The Executioner's Song - The Executioner's Song Part 76
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The Executioner's Song Part 76

MOODY "Don't mourn, boys, organize."

GILMORE Well, I got something like that I kinda like: "Never fear, never breathe." That's a Muslim saying. I don't know where they got it, but you can apply it to anything, it makes pretty good sense.

"Don't mourn, boys, organize."

MOODY You know the old line in the war movies, "Any man who said he ain't scared is either a liar or a fool"?

GILMORE What about it?

MOODY Doesn't that apply at least a little to your situation?

GILMORE I didn't say I wasn't scared, did I?

MOODY No. But your message to the world has the connotation of don't fear.

GILMORE Well, why fear? It's negative. You know you could damn near call it a sin if you let fear run your life.

MOODY You're certainly determined to defeat fear.

GILMORE I don't feel any fear right now. I don't think I will tomorrow morning. I haven't felt any yet.

MOODY How are you able to overcome fear from coming into your soul?

GILMORE I guess I'm lucky. It hasn't come in. You know a truly brave man is somebody who feels fear and goes out and does what he's supposed to do in spite of it. You couldn't really say i'm that fucking brave because I ain't fighting against fear and overcoming it. I don't know about tomorrow morning . . . I don't know if I'll feel any different tomorrow morning than I do right now, or than I felt on the first of November when I waived the fucking appeal.

MOODY Well, you're remarkably composed.

GILMORE Thank you, Bob.

MOODY I don't know what to say, I just really . . .

GILMORE Look, man, I'm being kind of rude. You guys are a little upset about all of this, aren't ya?

MOODY It's hard, Gary. I'm physically ill.

At this point, Bob Moody began to cry. A little later, when he got control of himself, he and Gilmore and Stanger talked a bit more. Then, they said goodbye. They would return in the late afternoon to visit through the night. As they went out, Gilmore said, "Don't forget the vest." "The what?" asked Bob. "The bulletproof vest," said Gilmore. "I'll wear it in myself," said Moody. "You guys take care," Gilmore said.

Sunday morning, Vern went to Maximum Security and talked to Gary on the telephone, looking through the glass. For once they spoke about his mother's sisters in Provo. Gary was curious why none of his aunts, except for Ida, had been to see him. "What do you think?" he asked directly.

"Oh, Gary," Vern said, "I'm sure they wanted to, but I can't answer for them." In Vern's head, he was still hearing one of Ida's sisters say, "I just can't make myself go up and talk to him."

Gary said, "Mom is too sick, or she would be here."

There was such a long, grim silence that Gary began to sing a Johnny Cash song. Rolled his eyes back and tried to let her out. When Gary saw Vern laughing, he said, "Well, I satisfy myself." Vern roared. "I'll sing you a little ditty," he told him.

Gary groaned. "Not 'Old Shep.' " Vern was famous for singing "Old Shep." Every year when the Archery Club had their dinner, Vern would sing it.

"Yes, 'Old Shep,' " said Vern.

When I was a lad, and Old Shep was a pup, Over hills and meadows we'd roam.Just a boy and his dog, we were both full of fun And we grew up together that way.

As the years went along, Old Shep, he grew old And his eyesight was fast growing dim Then one day the doctor looked up at me and said, "I can't do no more for him, Jim."

With a hand that was trembling, I picked up my gun And aimed it at Shep's faithful head But I just couldn't do it, oh, I wanted to run, And wished they would shoot me instead.

Now, Old Shep, he knew he would go, He looked and licked at my hand, He stared up at me, just as much as to say, "We're parting, but you'll understand."

Now Old Shep, he has gone where the good doggies go, And no more with Old Shep will I roam, But if dogs have a heaven, there's one thing I know, Old Shep has a wonderful home.

"Yuck," said Gary.

"That's all for today," said Vern. "That's as good as you deserve."

2.

The Legal Defense Fund of the NAACP made available a lawyer in Washington named John Shattuck. He was going to present a petition for Athay to the United States Supreme Court. After the loss, therefore, in Judge Lewis's Court on Saturday afternoon, Athay's office dictated a brief over the telephone. On Sunday it was carried by Shattuck to the Supreme Court, and filed.

