[Deathpenalty] death penalty news----CALIF., OHIO, N.J., ARK.

[Rick Halperin]

May 6


CALIFORNIA:

Bishop brings 'freedom' to death row inmate


NOTE: Photographs available at http://umns.umc.org.

Andre Burton, 44, has spent all of his adult life in a small steel cell.
He has been on death row since he was 19.

But when United Methodist Bishop Beverly J. Shamana went to visit him in
San Quentin State Prison in California, Burton told her she brought
freedom.

Shamana, president of the United Methodist Board of Church and Society and
episcopal leader of the San Francisco area, shared her experience at the
opening plenary of the board's spring meeting, April 26-29.

"He seemed genuinely pleased and thankful, grateful that I was there," she
said. "I just kept asking myself over and over again - what do you say to
yourself day after day, week after week, when this is your life?"

The United Methodist Church marked 50 years of opposition to capital
punishment in 2006, and the Council of Bishops asked each active bishop to
visit an inmate on death row. It took a year to gain permission to visit
death row, but Shamana fulfilled that goal when she saw Burton in March.

Her role, she said, was to bring him the unconditional love of God, "and
to be able say that I come from a church that does not believe you should
get capital punishment ... no matter what you did."

Burton was convicted and sentenced to death for fatally shooting Gulshakar
Khwaja of Long Beach, Calif., as she ran to help her son, whom police said
was shot in the eye by Burton during a 1983 robbery in front of his
mother's house. Burton has maintained his innocence and denied that he
confessed to police.

In 1997, the California Supreme Court heard his case, including an order
challenging the attorney general's office to show cause why his murder
conviction and death sentence should not be overturned. The grounds for
the order were that he "was denied the right to present a defense at the
guilt phase of the trial."

"Andre and his lawyers await the court's decision," she said. "2 of the 5
justices agreed with his appeal. Andre has not lost hope."

Powerful experience

"I'm still processing what happened," Shamana said of her prison visit.

When she returned to the car, her husband asked her how it went. "I
couldn't even speak, I could not speak, I had no words to describe," she
recalled. "I could not form a thought that I could say. It was just such a
powerful experience at such a deep level."

The bishop said visiting Burton made the United Methodist Social
Principles come alive for her. "It made it so much more real to me when
you talk about restorative justice because death row prisoners cannot take
part in any of the education or seminars or anything that are offered to
others," she said.

Shamana realized early in the visit that Burton needed conversation and to
connect with another person.

"I didn't feel like a bishop when I was in there," she said. "I don't know
how I was supposed to feel or expected to feel. I felt like a person who
loves God, who knows Jesus, talking to another person."

Shamana expects to visit Burton again and plans to send him the church's
position on capital punishment found in paragraph 164G of the 2004 Book of
Discipline.

At the close of their visit, Burton asked Shamana for the church's
prayers.

"I bring you his request," she told the board.

(source: United Methodist News Service--Kathy Gilbert is a United
Methodist News Service news writer based in Nashville, Tenn.)

*******************

Memory of last hanging in Calaveras County lives on----Truth, legend and
mystery converge in story


The chain mail that George Washington Cox wore when he turned himself in
for shooting to death his son-in-law is still on display in the museum
that occupies the old courthouse here.

Nearby, at the Calaveras County archives, people can see a printed
invitation to his Aug. 31, 1888, execution - the last public execution in
Calaveras County. They can check out the courthouse behind which the
gallows were constructed and Cox was hanged.

But Cox's memory also lives on in a private, intimate way among his
descendents who preserve his story, meditate on its meaning and sometimes
even visit his grave.

Cox descendents said that musing on familial bloodshed is painful, even
more than a century later. Yet the value of connecting to the past
outweighs that pain.

That Cox shot son-in-law Henry Cook in the heart on Nov. 3, 1887, is not
in doubt. Descendants say Cox believed his wife and Cook were having an
affair. But whether he came to that conclusion on his own or with some
help is a subject of family lore.

Joette Farrand of Palo Alto, a great-great-granddaughter of Cox, said she
was told Cox was set up by business partners who wanted him out of the
way.

"I think there was some shenanigans there, because they probably knew he
was a hothead," Farrand said.

As time and generations have passed, however, family perspectives on Cox
have evolved. Farrand's 2nd cousin Lee Rude, also a great-great-grandchild
of Cox, heard as a child that Cox had been gone for 12 years, returning
only just before Cook's shooting.

