The Executioner's Song - The Executioner's Song Part 58
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The Executioner's Song Part 58

Next morning Earl got a phone call from his office. The largest kind of news. The United States Supreme Court had just put a Stay on Gary's execution. It seemed Gilmore's mother had filed a petition through Richard Giauque, and they were asking the Court to grant Certiorari. Mulling it over on the airplane, Earl didn't know if he was ready for this large a new development. The burden of working twelve and fourteen hours a day had certainly caught up. It annoyed him, for instance, that Holbrook was sitting in first class, and had plenty of room to spread out his legal documents, while Earl, a government servant, was jammed back in economy in these narrow seats. All the while he was trying to get his mind off the U.S. Supreme Court and onto today's work in Denver.

For that matter, the atmosphere in Tenth Circuit Court was awesome enough, but after a while Earl calmed down. He could see that no conclusion would be reached in Denver this day, since the Tribune was claiming favoritism had been shown to Schiller and Boaz by the prison. Earl thought that was a big mistake for the other side. It called for fact-finding which meant delay. Besides, Schiller had gotten in by misrepresenting himself to the guards, so the affidavits when gathered would weaken the newspaper's case. Earl flew back to Salt Lake feeling fairly good, but wondering how well he could take on the prodigious work to be done this weekend for the U.S. Supreme Court pleas. He would have to rally some very tired energies.

When he got in, he found out, however, that Bill Barrett had been assigned. Earl should just take a rest, he was told. He had earned it.

Well, Dorius knew he needed the time off. What with the eighty-hour weeks he had been putting in, he was not in shape to tackle a brief of this dimension. All the same, he felt like he'd been left on a siding.

The real momentous Supreme Court stuff would go roaring by.

STANGER Gary, have you seen the petition for the Stay of Execution that has been filed by your mother?

GILMORE I heard about it on the radio.

STANGER The attorney is Richard Giauque. Remember that blond-haired guy from the ACLU who represented all the ministers and rabbis? Do you have any idea how he got to your mother?

GILMORE I don't know. I'd like to talk to my mother. Anything further on me getting to talk with Nicole?

STANGER Yes. The hospital director, Kiger, called back about two hours ago. You've got his back up so tight, he won't move at all. What do you think about bringing some public pressure on him?

GILMORE I think it's a damn good idea. That's why I haven't been eating. I was hoping that the hospital would be besieged with public pressure.

STANGER Yes.

GILMORE I'd like to shoot Kiger.

STANGER He's kind of weird.

GILMORE Well, all them doctors are weird. You ever met a psychiatrist who had all his marbles?

STANGER God, he's crazier than those he treats.

GILMORE You know I spent $160 today on canned foods and all kinds of different snacks and stuff like that and I have them locked in the cell next to me and as soon as I get my phone call to Nicole I'm going to have them open that cell. I've got a can opener and I'm going to have at it. Now, I'm a pretty hungry son of a gun and if you can do anything to facilitate that phone call . . . I'll accept whatever restrictions they want to put on it. But it's got to be a conversation, not a tape recording, and, uh, then I can go eat my food.

Chapter 13.

BIRTHDAY.

Two nights earlier, Schiller had arranged to meet Dave Johnston at the Salt Lake Airport. He wanted somebody besides himself to work on questions for Gilmore. Since Dave had been of help earlier in November, and then had done an agreeable piece for the L.A. Times, Schiller felt he might be the one available top-notch professional who was sympathetic to his purposes. Tonight, Johnston was coming in from San Francisco for the hearing next day where Schiller would appear, but for now he greeted Schiller with a big grin, and a list of the new questions in his hand.

Talking on the cab ride to the Hilton, it was obvious Johnston knew a lot about Salt Lake, so much in fact that Schiller was curious where Dave, who came from Michigan, and was now writing for a Los Angeles paper, got all this knowledge about Latter-Day Saints.

But Johnston just gave a tough genial smile and said, "I'm a Mormon myself." It didn't surprise Schiller completely. He had already taken a peek at the questions, and one of them certainly stood out. "Do you fear what a reincarnated Benny Bushnell may do to you?" That might be a heavy Mormon concept. It stimulated Schiller to write the subsidiary question, "What do you believe will happen to you after death?"

Later that night, alone in his room, Schiller began to think of criticism he had run into a few years ago after making his film with Dennis Hopper, The American Dreamer. That had been a study of Hopper's life, and the underground papers plus the Village Voice and Rolling Stone were all at the press showing. Rolling Stone even gave four full pages to the article. Their critic said the film was very good, but added that producer-director Schiller didn't understand an important side of Hopper. "Schiller went absolutely blank on Dennis Hopper's more mystical ideas."

