Dec. 11 MISSISSIPPI: Nixon's case kindles debate on 'ultimate' penalty With the execution of convicted contract killer John B. Nixon Sr. fast approaching, the death penalty has found renewed debate among Mississippians. University of Southern Mississippi associate professor Don Cabana, a former corrections commissioner, ordered the execution of three inmates as warden at the State Penitentiary at Parchman. "But you find yourself wondering if there is a better way," said Cabana, who describes his personal view of capital punishment as ambivalent. Kirk Ladner, who witnessed the execution of his brother's killer in July 2002, said he thinks the death penalty should be considered case-by-case. "It's a sad day when anyone is put to death, but it has to be done," said Ladner, whose brother, state trooper Bruce Ladner, was killed by Tracy Alan Hansen in 1987. Lethal injection:----HOW THE PROCESS WORKS 1. A lethal dose of anesthetic, sodium pentothal, will be administered to sedate the inmate, leading to a deep sleep. Then a saline solution flushes the intravenous line. 2. Pavulon, a muscle relaxant, is then administered. It collapses the diaphragm and lungs. A saline solution is once again used to flush the intravenous line. 3. The final step is administering a toxic amount of drug, potassium chloride, through the IV. In high doses, the drug stops the normal heart functions, causing cardiac arrest.,P> An inmate is usually pronounced dead approximately seven minutes after the process begins. [sources: Mississippi Department of Corrections] Millsaps College senior Kiger Sigh said during a recent death penalty protest that executing 77-year-old Nixon is "completely absurd." Legal experts say there are problems with the death penalty. The biggest concern is ensuring capital defendants have quality representation, Mississippi College law professor Matt Steffey said. "Because the death penalty is irreversible, it's important to make sure the conviction and sentence are correct and appropriate," he said. "There's not a sadder situation than to have the state take a person's life and then learn later it shouldn't have." Earlier this month, Virginia Gov. Mark Warner commuted the sentence for a convicted murder because key evidence was destroyed and could not be tested for DNA. But Steffey added Mississippi has taken steps in recent years to ensure adequate representation through its Office of Capital Defense Counsel. Public defenders working in the statewide office have experience and expertise in handling capital punishment cases. State law prescribes when the death penalty can be applied, and prosecutors strive to make certain cases rise to that level. When seeking the death penalty, prosecutors usually want to be certain they can get a guilty verdict. "There are no hard and fast rules about when to seek the death penalty," Hinds County District Attorney Faye Peterson said. Hinds County has not had a death penalty case in about 10 years. Peterson is seeking the death penalty against Eric Moffett in the 1994 sexual assault and death of his then-girlfriend's 5-year-old daughter. But some religious leaders disagree that death should be the ultimate punishment. The Rev. Todd Watson, associate pastor at Wells Memorial United Methodist Church, said capital punishment goes against Christian principles. "As part of the Christian church, Methodists recognize that God's work in the world is for redemption," Watson said during the death penalty protest. Whenever an inmate is executed, Cabana said, "it is a very reflective time and they (inmates on death row) realize they've moved up in the line." *************** Oldest inmate on death row wants clemency John B. Nixon Sr. saved a boy from a flooded irrigation well, pulled a woman from a burning plane and served in the Army and Navy. But he also is a criminal whose crimes include rape and murder. Bursting into a Brandon home and shooting a 45-year-old mother of 3 at close range in a murder-for-hire scheme landed Nixon on death row 19 years ago. Nixon is set to die by lethal injection Wednesday for firing a shot into Virginia Tucker's skull behind her ear - unless Gov. Haley Barbour grants the condemned killer clemency or the U.S. Supreme Court stops the execution. Nixon is asking Barbour to look at his previous good deeds - and repentance - in sparing his life. "Let me say that I risked my life 2 different times to save other people and that should count for something," Nixon wrote in a letter last week asking Barbour for clemency. He also told Barbour in the handwritten letter dated Dec. 6, "I accept that wrong was done to an innocent woman and her family and that I played a part in it. I regret it and wish I could undo it, but I can't." Tucker's brother, John Telles, and her husband, Thomas, who was shot the night she was killed, but survived, say Nixon should be