I have reviewed the case set by the Attorney General and agree with their opinion . . . This is not a case where my client makes some kind of suicide pact with the State, or has some kind of perverse death wish. He is a man who is willing to accept the responsibility for his act, and he has asked that there be speedy and just execution . . . as opposed to the lingering death that would accompany an imposed automatic appeal that might stretch into days, months, conceivably years. It is not for us to judge. None of us here have spent more than 90 percent of our adult life in the cages where the animals are. He has made an intelligent decision whether he wishes to continue his life or be executed. He is here acting in that capacity as a sane, responsible man who has accepted the judgment of the people, who has made peace with himself, and wishes to die like a man with self-respect and dignity . . . That is all he is asking of the Court, that the motion for appeal be set aside and that the Stay be vacated, and that he be allowed to die with self-respect next Monday. I now have some questions for Mr. Gilmore . . . Gary Gilmore, do you realize you have an absolute right to appeal the conviction and sentence rendered in this case?
MR. GILMORE Yes sir.
JUSTICE HENRIOD Mr. Gilmore, will you speak as loudly as you possibly can so that everyone can hear you because I can hardly hear you myself.
MR. BOAZ Did you previously indicate to your attorneys of record that you did not wish an appeal taken in this case?
MR. GILMORE I told them during the trial and perhaps before that, that if I were found guilty and sentenced to death that I would prefer to accept without any delay. I guess perhaps they didn't quite take me literal because when it became a reality and . . . I still felt the same way, they wanted to argue with me about it . . . told me they were going to file appeals over my objections. Now I wasn't able to fire them in front of a Judge and make the matter record simply because I don't have access to Judges in Court because I am in prison.
But I fired them and they understand that.
MR. BOAZ Gary Gilmore, are you in fact at this moment ready to accept execution?
MR. GILMORE Not at this moment, but I am ready to accept it . . . next Monday morning at 8:00 A.M. That is when it was set. That is when I am ready to accept it.
JUSTICE HENRIOD l think in the interest of justice we should ask Mr. Snyder to state his position. I want this to be very brief.
MR. SNYDER For the record, I have talked to Mr. Gilmore far more and far longer than Mr. Boaz has. It is my opinion that this type of decision facing Mr. Gilmore has placed tremendous emotional stress and strain upon him . . . What Mr. Gilmore, in my opinion, is attempting to do in this case is tantamount to suicide. He does not have to die . . . I think it would be a shame if this Court at this point withdrew the Stay of Execution, and allowed Mr. Gilmore to be executed on November 15th without having reviewed and considered the substantial matters which are raised both by the trial conviction and the subsequent proceeding.
JUSTICE HENRIOD Thank you.
JUSTICE MAUGHAN . . . Your concern then, as I understand it, is to make sure that as a matter of fact due process has occurred . . .
MR. SYNDER That is exactly correct. We were appointed by the Court to insure that Mr. Gilmore got a fair trial and that there was no error and the process of the trial ought to have been reviewed by this Court.
JUSTICE ELLETT You are no longer in it. You have been relieved, you have been supplanted . . .
MR. SNYDER I understand that . . .
JUSTICE ELLETT Why won't you accept in good grace his firing you, like he is willing to accept in good grace the sentence of the Court?
JUSTICE CROCKETT I think that counsel has done what they conscientiously think they should do and I think we should not criticize them for what they have done. But, we have a different situation now and we all appreciate it.
JUSTICE HENRIOD Mr. Gilmore, is there anything that you would like to say at this time without being asked any questions?
MR. GILMORE Your Honor, I don't want to take up a lot of your time with my words. I believe I was given a fair trial and I think the sentence is proper and I am willing to accept it like a man. I don't wish to appeal. I don't know exactly what the motives are of Mr. Esplin and Mr. Snyder . . . I know they have professional careers to consider—maybe they are catching some criticism they don't like. I don't know. But I desire to be executed on schedule, and I just wish to accept that with the grace and dignity of a man and I hope you will allow that to be. That is all I have to say.
