The Final 24 Hours of Westley Allan Dodd

Why do you want to be executed? Uh, I have to be. Uh, and I will kill again. I will. Dawn broke cold over Eastern Washington on January 5th, 1993. Snow swallowed the farmland around the state penitentiary in Walaw Wala. Inside, one of the 1600 inmates was counting the hours. The only one of 12 sentenced to die who craved his final breath. Wesley Allen Dodd.

 He wasn’t just willing, he demanded it. Washington’s first and only volunteer for execution. Dodd waved all appeals. You look at that camera there and you tell the nine justices of the Supreme Court what you really, really, really want to do. I want to be executed. I want to wave all appeals. All appeals. All appeals. To some, a moment of truth.

To most, a final act of control. A power play by a narcissist obsessed with fear and attention. Psychologists said he fed off the spotlight. One abolition group called him an evil celebrity. Everyone will remember him, not his victims. Just as he intended. A living blueprint of sadism and narcissism, experts claimed.

Fueled by attention, he once clipped articles and followed the hunt for a predator only he knew was him. Once they had him, he didn’t hold back. Confessed, bragged, described it all in gruesome detail. Dodd wanted the world to know exactly who he was and what he’d done. Even his therapist concluded Wes ought to fry.

 And that moment had never been closer. The facts were undeniable. Still, some called for mercy. Seemingly blinded by ideals, two church groups urged clemency just hours from the end. The board listened, then denied. By 11:30 a.m., it was official. Governor Booth Gardner refused to intervene. “I’m sickened by the guy,” he said.

 “I’ve read the documents. The sentence will be carried out. His crimes cut deep, too grim to retell, even for courtroom veterans. Reporters sought counseling. Jurors psychiatric help. What they heard and saw haunted them long after. Authorities called his record a road map of failure. And they weren’t wrong.

 By 31, Dodd had spent nearly 20 years spiraling. Urges grew stronger, more frequent. fantasies became actions. It gradually progressed, he later said. His targets, the most defenseless, dozens by his count, far too young to stand a chance, even against such a sorry figure. The worst part, he kept getting caught and let go.

Arrested, treated, released. I liked what I did. Every time I entered treatment, I continued. He never served more than 4 months, often just days. Each time he walked free, promising to change, but never did. Eventually, the state saw what Dodd always said. Predators like him don’t change. His case helped change Washington law.

 Too late for many. My thoughts go to every victim and their families like William and Cole Near and Lee Iseli who never made it home. All after Dodd told authorities his urges were escalating, predatory and uncontrollable, and the court let him walk anyway. A diary became his outlet. Just writing it down was exciting, he said.

 By the time I started, I became completely obsessed. He called his crimes incidents, numbered the victims, and logged his methods like 5:25 p.m. Now going to CAS, we’ll check out local parks before movie. And that’s exactly what he did on November 13th, 1989. Honey, I Shrunk the kids had just started at the Liberty Theater.

 But Dodd wasn’t there for popcorn. With his prey already picked, he slipped into the restroom. His plan failed. The boy escaped, screaming, shaken, but unharmed. Dodd fled, but was caught a few blocks away. That 525 entry, his last. This time, they didn’t let him walk. And now, 2 years and change later, just hours from the end at Walaw Wala.

That pace, Channel veterans know how rare it is. 10 times the norm. And if you’re just finding this now, imagine what you’ve already missed. Join the ones who never do. Hit subscribe. His final hours mirrored his life. Isolated, no family came, but not all ties were cut. Just days earlier, his mother and sister had written.

 Their letters later shared in interviews held love without erasing the truth. I still love you. I always will. I’ll remember the good times,” his mother wrote. His sister Cathy added, “You’ll always be my brother.” She once wondered if more affection might have changed him. More hugs, more love, but she let it go.

 I think Wes had some kind of brain problem. He’s just not all there. And that sense of something missing showed in his final interview, granted to a local reporter just hours before the execution. Dodd spoke calmly, even reflective about religion, confession, and forgiveness. A lot of people won’t believe me when I say I’m sorry, but I need to say it.

 If I’ve confessed all my sins, I believe what the Bible teaches. I’ll go to heaven. And then it turns darker. I’d like to believe I could go up to the three little boys and hug them, tell them I’m sorry, love them with real true love. No desire to hurt them. For days, one appeal had been climbing the courts all the way to the state’s highest court.

 And who else but the ACLU had filed it. Representing 26 Washington taxpayers. They didn’t question his guilt or sentence. They aimed at the method. Tax dollars shouldn’t fund what they called a cruel, mutilating, and uncertain punishment. 10 hours before the end, the ruling came. Denied 7 to1. Only Justice Robert Udder dissented.

