of the poor. Nothing unusual about that, but there certainly was in the manner in which he went to the execution chamber, for his request to walk there on his hands was granted. When finally strapped into the electric chair he said, ‘Goodbye, Warden, old timer – now step on the gas!’
Charles E. McElvaine
McElvaine was sentenced to death for murdering a grocer and in February 1892 was escorted into Sing Sing Prison’s death chamber holding a brass crucifix up in front of him. These were still early days in the evolution of delivering death by electrocution, and there was little doubt that the condemned man was petrified with fear as, seated in the chair, a leather visor was placed over his face, straps were tightened around his body, and he felt his hands suddenly immersed in large jars of salt water positioned beneath the sloping arms of the wooden chair. Next, the metal-wired cap was put on his shaven head and an electrode attached to his bare leg. All was ready. ‘Let ’er go!’ he exclaimed wildly and Davis, the executioner, operated the switch.
The first relay of current, lasting for fifty seconds, entered the jars and surged through his body via his arms, but when it was switched off it was very evident that either the method, the amount of voltage or the duration was incorrect, for from McElvaine came a moan, saliva pouring from his mouth. At this, the official in charge urgently exclaimed, ‘Switch the current to the head and leg electrodes!’
As this was done, the condemned man stiffened in the chair, the now anticipated smell of acrid flesh and burnt hair filling the small chamber. Thirty-five seconds, seeming like minutes, passed before the current was eventually switched off and the doctor announced that the victim was dead – but the saltwater-filled jar method had proved disastrously ineffective, and was never used again.
Killer Michael Sclafoni was sentenced to death in 1930. Undaunted at the sight of the electric chair, he ran his fingers over one of the arms and shook his head. ‘Dust!’ he exclaimed and asked for a cloth. Given one, he proceeded to wipe the arms and the chair seat meticulously, then handed it back, commenting scornfully, ‘They could at least have given a man about to die a clean chair!’
Ethel Rosenberg
The law does not differentiate between male and female victims, nor does high voltage, so when Ethel Rosenberg and her husband Julius were found guilty of being Communist spies, both perished in the electric chair on 19 June 1953.
Following her husband’s execution – which apparently was accomplished without mishap – Ethel, wearing a green dress with polka dots, was escorted into Sing Sing’s death chamber by two of her guards and seated in the chair. Seemingly calm and composed, she didn’t flinch as the helmet fitted with the cathode element was placed over her head, its visor concealing her face from the observers present, and the other electrode was attached to the calf of her leg.
Executioner Joseph Francel delivered the first shock, followed by a further three. The sequel was reported in the Sunday Dispatch of 21 June:
‘After the fourth shock, guards removed one of the two straps and the two doctors applied their stethoscopes. But they were not satisfied that she was dead. The executioner came from his switchboard in a small room ten feet from the chair. ‘Want another?’ he asked. The doctors nodded. Guards replaced the straps and for the fifth time electricity was applied.’
There was no mention of any signs of life after the first surge of electricity, and one would like to hope that that at least rendered her unconscious.
While Thomas Tobin was serving a prison sentence in Sing Sing Prison for robbery, it was decided to build a block of single cells, and Tobin, his other profession being that of a skilled mason, agreed to assist in the construction. He contrived to incorporate a short tunnel leading to a sewer