Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: MONDAY, August 28, 1995 TAG: 9508280101
SECTION: VIRGINIA PAGE: C-1 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE:
DATELINE: LENGTH: Long
Three days before the stay was granted, a Department of Corrections official came to Death Row and gave Stockton the death warrant, the state's official document naming the time and place of the condemned man's execution. The warrant must be read at least 10 days before execution. After that, the state can move the condemned from Death Row at Mecklenberg Correctional Center in Boydton to Greensville Correctional Center in Jarratt at any time.
Once Stockton's new execution date is set, an official will come to Death Row, a new death warrant in hand, and start the process again.
FRIDAY, AUG. 18, 1995 - About once a week we get what the menu says is French toast but what I call fried lightbread for breakfast and it so happened that's what was on the menu this morning. That in itself should have told me it wasn't going to be too good a day.
I made do with a half-pint carton of milk and a cup of coffee while out at the table during meals. The hour flew by and before I knew it ``lockup'' was being called, meaning it was time for all but two of us to return to our cells. I wiped off the table I sit at during meals, threw all the trash in the trash can and went on to my cell.
I'd already planned my day. Had my typewriter set up, the paper already in it for the first page. My door had hardly shut behind me before it was opening again. I thought perhaps the officer in the control booth had made a mistake and I stepped over to the door to let him know my door was open. About then I heard my name being called.
Glancing up at the entranceway to the pod, I saw two people standing out in the hallway - and they wanted to see me. One of them was someone I didn't know and can't recall ever seeing before. He was a small guy with a slight build, dark hair and a Clark Gable moustache. I walked on up to see what [officer] and this man I didn't know wanted.
He told me his name and said he had an order from the Circuit Court. Said if I couldn't read, he would read the order to me. I told him I could read and knew what was in the order, so he handed me a copy and left.
It was my death warrant. I'd known sooner or later they were going to bring it to me. I'd known ever since the court had set the day I would be killed.
I went back to my cell and laid the order down on some papers lying atop my footlocker and got busy with what I had planned for the day.
Remember me saying I already had a page in my typewriter? Well, I made a mistake in spelling after doing only seven double-spaced lines. It came to mind I was letting my curiosity about that order interrupt my train of thought and if I didn't want to erase a lot of mistakes I should stop and read what it said. It don't make sense, I suppose, since I already knew what was in it, but nevertheless this was what my mind was telling me to do.
I was curious to see what a death warrant looked like. That baby took three pages to say what I already knew! Three pages to tell me I was going to die on September 27th. I mean, the Virginia Supreme Court hardly ever needs more than one sentence to deny an appeal and here they needed three pages to give me my killing date.
The whole first page had four lines and the names of all the lawyers involved. The second page had 15 double-spaced lines. The third just had the judge's signature at the top and the signatures of all the lawyers involved. They wasted more paper than anything else. Lots of legal language. It said that if I can't read, the warrant will be read to me. And then, there's the point of the whole thing:
``This court hereby orders that the execution of Dennis Waldon Stockton's death sentence be carried out on the date of Sept. 27, 1995, at such time of day as the director of the Department of Corrections shall fix.''
It was like I didn't feel anything when I read the warrant. Any reactions I'd had came several weeks earlier when my lawyers told me that the date was September 27. I took a sip of my Pepsi-Cola then and said how this wasn't very much time, how there was no way I was going to be able to finish the book I was collaborating on with another death row man, Steve Roach.
Still, knowing the date of my killing was a relief. Now I slept better, knowing that this nightmare was going to be over soon. Even my prison psychiatrist agreed that I seemed relieved.
That piece of paper means the state's machinery, waiting to kill me, is finally set in motion. By law, the warrant has to be read at least 10 days before an execution. Anytime afterward, a van will come and take me from Mecklenberg to Greensville, where the death house is. I have no idea when that will happen. There won't be any warning. Even my lawyers don't know.
I try not to think about it.
Once my curiosity was satisfied I stuck the death warrant in an envelope with some other papers. Only then was I able to turn this machine back on and get my work done.
I was on the phone quite a bit during the remainder of the day. Had to call my lawyer and several friends. I've used the phone more in the last three weeks than I have in the last three months. And I can tell you right now I don't like talking on the phone so much. Seems I'm saying the same things over and over and over. Seems a lot of people are worrying about me and I have to do a lot of reassuring and consoling. And that's really a drag, because it seems to me that if anyone should be worrying right now, it should be me. But I'm not, for Jesus is doing that for me, like He promised to do.
And that gives me time to do what I like best - write fiction, set in the Smoky Mountains, where my characters are free to do what they please.
One more thing. A friend of mine here in the pod, another death row inmate, asked to see the death warrant. He wanted to see what one looked like. I gave it to him.
He looked it over, then gave it back. He looked sad, like he didn't know what to say for fear of saying the wrong thing.
I understood. I'd been in the same position myself back in September 1993, when talking over the phone to my friend, Joe Wise. Joe was in the death house, awaiting execution. Forty-eight hours later, he was electrocuted.
So I changed the subject.
by CNB