pissed, cursing and yelling, ‘get all the money.’ The shooter then laid down the shotgun to pick up some of the money on the floor. The damn gun discharges, striking a couple customers – one in the leg, the other in the foot.

Sinquefield (turning to look back at the crumpled body): What happened next? (Shuddering visibly.)

Officer (unmindful of the dead body or Sinquefield’s reaction to it): Shit, man, all hell broke loose. There was chaos and panic – customers were ducking and scurrying to get somewhere. The motherfucker with the pistol whips up on one of the customers during all the confusion. Those dudes don’t give a shit about life, man – they blew the old guard away, shot a couple more people and pistol-whipped another one pretty bad.

Sinquefield: What race are the perpetrators.

Officer (being white): Blacks – who else.

Scene Two:

(Several weeks later Sinquefield is standing in a small room. He is staring through a two-way mirror, watching a young Black man name Robert Wayne Williams confess to the murder of Willie Kelly. Another assistant district attorney enters the room, assuming a stance next to Sinquefield.)

Assistant District Attorney (taking a drag off a cigarette): Is that him?

Sinquefield (not looking away from the mirror): Yes, that’s him.

Assistant District Attorney: How did they bust him?

Sinquefield: An informant. The police got a tip that Williams and Ralph Holmes killed the guard – that Williams was the shooter. Hell, several hours after the killing Williams was bragging about it in a card game in New Orleans.

Assistant District Attorney: Are you going for death penalty murder?

Sinquefield (clinching his teeth): Hell yes! It was a coldblooded murder. Williams planned the robbery, he personally borrowed the shotgun, and he bought magnum shells for it. He cocked that shotgun, leveled it at that old guard … who was just trying to make a few extra dollars for he and the wife … and blew his brains out. He then told Holmes go ‘get all the money’ and then forced another cashier to open the register for him. That’s death penalty murder in my book.

Assistant District Attorney: What about Holmes?

Sinquefield: I’ll let him cop a plea for a life sentence.

ACT TWO: Scene One

(It is Tuesday, December 13, 1983. It is the last full day of life for Robert Wayne Williams. He’s standing, clenching cell bars. A hallway runs in front of his cell. Yellow prison blankets have been draped across the windows across the hallway in front of Williams’ cell. He cannot see out. The cell is six steps wide, nine steps deep. A bunk is fastened to cinder block wall. It is neatly made with two clean sheets and a yellow blanket. The face bowl and toilet are mounted together against the back wall. There is a rack for Williams to hang a towel, pants, and shirt. A bar of green state soap and along with a roll of toilet tissue sits on a shelf. It is early morning and Williams is alone.)

Williams (murmuring): Are they gonna drag me out of this cell? God, please don’t let me piss on myself. (Tears fill Williams’ eyes.) I don’t wanna die – can’t those white folks see that this ain’t the right thing to do.

(A prison lieutenant, dressed in a neat blue uniform, opens the steel hallway door and walks directly to Williams’ cell. He’s making a routine check.)

Lieutenant (noticing the tears): Are you alright, Robert?

Williams (eager to have someone to talk to): I can’t get it out of my mind, Chief.”

Lieutenant: Try not to think about it.

Williams: I can’t help it – that thing, the Chair. It’s sitting out there waiting for me. I don’t know what it’s like, what it does. I’ve dreamt about that thing, Chief – it’s like a bionic monster that grabs you, and no matter how hard you fight it, the thing just draws you into it. I don’t wanna die in the Chair – it’s not right to kill a man like that.

Lieutenant (trying to find words of solace): It’s over quick, Robert – the electricity knocks you unconscious immediately. The brain controls everything and that’s where the charge starts at – the brain.

Williams: Chief, I’m about to be sizzled like a slice of bacon – that’s pain enough. Understand?

Scene Two:

(The electric chair sits like a poised cobra. There is something innately sinister and evil about it. Its glossy, refurbished appearance, with new leather straps, cannot conceal its ominous presence. A generator is located directly behind it. It will feed the 2500 volts of electricity that will bring Williams’ brain to a boil. An exhaust fan is behind and above the chair. It is there to suck out the stench of burnt human flesh. The executioner—Sam Jones, a generic name the state of Louisiana has given him—is a small, bespectacled man is hidden behind a cinder block wall where he cannot be seen by the witnesses. The executioner moves from behind the wall and places two large electrical wires in a tub of water sitting behind the chair. The executioner moves back behind the wall and hits the current switch. The electrical charge brings the tub of water to an instant boil. The executioner smile with satisfaction as he shuts off the switch – the state’s instrument of death works perfectly, but he will still conduct additional tests to make absolutely certain it performs the task it is designed to do.)

