More from Glenmore Prison

Capps, Texas, a place so small it doesn't even have a Zip Code, has been selected as the new Federal Center for the development of punishments, both terminal and physical. Work on the offices and shops have been completed and occupied but prison facilities are still not quite completed. One of their first projects is a New and Improved electric chair. The Chair long favored in many states has gradually fallen into disuse supplanted by more spectacular means as hangings, dismemberments, crucifixion, etc.

Since they didn't have any prison facilities as yet, they sent the first completed model to Glenmore for tryouts. We are to report the results to them. The simplified chair does away with both the head and leg electrodes and also eliminates the need for shaving the head and leg of the condemned. Simplicity itself the wooden seat has been covered with a copper sheet and the two armrests are also covered in copper. The usual straps are still needed to secure the prisoner to the chair. The metal seat and armrests are then connected to the terminals of the three phase AC circuit, the current to flow between the arms and buttocks passing through heart, lungs and other vital organs. Designed with the idea that the prisoner would be executed stark naked it would still allow the condemned to wear a jockstrap and tee shirt if desired without blocking the current.

We installed the chair in one of our small private rooms, a well soundproofed place designed for physical interrogations. Not only did the Federal Center send us the chair, they allotted to us the prisoners to be zapped.

They were five dope dealers ranging in age from 18 to 30. We would do all five in one session recording the results on videotape and performing autopsies on the corpses. The condemned prisoners' statistics were as follows:

#1. Harry Cruz: Latin; Age 19; 5'3''; Well muscled; 180 lbs
#2. Ben Johnson: Black; Age 28; 6' 1''; Husky built; 220 lbs
#3. Dick Connors: White; Age 18; 5' 4''; Slight almost hairless body; 120 lbs.
#4. John Peterson: White; Age 30; 6' 2''; Big and strong; 210 lbs.
#5. William Chang: Chinese; Age 20; 5' 6''; Skinny; 130 lbs.
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We started at nine in the morning. Harry was first. He was escorted naked into the chamber as would be all of our test subjects. Cringing with fear, his more than adequate sized dick shrivelled up, balls tight almost hiding. We had a bottle of salt water which we squirted on his arms and buttocks before forcefully seating him in the chair. Quickly strapping his chest, lap, arms and legs, he was ready for the juice. We tried 1500 volts cycled off and on for three minutes. The first shot caused a wild shriek together with the jerking forward of chest, arm and leg muscles. Piss jetted from his cock. As the power switched off and on, the body jerked forward and then slumped back. His face became ashen gray but his arms and body reddened and became drenched with sweat. After the three minutes the half roasted prisoner was examined and pronounced dead.
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Ben was next. With an air of bravado, he sat unassisted in the chair. A big man, long legged and long cocked, he impassively endured the strapping procedure. We tried 45 seconds this time, then shut off the juice. He was seen to be in extreme agony groaning and twisting the entire time. His heart was still furiously beating -- he gasped for breath and tried to speak cursing and straining at the leather straps. We prepared to zap him again, when his heart seized up beating erratically, then stopped. His head lolled on his shoulders, mouth open, mucous dripping down.
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Dick Connors, his thin almost hairless body trembling, was dragged in next and slammed into the death chair. We gave him 2500 volts for 3 minutes. The high voltage and thin physique combined as his body was burnt almost to a crisp. His blood began to boil by the time the current was cut off. We checked his heart as almost a formality. There was no doubt that he had expired.
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John Peterson, at 210 pounds, all of it muscle, gave us our biggest challenge. Struggling all the way, he broke loose from the guards taking a lunge back toward the door. We slammed it in time, then tripped him as he was punching one of the observers from Capps. He was flung into the chair and I grabbed his nuts, twisting them, as the guards got the straps on him. He shouted obscenities which were cut short as he was skewered by the juice. Screaming with an animal force, he jerked and twisted with the ebb and flow of the current. Shit and piss surged out onto the chair seat and spilled onto the floor. His head jerked from side to side, eyes bugging out. Three minutes were not enough to kill, so we repeated the sequence. This time his well roasted body was indeed dead.
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Bill Chang was to be the conclusion to our test of the chair. Unresisting, he was led into the room and gently pushed into the seat. We had cleaned up the chair and floor from the previous victim, but the air was still thick and heavy with smoke flavored with the not too unpleasant odor of cooking flesh. We cut the voltage this time to only 1000 volts, but extended the time to seven minutes. When the current was applied, the anguished screams began. It was clear this time that the prisoner was still fully aware of his surroundings as his screams were punctuated with cries to please stop, followed by curses and wild threats. His body was sweat covered and turned crimson red, his head gradually lost color, but it was not until almost five minutes had elapsed that his anguished cries were stilled. With the current finally cut off, we found no evidence of heartbeat, and our little experiment was complete.