At 6:25 in the evening, D.C. time, which was 4:25 P.M. in Utah, a phone call came in to Athay from the Clerk of the Court, Michael Rodak. Justice White had endorsed the following quotation: "The application for stay is denied. I am authorized to say that a majority of my colleagues concur in this action. Bryron R. White, Associate Justice."

Since the decision was not unanimous, Shattuck tried to approach other Justices. If one could find the right man on the minority side, he might grant a Stay. That would give an opportunity to offer one's arguments.

Justice Blackmun responded, "The application for stay having been presented to me, after its denial by Justice White, is denied. Harry A. Blackmun, Associate Justice, January 16, 1977."

Justice Brennan had not been contacted. The advice came from Washington that if Athay were to call and express the urgency of the situation, it might have impact. Justice Brennan had shown inclinations favorable to cases like this. So Athay, provided with an unlisted phone number, phoned person-to-person, and a voice came on and said, "This is Justice Brennan speaking." Athay had no more than introduced himself and said, "I'm involved in the Gary Gilmore case," when "Oh, my" he heard on the other end, and a click. He placed the call again. He could swear the same voice came on to say, "I'm sorry, he's out of town." He felt aghast. He knew, yet how could he ever know for certain whether he'd reached Justice Brennan or not?

Athay had now exhausted everything he could do for Dale Pierre.

3.

Waiting through Sunday morning and Sunday afternoon was murder. Schiller had a list of questions pinned to the wall next to the telephone. If Gilmore called again, and he wasn't there, Barry could take the call, or if Barry was also out, one of the girls would talk. The questions were ready. You didn't have to hem and haw, or conceal identities. Gary understood they were in a countdown.

All the same, Schiller was depressed. The high ambitions he had had for this interview were by now pretty thoroughly defeated. Mikal had left Utah, and with him had gone Schiller's best chance to get a few last-minute insights to Gary. He felt as if he had lost contact.

Who could believe Gary would have gotten so angry about Moyers?

When Mikal threatened to be a major obstacle to the execution, Gary must have set out to neutralize him. Became the big brother Mikal had never seen. The role had gotten too good. Gary was carrying on as if Schiller had really violated him. After all, belief in your own role was crucial to a hustle. But Schiller felt it was a steep price to pay..

Moody telephoned from the prison, "You're going to get a call from the Warden." he told Schiller. "You are going to see the execution."

Though the news had been in the papers, he had not yet received official word. So he was worried. If Sam Smith refused him at the gate, there would have to be last-minute legal maneuvers. The statutes might be all on his side, but such a situation would still be horrendous with tension.

In five minutes, the phone rang again. Deputy Warden Hatch was saying, "Warden Smith has asked me to advise you to appear tomorrow morning at six AM. at the prison gate with no cameras and no recording devices, if you wish to witness the execution of Gary Mark Gilmore." Schiller said, "Thank you. Will you please deliver this message to the Warden. The statement I made to Gus Sorensen is correct. I do not intend to violate any rules and regulations that he has set up. Please assure him that I will conduct myself in the manner in which he would want me to conduct myself."

In that last phone call with Moody, he had been told that Gary wanted liquor brought in, and they had discussed how to do it.

Schiller told Debbie to go to the Pharmacy and buy a couple of curved bottles. "If the pharmacy doesn't have them for sale," he told her, "just buy cough syrup, and pour it out."

Debbie wanted to know why the bottles had to be curved. He had to explain they were like a hip flask, and made less of a bulge under your coat. Then he decided the amount would be insufficient, so he sent Tamera over to Western Airlines to purchase, if she could, some 1 1/2-ounce bottles of the sort they served on airplanes. In Utah, however, Western wouldn't go near liquor on Sunday. He called the Hilton and found out they didn't sell or serve until late that day. Finally, he heard of one Salt Lake bar where individual-drink bottles were sold, so he had Tamera call the Deseret News to send somebody over. Schiller figured they'd call a high-level meeting about it.

Meanwhile, Tamera had come to feel sentimental about getting this liquor to Gary. Of course, by now, everybody was liking him.

Even the people that didn't like him, liked him.

Schiller could smell it in the air. Everybody was starting to think, What are we killing Gilmore for? What's the death going to accomplish?

Breslin was walking around the office, cursing up a streak, "How dare they shoot the fucking guy, these fucking people?" Breslin was even furious at Gilmore for wanting to be offed.

