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The business of securing death sentences: 40 years and 28 men | The business of securing death sentences: 40 years and 28 men |
(about 11 hours later) | |
In September of 1996, Donnie Myers received a letter from one of the many men he had put on death row. | In September of 1996, Donnie Myers received a letter from one of the many men he had put on death row. |
It came from a multiple murderer named Michael Torrence who was soon to be executed and had an unusual final request: let me talk face-to-face, he asked, with the man who secured my death sentence. | |
Myers, a district attorney in Lexington County, South Carolina, thought about it for a while, then made the similarly unorthodox decision to accept the invitation. He made his way over to the state’s death row and sat down with the condemned man for several hours, as Torrence recounted his killings and the motivation behind them. | Myers, a district attorney in Lexington County, South Carolina, thought about it for a while, then made the similarly unorthodox decision to accept the invitation. He made his way over to the state’s death row and sat down with the condemned man for several hours, as Torrence recounted his killings and the motivation behind them. |
“He told me that when he went about killing a person, he didn’t think about the consequences, he didn’t care,” Myers recalled. “He said he had a job to do, killing someone, and that was all he concentrated on.” | “He told me that when he went about killing a person, he didn’t think about the consequences, he didn’t care,” Myers recalled. “He said he had a job to do, killing someone, and that was all he concentrated on.” |
The chilling conversation made a deep impression on Myers, and got him thinking about all the other killers he had dealt with. “I kind of got the feeling that the other ones I prosecuted felt the same way. I really believe that when someone sets about taking another human being’s life, like he told me, they don’t care about anything else. That was his job, and he had to carry it out.” | The chilling conversation made a deep impression on Myers, and got him thinking about all the other killers he had dealt with. “I kind of got the feeling that the other ones I prosecuted felt the same way. I really believe that when someone sets about taking another human being’s life, like he told me, they don’t care about anything else. That was his job, and he had to carry it out.” |
It was an extraordinary conversation on several levels. The strangest and most poignant aspect of it was that Torrence’s insights into the psychology of killing might also be applicable to the cold machinery of the death penalty. | |
For the past 40 years, Donnie Myers has been oiling the wheels of that machine in his corner of the American south, achieving capital convictions on a scale almost unparalleled in the modern era. He was determined, laser-like and fearsomely effective. Securing death sentences was his job, and he had to carry it out. | |
When the Guardian suggested to Myers that his approach to putting defendants on death row bore similarities to the cold precision expressed by Torrence, he replied: “I believe in enforcing the law and, based on the crime, that justice be served.” | When the Guardian suggested to Myers that his approach to putting defendants on death row bore similarities to the cold precision expressed by Torrence, he replied: “I believe in enforcing the law and, based on the crime, that justice be served.” |
From 1977, when he took up his post as chief prosecutor (or solicitor, as it is known locally) in Lexington County, until his retirement earlier this year, Myers put no fewer than 28 men on to death row, six of whom have been executed in the electric chair or by lethal injection. In all, he prosecuted more than 40 capital trials, and secured 39 death sentences (some of the men were tried twice). | |
That breathtaking output puts Myers in an elite class of prosecutors who have been the powerhouse of the death penalty in the US. He was profiled last year in the Fair Punishment Project’s report, America’s Top Five Deadliest Prosecutors, which noted that the members of this “notorious group” had collectively wielded an outsized influence. | That breathtaking output puts Myers in an elite class of prosecutors who have been the powerhouse of the death penalty in the US. He was profiled last year in the Fair Punishment Project’s report, America’s Top Five Deadliest Prosecutors, which noted that the members of this “notorious group” had collectively wielded an outsized influence. |
His prolific dedication to capital cases also earned him exotic nicknames, such as Doctor Death and Death Penalty Donnie. He resents the tags. “The media has to come up with nicknames as publicity, but I would not give myself those labels,” he said. | His prolific dedication to capital cases also earned him exotic nicknames, such as Doctor Death and Death Penalty Donnie. He resents the tags. “The media has to come up with nicknames as publicity, but I would not give myself those labels,” he said. |
