The State of Tennessee intends to execute these men, ending their lives with enough electrical current to power 19 microwave ovens. But as the courts toil with that proposition, the state trains, then employs these prisoners to key-punch everything from vehicle registration applications to employment statistics. This is life inside the walls of Building 2 at Riverbend Maximum Security Institution in Nashville. This is death row in a state where there have been no executions since Dwight Eisenhower was president. Time is the most abundant commodity on death row, the byproduct of an appeal system that begins in local courtrooms and stretches to the U.S. Supreme Court.
Time is ally and enemy.
Each day that passes is another day of life, another day of evading execution. But each day brings another 24 hours of relentless routine and boredom. Another day of television soap operas. Another day of walking in circles for exercise. Since 1960 when William Tines was executed, Tennessee's electric chair has served only as a photo prop for the curious - civic groups, college classes, even district attorneys who cannot resist having their picture taken in the awkward looking contraption that has ended the lives of 125 killers and rapists.