A Secret Life_ The Lies and Scandals of President Grover Cleveland - Charles Lachman [29]
Dr. John Gray came in from Utica, where he was superintendent of the New York State Lunatic Asylum, to observe Gaffney in his cell. With him was Dr. Samuel Vanderpoel, chief quarantine surgeon of New York. Dr. Gray conducted a physical examination of the prisoner and noted that everything looked normal, from his tongue to his skin, which showed no evidence of being feverish or flushed. The two physicians studied Gaffney as he ranted on about cockfighting, swore, and paced his cell like a madman.
“How unlike insanity this is,” Gray remarked to his colleague.
Vanderpoel had to agree. He came from an old Dutch family in which his grandfather, father, and two uncles were also physicians. Locking eyes with the prisoner, he said, “Gaffney, you’re a miserable bungler.”
After listening to the expert testimony, the jury of inquiry deliberated for half an hour before ruling that Gaffney was of sound mind. Construction of the gallows in the northeast corner of the jail yard commenced, and once Gaffney realized his fate was sealed, all his symptoms of mental illness disappeared, and he prepared to meet his maker. He engaged in a rational and thoughtful conversation with Cleveland. Then his son and daughter were permitted a final visit.
“Johnny,” Gaffney told the youngster, “Papa’s going to die. I want you to promise me these things: that you will not drink any spirituous liquors, that you will never play cards, that you will never swear and never break the Sabbath, that you will go to church and Sunday school, that you will not be out nights and keep bad company as Papa has done.”
Johnny Gaffney listened to his condemned father and replied with all the gravity he could muster, “Papa, I’ll do as you tell me.”
Gaffney had similar words of counsel for his daughter, and the little girl also promised to always remember what he said.
Execution day was set for the second Friday in February 1873. By tradition, hangings were always held on Fridays. It just so happened that this year the second Friday fell on Valentine’s Day of all days. Gaffney’s last meal was a breakfast of poached eggs, toast, and coffee. He ate with relish. Fifteen minutes before the clock struck noon, Cleveland, Undersheriff Smith, and two priests escorted the doomed prisoner to the gallows.
Gaffney wore a black cap and a black gown that covered his body. The noose was already around his neck, and in his left hand he clenched a crucifix. He mounted the scaffolding with a steady step, without flinching. Undersheriff Smith read the death warrant, and Gaffney was asked if he had anything to say before his execution was carried out. He made some rant about how his friends had abandoned him and had stolen his money. He rambled on about the circumstances of the shooting that had led him to the gallows. Then Gaffney said he grieved for his second wife and children.
“I hope and pray to God that you will believe me and forgive me. I beg your pardon for all the crime I have done, and I forgive all who have injured me.”
Those were his final words. The black cap was drawn over his eyes, and his legs and arms were pinioned. Then the signal was made to Sheriff Cleveland that all was ready. Cleveland did not hesitate. The next moment, he pressed the lever, and the trapdoor dropped.
Gaffney’s body twitched. The five-foot drop broke his neck. But somehow, strangely, Gaffney still clutched the crucifix in his left hand. What followed was the realization of Cleveland’s worst fears.
The sheriff thought he had done everything to ensure Gaffney’s merciful and humane death, but five minutes after the trapdoor had dropped, a physician took his vital signs, and he was still alive; his pulse read 145. At ten minutes, his pulse rate was 69. Finally—twenty-three minutes into the hanging—Gaffney’s heart ceased to beat, and he was pronounced dead.
Grover Cleveland had never