CONDEMNED TO DIE 
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Sibley files appeal seeking to stop execution
Condemned murderer George Sibley, who once joined his common-law wife in claiming the courts had no legal jurisdiction in their death penalty case, has filed an appeal to stop his execution scheduled for Thursday.
Sibley, 60, is scheduled
to become the 1st person in Alabama executed by lethal injection. His common-law
wife, Lynda Lyon Block, 54, was executed on May 10, possibly the last person
to die in Alabama's electric chair. Sibley and Block were sentenced to death
for the 1993 killing of Opelika
police officer Roger Motley
Jr. in a burst of gunfire in a shopping center parking lot. Block and Sibley,
who decried government controls over individuals and renounced their U.S.
citizenship, were on the run at the time to avoid being sentenced in the
stabbing of Block's former husband in Orlando, Fla. Sibley and Block declined
for years to file appeals in their case, claiming the courts were corrupt
and illegal. But Sibley in recent days filed an appeal in federal court in
Montgomery asking for a stay, his attorney said Monday. U.S. District Judge
Harold Albritton has scheduled a hearing on the request for 10 a.m. Tuesday.
Montgomery attorney Bryan Stevenson said he filed the appeal at Sibley's request. Stevenson said the appeal "is based on issues relating to the fairness of his conviction and death sentence." Assistant Attorney General Beth Hughes said the state would fight the request for a stay, arguing that Sibley has missed the deadline for filing appeals. A Web site operated by supporters of Sibley and Block said Monday that a letter was being sent to Gov. Don Siegelman on Sibley's behalf asking the governor to stop the execution. The governor's office had not received the request Monday, press secretary Mike Kanarick said.
The Alabama legislature in April voted to change the state's primary means of execution to lethal injection, although death row inmates can still choose to die in the electric chair. Prison officials said Sibley declined to make a choice and therefore is scheduled to die by lethal injection. Prisons spokesman Brian Corbett said Monday that preparations are complete at Holman prison near Atmore to carry out the state's first execution by lethal injection.
"We are ready to go. The chamber has been ready for about a month now," Corbett said. Unless a stay is ordered, Sibley is expected to be moved into a holding cell near the execution chamber Tuesday, Corbett said.
(source: Associated Press)
Original Execution Alert for the April 19th date:
Lynda Lyon's Execution date now set for
April 19th 2002
Hello from Sweden...
Today I received a letter from my friend Lynda Lyon who is on
Alabama's Death Row and
who has a set execution date for April 19th 2002. She maintains
that she and George Sibley
fired on and killed a policeman to save their own lives.
This is what Lynda wrote in her latest letter.
We have been corresponding since 1995...
" Dear Ann, The Alabama Supreme Court
has set an execution date for me..
April 19th. George and i have been prepared
for this so it's not a shock.
We chose to take a different, riskier
road. We could have gone the usual
tortuous route through the 6 layers of
state and federal appeals courts,
which takes an average of 15 years, but
the chances of getting OUT of prison,
if you're innocent, are stacked against
you and all in favour of the prosecutor.
We chose the fast track..to bypass the
courts and appeal to Congress,
where our chance is somewhat better,
but if we lose, we are executed sooner.
The Alabama Supreme Court doesn't want
Congress to investigate our case,
thus the " hurry-up" on my execution.We're
not giving up..we still have options
and we're fighting down to the wire.
( last word a little unclear )
The new Alabama Supreme Court Chief Justice,
Roy Moore, is key to our
release. If you could get a letter-writing
support from the Internet that
would help me tremendously.
Thanks for your support,
Lynda "
Should you be wanting to help Lynda please
write the Sup Crt Chief Justice
at the following address...
Chief Justice Roy Moore
Alabama Supreme Court
300 Dexter Avenue
Montgomery, Alabama 36104
...Lynda's chance of getting freedom in
Alabama is VERY thin if one has to
look at past results. I hope she can prove
her innocence but should she not
be able to do that then I would ask that
we request for her a more dignified
way to die. The electric chair in Alabama
is doomed and she could very well
be the last one to die in it. This is too
horrible to contemplate. She does
not want a life sentence and especially
if George Sibley is eventually
killed by the state.
Her address is.
Lynda Lyon [Block Z575]
Tutwiler Prison DR4
8966 US Hwy 231N
Wetumpka, Ala. 36092
Sincerely for Lynda Lyon Block..
Ann Ezelius
Lynda asks for letters on her behalf seeking
a stay of execution.
As you know she has an execution
date set for April 19.
Lynda and George Sibley, whom she advises is her legally married husband, were convicted of the October, 1993 shooting of Police Officer, Roger Lamar Motley. Lynda claims self defense.
She advises that not all evidence has
been presented in her case, and requests
investigations into the handling of this
case.
In writing on behalf of Lynda it may be outlined that she should be granted a stay pending the decision in Ring vs Arizona. Also, please raise any moral, religious or any other grounds as you see fit.