Cox's own jailhouse account of those years, reproduced in a Calaveras
Prospect article the day of his execution, was one of drifting from job to
job, mostly in mines in Southern California and Arizona. Cox told the
newspaper he returned to Calaveras County to get revenge "for the injuries
done me." He stopped in San Francisco on the way to buy the chain mail and
weapons.

But Jan Cook, another Cox descendent, said she found evidence that Cox was
still working in Northern California at times when he claimed to be
elsewhere. She suspects Cox himself was not able to keep track of where he
had been.

The newspaper article from the day of his execution notes that Cox was "a
rambling talker incapable of concentrating his mind upon any one subject
for any length of time" and was also "weak in mental power."

What is clear is that the shots Cox fired echoed for generations. The 1st
pierced Henry Cook's chest. The 2nd shattered a plate in front of Cox's
6-year-old grandson, who was eating.

Lydia Daggett was Jan Cook's grandmother. Cook said that Lydia Daggett
went to her grave without telling her son (Jan Cook's father) or anyone
else about the killing in the family.

Jan Cook and other family members found out in 1977 after a visit to Cox's
grave in San Andreas. They saw a grave monument describing Cox as a
"Martyr to the changing 6-gun law" - a reference to legislation that
eliminated the defense of family members as a valid reason for shooting
someone to death. Cox argued at his trial that shooting his son-in-law was
a way to defend his family. He also told a newspaper reporter after the
trial that his suspicions of Henry Cook turned out to be "without
foundation."

"That was about 30 years ago that we found that, and (Lydia Daggett Clark)
had been dead for 20 years by that time. I would have like to ask her
about that" shooting, Jan Cook said.

Instead, Jan Cook began sifting through newspaper articles and other
documents to learn more.

In one family tale, Cox's last words were, "If I deserve hanging, I will
hang myself," and that he tripped the trap door mechanism and died. The
newspaper reported Cox saying, "I'm not sorry for anything I've done" and
then "For ..... give me a little air," before the trap door was opened.

Jan Cook said she keeps a photograph of Mary Crapo Cox, George Washington
Cox's widow, on her desk at work. She thinks of Mary Crapo Cox raising
children, grazing goats, taking in laundry and caring for orphaned
relatives without a husband's help.

"It is kind of hard to think about that someone that close to you in your
ancestry was not a good person," Jan Cook said. "But we are not
responsible for what they did."

(source: Stockton Record)






OHIO:

Raising the quality of justice


When the state of Ohio put James Fili aggi to death last month, at least
there was no doubt that he had killed his former wife, Lisa, in 1994. He
never denied it; his defense was based on his mental state, not an alibi.
Finally, Filiaggi seemed resigned to paying the ultimate price.

But others on death row, in Ohio and throughout the country, maintain
their innocence to the bitter end. Most are doubtless lying, perhaps even
to themselves. But a society that imposes capital punishment - a sentence
this editorial board has long opposed - must always ask: What if this
person is innocent? Could there be a greater miscarriage of justice than
the state taking a life in error?

Those questions seem especially relevant now. Last month, an Illinois
judge wiped out the conviction of Jerry Miller, an Army veteran who spent
25 years behind bars for a rape that new DNA evidence proved he did not
commit. Miller's was the 200th conviction overturned using DNA since 1989,
according to the Innocence Project. Those exonerations come from 31
states. 6 were in Ohio. 14 of them rescued men from death rows. A quarter
overturned cases in which the defendant had confessed. 60 % of the wrongly
convicted defendants were black, like Miller, or Latino.

Attorneys with the Innocence Project, a New York-based group that has
played a role in many of the DNA exonerations, say these 200 cases are
just the tip of the iceberg. They argue that if science can prove this
many convictions baseless, it at least implies that many more were as
well. That logic infuriates prosecutors, who insist that mistakes at trial
are rare and those that do occur represent only the tiniest sliver of
cases. And yet even aberrations cry out for explanation, especially when a
defendant's life may be at stake.

Several states have established criminal justice reform commissions
comprising leading attorneys, judges and legal scholars. They review every
mistaken conviction to see what went wrong and, when appropriate, suggest
changes in investigative or judicial procedures to safeguard against
future errors. Since many of the wrongful convictions disproved by DNA
were based on mistaken eyewitnesses - think locally of the Michael Green
case - several states are considering changing the way lineups and other
identification efforts are conducted. In New Jersey, concern about false
confessions led the state attorney general to order police to videotape
interrogations related to violent crimes.

Ohio Attorney General Marc Dann says he is open to suggestions that might
improve the quality of justice. He also says it might be time for the
state to examine the death penalty with an eye to whether it serves the
interests of crime victims and society. That would be useful, as would a
review panel to follow up on wrongful convictions.

