A Saint on Death Row

by Thomas Cahill

  This was the one time that Sheila was able to touch Dominique because his guards allowed her to meet with him briefly at the courthouse after he was given his date. She put her arm around him with the easy familiarity she would display toward one of her own adult children. But when the Supreme Court denied Dominique's petition on October 4, 2004, the feast of Saint Francis of Assisi, Dominique's fate was sealed.

  A tremendous amount of work had gone into these petitions on the part of Sheila and other lawyers she had managed to attract to Dominique's cause. And like the good mother she is, Sheila was not giving up. She sent out pleas to all the members of the Texas Board of Pardons and Paroles, she got others to do likewise, she sent a plea to Governor Rick Perry and got others to do so as well. (Among the many letter writers were a number of distinguished American jurists, Archbishop Tutu, and Joseph Fiorenza, the Roman Catholic bishop, soon to be archbishop, of Galveston-Houston.) She helped organize a press conference, featuring the Lastrapes brothers, who issued a public plea that Dominique's life be spared. In the end, it was all for naught.

  Though one member of the Board of Pardons and Paroles actually voted to commute Dominique's sentence, it was hardly enough; and it is doubtful that his fellow members even took the time to examine the wealth of materials that Sheila sent them, which included a video of Bernatte Lastrapes begging for Dominique's life. “All of us,” said Bernatte, “have forgiven Dominique for what happened and want to give him another chance at life. Everyone deserves another chance.” Countering this impressive plea, state prosecutors informed the board members that Dominique had killed two white men, something entirely fictional. Sheila could not persuade Dominique's principal attorneys to contradict this fiction or to request that the board members visit Dominique, something only lawyers licensed in Texas were in a position to do.

  It was well known that Perry, who had succeeded George W. Bush as governor, meant to end his tenure with more executions to his name than the amazing number racked up by his predecessor. He has more or less succeeded: whereas Bush presided over 152 executions in six years, Perry will have presided over at least 186 by the end of 2008, though he still lags somewhat behind Bush's numbers on a per-year basis.

  With enviable confidence in his own righteousness and that of his state (and startling contempt for the judgment of others), Perry, through a spokesman, has recently responded to the appeal of the European Union that Texas enact a moratorium on the death penalty: “230 years ago, our forefathers fought a war to throw off the yoke of a European monarch and gain the freedom of self-determination. Texans long ago decided that the death penalty is a just and appropriate punishment for the most horrible crimes committed against our citizens. While we respect our friends in Europe, welcome their investment in our state and appreciate their interest in our laws, Texans are doing just fine governing Texas.” No country may join the European Union if it countenances the death penalty, and more and more countries beyond Europe have been abandoning the practice. The United States consistently ranks fourth among countries still employing the practice, outranked in the number of executions only by China, Iran, and Saudi Arabia, those bastions of antimonarchical freedom.

  The proximity of the execution date began to weigh on Dominique with such force that he was no longer able to collect his thoughts or maintain his usual cool, any more than Jesus could while contemplating his approaching death in the garden of Gethsemane. As Dominique wrote to Archbishop Tutu in early September:

  I am doing as well as one probably could expect, thanks largely to the overwhelming abundance of love and support heaped upon me in massive amounts these past few weeks. Strong-willed and thick-skinned as I may be, things have been a lot harder on me than I imagined. Because aside from having to face an execution date myself, I am having to endure it with some close and dear friends.

  On August the 26th, I lost one of them. His name was James Vernon Allridge III. I had known him for the past 8 years. He was a model prisoner. A positive influence. And one of the few perfect examples found here of what it means—meant—to be rehabilitated. Sadly, none of that was allowed to matter, despite all that he'd done, accomplished and achieved.

  It had been a while since someone that I was close to was executed. So his execution crushed me a little bit. For the past 2½ weeks my concentration hasn't been the same. It's been extremely difficult for me to find my focus and undertake even some of the smallest things.

  I have been trying to write this letter to you for the last week and a half. Usually at times like this (when I am going through a lot) I find a way to excel. But after losing James and facing the upcoming execution date (October 5th) of the best friend life could ever give me—a person I've known since I was fourteen—who in coming here not only grew up with me but helped to change the entire dynamics of Texas Death Row, named Edward Green III [no relative], my nerves have been stripped raw and, contrary to my outward appearance, I am walking the line of breaking down and mentally, physically, and spiritually crumbling.

  Dominique was dealing with a syndrome that has often been noted by sympathetic observers: each fresh execution engenders traumatic distress in the remaining inhabitants of Death Row.

  As the steps toward his own execution moved inexorably forward, Sheila Murphy kept up her drumbeat of interventions. I was not in Texas but in Europe, on a long planned trip to visit my son in Prague, after which I was to do some necessary research in Italy, Germany, France, and England for a book on the Middle Ages that I was writing. I remained in regular contact with Sheila's Chicago office and with Sheila's wonderful assistant, Kathryn Gough. I knew of Sheila's hopes for a last-minute reprieve, and I was more aware than I wished to be of their unlikelihood. In Prague I decided that I must send Dominique a letter. But what kind of letter do you write to someone about to die?

