Court Stays Execution of Young Texan

HUNTSVILLE, Texas — With less than four hours standing between Napoleon Beazley and a state-issued dose of lethal poison, a Texas appeals court on Wednesday halted his execution.

Beazley, now 25, has been on Texas’ death row since 1995, when he was found guilty of gunning down the father of a federal judge in a bungled carjacking. At the time of the shooting, Beazley was 17. Contention over his death sentence has split the U.S. Supreme Court and fired up a movement to spare the lives of those who committed crimes when they were juveniles.

Earlier Wednesday, Beazley had visited with his family, turned down a final meal of scrambled eggs and bent quietly over a legal pad, composing a lengthy final statement.

Then the chaplain gave him the news: The execution had been called off, at least for now.

“At first, he had no emotion. He just sat on the bunk and he stopped writing,” Texas Department of Criminal Justice spokesman Larry Todd said. “I asked if he was all right, and he just broke out in a smile and said, ‘Yes.’ I asked if he understood, and he said, ‘Oh, yes.’ ”

“I just have to comprehend this,” Beazley told prison officials.

Long before taking up residence on death row, Beazley was an enigmatic character. He was the popular son of a black city councilman in tiny Grapeland, Texas. His aunts and uncles were among the first children in rural Houston County to step into white schools after desegregation.

But Beazley had a dangerous streak. He was class president--but he peddled rocks of crack cocaine to make a little extra cash. He was a football star--but he packed a handgun.

“I’m a different person now,” Beazley said from death row. “You come here and you grow. I was a different person then.”

His lawyers have complained that the all-white jury that sentenced him was racially biased, that his accomplices gave false testimony and that his trial lawyer failed to carry out a thorough investigation.

“[Beazley] presents 10 allegations challenging the validity of his conviction and resulting sentence,” the Texas Court of Criminal Appeals wrote in its two-page order. “Applicant is granted a stay of execution pending further action from this court.”

The delay could last days, months or longer.

This was the second time in recent months that the Texas appeals court took the rare step of delaying an execution; Mack Oran Hill’s execution was unexpectedly stayed in June, but he was put to death in Huntsville last week.

The taciturn, goateed Beazley became an improbable provocateur when his appeal reached the U.S. Supreme Court earlier this week.

Three of the justices recused themselves because they had worked with the shooting victim’s son, U.S. 4th Circuit Court of Appeals Judge J. Michael Luttig. The Virginia judge advised Justices Clarence Thomas and David H. Souter during their confirmation hearings. He also served as a clerk for Justice Antonin Scalia.

The abstentions divided the court into three equal parts: Three votes to grant Beazley’s appeal, three votes to proceed with the execution--and three non-votes. Executions can only be halted by a majority vote.

Beazley’s case also became a rallying point for a movement to outlaw the execution of criminals who were younger than 18 at the time of their offense.

Amnesty International blasted the United States and Texas in a recent report titled “Too Young to Vote; Old Enough to Be Executed.” The United States “is a rogue state as far as capital punishment is concerned,” the report said.

Beazley’s lawyers have asked the court to review whether the Constitution bans the execution of juvenile offenders. The request is pending.

Beazley was 17 on April 19, 1994, when he and two buddies drove off into the countryside on a dare, bent on finding a car to steal. They chose a Mercedes-Benz and tagged behind the vehicle until it reached a house in Tyler. As they drove, the trio hatched a plan to sell the car in Dallas for $25,000, Beazley said.

John Luttig, 63, and his wife, Bobbie, were on their way home from a religious meeting. Beazley shot them as they stepped out of the car, prosecutors said, then stood in a puddle of fresh blood to fish the keys from John Luttig’s pocket. Bobbie Luttig played dead and survived the attack.

Jack Skeen, the district attorney who prosecuted Beazley, drove to Huntsville on Wednesday to watch the execution. He was disappointed to hear of the stay. “We still hold the execution is the proper and the just sentence in this case.”

Beazley’s two accomplices, Donald and Cedric Coleman, were 18 and 20 at the time of the attack. They testified against Beazley and received life sentences. The brothers since have signed affidavits admitting to lying in their testimony.

Beazley, who does not deny his involvement in the murder, was to be the 12th inmate to die this year strapped to the notorious Huntsville gurney. He would have been the 19th minor offender put to death in the United States since 1976.

“I don’t want it to happen by any means, but it’s not something I spend a lot of time dwelling on,” Beazley said recently. “Death is inevitable. It’s not like it’s my adversary. People do it every day.”

Wednesday afternoon, a solemn Beazley was driven back to death row, where he will wait out the legal wranglings.

“Since he didn’t eat, he may want to have a meal,” Todd said. “He’s got plenty of time to get his thoughts together.”

In the meantime, 39-year-old Jeffrey Doughtie is set to be executed today--amid considerably less attention.

“You’re welcome to stay here,” Todd told reporters as a news conference outside the execution chamber broke apart.

“We’ll start all over with another execution tomorrow.”

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Times researcher Edith Stanley contributed to this story.