Fred A. Romano's silver Grand Cherokee looked like a graffitti-ed subway car with all these anguished yellow daubings: "JUDGEMENT DAY IS HERE - OKEN MUST GO!" "JUSTICE HAS BEEN 17 YEARS TOO LONG!!" "REMEMBER THE VICTIMS."
Romano had all the windows painted with slogans and addresses for pro-capital punishment Web sites, but that didn't seem quite enough. So with less than three hours to go before the state would execute Steven Oken, the man who killed his sister and two other women, Romano pulled a brown teddy bear out of a plastic bag and set it up on the Cherokee's roof, then stepped back and threw his left arm around a reporter.
"In case you want to know, that teddy bear was tucked under her arm when she was found," said Romano, 34, a husky man in camouflage shorts, baseball cap and a black T-shirt from Barracuda Bob's Hamburger Hut.
The self-employed truck driver was standing outside the Maryland Penitentiary, his voice hoarse from all the talking and shouting and exhaustion of days of waiting. Every minute drew him that much closer to something he said he has been holding on for since 1987.
"I want to feel peace," said Romano, of Harford County. "I want to feel we kept our promise to our sister."
The bear stared out at East Madison Street with the cars going by, but not slowly enough to read the words on the back window: "IN LOVING MEMORY - DAWN MARIE GARVIN - MURDERED NOV 1ST 1987."
That didn't seem quite enough, either, so Fred's wife, Vicki Romano, slipped an American flag on a stick into the rear windshield wiper and stepped away.
But still, one more thing: Fred took a white marker and wrote below his sister's name: "Adios Oken."
He was standing on the sidewalk at East Madison and Greenmount Avenue with a small group that would swell to about 60. Facing the traffic, he hoisted a white sign with black letters: "GIVE OKEN THE JUICE." Some cars honked their support, others didn't.
The cars were headed west, toward the corner of East Madison and The Fallsway, where death penalty opponents stood five short blocks away, an unbridgable gap last night.
Arthur Laffin of Washington stood in front of Baltimore Central Booking, carrying his own sign and his own anguish.
In September it will be five years since his younger brother, Paul, was stabbed to death in Hartford, Conn., by a homeless man outside the shelter where Paul worked. Had the homeless man not been found mentally incompetent, he might have been subject to the death penalty.
Laffin had been opposed to capital punishment before his brother's killing. So he remains.
"My whole family was devastated," said Laffin, 49, who works for the Catholic Worker Community in Washington. "I pray for the Garvin and Romano families. My heart goes out to them. I know their pain. I know their anguish. But killing is not the answer. Killing creates more victims."
Of course he has heard of "closure" in connection with these events, but he's not buying the concept: "Vengeance and retribution does not promote healing, can never bring closure."
The crowd at East Madison and Greenmount would beg to differ.
"It will be some sort of closure, but more so, a real start of healing," says Fred A. Romano's father, Fred J. Romano, who is 60. "I hate that son of a gun. I've never hated anybody in my life and I hate that Oken."
At 9 p.m. sharp, the scheduled time of execution, a chant went up: "Give him the juice, give him the juice." Someone played a tambourine.
About 9:30 the word got out that the waiting, the appeals, the stays, the whole thing was over. Steven Howard Oken, 42, was pronounced dead at 9:18, executed by lethal injection for the murder of Dawn Garvin, a 20-year-old newlywed. He had also been convicted in the murders of Patricia Hirt and Lori Ward, all three within 15 days.
A cheer went up from the crowd.
"I'm feeling good," said Romano. "Justice has been done. This was justice for Dawn, Pat and Lori. They're all looking down on us tonight and seeing us through. Now we can all move on with our lives."
Another member of the victim's family group asked Romano whether he thinks he can now, at long last, turn this emotional page.
"I guess we'll find out tomorrow," he said.
Staff writers Laurie Willis and Andrew Green contributed to this article.
Romano had all the windows painted with slogans and addresses for pro-capital punishment Web sites, but that didn't seem quite enough. So with less than three hours to go before the state would execute Steven Oken, the man who killed his sister and two other women, Romano pulled a brown teddy bear out of a plastic bag and set it up on the Cherokee's roof, then stepped back and threw his left arm around a reporter.
"In case you want to know, that teddy bear was tucked under her arm when she was found," said Romano, 34, a husky man in camouflage shorts, baseball cap and a black T-shirt from Barracuda Bob's Hamburger Hut.
The self-employed truck driver was standing outside the Maryland Penitentiary, his voice hoarse from all the talking and shouting and exhaustion of days of waiting. Every minute drew him that much closer to something he said he has been holding on for since 1987.
"I want to feel peace," said Romano, of Harford County. "I want to feel we kept our promise to our sister."
The bear stared out at East Madison Street with the cars going by, but not slowly enough to read the words on the back window: "IN LOVING MEMORY - DAWN MARIE GARVIN - MURDERED NOV 1ST 1987."
That didn't seem quite enough, either, so Fred's wife, Vicki Romano, slipped an American flag on a stick into the rear windshield wiper and stepped away.
But still, one more thing: Fred took a white marker and wrote below his sister's name: "Adios Oken."
He was standing on the sidewalk at East Madison and Greenmount Avenue with a small group that would swell to about 60. Facing the traffic, he hoisted a white sign with black letters: "GIVE OKEN THE JUICE." Some cars honked their support, others didn't.
The cars were headed west, toward the corner of East Madison and The Fallsway, where death penalty opponents stood five short blocks away, an unbridgable gap last night.
Arthur Laffin of Washington stood in front of Baltimore Central Booking, carrying his own sign and his own anguish.
In September it will be five years since his younger brother, Paul, was stabbed to death in Hartford, Conn., by a homeless man outside the shelter where Paul worked. Had the homeless man not been found mentally incompetent, he might have been subject to the death penalty.
Laffin had been opposed to capital punishment before his brother's killing. So he remains.
"My whole family was devastated," said Laffin, 49, who works for the Catholic Worker Community in Washington. "I pray for the Garvin and Romano families. My heart goes out to them. I know their pain. I know their anguish. But killing is not the answer. Killing creates more victims."
Of course he has heard of "closure" in connection with these events, but he's not buying the concept: "Vengeance and retribution does not promote healing, can never bring closure."
The crowd at East Madison and Greenmount would beg to differ.
"It will be some sort of closure, but more so, a real start of healing," says Fred A. Romano's father, Fred J. Romano, who is 60. "I hate that son of a gun. I've never hated anybody in my life and I hate that Oken."
At 9 p.m. sharp, the scheduled time of execution, a chant went up: "Give him the juice, give him the juice." Someone played a tambourine.
About 9:30 the word got out that the waiting, the appeals, the stays, the whole thing was over. Steven Howard Oken, 42, was pronounced dead at 9:18, executed by lethal injection for the murder of Dawn Garvin, a 20-year-old newlywed. He had also been convicted in the murders of Patricia Hirt and Lori Ward, all three within 15 days.
A cheer went up from the crowd.
"I'm feeling good," said Romano. "Justice has been done. This was justice for Dawn, Pat and Lori. They're all looking down on us tonight and seeing us through. Now we can all move on with our lives."
Another member of the victim's family group asked Romano whether he thinks he can now, at long last, turn this emotional page.
"I guess we'll find out tomorrow," he said.
Staff writers Laurie Willis and Andrew Green contributed to this article.