  Dearest Dominique,

  I'm so sorry to be traveling this week so far from you, but it could not be helped. I have no crystal ball and have no better idea of what will happen next than anyone else. But I am full of pain on your behalf. If all goes well (or at least as well as we could possibly hope), I will greatly look forward to seeing you after I return from Europe. If all goes as badly as possible … I will look forward to seeing you when we all meet merrily in heaven. What is important about a life is not its length but its intensity and direction. Yours is full of intensity, and your direction is so admirable that few could equal you, certainly not I.

  Here is a prayer from the Book of Wisdom, which was written in Greek by an unknown writer who lived in North Africa in the century before Jesus. It is usually translated a little stiffly, so I have made my own translation. I hope it may be a help to you, whatever the outcome may be.

  The souls of the just are in the hands of God,

  And the torments wrought by evildoers

  Can never touch them again.

  It is true that they appeared to die—

  But only in the eyes of people who cannot see

  And who imagined that their passing away was a defeat,

  That their leaving us was an annihilation.

  No, they are at peace.

  If, as it seemed to us, they suffered punishment,

  their hope was rich with immortality;

  slight was their correction, great will their blessings be.

  God was putting them to the test,

  And has proved them worthy to be with him;

  He has tested them like gold in a crucible,

  And accepted them as a perfect holocaust.

  In the hour of judgment they will shine in glory,

  And will sweep over the world like sparks through stubble.

  They will judge nations, rule over peoples,

  And the Lord will be their king forever.

  Those who trust in him will come to understand the truth,

  Those who are faithful will live with him in love.

  Only grace and mercy await them—

  All those whom God, in his compassion, has ca
lled to

  himself.

  Thank you for your gracious friendship, Dominique. I think of you often, pray for you always, and will never forget you.

  Much love,

  Tom

  Sheila Murphy was able to read this to Dominique on the day before his execution. He asked her to read it through a second time; and then he took it with him to his cell for a third reading, so I believe I did manage—typing in my son's studio in faraway Prague—to find the right words, however cold the comfort such a belief confers.

  Dominique's last day was filled with drama. Almost at the last moment, Sheila and Andy Lofthouse were able to locate Jessica Tanksley, who happened to be visiting her family in Houston. Still startlingly beautiful (as Andy in particular could not help but notice), Jessica was now a self-possessed, much traveled, multilingual young woman soon to be awarded her medical degree from the Universidad Iberoamericana in Santo Domingo, Dominican Republic. Though she and Dominique had been out of touch for years, she came immediately to the prison, still unmarried, still (as was patently obvious to all) in love with Dominique. By then, Dominique's mother, Stephanie, was there as well. Dominique had asked Sheila to leave Stephanie out of the loop so that she could not disrupt things and draw all attention to herself, as he was sure she would attempt to do. But Sheila decided to disregard Dominique's wishes in this one matter, “because,” she said later, “if there's one moment tomorrow that he wishes his mother were here, then I've blown it.”

  So Dominique had a final meeting with his mother, but one that also involved Sheila: “He motioned for me to come over and he said, ‘Sheila, would you sit with my mom and me for just a few minutes? It's really important to me because she and I have had very poor parenting and she doesn't know how. Would you help her learn to pattern as a parent should, teach her how to do it?’ And I said, ‘Well, how would I do that?’ And he said, ‘Well, just talk to me like you always do. We'll just talk, and you listen, Mom. So you can do it with my brothers.’ And so we talked like we always did, you know, we joked and all.”

  Then Sheila told Stephanie that Jessica was waiting her turn. “You were once young,” said Sheila, “and so was I, and we can remember how we loved seeing the person we loved when we were young, and Jessica is here and Dominique hasn't had much time with her these last ten years, so why don't we give our place to Jessica?” Miraculously, Stephanie agreed. The two older women moved off and allowed Jessica to speak privately with Dominique.

  Jessica saw that the discreet beauty she had recognized long ago in her first meeting with Dominique had blossomed exponentially. His was now a presence that overcame any other energy in the room. She promised him that she would always, always remember him, and he said that for him that would be enough.

  Later, when only the law team remained, Dominique began to call Sheila “Mom.” It wasn't a slip of the tongue, as Sheila realized: the first time he did it, he winked at her. Andy also had a last conversation with his friend, who had refused to order a last meal. Like his model Desmond Tutu, he was fasting. What, Andy asked, would you eat if you decided to have a last meal? “Jessica,” came the smiling reply. It seemed as if, on this last day, Dominique had worked his way free of the spiritual crumbling he had written about to Archbishop Tutu. He was back in his usual groove, calling the shots and playfully pushing these final encounters to heightened significance.

  But now it was almost time for Dominique to be taken from the Livingston prison to the Huntsville Death House. Dominique spent his last few minutes in his cell dividing up his meager possessions for his friends. Andy got all his legal notes. In the weeks ahead, as Andy read through the notes, he came to the firm conclusion that Dominique had trained himself like a law student in every legal subtlety and strategy and had succeeded in being the best lawyer of them all. To the Lastrapes brothers, Dominique gave his inscribed copy of An African Prayer Book and his rosary. He also directed that the payment from National Catholic Reporter for his essay on his rosary, the only legitimate earnings he had ever made, be given to the Lastrapes family. Everyone received an appropriate gift.