Despite the controversy that has dogged Myers, he agreed to give the Guardian an exit interview, looking back over his career. Over two hours, the former prosecutor opened a door to the thinking of an individual whose business was to arrange, judicially speaking, the killing of prisoners, reflecting on what it takes to send 28 men to death row. | |
The interview took place over lunch in the Broadway theatre district of Manhattan, where Myers was enjoying a post-retirement vacation. It was a fitting location, given his legendary theatricality in the courtroom. | |
“I’m known for getting really emotional in closing arguments,” Myers said. “They are emotional cases. I put myself in the victim’s shoes – I’m their mouthpiece. I’m speaking for a person that I didn’t know, someone in the grave.” | “I’m known for getting really emotional in closing arguments,” Myers said. “They are emotional cases. I put myself in the victim’s shoes – I’m their mouthpiece. I’m speaking for a person that I didn’t know, someone in the grave.” |
That emotionality led to some highly controversial performances in front of the jury. One of the more thespian came at the trial of Robert Northcutt, who in 2001 murdered his four-month-old daughter, Breanna, because she wouldn’t stop crying. | |
Myers said that he set himself the task of “putting the jurors in the place of that victim. I wanted them to see what he had done to that baby. I wanted them to relive the crime, to go through what the victim did. So, yeah, I got highly emotional about that”. | Myers said that he set himself the task of “putting the jurors in the place of that victim. I wanted them to see what he had done to that baby. I wanted them to relive the crime, to go through what the victim did. So, yeah, I got highly emotional about that”. |
To achieve that goal, the prosecutor brought into the courtroom the actual crib in which the baby’s body had been found. He draped it with a large black shroud and wheeled it around in front of the jury in simulation of a funeral procession. | To achieve that goal, the prosecutor brought into the courtroom the actual crib in which the baby’s body had been found. He draped it with a large black shroud and wheeled it around in front of the jury in simulation of a funeral procession. |
Then he produced a toy doll and bent its back over the rail of the crib to show how the defendant had broken Breanna’s back. “He had bent her around til the back of her head touched the back of her feet, and that offended me,” Myers told the Guardian. | Then he produced a toy doll and bent its back over the rail of the crib to show how the defendant had broken Breanna’s back. “He had bent her around til the back of her head touched the back of her feet, and that offended me,” Myers told the Guardian. |
In his closing summary, the prosecutor scolded the 12 men and women of the jury, telling them that if they gave Northcutt a life sentence rather than death that would be to “kick the baby some more”. He also opined that anything less than a capital sentence would declare “open season on babies in Lexington County”. | In his closing summary, the prosecutor scolded the 12 men and women of the jury, telling them that if they gave Northcutt a life sentence rather than death that would be to “kick the baby some more”. He also opined that anything less than a capital sentence would declare “open season on babies in Lexington County”. |
As he spoke, the prosecutor cried 16 times. What he did not tell the court, but did reveal to the Guardian, was that to supercharge his address to the jury he had tucked into the crib a sheet belonging to his own son Chris, who had died of a genetic condition seven months previously. | As he spoke, the prosecutor cried 16 times. What he did not tell the court, but did reveal to the Guardian, was that to supercharge his address to the jury he had tucked into the crib a sheet belonging to his own son Chris, who had died of a genetic condition seven months previously. |
“My son had just died, and I used his sheet on that crib, so that was part of the emotion too. It was part of finding emotion in the moment.” | “My son had just died, and I used his sheet on that crib, so that was part of the emotion too. It was part of finding emotion in the moment.” |
Myers achieved his ambition: Northcutt was sent to death row. But it was a Pyrrhic victory in that the supreme court of South Carolina later overturned the sentence on grounds that he had been “overly zealous” in his closing summary. The prisoner is now back on death row after he was given a fresh resentencing trial. | Myers achieved his ambition: Northcutt was sent to death row. But it was a Pyrrhic victory in that the supreme court of South Carolina later overturned the sentence on grounds that he had been “overly zealous” in his closing summary. The prisoner is now back on death row after he was given a fresh resentencing trial. |