Next week I completed the report to the Capps Facility. We recommended tilting the chair seat backwards a few degrees and providing a more solid back. This would keep the piss from flowing on the floor. Since the current bypasses the brain, the prisoner only looses consciousness when the heart stops, until then he can feel all the pain produced by the current. We felt that 1000 volts for ten minutes would cause maximum suffering to the condemned and longest practical entertainment value to the spectators.


The seven marines had been a tight little group selling secrets to foreign powers. Judged equally guilty by the court martial, they had been sent to Glenmore for disposition -- private and painful. About a week after the electric chair tests, I received confidential instructions and death warrants from the corps to BURN THEM TO DEATH WITH SLOW FIRE. Pulling out the files and going over the photos, I saw two of them had unusual tattoos, one on the butt and the other on the arm. I decided to add these to my collection before the execution to save them from mutilation. I also wanted a scrotum to be tanned and made into a change purse, so I picked the prisoner with the biggest balls as the donor. We had in the prison serving long terms several former doctors of medicine. I called one of them, a Dr. Hanson, and stated my wishes.

" Do the job any way you want, but keep them alive, and NO anesthetics. Keep your mouth shut and I will get the parole board to release you when your case comes up."
The execution was to be on Wednesday so a few evenings before we took the three marines which were to be operated on to the same interrogation room, the same room where we had tried out the chair. We always had a table there equipped for strapping down prisoners. First we took Harry Adams and strapped him to the table face down. Doc Hanson swabbed the buttocks then deftly cut a circle around the tattoo. Quickly cutting under the skin, he sliced out the part with the tattoo, then bandaged the wound. We undid the straps. Harry only let out one cry of pain and was able to walk back to his cell.

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Removing the arm tattoo from Kent Pilseki was equally easy, the prisoner, however, tried to resist screaming and protesting. I grabbed his nuts, gave them a few twists telling him,

"This is nothing! Just wait till we burn off your dick."
The castration would be more difficult. John DeAndro was strapped down, legs spread, gasped and whined in terror. He had already pissed into his jumpsuit while watching the other two operations.
"I don't have a tattoo," he protested.
We ignored him as Dr. Hanson swabbed his balls with alcohol, grabbed them firmly pulling them out from the body, and quickly hacked them off at the base. Blood squirted from the wound. The Doctor found the large blood vessels and quickly tied them off. The prisoner fainted in the process. He was tightly bandaged and carried back to his cell while I took my trophies to the convict craft shop for mounting of the tattoos and the making of the ball sack into my purse.

As Monday morning dawned, we started to work in earnest. The marines were routed from their cells and stripped of their prison jumpsuits. They were lined up and led from death row outside along the same route we had used many times before to the three small buildings near the edge of the prison grounds, each with small individual cells to hold each prisoner. Each marine was handcuffed, arms behind his backs. They were hurried along with kicks and blows from the guards.

We lined them up outside the building and took a few candid snaps. They were now a subdued lot not knowing exactly what to expect. We noticed blood trickling down DeAndro's leg from his bandaged crotch, the wound having broken open from walking.

I produced an official looking document reading it to the prisoners. It began with a listing of their names, then it removed their names from the corps and gave their bodies into the custody of Glenmore Prison, and finally ended by stating that on or before Wednesday, May 17, 2023,

"You shall suffer cuts, burns, bruises, mangling or removal of your limbs and organs ... lasting over as long a period as is necessary to cause your death."
We took them inside, placing each of them in the restrictive cage size cells, but leaving DeAndro outside in the main room. Weakened by his castration and the painful walk to the 'holding cells', he appeared at the point of exhaustion. I gave a signal to the guards and they began beating him with their clubs. He fell to the floor. We noosed a thin cord around the head of his dick and started to jerk on it urging him to get up. Instead, our victim jerked and writhed on the floor further breaking open his wound. We pulled on the rope dragging him to the wooden torture table where I ordered him spread on his back. While I secured a portable propane torch from a nearby shelf, the guards ripped off his bandage. Lighting the torch and adjusting the flame, it was applied to the crotch cauterizing the prisoner's wound. The air was pierced with agonized screams as we extinguished the burning torch by jamming it into DeAndro's rectum. Completely losing control, and unable to shit, he pissed and vomited before passing out.

