The Executioner's Song

by Norman Mailer

  A couple of hours later, when they came down the trail, the fellow was still there. "He's stoned," said Kip, trying to laugh, but looked bothered. There were other fellows high up on the rock wall now with ropes, maybe as high as the eighth or tenth floor of a building, just hooked into the wall. Kip couldn't take his eyes off. Nicole could see him get depressed. It was like here he was with a new chick, a super chick, and these dudes were showing him up. In fact, Nicole wouldn't have minded meeting one of them. They looked super-daring.

  The radio report said Kip was a novice climber. Nicole began to wonder if he had been doing it with ropes, or was like that poor stoned fellow stuck at the bottom of the ledge getting nowhere.

  November 3

  Just listen—and don't become rebellious or stubborn or independent as is often your immediate reaction when told to do or not to do a thing. Okay. What I am telling you is this: You are not to go before me. You mention this in your letter and I always take you serious. I don't like to tell anyone, but especially you, to do or not to do anything. Without giving them a reason. The reasons are this: I desire to go first. Period. I desire it. Second, I believe I may know a bit more ABOUT THE TRANSITION FROM LIFE TO DEATH than you do. I just think I do. I intend and expect to become instantly in your physical presence wherever you are at the time. I will do all in my power to calm and soothe your grief, pain, and fear. I will wrap my very soul and all of the tremendous love I feel around you. You are not to go before me, Nicole Kathryne Gilmore. Do not disobey me.

  A letter also came to Vern. In it Gary wrote that neither Vern nor Ida had come to visit him after his death sentence, "so that's self-evident that you're ashamed of me." Then Gary added, "You haven't even put a frame on the portrait I gave you. I want you to take that picture and give it to Nicole. I don't want to have anything to do with you."

  When Ida got her bearings, she wrote, "I cherish the drawings you gave me. That's the only thing I have of you. As far as me giving. them up and giving them to Nicole, you can just go sit on it, I won't do it. They're mine."

  Vern added a note to Ida's letter, "I don't know what's gotten into you. We tried to see you down at the jailhouse and the only person you wanted to see was Nicole, so we gave up. That's a true fact. I'm going to back Ida all the way. We're not giving the pictures up."

  Nicole, l hope it didn't develop into a hassle or a bad scene. I got a letter from Vern and Ida today—Ida would have you picked up if you "caused any trouble." (Her words, not mine.)

  Jesus, baby, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I got relatives like that. I hope you did not have to go thru an unpleasant thing with either Vern or Ida. Fuck them. Forget it, let them keep the pictures. They know they ain't welcome to them but I ain't gonna have you go thru a hassle with them. I'm embarrassed about it.

  Gary also wrote Brenda to give Nicole his oil painting, and she asked Vern what to do. Vern told her to follow her conscience. She sent Gary a letter: "I don't want to, but if you insist I will. If it doesn't mean that much to you, it sure don't mean that much to me. Up your bucket. I don't want it. If that's how nasty and selfish and childish you want to be about it, I'll take it and stuff it over Nicole's head. Then she can really wear it and enjoy it."

  On the 3rd of November, Esplin got a letter from Gary. It read: "Mike, butt out. Quit fucking around with my life. You're fired."

  PROVO HERALD

  Nov. 4—Despite being dismissed, the two defense attorneys later Wednesday filed a notice of appeal—in their names—with Fourth District Court Judge J. Robert Bullock.

  They said it was "in the best interest" of the defendant.

  That story produced numerous phone calls for Earl Dorius. The press kept asking what position the Attorney General's office intended to take on Gilmore. Dorius replied that Snyder and Esplin could try to file an appeal without their client's consent, but he thought they would lack standing.

  Earl had the feeling "standing" was soon going to be a big legal word in the office. Even if Snyder and Esplin moved off the case, he figured other groups—whether Gilmore wanted it or not—would soon try to appeal. Then, standing—one's right to take a case to Court—was going to be very important.

