The crime of Wyatt Matthews

The apparently principles reluctance to impose the death penalty is often nothing more then moral squemishness, the wish to spared the unpleasant consequences of hard decisions. Fornicators, adulterers, abortionists, and murderers usually operate with a modicum of privacy--if not outright clinical respectability--and we are generally spared witnessing the consequences of their acts unless we are among the injured parties. But Matthews has the form and substance of an adult human. He is verbal. He is, in a sordid way, a celebrity. His battle to remain alive has been noteworthy, and his execution would be even more so; you would read about his final words, about his last meal and the reactions of witnesses, about the executioner's preparations, the disposition of the corpse, the inevitable protestors, his mother's tears. We would be forced, as a society, to participate in his suffering, and that robs us of the will to exact righteous retribution.

You will not, of course, read very much about Phyllis. She has been in her grave for more than five years, and her husband is remarried and retired from the Army. She is simply another victim who, in the words of Dr. Willard Gaylin, in The Killing of Bonnie Garland,

. . . in a time so short as to seem indecent to the members of the personal family . . . ceases to exist as an identifiable figure. To those individuals in the community of good will and empathy, warmth and compassion, only one of the key actors in the drama remains with whom to commiserate--and that is always the criminal. The dead person ceases to be a part of everyday reality, ceases to exist. She is only a figure in a historic event. We inevitably turn away from the past, toward the ongoing reality. And the ongoing reality is the criminal; trapped, anxious, now helpless, isolated, often badgered and bewildered. He usurps the compassion that is justly his victim's due. He will steal his victim's constituency along with her life.

Matthews's death sentence was upheld by the United States Army Court of Military Review in Falls Church, Virginia, late in the winter of 1982. In a well-reasoned opinion, the court held that the statute authorizing death as a sentencing option in cases of premeditated murder in the military was constitutional under the Furman test, and analogized the statute to others that have been upheld by the Supreme Court. It took another year for briefs to be prepared and argument scheduled before the United States Court of Military appeals--a panel of three civilian judges appointed by the President to 15-year terms--which is the highest military court in the land.

As the bailiff took his seat on April 20, 1983, Chief Judge Robinson O. Everett said, "On our docket for oral argument this morning is the case of the United States versus Wyatt L. Matthews. Are counsel ready to proceed?" Argument, rebuttal, and questioning took four and a half hours. When the proceedings in the hot, crowded courtroom became too repetitive, I studied the other spectators from my seat near the rear of the chamber. Among them were Matthews's mother and sister, and Phyllis's parents and aunt and uncle. The only outward show of emotion I detected was from the aunt--whom Phyllis closely resembled. She pressed a handkerchief to her mouth during counsel's brief recitation of the facts of the murder.