From poverty to prison: Lessons from death row

People across the Archdiocese of New Orleans recite the Family Prayer together at Mass on Sundays in an effort to end violence in our community.

Archbishop Aymond raises awareness of the many human lives lost to violence when he courageously speaks of the violence, murder and racism prevalent in our city.

My own prayers respond to the deep compassion I feel for the victims of violent crime and the strong admiration I have for those who work to protect us from harm.
 

My involvement in prison ministry over the years also has enabled me to develop compassion for those who are incarcerated and an understanding that extreme poverty can be a breeding ground for criminal activity.

The lessons I have learned on death row compel me to share the story of the time I spent with a death row inmate with the hope that it will prevent violent behavior in future generations. It is my small contribution in the battle against violence, murder and racism.
 

John E. Ferguson was executed at Florida State Prison on Aug. 5 at 6 p.m., ending 30 years of correspondence between us. John had asked me to serve as his spiritual advisor, and I was able to visit with him that morning for about three hours. I could see the pain on his face and tried to be there for him. John asked me to thank all who had written to him while he was on deathwatch. At the end of our time together, I gave John a hug before he was escorted out of the prison. Our goodbye was very painful.
 

I was not allowed to witness the execution, so I joined a small group of parishioners from Our Lady of Lourdes Church in Daytona Beach, Fla., who, under the leadership of their pastor, prayed for John and for his victims outside Florida State Prison while the execution took place.

Their courage and commitment gave me great hope! A hearse departed the prison around 6:25 p.m., and as it drove away I knew that John’s life behind bars was over.
 

Letter writing began in 1983
This all started in 1983 when Sister of St. Joseph Helen Prejean encouraged a group of young religious to correspond with prisoners on death row. She assured us that writing an inmate letters would be easy and appreciated.

A pen pal on death row! What could I possibly have in common with a death row inmate?

I felt aversion in my heart, but I wanted to live the Gospel fully, and the words of Jesus kept speaking to me: “I was in prison and you visited me” (Matt 25:36).
 

I found John’s name in a Christian magazine without any idea of who he was or why he was at Florida State Prison. I only knew that he was on death row and would like to have some pen pals. I sent John an initial letter, and a few weeks later he responded. I didn’t know then that little by little, one letter at a time, I would come to know the world of death row.
 

John spoke about life on death row in simple terms. He complained about the food and the terrible heat in the summer. He was upset about the lack of visits from his family. I sensed that he faced mistrust, loneliness and abandonment along with physical and psychological suffering day after day, year after year.

He also told me that my letters brought him a little hope that someone cared for him.
 

My nerve-wracking first visit
A couple of years after my first letter, John invited me to visit him, and on one beautiful Sunday morning, I found myself at the main gate of Florida State Prison. Meeting a convicted criminal face to face scared me, and I believed I was going to meet a monster capable of harming and possibly killing me.
 

My legs shook as I passed through the first gate and the second gate and the third gate and the security check point and the four additional gates. Finally, I entered the visiting park, where I was directed to sit at a particular table and wait. A little while later, a tall African-American man joined me – John.

He had a big scar on his left arm. Our visit began awkwardly, although he seemed friendly. We talked about the Bible and about our families, and we had lunch together. I left the prison with just one recurring thought: “He is a human being!”
 

John let me know, in that first four-hour visit, that, like many other people, he had known friendship, betrayal, hopes and disappointments. A few months ago, he thanked me for having the courage to visit him that first time.

Knowledge of his crimes
Our relationship was tense and at times difficult during the first 20 years. John held a lot of anger in his heart and did not trust me. I had to learn to accept him where he was. I continued writing to him and visiting him about once a year.

About 10 years ago I learned about the terrible crimes he had committed in his youth, and I was horrified by his actions. I asked God to help me to continue corresponding with him. At our next visit, I told him that I knew why he was on death row, and I assured him that in spite of his past I was willing to continue supporting him.
 

Moved by my words, John started to trust me and began sharing significant information about his childhood and adolescent years. His story was heartbreaking.

Born in poverty, John knew domestic violence and hunger. He grew angry when he watched his classmates eat their lunches when he had nothing. He could not concentrate and failed in school.

John and his family never attended any church because their clothes were not “good” enough.

Life on the streets
John began stealing candy from grocery stores around age 11. Eventually, he dropped out of school and his life on the streets of Miami began, quickly landing him in a juvenile detention center.

After his release, John applied for the Army but was turned down because of his record and so returned to life on the streets. When he was 21, he was shot four times, including once in the head, by a policeman as he left a Burger King unarmed. Severely wounded, he stayed a month in the hospital, fighting for his life.
 

John found himself spending more and more time in prison mental hospitals during the years that followed. Eventually, his crimes grew more violent. He ended up on death row.

One of John’s pen pals has summarized his life as follows: “John grew up behind the bars of poverty and then spent his adult years behind the bars of prison.”

I witnessed John change through the years from a very angry man into a very quiet man. Within his death row cell, John read the Bible and grew in his faith without the benefit of a church affiliation. His favorite Bible passage was Psalm 23. John also came to appreciate those who showed him kindness and wrote to him.

The 35 years John spent on death row gave him the chance to mature, to discover true friendship, to forgive a few people and to let go of a lot of his anger. I am very sorry that his life was cut short on Aug. 5. I will never know what kind of a man he could have become if he had been allowed to grow older, even behind bars.

I would like to assure those who support the death penalty that John received 35 years of terrible punishment on death row. One inmate labeled Florida’s death row as “Hotel Hell,” and John agreed.
 

Dale S. Recinella, a Catholic lay chaplain at Florida State Prison, describes life on death row in his book, “Now I Walk on Death Row.” It is a shocking portrayal of the same experiences that John spoke about.

Fortunately, John experienced a little kindness through his pen pals. Only a few of us wrote to him and even fewer visited him, but we offered him our support and our friendship and he was grateful.

Burial provided by pen pal
One of his pen pals arranged for John’s burial in New England. Although she preceded him in death, her gift allowed John to be buried with dignity and in a state where capital punishment was abolished years ago.

Another of his pen pals and I recently visited his grave. We prayed together for his eternal rest and for John’s victims. We felt peace knowing that we had accompanied a human being on a very long and painful journey that ended with a lethal injection.
 

Of the hundreds of death row inmates in Florida, Louisiana and elsewhere, I wonder how many of them, like John, grew up behind the bars of poverty and neglect? How many have experienced failure in school and turned to life on the streets? Will any of them know a little kindness before their time is up? How long before the death penalty, a form of violence itself, is abolished in the United States and elsewhere?

John’s story has taught me that caring for our at-risk children and youth can be a greater deterrent to crime than capital punishment. There are children in our city who are growing up in poverty. They may be experiencing domestic violence and failure in school. Some children may not attend church simply because their clothes aren’t “good” enough.
 

Who will extend a helping hand to keep them from drifting to life on the streets and eventually to life behind bars? One child saved from life on the streets could also prevent the victimization of innocent people down the line. Reaching out to 10 at-risk teens could change the face of an entire neighborhood. Saving 100 troubled adolescents could change the face of the city.
 

As we pray for an end to violence, murder and racism, let us double our efforts on behalf of at-risk children and teens. Let us dream of the day when all of our children are loved and cared for and let us work to make our dream come true. I believe that on that day our prayers will be answered, our streets will be safe and our prisons will become empty.
 

Teresian Sister Marina Aranzabal is the pastoral associate at Mary Queen of Peace Parish in Mandeville.