[Deathpenalty] death penalty news----OKLA., UTAH, USA

[Rick Halperin]

Nov. 11



OKLAHOMA:

Oklahoma Death Row Inmate Richard Glossip Details His Execution 
Experience----"It is torture beyond what anybody can believe."


For 50-days straight, florescent lights bore into the small concrete cell where 
Oklahoma death row inmate Richard Glossip was being held while awaiting his 
execution.

In accordance with Oklahoma Department of Corrections execution protocol, he 
had been taken to a unit closer in proximity to the actual death chamber. 
There, Glossip was to spend the remaining weeks of his life in isolation - a 
windowless cell where the lights remained on at all hours of the day.

That is where inmates scheduled for execution spend their final 35-days of 
life. Glossip, however, was allotted an extra two weeks after courts postponed 
his initial execution date to evaluate a last-minute appeal from his attorneys. 
As a result, Glossip spent 50 total days in that holding cell instead.

He still had not been granted a hearing on the evidence his attorneys believe 
will prove he did not hire a man to kill his boss - the crime he was charged 
with back in 1997 - but his execution would still be halted at the last moment.

Oklahoma officials discovered hours before Glossip's scheduled execution that 
they had obtained the incorrect lethal injection drugs. Glossip is now one of 
the few to experience what leads up to execution - and lived to tell about it.

"It is real torture," Glossip says over the phone from death row. He remains 
surprisingly upbeat throughout the conversation. "I think it is done to make 
you say, 'Man, get me in that room and get this over with. Because it is hell. 
It really is."

For those 50-days, he says it was difficult to sleep without a reprieve from 
the constant harsh lighting. He hardly ate the food he describes as inedible 
and often forgot basic necessities like water. He struggled to cope under the 
constant gaze of the guard who was tasked with documenting his every move.

"It really messes with your head,' Glossip shares. "I still look over my 
shoulder to see if someone is watching me."

Glossip explains that at times he would try to sit completely still on his bunk 
just so he could avoid witnessing the guard logging his last days alive.

As time went by, teams of guards began rehearsing for Glossip's execution as he 
watched from his cell.

He says he tried to distract himself by maintaining a routine and a positive 
attitude. Every morning, he would tidy up his cell. He would talk on the phone 
when he was able to. And he would read the Bible. It was the only book he says 
he was allowed to have in his cell - even though the Oklahoma Department of 
Corrections protocol permits inmates to keep reading material with them. A 
spokesman for the DOC denies the allegation that Glossip was not allowed to 
have any other books.

"I'd try to do anything to keep my mind occupied," Glossip says. "Even in a 
horrible place like this, I would always wake up and make sure that I have a 
purpose for every day."

Oklahoma has executed a total of 191 men and 3 women between 1915 and 2014.

Before being transferred to a new cell closer to the death chamber, all 
property belonging to prisoners is confiscated and placed in storage. They are 
allowed only family photographs, letters from family, paper, and a safety ink 
pen.

Glossip says the most difficult part for him was surrendering his mp3 player. 
Before being transferred, he relied on music as a mental escape, sometimes 
listening for hours at a time to rock music ("I'm a rocker at heart") and 
artists like Modest Mouse, the Cold War Kids, Ryan Adams, and X Ambassadors.

"[The system] don't want you thinking about anything but what is going to 
happen to you I think," Glossip says. "They want you to have that in your head 
when they kill you - they are going to make sure you know you are going to 
die."

Once inside the new cell, inmates are issued new clothes, new bedding, and a 
limited amount of hygiene products that are administered on a daily basis. 
After that, there's nothing left to do but wait.

On the evening before execution, prisoners are given a budget of $45 and 
allowed to order their last meal. Glossip chose to order Domino's Pizza - a 
company he spent 11 years working for before going to prison.

"[The system] don't want you thinking about anything but what is going to 
happen to you I think. They want you to have that in your head when they kill 
you - they are going to make sure you know you are going to die."

"I used to travel all over for Domino's and sometimes it didn't taste the same 
depending on how you made it," Glossip adds. "But I gotta say: I was pretty 
impressed with Domino's here. It was really good."

But Glossip didn't want to eat alone. Instead, he chose to share his meal with 
the guards.

"They said, 'No, we can't eat your last meal!'" he recalls. "But I looked at it 
like, I just wanted to enjoy that night and share it with others. I don't know 
if that sounds strange, but it is just the way I felt."