 In a 13-page rebuke, he called hanging gruesome and inhumane. The ACLU added that Dodd’s willingness to hang shouldn’t excuse the state from using an outdated practice. Because yes, the noose was his own idea. Dodd had a choice. Death by lethal injection or hanging. Hanging. That’s the way I’m going to go. I’m going to hang.

 I don’t think I deserve a neat, clean, painless little death. Um, hang me. His lawyer agreed. What could be more painful than a lethal injection where they miss the vein and say, “Oh, gee, we have to try again. You have to live one more minute.” They missed the vein and you have to live one more minute. Mr. Dodd does not want this.

 He believes this is not humane. He believes it is cruel. With the ACLU sidelined, the legal fight continued. It moved west. A rare request hit federal court miles away in San Francisco. Not to stop it, to film it. It came from Charles Campbell, next in line for that same rope. He thought the footage might buy him time.

 The judges ruled 2:1 against. Strange as it sounded, he wasn’t alone. Back in Washington, a similar request was denied. A citizen group wanted it on tape for the record. 5’9 in 139 lb logged at Dodd’s final check. Not much flush to strap down. And yet every inch mattered. Nearly 30 years since the nation’s last hanging and just as long since Washington used this chamber.

 The forgotten space was back in play. With the paint still fresh, the crew began their preparations. Nothing left to chance. The department followed its execution manual to the letter. Every detail checked twice, weight, drop, and every inch in between. As early as December 7th, officials bought the rope, Manila hemp, 1 and a/4 in thick.

 They boiled it, stretched it, waxed it, and oiled it to remove the recoil and let the knot glide clean. Washington was ready. 4:00 dinner time. Don asked for whatever the rest is having. No special request. Broiled salmon, scalloped potatoes, mixed vegetables, klelaw. The records say he ate. No word on how much. As night fell, the state pen glowed under flood lights.

 Outside, it felt like a spectacle. Stadium chance twisted for the rope. What the heck? Stretch his neck. A fence split the crowd. Police held the line. On one side, candle lit protesters singing and praying. Amnesty among them. On the other, cheering supporters, waving signs, lighting fireworks. The numbers told the story. Supporters outnumbered them 4 to one.

The media lot was packed. Satellite trucks lined the pavement. Dishes tilted to the sky. Most arrived hours early, flown in from all over. Right on the hour, the gates opened. Reporters were let in 10 at a time. IDs were taken, swapped for badges, handstamped with WSP. Meanwhile, Dodd sat with his attorney, Daryl Lee.

 Lee stayed for hours talking, organizing, preparing. Together, they wrote the will he’d once drafted in anger. The original, sending his ashes to a pen pal, was scrapped. The new version left them to his sister with a request for a private memorial. It was part of making peace with his father who never gave him love. Something his sister Kathy agreed with.

 We weren’t beaten. We had food, clothes, but love wasn’t there. The tension outside finally snapped. Five hardcore protesters broke from the main crowd. They climbed a snowy embankment near a guard tower, likely aiming to disrupt the execution or force a response. They got one arrested on the spot, spending the rest of the night in Walawala County Jail.

After winding through a maze of dim tears and reinforced doors, the witnesses reached the final stop. Only 12 made the cut. That was the rule. Picked by lottery from the crowd who entered earlier that night. Numbers drawn, names called, dozens turned away. After a final pat down, they were placed behind the glass.

Just seconds after midnight on January 5th, 1993, Dodd was led into the upper level of the half ccentury old chamber. As the witness screen rose, he stepped onto the trap door and approached the mic. But the sound system failed. It was barely audible. Later, the media reconstructed his final words as, “I was once asked by somebody, I don’t remember who, if there was any way offenders could be stopped,” he began. I said, “No, I was wrong.

 I was wrong when I said there was no hope, no peace. There is hope. There is peace. I found both in the Lord Jesus Christ. Look to the Lord and you will find peace.” The near boy’s father shook his head, visibly angered by Dod’s religious parting words. 7′ 1 in was the length of the rope calculated to his build, not set behind his left ear.

 Hood placed, wrists and ankles strapped. [Music] The executioner pulled the lever. With a heavy crack, Dodd fell through the wooden floor. Witnesses saw no struggle, no movement. None of the horrors opponents had warned of. It was quiet, controlled, and final. He remained in view for a minute, then the screen closed. At 12:09 a.m.

, Wesley Allen Dodd was pronounced dead. By all accounts, it went as planned. Now, hang on. The next case drops soon. Subscribe for free so you don’t miss it. One tap. Real value. [Music]