What Larry called the Dennis Hopper light now went on in his head. Schiller didn't believe in heaven or hell, didn't think about it particularly. If you died, your soul, so to speak, ceased to function. He had an occasional moment when he thought about death, but didn't see himself going any place afterward. So, as he reread Johnston's questions, he kept saying, "There is a whole side of Gary Gilmore involving life after death. The guy really believes in it." Schiller shook his head. A whole other side of the coin. For the first time it hit him that Gilmore might want to go all the way. Up to then he had assumed Gilmore would accept his execution because he was a proud con trapped in a role. Now he understood that Gary might expect to find something on the other side. Not only willing to gamble on it, but gamble everything. It must be, Schiller thought, the way he sometimes felt shooting craps when he knew he was coming up with a seven. Yes, Schiller decided, that was close to feeling like Gilmore.

Sometimes, just before rolling, he could see the seven on the cloth.

But this kind of thinking left Schiller disturbed. He preferred not to deal with ideas too far out of his own domain. It might be that he would need help. The thought came to him of hiring Barry Farrell, and he put it off for further reflection. Time enough to decide when he saw how Barry had written about him in New West.

Next day, after Court, Schiller heard the first tape Moody and Stanger had done with Gary. He was not encouraged. Moody and Stanger looked like they were developing a rapport with their client, but it might have nothing to do with journalism. Just legal discussions, and man-to-man jokes. Not in a rush to touch charged subjects.

So Schiller decided not to insert Dave Johnston's ten questions and his own twenty or more into the lawyers' next interview with Gary, but instead would ask for handwritten replies. On the basis of those few letters to Nicole printed in the Deseret News, Schiller thought Gilmore took pains in his writing.

WHY DID YOU KILL JENSEN AND BUSHNELL?.

There is so much similarity between Jenkins and Bushnell: both mid 20's in age, both family men, both Mormon missionaries. Perhaps the murders of these men were meant to occur.

To answer your question: I killed Jenkins and Bushnell because I did not want to kill Nicole.

WAS BUSHNELL A COWARD? WHAT DID HE SAY?.

No, I wouldn't say Mr. Bushnell was a coward. He did not seem a coward. I remember he was anxious to comply. But I don't remember anything he said except he asked me to be quiet and not alert his wife who was in the next room.

He was calm, even brave.

DO YOU WISH YOU HAD NOT KILLED BUSHNELL?.

Yes.

Wish I hadn't killed Jenkins, too.

DID JENSEN RESIST AND DID JENSEN SHOW FEAR?.

Jenkins did not resist.

He did not show undue fear.

I was struck by his friendly, smiling, kind face.

DID JENSEN AND BUSHNELL DIE LIKE MEN? LIKE YOU WANT TO DO?.

They showed no more fear than you'd expect from a man being robbed.

I'm almost certain they didn't know they were going to die until it was done.

DO YOU RECALL ANY FILMS OR NEWS REELS IN WHICH YOU'VE SEEN MEN DIE BEFORE A FIRING SQUAD?.

Private Slovak- Sure said a lot of Hail Marys, didn't he?

IF YOU HAD A CHOICE, WOULD YOUR EXECUTION BE ON TELEVISION?.

No.

Too macabre.

Would you like your death televised?

At the same time, I really don't give a shit.

WHAT DO YOU BELIEVE WILL HAPPEN TO YOU AFTER DEATH?.

I could speculate, but I don't know-if the knowledge of death is within me, as I believe it is, I can't consciously bring it to the surface.

I just think it will be familiar . . . I must keep my mind singular and strong-In death you can choose in a way that you can't choose in life. The biggest mistake you could make when you die is to be afraid.

DO YOU FEAR WHAT A REINCARNATED BENNY BUSHNELL MAY DO TO YOU?.

I have pondered that-But I don't fear it. Fuck fear. I may meet Bushnell if I do, I will never avoid him. I recognize his rights.

WHY DID YOU KILL, AND COULD YOU HAVE STOPPED YOURSELF FROM KILLING IF YOU WANTED?.

I never felt so terrible as I did in that week before I was arrested.

l had lost Nicole. It hurt so fucking bad that it was becoming physical-I mean I couldn't hardly walk, I couldn't sleep I didn't hardly eat. I couldn't drown it. Booze didn't even dull it. A heavy hurt and loss. It got worse every day. I could feel it in my heart . . . I could feel the ache in my bones. I had to go on automatic to get thru the day.

And it grew into a calm rage.

And I opened the gate and let it out.

But it wasn't enough.

It would have gone on and on.

More Jenkins, more Bushnells.

Lord . . .

It didn't make any sense- Gary said over the phone to Vern, "Some of this is getting too damned personal."

Vern replied, "If you don't want to answer, just tell him. He's not going to twist your arm."

"Yeah, I know," Gary said, "but I still don't like the questions."

"Say," said Stanger, reading the replies. "It's Jensen, not Jenkins."

"Did I say Jenkins? Dammit," said Gary, "I hate getting his name wrong."

"That's fantastic stuff," said Stanger when he brought the answers to Schiller. "Don't you think?"

"I'm not so sure," said Schiller. "He's still giving it off the top."

The last answer had been interesting, but many of the others were flat.

HOW DID YOU FEEL WHEN YOU GOT YOUR SENTENCE? WAS IT FAIR?.