David Bruck, a professor at Washington and Lee University School of Law who represented Northcutt at the trial, has followed Myers’ career closely over many years. He credits the prosecutor with being a very good lawyer who knew exactly how to appeal to the typical juror from Lexington, an overwhelmingly white county which the Daily Caller has ranked as the 37th most conservative in the nation. | |
“He worked juries very hard. There was no trick too dirty,” Bruck said. “It was as though he had won a raffle that allowed him to hunt really big game; that’s what death penalty cases were for him – hunting really big human game.” | |
There were plenty of tricks that Myers accumulated along the way. In the capital trial of Joseph Ard, who was convicted in 1996 of killing his unborn child after he shot his pregnant girlfriend, the prosecutor screened pictures in the courtroom of a fetus dressed up for a funeral. (That sentence was later overturned too, and Ard released, after the shooting was found to be unintentional.) | There were plenty of tricks that Myers accumulated along the way. In the capital trial of Joseph Ard, who was convicted in 1996 of killing his unborn child after he shot his pregnant girlfriend, the prosecutor screened pictures in the courtroom of a fetus dressed up for a funeral. (That sentence was later overturned too, and Ard released, after the shooting was found to be unintentional.) |
When Johnny Brewer defended himself at trial for the 1994 strangling of his sister-in-law, Myers devised a clever way to unsettle the defendant by leaving a Photoshopped image of Brewer strapped to the electric chair in his line of sight within the courtroom. “He got upset about that,” Myers said. | When Johnny Brewer defended himself at trial for the 1994 strangling of his sister-in-law, Myers devised a clever way to unsettle the defendant by leaving a Photoshopped image of Brewer strapped to the electric chair in his line of sight within the courtroom. “He got upset about that,” Myers said. |
And in the case of Ron Finklea, who was prosecuted in 2007 for shooting a security guard in a robbery, then dousing him with petrol and setting him ablaze, Myers ignited a fire-starter right in front of the jury benches. “I talked to the women in the jury,” he recalled. “I said, ‘You know when you’re cooking and you touch that stove and oh man! it hurts. Just imagine your whole hand is on fire.’ I talked about burning flesh, the smell and the pain.” | And in the case of Ron Finklea, who was prosecuted in 2007 for shooting a security guard in a robbery, then dousing him with petrol and setting him ablaze, Myers ignited a fire-starter right in front of the jury benches. “I talked to the women in the jury,” he recalled. “I said, ‘You know when you’re cooking and you touch that stove and oh man! it hurts. Just imagine your whole hand is on fire.’ I talked about burning flesh, the smell and the pain.” |
Finklea is on death row awaiting execution. | Finklea is on death row awaiting execution. |
But the case that stands out for Myers’ critics is that of Johnny Bennett, a black man who was sentenced to death in 1995 by an all-white jury. In the course of his summing up, Myers described Bennett as a “beast of burden”, “brutal monster”, “mountain man” and “caveman”. | But the case that stands out for Myers’ critics is that of Johnny Bennett, a black man who was sentenced to death in 1995 by an all-white jury. In the course of his summing up, Myers described Bennett as a “beast of burden”, “brutal monster”, “mountain man” and “caveman”. |
He warned the jury that if they gave the defendant a life sentence rather than death he would eventually find his way back into society, and “meeting him again will be like meeting King Kong on a bad day”. | He warned the jury that if they gave the defendant a life sentence rather than death he would eventually find his way back into society, and “meeting him again will be like meeting King Kong on a bad day”. |
For good measure, he informed the court that he had discovered that Bennett was having sex on death row with a female prison guard whom the prosecutor described as “the blonde-headed lady” (the guard was white). The raising of the old southern shibboleth of white women having sex with black men left a federal judge and the US fourth circuit court of appeals with no doubt: Myers had played to deep-rooted stereotypes and with his King Kong remark made a “poorly disguised appeal to racial prejudice”. | |
