Dead Man Walking

- Hi, Sister.

- Hi, Billie Jean. How you doing?

It's the late Sister Helen.

I've got a note from my mama, ldella.

Do you need a new notebook?

- Thanks.

- How about you, Melvin?

The resident council wants us

at their meeting tomorrow.

- Can you be there at 7:00?

- Yes.

- New poetry books.

- Your poem got all smudged.

Smudged?

Sister Helen, I got

another letter from that guy.

- Which guy is that, Luis?

- Angola inmate, death row.

- Oh, yeah.

- Could you write to him?

Sounds like he could use

some friendly words.

- I'll come up after the class.

- Okay.

- It got smudged.

- You can still read it.

"There's a woman standing there

in the dark.

And she's got big arms to hold you.

But you won't feel

those arms that hug...

... till you can see her face.

So you stand there waiting for

the light at the end of the road. "

Idella, that is so fine.

Thank you.

"My lawyer seems to have disappeared,

so I need help on the legal end.

But if you can't do that,

I'd take a kind word or a visit.

Gets real quiet here sometimes. "

None of these guys on the row

can afford an attorney for appeals.

You can imagine the calls

we get from death row inmates...

- ...begging us to find attorneys.

- Who'll work for free.

Right. These petitions

take hours to prepare.

Attorneys aren't exactly

lining up for the job.

"Dear Sister Helen,

thank you for writing to me.

I'm writing from my home.:

my 6- by-8-foot cell.

I'm in here 23 hours a day.

We don't work on death row.

We're special here. They keep us

away from the general population.

We're the elite because we gonna fry.

It's hard not to get soft here.

I press my footlocker, lift it,

to try to get my muscles in shape.

It's hard not to get fat.

Rice, potatoes, pancakes, beans.

Sometimes I feel like

a sow on a farm...

... that's being fattened up

for a Christmas slaughter.

I dreamt once that I was

about to be fried in the chair...

...and then God come into my cell

with a chef's hat on.

He rolled me around in bread crumbs,

licking His chops and all.

Maybe I'm a weirdo

to have dreams like that...

...but your mind does funny things

when you're surrounded...

...by people that want to kill you.

Anyway, thanks for writing.

I don't get many letters

or visitors either.

No one in my family seems able to make

the trip out here. I understand.

It's a long drive from Slidell. "

- Good morning.

- Good morning, Father.

- Sister...

- Helen Prejean. Nice to meet you.

- Have a seat.

- Thank you.

- Have you been in a prison before?

- No, Father.

Sister Clement and I sang at the

New Orleans Juvenile Detention Center.

We sang "Kumbaya,"

and the boys really liked it.

They made up

their own verses, singing:

Someone's escaping, my Lord

The guards made us sing

a different song.

Where is your habit?

Our Sisters haven't worn

the habit for 20 years.

You are aware of the papal request

regarding nuns' garments, aren't you?

I believe the pope said

"distinctive clothing," not habits.

Well, I'm sure you'll interpret it in

your own way. Whatever's convenient.

Matthew Poncelet.

I remember him from the news.

Him and another fella...

...shot two children in the back

of the head on Lover's Lane.

Raped the girl.

Stabbed her several times.

Do you know what you're getting into?

So, what is it, Sister?

Morbid fascination?

Bleeding-heart sympathy?

He wrote me and asked me to come.

There is no romance here, Sister.

No Jimmy Cagney

"I've been wrongly accused.

If I only had someone

who believed in me" nonsense.

They are all con men.

And they will take advantage

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