If Ohio, or any other state, wants to be in the execution business, it had
better be sure that those on death row belong there.

(source: Opinion, The Plain Dealer)





***************

Raising the quality of justice


When the state of Ohio put James Fili aggi to death last month, at least
there was no doubt that he had killed his former wife, Lisa, in 1994. He
never denied it; his defense was based on his mental state, not an alibi.
Finally, Filiaggi seemed resigned to paying the ultimate price.

But others on death row, in Ohio and throughout the country, maintain
their innocence to the bitter end. Most are doubtless lying, perhaps even
to themselves. But a society that imposes capital punishment - a sentence
this editorial board has long opposed - must always ask: What if this
person is innocent? Could there be a greater miscarriage of justice than
the state taking a life in error?

Those questions seem especially relevant now. Last month, an Illinois
judge wiped out the conviction of Jerry Miller, an Army veteran who spent
25 years behind bars for a rape that new DNA evidence proved he did not
commit.

Miller's was the 200th conviction overturned using DNA since 1989,
according to the Innocence Project. Those exonerations come from 31
states. 6 were in Ohio. Fourteen of them rescued men from death rows. A
quarter overturned cases in which the defendant had confessed. Sixty
percent of the wrongly convicted defendants were black, like Miller, or
Latino.

Attorneys with the Innocence Project, a New York-based group that has
played a role in many of the DNA exonerations, say these 200 cases are
just the tip of the iceberg. They argue that if science can prove this
many convictions baseless, it at least implies that many more were as
well. That logic infuriates prosecutors, who insist that mistakes at trial
are rare and those that do occur represent only the tiniest sliver of
cases. And yet even aberrations cry out for explanation, especially when a
defendant's life may be at stake.

Several states have established criminal justice reform commissions
comprising leading attorneys, judges and legal scholars. They review every
mistaken conviction to see what went wrong and, when appropriate, suggest
changes in investigative or judicial procedures to safeguard against
future errors. Since many of the wrongful convictions disproved by DNA
were based on mistaken eyewitnesses - think locally of the Michael Green
case - several states are considering changing the way lineups and other
identification efforts are conducted. In New Jersey, concern about false
confessions led the state attorney general to order police to videotape
interrogations related to violent crimes.

Ohio Attorney General Marc Dann says he is open to suggestions that might
improve the quality of justice. He also says it might be time for the
state to examine the death penalty with an eye to whether it serves the
interests of crime victims and society. That would be useful, as would a
review panel to follow up on wrongful convictions.

If Ohio, or any other state, wants to be in the execution business, it had
better be sure that those on death row belong there.

(source: Opinion, Cleveland Plain Dealer)

************************

Ex-Huron murderer ready, willing to die


Christopher Newton, 37, formerly of Huron, talks with the Sandusky
Register at Mansfield Correctional Institution Wed., April 25, 2007. He is
scheduled to be executed May 24 for the November 2001 murder of Jason
Brewer, his cellmate at Mansfield.

Rain pours from ominous gray clouds.

Inside the massive Mansfield Correctional Institution a man impatiently
waits to die. But first, he wants to bare his soul this late April
morning.

For his visitors, the path to death row starts at the entry building,
where those with prior clearance are scanned and searched. A soggy golf
cart ride through a maze of iron, steel and concrete delivers you to death
row's door. A series of codes and signatures gains access to the inner
corridors.

A small table, microwave and a humming mini-fridge adorn the death row
break room, where the interview is to take place.

Former Huron resident Christopher Newton -- weighing nearly 300 pounds
with a half-goatee and dark hair speckled with gray -- shuffles in. His
leg irons are shackled to the floor with a clang.

The 37-year-old looks forward to May 24, the day the state will execute
him for murdering his cellmate 5 years ago. During the early morning hours
of Nov. 15, 2001, Newton strangled and stomped Jason Brewer to death and
drank his blood. When officers arrived at the cell, Newton screamed,
"Welcome to the house of death!"

His day of atonement nears. He wants to explain how a life filled with
promise was reduced to an inmate number: A378-452.

After nervous laughter and throat clearing, Newton reads the letter he
sent to the Register, in which he extended an invitation for an interview.
With swollen bloodshot eyes that seem to plead for understanding, he tells
his story.

(source: Sandusky Register)






NEW JERSEY:

New Jersey to consider abolishing death penalty


New Jersey is set to consider becoming the 1st state to abolish the death
penalty legislatively since capital punishment was reinstated 31 years
ago.

A Senate committee is slated Thursday to consider replacing the death
penalty with life imprisonment without parole.

