[Deathpenalty] death penalty news-----FLA., ALA., TENN.
rhalperi at mail.smu.edu
Sun Sep 16 14:12:45 CDT 2007
Schlemmer represents notorious
Richard Henderson Jr.
It's a roll call of some of Florida's most infamous killers in the past
five years. Speak their names and most feel a chill down their spines.
But not Carolyn Schlemmer.
She touches them.
She speaks to them.
She speaks for them.
She defends them.
It's her job to stand by them as the state brings all it has to convince
judge and jury that they should die for their crimes.
Last month, Schlemmer successfully argued that Henderson should not be
executed for killing four family members Thanksgiving Day 2005. Instead,
the jury recommended, and the judge concurred, that he should spend the
rest of his life in prison.
When the court clerk read the jury's decision, Schlemmer took off her
glasses and wiped tears from her eyes.
"Even Henderson is a human being," Schlemmer said. "And if you save their
life, of course you're going to be emotional.
"You have their life in your hands."
Henderson even voiced his gratitude for her efforts.
"I personally feel after this all has happened, if anyone would feel a
spot of caring towards me, it is very surprising . . . meaningful to me,"
he said in a phone call to the Herald from the Manatee County jail.
Strong through it all
In January, Schlemmer was preparing for two of these vicious cases at
once: her defense for Henderson and for Ross.
That same month, her husband, Steven, died of lung disease. He was only
"I don't know how I did it, but I did it," Schlemmer said, looking back.
"There's a strength coming from somewhere. I just wish he'd have been
there. He was my best friend."
She drew strong support from her friends in her office and from her
adversaries in the state attorney's office.
Bradenton defense attorney Colleen Glenn calls Schlemmer an incredibly
strong person, particularly because she can stay focused on her cases, no
matter what else is going on in her life.
"A true role model," Glenn said.
Said Henderson from jail, "No one could have done any better."
"I want everyone to know this woman has two kids at home that she takes
care of by herself, and still is the best damn lawyer in Manatee County,"
Schlemmer is the only lawyer in Manatee County who is both board-certified
in criminal law and qualified to defend those facing the death penalty.
She never thought she'd be an attorney defending the accused. While in law
school at Stetson, she wanted to be a prosecutor.
She stumbled into the job.
"I had to take the public defender clinic while in law school because the
prosecution clinic was full," she said.
When she graduated in 1991, she first worked at a friend's firm in St.
Petersburg, then accepted a job as a public defender in the traffic
division in Tallahassee.
"It really was a job at the time I had experience in," she said.
She won her 1st case there and, within six months, was promoted to
represent felony defendants.
In 1993, she took a job in Tampa, where she first represented a client
facing the possibility of the death penalty.
In 1998, she moved to Manatee County.
The qualifying case: Smith
In December 2005, she was co-counsel on Richard Smith's murder trial in
Sarasota. Smith was convicted and sentenced to death for the kidnapping,
rape and murder of 11-year-old Carlie Brucia in 2004.
"She needed to have one more case in order to be qualified as first chair
for capital cases, and Smith qualified her," said assistant public
defender Adam Tebrugge, who headed Smith's defense team.
"Even more important to me, I gave her a significant portion of that case,
and she wasn't able to start working on it until a month before trial,"
said Tebrugge, who works in the same office as Schlemmer. "But once I
turned that part of the case over to her, I never had to worry about it
again. She never needed any help.
"Jim Slater, who passed in May 2005, left behind (Jeffrey) Pompey and
Ross, and Carolyn stepped right in and assumed the responsibility and took
care of everything."
Tebrugge said Schlemmer has been the most valuable member of the public
defender's office for the past 2 years.
"I've had to handle multiple homicide cases in a year, but have never had
to have as many serious death penalty cases in a short period of time that
Carolyn just concluded," said Tebrugge, who has worked in the office for
about 20 years.
In the fall of 2006, Schlemmer helped convince a jury to spare the life of
Darrell Mitchell, convicted of murdering Briarwood resident Susan Tharp in
July 2004. Mitchell was sentenced to life in prison.
In April, she represented Ross, who was convicted of killing his parents
in January 2004 and is awaiting sentencing. The jury recommended he be
Then came the Henderson trial.
Schlemmer mounted an insanity defense, which the jury rejected. But she
did convince the same panel to recommend that he not be executed for
killing his parents, grandmother and younger brother.