Gary and Dennis were in a room together when the result was brought in. The Utah Supreme Court had lifted the Stay by a vote of 4 to 1. Monday, November 15, the execution would take place.
Gary was elated with the result. "It brings him peace," Dennis said to himself, "to know he's leaving all this." In a few minutes, he would say as much at a press conference.
"You can have," Gary said now, "everything you make off the writing." "Oh, no," Dennis said, laughing, "I figure fifty-fifty. It just seems fair,"
It was the first time they had discussed terms. Fifty-fifty it would be. They didn't even bother to draw up a paper. Just shook hands.
DESERET NEWS
Salt Lake, Nov. 10—Handcuffed and his feet shackled, Gilmore was led into Court chambers in the State Capitol Building. Security was tight. When he departed, a crush of spectators and national and local news reporters and cameramen engulfed the man.
That night, over dinner, Bob Hansen's wife and the children all wanted to hear about Gilmore. In private practice, Hansen never discussed his cases, but the Attorney General's office was constantly involved in public issues. It was like practicing law in a fish bowl. So Hansen's kids were not only curious, but knowledgeable. They virtually researched his cases in the newspaper.
Now, over the dinner table, he told his family that Boaz had been articulate, even impressive, and Gilmore had struck him as being on an intellectual par with the Court. In fact, Hansen could not think of another case in which the accused person seemed to be able to understand and deal with lawyers and Judges as peers. Yet Gilmore had never presented himself as a lawyer. Hansen thought that was impressive, too. You never had the feeling he was contemptuous of the Judges or of the lawyers' right to argue for him, or against him. That added dignity. In fact, Hansen remarked he certainly hadn't acted like a disoriented or depressed person, but on the contrary, seemed altogether sane. That had impressed him, he said. The family ate thoughtfully.
November 10
Dear Gilroy,
He vuzz just a keed! I've been debating wether or not to write, but I decided just to drop a few lines and enclosed a few dollars, I'm sure you can put it to good use.
I've heard a lot concerning you on the news, you know you've got more style, class, and guts than anyone I've ever met, There is something I want to say and as you know I'm not good with words such as you, so I'll just come out and say it.
I don't know what kind of funeral arrangements your family, relatives, & Nicole have made, but if there is anything I can do to help out financially just let me know who and where you want it sent.
GEEBS
DESERET NEWS
Gilmore Story Is Front Page News
November 11, Salt Lake —The decision by the Utah Supreme Court to allow Gary Mark Gilmore to die before a prison firing squad was front page news today in the New York Times, the New York Daily News and the Washington Post.
Sheriff Ed Ryan of Ogden said that in the past he received dozens of requests from people who wanted to serve on a firing squad, but he added:
"They'd have buck fever if the time ever came to do the job. One of the men on my force participated in an execution nearly 20 years ago and he swears he's sorry he ever did it—it still bothers him late at night."
Los ANGELES HERALD EXAMINER
Nov. 11, Salt Lake— . . . Gilmore let it be known that his choice for the condemned man's traditional last meal was a six-pack of cold beer.
"Gary's on a real macho trip, that's for sure
," Boaz said, "but he's not that cold-blooded. He believes in karma, and that he will suffer pain for what he's done. He also believes that the soul evolves and there is reincarnation and that the manner in which he dies can be a learning experience for others."
NEW YORK TIMES
Nov. 11, 1976—Detective Glade M. Perry of the Provo Police Department was one of the volunteers for the firing squad. "Somebody's got to do it," he said, "and we've got the guts to put our lives on the line every day."
A gray-haired, elderly man, who refused to give his name, said: "The parents of the boys that Gilmore killed should be given the chance to shoot him."
Chapter 3
THE SOB SISTER
About the time that all the reporters were finding out they couldn't get an interview with Gary because of those darn prison requirements, Tamera Smith, of the Deseret News, noticed a lot of interest beginning to focus on Nicole Barrett. The word was out that Nicole was seeing Gary every day, so everybody was trying to get to her.
Nobody had been successful, except for a fellow on Channel 5 who talked with Gilmore's sweetheart for a few minutes one night on the air. Tamera thought Nicole was not at her best there. In fact, she looked peaked and worried, like a drenched little bird.