Scene Three:

(Assistant Warden Peggy Gresham sits in her office. She is in charge of media coverage of the execution, and since it will be Louisiana’s first execution in 22 years, there is national and international media interest in the event. Gresham is reading a prepared statement issued Gov. Dave Treen rejecting Williams’ latest request for a reprieve. Ross Maggio, Angola prison’s tough-minded warden, walks into the office.)

Maggio (dressed in his customary western attire, including hat): Peggy, how many requests do we have from the media (chewing on his trademark cigar)?

Gresham: Right now we have 52 reporters at the prison. They represent virtually every news gathering agency in the country.

Maggio: What did Treen have to say about Williams’ latest denial?

Gresham (picking up a single sheet of paper and reading from it): ‘I have reviewed and given careful and prayerful consideration to the many arguments that have been advanced by those who seek clemency for Robert Wayne Williams I do not find that the judicial system has failed, or that there is any justification for the exercise of the extraordinary clemency given the governor. It is my decision not to grant a reprieve or commutation of sentence.

‘My heart is heavy for Robert Wayne Williams. It is also heavy for the family of the victim, Willie Kelly. There is no comfort in this for me. I am sustained, however, by the faith that there is One who is infallible and that, upon the end of our temporal existence, which is fleeting for all of us, He will make perfect and permanent judgment for all of the errors of judgment made by men.’

(The telephone rings. Gresham answers it while simultaneously studying Maggio. She understands that he is preoccupied with the fact that the eyes of the world are on the Louisiana State Penitentiary.)

Gresham (extending the telephone receiver to Maggio): It’s Col. Boeker.

Maggio (removing the cigar from his mouth): What do you have, Eddie? (The warden listening while nodding his head.) Well, it looks like this thing is going down tonight. I want the prison secure – shut down all inmate activity, just as we planned. Lock them up for the night after the evening meal. Cancel all call outs and organizational meetings. I don’t want any inmate traffic anywhere in this prison. We have one job to do tonight – and I don’t want any problems while we’re doing it. So if there’s any problem, any resistance, I want it quashed quick and hard.

Scene Four:

(Three white dieticians are standing around a table preparing sandwiches for the many people, mostly media and extra security personnel, who will be at the prison this night. As a security precaution, inmates are not permitted to handle any of the food. Two Black inmates are huddled approximately fifteen feet from the table, deep in whispered convict conversation.)

First Inmate (face contorted in contempt): Look at those assholes – fixing good sandwiches are those police motherfuckers who are going to kill that Brother tonight.

Second Inmate (nodding in philosophical agreement): Wish I had those bitches down The Walk.

First Inmate: Somebody ought to put poison in those sandwiches.

(A white security officer walks up to the two inmates.)

Officer: What did you say, dude? You want to poison those sandwiches.

First Inmate: We wasn’t talking to you, Chief. Besides, what I say is my business (growing more defiant).

Second Inmate: Yeah, Chief – why are you over here hassling us. We’re just rappin’ about the situation.

Officer (pointing to the First Inmate): Come with me.

Second Inmate: Say what! Where you taking my main man?

Officer (escorting the First Inmate away): Lockdown. A few days on the concrete will teach him to keep a zipper on that lower lip.

ACT THREE – Scene One

(Jack Davenport, the publisher of several newspapers, sits in a chair across the desk from Warden Maggio. Davenport is at the prison to be one of the twelve official witnesses of the Williams execution. He and Maggio are longtime friends. A mild-mannered, articulate gentleman, Davenport is a striking contrast to the hardnosed, macho Maggio.)

Davenport: While driving up the Front Gate road, an ugly thunderstorm developed. The road was muddy and cars were sliding all around. You could see a haunting mist forming in the woods. The wind is whipping about and it’s cold out there. If there ever was a night for an execution, this is it. It’s dreadful out there Ross.

Maggio (unconcerned about the weather): Are you ready – really ready – Jack? This thing is going down tonight.

Davenport: I think so. I’m not morbid. I’m not here just to see a man die – or because I feel her should die. Intellectually I understand we execute people – I want to see how it is done … And what about you, Ross – are you ready.

Maggio: I’ve earned a reputation as a conservative, no-nonsense warden. Liberal social workers think I’m in my glory being in a position to strike a blow for law-and-order. But, frankly, I’d rather pass this cup of tea to someone else. This will be the hardest thing I’ve done as warden.

Davenport: Harder than killing that inmate last year in that escape attempt?