"I do feel that no matter guilt or innocence, everyone is entitled to good
representation and a fair trial," Schlemmer said. "Maybe that is why I can
so easily represent the people accused of the worst crimes. I have a knack
for separating feelings and work. You either have it, or you don't."
Take, for example, the case of Pompey, charged with killing two men with a
single bullet fired from a rifle during an August 2002 robbery at a
Bradenton Foodland supermarket.
"Prior to trial, she litigated whether he was mentally retarded and, as a
result, convinced the state to no longer seek the death penalty," Tebrugge
said. "Then they go to trial not once, but twice last year." Each time,
the jury was unable to reach a verdict.
On the verge of a third trial, the state decided not to prosecute Pompey.
"That was an incredible performance by Carolyn," Tebrugge said.
"Carolyn has really distinguished herself, not only in our office, but in
our entire judicial circuit, and I'm very proud to be associated with
her," he added.
Her clients apparently agree.
Henderson, housed at the jail until he is transferred to prison, says he
talks about Schlemmer with fellow inmates Ross and Davis.
Davis, set to stand trial this fall on charges he killed his mother and
grandfather in 2005, is represented by Tebrugge. Prosecutors are seeking
the death penalty.
When Davis learned Henderson was spared the death penalty, he decided he
wanted Schlemmer on his defense team, Henderson said.
"Even Blaine Ross, who a jury recommended get the death penalty, said she
was good," Henderson said.
Joyce Henderson, the sister-in-law of Richard Henderson Sr., declined
comment about her nephew's lawyer. Relatives of victims in other cases
where Schlemmer represented the accused also declined comment, according
to Susie Brown, manager of the Manatee County Sheriff's Office victim
More cases ahead
In recent days, Schlemmer can be found in her office, preparing for the
defense of Jesus Ledezma, accused of shooting a man in the head at
point-blank range in November 2006 in Bradenton.
And she is waiting for the state to decide if it will pursue the death
penalty for several other murder defendants. They include Felipe Lopez,
accused of shooting his estranged wife in June near Palmetto, and Thomas
Fast, charged with murdering and dismembering his stepmother in late June
in East Manatee.
Homicide prosecutor Art Brown relishes going against Schlemmer in court.
"I've enjoyed working with Carolyn," he said. "She is very efficient the
way she prepares her cases. She's a respected colleague."
As she prepares to defend others accused of murder, Schlemmer focuses not
on the gruesome side, but on the process. That, she says, is the secret to
"I like the battle," she said.
(source: Bradenton Herald)
Capital murder cases on rise in Wiregrass
Violent crime has climbed to a 2-decade peak in the Dothan area with 18
pending capital murder cases awaiting trial in the 20th Judicial Circuit,
which includes Houston and Henry counties. The Houston/Henry district has
tied Montgomery - a judicial circuit more than twice the Houston/Henry
district's size - with 18 pending capital murder cases. The Lee County
district, which includes Auburn and Opelika, has a population similar to
the Houston/Henry district, but only has 5 capital cases awaiting trial.
Houston/Henry District Attorney Doug Valeska said an increase in violent
crime correlating with population growth has led to a jump in the number
of capital murder cases.
"The town is growing, the circuit is growing and we're a tri-state area
with tremendous traffic from three different states," Valeska said.
"There's more violent evil mean wicked people that are committing horrible
horrendous crimes against society."
As the number of violent offenses has increased so have the number of
capital murder cases.
Valeska called the recent jump in homicides concerning, and hoped that it
would go down. The capital crimes often come as a result of repeat
offenders who have graduated from burglaries and other crimes to murder.
"No doubt it's the largest number the circuit's ever had," Valeska said.
"We're worried about it ... we're talking about people losing their
Ellen Brooks, the Montgomery County district attorney, cited changes in
criminal activity and the law as further reasons for the increase in
"It's the nature of the offense, and the times have changed you're getting
more groups committing offenses," Brooks said. "Several factors have
increased the number of capital cases including the intentional killing of
a child, and what we call the drive by shooting law have dramatically
increased the number of capital cases."
While capital cases in the Dothan area seem have hit a peak Montgomery's
numbers are at their lowest in years, according to Brooks.