Lynda would be the 1st woman executed in Alabama since 1957.
Please Contact:
Don Siegelman
State Capitol
600 Dexter Avenue
Room N-104
Montgomery, AL 36130
Phone: 334-242-7100
Fax: 334-242-0937
Email: http://www.governor.state.al.us/office/email/email.html
Alabama Parole Board
PO Box 302405
Montgomery, AL 36130
Phone: 334-242-8730
Fax: 334-242-8700
Email: wsegrest @paroles.state.al.us
Chief Justice Roy Moore
Alabama Supreme Court
Alabama Appellate Courts
300 Dexter Ave.
Montgomery, AL 36104
Write Op-Ed:
The Birmingham News
PO Box 2553
Birmingham, AL 35202
Phone: 205-325-2444
Fax: 205-325-3345
Email: elard@bhamnews.com
Web: http://www.bhamnews.com
Montgomery Adviser
200 Washington Ave.
Montgomery, AL 36104
Phone: 334-261-1524
Email: khare@montgomeryadvertiser.com
Web: http://www.montgomeryadvertiser.com
Thank you for your support
This is the incredible story of George Sibley and Lynda Lyon - the only husband and wife in America sentenced to die by electrocution - to be murdered by the State of Alabama for a crime they did not commit They shot and killed a bad cop - Alabama said it was murder but George and Lynda said it was self defense. The dead officer was the only other witness as to how and why the shooting began. His personnel file, that showed a long history of abuse to the public, was hidden from the jury. The verdict was predictable - guilty of capital murder The sentence - death in the electric chair.
Written by Lynda Lyon in her own words, this poignant narrative tells how despite torture, unsanitary conditions, and almost dying for lack of medical treatment - George and Lynda have never lost their love and loyalty to each other, and have vowed they will always be soulmates - even to the day they are strapped into the electric chair to their deaths.
It was fate - and a libertarian philosophy - that brought George and me together at a libertarian Party meeting in Orlando, Florida, 1991. George had been attending for a year when I entered the meetings for the first time. I was immediately at home with the small but active group of intellectual activists, and George and I were among a smaller group that together attended political rallies.
A year later, my marital problems came to a head and my husband agreed to leave the house to me and our son and to start divorce proceedings. At that time, needing to enlarge my fledgling publishing business, I accepted an investment partnership offer from George, who had seen my potential as a writer and publisher, and who had also seen an entrepreneurship opportunity for himself.
Our partnership, which had began as friendship, soon blossomed into romance - a true libertarian relationship of two highly intellectual, fiercely independent individualists who live passionately. We soon realized that we were soulmates - totally compatible in every way. We married in 1992 and our love and friendship has grown continually.
George helped me launch a new magazine - "Liberatus" -and we published hard-hitting articles about political corruption. We pioneered a revocation process that eliminated driver's licenses, school board surveillance on my home schooled son, IRS demands, and state revenue notices. Every document we filed was challenged by the various agencies, but after we sent them legal proof of our right to revocate, they went away. We taught others this process in papers, video, and seminars. We spoke on local talk radio. The local, state and federal agencies began to notice the influx of revocation documents from Florida.
Our hell began, not with the agencies, but with Karl, my ex-husband, who had decided to sue me for possession of the valuable house. He petitioned the judge to allow him back into my house until the case was settled, a preposterous idea. George urged me not to go to Karl's apartment to try to reason with him, knowing Karl to be a violent- tempered man. But I was desperate to keep my home and was prepared to offer him a deal, so George went with me. Karl let us in to talk, but he became angry at my attempt to bargain. In a rage, he lunged at me. George managed to pull him off, but Karl had sustained a cut from a small knife I had pulled out and held up as a warning just as he had grabbed me. The cut was not large or deep, and when we offered to take him to a medical center, he refused, though he did allow us to bandage the cut.
George and I were arrested in our home at 2:30 am that same night. Karl had called the police and told them we had broken in and attacked him. George and I had never been arrested before, never been in any trouble other than traffic tickets. We were in shock - George's face was pale and grim, and I felt faint when the deputy began to read us our "rights". They put us both, hand cuffed, in the back seat of a patrol car and we tried to console each other. We agreed not to make any statements until we got a lawyer. I told him tearfully how sorry I was that he got pulled into this mess between Karl and me, and he assured me that it was all right, that he didn't blame me. I would have gladly borne the ordeal myself to spare him this. At the jail, as George was taken away, he looked back at me one last time and said "I love you, Lynda". Those words sustained me through the next five days of hell.
Because we were charged
with "domestic violence", George and I could not make bond without a hearing,
and we had to wait five days for that. I was placed in a cell
with 30 other crying, arguing, loud talking women. I chose
a top bunk on the far end, and sat and cried.