The next morning, Glossip was awakened at around 3:30 AM. It's part of 
execution procedure to begin the protocol 12 hours out from when the lethal 
injection will be administered. He was then taken for a full-body medical 
evaluation, where he was X-rayed and strip-searched.

Glossip estimates that it took about 30-minutes before he was placed in a new 
cell even closer to the death chamber.

This cell is where inmates spend their final hours. It is equipped with a 
mattress, a sheet, and a pillow, but no personal items are allowed.

"You are just in that cell and it is just like a morgue," Glossip describes. 
"It was ice cold in there."

It wasn't until 1 PM the day of his scheduled execution when the Department of 
Corrections (DOC) would call the attorney general's office to report that they 
had received the incorrect drugs. Potassium acetate was on hand instead of the 
approved potassium chloride, which is the part of the state's controversial 
drug cocktail used to stop a prisoner's heart.

3 hours later, Oklahoma Gov. Mary Fallin would officially stop the execution. 
At approximately 4 PM, she issued a 37-day stay to allow the DOC to conduct an 
investigation into how the drug mix-up occurred.

Glossip, however, wasn't kept in the loop. Not long before he was to be taken 
into the execution chamber, guards came to his cell to confiscate his clothes. 
Had the execution proceeded, he would have been given a hospital gown to change 
into before being put on the gurney.

Instead, clad only in his underwear, he waited, wondering what was going on 
outside the walls of his cell. He describes the day as chaotic.

"I kept asking people what was going on," he says. "Nobody would tell me 
anything, but I knew something was up because the guys in suits were coming out 
to talk to the guards. It was pretty interesting watching the interaction 
between them and I knew something was happening, but I didn't know what."

10 minutes before 3 PM - the scheduled time of his execution - he could hear 
his fellow death row inmates pounding on their cells. It was their way of 
saying goodbye.

"Before an execution, [death row inmates] start kicking and beating on the 
doors," he explains. "It is a send-off - so you know people are thinking of you 
as you are going through what you are going through - letting you know that you 
aren't alone. These guys hadn't heard that I had gotten a stay. I didn't even 
hear myself."

Glossip says around 5:30 PM, he was moved from the unit adjacent to the death 
chamber and placed back in the 1st cell. He didn't fully understand what was 
going on until he saw the words scroll across a television screen mounted on 
the wall, blaring the news.

"I'd try to do anything to keep my mind occupied. Even in a horrible place like 
this, I would always wake up and make sure that I have a purpose for every 
day."

"The bottom of the TV says, 'Richard Glossip was granted a 37-day stay by 
Governor Fallin,'" he says. "I still had no clue of what it was that actually 
stopped the execution."

The 50-day-long execution experience was over - at least for now. Oklahoma 
officials have agreed that they won't reschedule the execution until at least 
150 days after the conclusion of their investigation.

Until then, Glossip has been returned to death row. Now housed back in his 
former cell, he no longer has to spend sleepless nights under the lights in 
isolation - but those stressors, he says, continue to take a toll.

"When I looked at myself in the mirror for the 1st time, I was really in total 
shock," Glossip describes. "I looked like somebody who just walked out of a war 
camp. Just skin stretched over a skeleton."

Now, more than a month later, he says he is still struggling to put on weight. 
Though he is 6-feet-tall, Glossip shares that he plummeted to 130 lbs. at his 
lowest weight. Still, he is now grateful to be able to flip the lights on and 
off - something he did repeatedly when he was finally given the chance.

"I turned the light switch on and off a few times. I thought I only did it 
once," he explains.

The guard grew concerned and asked him what was going on.

"I go, 'I am just turning the switch to make sure the light goes off.' I 
thought I only did it once but he said I did it several times. [The guard] just 
didn't quite understand, but when you are in a place where you can't turn the 
light off for such a long period of time."

He pauses a beat before adding, "I just had to make sure that light would go 
off."

Glossip's legal team is hoping the extra time allotted by the execution stay 
will enable them to prove their client is innocent. He says he maintains faith 
that his team of attorneys will find something that will enable him to go home. 
Glossip hopes he won't have to endure the process again.

Even if Glossip's team succeeds and he again escapes execution, Glossip vows he 
will use his life to fight against capital punishment.