Turning our attention to the other prisoners who had watched through the bars of their cage size cells, we took a fire hose conveniently mounted on the wall, unwound the hose, and aimed it in the direction of the cells. Turning on the high pressure stream, we knocked the condemned former marines against the restricting bars of their cells and onto the floor. We played the water back and forth over each prisoner, its ice cold stream battering the naked bodies. Part of the spray played over the unconscious body of DeAndro causing him to slowly revive back to consciousness. As we stopped the water, one of the cell doors was opened and the slowly reviving body of John DeAndro was pushed inside.

Completely lacking any furnishings or plumbing, each of the cage like cells closely confined each marine with barely room to stand and just room enough to sit on the concrete floor, knees against the bars on one side, back against the other side. We threw liberal scoops of rock salt onto the wet and puddled floor before retreating, leaving the prisoners inside. It was now midmorning on Monday.

We left the prisoners there until Tuesday morning, their last meal had been the previous night. With no place to shit or piss except for the wet salt encrusted floor, and no place or room to lie down, they stood or hunched in a state of ever increasing distress. Huddled against the bars, they spoke of what would happen to them. Prayers, muffled cries and sobs were all picked up by hidden microphones and listened to and recorded for our present and future amusement. Did they really believe that their end was in sight? Some still hoped for a last minute reprieve, prison life even under these horrible conditions was better then death by torture.

While final preparations went forward for the conclusion of the execution on Wednesday, we occupied Tuesday with softening up the condemned, not giving them any rest or relief from punishment. We removed the men from their cells one at a time.

"Fingers and toenails first," I said.
Taking lots of time, each man was attached to the interrogation table face up, wrists and ankles secured with leather straps. Two guards worked on each prisoner: one with thin steel picks heated red hot and inserted under the nails while the other guard used steel long nosed pincers. Jabbing them in between nail and flesh, he jerked the nail backwards and extracted it. None of the prisoners were able to resist screaming. Their buddies in the open cage cells watched with fear and shock awaiting their turn.

After the nail extraction, each man was taken outside. We lassoed his arms and stood him, arms above his head, at the building wall on tiptoes. The guards administered a good flogging on all parts of the back focusing on the buttocks, thighs and shoulders. We gave each one, in turn, about twenty-five good whacks with the nine tailed whip, enough so that they were well bloodied. Finally, when we had all seven of them lined up together, we turned them around and I personally gave a finishing touch by grabbing each set of nuts with my bare hands, twisting them three or four times, all except for DeAndro, whose testicles had already been removed. It looked as if we would have only six to execute on Wednesday as DeAndro was now in a stupor weakened by the castration, burning and finally his flogging. Rather than waste time on him I instructed the guards to just leave him strung up by his wrists outside the building. We rolled up a newspaper and soaked it in gasoline. Ramming one end up his ass-hole, it was lighted. He revived almost immediately, legs jerking and kicking and lungs screaming and panting.

The remaining six ex-marines were led closely guarded to the spot chosen for the execution. By now night was falling as we reached the spot where we had previously buried David Scott alive. We had cleared away more of the underbrush and planted seven strong posts about seven feet in height in a semicircle spaced about three feet apart. We attached the prisoners in a standing spread eagle position, and since DeAndro had been left behind, one post remained unused. This arrangement gave us free access to all parts of the body and allowed all of the prisoners full view of their buddies.

I had John Savin and Ennis Taylor in the center of the semicircle. Savin at 6' 1'' and Taylor at 5' 8'' were both uncircumcised, a fact I intended to take advantage of as a means to start out the proceedings with a little extra touch of imagination. All that was required was a lamp wick, some kerosene, and a few simple tools.

By this time, all the prisoners had been secured to the posts, marine corps observers, photographers and our staff of guards and executioners numbered all told about fifty. No reporters nor members of the public were present, since no publicity was to be permitted. Nothing to damage the marine reputation and reveal the treasonable activities of a few bad eggs.

