Boaz, who spent 3 1/2 hours with Gilmore Sunday night, said his client would like to meet singer Johnny Cash.
"There is no greater Johnny Cash fan," Boaz said.
He dispatched a telegram to the singer informing him of Gilmore's wish.
Vern hadn't seen Gary in close to six weeks, not since the last day of the trial. Going to visit him, he felt awkward. Vern had just gotten out of the hospital after an operation on his bad knee, and walking, even with a cane, felt like hammering a nail into his bone. It was one painful stretch from where he had to leave his car near the prison gate all the way out to Maximum Security. A real jaw-grinder putting each step in front of the next all that hundred yards and more of walking between two parallel fences of barbed wire.
Yet, in the visitors' room, there was Gary looking stronger than Vern had ever seen him, and right away, bringing up the angry letter Ida had written.
Vern said, "Well, you wrote a bad letter first. You didn't want to have anything to do with us anymore."
They looked at one another, and Vern said, "Gary, we're not mad. We want to help you."
"All right," said Gary, "I feel bad about writing that letter to Ida and I want to apologize."
"Ida wants to apologize to you," said Vern. "She wants you to tear up her letter, just as she tore up yours. Flush it down the toilet."
That was the end of that. Gary looked relieved, and they talked and forth a little while. Wasn't a bad visit at all.
By the time Dennis got to the prison on Monday morning, Vern had finished. It didn't take Boaz long to figure that old Uncle Vern was back in the picture, all right. Gary was speaking of his uncle in praiseworthy, loving terms.
Dennis had not heard him do that before. A lot of resentment had been aired up to now. All of a sudden, Gary was nurturing this whole change toward his uncle. It was obvious to Dennis that Gary really wanted to be loved by his family. Didn't matter what had gone down before.
Yesterday, Dennis had a funny hassle with him. On Saturday, Gary had kept saying he wanted Dennis to smuggle in fifty Seconals. At first Dennis even promised he would, but found he couldn't fall asleep on that. By the next day, he had to tell Gary he couldn't do such a job under any circumstances, but it left him shaken. Sunday night going back to Everson's house, Dennis could practically smell suicide coming up from the day. The moment he turned on the radio, he heard Blue Oyster Cult. They had been on the radio like crazy these last two days, and now he was actually listening to the words of "Don't Fear the Reaper." It could freeze your synapses.. "Come on baby, don't fear the Reaper," Dennis heard himself humming "Romeo and Juliet are together in eternity." My God, you could go crazy getting off on synchronism, thought Dennis, feeling the great linking-in of all the little things. It was awful. The mind could undulate like a jellyfish.
Monday, after Vern's visit, Brenda got a call from Gary who asked the name of the doctor that was taking care of her daughter.
He wanted the doctor to make certain his pituitary gland would go to Cristie after the execution. Since Johnny and Brenda were always broke trying to keep Cristie in pituitary extract, which was the most expensive thing on God's earth, this call from Gary, out of the blue, telling Brenda he wanted the doctor to credit his pituitary after death to Johnny's account, was like handing over a thousand bucks. It was a crazy conversation. Brenda didn't know if they were now friends.
"Take care, Gary," she said at the end. He just hung up.
That same morning as Tamera came into the newsroom her editor said, "We're getting a lot of calls about Nicole. Your story won't hold till Gary is executed. I want you to get permission from Nicole to run it."
Driving over to Springvllle, Tamera didn't know how to ask.
When she laid her predicament on Nicole, however, there was a smile and Nicole said, "Well, I got to tell you something, too. I decided to give an interview for $2,000." Some kind of affiliate for NBC out of Boston—at least as Nicole understood, it—had sent over this good-looking tall fellow, Jeff Newman with curly hair, blue eyes, and a beard. He had talked her into it. She would be giving the interview this Friday. Later Tamera found out it was really the National Enquirer, not any Boston affiliate of NBC. But for now, her only reaction was that Nicole had told her to go ahead. So, Tamera left on real good terms. Went back to the office, and spent the rest of the night working on the story.
Over the last week, Nicole had gone to several doctors she had picked from the phone book and told them she was from out of state and had trouble sleeping. The only thing that worked were reds. Seconal was what did it.
She managed to collect fifty of them and twenty Dalmanes. Now, with Gary on her case about it, she decided Monday morning was the time to pass them over. So she split the stuff down the middle, twenty-five Seconals and ten of the Dalmanes for Gary, same for herself, and put Gary's capsules in a kid's balloon, two balloons, in fact. Both yellow, one inside the other. Then she inserted the balloons her vagina.
She felt afraid all the way over to the prison that Gary would scold her. He had kept telling her to get more. Pushed her and pushed her to go to more doctors, but she had the feeling none of those doctors trusted her, and if she went to even one more, it could blow the whole thing. Those doctors might even be calling the prison ten minutes after they wrote the prescription. She really sweated it out all day Sunday. Now, here she was inside Maximum with those balloons inside her.
They gave her a skin search, but the matron didn't put her fingers anywhere, just looked under her armpits and in her cheeks, went through her long hair. It wasn't an indecent search, and, in fact, the matron would have had to have a long finger, the balloons were pushed up that far.