The court threw out Bennett’s death sentence, and the prisoner is now facing a retrial. This was just one of more than 20 reversals to Myers’ convictions in the higher courts, at least four of them for improper closing arguments. | The court threw out Bennett’s death sentence, and the prisoner is now facing a retrial. This was just one of more than 20 reversals to Myers’ convictions in the higher courts, at least four of them for improper closing arguments. |
The Guardian asked Myers over lunch to explain his intentions in the Bennett case. Had he been “infecting” the trial with racial animus as the federal judges had concluded? | The Guardian asked Myers over lunch to explain his intentions in the Bennett case. Had he been “infecting” the trial with racial animus as the federal judges had concluded? |
The prosecutor rejected the idea that his description of the “blonde-headed lady” was racially loaded, insisting that the phrase could be applied equally to African Americans as to white people. “Maybe the judges should have visited downtown Columbia. Do you know how many black women have different colored hairs in the south? I see almost as many blondes as I see anything else.” | |
He also denied that describing a black man to an all-white jury as King Kong was remotely problematic. “Bennett is 6ft 8in and weighs 300lbs, does one-armed pushups. The guy he killed with 70 stabs of a Phillips head screwdriver was 5ft 6in and weighed 140. I was just showing the difference between them.” | |
Can you see why somebody would see the portrayal as racist? the Guardian inquired. | |
“No, I can’t. I’ve never thought of King Kong as a black person.” | “No, I can’t. I’ve never thought of King Kong as a black person.” |
But a running theme of racist literature over the years, especially in the deep south, has been to liken black people to primates. | |
“I’ve never heard in South Carolina or anywhere a black person described as King Kong,” he said. | “I’ve never heard in South Carolina or anywhere a black person described as King Kong,” he said. |
John Blume, a professor at Cornell law school who represented Bennett in his later appeals, begged to differ: “That’s preposterous, it’s ridiculous. This was clearly an appeal – and none too subtle – to jurors in implicit and explicit racial biases.” | John Blume, a professor at Cornell law school who represented Bennett in his later appeals, begged to differ: “That’s preposterous, it’s ridiculous. This was clearly an appeal – and none too subtle – to jurors in implicit and explicit racial biases.” |
The enduring mystery about Donnie Myers is why he did it. Why did he go to such extraordinary lengths to throw so many men to their judicial deaths? And how did he cope with the moral burden of arguing for human beings to be killed? | The enduring mystery about Donnie Myers is why he did it. Why did he go to such extraordinary lengths to throw so many men to their judicial deaths? And how did he cope with the moral burden of arguing for human beings to be killed? |
It is at this point in the lunch that his answers grow eerily similar to those of Michael Torrence, the multiple murderer he spoke to shortly before his execution, in terms of their icy detachment. For someone who cried frequently in closing statements, Myers is strikingly cool when discussing the moral impact his work had on him. | It is at this point in the lunch that his answers grow eerily similar to those of Michael Torrence, the multiple murderer he spoke to shortly before his execution, in terms of their icy detachment. For someone who cried frequently in closing statements, Myers is strikingly cool when discussing the moral impact his work had on him. |
“I never give defendants recognition,” he said when asked how he summoned the strength to call for the death of a man who at the time was sitting just a few feet away from him in the courtroom. “I don’t look at them. They don’t need my attention – the person who does is not in the courtroom, and that’s the victim.” | “I never give defendants recognition,” he said when asked how he summoned the strength to call for the death of a man who at the time was sitting just a few feet away from him in the courtroom. “I don’t look at them. They don’t need my attention – the person who does is not in the courtroom, and that’s the victim.” |
Myers compared the personal stress of sending people to death row to the vagaries of college football. “I played a lot of sports at the University of South Carolina, I went there on a football scholarship. Capital cases are more draining than the worst football practice I’d ever gone through.” | Myers compared the personal stress of sending people to death row to the vagaries of college football. “I played a lot of sports at the University of South Carolina, I went there on a football scholarship. Capital cases are more draining than the worst football practice I’d ever gone through.” |
He added that when a capital case was under way, “there’s not a moment when you can relax, sleep is not very restful and you just keep going at it every day of the week, including Saturdays and Sundays”. | |