I was terrified, because
I had recently been interviewed on the radio about money being skimmed
from the jail accounts, and the sheriff had ordered the radio station padlocked
that night.
I could not eat those five days. The meat stank, and the vegetables and whipped potatoes were watery. I lived on whatever cartons of milk I could trade for my trays. I was astounded that the long timers would eagerly bid for my tray, and I managed to get paper and pencil as well. Writing helped me keep sane. I was able to converse with some of the women who recognized me as "fresh meat" and protected me from the lesbians and bullies. I called my mother to see how my son was doing, and she told me that Karl said he would make sure I went to prison and that he didn't want his son. When I began crying, the others stopped talking and looked at me. A large, black woman came over and hugged me to her ample bosom, and I felt a strange kinship to these thrown-away, forgotten wives, daughters, mothers.
The most humiliating experience was the strip search. When ordered to strip for a body search, I froze. I had never undressed for anyone except my husband and doctor. Silent tears ran down my face as I disrobed, then turned to squat so they could see if I had any drugs protruding from my rectum. When I dressed, my face was red with shame. I felt violated, mentally raped. I never did get over that.
George and I did get out on bond the 5th day. We were sure that our ordeal was over and that we would soon prove our innocence at trial. We were so naive.
It soon became evident that politics had entered our case. Too late, we realized that our attorney had sold us out for a job with the county. When our trial date arrived, our attorney had done nothing - the witnesses had not been subpoenaed, nor records we needed. George and I immediately fired him and asked the judge for a continuance to prepare for trial. He said no - we either plead "Nolo contendre" or go to trial that day; and if we were convicted, we would be sent directly to prison for a mandatory 3-year term. Our attorney had an evil, satisfied look on his face and I knew we had been set up. We were forced to sign "No contest."
We were still determined to fight it; we had a month before sentencing. We filed papers exposing the corruption of the judge and the denial of our right to a fair trial, sending copies to the Governor, Lt. Governor, Chief Judge of Florida, Attorney General, and the Sheriff. Friends and supporters flooded these officials with faxes calling for an investigation, throwing their offices in an uproar according to a secretary in the Chief Judge's office.
We didn't show up for sentencing; we'd been tipped off that Judge Hauser was going to send us to prison anyway, under "orders." We had three days to file a temporary restraining order in federal court, but the man who had promised to draft the document never did, and a capias was issued for our arrest.
A friend in the Sheriffs department, and a member of my church, called me the evening of the third day, his voice shaking. "Lynda, the warrants for you and George came up on computer. I just heard there's a plan to raid your house. They know you have guns - they're going to use a SWAT team." I was incredulous. "A SWAT team!" His voice became softer, sadder. "You and George have made a lot of important people angry. They're going to kill you and then say you shot at them first. " He paused, to let this sink in, then said, "I've put myself at great risk telling you this. Please, get out of Florida. They mean business."
George had heard this on the speaker phone. His face was as somber as mine. As a last, desperate attempt to stop this insanity, I called to talk to Sheriff Beary. I had interviewed him when he ran for election. But he wouldn't come to the phone.
George and I were
not criminals and we did not want to become fugitives.
But my friend had made it clear we had no choice. At the invitation
of a friend in Georgia to stay with him, we loaded our car and George,
my son Gordon, and I left Florida that night.
The Shooting
We stayed in Georgia for three weeks, but we knew we couldn't stay longer and endanger our friends. We decided to go to Mobile, Alabama, a large port where strangers come and go everyday, and figure out how to straighten out the Florida mess. We stayed in a motel in Opelika, Alabama while waiting for our friend to turn our remaining silver coin into cash, then we started out October 4, 1993, for Mobile. On the way I spotted a drugstore with a pay phone in front and suggested to George that we stop there so I could get a vitamin supplement and call a friend in Orlando. After Gordon and I came out of the store, he got back in the car to wait while George and I made the call.
While I was on the phone, George stood by, watching the traffic and people going by. He noticed one particular woman in a red Blazer pull in beside our car. She got out and looked at our car, a Mustang hatchback, with pillows stacked on top of all our belongings. It later came out at trial that she had presumed that we were transients, living out of our car, with a child obviously not in school. Actually, I always carried my own pillows when sleeping in motels. This woman's prejudicial presumption cost a police officer his life, my son his mother, and George and me our freedom.
Because I had run out of change for the phone, my call was cut off, so we left. But as we were leaving the shopping center I remembered my friend had an 800 number and I then spotted a phone in front of Wal-Mart. So George pulled the car into a parking space and he and Gordon stayed in the car while I walked to the store to call. Unknown to us, the woman saw a police officer coming out of a nearby store. She approached him and told him that we were living out of our car and she was concerned about the child. She gave him a description of our car and left.
Roger Motley was the supply officer for the Opelika Police Department and hadn't been on patrol for years. He was irritated that he had to stop and check on this situation. He drove his car up and down the aisles, and when he found our car, he stopped behind it.