"Our actual homicides are increasing, but due to the facts of the cases
... fewer have been charged with capital murder as opposed to murder,"
Brooks said. "The majority of our capital murder cases do appear to be
murder robbery or what I call the drive-by factor where either the victim
is in a vehicle or the shooter is in a vehicle."
The state has several factors to consider when seeking capital murder
including whether more than one homicide was committed, the killing of a
law enforcement officer, whether the killing occurred during the
commission of felony including robbery and rape, murder for hire and the
killing of a child under the age of 14.
After a jury convicts someone of capital murder they have two punishment
choices; the death penalty or life without parole. The judge presiding
over the case has the ultimate say in the determination of punishment.
"I tried four people for the killing of a deputy sheriff," Brooks said.
"We got 4 verdicts all for capital murder."
In that case, 2 were sentenced to death, including the trigger man and the
deputy's wife, the other two were sentenced to life without parole.
Trying a capital murder case often requires months of preparation and at
least a week of court time, which often leads to a backlog in cases.
"I been in the DAs office since 1980, and since 99 when I became DA there
have been more unusual cases," Nick Abbett, the Lee County District
Attorney for Auburn and Opelika, said. "There are so many things now that
the legislation has made capital that you have an unusual amount of
capital cases. The reason you get that kind of backlog is because it takes
about 2 to 3 years to try a capital trial."
It often takes as long as a week to try a capital murder in Houston County
compared to a few days for a non-capital case, which could contribute to
the high number of pending capital murder cases.
Thomas Brantley, a Wiregrass defense attorney, called the number of
homicides "mind boggling." Brantley represents four people charged with
capital murder who are waiting for trial.
"Right now it seems like we've had more capital murder cases in Houston
County in the past couple of years than we've ever had," Brantley said.
"We're talking about an area of the country and state that is a Bible belt
area. I don't know whether it's a comment on crime down here or the
vigilance of law enforcement that they do such a good job of getting the
evidence for a capital murder case."
(source: Dothan Eagle)
Alabama must delay Tommy Arthur's execution, do DNA tests
On my desk sits a file at least 3 inches thick, overflowing with
correspondence from 1 death row inmate. His name is Tommy Arthur, and he
is scheduled to be executed Sept. 27. He is not going gently to his death.
That much is clear just from the envelopes.
One package from 2001, less than a month before his last scheduled
execution date, tells the post office to "RUSH PLEASE." To The News'
mailroom, the envelope provides even larger instructions, bordered by red,
green and pink stripes: "CRITICAL URGENT PLEASE PROCESS UPON RECEIPT."
Balancing the stern commands, in the upper left corner, is a yellow
You recognize an epistle from Arthur from 20 feet. But you never know what
it will contain.
It may be a blistering attack on his own lawyers. It may be a complaint
about prison food and commissary selections. ("Why can't we have access to
a good vitamin like Centrum?" April 2000)
It may be a demand for plastic surgery to fix a scar from a previous
operation, complete with a sketch of his abdomen. Or it may be a furious
screed targeting prison officials who've been removing women-on-women
photos from his porn magazines on the basis that they promote
But one thing remains constant: Arthur insists he didn't commit the crime
for which he was sentenced to death. "DNA will show I'm innocent," he
wrote back in 2004.
Defense lawyers are pleading with Gov. Bob Riley to do the right thing, to
order tests using the DNA technology not available when Arthur was
convicted of killing Troy Wicker in Muscle Shoals.
Riley should do it. Even the victim's sister, Peggy Wicker Jones, is
supporting the effort. "I would like to have as much information as
possible about what happened on the day my brother Troy was murdered," she
said in a statement provided to the governor.
You'd think everyone involved in carrying out this sentence would want the
same thing. You'd think the governor and the attorney general would order
DNA tests in every death penalty case in which it could shed even the
tiniest light. You'd be wrong, though.
The instinct is to resist anything that might call into question an old
conviction. They'd rather execute someone now than wait a few weeks and
have someone label them cuddly on crime.
I'll grant them this: Arthur isn't the most sympathetic inmate on Death
Row. He can be manipulative, demanding and profane.
He admits he was having an affair with Troy Wicker's wife. He admits an
earlier murder, for which he was still in work release when Wicker was
killed. He admits shooting a jailer during an escape.
"I've got a checkered past," Arthur told me in 2001, "but I'm not running
for citizen of the year."
But there are things about this case that make you wonder, things that go
beyond Arthur's denials.