  Two guards arrived to take Dominique, but deferred their mission for a few minutes at Sheila's urging, so that everyone, especially Jessica, could say a last good-bye. Sheila could see the pain in the eyes of the guards and recalled the archbishop's speculation about what this business did to the spirits of those whose work is death. Then, as the guards escorted Dominique along a glass-enclosed corridor, Sheila and Andre Lastrapes were able to accompany him for some distance on the other side of the glass. Soon enough, the two parties—Dominique and his guards, Sheila and the other friends of Dominique— were on their way in separate vehicles through the pretty Texas countryside to Huntsville.

  Huntsville, a cheerful, outwardly gracious community, has to be one of the strangest human settlements on the surface of the earth, a town organized around its Death House. So many in the town work for the Huntsville prison or for one of the six other prisons in the area; and so many who do not work for the prisons work to supply the wants of those who do. The hillside above the town contains the graves of those who have been executed, many thousands of gray tombstones erected over many acres of ground, each stone engraved with the number of a prisoner, seldom with his name, the single letter “X” for executed, and the date of execution. As one approaches the town, one notes a huge signboard high above the local McDonald's franchise, welcoming visitors to “the home of Old Sparky”—that is, the electric chair that was used for decades and which is now enshrined as the central exhibit of the Texas Prison Museum of Huntsville.

  As there is an unvarying procedure for carrying out executions, there is an unvarying procedure for those who have come to stand in solidarity with the condemned. The family and friends of the man (or woman) to be executed must wait in a hospice run by the Southern Baptists. They are given no choice in this matter, for the mixture of government and religion in Texas is pervasive—and not just religion as a category, nor even Christianity as a category, but a peculiar version of extreme Calvinism, full of self-justification, retribution, and even cruelty. The hospice is decorated throughout with gory scenes of Jesus's passion and death, painted by those about to be executed, often with accompanying notes from the condemned confessing that they are paying their just dues for their sins. This is the ambience that the family and friends of the condemned must endure while they wait to speak one last time with the condemned by telephone.

  While Sheila and the others waited, they were assailed by a particularly antipathetic chaplain, a Catholic, who rattled on about what an awful sin murder is and that murder by abortion is the worst of all. Dominique had refused a chaplain, saying that they were all compromised. If they didn't go along with the system, they wouldn't have been named chaplains here.

  Sheila, her cell phone clutched in her hand, was still hoping for a last-minute miracle because that very morning U.S. District Judge Nancy Atlas had issued a stay of execution on the grounds that ballistics evidence used to convict Dominique may have been inaccurate. Some 280 boxes of improperly stored and cataloged evidence, involving some eight thousand cases, covering more than two decades, and kept by the Houston Police Department crime lab, had recently been discovered and could contain information relevant to the case. Harold Hurtt, the Houston police chief, had called for a moratorium on executions in cases like Dominique's, where the lab was involved. A second petition, using the same argument, was before the Supreme Court. The chaplain, claiming that it would be a felony to bring a cell phone into the prison itself, tried to wrestle Sheila's from her. She refused to let go of it, shouting at him that he was interfering with her legal rights and those of Dominique. She won the tussle.

  But the call that finally came through advised her that the 5th Circuit Court of Appeals had done what it normally does: it had overturned the stay of execution in response to the objection of Texas's attorney general. There was still the U.S. Supreme Court to be heard from. Meanwhile, the chaplain— �
��a total ass,” as Sheila labeled him—was keeping up his steady babble, apparently believing that the silence everybody desperately wished for would be inappropriate.

  The phone conversations with Dominique, when they occurred at last, were so brief as to be all but undetectable. But Sheila was to have some final communications with Dominique after she entered the Walls Unit itself, the section of the prison where executions are carried out, where she was shocked to see that in an interior courtyard a garden had been planted. “He's like a flower opening,” she recalled the archbishop's words. Then, once again she was talking to Dominique with a glass barrier between them: “There is Dominique standing up by himself in the cell, and other people, the guards, were close by. We talked very quietly, and I told him that we hadn't heard from the Supreme Court yet and that every moment that went by was good for us. And he said, ‘I'm going to be O.K.’ He was reassuring me. He was unbelievable. And it was all about making sure to thank everybody. Thank you for being my family, for Patrick coming to see me. I had such a good time with him that day. And thank Andy. And thank Tom. And thank Sant'Egidio: where would I ever have been without them? I would never have met you. And to think Archbishop Tutu came here. Nobody thinks we're anything but he came from South Africa. And on and on. He said, ‘You've done so much in such a short time. If I had had you from the beginning, I'd never be here. So know that. If you'd been my lawyer at the trial, they would have listened to you.’ Then they came and got me and I had to go back and then I said I gotta talk to him one more time, I have to talk to Dominique one more time, there is something I have to tell him. So they let me.”