J. Davy Crockett III

As a student at Southern Arkansas University in 1959, I enrolled in a course in criminology—not because of any particular interest in the subject, but because it included field trips to prisons, which was more interesting than classroom work. We visited two state prisons and one federal penitentiary. At that time, “Death Row” was located at the Tucker unit of the Arkansas Department of Correction in Jefferson County. As we toured the facility, we came to the execution chamber—a stark, bare room with a rough-hewn, high backed, heavy oak chair known as “Old Sparky.”

Most people try to avoid prickly situations. You know, those awkward, uncomfortable moments when one says or does the wrong thing, which is embarrassing for all concerned. The customs and procedures most people consider “good manners” resulted from the need to have standards of social conduct that govern courteous, considerate human interaction.

As I entered the county courthouse in the small Southern town where I grew up, it was a special day for me. At age 14, I was going to take my license exam to obtain a driving permit! While I waited my turn, I walked around the old building with its high ceilings and creaking floors. This was the time of the racially segregated South. In an alcove, I saw two identical water fountains, side by side.

In 1836, a very significant battle took place on the American frontier. In an old Spanish mission known as the Alamo, a poignant scene played out. As the sounds of “Toque a Degüello,” a battle anthem that signified “no quarter,” were heard from outside the mission walls, the besieged defenders knew that General Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna was giving notice that there would be no survivors if they did not promptly surrender.