“No death can be elevating, and there is much sadness when anyone dies,” added Mr. Hansen, his face drawn after 3o hours without sleep, “but I am infinitely more sorrowful about the two victims’ families than the fact Mr. Gilmore is no longer ‘alive.”
Hansen’s story was printed right next to a big photograph of him m the Salt Lake Tribune. Next to that story, however, was the adjoining headline on the Schwarzschild story, and it said: “Judicial Homicide.”
Bob Hansen was used to seeing pretty savage things written about himself, but “Judicial Homicide” offended him. He debated for a long time whether to sue the ACLU guy. Since he was a public figure, he knew he would have to show a lot of malice. While Schwarzschild’s statement, tYom Hansen’s point of view, was reeking with malice, the difficulty was that Schwarzschild could hardly be responsible ibr the headline. Which was the most blatant part of the story. It was a problem, and ttansen was very much oflbnded.
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One day, shortly after the execution, Judy Wolbach went over to the State Capitol Building to tell Earl Dorius what she thought of him. It was not a very well advised thing to do, but she sat down in his office and asked him what he thought of himself Earl said, “Judy, you’ve got to understand that while you may think everything we did was terrible, we believed in our turn, that everything you did was com pletely unfair. We’ll have to work together on other cases in the fu ture, so I’d be happy if you could stay in some control of your feel ings.” He may not have used exactly that language, but she heard him making a speech on that order. She could hardly listen. “Earl,” she answered, “tell me. You have little children. Doesn’t it disturb you when they find out that you were, as it were, a helpmate to this execution?” He nodded. It did disturb him, he told her. One of the children had heard some comment that he and Attorney General Hansen had been involved in a cold-blooded murder. He had to ex plain it all to them.
From his side of the desk, Earl flt Judy was entitled to come up and confront him. In fact, he was glad she had done it. After an emo tional case such as this, attorneys went their separate ways. He didn’t like it when they ran into each other later on the street and could only glare back and forth. In fact, he thought it was big of Judith to have the courage to come up, and get it off her chest. Better than going on over the years with a feud.
After she left the office, it occurred to Judy that she had been waiting to feel a lot of pain from the execution, but it hadn’t come. Only the wrath that consumes. She musthave been reacting deeply or she would not have gone to see Earl Dorius, but there simply had not been any emotional reaction to Gilmore’s death itself. She won dered ff it had to do with the awful feeling she’d had from time to time that she was colliding with Gilmore’s rights.
SALT LAKE TRIBUNE
Utah Execution: We Came Killing
By Bob Greene
Field Newspaper Syndicate
January 2o, i977 — We didn’t tell you how we crawled around the sandbags in front of the dead man’s chair, the sandbags still fresh with his blood. We didn’t tell you how. we hurried into the firing squad’s canvas booth, and how we squinted out of the vertical slits where the rifles had been, squinted out at the chair and made ourselves a gift of the same view the executioners had viewed.
We didn’t tell you how we touched everything, touched every possible surface in the death shed. We didn’t tell you of the looks on the faces of the prison guards, who watched in amazement as we went about our doings with such eagerness, such lust. We didn’t tell you what we did to the death chair itself— the chair with the bullet holes in its leather back. We didn’t tell you that, did we? Didn’t tell you how we inserted our fingers into the holes, and rubbed our fingers around, feeling for ourselves, how deep and wide those death holes were. Feeling it all.
Brenda was completely exhausted. Back in her own home, afloat in her own bed, people came to see her, but she could hardly remember who they were, She talked, but couldn’t remember what she said, Three days got to be like one. Then she caught fever, and started vomiting pretty heavy. Only thing she could think was, “I’ve got to get cleaned up and go to that funeral.” Made it as far as the bathroom. She didn’t know that the funeral had taken place two days ago. She really was shattered to find out. She wouldn’t be with Gary at his last service. That was letting him down.
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A few nights after the execution, Nicole got into a fight. As evening came on, she felt again a powerful desire to go to bed. It wasn’t time yet, but she stretched out, and four or five patients came to drag her off. When they touched her, Nicole started swinging.
