Page 144 - some-stuff-i-wrote-and-some-stuff-i-didn't-(2011)-h-morris-williams

Some Stuff I Wrote (2001) H. Morris Williams

presented his case to a jury. A deputy sheriff testified that Brock told him he had killed the boy

rather than permit his wife, who was seeking a divorce, from gaining custody, and that the killing
followed a violent domestic quarrel.

The defense attorney based his case on temporary insanity.
The trial was over in two days. Jury foreman Bob Harkness stood ramrod straight and in a
clear, steady voice announced a verdict: first degree murder.

On May 23,1953, Judge Hal W. Adams imposed the death penalty. The defense appealed the
ruling but the Florida Supreme Court refused to overturn the death penalty. On September 28,1954,

Tanner Brock, inmate number 52439, was electrocuted.
When I first heard about the electrocution, my drooping heart fell into two parts.

First I remembered the Tanner Brock of my childhood — offering me light meat or dark;
bragging on my manners and grades; bringing me a warm jacket on a cool evening; showing me how

to keep my few cents spending change in my watch pocket so as not to lose it while playing.
But then I thought of Tommy Joe, trustingly following his dad to the lake; of the helpless,

confused terror he must have felt when his own dad first tried to drown him and, failing that, started
to batter him against a tree until there was unconsciousness and death.

Sad truth to tell, Tanner bludgeoned Tommy Joe so violently that veteran mortician Preston
Sherrill had to work 24 straight hours to reconstruct a semblance of human appearance — and even
then had to veil the face to obscure the remaining obliteration.

For that incomprehensibly heinous brutality upon his own son, what did Tanner Brock deserve
if not the electric chair?

The next time I saw Cleve was the last time I saw him. I was driving to Jacksonville on
Highway 90 (before 1-10 and air conditioning). Traffic was stopped so a convict road gang could

cross the highway. My car window was down in hopes of a breeze.
Cleve saw me before I saw him and called out, “Mot! Mot!” There he stood in a prison

uniform, sling blade in hand, dripping with sweat in the hot sun. Taller and thicker, he still had that
handsome smile. This was no occasion to visit so I just waved. As he crossed the road in front of

me, he turned quickly, winked, and was gone.
As I drove on, I hoped his crime had not physically injured anybody -1 didn’t know at the time

he had committed forgery.

-139-

www.LakeCityHistory.com LCH-UUID: CD05D759-5273-4705-A6D7-381FCF749098