Judy Wicker was accused of paying Arthur to kill her husband for the life
insurance. At first, she blamed the crime on an intruder who she claimed
also raped her. She had injuries consistent with that story, and semen was
present and collected along with other evidence.
Even so, she was convicted of the murder, and she was sentenced to life in
prison. When prosecutors agreed to recommend parole, Judy Wicker changed
her story and testified against Arthur. She got out of prison after 10
years. The prosecutor who recommended parole earlier had been a private
attorney representing Mrs. Wicker.
Legally, other questions arise. Arthur was allowed to cross-examine
witnesses and give closing arguments at trial. At sentencing, he asked for
the death penalty, he says, so the case would get more scrutiny in appeals
courts and he wouldn't end up in the general prison population.
Other issues: hairs and fingerprints found at the scene that didn't match
Arthur's. Questions about times and alibis. The fact Judy Wicker also
implicated her sister and her sister's boyfriend, but they were never
Does this mean Tommy Arthur is innocent? Not necessarily. But it ought to
be enough to hold off on his execution at least long enough to do DNA
tests on the semen and other biological evidence in this case.
He's not the best person in the world. He may not even be the best person
on death row. But that's not the point. It's this: What kind of people are
(source: Birmingham News) *********************
THE ISSUE: Attorney General Troy King is playing politics and payback with
a Shelby County murder case.
Attorney General Troy King should be ashamed of himself. But that would
assume he has any shame. He apparently doesn't.
Otherwise, he wouldn't be playing the worst kind of politics with a
capital murder case, wreaking havoc not just on the defendant and the
courts but also on the emotions of the victims' families.
King seized control of the murder case after a Shelby County judge ruled
the defendant, LaSamuel Gamble, could no longer be constitutionally
sentenced to death. King said he will appeal the judge's decision and
criticized local prosecutor Robby Owens for supporting the lesser
King called Owens' change of heart "incredible and outrageous" and said
the district attorney "acted on the side of the criminal." King's comments
are the ones that are really incredible and outrageous. King well knows
the story behind the story: Because of a U.S. Supreme Court ruling since
Gamble's trial in 1997, it would now be patently unjust to carry out his
death sentence for the 1996 murder of John Burleson and Janice Littleton.
The Supreme Court ruled that people can't be executed for crimes they
committed as juveniles. The ruling doesn't apply to Gamble, but it did
affect his cousin and partner in crime, Marcus Presley, who actually
pulled the trigger during the robbery at John's 280 Pawn.
How fair can it be for the actual killer to escape the ultimate punishment
while his less culpable accomplice is put to death?
King knows: It wouldn't be fair at all. Indeed, in a filing to the Supreme
Court, King raised this very case as an example of the unfairness that
would result if juvenile offenders escaped the death penalty.
"Under that line, Gamble - who was 18 at the time but did not actually
kill anyone - would face the death penalty, but Presley - who at 16
executed 2 people with startling coolness - would get a free pass. Surely
the Eighth Amendment does not, as a matter of constitutional principle,
mandate such a bizarre result," King wrote.
Ironically, Shelby County Circuit Judge Michael Joiner cited King's brief
in ordering a new sentencing hearing for Gamble. Yet now, King wants to
waste the court system's time to reinstate a sentence he himself called
It's a cheap political stand, and it provided King a chance to insult
Owens, a Republican who joined other district attorneys in backing King's
Democratic opponent in the 2006 election.
If King weren't willing to play politics with this issue, the victims'
families might be able to start adjusting to the idea of Gamble being
sentenced to life without parole - the only other sentence allowed in a
capital murder case. Instead, thanks to King, they will be back on the
rollercoaster ride that very well may take them to the same destination.
Shame on King.
(source: Opinion, Birmingham News)
Holton's electrocution may have been the last in the U.S.
Daryl Holton's execution may prove to be the last electrocution in the
United States, according to the chief prosecutor of the Shelbyville man
who shot and killed 4 children nearly 10 years ago.
"If he goes through with this," retired District Attorney Mike McCown said
Tuesday after conferring, on other topics, with one of the men who helped
him prosecute Holton, "he will probably be the last person to receive it."
Holton killed his 3 sons and their half-sister in November 1997. When he
surrendered to police, he said he killed them because they'd be better off
in heaven than being raised by his ex-wife. He chose electrocution because
it was the method of death on the books at the time. He expected it and
reportedly had contempt for attorneys who tried to stop the execution.
