..  ..James Lee Beathard ...No 785 ...Ellis I Unit, Huntsville, Texas ...Year of Birth 1957 ...Marital Status dfivorced prior to sentencing ...Children two ...Date of offense October 9, 1984 ...Sentenced to death March 5, 1985 ...Status Executed December 9, 1999 Lethal injection. Click on the image to view a larger version. Scroll below for an account of the session.

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James Lee Beathard was convicted of killing Marcus Hathorn, a 14 year old boy & the boy's parents, Gene & Linda Sue Hathorn. The Hathorns' elder son, Gene,Jr. ("Geno"), was also convicted. The Hathorns were murdered by shotgun in their trailer home in Rusk, Texas. The state argued that Hathorn & Beathard had committed the murders so Geno could inherit his parents' $150,000 estate-although it turned out Geno's name had been removed from their will. To give the appearance that the family had been murdered by drug-crazed burglars, the two men stole items from the Hathorns' home & planted false evidence. In an attempt to escape the death sentence, Geno confessed to the murders against his attorney's advice. At Beathard's trial he testified that he had hired Beathard to kill his family for $12,500. In 1985 Geno's testimony was used to convict him; he received the death sentence. (He later recanted his testimony.) Though Beathard admitted he was at the scene, he claimed he had gone expecting only to make some quick cash in a drug deal. Geno, he claimed, had committed the crime without his knowledge. Texas takes great pride in being the United States' leading executioner. Over four hundred people inhabited the 2 death rows-a small one for women & an enormous one for men. Given the size & notoriety of the one in Huntsville, I had hoped from the beginning for an opportunity to visit it. Before I met with James Beathard, I received 3 very detailed letters expressing his interest in the project. Not sure whether I could capture the essence of death row, he argued that if I was to succeed, I would need to spend sufficient time on the unit for an extended photo-essay. In a letter dated February 28, 1993, he wrote: "That's where we really look no different from everybody in the outside world, except for the white clothes & the "rundown factory," bleak setting....The relaxed smiles, the joking & the camaraderie, that's when we're truly ourselves. When you see someone playing "air guitar" to the radio in their cell, or "high-fiving" during a football or basketball game in the day room, we're pretty much like anybody else": Beathard's letters expressed what appeared to be genuine appreciation & enthusiasm for photography. He reported that he had attempted to shoot several photo-essays himself. Beathard's letters contradicted the grim picture the press had painted of him. Once I had met him, I decided his correspondence gave the more accurate portrayal. James Lee Beathard walked into the room with a happy-go-lucky manner & the voice & animation of a disc jockey. Big & burly, he reminded me of an old-fashioned neighborhood filling-station attendant. Articulate & well spoken, Beathard was extremely frank. "There's a general image of what a prison convict is. You know, uneducated, crude, uncaring, tough, hard-nosed bastard, you know....There's this unspoken assumption that people doing 5 years & people doing 10 years-the man doing 10 years is probably twice as bad as the one doing 5 years. The man doing the 30 year hitch is probably 6 times as bad as the man doing 5 years. And the guy doing the-facing the death penalty-is like the worst-possible imaginable extreme you can ever come up wit" Inside the TDC, the towering walls bleed the sweat of confinement & echo with the prisoners' shouts. Here, more than in any other prison, I felt the weight of souls just marking time. As Beathard wrote in a letter dated March 5, 1995: "This place, all prisons are factories for grinding the human soul into blood & pain, with fear & loathing as the end product."

The prison is an overcrowded city, with people in every nook & cranny. Visitors are outsiders; we are the only ones who can really walk away from this. The truth is that no one else can: not prisoners, not guards, not families, & certainly not victims. We asked Beathard why he was there, a question meant both literally & philosophically. Beathard answered literally. "The problem is I'm involved in a situation where another person committed murder. That he tried to make a deal for himself & he tied me into murders. I had no idea the murders were going to happen. That got me down here... I feel stupid even saying, "I didn't do it." Because everybody says that." Prior to his conviction, Beathard had worked at the state hospital in Rusk, alicensed substance-abuse counselor. While he was there he met a death-rowinmate, David Powell, who had come to the hospital for an evaluation.Beathard had an opportunity to speak with Powell & observe how people canbecome so estranged & alienated. Ironically, Beathard & Powell now must spendthe rest of their lives together. "If somebody would have told me in "78 that in 1988 I'd be his cell partnerthis on death row. I mean, that would have been just too weird to even think about... It was something that just stabbed me in the " Beathard is a leader on death row. He was editor of the jailhouse publication Texas Death Row Journal, a periodical that had the tacit approval of the TDC. The Journal was a service-oriented newsletter that went to interested parties outside the prison. Beathard regrets the loss of lifelong friends who said they believed he was innocent, but nonetheless severed their connections with him. He had grown up with several of them, even risked his life for some, & their abandonment cut him deeply. Since he came to prison, his new friendships have transcended the old ones. "There was a guy here who died recently. He had an excellent sense of humor... And after somebody gets executed, after the fact, they have like a moment of silence. Which is cool... But Red used to hate that moment of silence... And about 5 years ago, there was a Monty Python skit... They come out dressed in barbershop quartet & they sing this really rude ditty.... Anyway, during one of these moments of silence, Red said, "Man if they ever do that," he says, "you've got to mess that up for me...." Well, they got him a few months ago.... So they had their little moment of silence. I jumped up on a big table out there & I-I did my best full-fledged barbershop quartet.... But I told 'em, I said, "That's for Red, that's what he wanted."" It costs a lot of money to execute people. Convicts are stacking up on death rows, in part because of the high cost of appointing attorneys to fight their appeals. In some counties prosecutors no longer seek the death sentence because capital trials are so expensive. In his ten years on death row, Beathard has considered the exorbitant cost as only a death-row inmate can. "The death penalty just doesn't hurt us....For every person that gets executed the state spends about $2 million, from beginning to end. So 350 people represent $700 million....Guess who loses? Women, Infant, & Children...that's WIC....I'm worth $2 million. And they're basically taking money out of...food out of the mouths of children to kill me....They could lock me up forever for $800,000 or less....I said, "Look, I don't care if I didn't do it or not. Kill me please & just put the money in the WIC or somewhere else. I'll drop the appeal.""