Death Penalty Meeting its End in Connecticut

According to the Texas Department of Criminal Justice, since 1982, the state has executed 481 inmates. 

After the reinstatement of the death penalty in 1976, Florida, according to the DOC, has killed 72 capital felons.  (I witnessed one execution, but I’ll get to that in a minute.)

Connecticut has executed one prisoner since 1973, serial killer Michael Ross, and many believe that will be the state’s only execution for the foreseeable future.  The death penalty, it appears, is nearing its end here, which is fascinating on a number of levels considering a Quinnipiac poll taken last year shows that more than sixty percent favor keeping the law intact.

The death penalty is one of those issues that stirs emotion and often, heated debate.  A ghastly, horrific crime sparks a gut reaction that the accused deserves nothing more than a painful death.  Amazingly, some who are against the death penalty were vocal about how the two men who killed the Petit women should be streamlined to the death chamber.  But yet, here we are, witnessing a major policy change that will impact criminal justice for decades.

The arguments against the law are sound.  The death penalty is not a deterrent.  It costs states millions of dollars a year, and the appeals process is painful for families having to relive the crime. 

But in a 2005 editorial in the USA Today, Michael Rushford writes several major universities found that “for each murderer executed, five to 18 murders are prevented.”  Dr. William Petit and his sister, Johanna Petit Chapman recently wrote a letter to the editor in the Stamford Advocate that reads, “we firmly believe that the death penalty is the appropriate sanction in certain heinous…crimes.  (It) gives prosecutors a critical bargaining chip in the plea bargain process.”

Solid points on both sides…I’m glad I’m not the one voting.

I witnessed an execution when I was working in Florida.  Johnny Robinson raped and killed 31-year old Beverly St. George in 1985 after her car had broken down in St. John’s County.  Almost twenty years later, I found myself sitting in the observation room, feeling the pulse in my neck as I nervously waited for the state to carry out its sentence.

Finally, the dull, gray curtains slowly pulled to the side, and there was Robinson, covered in a blue sheet up to his waist.  He was asked if he had any last words to which he simply stated, “Later!”

The lethal dose was administered.  His breathing became labored, his eyes fluttered, and in minutes, he was gone. 

The curtains closed.

And so too does a chapter in Connecticut’s history, but I sincerely doubt the debate will fade.    One vote won’t erase that.