Maggio (eyes narrowing): He took my mother hostage. He lost his right to live when he put that knife to her throat and demanded that I drive him out of this prison. I had no problem killing him. I’d kill any inmate trying to escape with a hostage. No man leaves this prison with a hostage.

Davenport (pressing his friend): But what about Williams? You’re about to kill him and he’s not trying to escape with a hostage.

Maggio: It’s my job – and probably the worst part of it. I will walk Williams to his death – I will give the final signal that will end his life. I’m the final link in our justice system. It’s part of the process, and I understood that when I took the job. It’s simply my job.

Davenport (a perplexed look on his face): You almost sound like you don’t believe in the death penalty, Ross.

Maggio: For any punishment to be an effective deterrent, it must be swift and certain. But the death penalty process is neither swift nor certain. It’s a tortured, agonizing process of delays and appeals. As keeper of the condemned, we get to know these men in their little dingy, caged worlds – we don’t see them as vicious killers. We see them as desperate and cornered human beings struggling to survive. We develop feelings of compassion, sympathy, and understanding for them – damnit, that’s inevitable. Then we’re ordered to kill them – and we don’t have the luxury of hate and vengeance like death penalty supporters have to get us through the difficult job of killing a human being … My problem is not with the death penalty; my problem is the process we use to carry it out.

Scene Two:

(A Black security guard and a Black inmate are standing together, talking about the thunderstorm raging outside. Heavy rain is being whipped about in a criss-crossing frenzy and lightening is flashing across the darkened skies. The night appears gripped by evil.)

Black Officer: Those white folks are crazy. They don’t understand the weather – they think it’s a storm. But that’s the Good Lord letting them know that he doesn’t like what they are about to do here. It’s evil – you can feel it, the air is full of it. And it ain’t got nothing to do with the death penalty – this about that dude over there (pointing) and the people who want to kill him. Something’s not right about this thing. They can call it a storm all they want – but it struck at noon and it struck again at 6. That’s the top and bottom of the clock. That ain’t natural – it’s a sign. The Good Lord don’t like what’s going down here tonight.

Scene Three:

(Approximately 30 demonstrators, including Williams’ mother, brave the cold wind and driving rain to protest the execution. They are standing outside the prison’s Front Gate. Between songs and prayers for Williams, they discuss their feelings with the many reporters looking for the right sound bite.)

Rev. Steve Crump (a spokesperson with the Religious Leaders Against the Death Penalty): In this holiday season of grace, we will either opt for the religion of decency, the religion of the heart; or we will opt for the religion of vengeance, the religion of King Herod.

Female Reporter (extending television microphone to one of the protesters): And what do you say to those people who believe that the execution of Robert Wayne Williams will deter from committing crimes of violence:

Tom Dybdahl (spokesperson for the Louisiana Coalition Against the Death Penalty): Capital punishment has a bloody history encompassing thousands of years, and despite millions of recorded and unrecorded executions, the evidence remains overwhelmingly clear that the death penalty does not deter. There are several basic reasons why it doesn’t. First, and most importantly, most murders are acts of passion between angry and frustrated people who know one another. Secondly, the death penalty is applied to only a small percentage of the convicted murderers – about one percent. Third, we do not have the moral will to apply the death penalty to our most violent offenders – our juvenile offenders. And, finally, even if you assume that punishment itself is deterrent value, the death penalty is ineffective in that regard because it lacks swiftness and certainty – essential ingredients for a punishment to be a deterrent.

Scene Four:

(A speaker’s podium stands alone. Behind it sits five speakers, awaiting their turn to address the auditorium filled with college students. A distinguished local author gets up and walks to the podium, laying a set of index cards before him. He pauses, surveying the audience.)

The Speaker (adjusting the microphone for clear delivery): Violence is intrinsic in the South, a way of life for us. It has traditionally been used as a means of proving honor, settling disputes, and bringing about imagine justice. To understand this regional violence, one must look at the dual white mind of the South that produced a violent racial caste system. There was the Southern Aristocracy – a small but genuine ruling class set apart from the common people – who, as W.J. Cash tells us, possessed the silver and carriages and courtliness and manners; who lived in the great houses of the Shirleys, Stuarts and Stratfords; and who owned great names like Lee, Stuarts and Beauregard’s. Then there were the poor white folks – those reared on hog, pone and potlicker – who lived in dirty, ragged and un-painted houses they didn’t own; who lived tragic, deprived lives because they were shiftless, lacked ambition, and accepting of being ‘poor white trash.’

