Posted: 12-10-18 02:47:32
NEW SMYRNA BEACH -- A decade has passed since the nation's foremost serial killer was put to death by the State of Florida through lethal injection for the shooting deaths of seven men who had the misfortune of picking up the hitchhiking prostitute along the region's criss-crossing interstates.
I know a little something about Wuornos' final fate as one of a select few reporters to witness her execution.
Back then, I was a reporter for the Daytona Beach News-Journal. The other local reporter was Clare Metz of WESH TV.
I had already logged 18 years in my journalism career as a breaking news and investigative reporter when Wuornos' execution date was finally set. And having covered multiple appeals in her case over several years, I was ready to cover the big story.
The six original death sentences handed down at trial were finally to be carried out. There wasn't enough evidence to legally tie her to a seventh killing, though she never denied committing the murder. But before I get to the actual execution, which was as good as it gets in terms of checking out on her own terms, I wanted to share the prelude to her execution.
The one thing about Wuornos that always stood out was her unpredictable behavior. She would turn around and look my way and smile after being escorted to the defense table in shackles. And I would nod.
While her outward demeanor was vile -- she had the look of a train wreck and a nasty tongue for anyone who stood between her and her stated desire to be executed -- I saw that anguished and tortured inner child in her eyes in court. Nearly 10 years after her trial, the courtroom gallery became far less crowded, to the point where I was sometimes the only person there with the exception of courtroom personnel. On the outside, though, to those in her line of fire, she was a viper.
A Michigan teen runaway exposed to drugs and alcohol at a young age, she was raised by ill-equipped grandparents after her mother abandoned her at the age of 4 (she never met her father, a rapist who died in prison), had sexual intercourse with her own brother at 11, and bore a child out of rape by one of her father's friends at 14. The child was taken by the authorities and given up for adoption.
And after her two-year killing spree in 1989-'90 and subsequent trial, including the killing of a victim named Richard Mallory in woods near Ormond Beach, she led a tormented existence on death row, often accusing staff of poisoning her food. Aileen wanted out. To her, life on death row was worse than death itself.
I distinctly remember her final court appearance. Her latest set of appeals were kicked back by the High Court for the sentencing judge to determine her competency in granting her wish to be put to death. That decision was left to Circuit Judge R. Michael Hutcheson. The trial judge, Uriel Blount, died years earlier.
The drama in the courtroom reached its peak when Wuornos told her attorneys to basically sit down and shut up. I had seen the outbursts many times before, starting off with polite hushed words to bursting into tears and letting loose with angry tirades.
The stakes were much higher for this time around and Wuornos learned to play the game of making nice. There was Hutcheson, a soft-spoken jurist who wasn't afraid to bring down the hammer in applying the full weight of the law.
Then there were the state appeals prosecutors, with support from charismatic State Attorney John Tanner in the background, well-schooled in the Holy Bible. Not one to shy away from death sentences, he also saw it as his duty to try and save souls, even praying with even-more notorious serial killer Ted Bundy, just before his execution. It didn't matter that Bundy's nationwide killing spree spared Tanner's circuit.
And on the defense side, sitting alongside Wuornos were two state-appointed appellate attorneys. Wuornos lived for the drama. It was all the excitement she had left. But it was different this time. She told the judge in a reasoned and calm voice that she understood that the men she killed were true victims of robbery -- not the sadistic opportunists she portrayed them as at trial. When her attorneys objected, she fired them on the spot, saying she wanted to speak directly to the judge. He allowed it.
The hearing was not the first time Wuornos had changed her story from victim to perpetrator, but she was more believable. Her calmer demeanor conveying her message and convincing the judge that she understood the crimes and the ultimate punishment to be meted out for them.
In the weeks leading up to her execution, one of her attorneys persuaded Gov. Bush to order a temporary stay of execution, pending one more psychiatric exam. The results were convincing to the governor that Wuornos understood the nature of the crimes committed and the sentence and lifted the stay.
Then came the date with death -- Oct. 9, 2002. I sat in the third row of a cramped viewing room with a white curtain covering a large glass window into the death chamber. And I was seated directly behind Hutcheson and Tanner.