I had my back turned while
talking on the phone and didn't see the officer pull up. When
George saw the officer in the rear view mirror, he got
out of the car, closed the door, and waited to see what
the officer wanted. The officer approached George with the typical
"I'm the guy with the badge and the gun" attitude. In a curt
voice he demanded to see George's
driver' s license.
George told him he didn't have one, and was prepared to get our legal exemption
papers from the car. The officer then decided to arrest George
and told him to put his hands on the car. George hesitated,
knowing this was arrest, yet he had done nothing illegal.
Motley, thoroughly irritated now, reached for his gun.
When George saw him go for his gun, he reacted instinctively and drew his
own gun. When Motley saw George's gun, he said "Oh shit'." and,
with his hand still on his gun, turned and ran for cover behind
the police car.
When I heard the popping
noises, it took me a couple of seconds to realize it was gunfire.
I heard people yelling and running to get out of the way. Quickly
I turned and saw Motley crouched beside his
car, shooting at George. Fear gripped my stomach.
I cried, "Oh God, no!" and dropping the phone, began running,
ignoring the people scrambling for cover.
I saw George standing
between the rear of our car and the right side of the police car; he was
holding his gun in his right hand, but his
left arm was hanging strangely. Motley didn't see me approach,
and just as I came to a stop I pulled my own gun and shot several times.
He turned to me in surprise, and as he did, one of my bullets
struck him in the chest and he fell backwards, almost losing
his balance in his crouched position. His gun was pointed at me
and I prayed he wouldn't shoot. Instead, he crawled
into the car, and after grabbing the radio microphone, he drove off.
I immediately ran to our car and got in. The parking lot was quiet - everyone had sought shelter inside the stores. I was shaken, yet incredibly calm. "What happened?" I asked. George's face was extremely pale. "He tried to arrest me for not having a driver's license." He shook his head in disbelief. "I was going to show him our papers, but he didn't give me a chance - and he went for his gun. " He looked at me, his eyes begging me to believe him. "I couldn't just stand there and let him shoot me."
I did believe him. George is the most honest person I know. He would not have placed himself or us in danger. He took the law seriously. He was never the showoff gunslinger-type and would walk away before being drawn into a fight.
I told him that I believed him, but that we had just shot a cop and the whole police force would be gunning for us. We had to get out of there fast. It was then I noticed his arm and he raised it up to show me. With characteristic understatement, he said simply "I've been hit." His arm had been pierced by a bullet. Though blood was dribbling down his arm, it didn't obscure the hole. I examined his arm and could see that the bullet passed through his forearm and miraculously had not broken any bone or cut through a tendon or artery. I had an advanced medical kit in the car and I knew I could treat it later.
George maneuvered
our car deftly through the streets, trying to get
us out of the area quickly while not attracting attention.
I tried to calm Gordon, who was crying and shaking, and
I looked at the map for the best route out. But
we were unfamiliar with the area and kept running into heavy
traffic. Then we picked up an unmarked
police car and knew they were closing in on us. We
were going over 100 mph when we suddenly
came to a crossroad. We could only turn
right or left. "Which way?" he asked.
I was clueless -
I had lost track
of where we were. He took a guess and
turned left.
We had gone only 1/4 mile
down the country road when we came up on a rise - and
then we saw the roadblock, at least 20 cars. George
slowed down, then pulled the car over to the side of the road and cut
the engine. He sat in calm resignation, then looked over at me.
I said quietly, "I guess
this is it, isn't it?" He nodded, then we both looked out
at the policemen, detectives, deputies -coming at
us from all directions, guns drawn, shouting "Get
out of the car and put your hands up!"
It was an incredible,
surrealistic scene, as though I was experiencing a virtual
reality game where I could feel the action and motion,
but then the game would end and I would go back to living
my real life again. My son's sobs brought me abruptly
back to reality.
I rolled down my window
and put out my raised hand. "Stop!" I shouted.
"I have a child in the car!" I could plainly see the closest
officer's face turn pale,and he quickly spoke into
the radio on his shoulder. "There's a child in the car!"
he shouted. The Opelika police never told these Auburn police
this. The word was quickly passed and then he said "Okay, ma'am,
we won't shoot. You can let the child go."
I talked to Gordon, calmed him down, then I opened the door and let him out, told him to be a good boy and that they would take care of him, and pointed him toward a plain-clothes policeman. I gave him a last kiss, holding his handsome nine year-old face in my hand, to get a last picture in my mind of the child I may never see again. I watched him walk quickly away to the beckoning officer and I felt as though my heart would break. I had planned his conception, had nurtured him through sickness, homeschooled him. No one could have possibly loved a child as much as I loved mine, and he was walking out of my life only half-grown, unfinished.