She almost busted somebody’s nose, and at one point came near to laying out all five girls. It probably lasted over three minutes. That was a long time to fight five girls. Finally they got her stretched out flat on her back but she kept getting her feet loose and kicking them, so they turned her over on her stomach and lay on top of her for, she could swear, twenty fucking minutes on that cold floor, each of them sitting on an arm or leg. All of a sudden, she realized how funny it was, and started laughing. Laughed as if her heart would burst.
The people holding her weren’t seeing it as funny, of course. Yet, she felt she was not laughing alone. Somebody was there with her. Then she knew it was Gary. He was just about saying in her ear, Hey, cunt, now you know what it’s like.
Afterward, they locked her up for a few days. During that time, she’d often bust out laughing. Felt like she still wasn’t laughing alone.
All this time, she never cried about Gary. It wasn’t necessary. He was not pitying himself. She kept hoping he would feel close to her when she got out of the nuthouse, and thought maybe she would still take her life, but did not really know. It was hard to tell.
Stanger and Moody were booked on a Gulf of Mexico cruise that left on Saturday, but they didn’t want to wait for the weekend, so took off for New Orleans with their wives by Thursday afternoon. They had dinner at six, and were so physically exhausted they went back to their motels and didn’t wake until twelve hours later.
The following night, sitting in a restaurant, the gal at the next table got a touch obstreperous. Her husband said with a grin, “Just leave her alone, and she’ll go home.” He was joking, but she drew herself up and said, “I want you to know that I am a law student, and I have been doing research on an important case, the Gary Gilmore case. Have you ever heard about that?”
Bob’s wife, Katherine, couldn’t hold it, said, “These are Gilmore’s lawyers.” It was worth losing your pants in Court to see the look on that gal’s face.
Over the next few days, Earl Dorius did a burn about the disposition of Gilmore’s ashes. Under public health statutes, the strewing was illegal, and could have been prevented if he’d known in advance. Then he found out the prison had heard, but did not contact him. He had to tell himself to forget it. That was not the sort of thing you could pursue, and besides he was feeling pretty tired. Bob Hansen told him to take some of the compensated time he’d accumulated after working almost every night since November up till nine or ten.
Earl wanted a quick vacation, no place special, no long time, so he drove his wife and family down to Orem where they had relatives. Just off the freeway, he saw a TraveLodge, and walked in to book a room. As the girl started to write up the registration blank, the phone rang and Earl heard her say, “Don’t worry, Mr. Damico.” When she hung up, Earl said, “What does Vern Damico have to do with this motel? If he or Mr. Schiller owns it, I’m leaving.”
“Well,” the girl said, “Mr. Schiller and his staff just checked out yesterday.” Earl said to himself, “I can’t get away from Gilmore.”
Afterward, Earl often thought of that lonely moment in the corridor up in Federal Court in Denver when he looked out the window after hearing Gilmore was dead, and people were coming to work. He had been all alone. Even while giving the argument, he had been a solitary figure, and so it had been appropriate, somehow, to be aware
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THE EXECUTIONER’S SONG
of himself looking out, watching others do press interviews on the plaza. He had to admit he felt a certain disappointment and did his best to laugh and tell himself that he was going in for masochistic martyrdom. If he had wanted to work himself silly just to make sure each little job was done right, then he better develop himself emo tionally to a point where he didn’t care who got the publicity.
He was sure able to test this demand on himself real soon. In a couple of weeks the Utah Historical Society visited the office and in terviewed everybody for one of their volumes on the State’s history. They never came, however, to Earl. He was out of the office that day. It turned out pretty much like all of the Gilmore business — he was always away from the main action when media or historians were there. The key thing, he told himself, was to stay glad it got done.
SALT LAKE TRIBUNE
Order Probe of Gilmore Photo
By George A. Sorensen
Tribune Suburban Editor January 28, I977—The Utah State Board of Correc tions Thursday ordered an investigation how’ Time and Newsweek magazines carried pictures of Gilmore drink ing from a minibottle of whisky shortly before the ex ecution.
SALT LAKE TRIBUNE
Gilmore’s Execution Cost State $6o,ooo
By George A. Sorensen
January 3o-It cost the taxpayers of Utah more than $6o,ooo to bring convicted murderer Gary Mark Gil more to trial and keep him alive through two suicide attempts.