"I want people to understand what [inmates] are having to go through before you 
take their life from them," he explains. "I definitely don't want anybody else 
go through this - it's just not right."

(source: upvoted.com)






UTAH:

Utah man accused of killing ex-wife's new husband still not competent for trial


A Lindon man accused of killing his ex-wife's new husband last year is still 
not competent to stand trial.

Fred Richard Lee, 60, is charged in 4th District Court with 1st-degree felony 
aggravated murder - which carries the possibility of the death penalty - and 8 
other felonies related to a July 2014 rampage at a Lindon townhouse complex.

The defendant was in court Tuesday for a competency review hearing, and another 
review was set for May 17, 2016.

Lee was found incompetent to stand trial in February, according to court 
records, but a bed was not available for him at the Utah State Hospital until 
August.

On the evening of July 3, 2014, Lee allegedly went door to door at the 
townhouse complex with a shotgun and a handgun, and broke into 3 apartments, 
while searching for his ex-wife, according to charging documents.

At the 1st apartment, he encountered 42-year-old Mike Sidwell, who attempted to 
stop Lee from entering the townhouse, about 166 N. 400 West, which he had 
shared for about 5 years with his wife, who is Lee's ex, according to charging 
documents.

But Lee reached into the home and shot Sidwell twice, according to charging 
documents. Sidwell died at the scene.

After the shooting, Lee allegedly went to 2 other neighboring apartments 
looking for his ex-wife, but never found her, so he left the area.

Police found him shortly after, and he allegedly admitted that if he had found 
his ex-wife he would have killed her and then himself, charges state. Lee also 
said that he had not killed himself because his mission was not complete 
because he "did not get" his ex-wife, according to charges.

(source: Salt Lake Tribune)






USA:

Report: Veteran Mental Health Ignored in Capital Cases


Veterans sentenced to death in Texas murder cases - and nationwide - might have 
escaped the punishment if juries had been told about their military service and 
any ensuing mental health problems, according to a Death Penalty Information 
Center report released Tuesday.

About 300 veterans are on death rows across the country, Richard C. Dieter, the 
center's senior program director, found in his report "Battle Scars: Military 
Veterans and the Death Penalty," released on the eve of Veterans Day. The Texas 
Department of Criminal Justice says it knows of 15 Texas death row inmates who 
are veterans.

"PTSD is not an excuse for all criminal acts, but it is a serious mental and 
emotional disorder that should be a strong mitigating factor against imposing 
the death penalty," Dieter says. But often juries, judges and even a 
defendant's own lawyer might not know about a veteran's mental condition, he 
said.

The report cites several examples of veterans who have been executed or 
sentenced to death in Texas with little or no consideration of their mental 
state.

--Vietnam War veteran Robert Black was executed in 1992 for killing his wife. 
His trial attorneys knew about his PTSD diagnosis but did not present the 
evidence out of fear it would hurt his case.

--In 1995, Gulf War veteran Louis Jones Jr. kidnapped, sexually assaulted and 
killed a woman from Goodfellow Air Force Base. He did not have a criminal 
record. He was executed in 2003. Jones was exposed to nerve gas in Iraq and 
suffered post-traumatic stress, according to attorneys.

--Timothy Adams was executed in 2011 for shooting and killing his son after his 
wife threatened to leave him. He was a veteran with no previous criminal 
record. His mental state related to service is not available.

--Cleve Foster was executed for rape and murder in 2012. His attorneys did not 
investigate his military service background, but he was diagnosed with PTSD.

--Death row inmate John Thuesen, who killed his ex-girlfriend and her brother, 
was sentenced to death in 2010. He is awaiting a ruling on whether he will 
receive a new trial after a Brazos County District Court judge ruled evidence 
of his service-related mental illness was not thoroughly presented in his 
double-murder trial.

Not every veteran has seen combat, said Kathryn Kase, executive director of 
Texas Defender Service, which represents death row inmates. But those who 
served and saw combat often face difficulties bringing that information into a 
trial, she added.

"Part of this is jurors can't know about military service," Kase said. "They 
can't know if somebody has served his country unless his lawyers actually go 
and look for that information and obtain the records. And the further back it 
is, the more difficult it is to obtain complete records."

But military experience should factor into consideration of a defendant's 
mental state in capital cases, Kase said. "That ought to be taken into account 
before we decide whether they should live or die."

(source: Texas Tribune)