In the visiting room, there happened to be nobody else, just the guard in the glass booth, and she and Gary went to the chair by the window and she sat on his lap. Sometimes they allowed you to do that, sometimes not, but this day the guard wasn't bothering them. They could do some heavy petting. It was really lucky. Sometimes as many as four or five people could be in the room, or a couple of lawyers, but she and Gary were the only ones this time.
As she sat on his lap, Gary made a pass with his finger for the balloon, but got nowhere. It was too far up. Finally Nicole had to stand by the window with Gary hugging her from behind so the guard couldn't see her body. In that position, with his arms around her shoulders, she reached down under her skirt to get the balloon. It was a real sweat. She had shoved it up so high, there was nothing to touch with her fingers, and she got to the point where she had to try to push it down as if she were pushing a baby out. In fact, she pressed so hard in her gut, while reaching up so far with her fingers, that before she finally got ahold of it, her head hurt. She was seeing stars. They kept rocketing off. Her head, in fact, felt like it had just broken, or some blood vessel had certainly shattered. Gary didn't know what she was going through. He was just making sweet and encouraging remarks.
After she gave him the balloon, Gary sat down and reached through the front of his big, wide, floppy, loose pants, big baggy things, to push the balloon up his rectum. It was a slow, tricky business, not at all easy, and took over a minute. When it was done, he just said, "Yeah, they're there. I know." Then she sat on his lap and kissed him.
She felt fine. She realized how worried she had been. Nicole had been sure the prison had gotten word from the doctors and would check her. So she was feeling proud of her accomplishment now, and Gary was very proud of her. The visit went on for at least another hour. They necked like crazy. It was the most beautiful of their visits.
When they weren't kissing, they were singing to one another. Neither of them could sing, but it was beautiful all the same. She had never felt as near to anyone's soul in her life.
That evening, Marie Barrett got a call from Nicole asking if she would pick her up. Nicole wanted to visit with Sunny. They sat around the living room watching Sybil on TV, and Nicole said the girl sure reminded her of April. She went into the bedroom and read Sunny some stories,
and listened to her prayers, and then visited in the front room with Marie and her ex-father-in-law Tom Barrett who she also liked, and finally went home, although she kind of drug her feet about leaving.
Then, she went night shopping with her neighbor, Kathy Maynard. The center was open till 9 P.M., and Nicole went on a splurge and bought coloring books and crayons for all of Kathy's kids.
When they returned, she handed $10 to Kathy and said, "Come on, if you don't take it, you're going to make me feel bad." Kathy just looked at her. Kathy wasn't that big, and had ash-blond hair and round eyes kind of, and a sweet simple face. It just looked bewildered now. Nicole said, "You enjoy it." "See you in the morning," said Kathy. "In the morning," said Nicole.
Alone in the apartment, with Jeremy sound asleep, Nicole was waiting for midnight. That was the time she and Gary had picked for the pills, only it took a long time to get there. It kept coming over Nicole how Gary had worried that the amount was not enough.
He had explained that if you took enough to put you out, but not enough to die, you could become a vegetable. That was truly something to worry about. Yet, they'd agreed to go forward. Either it would work or it wouldn't. Nicole now got out her Last Will and Testament.
She had spent all day Sunday writing it, and she went over it again for spelling errors. She was pretty sure, in fact, a couple of mistakes had been made. It was a long Last Will and Testament, and there were probably errors she didn't catch, but she felt all right about it.
Nicole K. Baker
Sun. Nov. 4, 1976
TO WHOMEVER IT MAY CONCERN:
I, Nicole Kathryne Baker—have a number of personal requests I would desire to have carried out—in the event that I am at any time—found dead.
I am considering myself of a strong, logical, and totally sane mind—so that which I am writing should be taken serious in every respect.
At the time of this writing I am going through a divorce from a man named Steve Hudson.
By my own standards—the event of death should disolve all ties with that man and the divorce be carried through and finalized AT ALL COSTS.
I wish to legally be returned to my maiden name which is Baker.
And have none ever acknoledge me by any other name.
My daughters birth certificate states her name as Sunny Marie Baker, even thoe, at the time of her birth, I was then legally married to her father—James Paul Barrett.
My son's birth certificate states his name as Jeremy Kip Barrett. Because I was at that time still married to James Paul Barrett, who is not Jeremys father.
Jeremys father is the late Alfred Kip Eberhardt.
So Jeremy does have legal grandparents by the last name of Eberhardt who may wish to be notified of his whereabouts. They are residing in Paoli, Pennsylvania, I think.
As to the care custody and welfare of my children—I am not only desireing but demanding that the responsibility of them and any decisions concerning them—be placed directly and immeadiatly into the hands of Thomas Giles Barrett and/or Marie Barrett of Springville, Utah.
If the Barretts so wish to adopt my children—they have my willing consent.
If they wish to place the responsibility of one or both children into the hands of another responsible party of their choice—they again have my willing consent.
That is of course—until the children are of legal age to make their own choices.
I have a pearl ring in hock in the bowling alley in Springville. I would really like for someone to get it out and give it to my little Sister—April L. Baker.