  November 4

  Hi Baby.

  Today when I was going to talk to Fagan about extra visits, this dude who was dressed sorta like a girl called to me from one of the other sections as I passed by . . . this cat's on Max for beating the shit out of a guard lieutenant. I guess he's a man in most respects, a solid convict from all I hear about him, but also a sissy, queen, or whatever you wanta call 'em. Tonite at chow he sent over this little note I'm enclosing for you to read—That you might get a kick outa it.

  Hi, Gil, I have been reading about you in the paper and I must say that you are an exception to all rules. People just don't know what to think of you, hell they just don't know us Texans, do they, for we can handle anything in this fucking world, huh.

  I made the remark this morning, that I was wanting to talk to you, to see what made you tick!

  Sugar, don't pay any attention to some of the shit that I come off with, for you know how a dizzy bitch is.

  What do you do over there all the time besides a lot of thinking? I guess that I shouldn't be asking you a lot of old foolish questions, but you know how a whore is, always wanting something!

  Under it, Gary wrote:

  Hey Baby Nicole don't go getting any kind of jealous feelings now!

  Jimmy Carter is the new Pres. Ain't that somethin! I didn't believe Ford could lose I think it's only the second time in history of the entire universe that an incumbent president lost an election.

  DESERET NEWS

  Nov. 5—Utah officials of the American Civil Liberties Union (ACLU) and the NAACP said they will try to have their attorneys assist in the appeal process.

  ACLU spokesman Shirley Pedler said, "Our stance is that the state does not have the right to take his life regardless of his choices or decisions."

  November 5

  I met an Indian today who I've known for years. His name's Chief Bolton. He was a guard in the Oregon joint when I knew him several years ago. He's a great big fucker. 300 pounds or so, a purty good man, even if he is a guard, and.. he told me he can easily understand my feelings—Indians understand death more easily than white people I think.

  I also got a letter from a Dennis Boaz in Salt Lake. He's a former lawyer from California. He seems to fully understand my situation and feels I have the right to make the ultimate decision without interference from any legal source. This guy Boaz is now a freelance writer and wants to do an article for national publication. He said he would split any money he receives for his story with anyone I choose.

  Well I reject that outright . . . I simply refuse to capitalize on this in any way . . . This is a personal thing, it is my life Nicole. I can't help getting some publicity but I'm not looking for any.

  Warden Smith asked me today what I might like for a last meal.

  I always thot that was somethin they just did in the movies. I told him I don't know but I would like a couple cans of Coors, he said he didn't know about that—but maybe . . .

  Actually, Barrett felt helpless. It was all so incongruous. His job was to see that the man got executed, so they were working on the same side, yet they weren't.

  Some bug caught up with Earl, and he had to stay home from work.

  It was the same day, November 5, that Gilmore phoned the office! In the evening, Earl watched a couple of newscasts where Bill Barrett, his associate—no relation to Jim or Nicole Barrett, Earl would yet have to tell people—got interviewed with respect to Gilmore's phone call. Earl was discouraged that he had not been in the office to take it himself. Barrett might be his best friend at work, and they had made a good team this last year—what the heck, they always joked, Barrett being tall and thin next to Earl who was short and well built, how could they help but bring separate points of view to a problem? Still, it was frustrating to be legal counsel to the prison, do all the work,
and yet miss a high spot like Gilmore calling up.

  The call came in from Deputy Warden Hatch. A little later, Maximum Security was on the line with Lieutenant Fagan who introduced the convict. Barrett heard this soft-spoken man who sounded very rational. He didn't rant, rave, yell or scream. In fact he kept saying, Mr. Barrett.

  First thing he asked about was getting a new lawyer.

  "Mr. Gilmore," said Barrett, "I believe I understand your situation, but this office can't do anything. A new appointment is up to the Court."

  "Well, Mr. Barrett," said Gilmore, "it is not a spur-of-the-moment decision. I have given a lot of thought to this, and I feel I should pay for what I have done."

