Getting off our bus at the Indiana State Prison in Michigan City, our collection of students from Notre Dame, St. Mary's, and Holy Cross were greeted with the tail end of a beautifully sung "Ave Maria." The smiles and warm greetings from the veterans of execution vigils that we met there briefly veiled the reason why we had all gathered together outside of the prison on a chilly night. We were there because a man was about to be killed.
It was an eclectic mix of ages and backgrounds. Former inmates stood alongside former prison employees and priests. Soon-to-be octogenarian Father Doyle mingled with students 60 years younger than he. It was a truly wonderful cross-section of Indiana. The thing that we all held in common was our belief that the execution that was about to occur was unjust and would not solve anything. As the other death row inmates put it in their letter to the Governor and the parole board, David's execution "diminishes us all."
A variety of testimonials and readings were given, ranging from religious to personal stories about David and other experiences with the prison system. People marched around with a variety of signs in opposition to the death penalty while guards paced with their dogs just inside the gates.
As the midnight hour of execution neared, we all gathered together directly in front of the gates and tried our best to light candles despite the harsh gusts of wind. We said some prayers and began our silent vigil while the final steps of the system of capital punishment were taken inside the prison in front of us. We waited for what seemed like an eternity in silence. Each time a guard passed by the entrance of the prison, I held my breath, anticipating that we were about to be hit with the tragic report of execution. However, no answer came.
At about 30 minutes past midnight, a hearse pulled around the side of the prison. Everyone's eyes followed it as it disappeared from sight. Several minutes later, we heard a door slam shut. An unspoken truth settled over our group. After 50 minutes of silence and no sign of movement from the prison, Michael Griffin from Holy Cross led us in offering prayers and petitions for the Placencia family, David Woods and his family, and the prison employees.
At about 1 am, we could see members of the Placencia family filed into a white van and were whisked away while Wanda Callahan, David’s spiritual advisor of 23 years, slowly made her way out the front and into her car. The lack of information compounded the chill of the wind and the exhaustion of the group. Wanda was the first to reach us, driving through the gate and getting out of her car to deliver her account of the execution and talk about her friend David.
David went peacefully, she said, smiling and nodding as the lethal drugs were delivered into his body. He was at peace with God, she said, and knew that he was going to a better place. She mentioned how sad it was that the first time he felt safe in his entire life was when he was sent to death row. Everyone was gathered around, listening to her shaky voice deliver such powerful words. After she had finished her account of the situation, she hugged several of us, thanking us for our prayers and thoughts. She told us that she could certainly feel our presence during the execution.
Officials from the prison approached next and told us that David Leon Woods had been executed at 12:35 am.
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