Those two white minds teamed up against Blacks forcefully imported from Africa and other world regions. Initially, the Southern Aristocracy did not hate Blacks. The ruling class used their muscled backs for profit and their behavior as entertainment. During this era of slavery, hatred of Blacks was a white trash phenomenon. Since the poor white folks could not, or would not, direct their class hatred upwards at the aristocracy, they vented it downward at the wretched, disadvantaged and unarmed Blacks below them. It was during the Reconstruction period that the honor, nobility and manufactured decency of the Southern Aristocracy vanished. The same hatred of Blacks festering in the mind of poor white trash quickly festered as the mind of the aristocracy as well. These two white minds joined forces in a collective hatred of all freed Blacks.

To paraphrase W.J. Cash in his Mind of the South, it can be said that the Southern Aristocracy stripped for decades of all control of government came to believe that the only way to realize their perceived destiny was through the use of naked force. The Southern gentleman would not be a victim. The remnants of the aristocracy would no longer influence the poor white trash world. To the contrary, they would whip up the lower class’s sense of wrong and fury, deliberately stoking the flames of white trash hatred against freed Blacks.

The true mind of the south was thus born. It was the mind of the south speaking when a local judge, after the lynching of Leo Frank in Georgia: ‘I believe in law and order. I would not lynch anybody. But I believe Frank has had his just deserts.’ It was the mind of the south speaking when a local Marietta, Georgia newspaper editorialized about the Frank lynching: ‘We regard the hanging of Leo M. Frank in Cobb County as an act of law-abiding citizens.’ It was the mind of the south speaking when the prosecutor in the infamous ‘Scottsboro Boys’ case demanded the death penalty, saying: ‘Get rid of these niggers, guilty or not guilty.”

There has always been something different – something lawless and evil – about the South; something that sets it apart from the rest of the nation. Volumes of great literature have attempted to define this inexplicable thing, but it was Thomas Wolfe who touched it best when he wrote the following passage in You Can’t Go Home Again:

‘For he was a Southerner, and he knew that there was something wounded in the South. He knew that there was something twisted, dark, and full of pain which Southerners have known all their eyes – something rooted in their souls beyond all contradiction, about which no one had dared to write, of which no one has ever spoken … Perhaps it came from their old war, and from the ruin of their great defeat and its degraded aftermath. Perhaps it came from causes yet more ancient – from the evil of man’s slavery, and in the hurt of human conscience in its struggle with its fierce desire to own. It came, too, perhaps, from the lusts of the hot South, tormented and repressed below the harsh and outward patterns of a bigot and tolerant theology, yet prowling always, stirring stealthily, as hushed and secret as the thickets of swam- darkness. And most of all, perhaps, it came out of the very weather of their lives, out of the forms that shaped them and the food that fed them, out of the unknown terrors of the skies above them, out of the dark, mysterious pineland all around them with its haunting sorrow.’

Whatever it is, a nameless wound – touched by its own regional madness and infected by its own peculiar evil – exists in the South. It has tainted Southern justice with white-owned courtrooms, executions of primarily one race of people, and lynchings when dissatisfied with the orderly process of justice. While there are no take them from the jail lynchings, a regional prejudice still exists that makes all-white or predominately-white juries return death sentences against Black offenders. When the Supreme Court in 1976 gave its constitutional blessing of the death penalty, the court actually blessed this regional racial prejudice rooted in a social history of white-on-black violence. The execution of Robert Wayne Williams this night is simply an expression of Southern social need to be violent, especially against Black people.

Thank you.

Act Four: Scene One

(It is approximately 8:00 p.m. and the Major is sitting in a small room adjacent to the tier where Williams awaits death. The short, obese, balding man of 50 years is quiet and withdrawn. Against his wishes, the Major was selected by Warden Maggio to shave Williams’ head and leg. Maggio enters the room. The Major stands up, clutching a brief case under his arm.)

Maggio: Major, it’s time.

Major: This not something I want to do, Warden.

Maggio (a look of polite understanding on his face): I understand that, Major. But someone has to do it, and you’re the best man for the job because of your barbering skills.

Major: I know Robert better than anyone involved in this thing. I’ve talked to the man many times when I worked death row. I know his fears, his dreams – his family. I got close to him. He trusts me, and now I must prepare him for execution. It’s a cruel thing we’re doing here, Warden.

Maggio (face expressionless): Major, we all have a job to do here tonight. You must go in there and do your duty.

(Without another word, the Major walks out of the little room and is escorted to the steel door leading down the death tier. He walks directly to Williams’ cell.)

Williams (rising from his bunk): Hello, Major. It’s good to see you again.

Major: How are you, Robert – I’ve come to prepare you.