  "The difficulty, Mr. Gilmore," Barrett said, "is that it may not be routine to convince a lawyer that he ought to help you get executed. However, if there are any developments that I feel you should know about, I'll keep you informed. I am sympathetic to your position."

  Barrett only spoke to Gary for four or five minutes, but as he later told Earl, it was one of those things in his life that he didn't know if he'd ever get over.

  A reporter hanging around the office picked up the story. After it was printed, Barrett got calls from all over the country. ABC correspondent Greg Dobbs rang in from Chicago and said, "I'll be out this weekend, can I interview you? Can I come to your home?" Before it was over, they set a time. Radio stations in the Deep South interviewed him by telephone. In Utah!

  Work hit Earl like never before. In the criminal division of the Attorney General's office, there were only two full-time attorneys, Barrett and himself, plus a few law clerks and secretaries. That was not much staff to take on all that was coming in. Right next day, for instance, Dorius ran into two well-known Salt Lake lawyers named Gil Athay and Robert Van Sciver, and they were holding a press conference out in the hall of the Utah Supreme Court a floor above the Attorney General's office. Earl heard them saying to the cameras that they intended to request a Stay of Gilmore's execution on behalf of all other Death Row inmates at Utah State Prison. Athay's client was one of the "hi-fi killers."

  The hi-fi killers had been convicted of killing several people in a record store. First they poured Drano down their throats, then pushed ball-point pens into their ears. Those were the most gruesome killings in Utah for many years, exactly the kind to bring capital punishment back in one big hurry, Gilmore, by asking for his execution, wasn't going to sweeten public opinion toward the hi-fi killers.

  Yes, it was heating up fast. Too fast. Dorius had been looking forward to a conference in Phoenix for corrections officials that he and Barrett were going to attend, but this was a poor time to leave the shop. Earl was being interviewed like crazy by members of the media. They caught him in his office, at home, on the street—everywhere.

  Chapter 2

  SYNCHRONICITY

  Right after that, Warden Smith called. Another Gilmore letter to him:

  Sir, I do not wish to see any members of the press. However there is a man named Dennis Boaz, free lance writer, and former attorney, who I do desire to see. Mr. Boaz is the only exception to my no-interview rule.

  Who, wondered Earl, is Dennis Boaz?

  No sooner had Earl Dorius and Bill Barrett arrived at the correction officials conference, than they noticed that Gary Gilmore was hot news in Phoenix too. TV reports every night. In fact, they even saw the interview Greg Dobbs did with Bill Barrett on the ABC evening news. To be actually seeing Barrett on national network!

  Then Earl and Bill met two Assistant Attorney Generals from the State of Oregon who talked about what a problem Gilmore used to be in the Oregon prison system. It seems he was never satisfied with his false teeth. Every time they made a new set, he would flush them down the toilet. The prison finally said that if he sent any more choppers that route, he'd be gumming his food for the rest of his penitentiary life. These Assistant Attorney Generals now said jokingly that after Gilmore was executed, Utah ought to return the plates to the Oregon Department of Corrections.

  Next day, new developments. If you jacked up an old plaster ceiling, you couldn't have more fast-developing cracks in a situation.

  The Utah Supreme Court had just ruled on Snyder and Esplin's petition for an appeal and had given Gilmore a Stay of Execution whether he wanted it or not. Now, nobody knew when it would come off. Same day, Gilmore sent a letter back to the Court. The papers naturally printed it. Earl thought he could hardly believe what he was reading.

  Don't the people of Utah have the courage of their convictions?

  You sentence a man to die—me—and when I accept this most ex treme punishment with grace and dignity, you, the people of Utah want to back down and argue with me about it. You're silly.

  On Sunday night, Gary said to Cline Campbell, "I need your help. I have no lawyer and I figure to be in Court in a few days. I can always go up there and represent myself, but it would look more serious if I have an attorney." He handed a letter to Campbell. "This man says he's a lawyer. Will you contact him?" When Campbell promised he would, Gilmore added, "You got to do it quick."