Also I have made arrangements for a sum of money to go for April's mental health problem. My mother should not spend that money for anything other than to pay a good Mental Hospital for helping April back to her sanity.
Now, as to the decision as to what should be done with my dead body—I ask that it be cremated. And with the consent of Mrs. Bessie Gilmore I would have my ashes mixed with those of her son Gary Mark Gilmore. To be then—at any future convenient date scattered upon a green hillside in the State of Oregon and also in the State of Washington.
If my own mother and father—Charles R. Baker and Kathryne N. Baker are not agreeable to this request—so be it. Let them decide as they choose.
I would ask that they arrange for at least three songs to be sung at my funeral . . .
A song written by John Newton called (Amazing Grace), also one by Kris Kristofferson titaled Cocky me) and lastly a song titaled (Vally of Tears) which I know not the author of.
If any other persons, friends or family wish to sing or have sung any more songs at my funeral on my behalf or on behalf of those who grieve, resent or are indifferent to my passing—why . . . I would be grateful.
Now going through it, Nicole realized she had more to say, just a little more. She had not really disposed of her belongings. In the quiet of her apartment, she sat at the table before a piece of paper:
Nicole K. Baker
Mon. Nov. 5, 1976
I do not feel much like writing this day, Thoe I suppose there are a couple of things left I should take care of.
No, jest this.
Everything in my apartment of course—my mother can decide what to do with.
I have nothing here of great value except the painting of the two little boys gazeing at the moon. It is Sunny Marie Barretts painting now. It is to be hung in her roam at Tom and Marie Barretts house, until or unless she asks that it be removed—and I would rather she never sell it—but the choice should be hers when she reaches the age of 18.
Again I state, the painting of the two little boys gazeing at the moon, done by Gary Gilmore now belongs to Sunny Marie Baker Barrett.
My mother has my every consent to take all or any of my letters and do with them what she pleases. If they can in any way bring her some money—then I'll be all the gladder. But I would desire her to share the money as she sees fair—with all my brothers and sisters and also my Aunt—Kathy Kampman.
Since there are so many people trying and being successful at makeing money on the story of Gary Gilmore and l, I would jest as soon it was someone I love and care for and trust to have part of that success. So . . . the letters are my Mothers, Kathryn N. Baker's.
If she wishes to burn them—so be it also.
My Mother probably has little use for any of my household belongings—which are of no value—so I would truely like for my good friend Kathy Maynard to have any of my furniture she chooses and any of the things hanging on my walls—jest anything in this apartment that my Mother would not feel too reluctant to part with.
I do hope Marie is reasonable about it. Kathy M. has helped me through many a long hard day—she has little furniture and that sort of stuff . . .
That's it.
NICOLE K. BAKER
There were a lot of pills and she took them slowly, swallowing one or two at a time, being careful not to gag. If she threw up, the whole thing would be blown. In the middle, she started having a lot of thoughts. She remembered the guy from the television station in Boston who was going to pay the $2,000 and worried whether he would honor it now when she was gone. Without it, where would April get the money for her hospital? She was also thinking that he had said he would be here in the morning and what if she didn't answer his ring? Would he come in? If she wasn't departed by then, they might revive her. So she had to decide whether or not to lock the door.
She didn't want anybody to be able to walk in. Yet if they had to break the door, that noise could terrify Jeremy. On the other hand, if the door wasn't locked, Jeremy could open it with no trouble and wander out in the morning. Kathy Maynard might pick him up, carry him back and discover her too soon. Finally, Nicole turned the latch.
Still, that made her miserable, thinking of Jeremy moping around tomorrow looking at her.
Now she was taking three or four Seconal at a time with water, and Gary was sitting with her. There weren't even seconds these days that she did not think of him. But, now he was very near and sh
e began to think of how soon she would be with him and how she trusted him and was not afraid. Then she thought of lying down without her clothes on, and wondered what to do about that. She did not want to die with her clothes on, that was for sure. But she did feel strange about taking them off. Reporters might come in the morning and look at her body.
As she got into bed, she took a picture of Gary and put it under the pillow and held on to it with her hand, and felt a little extra naked tonight. Then the pills started to feel good. She felt it really coming on. Got out of bed and walked around a little just to have that good feeling of her legs moving in one nice floating feeling after the other.
It was awful nice, as if she were learning to walk for the first time, and her legs started to get heavy. She lay down and held onto the picture of Gary again, and thought of the letter she had written in the ten minutes before she took the pills. Reading over the Last Will and Testament and the letter how to dispose of her furniture, she decided there had been nothing very personal, truly, to her mother and family. So she'd written an additional letter, and she was thinking of that, and of Kathy Maynard next door who was the nicest neighbor she'd ever had, an angel and a stand-up neighbor. Then that very last letter began to swim around her mind and Nicole went to sleep.
i Love him.
i made my own choice.
i'll not regret it.
Please Love my kids always, as they are part of the family.
Never hid truths from them.
When any of you need me, i will be there to listen for i and Gary—and yourselves—are all a part of a wondrous good understandin God.
May this parting bring us closer in Loveing, understanding and expecting of one another.
i Love You All SISSY