Death Row is a somberness that never quits and a psychological dismay that never stales, offering fleeting hope in the distance, while an unspeakable cruelty lurks from behind. It is the veil of vengeance over the face of forgiveness and the dark that seldom brightens. And it is a system designed to diminish one’s spirit by decades of prolonged executions.
Enter Joe – a highly spirited, gentle soul and a bonafide hillbilly (his words, not mine). Joe was amongst several death row inmates whom I met upon arrival. Although he and I didn’t quite vibe at first, eventually we became good friends. Our divide was mainly due to our backgrounds which were astronomically worlds apart. However, proximity and shared affliction pieced us together and our friendship was a perfect fit.
Joe was an avid watcher of daytime soaps, bounding around the pod enthusiastically while awaiting his favorite shows. I’d listen to him zestfully recount weekly episodes until he finally piqued my interest. Before long I was bouncing alongside Joe; the soaps were our escape.
Joe was a tinker also, an essential figure in every inner prison’s workings. Tinkers improvise using commonplace items to effectively service their inmate community. In need of a coffee brewer? See Joe. Stogie roller? That was Joe too. From radio repairs to holiday greeting cards, Joe lent a little of himself to everyone. And when matters were somewhat trivial, still he was eager to help.
I became most endeared to Joe the day he tattooed my forearm. We sat and chatted up one another as he tagged me with his artistry. Joe opened up to me about his spiritual ambitions and the difficulties in his past. It made me realize, though our differences were superficial our adversities were much the same. I watched as Joe embraced his vulnerability as a means to mend his spirit. It taught me that my own woes were much deeper than death row; I suffered a darkness within.
Afterwards, Joe became the bright spot to every waking day. A stickler for cleanliness, he swept and mopped the pod each morning before dawn. Joe then turned to cigarettes and coffee to crank out his lively mood and for hours on end he would laugh and joke – and death row never felt so good.
Joe was a jack-of-all trades, though hardly a master at all. He was a joyful klutz at basketball, yet the first to laugh at himself. At poker, he was a heavy better and lost with his heart carefree. He was deeply committed to the happiness of others – happiness gave Joe peace.
It was three years past when the news came down and Joe faced a darkness of his own. The courts rejected the last of his appeals and issued him an execution date. Suddenly there was aridness in the air that ached with sympathy and despair. Well-wishers barely spoke above whispers as they internalized with ‘what ifs’. Joe put troubled minds at ease by insisting that he was fine – but on the day that his executioners came, he said to me, “Man, I don’t wanna die.”
In that moment, I was stumped for words. I had nothing to offer but sadness. I wanted so much to give Joe absolution and shoo his killers away. I felt helpless and betrayed for the coming demise by an evil which met no resistance. The terrible truth was – my fears were also selfish. I didn’t know how to be on Death Row without Joe.
Joe and I embraced for the last time, his cheeks slicked with tears while his eyes held out hope for the governor’s stay.
He then bid goodbye to others as the party of white shirts escorted him to Deathwatch where he faced his final adversity alone. Joe was executed by lethal injection. It was a harsh reality that pitched Death Row into darkness.
Death Row is an immoral chasm filled with broken spirits. It is insubstantial highs and demoralizing lows in the fight to stay alive. However, having Joe around was like a break in the action. His kindness lit up the dark – and I’m grateful to have had his light shone on me, if only for a short while.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Terry Robinson writes under the pen name ‘Chanton’ and is the winner of Walk In Those Shoes’ first spring writing contest. He rose to the occasion, as did many. The goal of the contest was to share light people saw and experienced behind bars, and I think what has become apparent is that often times – it was the light in the writers’ themselves that was shared.
Terry writes for us often, and he can be contacted at:
Terry Robinson #0349019
Central Prison
4285 Mail Service Center
Raleigh, NC 27699-4285
