My Penpal Goes Home

One day I received an envelope which contained a court notice that my penpal had an execution date. I freaked out! He was innocent, everyone told me. He would be exonerated. What was going on?

When the badman called me, I asked him about it. He said it was just a way to accelerate the case. My penpal's attorney was now ready to file appeals. I asked the badman to keep me informed.

Since I began writing, 2 inmates had been executed. The badman told me on the day of an execution, things were pretty somber, even though the inmate was moved a few days before to the holding cell. He said it was pretty hard to get to know someone, regardless if you liked them or not, only to know the exact moment he was being killed.

Everything on the row was business as usual. My penpal called me a few hours before one of the executions. I had thought they would be on lock down. The other inmates watched a movie during the actual execution. To take their minds off of what was happening, I guess. The badman told me they could hear the protesters outside.

My penpal was granted a stay, as expected, and was in court within a few months. His case was thrown out and the state decided not to re-charge him. By now I had a computer with internet so I was able to read the new articles and watch the news videos of him walking through the gates. The smile on his face spoke volumes!

He has been home now for a few years and is doing well. I speak to him a couple of times a year.

When I first came up with this idea, I truly thought everybody in prison was guilty. I thought he would be executed, my good deed would be done, and I would move on. While a better ending came, I still had intentions of leaving death row behind me, just as my penpal had done. But the badman had a whole different idea!

Two Days of Visiting

My husband didn't have too much to say about me going to visit my penpal on death row. If he knew one thing about me, it was this: I was hard headed, stubborn and when I got an idea there was no changing my mind. My plans were in place. So with tickets in hand, reservations in place, I made my way South.

I had never ventured this far from home on my own. I didn't know anybody that had ever been in prison. The closest I had gotten to a jail was when I drove by. And here I was going to death row, to meet a man I didn't really know, over 1,000 miles away from my home.

Once I got to the local town, checked into the motel, and I looked around at the emptiness, it really began to sink in. Was this something I could really do? Well, I had come this far. I wasn't one to back off on anything so I guess the answer was "Yes!" I got a good night's sleep, woke up early and after getting ready, made my way to the prison gates.

In no time, I had been checked in, driven to death row and was waiting in a room for my penpal to be brought in. Everyone I encountered during the process was very friendly and made small talk, asking if I was related to him, where I lived, and so on. I waited in a huge room that was in a corner, right inside the door that lead to death row. Inside the room was a table with an ashtray, and 4 metal chairs. The room had windows from ceiling to floor on both sides. I later learned this room was used for attorney visits. Why we were set up in that room, I don't know.

My penpal soon came. He had handcuffs with the belly chain around his waist and leg irons on. The guard removed the handcuffs, left the room and here we were-- face to face!

Our visit went well. I could tell from the beginning the poor man had some kind of mental illness. He talked of things I really couldn't understand. Plus, he had a southern accent which also made it difficult. But we (or should I say he?) had a good time. I left in the afternoon, telling him I would be back the next day.

Same routine the next day. At one point, a group of young adults came by. I later learned from the badman that they were college kids on a tour. I couldn't hear anything going on outside the room, but they all stopped outside the windows and stared in at us while someone (the professor?) spoke. It made me feel weird, as if we were on "display".

Both days, I saw lots of activity outside the room we were in. Many guards walking by. Trustees mopping and cleaning. Other inmates being led somewhere. I watched the inmates with the belly chains and leg irons, wondering if one of them was the badman. Except for a slight smile not one of them made an indication that he was.

After two days of visiting, I was in a rush to get home. Not to be home, necessarily, but to talk to the badman. I knew he would call me and he would fill in some blanks for me.

No One Likes A Tattle Tale!

I received a very large package from my penpal's attorney one day. As promised, he sent me documents on the case. It looked to me like the package contained every document ever filed and then some! I had a lot of reading to do!

I dug right in- scanning over news articles, motions, answers, etc. I was in heaven! This was better than any true crime book I could ever check out of the library! I decided to start, not in order, but with the appellate brief which was a good over view of the case.

As I sat down with a cup of coffee to begin reading, my younger brother pulled up. He walked in and saw all the paperwork strewn across the table. He asked me what was going on. I started telling him about my penpal. I didn't get too far into the story before he started yelling at me. He stood up and screamed, "What is the matter with you? You need to get out of this NOW!!!"