(A second officer approaches and unlocks Williams’ cell door. The officer then steps back against the wall across the hall to observe the ritual. Williams assumes a seat on the stool the officer has placed in the middle of the hallway.)

Major: Robert, I’m not doing this because I want to. It’s probably the hardest thing I will ever do.

Williams (head bowed as the barber clippers shed his thick hair.): I understand, Major – I really do. I would rather for you to do it than someone who wanted to do it.

Major: You have my prayers, son.

Williams: I’m not ready yet, Major – but with God’s help, I will be ready when the time comes.

Scene Two:

(Two hundred miles from the prison New Orleans attorney Sam Dalton sits in his office being interviewed by a newspaper reporter. He has just hung up the telephone following a conversation with the NAACP Defense Fund. That organization has a messenger in flight to hand deliver a final Dalton brief to the U.S. Supreme Court. He knows it will not save Robert Wayne Williams but every remedy must be exhausted. For the past two months he’s been working feverishly to save Williams’ life. He’s eager to talk with the reporter; he wants the world to know the injustice of Williams’ execution.)

Reporter (with pen scribbling on pad): How did you get involved in the Williams case, Mr. Dalton?

Dalton (leaning back in a big office chair while running a hand across a balding head): On September 28^th the trial judge set a death date for October 25^th. Williams’s former attorney Richard Shapiro withdrew from the case because he moved away from Louisiana. The NAACP Defense Fund asked me, as a matter of courtesy and convenience, to sign some pleadings designed to stop the October 25 death date. I agreed – and that was like putting my foot in quicksand. Suddenly I was up to my neck in the case, and as October 25 drew nearer, things became more desperate. I shifted roles from signing pleadings as a matter of courtesy to becoming fulltime counsel.

Reporter: How serious is the problem of getting attorneys to take death penalty cases?

Dalton: We’re facing a legal crisis. There are more than a thousand people on death rows across the nation – and the number keeps growing at a rate of approximately 150 per year. The NAACP Legal Defense Fund and the ACLU are stretched too thin. They simply do not have enough attorneys and resources to keep up with the massive amount of litigation necessary to keep a death penalty case alive. It’s becoming a cancerous industry – one that is sapping the moral fiber of our legal system. Even conscientious attorneys are bailing out – they simply do not have the time, money, and emotional stamina needed to fight for a man’s life and then be forced to see him die.

Reporter: What are the legal issues involved in Williams’ case? The State says it was a coldblooded murder.

Dalton (waving his hand irritably): That’s simply not true. There have been nine state and federal judges who have consistently dissented in this case. Even two members of Gov. Treen’s conservative pardon board voted in favor of clemency. The crux of this case hinges was, and is, Robert’s state of mind when the trigger was pulled on the shotgun.

Reporter (interrupting): I was at the pardon board hearing when Williams stated he “accidentally” shot Willie Kelly.

Dalton: Let me tell you something. I didn’t read Robert’s trial transcript until I began preparing for the clemency hearing. I asked Robert why he didn’t testify at trial, and when he told me that his attorneys said they didn’t want to use him, I was outraged. Had Robert testified, he would not have received the death sentence. You must understand what the defense attorneys were doing – their defense was lack of intent to kill. That’s called a state-of-mind defense. Insanity is a state-of-mind defense and you call experts to support the defense. But when you plead that a defendant lacked a specific intent, the defendant becomes the best evidence. The jury needed to hear Robert on that witness stand saying, ‘Look, I didn’t intend to do this – I robbed, I ran off with the money, but I didn’t intend to do this.’ All he needed was for one juror to believe him.

Reporter: So why didn’t the court-appointed attorneys put him on the witness stand?

Dalton (face intent): One of the attorneys was blind and the other had less than five years experience. They simply didn’t do a good job. They tried to establish their defense through a weak expert. They concentrated on the condition of the weapon, trying to show that it discharged accidentally. That was a very, very weak way to establish lack of intent to kill, especially when your best evidence is sitting right there next to you. Even assuming there was some legitimate reason for keeping Robert off the stand during the guilt phase of the trial, there was absolutely no reason known to man for keeping him the stand during the penalty phase. Sometimes putting a defendant on the witness stand to plead for his own life is enough to convince a jury not to return a death verdict.

Reporter: Was an incompetency claim ever filed against the attorneys?

