Steve Earle: A Death in Texas

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"I’m worried about you. You don’t have to be Superman or nothin’. This is insane shit that’s goin’ on here today. You don’t have to be strong for the women if that’s what you’re thinkin’. They’re big girls. You need to take care of yourself."

"I know, Jon. I’m all right. I went to a meeting last night and my manager’s here now. I’ve also got a couple of friends up from Houston who have done this before."

"Witnessed?"

"Yeah." That seemed to make him feel better. "Okay, but if you need to cry, it’s all right. Go ahead and cry."

"When this is all over, I’ll cry."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

Jon shifts gears suddenly. Back to business. He looks both ways to make sure the guard isn’t watching. "Take this." With much effort he pushes a tiny slip of tightly rolled paper, the diameter of a toothpick, through the impossibly tight mesh. Somehow he pulls it off. "That’s my daughter’s phone number in California. My sister read it to me over the phone last night. They’re going to strip search me and I can’t take anything to the Walls and I’m afraid I’ll forget it. Give it to Father Walsh. Then I’ll have it when I make my last phone calls."

I poke the paper in the watch pocket of my Levi’s. There are a few other requests. He wants me to call his foster mother and his sister after the execution, and send flowers to two women who worked for the prison who were kind to him over the years. I promise that I won’t forget. "All right, bro. Take care of yourself and your kids. Tell Dona to come back." Hands against the glass one last time.

"I love you, Jonathan."

"I love you too, bro."

NOON I head back into Huntsville. My manager, Dan Gillis, arrived last night and not a moment too soon. Suddenly, driving has become difficult. The world has taken on a kind of surrealistic patina. I need someone to drive for the rest of the day. Also waiting at the hotel are two friends from the abolition movement, Karen Sebung and Ward Larkin. Both have witnessed executions, and they have made the trip to assist in any way they can. We talk over arrangements for the transportation and cremation of Jon’s body, which, as it turns out, Dan has already taken care of. I make a couple of phone calls and check my messages. Then I shower, shave, and put on a pair of black jeans, a blue short-sleeve shirt, and a black linen sport coat.

4:00 We leave the hotel. Dan drives us to Hospitality House, a guest residence operated by the Baptist Church for the families of in-mates. Dona and Pam, as well as Pam’s friend Caroline, are staying there. The two other witnesses, Bishop Carmody of the East Texas diocese and the Reverend Richard Lopez of the Texas Department of Corrections, are already there when we arrive. We are assembled here for an orientation session to be conducted by the Reverend Jim Brazzil, the chaplain at the Walls unit. He and the warden will be the only two people inside the chamber with Jon when he dies. He goes through the execution process step-by-step so that we will know what to expect and, though it’s obvious he speaks with authority, I’m not listening. I can’t concentrate, so I just nod a lot. It doesn’t matter. No matter how well or poorly the witnesses are prepared, they are going to kill Jon anyway.

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