Executions Eliciting a Growing Indifference

Seven years and seven dead men later, a question arises about executions in California: Is this least commonplace of state activities beginning, at last, to become routine?

When Manuel Babbitt died by lethal injection at 12:37 a.m. Tuesday--about an hour after uttering his final words, “I forgive all of you,” to San Quentin State Prison’s warden--he became the third condemned man put to death here in the past 10 months.

As the pace of executions increases, media interest has begun to flag. Only 14 representatives from print and broadcast outlets, down from the usual 17, witnessed Babbitt’s death in the sea green death chamber.

In newspapers throughout the state, coverage of executions has steadily dropped, with Babbitt’s execution meriting less than 15% of the number of stories devoted to the killing of Robert Alton Harris in 1992--the first execution since the death penalty was reinstated by public vote in 1978.

Although crowd estimates are notoriously difficult, the California Department of Corrections reports that the number of protesters at the gates of San Quentin has diminished since the Harris execution.

“The last two that we had, we’ve had not as much media interest and not as much in terms of protesters,” said Tip Kindel, spokesman for the state Corrections Department, referring to Jaturun Siripongs’ February execution and the July 1998 killing of Thomas Thompson, both of Orange County.

“It varies,” he said. “We have no idea what’s behind it.”

Of course, there is routine and then there is routine. In Texas, which has executed 174 inmates in the same time California has executed seven, 6 p.m. executions of the condemned have become virtually commonplace. In the eight days surrounding Babbitt’s death by lethal injection, the Lone Star state planned to execute three men.

“I can say that today’s executions are not front-page news throughout the state as they have been in years past,” said Larry Todd, spokesman for the Texas Department of Criminal Justice.

“Are we becoming complacent?” Todd asked. “I don’t know. I haven’t seen any studies that have shown that. The vast majority of Texans support the death penalty. But I don’t get calls from radio talk show hosts to debate the death penalty anymore.”

Richard Dieter, executive director of the Death Penalty Information Center, a Washington nonprofit organization opposed to capital punishment, believes that California executions could one day become routine. The death row here is the most populous in the country; with 535 inmates, it is 21% larger than Texas at No. 2.

But he argues that the men executed so far have kept the practice from becoming mundane yet.

Instead of black-and-white examples of clearly reprehensible criminals being put to death, Dieter argues, most of the inmates California has executed have had characteristics that sparked public debate over whether they deserved the death penalty.

In Babbitt’s case it was the defense claim that the Vietnam veteran murdered 78-year-old Leah Schendel during a post-traumatic flashback in 1980. Thompson protested his innocence--and in fact got a temporary stay of execution--until his end last year.

Siripongs, a Thai national and former Buddhist monk, also received a temporary stay of execution. Horace Kelly was scheduled to die last year; after an unprecedented hearing to decide whether he went insane on death row, his case is now back in the courts.

“Even though there is some routinization, there are also unique issues each time,” said Kristin Vorhies Skinner, a spokeswoman for Death Penalty Focus, a nonprofit organization that opposes capital punishment. “They’re different characters with different histories, different backgrounds.”

Still, there are decided rituals linked with the lethal injection of inmates at San Quentin--media screenings and briefings, the final meal, the condemned man’s transfer to a special cell about 6 p.m., the wait for late-breaking legal rulings.

Even the protesters have developed a routine, beginning to trickle to the prison’s east gate after work. The official vigil begins at 8 p.m. The real crowds arrive between 9 and 10. There are speeches, candles, chanting; regulars bump into old friends.

When asked late Monday night if the demonstrators have their efforts down to an art form, Lance Lindsey, executive director of Death Penalty Focus, replied:

“Sadly, we do. It’s sad that it’s come to this. . . . What’s sad is that we don’t get [media] coverage until executions happen.”

But death itself is never routine. After the U.S. Supreme Court rejected Babbitt’s final plea at midnight, the 50-year-old was strapped and handcuffed to a gurney with his arms out, watched through thick glass windows by nine members of the Schendel family, 14 media representatives, his brother, Bill Babbitt, his attorney, Charles Patterson, and nine others.

Dressed in prison blues and bright white socks, Babbitt had intravenous lines in both arms, injecting him with a cocktail of chemicals. The poison started to flow at 12:29 a.m. The dying man’s body bucked and strained. He was pronounced dead at 12:37 a.m.

His brother, Bill, who turned Babbitt over to police hoping that he would get treatment, not death, looked on, smiling slightly, his head cocked. The decorated Marine, who won a Purple Heart for a wound received during the bloody siege of Khe Sanh, had said goodbye to Bill two hours earlier, leaving him with a simple “semper fidelis,” the Marine motto, meaning “always faithful.”

In a statement after the execution, Laura Thompson, Schendel’s granddaughter, said, “We know that nothing will bring Leah Schendel back to us, but we feel that we have done everything in our power to see that justice was done in her name. . . . Our hearts and prayers go out to the Babbitt family. We know how much they have suffered.”

*Times staff writer Bettina Boxall, correspondent Sarah Yang and researcher Norma Kaufman contributed to this story.

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U.S. Executions

Texas far outpaces other states in the number of executions since 1976, when the U.S. Supreme Court reinstituted the death penalty. Thirty states have carried out executions in that time.

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State Executions Since 1976 Texas 174* Virginia 67 Florida 43 Missouri 37 Louisiana 25 Georgia 23 South Carolina 22 Arkansas 19 Alabama 17 Arizona 16 Oklahoma 15 Illinois 12 North Carolina 12 Delaware 9 Nevada 8 California 7 Indiana 6 Utah 5 Mississippi 4 Nebraska 3 Washington 3 Maryland 3 Pennsylvania 2 Oregon 2 Montana 2 Wyoming 1 Idaho 1 Kentucky 1 Colorado 1 Ohio 1

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* Two executions are planned this week.

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Death Row Populations

California has the most inmates on death row. Below are the top 10.

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State Inmates California 535 Texas 441 Florida 390 Pennsylvania 226 North Carolina 209 Ohio 191 Alabama 173 Illinois 162 Oklahoma 151 Georgia

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Sources: Death Penalty Information Center, California Department of Corrections