Dalton: Sure, a general ineffective assistance of counsel claim was filed by Shapiro. But he didn’t raise the specific issue of why the attorneys did not put Robert on the stand. Now why he didn’t identify and incorporate that issue in the ineffectiveness claim is a good question. I can only reiterate that death penalty lawyers are overworked. They’re working against deadlines – they come into a case late and generally focus on one overriding issue. Unfortunately, the appellate courts will call that an intelligent tactical decision when in reality the decision not to raise an issue was because the attorney was suffering from fatigue, exhaustion and stress.

Reporter: What did the courts say about the issue when Robert raised it?

Dalton (anger and exasperation flush in his face): They said it came too late; that it should have been raised in the previous pleadings. That reasoning runs against the grain of the writ of habeas corpus. I don’t care if you file a hundred habeas corpus petitions and 99 of them are bad – when you file a good one, it should be granted. It shouldn’t make any difference when it’s filed. Since the state and federal constitutions prohibit the suspension of the writ of habeas corpus, the courts have found a trick, a piece of legal terminology to get around that constitutional safeguard. It’s called ‘abuse of the writ.’ Since they can’t talk in terms of suspension, they opt for the term ‘abuse’ which, in effect, is a suspension of the Great Writ. The courts said that the failure to present the intent issue in earlier pleadings and our raising it in this latest round of litigation is an abuse of the writ. These kinds of decisions in death penalty cases have a devastating impact on our traditional concept of justice. Robert will die tonight because of this judicial reasoning and it will be a grave injustice.

(The telephone rings and Dalton answers it. The attorney becomes deeply involved in a conversation with a New York attorney. The reporter, realizing the interview is over, closes his pad and begins taking pictures of Dalton feverishly stressing a legal point.)

Scene Three:

(The Rev. J.D. Brown, Williams’ religious advisor, is sitting in front of the condemned man’s cell. Williams is small compared to the larger minister. The heads of both men are bowed in prayer.)

Rev. Brown (clenching Williams’ joined hands and holding a Bible in the air with his free hand): Precious Lord in Heaven, You must help Brother Robert in this hour of need – You must help him understand how unfair and inadequate our justice system can be. You must bestow upon him O Lord, the tolerance to accept Gov. Treen’s decision to deny a reprieve. Guide us O Lord, through these final hours of this young man’s life. You are the will, and in Your precious name, we pray.

Williams (raising his head): Thank you, Rev. Brown, but it’s hard for me to understand why they picked my case to start the death penalty again. I’ve always had judges voting for me in my case – they all said the death penalty ain’t right for me. Even two pardon board members believe the death penalty ain’t right for me. So why did they pick me?

Rev. Brown: You’ve been chosen, Robert. I truly believe that our Lord has chosen you because it’s so wrong to kill you. Your execution will show others the sin, the horrible tragedy of worshipping at the altar of hate and vengeance. Other inmates on death row will live because of your execution, Robert – your death will strengthen the commitment of those opposed to the death penalty; it will inspire others to join the just and Christian effort to do away with this terrible social injustice.

Williams (a new look of determination and strength in his face): You must get me ready to die, Rev. Brown. I want you to really prepare me to walk into Heaven. I want you to tell me what it’s really like – tell me what I can expect when I get there. Give me the strength to leave this life with Christian dignity – please let my last moment be my best. I want to be forgiven for the wrongs in my life.

(The steel tier door opens and the Deputy Warden walks to Williams’ cell. It is 11 p.m. – one hour away from the midnight scheduled execution. The Deputy Warden passes a pair of pampers through the cell bars to Williams.)

Deputy Warden (face hardened, no sign of emotion, much less empathy): Williams, put these on under your blue jeans. It’s necessary for the body fluids.

Rev. Brown (watching Williams hold the pampers in his limp hand): Forgive them, Father (a wounded voice bellowing in the night) – they know not what they do.)

ACT FIVE: Scene One:

(A dozen wit nesses are sitting in a lounge area at the prison’s Training Academy located in a section of the prison known as Camp F. One of them is Charles Kelly, the victim’s son. He knows the prison well because he works there. The atmosphere in the lounge is acutely subdued. Several witnesses are reading magazine, killing time as the State’s machinery of death prepares to kill life. Still, there is a lot of shifting from side to side. Two witnesses simultaneously get up to go to the restroom. One witness is standing by a table eating a cold sandwich. Charles Kelly is sitting at a table, hands folded, staring into his own thoughts. Davenport walks up and sits at the same table.)

Davenport: Are you alright, Mr. Kelly?

Kelly (looking directly into Davenport’s eyes): I’m okay – I just want it over with – too many have suffered already.

Davenport: Will the execution stop the suffering?

Kelly: No, the suffering never ends – not for my family and surely not for the Williams Family. The execution of Robert Wayne Williams will simply balance the ledger.