I probably felt less than anyone in the courtroom.

HOW WOULD YOU DESCRIBE YOUR PERSONALITY?.

Slightly less than bland.

YOUR GREATEST ACCOMPLISHMENT?.

He had not answered that one. Blank space was there to look back at Schiller. Gilmore was still selling himself as a tough con, heartless, no weakness. Shooting down targets. Schiller wanted to get beyond these cold con answers. It wasn't much warmth to find in a man on his birthday.

DESERET NEWS.

Utah Slayer, Now 36, Still Wants to Die Point of the Mountain, Dec. 4-Condemned killer, Gary Mark Gilmore, still professing his wish to die, observed his 36th birthday in the Utah State Prison today.

Gibbs got Big Jake to buy him a card, and sent it to Gary. It read, "I hope you have many more happy birthdays." He knew that would hit Gary's funny bone.

Brenda and Johnny had a birthday visit on the phone. "Hey, cousin," she said, "did you know that you are the most notorious convict in the United States? That's what they said about you last night." He answered in a strained little voice, "I would much rather be acclaimed on my art ability and my intelligence." It was his hungry stomach speaking. He sounded like an empty eggshell. "I don't appreciate this kind of publicity," he complained.

Brenda said to herself, "Maybe Gary don't like the publicity, but he's sure enjoying it."

Gary had given Vern a list of names and the amount of money he wanted each person to receive. Brenda was to get $5,000, and Toni $3,000. Gary also gave $5,000 to Sterling and Ruth Ann. Wanted to give $3,000 to the babysitter Laurel and her family, but Vern gave an argument about that.

Then Gary talked about a couple of girls in Hawaii who had been writing him love letters. He wanted to send them a few hundred dollars. Vern agreed, but never withdrew the money. Figured about the time Gary had given it all away, he'd be happy to discover a few hundred left. Of course the way Gary handed it out, was enough to make you sick.

There was a convict out in the midwest named Ed Barney. Gary got a letter from him one day and told Vern he'd known the guy at Oregon State. They'd put a lot of time in Segregation together. "Ed Barney is a great guy," said Gary. "One of my very best and dearest friends. I want you to give him a thousand dollars." Vern thought Gary was talking like his mother. When Vern first knew her, Bessie could never describe a good-looking man or woman without getting carried away by the power of the description. At the end she would always say, "That was the best-looking man I ever saw." Or, best-looking woman. Must have described a hundred people that way.

Gary was the same about friends. Today, Sterling was the best friend he ever had. Yesterday, LeRoy Earp, or Vince Capitano, or Steve Kessler, or John Mills or many another prison buddy Vern couldn't even keep in mind. Tomorrow you knew another fellow would be nominated. Gibbs, probably. So, Vern decided to hold on to the award to Ed Barney. With the way they kept delaying his execution, Gary would be broke before he knew it. A few thousand dollars could buy him a lot of comfort in prison.

Vern did, however, have to give $2,000 to Gibbs. Gary was insistent.

Then, there was another fellow named Fungoo. Gary said he'd hurt the man's feelings something awful with a tattoo he had drawn once. He wanted to give him a sum. Vern had a hell of an argument.

Finally talked him out of that.

Then there was the mystery recipient. A particular fellow was to receive a total of $5,000 in two equal installments. Vern was to meet him on the street corner and hand over $2,500. Gary said he wanted the job done without argument. Vern had a pretty good idea what was up. He finally had a meeting with the fellow, and gave over the money in a restaurant, hated the idea. A wanton waste. Was glad when Gary never paid the second installment.

Now, on his birthday, Gary wanted to give $500 to Margie Quinn. "Margie Quinn?" asked Vern. "You know," said Gary, "that nice little girl Ida introduced me to." "Well, why do you want to give her $500?" asked Vern. "Well," said Gary, mimicking the way Vern said "well," which was always very soft as if he wanted to draw you close, "well, I happened to break the windshield on her car."

Vern wasn't too surprised. "I thought you did, you dirty bugger," he said. He remembered how Margie Quinn's mother had asked him months ago if Gary had done it, and Vern replied, "I don't know. He may have." That was $500 he didn't mind paying.

From time to time, Gary would say, "See that my mother is taken care of," yet he didn't talk of real money. It seemed to Vern that Gary wanted to believe his mother did love him a great deal and worked with the evidence pro and con. Yet he must have kept turning on that evidence, for he sure was acting stingy toward her. Vern actually had to say, "You can't give $3,000 to your babysitter when your mother is living without money." "All right," Gary answered, "cut it down. Take a thousand off. Give that to my ma." Then he would hesitate.

"But don't mail it," he would say, "you and Aunt Ida fly down and give it to her in person." Vern couldn't understand. If Gary was afraid somebody might rip it off, he could have a bank in Portland deliver the thousand by special messenger. Good Lord, it would practically cost half that much for Ida and him to fly there and back.

Brenda got into the act. "Just a thousand, Gary?" she asked. "Yep," said Gary. Brenda gave her father a look to say, "No sense going further."