“I told the guards, ‘I need to get back there.’ … Whenever things get really tough for me, and I feel at my lowest point, I know that I can talk to Lea and she can pick me up from that.” “I called her the second I got back to my cell,” he said. Over the phone, he kept her company as she drank her coffee in the morning, drove to and from her law school classes, and watched the evening news.Īfter the Oklahoma Pardon and Parole Board denied Glossip’s clemency request last month, Lea was the person he turned to. For the past few years, she’d been his lifeline, a source of strength and comfort and his daily portal to the outside world. Of the personal items that could fit in his death row cell, these were his treasured possessions: letters, cards, and most importantly, photos of his wife, Lea, which he’d carefully taken off the wall. Two weeks before he was scheduled to die at the Oklahoma State Penitentiary in McAlester, Richard Glossip packed his belongings in a box.
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