Davenport: Do you hate Williams? Is that they you are here?

Kelly: I don’t hate Robert Wayne – I’m not here out of hatred. I’m here because I loved my father and I want to see justice done – the execution of Robert is our justice.

Davenport: What do you say to Williams’ claim that he didn’t mean to kill your father – that it was an accident?

Kelly: I think there was clear intent to kill my father. He was a small man, about 5-foot-4 and weighed 135 pounds. They could have easily manhandled him. Even if my father tried to grab him, I think both men would have contained him. Like I said, he was small – Williams didn’t have to shoot him, and even if he had to shoot him, he didn’t have to shoot him in the face.

Kelly (continuing): I respect the courts and all their procedures. I think they were conducted fairly. As a law-abiding citizen, it seems only fair to me that the court judgment be carried out. I mean no ill-will toward Robert Wayne Williams or the Williams family. My dad is gone – I have a son who will never see his grandfather. There must be some accountability for our loss, our grief … (his voice trails off as he turns his head away to conceal his tears).

Scene Two:

(Maggio and Deputy Warden are sitting in a small security office in front of the condemned tier. It’s nearing 11:30 and the two men are discussing last minute details.)

Maggio: I want all the witnesses kept together after the execution. Several reporters in the Administration Building expressed concern that one of the witnesses or reporters would get to a phone and enjoy a scoop. Keep them all together – bring them directly back to the Administration Building for a press conference.

Deputy Warden: Apparently the media is a distrusting fraternity.

Maggio: They should be. Reporters have one allegiance – bring in the story first and hog the credit.

(The conversation is interrupted by a telephone ringing. Maggio lets it ring twice before picking up the receiver.)

Maggio: Warden Maggio speaking. I understand – the news will be conveyed to Mr. Williams.

(Maggio stands as he replaces the receiver.)

Maggio: Go inform Robert that the Governor has postponed his execution for one hour – apparently to give additional time for last minute legal maneuverings.

Deputy Warden (standing up): Damnit – it’s on, it’s off. Don’t they understand the torture they forcing the man to endure?

(Deputy Warden walks out of the office and a security officer moves to open the tier door. Deputy Warden walks directly to Williams’ cell, finding him in quiet conversation with Rev. Brown.)

Deputy Warden: Robert Wayne Williams, the execution has been delayed for one hour. (Deputy Warden leaves after a few awkward moments.)

Williams (pacing back and forth in his cell like a wounded animal): Why is Gov. Treen doing this to me? I was ready to go (screaming out a cry of utter pain and anguish). Just when I knew I was ready to walk into that ROOM, Treen does this to me. Kick me in my ass one more time, Treen – you miserable sonuvabitch1

Rev. Brown: Robert, Robert – don’t let the demon of hate and anger destroy your finest hour. It’s just a cruel legal formality – our justice system is confused and uncertain about these midnight executions.

Williams (exasperated, sits on his bunk): I just want it over with, Rev. Brown. I’m tired of the insults and torture. They have shaved my head and put me in pampers. People are waiting out there to see me die, and they want to slap me upside my head one more time. I’m tired, so tired – I just want to go home, to walk into the Kingdom of Heaven.

(Rev. Brown begins reading the Lord’s Prayer.)

Williams (whispering along with the minister): Forgive me of my trespasses, as I forgive those who trespass against me.

(There is a pause in the prayer.)

Williams: In order for God to forgive me, I’ve got to get everything straight in my head. I must walk into that death chamber and sit in that electric chair without any bad feelings towards anyone. I can do that. I will die with God’s forgiveness and mercy.

(At 12:45 a.m., two guards enter Williams’ cell. They places shackles on his ankles and handcuffs on his wrists. Williams whispers a prayer as the guards work on him.)

(Williams watching the guards lock the handcuffs): Rev. Brown, you’ve talked about Jesus bearing my burdens – that Jesus is going to the chair instead of me. I definitely believe and feel that it won’t be me going to that chair – I believe Jesus is going for me.

(The guards leave the cell.)

Williams (standing and looking Rev. Brown directly in the eyes): It is all such a terrible tragedy. It’s caused a lot of pain and suffering to the victim’s family, to my family, and to me – you must make people know that I was raised never to hurt anyone. I never wanted or intended for a life to be taken by my hands. I had no intention of killing that night. The gun had shells in it but the guys who gave it to me said it wasn’t working – that it wouldn’t fire. But the gun discharged – it fired so fast. I lived and relived every day since it happened. I’ve prayed for the victim’s family – I’ve prayed for my family. If there was any way in this world I could turn this thing around, I would do it. I want the Kelly family to know that from the bottom of my heart.