As soon as Gordon was taken away, the police then shouted at us to surrender. I turned to George and asked "What do you want to do?" He had lost a lot of blood and was pale and tired. "I don't know." I made a decision for us. I told the officer, "We are not surrendering. You will have to kill us first."
For four hours George and I sat in the car and talked. I held my gun where the officers could see that we were not going to surrender peacefully. The officer continued to talk to me to get information about us. George and I spent the time talking about the shooting, as he explained to me what happened. We discussed our plans for our future together, all gone. We discussed the probability that if the officer died, we'd be charged with capital murder and executed. If we decided to fight in court, it could take years. We knew we did not want to spend the rest of our lives in prison for an act of self-defense. We knew that it would be our word against a cops' word, and we had already seen how corrupt the justice system is. We then talked about suicide.
My religious belief is that suicide is wrong, but now I was faced with the total hopelessness of our situation. I told George that the only regret I had in all this is that I would not be able to raise my son. We discussed all our options.
As dusk settled in, we saw the SWAT team position themselves around us. The regular police had pulled back an hour earlier. A negotiator got on the police car hailer and tried to talk us into surrendering. We said no, that if they tried to come after us we would shoot ourselves. He then tried to bargain with us. What did we want? I printed my answers on notebook paper with a marker and George held it out his window for them to read - to talk to my son, to talk to the press, and to talk to clergy of my religion. He agreed to all these things (he lied - they did none of them), but we had to surrender first.
Finally, the showdown came. The SWAT teams had us surrounded. We were told that if we did not surrender in 5 minutes, they would lob tear gas through the windows of the car and take us anyway. George and I had been sitting with our guns in hand. We had planned to shoot ourselves in the head at the same time. George looked at me with such sorrow and asked, "Would you mind if I stayed in the car and shot myself while you surrender? At least you could have some decision in Gordon's future."
I looked up at him with surprise, my eyes filling with tears at the thought that this honest, loving, gentle man who had waited over 40 years to find the right woman and found me, spending all those years in patient waiting, should now die alone with a bullet to his head.
'No," I said firmly, "I'm not going anywhere without you. Either we surrender together or we die together. I'll follow you, George - Whatever you want, I'm leaving it up to you."
A totally surprised expression came to his direct, penetrating gaze. Until that very moment, he had not realized the depth of my love for him, that I would rather stay with him, even in death, and that I would trustingly place my life in his hands.
"If we surrender, it will be years before this is resolved."
"I know," I said, "but at least we'd be fighting this together."
He then took my left hand in his right, stained with blood where he had tried to staunch the wound, and raised my hand to his lips.
"No," he said with renewed determination. "We will surrender so we can fight this. We have to do whatever we can to see that Gordon is taken care of, and to prove our innocence - if only for his sake." For the first time in months, hope was in his voice "We will fight this to the end, and it they still execute us, we'll die knowing we fought for what was right." He then gave a tired smile.
"Yes," I said with respect and admiration for my husband.
With a look
of tenderness I'll always remember, he leaned forward
and kissed me, a gentle, parting kiss, perhaps the last we would ever
share. Then, at a nod from him, we laid down our guns and
exited the car with our hands up.
The Trials
George and I were placed in solitary confinement in the Lee County jail in Opelika. The jail is small - the men's section holds 100 men, the women's section - 25. I was taken to a 4-cell unit in which I was the sole occupant. I was exhausted and numb - I had been fingerprinted, photographed, strip-searched and questioned. I had not eaten since breakfast and it was after 9:00 pm.
The cell block I was in was at the far end of the jail and hadn't been used for almost a year. After the last occupants had left, it had not been cleaned. One of the female officers pointed out a cell and told me to put my things there, then they left. But five minutes later they came back and took everything except the mattress, soap, toothpaste, and toilet paper. I stood there, dumbfounded. "Why are you doing this?" I asked. "Orders," was the curt reply and they locked me in the tiny cell.
George was treated similarly, locked in a cell by himself, but under the watchful eye of a surveillance camera. The bright fluorescent lights in our cells were not turned off for 10 days, and it was almost impossible to sleep. The constant temperature in the jail was 68 -degrees, and without, any covering, not even a sheet, I developed hypothermia, at times awakened by uncontrollable shivering. I would pace the cell to keep warm but I was too exhausted to pace for long. George had no shoes or socks - they had taken those from him- and he too, was suffering from the cold. By the 6th day of constant cold I awoke to intense shivering, I was cold - inside as well as out; I was numb and could hardly move. With great difficulty I crawled to the bars of the cell and tried to raise myself, but couldn't. About 30 minutes later they found me on the cold cement floor, one hand grasping the bars, and they decided to give me a blanket. I wrapped myself in it and slept for 18 hours before my body temperature became normal.