We were there for what seemed like an eternity, but in reality was a couple of minutes before the curtain was opened from the other side of the glass and there was Wuornos strapped onto the gurney with leather restraints just below her collar bone and across to her arms, her waist, thighs and ankles. The poisonous needles were already in her left arm on the same side as the window.
She was asked if she wanted to say any final words;Yes, I would just like to say I'm sailing with the rock, and I'll be back, like Independence Day with Jesus. June 6, like the movie. Big mother ship and all, I'll be back. I'll be back."
The rock is a biblical reference.
Then came the pressing of buttons to release the poisons into her. She stared straight up at the ceiling, swallowing incessantly, her eyes watering, but she wasn't emotional.
As the first few minutes passed, I couldn't help but hear the humming noise from a small air conditioner sticking out from the wall opposite wall doorway. Of the dozen or so witnesses, not one word was spoken. Nobody cried, sighed, coughed or sneezed.
I was staring intently at Wuornos' upper body when I saw that she had stopped breathing. While her skin began to turn pale in her now lifeless body, the backs of the necks of Judge Hutcheson and State Attorney Tanner turned red, as if their blood was boiling. It was hot in that room.
After about eight minutes or so, the attending physician nodded when the warden asked if she had expired. He then picked up a phone, presumably to the governor. None of us could hear his words because the audio system was deactivated after Wuornos spoke. The warden then nodded to one of the guards and the curtain was drawn closed. Aileen Wuornos was dead at the age of 46.
I was staring intently at Wuornos' upper body when I saw that she had stopped breathing. While her skin began to turn pale in her now lifeless body, the backs of the necks of Judge Hutcheson and State Attorney Tanner turned red, as if their blood was boiling. It was hot in that room.
After about eight minutes or so, the attending physician nodded when the warden asked if she had expired. He then picked up a phone, presumably to the governor. None of us could hear his words because the audio system was deactivated after Wuornos spoke. The warden then nodded to one of the guards and the curtain was drawn closed. Aileen Wuornos was dead at the age of 46.
We were immediately escorted out to a waiting bus to take us back to the main prison parking lot. I remember Claire Metz and I comparing notes to make sure we were accurate in what Wuornos said. And we were.
Ironically, one reporter missed the bus, and as a result, the execution altogether. Then I did what I do best: I went into overdrive on my laptop and cranked out the story. It was sent by e-mail (the Internet was far less advanced back then as far as a writing and delivery tool). My story was the first to hit the AP.
For an honest day's work, I was later given a breaking news award from the Society of Professional Journalists, Florida Chapter with the headline, "The execution of Aileen Wuornos."
In the years since, my name has been mentioned in several published books by authors from Europe and three years ago, a film crew came to my house in New Smyrna Beach for an on-camera interview that became part of an episode in a documentary TV show called "Twisted" that aired in 2010, and is available on DVD. I never watched it.
For that matter, I never watched the 2003 movie "Monster" with Charlise Theron playing Aileen Wuornos, for which she won an Academy Award for best actress.
I plan on writing my own book on Wuornos and my thoughts on the death penalty. It's one of three books in the works for publication over the next two years, all of them related to my journalism career. I was a little taken aback at a recent local newspaper anniversary story and the triteness at which her execution was remembered.
The part that bothered me most was the publicity quotes from a local bar owner who said she had returned from the dead. Then again, there wasn't anything else for an inexperienced reporter to make a 10-year-old article on deadline seem fresh.
The life and death of Aileen Wuornos is a story told many times over with lots of cliches and cheap catchphrases. But being there along the way is a story worth telling upon greater reflection and with the passage of time.
The other two books involve someone famous and the littlest among us, all tragic and part of the career experiences of a journalist with a love for breaking news.