Rev. Brown (kneeling on one knee and bowing his head): Kneels with me, Robert, and let’s fill our hearts with the precious love of our Lord Jesus Christ.

Scene Three:

(At 1:00 a.m., Maggio, along with the Major and the two guards, walk up to Williams’ cell. One of the guards opens the door.)

Maggio (standing in the forefront with the two guards behind him): Robert, it’s time for us to go.

(Maggio leads the procession down the tier, down the hallway toward the death chamber. The guards escort Williams behind Maggio. Rev. Brown and the Major bring up the rear.)

Rev. Brown (Bible in hand, strong voice filling the building): The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me lie down in green pastures; he leadeth me beside still waters. He restoreth my soul; he leadeth me in the path if righteousness for his name’s sake. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff comfort me …

(The procession reaches the door of the witness room. Rev. Brown is admitted by the Deputy Warden. The procession takes several more steps through another door into the death chamber itself. The electric chair sits forbiddingly in the middle of the room. A large clock ticks on the wall behind it. An exhaust fan behind the chair is running. Near the death chamber door a small podium has been set up facing the Witness Room where twelve people are assembled to witness the execution. Maggio steers Williams to the podium. Williams looks at all the witnesses in the eyes, clutching a blue bandana in his left hand. Maggio holds the microphone for him.)

Williams (speaking in a strong, firm voice): I believe and feel deeply in my heart

That God has come into my life and saved me. I told the truth about what happened. I would like for my death to be a remembrance for Louisiana and the whole country that it is not deterrence to the death penalty. Capital punishment is not good; it has never been good. I would like for all the people who fought against the death penalty in my case to keep fighting this terrible and unjust punishment. Thank you.

(Williams turns and walks steadily to the electric chair. The two guards begin to fit and tighten the straps on him. One hand is taken out of a handcuff and the arm secured to the chair before the other is removed and secured. Williams looks quizzically down at the two officers as they work methodically and efficiently to secure him to the chair.)

Rev. Brown (gesturing frantically to get Williams’ attention): Look up, Robert, look up! It’s Christ going home, son – not you.

(Secured to the chair, the electrode is placed in the middle of Williams’ head. A leather hood is being lowered over the electrode.)

Williams (looking at Maggio standing a few feet away): Is that necessary, Warden?

Maggio: Yes, Robert – we have to use it.

(The hood is lowered over Williams’ face. The Witness Room is filled with an unearthly silence. Except for the slight hum of the generator behind the death chamber, there is not a sound. It is 1:06 a.m. when Maggio nods to the executioner. The executioner pulls the switch, sending a charge of 2500 volts of electricity through Williams’ body. His body rises slightly forward as though someone has placed something in the small of his back and his fingers curl inward around the bandana. The executioner drops the charge to 500 volts. Williams’ body relaxes. The charge is again increased to 2500 volts before being dropped back to 500 volts.)

Rev. Brown (eyes fixed on the frail hand clutching the blue bandana): All of us in this room, all of us in America, are guilty of that man’s death. We let our politicians and power-brokers control the drug traffic in this country – and it’s those people, if anyone, who should be executed. Not the ones like Robert Wayne Williams who come from the ranks of the poor and disadvantaged and underprivileged. We only execute the poor and wretched of the world. (Tears readily flow down the minister’s cheeks). As I look upon the horrible execution of this young man tonight, I am appalled at what we call justice in America.

(Maggio waits five minutes after the last electrical current has been shut off before giving the coroner the signal to enter the death chamber. The coroner raises the hood and examines Williams’ pupils.)

Coroner (turning to face the witnesses): Robert Wayne Williams is dead.

-THE END-

Author’s Note: In December 1983, conservative Republican Gov. Dave Treen was determined to execute the first person in Louisiana in the post-Furman era. That condemned inmate was Robert Wayne Williams. As co-editor of the award-wing prison publication, The Angolite, I had become emotionally vested in the Williams case. I had interviewed Williams and spoken a length with him on a third occasion. I spoke with him mother twice and interviewed his minister.

In one way or another, I had personal contact with every individual in the foregoing play—all of them share these feelings and others with me as I prepared an in-depth piece for the prison newsmagazine about the Williams execution.

A journalist should not become emotionally or personally involved in a story they are working on. I lost contact with that rule. 45 years later it does not matter. What matters to me is that history does not bury the Williams execution. I wrote this play some 30 years ago while still in the Louisiana prison. I recently blew the dust off the faded type-written pages. I publish it now to put it in the public domain.

I did not forget Robert.