The initiative stems from a January report from a special commission
appointed by the Legislature. The panel determined New Jersey's death
penalty costs taxpayers more than paying for prisoners to serve life terms
and concluded there was no evidence the death penalty deters people from
committing murders.

"There is increasing evidence that the death penalty is inconsistent with
evolving standards of decency," the report said.

Gov. Jon S. Corzine favors abolishing the death penalty, as do Democratic
leaders of both houses of the Legislature.

"The death penalty simply doesn't work as a deterrent and the risks and
costs involved far outweigh any benefits it may bring to our society,"
said death penalty foe Sen. Shirley Turner, D-Mercer. "The fact is, there
is no way to guarantee that an innocent man or woman would not be wrongly
executed. As a society, we cannot risk the lives of the innocent to exact
punishment on those who are guilty."

The state has 9 men on death row, but hasn't executed anyone since 1963.

A death penalty moratorium was imposed in late 2005 when the law creating
the commission was passed.

Republicans plan to fight the legislation.

"It is beyond reprehensible that they are even proposing that cop killers,
child rapists and murderers and terrorists will not face the ultimate
punishment if they commit their crimes in New Jersey," said Sen. Nicholas
Asselta, R-Cumberland.

Family members of murder victims have decried the report's findings.

Marilyn Flax has recalled phone conversations with John Martini Sr., who
was convicted in 1991 of kidnapping Fair Lawn warehouse manager Irving
Flax and killing him after getting $25,000 of a $100,000 ransom.

"The last words I heard from my husband, in a piercing, screaming voice,
were 'Give him the money, or he'll kill me."' she said.

She said allowing Martini to live would be an insult.

"I just think it's a shame that people are going to have to pay year after
year to keep to keep these people in prison," said Maureen Kanka, who led
a national movement for communities to be notified when sex offenders move
nearby after her 7-year-old daughter Megan was murdered by a sex offender
in 1994.

Turner said money saved by abolishing the death penalty should go toward
strengthening programs to help victim's families.

The proposed legislation would repeal the death penalty in New Jersey and
replace it with life imprisonment without eligibility for parole.

Current death row inmates would be resentenced to life imprisonment
without parole in a maximum security prison.

If lawmakers and Corzine implement the commission's recommendation, New
Jersey would become the 13th state without a death penalty. New Jersey was
the 3rd state to impose a death penalty moratorium to study the issue,
behind Maryland and Illinois.

"New Jersey has moved beyond the need for punishments based on revenge
rather than justice," Turner said. "We are a decent, compassionate people
who would rather see the most heinous criminals locked up for eternity
than executed."

(source: Associated Press)






ARKANSAS:

Life With The Death Penalty----Despite State's Efforts, Few Convicted
Murderers Ever Executed


Seeking the ultimate punishment is expensive, time consuming, stressful to
everyone involved. And rare.

Washington County is seeking the death penalty for Abon Tili, who is
accused of raping and killing a 10-year-old Springdale girl left in his
care. If successful, Tili could be the 1st person from Washington County
to be executed for murder since 1920.

There's nothing easy about the death penalty.

Getting a jury to return the death penalty in a murder case is hard, as it
should be, according to judges, prosecutors and defense attorneys who have
handled capital punishment cases. The very process of trying such cases
takes a toll on everyone involved.

"It ought to be hard," said Benton County Circuit Judge David Clinger, who
had capital cases as both a prosecutor and judge. "A lot of people don't
understand that the mere act of premeditated murder does not in and of
itself qualify for the death penalty."

Since 1845 there have been 8 people from Washington County executed and 7
from Benton County. Benton County has 1 murderer, Don Davis, on death row.

In Arkansas, district prosecutors make the call on whether to seek the
death penalty. It's based on specific aggravating circumstances set out in
law.

Washington County Prosecuting Attorney John Threet made the decision to
seek the death penalty in Tili's case. It's the 2nd time Threet has asked
for the death penalty since he was elected in November. He said there's
only been a handful of cases since he joined the prosecutor's office as a
deputy in 1992 in which a strong argument could be made for the death
penalty.

Death penalty cases are also rare statewide.

"It's reserved for only the most heinous murders -- and it should be. It
should be hard to get. I don't argue that it should be made easy to get
the death penalty on someone," Threet said. "But, I don't think as a
prosecutor, you should ignore such laws when it's going to be an advantage
to the victim's family and the prosecution's case."

The wishes of the victim's family are a major factor in his decision,
Threet said.