"Electrocution has gotten such a bad name that I think they're all trying
to avoid it," McCown said, basing his statement on conversations with
"some people in Nashville." He would not identify them.
The reason there's "a very strong possibility Holton will be the last U.S.
inmate to be electrocuted" is in the nature of state laws and how
electrocution is being phased out, McCown said.
State law says, "Any person who commits an offense prior to Jan. 1, 1999,
for which the person is sentenced to the punishment of death may elect to
be executed by electrocution by signing a written waiver waiving the right
to be executed by lethal injection."
Therefore, execution by lethal injection is mandatory in Tennessee for
those who had committed a capitol offense after 1998. Other states have
They create a class of inmates who have a choice. Holton selected the
method that has, according to McCown's information, become an anathema.
Denunciation of the electric chair as inhumane came Tuesday afternoon. A
petition asked the Tennessee Supreme Court to withdraw its order of
execution. The court said no to scores of lawyers nearly 4 hours before
It was witnessed by Times-Gazette staff writer Clint Confehr. Within a
couple of hours, Professor Robert Blecker of the New York School of Law
reacted to McCown's observation saying, "Nebraska."
That state's sole method of execution is electrocution, but it has far
fewer inmates on death row compared to Tennessee and all have petitions
pending which, if granted, would either delay, commute or otherwise
address administration of the death sentence.
It's easy to argue there's got to be something mentally wrong with a men
who killed 4 innocent children. Holton's father expressed concern for the
mental health system in America, speculating on what might not have
happened to his son and grandchildren.
This state only requires that the condemned know what's going to happen
and why. Holton accepted that social contract. A decade passed before he
was allowed to pay.
A prosecutor still working in this district has said if there was anyone
who deserved execution it was Daryl Holton.
Shelbyville Police Chief Austin Swing recalls Officer Rod Stacy pitched
football with two of Holton's sons across the street from the auto repair
garage where Holton worked and lived. Holton knew the officer and told him
about fire bombs in the garage that were to be used at the ex-wife's home
"We could have officers who got hurt if it weren't for Rod," Chief Swing
There's testimony for community oriented patrol systems.
Shelbyville is emotional and frustrated by the whole chain of events and
won't heal from this for a long time, Swing said. Strong men still weep
for the children.
Holton resisted permitting an autopsy because he believed reports could be
manipulated, Blecker said. Holton relented and according to the Associated
Press, second degree sunburn was the external wound suffered on top of
Holton's head and at his ankles where electricity flowed into and out of
his body for a total of 25 seconds.
Tiny current causes muscle tissue to work. When electricity flowed in
Holton's body muscles stiffened, his legs straightened to be parallel with
a straightened spine that was restrained by seat belts like those of a
pilot strapped in a cockpit and sitting on a parachut.
His heart was stopped quickly. He expected brief pain, Blecker said.
However, it had to be terrible pain and it knocked him out so, without
circulation, he effectively died in his sleep, perhaps with an awful
(source: Shelbyville Times-Gazette)
Death in the Chair, Step by Remorseless Step
The window blinds to the execution chamber are raised shortly after 1 in
the morning, in accordance with the Procedures for Electrocution in the
State of Tennessee. And the condemned man is revealed.
He looks almost like a young child buckled into a car seat, with his
closed eyes and freshly shaved head, with the way the black restraints of
the electric chair crisscross at his torso. He yawns a wide-mouthed yawn,
as though just stirring from an interrupted dream, and opens his eyes.
He is moments from dying.
The cause of death will be cardiac arrest. Every step toward that end will
follow those written state procedures, which strive to lend a kind of
clinical dignity to the electrocution of a human being, yet read like
instructions for jump-starting a car engine. Remember: "A fire
extinguisher is located in the building and is near the electric chair as
Behold Daryl Holton. He is 45. Ten years ago he shot his 4 young children
in his uncle's auto-repair garage, two at a time, through the heart. He
used their very innocence to kill them, telling them not to peek, Daddy
has a surprise. After he was done he turned himself in, saying he wanted
to report a "homicide times 4."
