He said it with a pride that was surprising and moving to me.
“Hello everyone,” I said. Herbert still had his arm around my shoulder, and I wanted to say
something comforting but couldn’t think of anything before Herbert jumped in again.
“I told the prison people that I want all my possessions distributed just as I’ve said or my
lawyer will sue you till you all have to work for him.” He chuckled, and people laughed.
I met Herbert’s bride and her family and spent the next forty-five minutes with one eye on
the clock, knowing that at 10 : 00 P.M. the guards would take Herbert to the back, and we
would never see him alive again. Herbert tried to keep things light. He told his family how he
had persuaded me to take his case and bragged that I only represented people who were
smart and charming.
“He’s too young to have represented me at trial, but if he had been there I wouldn’t be on
death row now.” He said it with a smile, but I was starting to feel shaken. I was really struck
at how hard he was working to make everyone around him feel better in the face of his own
death. I had never seen him so energetic and gracious. His family and I smiled and laughed,
but all of us felt the strain of the moment. His wife became more and more tearful as the
minutes ticked away. Shortly before 10 P.M., the commissioner of the Alabama Department of
Corrections, the warden, and several other men wearing suits gestured to the visitation
officer. She came into the room meekly and regretfully said, “It’s time, folks. We’ve got to end
the visit. Say your goodbyes.”
I watched the men in the hallway; they had clearly been expecting the officer to do
something more decisive and effective. They wanted things to proceed on schedule and were
clearly ready to move to the next stage to prepare for the execution. One of the state officials
walked over to the guard when she left the room and pointed at his watch. Inside the room,
Herbert’s wife began to sob. She put her arms around his neck and refused to let him go.
After a couple of minutes, her crying turned into groaning, distressed and desperate.
The officials in the lobby were growing more impatient and gestured at the visitation
officer, who came back into the room. “I’m sorry,” she said as firmly as she could muster,
“but you have to leave now.” She looked at me, and I looked away. Herbert’s wife began
sobbing again. Her sister and other family members began to cry, too. Herbert’s wife grabbed
him even more tightly. I hadn’t thought about how difficult this moment would be. It was
surreal in a way I hadn’t anticipated. In an instant a flood of sadness and tragedy had
overtaken everyone, and I began to worry that it would be impossible for this family to leave
Herbert.
By now the officials were angry. I looked through the window and saw the warden radio
for more officers to come into the area. Someone else gestured for the officer to go back into
the room and bring the family members out. I heard them tell her not to come out without
the family. The officer looked frantic. Despite her uniform, she’d always seemed a little out of
place at the prison, and she looked especially uncomfortable now. She had once volunteered
to me that her grandson wanted to be a lawyer and that she was hoping he would. She looked
around the room nervously and then came up to me. She had tears in her eyes and looked at
me desperately.
“Please, please, help me get these people out of here, please.” I began to worry that things
were going to get ugly, but I couldn’t sort out what to do. It seemed impossibly hard for them
to expect people to just calmly abandon someone they loved so that he could be executed. I