I had to use my only pair of panties to wash myself and hung them to dry overnight to wear each day. They wouldn't let us shower, nor would they give us clean clothes. We asked repeatedly to use the phone to call our families so they could get lawyers for us, but they denied us that, too. The constant cold and bright light, the isolation, the starchy food - they all began to take its toll - as planned. We were both taken before Judge Harper for the initial appearance in handcuffs attached to belly-chains, and shackles on our bare ankles.
One cannot imagine the pain of trying to walk with shackles on your ankles, on bare skin. The proper procedure is to place them on the pants legs, but the jailers deliberately put them on our skin to inflict pain. George and I bore the pain without comment - we were not going to let them gain satisfaction from their torture. I still have scars on my ankles where the shackles dug deep into my skin.
At both court appearances
the media was there in swarms. At the first appearance, Judge Harper
- the star - imperiously went through the routine of asking if we understood
the charge - capital murder - and that the penalty was death or life without
parole. Did we have lawyers or
did we want the state to
provide them? We both looked at him in disbelief. They all
knew we had been denied even one phone call - how could we have retained
lawyers? If George and I were not so exhausted and disheartened,
we would have insisted on handling our own case. But they would not
let us talk and discuss this. The prosecutor had quickly figured
out from looking through my files and our legal papers that were in the car
that we were well-educated, and politically and legally astute. He did
not want us to handle our own case, thus the psychological torture to
force us to take their lawyers.
After we were appointed lawyers, suddenly everything changed. They let us shower and use the phone. We received all our bedding and basic toiletries. We began to receive mail. Because George and I were so well known, the news of the shooting went all around the country, and calls and faxes to the Sheriff had come in asking about us. My mother had called and begged the Sheriff to let her talk to me but he curtly told her I was going to die for killing a cop and hung up on her. A friend had traveled all the way from Orlando to see what he could do for us and they refused him. Letters began pouring in, but we didn't get them. The prosecutor, judge and the Sheriff conspired to cut us off from all contact with support.
Despite the cruelties I suffered, none was worse than what they did to George. After they let us receive mail, a friend sent us stationary, pens and stamps. It was a long shot but l asked if George and I could exchange letters. Surprisingly, they said yes. (We found out later that the prosecutor had the jailers copy our letters for information.) When George wrote, he told me that the wound in his arm had been treated only once - at the hospital right after we surrendered. Over a week had gone by and they had not given him any antibiotics. Once, just before he was to appear in court, an officer put peroxide in his wound and changed his bandage. George wrote me that he could feel itching and could smell infection setting in.
As angry as I was of their treatment of me, I was more angry at their deliberate indifference to his obvious medical condition. We had just been given permission to use the phone and I called a friend and told him what they were doing to George. He immediately put out an urgent fax message to our supporters nationwide and we were told that the next day the Sheriff's office was swamped with faxes and phone calls demanding that George be properly treated immediately. Pat Sutton, a retired deputy, quoted law and Supreme Court decisions to the Sheriff about the proper treatment of prisoners. Early the next morning George was taken to a doctor who treated his wound and prescribed antibiotics. An officer later told George they had been given a prescription for antibiotics at the hospital, but the Sheriff would not authorize it to be filled.
From the moment we were introduced to our court-appointed lawyers, George and I fought to have them recognize that we were as knowledgeable of the Constitution and the law as they. We soon realized that we were more knowledgeable then they; all they knew was what they were spoon-fed at law school. They knew nothing about the common-law rights of self-defense, of the significance of the 14th Amendment citizenship, of the right to resist unlawful arrest. They refused to combine our cases, kept trying to put me against George so I would get a lighter sentence, kept repeating the phrase "We're doing this for appeal." We soon realized that they were not considering our innocence, but only the degree of our "guilt." They didn't expect acquittal, weren't working for it at all, and only wanted to work toward saving us from the electric chair.
George and I refused to submit to their plans - George' s lead attorney tried to quit; mine left town and was replaced. George' s attorneys did not prepare for trial. They had not sent the witness subpoenas out in time, so few came. They had not examined the forensic reports or questioned potential witnesses about the officer's violent nature. At trial, the prosecutor purposely twisted the facts in his closing statement to make it appear that it was George's bullet - not mine - that killed the officer. When George and I insisted that I testify to show that it wasn't George's bullet, George's attorney made the loudest protest. My attorney begged me not to testify. "George is already lost. Don't throw away your chance for life. Don't be a hero." I looked him straight in the eye. "I'm not doing this to be a hero. I'm doing it because it's the right thing to do."
I had prayed that I would be calm while I was on the stand, and I was. This, however, was interpreted by the media and the jury as "cold-blooded lack of remorse." During his trial, George was pale and tired, and extremely thin. And he knew he was lost. It was inevitable that he would be convicted and sentenced to death.