executed. "I will write myself a reminder note to remember the (expletive) on that day," said Telles, 74, of Royal, Ark., who does not plan to attend the execution at the Mississippi State Penitentiary at Parchman. If executed, Nixon will become the oldest person in the United States put to death since capital punishment was reinstated in 1976. He will be the seventh person executed in Mississippi since the death penalty resumed in 1984. The jury may have sentenced Nixon to life without the possibility of parole had they known about his good deeds, his lawyers wrote. "No Mississippi jury would have unanimously sentenced him to death," court documents show. They argue in court papers and to Barbour that Nixon had ineffective counsel. Specifically, they said jurors should not have been told about his 1958 rape conviction in Texas. That January night, Nixon, one of his sons and a friend went to the Tuckers' home with a mission to kill. The .22-caliber pistol misfired when Nixon attempted to shoot Thomas Tucker, who was wounded while escaping. Nixon, a mechanic from Utica, was paid $1,000 by Virginia Tucker's ex-husband to kill the couple. Thomas Tucker offered to pay Nixon that night to prevent the killing, but Nixon declined his offer, according to court documents. "That is not what I am after. The deal has already been made," Nixon told Tucker, according to court records. In Nixon's letter to Barbour, he said alcoholism was a significant factor in his criminal action. "I know that if I had the strength back then to turn away from alcohol and be a better father, Mrs. Tucker would not have died," Nixon said. Two of his sons and Virginia Tucker's ex-husband, Elster Ponthieux, also were convicted for their parts in the crime. The Rankin County jury that heard Nixon's case took 30 minutes to sentence him to death on March 26, 1986. But juror Evelyn U. Bell said in a 1989 affidavit she was disappointed in Nixon's defense counsel. "If I had known that Mr. Nixon rescued a woman from a burning airplane crash, it might have influenced my decision to vote for the death penalty," Bell said. "If I had known that Mr. Nixon had a deprived childhood, it might have influenced my decision to vote for the death penalty." Bell of Conyers, Ga., could not be reached for comment. Nixon saved Troy Cotton, now deceased, from drowning and pulled a Houston woman, who did not survive, from a burning plane crash in 1966, his lawyers wrote in the clemency letter. Since being on death row, Nixon has had only two infractions, according to the Mississippi Department of Corrections. In December 1996, Nixon was cited for refusing to obey a staff order. In February 1998, he was cited for unauthorized possession of items. The items weren't detailed. Barbour and his counsel are carefully reviewing the clemency request, spokesman Pete Smith said. "If you let me live ... I will every day regret what I done (sic)," Nixon wrote Barbour, "but will be thankful for your kindness." Barbour's spokesman, Pete Smith, said the governor and his counsel are carefully reviewing Nixon's request. Thomas Tucker told WLBT-TV Channel 3 he doesn't think Nixon has changed as he told Barbour in his clemency request. "I think there is a place picked out for him. I hope he dies and goes to hell," Tucker said. ** Other players Elster Ponthieux is serving a life sentence for ordering John B. Nixon Sr. to kill his ex-wife Virginia Ponthieux Tucker. He is housed at Central Mississippi Correctional Facility in Rankin County and has been eligible for parole since January 1996. His next parole hearing is in April. John B. Nixon Jr., son of John B. Nixon. Sr., was not at the home when Virginia Tucker was killed. He was released from prison in November 1989 after serving 3.5 years off a 5-year sentence for accessory after the fact to capital murder. Henry L. Nixon, son of John B. Nixon. Sr., chased Thomas Tucker as he escaped from the crime scene firing a shot that grazed his head. He was released from prison in June 1995 after serving 9 years of a 20-year sentence for conspiracy to commit capital murder. Gilbert Jimenez wrestled Virginia Tucker to the ground before she was shot by John B. Nixon Sr. Jimenez agreed to a plea bargain and testified against Nixon Sr. He was released from prison in October 1994 after serving about 8.5 years for conspiracy to commit capital murder. ** John B. Nixon Sr.'s final days MONDAY----Moves to a cell adjacent to the execution room. WEDNESDAY----3 p.m. Meets with attorney and chaplain; 4 p.m. Eats last meal and showers; 6 p.m. Escorted to execution room. [source: Mississippi Department of Corrections] (source for both: Clarion-Ledger) VIRGINIA: Witness to my brother's execution----1st of a 3-part series Most Catholic Italian families would be wailing and fingering rosaries. Mine took its cue from my stoic father: We drove 150 miles in