Anyway, a fellow reporter on the Deseret News named Dale Van Atta happened to be complaining how hard it was to get to Nicole, and Tamera said, "I've met her before. Would you like me to try?"
Van Atta looked at her for what she was, girl reporter out of college, and said, "I don't think it will do you any good," but she called the prison, and Nicole happened to be in the Maximum Security visiting room. Tamera wasn't expecting to talk that quickly, and hardly knew what to say, except that Nicole remembered right off who she was, so Tamera said, "I wonder if you'd like to get together and talk a little."
Even on the telephone, Tamera felt the thought go in. Nicole always received things you said very seriously. Even the most casual remark she would take all of the way into herself. It was as if she only trusted herself to give the right answer if she got all of what you laid on her. Now, after a pause, Nicole said she really wouldn't want to talk, but there was something about the way she answered that was encouraging, so Tamera asked if they could do it off the record.
Again, there was the pause, and then Nicole said, off the record, that would be okay, like a hand was taking the record off the turntable.
Tamera said she'd pick her up at the prison.
Out in the parking lot, Tamera was stomping around in the early November snow and shivering, when Nicole came down the walk from Maximum, saw her, gave a nice smile and came over. On the drive, however, Nicole started looking sad again. Soon she mentioned that her grandfather had died, and his funeral was going to be in two days, and then there was this ex-boy friend Kip who had also died just a day or two ago. Now Gary was excited because just this morning he had won in front of the Utah Supreme Court and was probably going to face a firing squad on Monday. It surprised Tamera that Nicole didn't appear upset. She just sat, still and calm, smoking away quietly, one of those people who looked like they really enjoyed a cigarette.
Tamera stopped in Provo to buy Nicole lunch, and they must have talked for a good two hours there at J.B.'s on Center Street, eating Big Boys, and milkshakes. J.B.'s was usually jammed with college kids, but this was the middle of the afternoon, and it was pretty empty. Tamera could feel Nicole getting off on talking to her.
Back in August, they had met at Gary's second Preliminary Hearing.
Tamera was working then as a Provo stringer for the Deseret News, a job she got on the basis of her work at BYU on the Daily Universe.
Having done college journalism, she was used to a police beat, but in Court, Nicole sure captured her attention.
When they brought Gilmore into the room, shuffling along in leg shackles, there was this girl sitting in the front row and he stopped in front of her, and kissed, and Tamera knew it had to be his girl friend.
She even heard him say, "I love you." Tamera found herself having this immediate empathy with the girl. Gilmore didn't look anything really overpowering right then, just a regular criminal, hard looking, almost sleazy, with a marked-up face. Tamera felt humiliated for him in leg manacles, walking in short jerky steps like he was a spavined monster or something, but it was the girl who drew her, in fact, absolutely fascinated her by those looks. She had a kind of mystique about her, a sky glow, Tamera thought, like an old movie star. The drama of it came right over Tamera. There's another woman in the story besides the widows, she said to herself.
After Court, Tamera hung in the background and watched Gary kiss Nicole good-bye. Then, on the street, she watched Nicole wave until he was completely out of sight. You could tell she'd gotten herself all fixed up for him because she was wearing a long dress that was kind of old-fashioned and demure. Tamera, watching, felt so tall and gawky and dirty blond that she kept going "Oh, oh," to herself, you know, at how beautiful Nicole was. She even waited until Nicole was clear into her car. Then Tamera couldn't stand it anymore. Just had a compelling need to talk, and ran across the street to do it.
At the time, it had nothing to do with a story. Gilmore was a routine case. Tamera just wanted Nicole to know somebody cared. In a town like Provo, everybody took the side of the victims.
At the car, she said, "My name is Tamera Smith and I work for the Deseret News and I'd like to talk. Not for a story, but as friends. I wonder if you'd like to get some coffee. You must have a lot on your mind right now." Nicole hesitated, then said, yeah, she'd like that, so they got in her car, which drove in the most awful way, never knew which gear it would go into, and Nicole mentioned it had been in an accident two days ago, and they went down to Sambo's and talked.
