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became agitated there, and he was out of money, so he moved back to Monroeville, where his
sister Katie Lee agreed to watch him. For a while, he did much better in Monroeville, but then
his condition began to deteriorate again.
Soon, Walter needed to be moved into the sort of facility that provided care for the elderly
and infirm. Most places wouldn’t take him because he had been convicted of a felony. Even
when we explained that he was wrongfully convicted and later proved innocent, we couldn’t
get anyone to admit him. EJI now had a social worker on staff, Maria Morrison, who began
working with Walter and his family to find a suitable placement for him. It was an extremely
frustrating and maddening process. Maria eventually found a place in Montgomery that
agreed to take Walter for a short stay—no longer than ninety days. He went there while we
figured out what to do next.
The whole thing made me incredibly sad. Our workload was increasing too quickly. I had
just argued Joe Sullivan’s case at the U.S. Supreme Court, and I was anxiously awaiting that
judgment. The Alabama Supreme Court had scheduled execution dates for several death row
prisoners who had completed the appeals process. For years we’d been fearing what would
happen when a sizable number of condemned prisoners exhausted their appeals. More than a
dozen people were now vulnerable to execution dates, and we knew that it would be
extremely difficult to block those executions given the current legal climate in Alabama,
combined with the limits on federal court review in capital cases. I met with our staff, and we
made the difficult decision to represent all of the people who were scheduled for execution
and didn’t have counsel.
A few weeks later, I found myself deeply distressed. I was worried about the execution
dates that were set for every other month in Alabama. I was worried about what the U.S.
Supreme Court would do with all of the children condemned to die in prison, now that it had
the issue to consider. I was worried about our funding and whether we had enough staff and
resources to meet the demands of our expanding docket. I was worried about several clients
who were struggling. When I got to the Montgomery nursing home to see Walter a week after
he’d arrived there, I felt like I had been worrying all day.
Walter sat in a common room with older, heavily medicated people watching TV. It was
jarring to see him sitting in a hospital gown among people so compromised and infirm. I
stopped before I walked into the room and looked at him; he hadn’t seen me yet. He looked
sleepy and unhappy slumped in a reclining chair, his head rested on his hand. He was staring
in the general direction of the television, but it didn’t seem like he was watching the
program. He wasn’t shaved, and something he’d eaten had crusted on his chin. There was a
sadness in his eyes I had never seen before. Looking at him, I felt my heart sink; a part of me
wanted to leave. A nurse saw me standing outside the room and asked if I was there to see
someone. I told her I was, and she smiled sympathetically.
When the nurse escorted me into the room, I walked up to Walter and put my hand on his
shoulder. He stirred and looked up, then gave me a broad smile.
“Hey, there he is!” He sounded cheerful, and suddenly he looked like himself. He started
laughing and stood up. I gave him a hug. I was relieved; he hadn’t recognized some family
members recently.
“How you doing?” I asked him while he leaned on me slightly.
“Well, you know, I’m doing okay.” We started walking to his room where we could talk