silence. What does a family talk about while driving to your brother's execution? I slept most of the trip. When I allowed thoughts, they were these: How far would I sit from my brother as he died on a steel gurney? Would the lethal injection work quickly? Would he finally be at peace and be reunited with the 2-year-old daughter he killed? Three years before America's 1,000th modern-day execution on Dec. 2, the death penalty became more than a debate for my family. We lived it. My brother was No. 797. A troubled life begins When my brother was born July 26, 1962, on New York's Long Island, he didn't even get his own name. My parents christened him Michael Joseph Passaro - named after a brother who had died 2 years before of a heart defect after only four hours outside the womb. The 2nd of 5 children, Michael was always considered our family's "problem" child. He was a mediocre student with little self-esteem. He was a follower, not a leader. He hated to fight - even to defend himself from bullies. That duty fell to me, his older sister by 13 months. One day in sixth grade when we were walking home from school, two bullies followed close behind with plans to beat up my little brother. When one of the boys pushed Michael to provoke a fight, I stepped between them. Michael ran down the street and watched from 100 yards away while I fought the boys. One quickly backed down. The other bully got kicked, scratched, pinched and punched; I jerked out a clump of his hair. Let's just say he and his buddy never bothered my brother again. It's not that I liked to fight. Far from it. I always used my verbal skills to avoid confrontations as a child. Sometimes you have no choice though. Later, as an adult, the knowledge that I could defend myself would serve me well when I worked as a corrections officer - in a men's maximum-security prison. At 5-foot-2 in high school, I still defended my brother Michael, who stood 6-foot-3. Some of the battles even were in my own family. My brother, John, a year younger than Michael, once came after Michael with a running lawn mower. Again, I put myself between Michael and the threat. I pounded on John's chest (he was 6-foot-1), and also gave him what-for verbally. When things went wrong, it was often Michael's "fault." One time, Michael and our "baby" sister, Mary, who was 2 years younger, scuffled over a children's powder puff she had given him as a gift but wanted back. The result was a pile of perfumed talcum powder scattered about the floor. From my bedroom, I heard the commotion and my father's arrival to mediate. As usual, it was Michael's fault, so my father's idea of punishment was to make him lick up the powder. Years later, I asked Michael if he had actually done it; he said no. But I will never forget my father yelling at him to lick it up and Michael's crying that he didn't want to. Our father was not abusive, but if pushed, rendered unusual and harsh punishments when it came to Michael. One year when I was in college, both of my brothers came home from a party. Michael was drunk, and my father told them to go to bed. Michael ended up getting sick after he laid down, scaring my father into thinking that his son would choke to death on his own vomit. He threw Michael into a cold shower and dragged him outside. "Don't come back," Dad told Michael, "until you can recite the Pythagorean theorem" - a geometry law regarding right triangles. My mother and I stayed up, too, waiting for my brother's return at the back door with the proper password. It took Michael more than a couple of tries - his first reaction was to forget our father's instructions and the second was to ask of the theorem, "What is that?" Our mother pleaded with our father to let Michael back in. While she petitioned Dad, I whispered the answer to Michael, not knowing if he'd even remember it. He returned in a few minutes and gave the "A squared plus B squared equals C squared" that Dad required. Michael often was my companion growing up; he even tagged along on outings with my friends. He lacked his own social and life skills. I nicknamed him "Meekie," and everyone assumed it was a variation of Michael. But it actually was a play on the word "meek." Even a stint in the Navy did little to build Michael's confidence or self-worth. Always nave, he ended up completing his tour of service in a Philadelphia brig after accepting a gift of old tools from a superior on board his duty ship. Michael's superior told him the tools were going to be discarded anyway, so he should have them. Michael was arrested while trying to cart the tools off the USS Hunley, a sub-tender. It never crossed his mind that once something was government property, it always was. His ignorance cost him an honorable discharge. Michael fared no better with women than with men. They rejected him. That was until he met Donna Jean Knapp. The