Approaching Savin, I grasped his penis and pulled the foreskin back all the way. Then taking an eight inch piece of the wick and using a metal probe, I pushed it into the cock-hole and down into the urethra leaving about two inches protruding. Then I carefully pulled the foreskin back over the cock-head and about one-half inch over the wick and tied the end tight and secured with some thin copper wire. The same procedure was repeated with Taylor and finally the preparations were completed by taking a surgical syringe filled with kerosene. The hypodermic was injected through the foreskin into the space around the cock-head causing it to balloon out at the end. There was no way that the kerosene could escape except by impregnating the wick where it emerged through the tied off pecker.

To the highest ranking marine present as I handed him a book of matches, I said,

"Do the honors, Colonel."
He approached the trembling exmarines. He ran his fingers over their ball sacks and stroked their penises. Finally, he struck a match and lighted the wicks. A smoky two or three inch flame appeared at the end of each cock. The two human oil lamps screamed and wiggled their hips in an attempt to blow out the flames. I gave the syringe to one of the guards to replenish the kerosene and also to just spray some on the flame. After a few minutes, however, the foreskins burned through releasing the remaining kerosene in a final burst of flame leaving the victim's dicks 'circumcised by fire' with the balls singed as well.

We spent the rest of the evening building a fire in the clearing in front of the condemned. We relaxed in a sort of cookout just letting the prisoners watch and wait. At midnight I sent one of the guards to see what had happened to DeAndro: the report was he's still alive. I responded by ordering the guards to drag him over to the site and put him up with the rest by hanging him up by the heels instead of his wrists. Soon four guards dragged the semi-conscious body and attached him to the empty space at the right alongside Wilson.

I instructed one of the executioners to put on a raincoat and helmet, take a chain-saw and slice his body in half, crotch to neck. We threw a few more sticks on the fire so everybody could get a good look. The chain-saw hit DeAndro's crotch throwing off a shower of blood, flesh and bone bits. So much noise came from the saw that we never knew if DeAndro felt anything or not. One down -- six to go.

Back to Savin and Taylor: We brought out two concrete based metal tripods, each with a pointed steel rod running down through a metal collar where the struts converged. The rods were adjustable in height by a screw mechanism.

We placed the contrivances in front of the men and adjusted the rods to be at the height of each man's navel. Two of the executioners took the tripod and two more steadied Savin's body and guided the point toward the anus of the former marine. While lifting up on the man's body, the point of the rod was angled into the terrified man. Slowly the tripod was straightened to the vertical and the concrete base positioned between the man's feet, the point of the rod now deeply embedded. Screams of agony rang out, there was some more piss which dribbled out, and finally the pressure of the rod on the prostrate produced both an erection and an involuntary ejaculation.

The process was repeated on Taylor's trembling body with the same results.

About 2 am, I strolled over to Adams and Pilseki.

"How do you like the show so far?"
I asked them what they thought we should do next. I told them that I was really doing them a favor as they wouldn't be the last to die.

I felt their cocks, massaging them a little to fluff them up a bit for the camera. There was no response from either of the terrified men. I motioned to one of the executioners who approached holding a heavy steel bar about three feet long and square shaped at the end. Without hesitation, he took a powerful swing with the bar smashing into Adam's right kneecap. Without hesitation, he repeated the same on Pilseki and followed up smashing the left kneecaps of both men. Legs which no longer able to support the body weight twisted to grotesque positions as all the body weight was shifted to the secured upraised arms. Pilseki tried to vomit but was only able to retch, not having been fed since Monday night. Again, both men lost bladder control as their bodies twisted in agony, their voices screaming and cursing.

That's enough for tonight, I thought. Leaving a few guards with the suffering prisoners, we all retired for the night.

By 9 am on Wednesday the sun was well up in the cloudless sky with every expectation of it being a hot late spring day. The guards dressed in light weight pants and shirts and the four-man execution squad had stripped down to rubber aprons over a jockstrap. The prisoners, nude as they were the night before, still hung, their limbs tied to the wooden posts top and bottom. They were all still alive. I had one of the guards give each of them a nice cold beer!

We had John Moyer and Ken Williams still relatively untouched standing at each end of the semicircle. I obtained a propane torch, and after lighting it, applied it to their bodies in long up and down stripes making random patterns from ankles to the upper arms.

