I witnessed an execution

On June 3, the State of Texas executed Lester Bower for the murders of four men more than 30 years ago near Sherman. I was asked by my bosses months beforehand to be a media witness. While I fully expected Mr. Bower to receive a stay of execution, he did not. 

I watched him die. I wrote an article about it that ran in the paper on June 4.

Earlier in the week, my boss asked me to write a piece for the paper about my experience as a witness. The piece was to be more personal than a normal article, but without the opinion of a column.

Here is what I wrote:

One week ago today, I watched a man die.

Several people have asked me what the experience was like, and I generally reply with: weird. It was weird, and I’m still sorting through my thoughts on it. Here are a few of my reflections on the experience. Ask me again in a year, and my response may be different.

I didn’t know how to prepare myself to see an execution. I don’t know that anyone can, really. But I still made an attempt. I did some Internet searches and emailed reporters who had covered executions in the past, including last year’s botched execution in Oklahoma.

I was going to witness the execution of Lester Bower. For anyone who may not know, Mr. Bower was convicted of shooting and killing four men in 1983 at an airplane hangar near Sherman. Mr. Bower at first lied to authorities about his involvement with the victims. He later admitted that he had visited the hangar and bought an ultralight aircraft from one of the victims, but said that the men were alive and well when he left.

A Grayson County jury sentenced Mr. Bower to death in 1984. Altogether he served 31 years on death row and received eight execution dates and seven stays.

As I drove down to Huntsville on Wednesday afternoon, I fully expected to receive a call telling me that Mr. Bower had received another stay of execution. The hours ticked by, and no such call came. At about 5 p.m. I headed to the prison where the execution was to take place, still skeptical as to whether the execution would actually happen.

A picture of the Walls Unit. A friend of mine said, "That prison looks like something from the freakin' Shawshank Redemption!" Indeed.

The prison itself is an intimidating structure. It’s a large, menacing building that first opened to prisoners in 1849. Its official name is the “Huntsville Unit,” however it is commonly referred to as the “Walls Unit” because of its distinct, red brick walls. The prison sticks out among its surrounding buildings, which sprung up more recently.

The execution was to occur at 6 p.m. Shortly beforehand, Jason Clark of the Texas Department of Corrections led us five reporters from a TDC administrative building to the Huntsville Unit across the street. Several yards to our right, the road was cordoned off with police tape and a few law enforcement officers stood by. About 20 protesters stood watching us as we walked into the prison. They held signs, and a woman with a megaphone addressed us.

“Texas is about to murder an innocent man!” she said, among other things. Her words echoed as I walked up the steps and into the old building.

The TDC splits up media witnesses between the two witness rooms, one of which is for the family of the offender and the other of which is for family of the victims. Prison officials put me in the room with the victims’ families, along with Associated Press reporter Michael Graczyk.

In the minutes leading up to the execution, we waited in a hallway where visits usually take place. There was a long booth in the middle of the room with a glass partition. Every few feet was an empty chair and a telephone on each side of the glass.

Clark, Graczyk and I chatted about Graczyk’s college years in 1960s Detroit, Michigan. Interesting as it was, it was not enough to distract me from what was about to happen. After what seemed like forever (but was likely 10 minutes, at the most) a corrections officer met our group and led us out a door to the execution chamber.

We walked outside and through a surprisingly beautiful courtyard. Someone had clearly put many hours and much effort into making the space beautiful. An ivy-like plant climbed up the red brick walls. There were several bushes, trees and flowers of many colors.

My head swiveled around 360 degrees as I tried to take this all in. It was a beautiful sight, but a strange one. Juxtaposed beside the lush foliage were chain-link fences and razor wire, reminding me of where exactly I was.

The corrections officer led us through a door, told us to take a right and then a left. We had arrived.

I let the victims’ families enter the room, and then looked through the window before us. There was Lester Bower, strapped to a gurney with no decipherable expression. We were standing directly to his right. Again, it was strange. I had done months of research on this man, but until that point had never seen him in person. He had turned down all interview requests from local media.

As I stood in the witness room, I tried to take in as many details as possible. I wanted my article on the execution to put the reader in the small, cramped room with me, so I pointed out unusual details. The execution chamber had bright, sea foam-green walls, which I found to be an odd choice of color. The windows looking into the room had similarly colored turquoise bars on them.

Even with the knowledge of the crime Mr. Bower was convicted of more than 30 years ago, I did not want to see a gruesome death. And I didn’t.

It literally looked as though the man went to sleep. Besides the doctor announcing that Bower was dead, the only indication that he had passed was the sudden absence of his breathing, which had previously been audible. By all accounts, Bower’s death was calm and peaceful.

Lester Bower's last words. TDC provided me with a transcript.

The whole process took 18 minutes. As we witnesses were lead back outside, I asked Graczyk if the execution was average. He said yes, and that actually Mr. Bower’s execution was shorter than most that he had witnessed.

Since the execution, I have been asked many times, “Are you OK?” I wondered that to myself as I left the execution chamber. I felt fine, but I wondered if I should have been upset or affected.

In all honesty, I am fine; perhaps because of how calm everyone involved seemed to be. Graczyk told me stories of witnesses crying, pounding on the window and falling to the ground. He said he has seen offenders try to free themselves from the gurney, sob violently and convulse once the lethal injection drugs began flowing.

Everyone present appeared to have accepted that the execution was happening, whether they agreed with it or not.

I’ve only been working as a reporter for the last one-and-a-half years, and I hopefully have a long career ahead of me. I know that I will see a lot. I also know that I will always have vivid memories of the Lester Bower execution.

Ann Smajstrla is a reporter with the Herald Democrat. Email her at asmajstrla@heralddemocrat.com. Follow her on Twitter @ASmajstrlaHD.