THURSDAY AFTERNOON
©2008 LAWRENCE A. VOGELMAN

             That Thursday morning, I waited in a courtroom in federal court in Atlanta, Georgia, for my client, Raymond Burgess.  I have been representing Raymond, along with co-counsel, Gretchen Stork, for a little over ten years now.  Raymond is black, in his mid-forties, and is retarded.  He was convicted in 1991, along with a co-defendant, of killing a white man in a robbery at a motel.  His co-defendant, who has admitted to being the actual shooter, received a sentence of life imprisonment, and later died in prison.  Raymond was sentenced to death.

            As we waited, Raymond was escorted into the courtroom by the marshals.  Raymond, the marshals, court reporter, and court security officers were the only African Americans, in the courtroom.  All the lawyers, clerks, and the judge, were white.  Raymond, dressed in a spotless, white jumpsuit, shuffled to counsel table . . . his hands were shackled, as well as his feet.  For the next hour-and-a-half he sat as lawyers “did their lawyer thing.”  He understood little, other than that two lawyers were fighting for his life.  At the end of the hearing, we embraced, and he wished me a happy holiday.  I started to reply, but stopped.  What do you say to a man who has been on death row since 1992?  Happy holidays? Merry Christmas?  May next year be better than the last?  I just nodded, and said nothing.

            Gretchen and I took the elevator down, and left the courthouse.  She drove me to the airport for my return to New Hampshire.  I retrieved my cell phone that I had left in her car. 

            At the airport, I called my office.  I was informed of the Michael Addison verdict.  The jury had sentenced Michael Addison to death.  I am not a very religious person, but my first thoughts were, “forgive them, for they know not what they do.”  I immediately flashed back to the first time I met Raymond.  Georgia provides no counsel for condemned prisoners in their state court post-conviction proceedings.  Like many states in the “death belt,” they rely upon volunteers.  I was one of those volunteers.  I substituted for Raymond’s prior lawyer, who had a “nervous breakdown” shortly before the state court habeas hearing.

            I had just obtained a three-month continuance from the state habeas judge, due to my being newly involved in the case.  Along with Gretchen, I traveled to the prison to visit Raymond for the first time.  Death row is in Jackson, Georgia, a little over an hour south of Atlanta, in Butts County.

            As we walked from the car, we approached a tower some one hundred feet high.  At the bottom of the tower was a microphone and speaker so one could speak to the guards at the top.  They asked where we were going, and we gave them our names to check against the visitors’ list.  Then, a metal bucket was lowered on a rope down from the top of the tower, and we placed our identification and keys in the bucket.  We were then allowed to enter death row.

            The room in which I first met Raymond was about thirty-five to forty feet long, and twelve feet wide, with plastic chairs bolted into the floor.  In that room were approximately a half dozen men, in white jumpsuits, speaking to lawyers.  Most were black, and all were condemned to death. 

            When I met Raymond that day, he embraced me, and began tearfully thanking me.  I told him that I had done little.  All that had been accomplished was a three-month continuance for his state habeas hearing.  He responded, “at least I know that I will be alive for another three months.”  I fought to hold back the tears.

            After the visit, Gretchen and I walked back out to the tower to retrieve our belongings; then we walked to the parking lot.  When I reached Gretchen’s car, I could no longer keep my emotions in check.  I burst into tears.  Gretchen stood by my side with her hand on my shoulder saying nothing.  No words needed to pass between us.

            All these images flashed before me as I heard of the Addison verdict.  Do the people of New Hampshire understand what they have done?  In their minds, they have meted out justice.  But at what price?