Henry Frederick is publisher of Headline Surfer, the award-winning 24/7 internet news outlet launched 12 years ago that serves greater Daytona Beach, Sanford & Orlando, Florida via HeadlineSurfer.com. Frederick has amassed more than a hundred journalism industry awards in print & online -- more than than all other members of the working press combined in Central Florida since the mid-1990s. He earned his Master of Arts in New Media Journalism with academic honors from Full Sail University in 2019. Having witnessed the execution of serial killer Aileen Wuornos in Florida's death chamber and other high profile cases, Frederick has appeared on national crime documentary programs on Discovery ID and Reelz for his investigative reporting and cops & courts breaking news stories.Original Story on Wuornos Execution:
Daytona Beach News-Journal
Wish granted, Wuornos dies for serial killings
Last words promise, 'I'll be back'
Saying she was going to be with Jesus, serial killer Aileen Carol Wuornos was put to death by lethal injection Wednesday for half a dozen killings a decade ago.
The procedure began at 9:32 a.m. after the 46-year-old Wuornos, strapped to a gurney, smiled briefly at 28 witnesses through a glass window and said:
"I'd just like to say I'm sailing with the Rock and I'll be back like 'Independence Day' with Jesus -- June 6 -- like the movie -- big mother ship and all. I'll be back."
The Rock is a Biblical reference to Jesus.
Wuornos, who lived in the Daytona Beach area during her killing spree, took one breath after the lethal injection began. Two minutes later, her eyes closed and, at 9:36 a.m., she didn't appear to be breathing.
Ten minutes passed with the only noise coming from an air-conditioning unit on the wall. The witnesses sat stoically, except for one victim's relative in the front row, who shed a tear.
Then a doctor twice checked Wuornos' vital signs and nodded his head. She was pronounced dead at 9:47 a.m.
Volusia County witnesses included State Attorney John Tanner, who was the lead prosecutor in her DeLand murder trial, and Circuit Judge R. Michael Hutcheson, who presided over some of her post-conviction hearings.
Hutcheson later said he felt uneasy after seeing his first execution.
"I found it very unsettling," the judge said. "Not for her herself, but the way it was done. There's no movement. It's just knowing they're pumping deadly chemicals in her. Not that she didn't deserve it. She admitted killing seven men."
Tanner later told reporters outside the Florida State Prison gates that justice was served.
"I said a prayer for her and the victims and myself," Tanner said. "This is a tough business. Lethal injection is certainly a more humane way to terminate life."
Relatives of some of the victims said the method was too easy for Wuornos.
"I think she should have suffered a little more," said Terry Slay Griffith, 39, of Citrus County. Her father, Dick Humphrey, was among the men killed along Central and North Florida interstates between 1989 and 1990.
"It was too easy -- one breath. It would have been enough for smoke to come out of her ears," said Griffith, who would have preferred to see Wuornos executed in the electric chair.
Griffith said she shed the tear for her father, and termed his death senseless.
"Based on what she said today, proves to me she's off her rocker," Griffith said, referring to the mix of biblical passages and the apparent reference by Wuornos to the popular science-fiction movie, "Independence Day."
Wuornos became the 10th woman executed in the United States since capital punishment resumed in 1977.
The execution had been delayed while experts evaluated her mental health. Gov. Jeb Bush lifted his own stay last week after three psychiatrists concluded Wuornos was competent to choose execution.
Wuornos, who used a .22-caliber pistol to kill her victims, has been portrayed in two movies, several books and an opera.
She initially said the killings were in self-defense after she was assaulted by customers who picked her up. But she later said she intended to rob and kill the men.
At a hearing in July 2001, Wuornos told Judge Hutcheson she was "sick of hearing this 'she's crazy' stuff. I'm competent, sane and I'm telling the truth."
Wuornos' death warrant was for her first victim, Richard Mallory. The body of the Clearwater resident was found in woods outside Ormond Beach. She later pleaded no contest to five other murders. There wasn't enough evidence to convict her of a seventh.
She spent Tuesday night visiting with a childhood friend, Dawn Botkins, who said Wuornos was in a good mood, laughed a lot and never cried. Botkins will have Wuornos' remains buried in Michigan, the state where she was born, a state prison official said.
Wuornos gave her last interview to British producer Nick Broomfield, who did a documentary on her in 1994. Broomfield said the Tuesday interview was to last an hour, but she stormed out after 35 minutes.
"My conclusion from the interview is, today we are executing someone who is mad," he said.