"There have been several cases under the law that would match up under the
aggravating and mitigating circumstances for the death penalty but that
wasn't something the victim's family was for," Threet said. "Some are
adamantly opposed."

Former 4th Judicial District Prosecutor Terry Jones said he filed 3 or 4
death penalty cases, but the defendants agreed to plead out to life in
prison on each occasion so he didn't see the need to go forward.

"We didn't have anything that was so abjectly bad that it really demanded
it, I don't think," Jones said. "We didn't have any serial killers or
anything like that."

Jones said there's a reason he rarely sought the death penalty.

"I don't think the death penalty as we operate is much of a deterrent,"
Jones said. "I just kind of think that there ought to be an ultimate
penalty where we say you don't deserve to be here, you don't need to be
among us."

Clinger, who got death penalty verdicts against five people while
prosecutor, three of whom have been executed, said there were other Benton
County cases in which he decided against seeking the death penalty even
though arguments could have been made for it.

"I just didn't think it was appropriate to try and go through the time and
expense to seek the death penalty and I just thought it would be futile,"
Clinger said. "In those cases in which I had good aggravating
circumstances, I went for it. But, it was not easy or on a whim."

The process is similar for defense attorneys, according to Tim Buckley and
Kent McLemore, who handled 11 death penalty cases between them and have
cases pending in Benton and Carroll counties.

"The 1st thing I want to do is see what the facts are that make it a
capital case and if it's a bonafide capital case, I start worrying,"
Buckley said. "Usually when you get that call, do you want to take a death
penalty case, the facts are pretty slam dunk. Usually there's 4 or 5
witnesses, a confession -- I mean no doubt about who did it. Then the
question is what's the best I can do for my client, a life sentence most
of the time is it."

The top priority, obviously, is keeping your client alive.

"When we get these cases we all try to agree, including the client, that
avoiding the death penalty is the number one goal and if we can do better
than that, that's great," McLemore said. "Which means we've got to start
thinking about mitigating from the very beginning."

Convincing someone that it's in their best interest to take a deal that
puts them behind bars for the rest of their life isn't easy.

"We try to explain to them that there's a whole lot of difference between
doing life in the general population in prison and being on death row,"
Buckley said.

Buckley and McLemore do a better job than most defending death penalty
cases. They haven't had a client receive the death penalty yet. One
client, Troy Wilson, was acquitted outright in Boone County. Wilson was
accused of murdering Bettine Reisky de Dubnic, a great-granddaughter of
department store founder Marshall Field, in 1999 near the Bull Shoals
community.

"If that's the criteria, we haven't lost one," McLemore said. "We both
hope that we never have the experience of going down to see one of our
clients executed."

But in death cases, the defendant isn't the only person feeling stressed
in the courtroom.

Buckley said the Wilson case was the most stressful he's ever tried.

"From the time the jury went out until they came back some 8 or 9 hours
later was the worst experience I've ever had in my life," Buckley said. "I
didn't have anything to do but worry and fret. Did I do everything I could
have done? What did I leave out? I bet I walked 10 miles. When the jury
announced the verdict, I whooped like a little girl. That was the biggest
relief I've ever had."

>From a strictly technical standpoint, death penalty cases generate lots of
paper and take a long time. Rather than 3 or 4 motions filed in a normal
capital case, there can be 50 or more in a death penalty case, Clinger
said. Jury selection can take weeks because a "death qualified jury," who
are people not opposed to the death penalty, is required.

"You know going in that there are a lot of issues that you're going to
litigate that you don't even talk about in any other kind of case,"
Buckley said. "Everything's magnified and exaggerated."

Judges, too, feel the pressure of death cases.

For every judge, it's a hard job because you've got to really, really be
sure and not let any irrelevant evidence in because the court's really
going to scrutinize that (on appeal)," said Mahlon Gibson, a retired
Washington County prosecuting attorney and circuit judge who handled three
death cases. "I don't think a judge relishes the thought of sentencing
someone to die. But, that's the law and I think, in certain circumstances,
it's justified. That's the job you agreed to, you swore to uphold the law
and that's part of it."

The death sentences obtained by Gibson were all commuted or overturned on
appeal.

Murder cases also affect the families involved.

"We do a lot of focusing on the families of victims but in many, many ways
the family of the accused are victims also," said anti-death penalty
advocate Betsy Wright. "When a murder happens, 2 families are practically
destroyed, ripped apart."

Wright, who is also a mitigation specialist in death penalty cases, also
doesn't believe the death penalty is applied uniformly. She said the
state's system of charging capital murder is broken and won't be fair
until there are uniform standards for local prosecutors to apply when
filing capital cases.

