Story by Emilia Randall
A former Death Row prison officer revealed the single moment that continues to plague his nightmares.
David Beechy was raised Amish before leaving his life behind to start anew, eventually qualifying as a correctional officer and joining Tennessee’s Death Row facility.
What he experienced during the 14 months he spent there continues to haunt him to this day, perhaps more intensely than ever. The psychological toll eventually compelled David to leave his role permanently.
David told Rise Above with Kevin Lanning that the position “was like a crazy adrenaline rush that never happened because you’re always on guard, you’re always watching.”
He explained some inmates were permitted one hour of recreation time and a 15-minute walk while others received eight hours and were allowed to remain without handcuffs outdoors. For the most part they behaved well, reports the Irish Mirror.
David only survived 14 months© Rise Above with Kevin Lanning
He said: “A lot of guys had been there 15, 20, 30 years – that’s a lot of time to get that young vinegar out of your system and realise you’re there for the long haul.
“You had to behave well as a CO because their lawyers were looking for a reason to sue you. You were held at a very high standard.
“The captain who ran the prison handpicked who he wanted coming through. He would try to choose guys who he knew weren’t coming in to pick a fight every other day.”
At the time, it simply felt like employment to David. But that perspective has shifted. He said: “I’ve thought a lot more about death row people since I’ve not worked there.”
An aerial view of a wide, empty road surrounded by lush green grass and trees. The sky is clear with a few scattered clouds, and© Google Maps
One young man was just two years his senior. He recalled thinking “man there’s not that much difference between you and me.”
He added: “The other thing too that a lot of the general public don’t understand is that some of those guys that have been on Death Row for 20 years are not the same person. Should they still be punished? Probably yes. But they’re no longer that kid chopped up on drugs going around killing people for 60 bucks to get their next hit.”
Despite becoming accustomed to the individuals and the daily routine, there is one incident that continues to haunt him. David said: “They executed one inmate during my time there and the whole unit changed, in the few weeks leading up to it and about a week afterward everything was just quiet, just eerily quiet. People were not doing their rec times, it was a really high stress situation during that time.'”.
He also had to conduct a strip search of a man who had been informed his execution date was confirmed and all of his appeals had been exhausted. He said: “It was like he had just left. His body was there but he had just checked out. That next 24 hour period he was giving out stuff he knew he could give away.
“For me now it’s so crazy to see someone you know is completely healthy see that date come along.”
Another incident was considerably more disturbing. David recounted one prisoner’s psychosis-driven self-mutilation when Henry Hodges attempted to sever one of his own body parts.
David said: “One of the inmates tried to cut his own penis off. That was probably the craziest and grossest things.
“This guy was cutting at an angle and cutting back in towards his stomach and cutting several inches deep. He was having a psychotic episode. He was hearing voices telling him to go f**k his mother, and he didn’t want to do it. They stitched it back on and put him on meds.”
Certain aspects of the role have remained with David for many years. He revealed he still feels uncomfortable sitting without his back against a wall and continuously monitors people’s body language and behavior.
An individual with short, dark hair© Tennessee Department of Correction
Now a father and husband, he said: “Now looking back and realising what I was in the middle of – it’s just you doing your job and you don’t think about it that much. I would say it affects me more now more than it ever has, maybe it’s because I have kids.”
Reflecting on his decision to leave, he said: “I just realised it wasn’t for me. If I had family in the area, possibly. At that point I kind of knew law enforcement wasn’t for me. Growing up Amish and moving into such a high stress environment I just realised i don’t want to see people the way that makes you see people.”
He noted that some colleagues managed a healthy work-life balance while others “eat sleep and breathe it.”
He added: “They go through four marriages and their kids don’t talk to them because they live this crazy not normal life. The way you see humans is not the same.”