I didn't understand where he was coming from; what his problem was. My parents had raised us at be Christians. We went to church and Sunday school every week. We prayed for those who were in need, no matter what that need was. Wasn't I just doing what was expected of me? Putting out my hand to someone in need?

I tried to tell my brother he didn't understand. I tried to tell him that I spoke to my penpal's attorney and he had sent me this package. I tried to explain to him that the man was innocent and would be exonerated one day, but he wasn't listening. The more I tried to talk to him, the more angrier he got, and the louder his screaming became. He finally made his way to the door as he yelled, "I'm telling Dad!" I followed him to the porch and watched him get in his car and drive away.

All I could think of was that I was a grown woman. I had talked this idea over with my husband before I wrote Sr. Helen's organization for a name. My husband had set some ground rules which I was abiding by. There was no way I would put my family in any kind of jeopardy. So what was the big deal? I could see that this was not going to be a popular act. I decided to keep it to myself. Of course, my husband knew and now my brother. But that was going to be it.

By the way-- I don't think he told Dad because nothing was ever said about it. In fact, my brother never mentioned it again.

The Attorney

So we settled into our letter writing. My penpal writing to me through the badman and me writing back. In time, my questions were answered and I began to learn the day to day living on death row.

Occasionally, the badman would write a short note to me and enclose it in the envelope with my letter. He would tell me how much better my penpal was doing. He had a smile on his face, would go outside often, talk about me alot and even quit smoking! I encouraged him to attend church and he even signed up for a class to learn to read. I was very proud of him!

The badman told me about my penpal's case and how confident his attorneys were that his case would be overturned. I began praying for both of the inmates that were now a part of my life, and their families as well.

One day I received a letter from an attorney in a neighboring state, asking me to call him in regards to my penpal. I called him and we talked for a length of time. He was representing my penpal pro bono. The attorney assured me that my penpal would indeed walk off death row. The attorney told me a little about the case and promised to send me some documents I could read.

The attorney told me how glad he was that my penpal had someone to write to. I told him about the first few letters I received and how I was almost scammed. He guaranteed me that my penpal would not do such a thing but warned me to be careful of the others.

Even though we promised to keep in touch, I never spoke to the attorney again.

The Book That Started It All

Here I was, starting to read a book I had previously abandoned to the basement. Little did I know how it would change my life! What book could possible do something like that? Dead Man Walking by Sister Helen Prejean.

I live in a northern state that doesn't have the death penalty. That's not to say we don't hear or read about it in the news. We will get an occasional story-- the one that made the "headlines" or the execution didn't go quite as planned. I have read other books about the death penalty, but nothing like this: a personal account of someone who befriended death row inmates and then was with them at their moment of execution. And so, I opened up the book and began the journey.

I finished the book over the weekend. In fact, I think I read it twice! It is an easy read and not too long. It left me thinking about people on death row. What was it like? How did they "live" knowing this was how they were going to die. I could not imagine! To give up everything... It saddened me.

At the end of the book was a small paragraph with the address of Sr. Helen's organization. I decided to write and ask for a name of an inmate. I don't even know if they do that anymore. It took about month before I received a postcard back. I had a name and a note which said "May 7th is his birthday. You might want to start with a card. Good luck!"

I looked at and reread that card for a few days, thinking about what to do. Did I want to even start something like this? More than likely he will be dead in a few years, I reasoned. How hard would it be to write a few letters and give the guy a smile once in a while?

So I took the advice I was given and bought a birthday card. I mulled over what to write for a few days. Not coming up with anything...oh, really? What do you say? Happy birthday and oh, by the way, I'm sorry? I decided to just write a short note, mail it and see what happens.

I waited 2 weeks and heard nothing back. Surely, he got the card by now! Why wasn't he writing back? I was getting angry! I went out of my way to be nice. I gave attention to the "worst of the worst". Someone society has forgotten. And he was ignoring me! That didn't sit too well with me so I wrote again. This time it was a long letter. I told him about myself, my kids, my husband, my town, my state. I told him about snow. I finished the letter by saying I wanted to be his penpal, but if he wasn't interested in writing to me, I would understand. I mailed this letter and began the waiting game again.