*************************

A Collection of History on the Arkansas Death Penalty


Not everyone hanged in Washington County made it to the gallows because
mobs sometimes took matters into their own hands.

A black slave accused of killing his owner, a man identified only as
Mullis, outside Fayetteville was lynched by a mob In 1860 after being
taken from the Washington County Jail. The slave and the Mullis' wife had
allegedly conspired in the killing. The wife narrowly avoided the same
fate.

In 1856, Dr. James Boone was beaten to death by 3 slaves, 2 of his own and
1 belonging to a neighbor.

Boone's sons allegedly took the 2 slaves that belonged to their father
from the Washington County Jail and lynched them. The 3rd was tried,
convicted and hanged.

Supreme Court Ruling

In 1972, the U.S. Supreme Court ruled in Furman v. Georgia the death
penalty was unconstitutional.

The 5-4 ruling said the death penalty constituted cruel and inhumane
punishment. Justices also ruled that judges and juries in death penalty
cases had too much discretion, resulting in the death penalty being
applied in an arbitrary and capricious manner. The ruling struck down
existing death penalty laws.

The death sentences of 629 people on death row were commuted by the court.

In light of the court's ruling, 37 states revised their death penalty
statutes, including Arkansas and Georgia.

The Furman ruling stood until July 2, 1976, when the Supreme Court ruled
7-2 in Gregg v. Georgia that the death penalty was constitutional if
judges and juries are required by state law to follow specific procedural
guidelines, such as bifurcated trials, and consider specific aggravating
and mitigating factors when deciding whether to impose capital punishment.

The ruling also required a mandatory state supreme court appeals process
to determine whether the sentence was influenced by passion, prejudice or
any other arbitrary factor; whether the evidence supported a finding of an
aggravating circumstance; and, whether the penalty was excessive or
disproportionate compared to similar cases and defendants.

The court ruled in Gregg that mandatory death penalty statutes were
unconstitutional because they constituted cruel and unusual punishment but
that the death penalty, per se, was not unconstitutional.

[source: U.S. Supreme Court]

It's the Law

In Arkansas, a person can be charged with capital murder if they kill
someone and the crime has 1 or more of the following aggravating
circumstances:

* The murder occurred while committing or attempting to commit arson,
terrorism, rape, kidnapping, carjacking, robbery, burglary, a felony
violation of the Uniform Controlled Substances Act, involving an actual
delivery of a controlled substance, or 1st-degree escape.

* The killing was the premeditated murder of an on-duty law enforcement
officer, jailer, prison official, firefighter, judge or other court
official, probation officer, parole officer, any military personnel, or
teacher or school employee.

* The murder was premeditated.

* The murder victim was any holder of any public office or a candidate for
public office.

* Premeditated murder while in prison

* Contract killing

* The murder was of a person under the age of 14 by a person over the age
of 18.

* Death resulting from discharging a firearm at a vehicle, conveyance, or
a residential or commercial occupiable structure that is known to be
occupied.

* Treason (defined solely as levying war against the state or adhering to
its enemies, giving them aid and comfort)

[SOURCE: Arkansas Code Annotated]

**

State Executes 2 Women in 162 Years

Sometimes the condemned wear a skirt.

Lavinia Burnett of Washington County was the 1st woman hanged in the state
in 1845. It was also the 1st legal hanging in Washington County.

Lavinia, along with her husband, Crawford, and their son, John, were
hanged for the murder of Jonathan Selby. Selby, a bachelor who lived near
Fayetteville, was murdered for money he supposedly kept at his house.

A Burnett daughter told authorities that her parents hatched the plan and
her brother killed Selby.

Lavinia and Crawford Burnett were tried in October 1845 and sentenced to
be hanged on Nov. 8, 1845. The gallows was erected not far from the
National Cemetery. The event was well attended, according to reports of
the day.

After the execution of his parents, John Burnett was arrested in Missouri
and returned to Washington County. He was found guilty on Dec. 4, 1845,
and hanged the day after Christmas.

Isaac Murphy was part of the defense team assembled to defend the
Burnetts. Murphy cast the only vote against secession at the Arkansas
Secession Convention and would go on to be the state's governor during
Reconstruction, following the Civil War.

The last woman executed by the state was Christina Marie Riggs, 28, who
asked for the death penalty for drugging and suffocating her 2 children in
1996 at her home in Sherwood.

She was executed by lethal injection May 2, 2000. The execution did not go
as planned because the staff was unable to locate a vein in Riggs' arm.
They eventually were able to access a vein in her wrist.