Larry decided to relax at the Xerox machine. It was agreeable to work at some mechanical activity. Then, Tamera came up to say her newspaper wouldn't go for the liquor. "I don't care who does it," said Schiller, "get somebody." Tamera called Cardell, who had to be one of the most active Mormons in Salt Lake, and would you believe it, he agreed to go over and get it as a Christian act? Thought a dying man ought to be able to have his last request. That was something. Tamera's brother was straight arrow like you wouldn't believe.

Schiller called Stanger, and asked, "Will the Warden let me see Gary before the execution?" When Stanger said he didn't know Larry called the prison. The Warden still wouldn't talk to him.

Schiller told himself, "If they do change their mind, I want to be right at the front door."

Now, he studied the prison plan for the media, and decided it was very professional. "I don't believe the Warden made this out," he said aloud. It was just too sensible. Through the night, public announcements would be made every thirty minutes on the speaker, and a prison representative would come out frequently to talk to the reporters. A few minutes after the execution, the Warden would make a statement. Ten minutes after that, the press would be allowed to visit the site. It showed a knowledge of how to handle the media that had not been evident before. The very layout of the language intrigued Schiller. He said to himself, "I now have a match for my intelligence," and had one of his Dream-the-Impossible-Dream ideas. Maybe he would yet meet the author of this plan tonight and be able to explain why they should let him in to talk to Gary. "Yes," he said to himself, "I'm going to enter now as a member of the press."

Of course, he had made plans for such a contingency. John Durniak, the picture editor at Time, had told him he could use Time credentials if he wished. Lawrence Schiller, Witness to the Execution, who would not be allowed into the prison until 6:30 A.M., was now ready to enter at 6 P.M., better than twelve hours earlier, with his new press pass as Lawrence Schiller, accredited to Time magazine.

At least an hour before six, Schiller didn't feel like waiting around Orem any longer, and he put the liquor-filled cough-syrup bottles in his pocket, and told Tamera to have Cardell meet them at the gate of the prison. Then they took off from the TraveLodge.

When he got to the gate, a lot of press was already going in. If they had been calling it a circus before, it looked now like a gypsy caravan.

A great many television vans were lined up on the access road outside, plus all the vans for the movie-reel people and second crews and remotes, in addition to several hundred members of the press who were jammed into every conceivable kind of vehicle, all going one by one through the main gate. What hit Schiller was that everybody was drinking.

4.

The prison press release had not stated whether the press could bring liquor or beer, but, of course, this omission was no flaw in the master plan. Who had ever heard of the world press staking out a place for twelve hours without liquor? Besides, it was so bitter cold that without booze, they would all freeze. Schiller flashed to six in the morning and three hundred newsmen stiff on the prison grounds.

What a shot! Not a stringer alive to send out word. Yes, this was truly a master plan. Any demonstrations that took place would be off on the access road, well outside the prison. The objectors would be shouting their opposition from 1,500 feet away. If not for this plan, some of the best men in the media might have been looking right now for interviews with the demonstrators, even encouraging them to come up with scorching remarks. By morning, there would been numerous stories of what was said by spokesmen hostile to execution. So this was brilliant. The press might be livid, but they had a beautiful concept: lock up the press.

Of course, next day, the stories would be vindictive, but then the press had been rough on the State of Utah all the way. At least, the execution would take place without a mob scene in the dawn and everybody trying to get into the prison grounds at once. Now the scene would take place at six o'clock the night before, and the antagonism of the press might even wear out by morning. Drinking all night, they would be stupefied at dawn. By the time Gilmore was transferred from Maximum to the cannery, these reporters would be so happy to come in from the cold, they would probably wait grumbling in whichever room they were penned. This plan, they believed, had to come from Washington. Somebody in the FBI, Department of Justice, at least.

When Schiller went through the outside gate, they only asked, "Who are you?" "Larry Schiller." "Who with?" "Time magazine." They gave him the go-ahead. He started down the hill to the parking area but the guard standing there was Lieutenant Bernhardt, who had let Schiller in that first time close to two months ago when he had said he was an estate consultant. Now, Schiller drove by, looking straight ahead, but out of his rear-view mirror, he could see Bernhardt getting into a vehicle to chase after. So, Schiller stopped and got out. Bernhardt came up saying, "Get the hell out of here. You're not supposed to be in until six-thirty in the morning." Bernhardt even started screaming, which called attention to Schiller, last thing he wanted.

