Randy Horick - Two Birds

 

 

Every time there's an execution in Tennessee, I think of an experience I had with songbirds. It started a few years ago on a night when an execution was scheduled at Riverbend State Prison. I decided to go for a vigil that they were having before the execution was supposed to begin at midnight. 

 

I've always been against the death penalty. Even after my wife's parents were homicide victims, I actually became more against the death penalty. And I figured this was something I needed to go to. So, after the kids had gone to bed and my wife had gone to bed, I drove out to Riverbend. You get on Centennial Boulevard and you go all the way, basically, until the road ends at a bend in the river. 

 

It was surreal, because as soon as I turned onto Centennial Boulevard, the whole road was lined with police cars, banks of three or four of them in a row about every hundred yards. I realized if you ever wanted to rob a bank in Nashville, the time to do it would be the night they had an execution, because half the cops are on Centennial Boulevard. But it only got more surreal as I got to the grassy parking area they have outside the prison. After they searched me and they searched my car and they searched my trunk, and you start walking up a hill toward this big fenced off area that they have where people can gather for vigils. 

 

As I walked up the hill, I noticed there were mounted state troopers up on the levee by the river. I don't know what they thought they were doing. I don't know if they thought there was going to be a jailbreak or something, but they were there and it was eerie. As I walked up the hill, I noticed the moon was rising over the trees, and it was a full moon and it was blood red. Of all the nights, maybe once a year when we have a blood red moon, it was that night. 

 

I got up to the hill and the trooper asked me, which gate I wanted to go in. They had a separate gate for people that were in favor of the execution, and one for people who were against the execution. There was nobody on the side in favor of the execution. It was an empty field. So, I went into the area they had marked off for us. It was about 100 yards from the actual prison, the maximum-security prison. There were maybe about half as many people as there are in this room, 50 people, 75 people. It was eerily quiet. 

 

It was a cold spring night. People were huddled together. Nobody was much saying anything. Some people had gone off to one corner, one empty place to pray, it looked like. Some people were just sitting quietly, and they were looking at their cell phones to see if there were updates. This had been a case that had drawn a lot of attention, because there were real questions about the man being innocent and whether he was eligible for capital punishment. There was also evidence that the prosecutor in Memphis and the medical examiner had withheld evidence from the defense team that might have made him ineligible for the death penalty. So, a lot of people had been examining this case. 

 

People had petitioned the governor to grant clemency. People were waiting and watching their cell phones to see what kind of news there would be. Maybe the court would grant a last-minute stay. People were sitting quietly like that. I looked over and I saw Steve Earle was there. This is one of those things, I guess, that can only happen in Nashville. And he pulled out a guitar. And only in Nashville can you stand next to Steve Earle and sing I Shall Be Released. 

 

He wasn't the most memorable singer of the evening, because about the time he quit, about 11:00 PM, everybody heard this songbird. I don't know whether it was a whippoorwill or a mockingbird. He was far in the distance, because there weren't any trees in this field, but he was as loud as if he was in the back of the room and he was singing furiously with a full throat. I'd always heard that expression, singing furiously, but I had a new appreciation for it after that, because it was like with the moon and with this bird all of nature was somehow in rebellion against what was happening. Like, he was saying, “Don't do this. Don't do this. Don’t kill, don't kill.” And he kept it up for an hour. 

 

Everybody who people were talking about it on social media, the next morning, everybody who was there heard this bird. He didn't stop until right about midnight when the execution was supposed to begin. We waited and we waited, and finally, about 12:30, the news came. Somebody had their cell phone. They had carried out the execution. And so, the police ushered us out. We went back down the hill and passed the mounted troopers and got in our cars and drove home. 

 

When I got home, I went up to my front porch and I stopped, because there in front of the front door, right on the welcome mat, was a dead songbird. And I just stopped and I grieved silently for this bird for several minutes. Even in death, it was perfect. It was still. It was beautiful. And I thought, why? did God go to sleep too? The governor was asleep. Why did this happen? I just sat there, and instead of going in the house, I went around to the back and I got a hand trail, and I went out and I made a space in our garden. 

 

And now, I don't think about that night very often, but I thought about it last week, because we executed another person last week in the state. Every time that happens, I think of that bird that sang and I think of the bird that died. Sometimes late at night, on those nights after everybody's gone to bed, I go out to that little grave in our flower bed and I say a little prayer. Thank you.