love of his life Donna was just out of a troubled marriage and had a daughter, Missy, about 7. Michael met her through his job at Kings Park Psychiatric Center on Long Island. She was a nurse. He was an orderly. Donna was about five years older than Michael. I met her once, in the fall of 1987. Michael made her meet me before they married. He wanted my approval first, so she visited me in Florida. She saw my brother as a loving, tenderhearted man - the opposite of her alcoholic and abusive ex-husband. I liked Donna - she saw through Michael's eccentricities. She encouraged him to go to school to become a nurse himself because he enjoyed caring for people. The couple married in February 1988 and settled on Long Island. Five months later, the unthinkable happened. After Donna and Michael played a game of darts at home, Michael went to sleep. Donna heard a car slam into a utility pole at the end of their street. While Michael slept, she ran to the scene to nurse the victims. That's when a wire knocked loose from the pole whipped Donna and launched her 50 feet, over a hedge. That was June 18, 1988. I got a call the next day from my mother, who wished me a happy birthday and then told me she had some tragic news: Donna had died that morning. Before heading into surgery, Donna had begged Michael to take care of her daughter, Missy, then 8. My brother promised he would - but he was sure he'd see her when the surgery ended. Donna died on the operating table. She was buried in the family plot the couple had bought just months before. Her parents pressed for custody of Missy and were awarded the 8-year-old. Michael was devastated. Not only did he lose his beloved wife, but he lost the stepdaughter he had promised to care for. His in-laws afforded him meager visitation opportunities, and then engaged him in legal battles for Donna's life insurance and her wrongful death settlement - roughly $150,000 combined. (Michael's stepdaughter got about $25,000, and Michael $75,000. Attorneys got the rest.) A life spirals into hell For the next 8 years, Michael's life was marked by grief, self-pity and despondency. He tried to continue with school (in Donna's memory), but dropped out. He changed jobs over and over - electrician, cabbie, ambulance driver, paramedic. He moved to Florida to live with me and restart his life, but within six months, my own life and marriage were in shambles. My husband and I split. After years of his drinking, I'd had enough. My children and I moved in with the only family we had in the area, my in-laws. Michael stayed at the mobile home I'd bought with my husband, until he was able to find a place of his own. Nothing worked. In the summer of 1990, Michael went back to New York. He turned to cocaine and alcohol and began a gradual descent into darkness. He hit rock bottom, or so we thought, when he got drunk and stabbed a friend with a 21/2-inch pocketknife for refusing to give him his car keys. His friend was trying to prevent Michael from driving drunk. The knife wounds were superficial, and the friend refused to press charges. But Michael ended up on probation and was ordered to get counseling. In 1995, after completing his probation and counseling, Michael moved to South Carolina to live with our retired parents in Longs, west of North Myrtle Beach. Michael enrolled at Carolina Coastal Community College and worked at a kidney dialysis center. He continued with counseling on his own and was prescribed Zoloft to treat his depression. At the dialysis center, Michael began a relationship with the director, a former nurse named Karen Monk Martin. She was older - a single mother of two grown girls. They married Jan. 18, 1996, and by March, Karen was pregnant with Michael's child. The family's joy would be shortlived. (source: The Daily Progress) MARYLAND: Opposition to the death penalty upholds the value of life The recent visit of Cardinal William H. Keeler to condemned murderer Wesley Eugene Baker has served to instigate a revealing episode in the debate on the execution of Mr. Baker and the discussion about capital punishment generally. The crux of this debate is an unfortunate and unnecessary dichotomy between justice and mercy that affects our moral and cultural vision as a people. When Cardinal Keeler called for the commutation of Mr. Baker's death sentence in the name of mercy and human life, he correctly affirmed a fundamental truth of the church's vision of human life, as revealed by the Gospel. Yet his words of mercy and compassion, as presented in the media, have obviously ripped at the hearts of the loved ones of Mr. Baker's victim, Jane Tyson. They quite understandably now ask the cardinal, and all of us, what mercy and compassion were shown to Mrs. Tyson in the senseless murder that so cavalierly denied that her life had any value. In this conflict of raw emotion and righteous