IN THE EBB OF THE NEWS
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With the exception of the actual trial costs, esti mated by Utah County Attorney Noall T. Wootton at $I5,OOO to $zo,ooo, all other figures are based upon extra help or overtime.
More than zoo of the prison’s total staff of 3zo were called back at 3 A.M. on the morning of the execution.
Utah Attorney General Robert B. Hansen estimates it cost $i9,ooo for the extra work of his deputies and secretaries. Some put in as much as 3o hours straight during the last day and night.
One of the hardest things for Toni Gurney was to go up to the Uni versity of Utah Hospital for Gary’s clothes. They had been sitting in a storage room for a few days and finally turned so rank, they had to freeze them.
Toni was given this icy bundle, and put it in the trunk of her car, but on the way home, it thawed out. By the time she got back, she was close to being late for work, only there was no question. She had to get those clothes in the washing machine, right away. The odor had all the stink of mortal loss.
Over the weeks, hate mail began to slow down and Shirley Pedler came back to some kind of daily routine, but it felt peculiar to come into the ACLU office and not have the halls jammed. So much of her emotional energy was still attached to Gary Gilmore that the nor mal world seemed bizarre and very small.
Not only was Gilmore dead, but she was in some kind of separate reality herself. Once in a while, like a mist passing across the sky, she would feel a strange communion with him, as if a thought had passed back and forth, and she felt happy that the strain was re moved from his life and he had been set free. It was paradoxical, but she felt good about that.
TO KISS AND TELL
In Chicago for the final assembling of the Playboy interview, Schiller and Farrell worked around the clock and didn’t finish until five o’clock Sunday evening, the 23rd. That was one week to the hour that Schiller left the TraveLodge Motel to drive to the prison for the beginning of the last night.
When they turned it in, they thought they were handing over 9,ooo words, still a comfortable length, since Playboy had con tracted to print 5,ooo, but a word count came back later that evening. They were up to 25,ooo. Art Kretchmer, the editor, who Schil ler thought looked something Like Abe Lincoln—a young good-looking Jewish Abe Lincoln-said, “I’d be scared to cut a word.” Barry Golson agreed but was dubious about finding more space. “Nothing else we could run,” Kretchmer told Golson, “is as important as going all the way with this,” and he pulled a piece of fiction.
Then, Schiller tried to convince Kretchmer to break the standard format and use INTERVIEWER and GILMORE rather than PLAYBOY and GILMORE, but suspected there wasn’t anything Hugh Hefner would insist on more than the interviewer being made synonymous with Playboy.
Farrell wrote an introduction which Barry Golson had the plea sure of rewriting — he had Schiller on his turf at last! — and then
Schiller wanted to go to sleep, Farrell wanted to go to sleep. Debbie, however, had been brought to Chicago to do the last-minute typing, and now that they were done she wanted to swim in Hugh Hefner’s famous indoor pool at the mansion where you could watch the swim mers through a glass wall in the underground bar. She wasn’t an ex-Playboy Bunny for nothing. So Kretchmer opened up the mansion. Nobody was in town. Nobody was ever in the mansion anymore now that Hefner was in Los Angeles, but Debbie was’able to go swimming while Farrell and Schiller just said, “Oh, no,” and lay out in the sauna at three in the morning.
Back in Los Angeles, Schiller heard from Phil Christensen, Kathryne Baker’s attorney, who called to say that Nicole was going to be released. Schiller had a flash of the press standing at the front door of the hospital. Here he had never met Nicole and didn’t know what she thought of him. Couldn’t even be certain she was going to honor the contract.
Naturally, Larry Flynt’s new skin mag, Chic, called at just this time to offer $5o,ooo for a series of nudes on Nicole. $5o,ooo! They were being very polite. Using the word “nudes.” Maybe they didn’t know how to say “spread-shots.” He told Chic he would like them to come up with a List of photographers. That was a ploy to keep them off for a while. Then, Larry called Kathryne Baker and said, “I think it’s important Nicole be taken immediately out of Utah, or the press will hound her. You and your kids need a vacation. Have you ever lived at the beach?” Kathryne said, ‘˘Nicole really loved the beach when we were up in Oregon.”