When the jury recommended death for George, the jailers expected me to cry and wail. Because I showed no reaction and went about my normal routine, keeping my grief to myself, some of the jailers turned against me, convinced I was cold and heartless about George's plight. It was only after George had been taken away to prison three weeks later that I broke down. Clutching his last letter, written hurriedly just before they took him away, I cried quietly for hours. Half of me had been torn away and now I couldn't even hope for a glimpse of him in court, and receive his daily letters of love and encouragement. The reality of our situation only hit me then, when they took George away to Death Row.
I now had to concentrate on my own trial, which was getting nowhere. My lawyers and I argued at every meeting because they refused to even consider the Constitutional issues I knew were crucial to my case. One night I perpended the realization that unless these issues were raised at trial, I could not raise them in appeal - according to the ABA Rules of Court - and I would have no basis for a demand of my release. I had no choice but to fire these useless attorneys and conduct my own trial.
The next morning, at a closed-chamber session between the judge, my lawyers and me, I presented the lawyers their dismissals, and copies to the judge. Judge Harper only raised his eyebrows in surprise and ordered that the lawyers and I discuss this privately. When we were alone, the lead attorney exploded in anger. "You arrogant fool. Why do you insist on throwing your life away! Do you have a death wish?" I was calm and even smiled a little. "You are not interested in proving me innocent - only of getting me a lighter sentence. I want acquittal or nothing. I may lose anyway, but at least it will be done my way." He stormed out angrily, and the other attorney shook his head in sympathy. "I know why you're doing this, but you're making a big mistake. You're risking your life." I nodded. "I know, but it is my life, isn't it?"
To prepare for trial in the 3 months I had, I read the Rules of Procedure and Rules of Evidence. I filed several pre-trial documents, unusual documents that I convinced the judge were to be introduced as evidence at trial. Fortunately, the judge was too ignorant of the documents and of Constitutional law to realize what I filed. Though he and the prosecutors scoffed at my pretrial documents challenging his jurisdiction, the Constitutionality of the statute I was charged under, and the validity of the indictment based on the original 13th Amendment; I knew that if I did lose, I still could raise this issue on appeal because it had been raised at trial.
The trial was a play, scripted by the judge, the prosecutor, and the restrictive ABA Rules of Procedure. In both our cases, Judge Harper refused to release the officer' s personnel record, which showed a long pattern of abuse to the public, and I was working against a one-sided portrayal of the officer as a "good cop gunned down in cold blood." I was able to perform all the functions of trial in a calm, business-like manner, and even the judge grudgingly admitted how well I was conducting my defense. But under the restrictive rules of procedure in today's courts I had little chance, and I knew it. All I could hope to do was maneuver the trial to get as much information in my favor on record - for appeal.
When the jury came back with the guilty verdict I was not surprised, but it hit me hard. No one can possibly imagine being alone in a courtroom, feeling the eyes of everyone else upon you waiting for your reaction to the news that they were going to put you to death in a most horrible manner. I forced myself to sit perfectly still, emotionless, while realizing that the people of Alabama wanted to kill me for choosing to defend my husband's life.
When it came time for the sentencing portion of the trial, when I was supposed to convince the jury they should give me life without parole instead of the death penalty, I waived my time, telling everyone in that courtroom that I had presented everything I had at trial. I was not going to beg for my life. When I was awaiting their decision, I prayed that they would give me death. If George and I were both on Death Row, we could join our appeal and fight together. When the jury recommended death, I rose from the defense table with as much dignity as I could evoke and walked through the silent courtroom and hallways back to my cell. Some of the jailers were upset. One of the women in my cell broke down and cried.
Execution by electric chair is gruesome. They shave your head so they can attach the electrodes to bare skin. They shove cotton up your rectum and put an adult diaper on you because the charge of electricity through your body causes your bladder and intestines to evacuate. They put a hood over your face because the jolt of 20,000 volts causes your face to contort and your eyeballs to explode.
George and had agreed at the roadblock that we would fight to the end, and if we still lose and are executed, we will go back to our Creator knowing that we fought to the end, and fought for the principle that it is better to have fought and lost than to subinit to those who would rob us of our unalienable right to liberty.