anger and moral perspective, there is a tragic conflict of people who should be on the same side. Their hearts really want the same things, and they need to find a common ground on which the voice of mercy speaks to the value of human life. We must be clear that the fundamental truth behind the opposition to capital punishment, as expressed by Pope John Paul II, is not that the cold-blooded murderer has a human right not to be executed for his crime. He has no such right. Rather, we have a need not to kill when we don't have to. We need to recognize the profound and subtle levels on which we cannot kill without diminishing our humanity. In a world where the greatest threats to our society and to the human race are in the ease with which some people can so easily and righteously justify the killing of other people, there is no greater need before us than to affirm the value of human life. That value prohibits its taking except in the necessity to protect innocent life. Moreover, what is really at the heart of the righteous anger of the loved ones of victims such as Mrs. Tyson if not the unspeakable revulsion of someone who could so cheapen the value of their loved one's life as to snuff it out with such unthinking casualness? If we are to punish people such as Mr. Baker, as we must, do we not need to do so in a way that most profoundly contradicts the demonic lie at the heart of their heinous actions? That is the lie that says that these snuffed-out lives were not worthy of life. Can the righteous anger that fills the loved ones of murder victims really find solace and relief in the death of the perpetrators? The problem of revenge is that whatever it is, it is never enough. There is nothing we could do to people such as Mr. Baker that would really satisfy the hurt, loss and emptiness that their actions bring to the hearts of so many good people. If the hearts of those who suffer the loss of their murdered loved ones are to find a real way to go on with their lives in peace and hope, must it not be by affirming above all else what the murderers among us deny? That is the truth that proclaims that there is never a good or justifiable reason to steal another's life. We need so desperately to find a language and a sharing of emotion that allows us to avoid pitting against each other the clergy and the loved ones of victims, those calling for mercy and life and those calling for justice. The satisfaction of justice and the affirmation of mercy can only come together in the determination to affirm what the killers among us deny and to commit ourselves to not killing when we don't have to. And we must do so not out of any misguided and shallow pity for the murderers among us, but rather out of the determination to not let them remake our souls in their image. (source: The Baltimore Sun - The Rev. William A. Au is pastor of Saints Philip and James Catholic Church in Baltimore) OHIO: County: Double jeopardy irrelevant----A visiting judge will render a decision in the long-running case. In Warren, the Trumbull County Prosecutor's Office says the issue of double jeopardy is not applicable in the ongoing legal maneuverings to spare Danny Lee Hill from the death penalty. The double jeopardy clause in the U.S. Constitution protects a person who has been acquitted from having to "run the gantlet" of prosecution a second time. Hill "has not been acquitted of anything, and he is not being forced to run any [gantlet]," says a motion filed in Trumbull County Common Pleas Court on Friday by Prosecutor Dennis Watkins and LuWayne Annos, assistant prosecutor. A week ago, Hill's public defender filed a motion in the post-conviction case of Hill, of Warren, this time requesting resentencing to avoid Hill's being subject to double jeopardy. Hill was sentenced to death in 1986, convicted in common pleas court of the 1985 murder of Raymond Fife, 12, who was raped and tortured. A co-defendant, Timothy Combs, was a juvenile then and is serving consecutive life terms in prison. Hill is at Mansfield Correctional Institution. Case cited The motion filed by the Ohio Public Defender's Office said a federal ruling in a case called Bies vs. Bagley from Nov. 23 has an impact on the case against Hill. The motion says Hill is being subjected to double jeopardy because his defense "long ago proved" he is mentally retarded and that the state is barred from any attempt to re-litigate that question. The prosecutors, though, say the public defender's motion contains a misstatement as to whether Hill had ever previously been found to be mentally retarded. "The actual finding by the 3-judge panel which convicted and sentenced [Hill] was that he exhibited 'low intelligence' and 'impaired judgment,' not that he was mentally retarded," the state's filing says. No valid and final judgment has ever been made as to whether Hill was mentally