The Last Public Execution in America
by Perry T. Ryan
PREFACE
Only two months after Lischia Rarick Edwards was murdered, Rainey
Bethea walked between two deputy sheriffs amidst a throng of 20,000
observers to a gallows erected near the Ohio River in Owensboro,
Kentucky. Although newspapers from across America had spent thousands
of dollars to report that the first woman in the history of the
United States had pulled the trigger on the scaffold which sent him
to his death, the reporters were disappointed to learn that a male
stand-in had accepted the gruesome responsibility. In a frenzy of
irresponsible journalism, the newspapers falsely reported that the
crowd was an outrageous mob out of control, making a Roman Holiday of
the man's death and showing no respect for solemnity of the event. An
embarrassed Kentucky General Assembly soon abolished public
executions, and the Bethea hanging became the last public execution
in America.
Nearly sixty years after the Bethea execution, some critics
speculate that the whole affair was the result of racial prejudice,
coercive police investigations, and a color-coded judicial system.
The Rainey Bethea trial is one of the most celebrated trials in
Kentucky history. Thousands of people attended the hanging, which
left a lasting impression in the minds of all who witnessed it.
Because the Bethea hanging was the last public execution in the
history of the United States, I want to provide an historic account
of this very important event in the past of Daviess County. I want to
record what really happened in the case so that future observers will
have a fair and accurate picture of the facts.
As a criminal prosecutor in the Kentucky appellate courts, I
associate with various individuals who prosecute death penalty cases.
An interesting phenomenon in modern criminal jurisprudence is the
perpetual litigation, frequently consisting of at least three strands
of appeals, which invariably results once a jury imposes the death
sentence. What is even more curious is that the appellate process
appears to be only indirectly concerned with the accuracy of the
result. Too many criminal appeals are bogged down in procedural
nightmares involving multiple, complex issues that have little to do
with the guilt or innocence of the defendant. I have been interested
in the Bethea case because so many individuals believe that he was
innocent. Even a play has been recently written by Cedrick Turner,
"Dat Great Long Time," which depicts the Bethea trial as one
engineered by a corrupt prosecution motivated by racial hatred.
Longing to understand what does in fact arouse a citizenry to impose
such a harsh sentence, I have been fascinated by the Bethea case for
several years. Indeed, I was compelled to determine whether Bethea
was guilty.
My research began with a careful reading of the transcript of
Bethea's trial. I then interviewed some of the actual participants
who are still living. Later I located various other legal documents
pertaining to the case. My search led me to a multitude of
photographs. Finally, I reviewed hundreds of articles which were
written about the case in newspapers and magazines across the
country. There is no scene, conversation, or event in this book that
did not actually happen. Although this book is mostly a dry analysis
of the case, I have attempted to intertwine narrative techniques and
dialogue.
The most interesting facet of the Bethea case is the dilemma faced
by Mrs. Florence Thompson as the Bethea case progressed. A housewife
who had had little exposure to public life, she became a widow on
April 10, 1936. Three days later, she became the sheriff of Daviess
County. Within two months, a crime later called "the most heinous in
the annals of Daviess County history" was committed. Within three
months of assuming office, the suspect had been tried and sentenced
to hang. Newspapers from across the nation began to harass her,
asking the inevitable question of who would perform the execution.
Would the Daviess County housewife be the first woman in American
history to hang a man? Just four months after becoming sheriff, on
August 14, 1936, the simple, loving mother of four children
supervised the last public execution in America, not knowing until
the instant the trap door was sprung whether a male stand-in would
back out leaving her to pull the trigger. Hers is not the story of a
feminist, for she never wanted to be sheriff and never wanted the
duties usually performed by a man. Instead, hers is the story of a
simple but brave and forthright woman who dutifully fulfilled her
multiple roles as sheriff, mother, and Christian. Her personal
bravery and fortitude, which endured a most trying event, will long
outlive her. May her integrity and courage inspire you.
Perry T. Ryan
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