Preface

Present Day

It was the strong scent of lemon pepper that first assaulted my olfactory organs, causing a quick pang of hunger to grip my mid-section. Were I a dog, I suspect drooling would soon follow.

As I opened my eyes, I could see that the feast was worthy of this special meal. My lack of concern for the rising cholesterol problem in America was evident in the three breadcrumb-encrusted, fried pork chops as well as in the side dishes, which included au gratin potatoes and broccoli with cheese sauce. Dessert was New York-style cheesecake, simple yet elegant. Two glasses of milk, whole milk to be sure, sat in plastic cups. The plastic ware was seated on top of a cloth napkin, which in turn was resting on top of a pure white linen tablecloth. Almost perfect. I opened the small cardboard box, and inside was a container that I immediately recognized as from the warden’s wife, Sondra; homemade applesauce to compliment the pork chops. Now it was perfect.

I looked up at the man who delivered the feast and, catching his eye, nodded. Then I focused to his right on the man in the suit and tie. His look was that rare combination of pensive resignation and mild amusement. I silently mouthed “thank you” to him. He nodded, looked at me for a few more seconds, then turned and left, followed by the server.

Starting with the first chop, I cut carefully yet determinedly and fell into reflection yet once again on how I ended up at this stage of my life, sitting in solitary confinement on death row at a maximum security prison, just hours away from my inevitable execution, wearing the bright orange uniform of an Attica prison convict.