This is a story about Thomas Arthur, a man on death row. I went to watch him die.

By Lee Hurley

September 26, 2007. I check into Room 214 of the Best Western motel off Interstate 65 on Highway 21, just outside Atmore. The rooms are clean and functional, owned by the Poarch Creek Indians, who also have a casino a few hundred yards from the lobby. I’m not here to gamble, though the thought crosses my mind. On my laminated desk, the Bible is open to pages 652 and 653. Psalm 88:3 reads, “For my soul is full of troubles: and for my life draweth nigh unto the grave.” Tomorrow Tommy Arthur will die by lethal injection. I’m here to watch. First I will interview his daughter who was with him all day and then type up my notes while drinking beer under a full moon and try to answer the question, Why would I be willing to watch someone die?

Holman prison is two miles east of my motel. The sign is smaller than you might think. The land is flat and scrubby. The white cattle egret birds fly for short bursts then land. I drive to the prison and get out of my car. There is a man up in a tower but he doesn’t look down. I snap a couple of pictures. Finally I see an officer slowly walking around the fence. “Is this Holman?” I ask. “Yes sir.” Can I take pictures? “Absolutely prohibited unless you got papers from Montgomery.” Holman is one of five maximum-security facilities in the state. Named after Warden William C. Holman, the prison was built in 1969 with a capacity of 998. There are now 630 general population beds, 20 single cells, and 168 death row cells (though there are 174 waiting to die). Since Governor Riley took office 13 inmates have been executed, far more than George Wallace with four but far less than Governor Graves who oversaw 48 deaths. Executions are done on site. The method of death since a 2002 Supreme Court ruling is lethal injection, though an inmate may still request death by electrocution, or the “Yellow Mama” as the electric chair was first called in 1927. Thomas Arthur is a 68-year-old white male who grew up in Sheffield, Alabama. He has been on death row for 16 years. I found out about him by simply looking up death row inmates online. He was the oldest I could find. I wrote him a letter. He wrote back immediately. His writing was barely legible (but then so is mine), and his grammar somewhat lacking, but his mind seemed sharp. He displayed a sense of humor. He staunchly maintained his innocence.“Please pray about this matter and extend your hand of mercy to me and my family and immediately upon reading this humble letter to you.” (The full letter is on thicketmag.com.)

The murder that put Mr. Arthur on death row is not his first. He murdered his common law wife’s sister and shot her cousin in a drunken rage, and served six years until he was let out for good behavior. According to his daughter Sherrie, “Thomas had quit drinking, found Christ, and was doing community work sharing his story with high school students.” But in 1982, Troy Wicker of Muscle Shoals was shot through the right eye while he slept. Judy Wicker, Troy’s wife, at first testified that a black man raped her and killed her husband. Evidently that story didn’t fly, and she was convicted of killing her husband to collect on his $90,000 life insurance policy and was sentenced to life in prison. Thomas Arthur was also convicted (he and Judy were having an affair), but his case was overturned by the state Supreme Court. Ten years later Judy changed her story and said she paid Thomas Arthur $10,000 to kill her husband. A trial ensued, and in 1991 Mr. Arthur was convicted of capital murder and sentenced to death. He’s been on death row ever since. Judy Wicker was released on probation.

Naturally then there’s controversy. Why believe Judy Wicker’s story 10 years later? And why has the state refused to test the DNA evidence? That technology was not available in 1991, but it is now. It’s logical to assume the state would want to use every tool at its disposal to make sure the accused is guilty. Retesting evidence has occurred across the country, and prisoners have been released as a result. I put the DNA question to Clay Crenshaw, who heads the capital litigation division at the Alabama Attorney General’s office. “Unless the DNA test would prove absolute innocence or guilt we will not call for a retest,” Crenshaw said. “In this case, the results will not prove innocence, but they could be used by Mr. Arthur’s lawyers to file another motion, which will drag this case on for months.” Have you ever favored retesting in any case, I ask? “Yes,” he says. “In one case there was a cigarette butt left in a home, and we had it tested for DNA. That cigarette could have set the accused free if his DNA had not been found.” Was his DNA on it, I ask? “Yes it was.”

It’s 6 p. m. on September 26, 2007, and I’m sitting by the pool at the Best Western waiting for Tommy Arthur’s 45-yearold daughter Sherrie Stone. I am nervous. Her father is going to die tomorrow, and I’m going to watch. She comes out, dressed in business casual with a glass of chardonnay in her hand. “I hope you don’t mind,” she says, holding up her glass, “it’s been a rough day.” I ask her about growing up. She is hesitant. “Holidays were always special with Dad. Good times. Bad times too. Dad was a man of extremes. Alcohol got him. If he hadn’t been put in jail, he would have died of sclerosis of the liver. When Dad was sent to prison again, me and my brother ended up on the streets of Muscle Shoals. No one would take us.” I ask her about his last meal. “Dad didn’t want a last meal. His stomach was too queasy. They let him have some things from the vending machine.” He did have one last request: to see the moon. The Warden said no.” I ask, “What will you be thinking or doing in the room before you watch him die?” “Dad picked out a picture of us as kids. I will sit on the front row and hold it up. It’s the last thing he will see.” Final thoughts, I ask? “I want closure. It’s been 30 years.”

I wake up early the next morning though I don’t have to check into the media center at the prison until 2 p.m. I decide to drive 30 miles to Monroeville, home of Harper Lee and Truman Capote. I get to the old Monroe county courthouse, which is now a museum and a tribute to Harper Lee’s To Kill a Mockingbird. I notice a truck parked in front of the museum entrance. Its front tag is a confederate flag. Irony everywhere. I walk around the town square, get back in my car, and head to Holman. When I get to the media center, I find the door open and no one there. I call Sherrie Stone. She tells me her dad will not die today. The governor delayed the execution because there is a case in front of the Supreme Court charging that the drugs used in lethal injections constitute cruel and unusual punishment. The governor’s office reschedules the execution for early 2008 and cancels it again.

Postscript: This story does not have the ending I expected. Thomas Arthur did not die. He is very much alive. I got another letter from him not too long ago. Still hard to read. Still feisty. His daughter Sherrie is actively engaged in trying to keep her dad alive. There’s not much for the rest of us to do except wait for one of two possible endings

Note: Thomas Arthur, who is on death row, figured out a way to call me and other journalists by connecting through his daughter’s cell phone. At some point prison officials figured this out and limited his phone access. What follows is part of a message he left me a few months ago. Views expressed in this audio recording are those of the authors and are not necessarily those of Thicket.

Click here listen to a recording of the phone message.

Additionally, Sherrie Stone, daughter of Thomas Arthur, has started a foundation for the families of those in prison, www.forgottenvictimsofcrime.org.