I motioned to one of the executioners and said,

"Let's stop the screaming."
He approached the men holding a small sickle shaped knife in his hand. He first grabbed the penis of the prisoner and cut it off at the base then followed through with another slice to the ball sack. We saved the cocks, but stuffed the testicles into the screaming mouths effectively shutting off the screams of both men. Blood poured from the wounds and I knew that they wouldn't last long. I finished the job quickly on each by cutting off their heads.

One of the executioners overcome with animal lust stripped off his apron, pulled down his jock and thrust his erect dick into the mouth of the severed head. It only took a few in and out thrusts before he quickly brought himself to orgasm.

Three down, four to go. The four, however, were now in poor shape -- two of them impaled on bloody stakes and the other two dangling from their arms unable to use their broken legs.

We suspended the operation until noon. By then the sun was burning the skin of the survivors and the bloody remains of the corpses were attracting swarms of insects feasting on both living and dead without regard. I went out for a final chat with Pilseki, Adams, Savin and Taylor.

"Are you ready to die?" I asked. "Sorry that we had to do this to such a handsome bunch of marines, but the CIA doesn't want your crimes to be known. Your families will be told some story about a helicopter accident with no survivors. Your bodies will be shipped home in sealed coffins, and even if they are opened, no one will be able to tell what really happened from your burnt mangled remains."
For the two impaled men, we just cut off their arms. Unable to stand, their bodies slumped down the steel poles, the rods penetrating further into the chest rupturing both heart and lungs. And for the remaining two with broken legs, we piled wood between them and up to the crotch, threw on some more kerosene and set the pile on fire. The whole job was finished at 1:50 pm. There would be no trouble certifying that these ex-marine prisoners were indeed dead.

We went back to the prison where a buffet meal had been prepared including plenty of drinks to relax all after a hard day.


On Friday back in my office, two papers were on my desk. The first was an offer to be in charge of the experimental prison at Capps, Texas. This was in a secure isolated location and would be a big jump in pay. I would write to the Governor resigning my present position and would recommend Barbara Johnson as the best choice as my replacement.

The other paper was for a final execution to be performed tonight, an ordinary hanging under the Three Strikes and Your Out rule. In the case of this prisoner, it was two burglaries and an armed assault.

I glanced at the mug shot: Bill Tiles, 27 (I thought he looked much younger), 5' 8'', circumcised 7'' dick, body weight 140 pounds. He was condemned to hang naked, no TV. He had few friends, none of them were to be present, just the usual paying crowd.

Using Berry's Table which I always kept handy on my desk (Charles Berry was an early 20th century English Hangman who calculated a table of drops in feet vs the prisoner's weight), I calculated that a seven foot drop would certainly break the prisoners neck.

I went and checked on the prisoner. He was forlorn and neglected having already been taken to the holding cell next to the execution chamber. His last meal had already been served and he was stripped of all of his prison clothing. I explained the procedure to him. There would be no rape tonight. I told him that he would feel no pain and explained how his body would react when the trap was sprung. I emphasized how his prick would jump up to full erection and shoot out a final load of semen for the enjoyment of the spectators.

"Too bad you won't feel it," I remarked.
Just then the guards arrived to shave his body and give him a shower. As I was leaving I remarked to the guards,
"When you're done, fill him full of beer ... it helps increase the flow of piss when he's standing there waiting."
Arriving at the execution chamber a few minutes before eleven, we saw the usual Friday night crowd, a bit disappointed that there was to be only a single event on the agenda. There was to be no nonsense with this one.
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Bill was led in and I gave him a few playful slaps on his bare butt. We stood him up on the trap door, noosed him, and pulled the rubber washer tight against the steel eyelet through which the rope had been threaded. His legs trembled, but he was able to maintain his control. At the signal, the trap opened and Bill dropped like a stone. He spun twice on the rope and vented a deep and long sustained groan as his chest heaved and his shoulders and arms were drawn up in an ugly movement. His dick jumped to attention and spit out its final load.

He groaned again, his legs thrashed and there was a wheezing gurgle in his throat as his chest rose and fell rapidly gasping for breath. His wrists twisted and turned as though trying to free themselves from their bonds. Movement slowed, then ceased. The cock drooped downwards dribbling piss on the floor. He was pronounced dead by the doctor in fifteen minutes.

This closed my term at Glenmore. I would be taking vacation and turning my job over to Barbara with the hope that it would be permanent.