Huntsville was green and pretty that day - I remember waiting outside while our professor made arrangements for our security orientation. The prison itself is beautiful old red brick building, and looks more like a high school than a prison. There were 'trusties' mowing and gardening outside - throughout our prison tour we didn't encounter anyone in any kind of confinement, and instead watched men going to and from education classes and exercise. This unit is where many Texas prisoners are transferred to be released from the system. Our tour guide was a guard who had worked at the prison for many years, and who personally had overseen many executions. I have the vague recollection of a mustache, a paunch, and a Texas drawl, but I don't think his appearance or voice would fall outside of whatever you might imagine a longtime Texas prison guard to resemble.
The tour began with the oldest cell block in Texas, dating from 1849. I'm 5'9", and a cell for two people would have been too small for me to stand tall or stretch my arms in. They had even set mannequins in antique prison garb inside to demonstrate and give us a feel for the times. We also had an opportunity to be shut into 'the hole' as a group for a time - a small, black-walled box of a room that would occasionally house dozens of prisoners at once as punishment. There were nervous giggles, rather than horror or solemnity. Our guide was knowledgable and matter-of-fact, and gave us accounts of famous prisoners and an eleven-day hostage siege in 1974. Then we proceeded to the space used for executions.
Three cells, a short hallway, and a green room with a gurney. 'Death Row' doesn't actually house prisoners until their time of execution - they arrive shortly before their appointed time to die. In 2010, they told us about the prisoners' last meals - made from whatever the kitchen already had in stock, and produced in bulk. If the person wanted a burger, they got four burgers. The guard explained that it helped 'slow down and calm' the person. Apparently in 2011, they did away with providing a particular 'last meal'. There's a table with a couple of Bibles and a Quran. The person can request a chaplain. And when the time comes, they are escorted down the hall to the execution chamber. Some go willingly. Some must be dragged.
I was surprised by my lack of emotional reaction to this experience at the time. I had always been firmly anti-death penalty, but I found myself hearing such a sensible understanding coming from this guard, and felt so much more aware of the process and rationale behind it. We crowded into the chamber, some of us touching the gurney. We could see the observation room, divided into two halves. There was a microphone coming down from the ceiling to allow the prisoner to give last words, and the guard directed us to the Department of Criminal Justice website where all these last words have been recorded for the public. And he talked us through the process of an execution and told us about his own emotional experiences and ability to compartmentalize so that these moments stayed on the unit, rather than following him home.
We filed out again into the crisp sunshine, piled onto the hired school bus, and headed to grab fast food and tour the nearby Texas Prison Museum, which houses, among other artifacts and interactive exhibits, 'Old Sparky', the formerly employed electric chair. Then it was back onto the bus for the ride home, chatting casually about nothing much with my classmates. Finally, I loaded up a bag and headed to Great Wolf Lodge to eat dinner with the weary adults and water-logged kids who had been mightily enjoying themselves.
When my mom asked about the trip, I remember saying it had been interesting, and I remember, for the first time in my life, defending the death penalty as rational and necessary. After spending all that time thinking about it, I felt like it all made sense. And my mom flushed red and her eyes widened and she was completely bewildered and probably horrified. But I didn't really want to discuss it so I just squeezed into my swimsuit and headed out to do my thing.
Dave asked, for the inevitable umpteenth time, if I would finally do a waterslide. 'Asked' might be a weak word to use - he had been pretty much begging me to do things like ski and rollerblade and rollercoaster and waterslide for the entirety of our almost 10 yr relationship at the time. I'm a chicken. I didn't like to have anything without an engine and brakes between me and the ground. But I decided it was time to try it. I was brave. I'd spent an entire day in a prison! I'd touched the gurney in an execution chamber! I could do this!
I got halfway up the first flight of stairs before I started to shake. I was looking down, a very short way down, into the churning water where the slide would exit. The riotous echoes of kids yelling and splashing, the muggy chlorinated atmosphere, the chaotic motion of water and people had me swaying and rooted me to the railing. And I had my first real panic attack. I sat down hard on the concrete stairs, breathing fast and shallow, and was sure I would pass out. I'm not sure who helped me leave the stairs, I'm sure Dave was there and maybe my sister Abby, but I remember shivering until my teeth rattled.
Within two days, I was against the death penalty again. I still am. In my opinion, it has no place in a civilized society, and it's a practice born of our baser desire for revenge rather than the better angels of our nature. In truth, I wish I could fully live my convictions and become a vegetarian, because of my distaste for killing. But I've also convinced myself that I could slaughter a hog or a cow or a chicken to feed myself and my family if need be. Of course I could. I'm brave.
On Friday - Waterslides and what's changed since then.
Great post, Caroline! Forgot about that time.
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