retarded at the time of the crime, it says. Thomas P. Curran, a visiting judge from Cuyahoga County hearing the Hill case, is expected to rule this month on whether Hill's death sentence should be revoked because of a 2002 Supreme Court ruling that execution of the retarded is cruel and unusual punishment. Hill's legal team says Judge Curran should adopt the reasoning set forth by Magistrate Judge Michael R. Merz in the Southern District Western Division Court in Dayton in a case of another murder defendant. The ruling there was that the defendant's death sentence should be removed and he should be resentenced. Prosecutor's response The prosecutor's office says the evidence cited by the public defender in its filing is a "magistrate's recommendation to District Judge Susan J. Dlott," not the ruling of a judge. "That recommendation has not been adopted at this writing," the prosecutor's office says, adding that the public defender does not cite any opinion "emanating from a real judge. ... " The public defender's motion said the Bies case is "equal in all central respects" to Hill's case. "Judge Merz blocked further proceedings" to determine whether that defendant should be executed because "like here, the state trial court errantly overruled Bies' double jeopardy argument." Judge Curran rejected double jeopardy arguments in an entry from March 19, 2004. The public defender says Trumbull County Common Pleas Court "should correct its own error" and determine that Hill is a mentally retarded person who is entitled to be excluded from the death penalty. (source: The Vindicator) NORTH CAROLINA: Life trumps death penalty----New laws and changing public sentiment have likely cut down death sentences North Carolina's 3 executions in recent weeks have obscured a trend in the opposite direction: The death penalty is on a downswing. A decade ago, North Carolina juries typically handed down 25 to 30 death sentences a year. In recent years, that figure has dipped into the single digits. As recently as 2001, prosecutors in North Carolina sought the death penalty in 50 cases. This year, they have brought just 20 cases. As of Nov. 29, there were 6 convictions. Other states show similar patterns. Nationwide, death sentences have dropped by 54 % and executions by 40 percent since 1999, according to the Death Penalty Information Center, a Washington-based nonprofit group. DWINDLING DEATH SENTENCES IN NORTH CAROLINA 1994: 28 1995: 34 1996: 26 1997: 22 1998: 21 1999: 26 2000: 18 2001: 14 2002: 7 2003: 6 2004: 4 2005: 6* *As of Nov. 29, 2005 CENTER FOR DEATH PENALTY LITIGATION Changing public attitudes about the death penalty and new state laws have contributed to a steep decline in the number of people sentenced to die, said Ken Rose, director of the Center for Death Penalty Litigation, a legal organization in Durham. "People are now less willing to take a chance on the government getting these cases right," Rose said. "They are more critical of both the prosecution and the police, at least in terms of whether the person should be executed." New laws in the past decade have provided assurance to jurors who wanted to be certain that the killers they convicted would never walk free. Knowing that a convicted murderer will die behind bars, jurors are less likely to vote for death, Rose said. Before 1994 in North Carolina, people sentenced to life in prison were eligible for parole and could, conceivably, leave prison one day. The Structured Sentencing Act of 1993 abolished parole for anyone sentenced after Oct. 1, 1994. Now, "life in prison" means just that. Then in 2001, district attorneys gained the option to pursue a 1st-degree murder conviction without seeking the death penalty. Before then, prosecutors and defense attorneys would cut deals in which defendants would plead guilty to 2nd-degree murder and sometimes other charges that would result in what amounted to a life sentence. "District attorneys and citizens have been concerned that if they didn't give a death sentence that the person would get out of prison. Now we have a mechanism that that doesn't happen," Rose said. "Life now means life without parole. We now have a way to tell people: If you choose life, that person's going to die in prison." Finally, a state law enacted in 2001 created Indigent Defense Services to represent poor defendants -- taking the job of selecting lawyers out of the hands of chief judges. Charlotte death-penalty defense lawyer Jim Cooney said having an independent, nonpartisan agency picking defense lawyers for capital cases has done more to ensure the accused have competent representation with the experts and resources to mount a case on a level playing field with prosecutors. "IDS did a lot to clean up the capital defense list," said Cooney, who has worked on death-penalty cases for 20 years. "A lot of people on that list had no business