  The letter gave no telephone number. Monday morning, Campbell drove to the address on the envelope, and ran into a fellow just leaving the apartment. He turned out to be Boaz's roommate, and said, "Dennis is in bed, but I'll get him up. He's been writing all night."

  After Campbell told Boaz why he had come, both took a good look at each other. Campbell had to squint toward the ceiling. Boaz was as tall as a basketball player, six-four at least, and, like a telescope, seemed to go up in extensions. At the top, he had a pleasant serious face, dark hair, and a dark brush mustache. To Campbell he looked as much like a tall skinny doctor or dentist as a lawyer.

  Since Dennis had been living rent-free in the basement his first thought when Campbell arrived was that the fellow might be a creditor. Campbell looked like a tough clean little soldier. He had a no-nonsense look, straight as starch. Of course Dennis had this new Saab he was out on a limb on. What the hell, he was broke. In fact, he owed ten grand. Under such circumstances, he naturally thought Campbell had come to repossess the Saab. The moment he found out Cline was instead the bearer of good tidings, he was able to take a liking to him. A gentle soft-spoken man, he decided, courteous and concerned.

  The place was looking a mess. Everson, his roommate, was a little disorganized at the time, and so there were books and papers all over, and this big double bed in the front room, somewhat chaotic, right. Campbell wasn't going to be impressed unless he could see that the place had decent atmosphere. Everson was a good dude for letting him stay there, since it certainly interfered with Everson having any ladies around. Yet being such a good person about it, Everson's attitude mellowed out the chaos. Besides, Boaz felt he was now in the positive channel of the flow. He could carry off worse appearances than this.

  He told Campbell it would only take an hour to get ready but then he had to get batteries for his tape recorder, and check in on his legal job for the bus drivers' union. That was supposed to pay him a nominal retainer but hadn't yet. With it all, he didn't get out to the prison till two o'clock, three hours later.

  The prison was at Point of the Mountain, twenty miles south from Salt Lake City, halfway to Orem and Provo, and just opposite the place on the Interstate where the mountain came down to the road. To the right, at the exit, you got a good look at all the barrens stretching west, and then a view of the prison right at the edge of the desert, a compound of low yellow stone buildings behind a high wire fence.

  Boaz parked his Saab, walked under the guard tower and into the Administration Building. It had a small entrance and no lobby, just two narrow hallways intersecting at right angles and an information window to one side of this cross. It was like the dinky office you might find inside the door of a large warehouse. The guards wore maroon blazers that were too short in the back for those who had big asses, and Boaz could see them strolling down the hall, or going in and out of the crashing double gates that led into Medium Security.


  A trustee standing by a glass museum case was selling convict-made tooled leather belts to a group of tourists. Compared to California prisons he'd seen, Dennis thought it was old and funky for a state penitentiary. Still, it didn't have the worst vibration, but was kind of farmlike. Simple faces on the guards, and sly, like they'd been out in the hay. Yet nothing invidious or technologically corrupt. Why, some of the older guards had bellies sticking out large as wheelbarrows, yes, a simple place relatively speaking, country people as they should be.

  Some very tough dudes among the guards.

  Outside the Warden's office was a typed message tacked to the wall:

  I hate guys Who criticize Vigorous guys Whose enterprise Has helped them rise Above the guys Who criticize Sam Smith .

  Then the office. Small for a Warden's den, and awful small for Sam Smith who was even taller than Dennis and had a big numb hulk of a body. He looked kind of a cross, Dennis thought, between Boris Karloff and Andy Warhol, and wore big light-shelled plastic-frame glasses. In fact, he spoke in a soft voice.

  "I think," said Dennis, "you have some knowledge of my coming here."

  "No," said Smith, "I don't know anything about it."

  Awful cautious man, thought Dennis. Smith, he decided, was in a frozen space, expression-wise. Leaned back in his chair and looked at his visitor with circumspection.