Riggs, a former nurse, tried to kill herself after killing her children.
She didn't allow her attorneys to present a defense at trial.

Riggs was the 5th woman executed in the United States after the Supreme
Court lifted a ban on capital punishment in 1976. She was the 1st woman
executed in Arkansas since Lavinia Burnett.

Burnett and Riggs were the only 2 women executed in the past 162 years.

Sentenced and Executed

Persons sentenced to death for murder and executed from Benton, Carroll
and Washington counties. No one has ever been sentenced to death in
Madison County and executed.

* Crawford Burnett, Washington County, hanged Nov. 8, 1845.

* Lavinia Burnett, Washington County, hanged Nov. 8, 1845.

* John Burnett, Washington County, hanged Dec. 26, 1845.

* Glory Doghead, Benton County, hanged Feb. 4, 1853.

* Unidentified slave, Washington County, hanged in 1856.

* Alfred Stephens, Washington County, hanged March 8, 1861.

* Cornelius Hammon, Benton County, hanged Jan. 14, 1876.

* Samuel Vaughn, Washington County, hanged Aug. 27, 1894.

* Omer Davis, Washington County, hanged Sept. 11, 1913.

* Vick Tobay, Washington County, electrocuted Aug. 14, 1920.

* Amos Ratcliff, Carroll County, electrocuted Jan. 14, 1921.

* Tyrus Clark, Benton County, electrocuted Jan. 8, 1926.

* James Hyde, Carroll County, electrocuted Feb. 13, 1948.

* Hoyt Franklin Clines, Benton County, lethal injection Aug. 3, 1994.

* Darryl Richley, Benton County, lethal injection Aug. 3, 1994.

* James William Holmes, Benton County, lethal injection Aug. 3, 1994.

* William Frank Parker, Benton County, lethal injection Aug. 8, 1996.

Death Row

* Don W. Davis, convicted of murder in Benton County, sits on death row
awaiting execution.

[SOURCE: Arkansas Department of Correction]

Executions at Fort Smith 1873-1896

>From 1873 until 1896, the U.S. Court for the Western District of Arkansas
executed 86 men on the gallows at the old Fort Smith. The district
included all of Indian Territory during this era.

All the men were convicted of rape or murder, which carried a mandatory
federal death sentence.

Judge Issac C. Parker, who earned the nickname, "Hanging Judge," sentenced
to death 79 of the 86 men. During Parker's 21 year tenure, 160 death
sentences were handed down. Of those: 43 were commuted to life in prison
or lesser terms; 2 were pardoned by the President; 31 had appeals that
resulted in acquittals or convictions overturned; 2 were granted new
trials and discharged; 1 was shot and killed while attempting to escape;
and 2 died in jail while awaiting execution.

[source: Fort Smith Historical Site]

****************

It's Been Awile


It's been nearly 87 years since the last Washington County man sentenced
to death was actually executed by the state.

Vic Tobay, 24, also spelled Vick in some records, was convicted of murder
June 1, 1920, in Washington County Circuit Court and was executed by the
state Aug. 14, 1920.

Tobay died in the electric chair, "Old Sparkey," for bludgeoning C.C.
Smith to death during a robbery. Tobay took $146 from Smith.

"Your victim was an elderly, gray haired man, innocent, unsuspecting. Upon
his bounty you subsisted; he graciously fed you when you were hungry,"
Judge W.A. Dickson told Tobay at his sentencing, according to records in
the Washington County archives.

"His largess should have inspired your gratitude, but instead you weighed
his money against his life  you counted so many pieces of silver against
so many ounces of blood. You lured him to a secret place and without a
word of warning struck him with a bludgeon you had carried for several
hours."

Dickson also encouraged Tobay to find religion in his remaining time on
earth.

"As your mortal life passes away, your immortal soul must take flight to
God who gave it, there to be judged by One who never fails or errs,"
Dickson said. "Begin now to meet your God."

Chester Rhodes, 52, was the last person from Washington County to receive
the death penalty. He was sentenced in 1981 for beating a Fayetteville
man, Roland Kelley, to death. The conviction was overturned. Rhodes then
pleaded guilty to murder and was sentenced to prison.

Buddhist Chants Punctuate Execution

Frankie Parker's execution was a marked contrast to the night he shot and
killed James and Sandra Warren, wounded their daughter Pam, who was his
ex-wife, and wounded Rogers police officer Ray Feyen.

The death chamber at the Cummins Unit of the Arkansas Department of
Correction is in Varner, a bend in the road south of Pine Bluff. Heat
simmered off the asphalt as death penalty protesters and members of
Parker's family gathered outside the gates on Aug. 8, 1996 to await the 9
p.m. execution.

