looked at it at night all my life. I laid on the top bunk, in a way still feeling I was on a moving freight. Nothing was standing still. I was busy living from minute to minute. Everything was rumbling. I dreamed bad dreams, with freight trains, guards' faces, and courtrooms mixed up with the look of the sky at night.
IN my mind I had a clear picture of the Lord and could see Him. He was bald-headed and white, with a gray beard, like maybe he might be some kind white Southern judge--only the Lord instead. The more I dug around in the Bible the clearer I could see everything: but I was looking on at it all as if I was sort of in God's kitchen. Also, the closer I came to execution day the more religion I got. I went into prayer three or four times a day. Each time I stayed on my knees at the side of my cot and prayed for Him to free me. Then I would hoe and rake in the Bible. The Bible promised me blessing and happiness and I hoped maybe it would free me. Many things I could see in the Bible went against themselves but still I believed it. The reason was, all my life my mother followed the Bible. She believed in the Lord. That's where I got the idea to serve the Lord. Now the prison wouldn't let our families see us; neither could the lawyers get to us so easy. So, until I should see my mother, my best cord to her was this Bible, almost never out of my hands.
The prison people had us stored away like we were cement blocks in the Kilby wall instead of humans. While we waited for July 10 we knew there was something like a fight on about us outside.
A little of what was going on we picked up from Birmingham and Montgomery newspapers that got into death row. Those that could read better read out loud and it showed that Alabama was hopping mad at the North and especially New Yorkers. Big meetings were going on, even in Europe.
From the mail we got we knew people were het up about us. It came to us in a flood, packages of cigarettes and candy; and in