The girls told each other about themselves, in fact, Tamera found herself rattling away at a great rate. She was amazed how soon she told Nicole that her father had died years ago and it had left this hunger inside herself ever since, this terrible empty space that kept her restless all the time. Then she told how she used to write to a guy in prison, and her brothers and sisters, who were all as active Mormons as you could find, had been terribly upset. But the fellow had been wonderful, and she'd even gone to visit him in a Kentucky prison. That certainly opened Nicole up.
All the while Tamera was enraptured. It wasn't that Nicole was a striking beauty, yet she was. She had such an air of calm. It was like sitting on the back porch for all of a hot July afternoon, just that long calm feeling. From the stories Nicole was telling, Tamera figured she had to have a big temper, but she was so serene that day.
When they said good-bye, Tamera passed over her telephone number, and said, "If you ever need help, I'd be glad to see you."
That was it. The newspaper didn't assign her to the trial in October and she had no more to do with the case. Went her separate way. Almost forgot.
Now, at J.B.'s, hey, wow, maybe there was nobody near to her that Nicole could trust, but she sure let the floodgate go. Right over those milkshakes, she told Tamera she was planning suicide. Told it straight up with all those deaths hanging on her, Kip, her grandfather, Gary soon. Tamara could see she was afraid.
What made Tamera want to cry was that Nicole was waiting out her death date just like Gilmore. When she was around him it was all right, she said, and she wasn't afraid because Gary had a vision of what life would be like after death, but when she got away, it was frightening again. The on-again off-again must be hideous, Tamera thought. Every time Gary got a Stay, Nicole did, too.
It was mind-blowing for Tamera. Her friends were always kidding her for being such an emotional person, and Tamera always thought she had to be one of the most divided people in existence. So active and true-believing a Mormon on the one hand, such crazy impulses on the other. Why, to anyone but herself, she would have been a mess. To grow up with the Doctrine of Covenants, and believe all of it to this day, yet go hog wild over the Rolling Stones. Her roommates at BYU used to say that if she didn't gu
sh, she'd overflow—such lava inside. Now, to get handed this story. It was the biggest story she'd ever come near, yet at the same time she was worried stiff over Nicole.
Tamera hadn't planned on prying. But now she had to ask questions.
"What about the kids?" she wanted to know.
Nicole looked like she would cry. She didn't, she confessed, treat them nearly as good as she wanted to. Tamera asked if she and Gary talked a lot about this suicide, and Nicole said, "That's all we ever talk about."
Tamera was burning to do the story.
On the street, outside Nicole's little apartment building, they could see a van from a Salt Lake TV station. Sure enough, no sooner did they get on the stairs that led to the second floor, when a reporter rushed out of a waiting car. "You Nicole Barrett?" he asked. "I'm her sister," Nicole said. "No, you're Nicole," the reporter insisted. She looked back calmly. "I'm her sister. She's up at the prison." "I recognize you," the reporter said. "No, I'm the sister." She and Tamera walked away, strolled down the balcony and into her apartment. The moment the door was shut, they began to laugh. It emboldened Tamera to ask a little later if she could write the story after all.
The way it happened was that Nicole had gotten out some of Gary's drawings, and Tamera thought they were awfully talented.
She said people ought to know more about Gary's life. It was a good argument to use, and Tamera believed it. In fact, looking at the pictures, she felt he must have an intense inner life. Those drawings were so sorrowful and so controlled.
Sitting there, she told Nicole about the convict who had been her boy friend. Tamera had interviewed him at Provo City Jail while she was still at BYU. Had walked in and here was this guy in a cell, nice, warm and good looking. All he'd done was steal a bunch of credit cards and cameras and stuff. She had fallen in love right off the bat, and when they sent him to Kentucky, she got truly nailed. He wrote magnificent love letters. She corresponded with him for a year and a half. Sometimes she got as many as seven letters a day. It was the nearest thing to filling the space her father's death had left. Those letters kept saying, Wow, you're so beautiful, and I've never met anyone like you, your understanding and your patience has overcome me. Wow, wow, wow, went his letters.
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