Nov. 5, 1984, was a cool night in Rogers interrupted by gunfire at the
Warrens' East Mulberry Street home and at the Rogers Police Department's
headquarters on West Elm Street.

Inside the cool cinder block death chamber 12 years later, witnesses
concentrated on the process on the other side of the glass. Parker,
strapped to a gurney, was administered the lethal drug cocktail.

Mike Jones, who led the Parker investigation, David Clinger, the
prosecutor who convicted Parker, and Don Townsend, a Benton County deputy
who helped surround the police station as a standoff developed, were
somber in their suits and ties as they witnessed Parker's death.
Confirmation of his death came when the curtain closed. The death
proclamation could not be heard over the Buddhist chants sung by Parkers
spiritual adviser.

That November night in Rogers, Jones was in a baseball cap and
bullet-resistant vest. He had spent much of the evening trying to make
contact with Parker by telephone - trying to coax the man to drop his
weapon and surrender.

Townsend was there when Parker went down, shouting for an ambulance to aid
the wounded.

Clinger spent the next year preparing his death penalty case.

The three men walked together into the hot August night 12 years later,
neck ties loosened, jackets flung over their shoulders. Their jobs were
done.

On Aug. 3, 1994, the state executed Hoyt Clines, Darryl Richley and James
Holmes for the murder of Don Lehman during a robbery March 25, 1981, in
Rogers. It was the 1st triple execution in the U.S. in 32 years. Michael
Ray Orndorffs death sentence was commuted to life in prison for his role
in the Lehman killing.

Don W. Davis, 44, was the last person sentenced to death in Benton County.
Davis was convicted of murdering Jane Daniel of Rogers on Oct. 12, 1990.
He is the only convict on death row from Northwest Arkansas.

** Broken Heart End On Gallows


It was a story of unrequited love.

Omer Davis, 18, of Springdale, loved his teacher, Miss Nellie Moneyhun. He
misinterpreted her attention and kindness toward him as romantic interest.
The teacher was engaged to marry Sam Claypool. Davis was devastated when
Nellie told the school children her plans.

Davis went to the Moneyhun home to visit Nellie the evening of Feb. 2,
1913. He tried to convince her to marry him instead of Claypool. He talked
with Nellie and her parents for some time.

Davis asked Nellie to step into the vestibule. He drew a .38 pistol from
his coat pocket and shot her in the forehead. She fell into the living
room and into her father's arms. She died instantly.

Davis then tried, unsuccessfully, to kill himself. He suffered a bullet
wound to the forehead.

When J.G. Moneyhun approached Davis, who was on the floor, Davis raised
the gun to shoot him. Moneyhun grabbed the pistol and the hammer fell on
the flesh between his thumb and forefinger, but failed to fire. He
wrestled the revolver away from Davis, grabbed a shotgun and fired it into
the air. Davis ran away. He was later caught by a posse outside
Springdale.

Davis said at his trial that the shooting was an accident. His attorneys
argued he was mentally incompetent and too young to be tried as an adult.
Some newspaper accounts described Davis as a "dull-minded creature."

The jury convicted him May 10, 1913, and the judge sentenced him to death.

A crowd gathered by 5 a.m. outside the jail to watch the execution on
Sept. 11, 1913.

Davis ate a hearty breakfast, then deputies escorted him from his jail
cell, though a bathroom window and directly onto the scaffolding.

Davis, wearing a blue shirt, striped overalls, tan socks and a new pair of
shoes, reportedly showed no remorse or emotion.

His final words: "I want you all to meet me in heaven, for I am going
there."

Rev. Marion Nelson Waldrip said a prayer. Deputies fitted Davis with a
black hood and 2-inch-thick rope.

Sheriff Sam Caudle sprung the trap at 6:39 a.m. Davis fell about 6 feet.
His neck was broken. The body was allowed to hang for about 15 minutes
before being cut down and taken to a funeral home.

The Washington County Sheriffs Office provided a floral wreath.

The rope, hood and gallows were sent back to the state penitentiary in
Little Rock.

Davis was the last of 18 men hanged with the 2-inch rope and his was the
last scheduled legal public hanging in Arkansas.

The state took over all executions from counties the same year and changed
the method of death to electrocution.

Newspaper reports describe another hanging in July 1914 in Paris, but do
not explain why Arthur Tillman, convicted of murdering Amanda Stephens,
was not sent to the electric chair in Little Rock.

(source for all: Morning News)