Below are portions of the daily letters George and Lynda wrote
while in the Lee County Jail, Alabama
"When you wrote that
you did not blame me for the plight we're in, it did make me feel much better
too. I had been put in such a difficult spot, and when he reached for
his gun, my reaction was an instinctive one. At that point
was one choice: life or death, to protect myself and my family, or fail
miserably. You came to my defense, as I would yours,
without question. I don't know of any woman I've ever met who
would do as you did for me, and I do so thank God that we met. "
- George
"I'm going through a terrible time dealing with my captivity here. Yet, there is that hope, that chance for freedom, and I am clinging to that with the fierceness of a person who is clinging to the last standing tree in a raging storm." - Lynda
"I have been penalized all my life, as you have, for adhering to principle, and being honest. I defended my principles to my own detriment. Everywhere I went, someone wanted me to yield to a situation, an ideal, or purpose that was wrong - or at least, wrong for me - and I rebelled. This has cost me dearly throughout my life. Realizing this, I still am unwilling to forfeit that what I hold dearest -my integrity." - George
"Though in a moment of total despair I may have been tempted to entertain thoughts of ending it all here, I've since come to terms with the fact. that, just as our lives are playing possibly to the end, so are the lives of those who lied to us and about us, who prosecuted us, who cheated us and stole from us, who have unjustly punished us. Even in this place, captive as I am, I will not yield my principles. No matter how much I am mocked or tormented, I will not forfeit my dignity. I will leave this world as Lynda Lyon Sibley, and with all the pride that entails. I am content to play this to the end, whatever it might be" - Lynda
II agree with you completely on the result we want here. Patrick Henry's 'Give me liberty or give me death!' sums up the way I feel, and all who share the same spirit as you and I, that mere existence is not life. " - George
'I told her (attorney) I was tired of living my life to suit others, including an enslaving government, and that yes, I could have taken the (Florida) sentence and tried to live under community control, but why? Why should I submit to yet another injustice? When does a person stand up for the principle of defending oneself against injustice, rather than submit for the sake of expediency? Always, I said. I'd rather die than live as a slave to government control or public opinion. " - Lynda
"I will never give up the fight for freedom, never! No matter what, I will endure, and I know that you have the will, determination, and faith to do it too. As you have said before, they cannot chain our spirits!" - George
"Life in prison is not "life." It is living hell for someone like you or me. Living in a caged existence where you are told what to eat, what to wear, where to sleep, when to sit or stand; where your meager belongings are regularly searched, where even your body is inspected, where the only intellectual stimulation you receive is what they allow - what kind of life is that? If the jury has to choose between death or life in prison, they would be far more charitable to give us death." - Lynda
"This is one man who won't make a "deal" and sell his soul for limited freedom." - George
"You carried yourself proudly in the courtroom, and this is what the jury hated. They wanted submissive, emotional groveling. They wanted pained expressions of remorse. You are truly a brave man, Sweetheart, and I am honored to be your wife. " - Lynda
"You have changed me forever, Lynda, and for the better. I am a whole and complete man with you, and I know that even if we can't communicate for a while, that you will never forsake me and will always love me. I know you won't want anyone else, and I want only you. I will always be faithful to you, my soulmate, and I will not lose faith in our freedom coming Soon, or in Heavenly Father's plan for us. " - George
"I tried to picture you in my mind, and the picture of you I love best is how you look in jeans, your snug-fitting shirt, and your leather jacket. With your tall, slim stature and your wavy hair, you looked so incredibly elegant and handsome. I love your boyish smile and your direct, intense gaze. Such honesty in that gaze. I love and adore you. " - Lynda
"After all this time apart, sweet Lynda, I will cherish every moment we have together, every tender caress, every kiss, every chance I have to see you. My favorite memories are those of holding you in my arms, sharing a tender kiss or with your head on my chest. I await the soft warmth of your embrace as I bring you to the exquisite heights of our lovemaking. I pledge my eternal love, and a promise of total and complete loyalty to you. You are one of Heavenly Father's special daughters, and He has given me the Sacred duty and honor to love, protect, and guide you, and I will. " - George
"These months ahead are going to be lonely for us, George. Please don't let my resignation of our present situation make you think I will ever let my love grow dim. I think about you constantly. Memories make me cry with longing for days gone by. I want to lay with you once again, caress your body; to snuggle up to you and your masculine scent, and then feel the warmth of you inside me as we share love. I am not complete without you. I never will be. I am yours for eternity. " - Lynda
In the warmth of my heart
I saw you;
Lonely, hopeful, and open
to love.
I saw your giving soul,
your honest gaze and tender
heart;
I saw a man yearning for
love's fulfillment.
And I came.
In the warmth of my heart
I see you
emerging, from hope-to a
man in love.
I see you complete and content
and
confident of life's promises
fulfilled.
I see a man who's warrior
blood renewed
Because I came.
In the warmth of my heart
I see you
In full stature as a celestial
Prince.
I see you wise and patient
and content
With assurance of the fruit
of our love.
I see a Prince who reaches
out to his eternal bride -
And I will come.
Lynda Cheryle Lyon
was born and raised in Orlando,
Florida, but has traveled throughout America. She is a professional
writer of columns, op-ed pieces and short stories for several publications.
She is a sailor, scuba diver, cross-country motorcyclist,
sport shooter, fisherman and billiards champion. She
has been active in community affairs as President of Friends of the Library,
as investigator for the Humane Society, President of the
Young Womens organization in her church, and State Vice-Chair of the
Libertarian Party of Florida, where she and George met.
George became Lynda's partner in her publishing business
and wrote a column about gun ownership rights in her magazine "Liberatus."
They married in 1992 and are raising Lynda's 11 year-old son, Gordon.
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