or four years there was no death penalty in America. The U.S. Supreme Court abolished capital punishment in 1972, ruling in Furman v. Georgia that executions were carried out in an inconsistent and discriminatory manner.

In 1976, the court approved new death penalty guidelines in Gregg v. Georgia, and the states stepped up to the plate and rewrote their death penalty statues to fit the new guidelines.

We in Florida were number one in the dubious category of carrying out the first involuntary execution after the reinstatement. (Gary Gilmore had demanded to have his sentence meted out quickly before a Utah firing squad on January 17, 1977.)

Florida Gov. Bob Graham signed John Spenkelink's death warrant in 1976. Spenkelink, 30 years old, was convicted of killing a man who had sodomized him and forced him to play Russian roulette with a loaded pistol. His first death warrant was stayed three days before his scheduled execution.

Graham issued a new death warrant to be carried out on May 22. On that date a group of us began what became a tradition, standing in silent vigil outside the Florida State Prison when executions were scheduled. It was a disorganized affair made up of tired, dirty, sometimes hysterical, other times angry, and often shouting people. I found myself wishing they would maintain as much dignity as Spenkelink himself.

At the vigil, different speakers crowded around a bullhorn. One who stood out was Rev. Joe Ingle of the Southern Coalition of Jails and Prisons. After he said a few words, someone asked him to lead a prayer. Joe looked around rather reluctantly and then prayed for John's life. Even prayer seemed hopeless.

At 12:30 a.m. word came that the Supreme Court Justice Thurgood Marshall had issued a stay. This was followed by another longer stay from the Federal Circuit Court. We all took prayer, persistence and presence more seriously. If the execution was not carried out by Friday noon, the warrant would expire and the process would have to be redone. Where there was life, we remembered, there was hope.

Back then we thought that perhaps we could hold back the tide and prevent this and other executions from ever coming back to Florida. Looking back from the perspective of 57 executions later in Florida alone, I realize how naive we were.

On Friday, May 25 at 2:00 a.m. I was awakened by a call from my friend John Talbird, one of the organizers of Citizens Against the Death Penalty. The warrant had been vacated and the execution was scheduled for 10 a.m. that day.

My wife, Sandy, and I drove to Raiford for our third vigil. Our confused band of protestors was still leaderless. Some beat on oil drums and shouted. One small group seemed overly emotional until I realized they were the mothers, sisters, and wives of men on Death Row.

An African American minister, Greg Thomas, managed to gather most of the crowd into a circle. We sang, prayed, and read scripture. Outside the circle they watched. At ten o'clock we fell silent.

We heard nothing until 10:20, when Spenkelink's brother-in-law walked by the fence saying, "He's dead but they won't let us in." Then the witnesses to the execution were driven by in the unmarked white van. We knew it was over.

The Rev. Tom Feamster, an Episcopal priest from a nearby parish who had ministered to John Spenkelink for the past three years, came by to talk with us. Tom had not been allowed to be with Spenkelink during his last hours. Florida statue at that time did not allow a death-watch prisoner to have clergy of choice with him. It only allowed clergy of choice to witness the execution. So Tom, at Spenkelink's request, witnessed John's death, reading the Beatitudes in the final minutes of life.

Tom said that John's wishes were that we not pray for him but rather that we pray for ourselves, our state and our nation, which could do such a thing as this.

Nobody knew back then if Florida would be successful in beginning executions again. Florida Attorney General Jim Smith said that Spenkelink's lawyers would probably keep finding sympathetic judges to beat the death warrant. Smith, however, beat the lawyers.

This is what the death penalty came down to and where it remains. The last lawyer to get the last judge in the last hour wins. John Spenkelink lost this race.

No one knows why Spenkelink was chosen out of the then 134 prisoners on Death Row. He was poor. He was a drifter. He was from out of state, all of which are typical for those executed in Florida. As Spenkelink said, "Them without the capital get the punishment."

Florida has executed 58 people since 1979. Today there are 367 people on Florida's Death Row and about 3,600 people on death row nationally.

I still visit Death Row. I work with and for the victims of violence. I continue to stand in silent vigil when the state executes its inmates, because I do not want it ever said that the state killed its own citizens without anyone standing in protest.

I do believe that one day the United States will join most of the civilized world and rid itself of the death penalty. There is no proof that capital punishment is a deterrent to murder. It has become clear that it cannot be administered evenly let alone accurately.

Its mistakes cannot be undone. It is expensive, costing much more with its prerequisite trials and appeals than housing an inmate for life without parole. It dehumanizes us all.

Shortly after Spenkelink's execution, Jacksonville police officers
made up 20,000 T-shirts with a picture of the electric chair and the caption "1 down, 133 to go." The shirts sold out in a week.

I believe with Martin Luther King Jr. that "the arc of the moral universe is long but it bends toward justice." I know that capital punishment is not justice. I don't know how long before we figure that out.

Larry Reimer is minister of the United Church of Gainesville.