Bernhardt got on the radio and called someone. Then he said, "All right, you're in. But you're staying until six the fuck in the morning. Just remember that. You're not getting to see Gilmore." He shouted it all out in front of any number of the press. Whatever small cover Schiller might have had, was blown. He was going to be waylaid for the next few hours by microphones.

Later, Tamera slipped him the mini-bottles she had picked up at the gate from Cardell. Reporters milled around, talking and stamping their feet. Soon, everybody was back in their vans. Six o'clock came, and that was it. They were locked in. The long winter night came down off Point of the Mountain, passed over the parking lot and the prison, and chased the last of the evening pale across the desert.

PART SIX.

Into the Light

Chapter 31.

AN EVENING OF DANCING AND LIGHT REFRESHMENT.

Julie Jacoby went out early to the vigil, and with her in the first car was Reverend John Adams who was an old hand at demonstrations and wanted to speak to the Salt Lake County Sheriff about protection for the vigilants.

Only trouble is they were not let inside the grounds. The State Police steered them over to an access road. After a while, they learned that very few reporters were available to cover them. It got dark, it got cold, but they conducted a religious service.

Forty or fifty people had turned out, and they read a litany by the illumination provided by a television crew who were kind enough to tilt their lights until the group making the responses could see the print.

At John Adams's suggestion, Julie had scoured her house for heavy clothing and brought it along for people who might show without enough protection. Then the minister borrowed her Subaru and kept ferrying new vigilants out from the Howard Johnson Motel in Salt Lake, a rendezvous point. Through the night he brought people back and forth.

2.

At five in the afternoon when Toni went in to visit with Gary, the press already collected in the parking lot crowded around her at the gate leading to Maximum. It would be a lot worse when she came out. More press. Walking down that corridor between the wire fences over the snow with the wind coming in off the mountain, Toni was thinking of the first time she'd gone to see Gary at the prison, two days before his birthday. She hadn't known then whether she was ready to forgive him or never would but after seeing how tickled he was at her visit, she asked what she could send, and he wanted two dark sweat shirts with the sleeves cut off, extra large with the shoulders reinforced so that they would peak without sleeves. She had gone to visit him again after that. He would always greet her by saying "God, you're beautiful," which had her blushing.

This Sunday, however, was different. It was, of all coincidences, her own birthday, and Howard's family was coming for supper. So all the while that Toni had been planning her visit to the prison on this last evening, she also had been cooking the meal for the evening party, and worrying how she could visit Gary early enough so she could get back by seven for Howard's folks.

It was ten of six before they even let her into the visiting room and then she had to wait twenty minutes with the other guests. When they opened the door for Gary, he saw her first and put his arms around her and gave a hug as if he were cracking all the ice of winter with one squeeze, held her so hard and long, she didn't think he would ever let go. Her mother was right with her, and said, "Now, it's my turn." So Gary released Toni with one arm, and hugged Ida, but he never let go completely. In fact as soon as Ida stepped back, he lifted Toni till her feet came off the floor, and gave her a great big kiss on the lips. He was still holding her fifteen minutes later when she absolutely had to leave.

Gary said then, "You are coming back, aren't you?" That was the first Toni considered it. It was the look in his eyes. "Go home," he said, "and take care of your family, then come back." But it was going to be complicated. Not to mention her in-laws, this was also the solitary day Toni would have with Howard all week. He was working on a construction job in southern Utah and only got home on Sundays.

Before she could say yes or no, Gary gave her another big birthday kiss. Then Moody and Stanger took her mother and herself out along the corridor through the wire fences and the crowd which was now massive. Toni knew why they called them the press. They almost squeezed her to death. But that was no more weird than leaving this prison to go back to her birthday party.

Sunday had started for Bob Moody at six in the morning with a High Council meeting. That lasted until eight. At nine-thirty, he went to Priesthood meeting, came back to take his family to church, went out to the prison, and came back to pick up his family when Sunday School concluded at 1 P.M. Then, all of the Moody family went home to dinner. By 4 P.M. Ron Stanger and he were ready to drive to the prison.