When you ask a prosecutor how they feel about putting 28 men on death row, you don’t expect the answer to be that the hours are terrible. | When you ask a prosecutor how they feel about putting 28 men on death row, you don’t expect the answer to be that the hours are terrible. |
Myers insisted that he is not overzealous about the punishment. It was for other people to think about whether judicially killing prisoners is a good or bad idea; his job was just to carry out what they decided. “If South Carolina didn’t have a death penalty law, it wouldn’t affect me,” he said. | |
Did he ever have any doubts about what he was doing? | Did he ever have any doubts about what he was doing? |
“No. There never was a doubt with any of these trials. If there was the slightest hesitation I wouldn’t go forward. I do what the law says you have to do. I look at the type of crime that was committed and the person who committed it, I put all that together, then think about the appropriate thing to do. It has to fit within the law.” | “No. There never was a doubt with any of these trials. If there was the slightest hesitation I wouldn’t go forward. I do what the law says you have to do. I look at the type of crime that was committed and the person who committed it, I put all that together, then think about the appropriate thing to do. It has to fit within the law.” |
It was his job, and he had to carry it out. | It was his job, and he had to carry it out. |
Defense lawyers who went up against Myers in court find the argument that he was just following the law hard to swallow. They point out that there is nothing in state or federal law that requires prosecutors to seek death penalties, as the decision is left entirely to their better judgment. “So for Myers to say he was just applying the law is simply not true,” Bruck said. | Defense lawyers who went up against Myers in court find the argument that he was just following the law hard to swallow. They point out that there is nothing in state or federal law that requires prosecutors to seek death penalties, as the decision is left entirely to their better judgment. “So for Myers to say he was just applying the law is simply not true,” Bruck said. |
As a result of Myers’ enthusiasm for the ultimate punishment, Lexington County became a major supplier of the inhabitants of death row. Under his leadership, the county achieved an astonishingly high ratio of death sentences to murders. | |
Lexington recorded an average rate of 6.80 death sentences per 100 murders, compared with just 0.53 per 100 murders in neighboring Richland County, which covers inner-city Columbia, despite its much higher incidence of homicide. The vast disparity makes a mockery of the death penalty as a uniform element of justice. | |
The point was made most vividly in a study of South Carolina which highlighted the case of Raymond Patterson. He was put on death row by Myers for a 1985 murder committed in a parking lot in Lexington County. Had the shooting happened just three parking spots away, it would have fallen in Richland County, and Patterson would in all probability have been spared a death sentence. | The point was made most vividly in a study of South Carolina which highlighted the case of Raymond Patterson. He was put on death row by Myers for a 1985 murder committed in a parking lot in Lexington County. Had the shooting happened just three parking spots away, it would have fallen in Richland County, and Patterson would in all probability have been spared a death sentence. |
Stephen Breyer, the US supreme court justice, powerfully drew on these fundamental inequalities in his abolitionist rallying cry in 2015. “The imposition of the death penalty heavily depends on the county in which a defendant is tried,” he wrote, going on to conclude: “The death penalty is imposed arbitrarily.” | |
At his retirement in January, several hundred people came to wish Donnie Myers well. It was the end of an era, in more ways than one. | |
“I am happy to be retired,” he said. “I will never have to try another death penalty case.” | |
He quits the profession with seven of the men he personally escorted to death row still sitting where he put them, awaiting the death chamber. What does he think should happen to them now that he has left his post and is a normal citizen once again? | He quits the profession with seven of the men he personally escorted to death row still sitting where he put them, awaiting the death chamber. What does he think should happen to them now that he has left his post and is a normal citizen once again? |
“Normal! Nobody’s called me normal before,” he laughed. | “Normal! Nobody’s called me normal before,” he laughed. |
And then he said: “I think they should get on with it. The jury set the sentence – I think it’s time for it to be carried out.” |
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