In seeking the execution of this Army veteran, now blinking in the cold,
bright room, the state argued that Mr. Holton committed premeditated
murder, times four, to punish his ex-wife for obtaining an order of
protection and for moving away. He killed his children, so he must be
In defending the life of this man - now pursing his lips, about all that
he can move - his advocates argued that he believed his children were
better off dead than to live in a profoundly troubled home; that he
actually felt relief after pulling a tarpaulin over those four small
bodies. He killed his children, so he must be mentally ill.
All the while, Mr. Holton adhered to a peculiar code of conduct that vexed
all sides. Those fighting for his life often did so against his will.
Those seeking his remorse were unrewarded.
Just days ago he said the crimes for which he was convicted warranted the
death penalty, but he pointedly removed himself from that equation.
Perhaps to suggest the killings were justified; perhaps to keep things
theoretical. No matter. Now, at 1:09 a.m. on Wednesday, Sept. 12, 2007, at
the Riverbend Maximum Security Institution, it is about to happen.
The warden, Ricky J. Bell, stands before him, supervising the first
electrocution in Tennessee since 1960. Prison officials had hoped that Mr.
Holton would choose to die by lethal injection, and had been gently
reminding him of this option. But he maintained that since electrocution
was the only form of capital punishment at the time of his crimes, then
electrocution it should be.
Before the raising of those window blinds, Mr. Holton had started to
hyperventilate, and Mr. Bell had sought to calm him by slightly loosening
the straps. But now it is 1:10, the blinds are up, the clock is running.
In accordance with procedures, the warden asks if the condemned has
something to say.
The inmate's response is so slurred by his hyperventilating that he is
asked to repeat what he has been planning to say for a long time. He says
again, "Two words: I do."
This could be a joke of some kind, a cosmic conundrum, or maybe Mr.
Holton's acceptance into whatever awaits him after life. It could be the
use of his marital vow as a parting shot at his ex-wife, or perhaps a
twisted re-affirmation of his belief in the sanctity of marriage and
The warden asks, "That it?" The inmate nods.
Two corrections officers step forward to place a sponge soaked in salted
water on Mr. Holton's bald scalp to enhance conductivity. Next comes the
headpiece, which the procedures describe as a "leather cranial cap lined
with copper mesh inside." Finally, a power cable, not unlike the cable to
your television, is attached to the headpiece.
The copper mesh pressing wet sponge sends salty water streaming down the
inmate's ashen face, soaking his white cotton shirt to the pale skin
beneath. When officers try to blot him dry with white towels, Mr. Holton
says not to worry about it, "ain't gonna matter anyway."
After the white towels comes a black shroud to be attached to the
headpiece. It is intended in part to protect the dignity of the inmate,
now strapped, soaked and about to die before witnesses. His final
expression, then, will be his own.
With the push of a button on a console labeled Electric Chair Control,
1,750 volts bolt through Mr. Holton's body, jerking it up and dropping it
like a sack of earth. The black shroud offers the slightest flutter, and
witnesses cannot tell whether they have just heard a machine's whoosh or a
15 seconds later, another bolt, and Mr. Holton's body rises even higher,
slumps even lower. His reddened hands remain gripped to the arms of the
chair, whose oaken pieces are said to have once belonged to the old
electric chair, and before that, to the gallows.
It is 1:17. Procedures require a 5-minute pause at this point. A prison
official off to the side watches a digital clock on the wall while chewing
something, perhaps gum, perhaps to calm his nerves. 2 minutes, 3, 4, the
only things moving in the room are his eyes and his jaw, five. The window
blinds drop, and a physician begins a private examination.
Later, in the foggy darkness outside the prison, someone will read a
statement from the ex-wife, Crystal Holton, in which she says that all the
anger and hatred can finally leave her, to be replaced by a child's
innocent love - "love times 4."
Later, well after sunrise, Kelly Gleason, one of the lawyers who fought to
keep Mr. Holton alive, will set aside her mourning for a friend and give
in to fitful sleep.
Later, in the hot afternoon some 50 miles to the south, 4 polished
tombstones will again cast shadows toward a playground at the bottom of a
cemetery's hill. Arranged in order of age, the stones bear the names of
the 4 Holton children: Stephen, 12, Brent, 10, Eric, 6, and Kayla, 4.
But first confirmation, in accordance with procedures. And now the
disembodied voice of Tennessee: "Ladies and gentlemen, this concludes the
legal execution of Daryl Holton. The time of death, 1:25. Please exit."
(source: New York Times)
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