trying capital cases." Second thoughts Since 1976, when the U.S. Supreme Court allowed capital punishment to resume, four innocent people have been freed from North Carolina's death row. The most recent was Alan Gell, who was acquitted in a 2004 retrial. "Those are all people who were tried, convicted and sentenced to death -- and they just didn't do it," Cooney said. "I think that gives jurors pause, and they're just not willing to jump when the prosecutor asks for death." Dozens more have been exonerated nationwide, which, he said, also undermines confidence in the system. "When it comes to the death penalty, you've got to get things 100 percent right. Especially in cases where there's not strong [DNA evidence], people aren't willing to go along like they were in the 1990s," he said. "District attorneys are making an effort to see that when they seek the death penalty, it really is the worst of the worst -- not the 19-year-old who holds up a convenience store, gets scared and shoots the clerk on the way out." How sentences stack up There are 174 people on death row in North Carolina, 18 of them convicted by Triangle juries: 11 in Wake County, 6 in Johnston and 1 in Durham. No one currently facing execution was sentenced in Orange or Chatham counties. Colon Willoughby, district attorney in Wake County since 1986, said his office has historically tried few capital cases and goes after life in prison more often -- even when the circumstances would allow him to pursue the death penalty. "We probably try a lot more cases as first-degree murder now that we have the discretion to pursue life in prison," he said. "Six or eight years ago, we may have been reluctant because we would have had to try it capitally." Capital convictions are so infrequent that Willoughby said he couldn't remember offhand the last person sentenced to death in Wake. That person, Fernando Garcia, in 2001 was sentenced to die. He was convicted of fatally beating a North Raleigh woman who fought off his attempt to rape her. "Our jurors in Wake County have been cautious in imposing capital punishment," Willoughby said. Wake juries have been less likely to vote for death for "two drug dealers shooting at each other" or in a domestic violence situation, he said, but much more likely when the victim is innocent, randomly selected or the killer is a "threat to the community." In recent high-profile capital cases, Wake juries returned sentences of life in prison for Timothy Johnson, who shot and killed two men at an N.C. State football tailgating gathering, and Matthew Grant, who killed a Wake sheriff's deputy with a shotgun. Durham county's top prosecutor didn't seek the death penalty in 2003 against Durham novelist Mike Peterson in the death of his wife. And this year's murder case against Dennis Lamonte Hargrove was Durham County's 1st death penalty case in several years. Prosecutors accuse Hargrove of killing a woman and wounding another woman and 2 children in an apartment where Hargrove had gone with other men to collect a drug debt in 2003. Jury selection began in October, but the case has been postponed until next year. As the district attorney of Orange and Chatham counties for 2 decades, Carl Fox brought about three dozen capital cases, and not one resulted in a death sentence. "I consider it highly, highly unlikely in Orange or Chatham," said Fox, who became a judge this year. He also said that the votes for life in prison were unanimous except for one -- a 9-3 vote by a Chatham jury in favor of death, the closest he ever got. Former Durham District Attorney Jim Hardin, who also became a judge this year, had several of the death sentences imposed during his 11 years as the lead prosecutor overturned. Willoughby in Wake and Tom Lock in the district that includes Johnston, Harnett and Lee counties, go after the death penalty more often, but juries that convict have been less and less willing to go that final step. View on death penalty The Gallup organization has been asking Americans about the death penalty since the 1930s. Support for the death penalty peaked at 80 % in 1994, but has decreased to 64 % today. All of this easing away from the death penalty has ignited a new resolve in capital punishment opponents who say the trend is fueling the need for a moratorium on North Carolina's death penalty. "If you believe in the death penalty, you need to support a moratorium. Our juries are more or less imposing their own moratorium. They're refusing to give the death penalty," Cooney said, citing overturned death sentences, new trials and death sentences commuted to life in prison as possible explanations. "Ultimately, it's bad for the system if the public doesn't have any confidence in it. I think the best thing that can happen for everyone is for us to shine a light on the system and fix it." (source: The News & Observer)
