March 10, Raiford, Florida
An Atypical Monday
They signed a warrant and took a man from our wing tonight.
At about 6pm this evening the warden and a few cronies came and rather quietly took away Mike Tanzi. It was strange all around. A guard came to the door at the end of the hall about 5:45pm and shouted, “You have visitors coming.” Then. without explanation, he closed the door. There was a bit of scurrying around in our cells to put things in order even though we are officially “off duty” after 5:00pm. Fifteen minutes later the front door buzzed and, while I am at the back of the wing, I could still hear the jingle of restraint chains and footsteps.
The way the cells are laid out, one can’t see anything in the hallway beyond the adjacent cell so there was no way for me to know who was there. They stopped four cells away and an unfamiliar voice demanded, “Name and I.D. number”. After that there was a bit of talking in hushed tones but nothing delegable until I heard Big Mike say something like, “Can I call my lawyer?” A chill swept over me at those words because there is only one thing that would prompt that response at 6:00pm.
Within a couple minutes, after handcuffs clicked tight and restraint chains again jingled, a cell door rattled open and several feet shuffled away back up the hallway, accompanied by the chink, chink, chink of leg irons. Minutes later cartwheels squeaked and rattled. After some banging, and screeching of a locker being moved, the cell door slammed closed. The cartwheels squeaked at a lower tone under the weight of Mike’s property as it disappeared up the hall.
While early evening is generally a quiet time on our wing, there is almost always some noise. When over a dozen people live within 100 feet of each other, each with an open wall, one can usually hear something indicating life, be it a flushing toilet, the crumple of a food wrapper, or even an occasional sigh on sneeze. For almost five minutes the was no sound save the distant hum of exhaust fans. Dead silence, literally.
A voice asked, “Was that what I think it was?”
“They signed his warrant,” came a delayed reply, as though the guys close enough to Mike’s cell to hear were hoping someone else would deliver the most horrible and terrifying news.
I listened as the guys processed their experience by sharing what they saw, heard and thought. As it went on for a few minutes, I realized I hadn’t heard anything from my neighbor, J.D.. He usually is under his headphones with music or television news at this time of day. I had to call him twice before he responded. At that point I had deliver the news to the only person on the wing who had experienced this horror firsthand. “They took Big Mike, signed his warrant.”
When the men heard my neighbor’s voice, he was asked a few questions about being placed on death watch, such as, “Do you get to keep your property?” J.D. shared a few stories, then almost unnoticeably, slipped out of the conversation.
It took only a few minutes for a pall to fall over the wing, as my neighbors again retreated into their own thoughts. At this I realized my neighbor and only true friend was likely in some emotional distress, so I again called to him, but this time with a distraction ready. I asked if he would help me with something. I handed the painting I had been working on around the wall and asked a couple questions to which I already knew the answers. He answered in short, clipped sentences that confirmed my suspicion. The warrant was fucking with him. When I asked if he was okay, he said “Not really”. But other than just letting him know I was here for him. there was nothing I could really do. One of the frustrating realities of being locked in these damn cells is that there is no such thing as a private conversation. You are basically talking into a concrete and steel echo chamber. I asked if there was anything I could do, but I knew the answer before asking.
Tomorrow, when they open out cells for day room time, I will engage him in a quiet conversation and do the most useful thing I can do to help him through. I will try getting him to talk and listen to anything he needs to say. J.D. spent over seven months on Death Watch in 2019-20, before receiving a rare stay of execution. Death watch is what they call the limbo period between the governor signing the warrant to murder a person and the time when his minions actually carry it out. The moratori is moved from the Death Row building at Union Correctional Institution to the notorious “Q” wing at Florida State Prison. While the prisons are only a couple miles apart the ominous oppression couldn’t be farther.
“The atrocities of capital punishment really hits home when you get to Death Watch,” J.D. told me with incredible pain and fear in his expression. ” You are constantly aware of the specter-like shadow of the guillotine hanging over you.”
The condemned is housed only a few feet from the actual room in which they are to be killed, the execution chamber. While on Death Watch a person is restricted in what they can do, and their personal property is rationed; what they can have or when they may have it. Pastoral and personal visits are allowed, but unlike normal Death Row visits, Death Watch inmates must conduct visits separated by glass. The outcome is preordained. Those sent to death watch will soon be dead.
Perhaps I wrote this as much for me to work something’s out in my head, as much as to share with you, but since I have it written I think I may as well share it.
Mike Tanzi is scheduled to die by lethal injection at 6:00 p.m., 8 April, 2025
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