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1921

ON DEATH ROW IN SING-SING

Get into a conversation with a long time Queens resident and you're likely to discover a subscriber of the Long Island Star- Journal, a daily paper that informed the community about local and world news until it folded in 1968. A banner across the Star Journal masthead reminded readers that the newspaper's name came from the merger of the Long Island Daily Star (1876) and the North Shore Daily Journal - The Flushing Journal (1841).

Welcome to Death Row in Sing-Sing.

Under a by-line written in 1921, 'Casalino dies in Sing-Sing Electric Chair,' the grim story of Michael Casalino unfolds.

Convicted in the old Long Island City Courthouse for the deaths of former Astorians Mr. and Mrs. Joseph Holbach, the young man meets his doom without flinching. Veteran guards rate him as one of the gamest men to sit in the chair. He goes calmly and religiously and without bravado to his death. He is the first person from Queens to be executed in 23 years.

Because of his service to the state in turning over evidence against 'Little Joe' Zambelli, Casalino thought his sentence would be commuted to life. Zambelli is duly convicted for his part in the murder and is sentenced to death because of the testimony. However, Governor Miller refuses to commute Casalino's execution.

As he begins that last walk to the execution chamber, Casalino calls out Zambelli, 'Goodbye. I wish you luck. I hope you get a new trial.' Zambellis's response is lost by a chorus of farewells from the other 22 occupants of the death house. One calls out, 'we know you are innocent Mike.'

On his last day on earth, his heart-broken young wife makes her farewell visit. Five hours before his execution, Casalino learns for the first time that both his children had died during his two-year confinement in the death house. His wife had kept the news from him, but when hopes for her husband disappear, she decides to tell him. She shows him a photo of the youngest child as its tiny body lay in the coffin.

He is given his last meal. For dessert, Casalino requests strawberry shortcake. It arrives from the warden's kitchen. He spends his last hours with a priest.

The sixteen men reported by 'invitation' to attend the execution meet at the somber gates of Sing-Sing. The witnesses are as odd an assemblage as could be wished for. They include two dentists from Jamaica, a chauffeur, a naval lieutenant, two shopkeepers from Ossining, a Paris reporter traveling around the world studying methods of capital punishment, and representatives of the Queens County Sheriff and District Attorney's office.

Ossining is gloomy to the eye and spirit as they make their way from the New York train to the prison. The prison entrance is reached by a winding wooden stairway snaking up the hill. At the top, lights twinkle as the buildings are bathed in light. They hear whistling and even a snatch of song through steel-barred windows.

No one takes notice of the group. This is the prison's eighth execution in five months.

They were told to make themselves at home while the Principal Keeper McIntyre examines their credentials. As the representative from the Paris newspapers makes notes, the Lieutenant draws off by himself and talks to no one. The dentists find company enough by themselves. The chauffeur, who had driven from Briarcliffe, had parked his employer's car outside. He expresses hope that his two kids inside are asleep.

A small man oddly dressed with rough but neat clothing sits quietly in the corner. His black shoes shine immaculately. The guards know him. The witnesses learn that he is John Hurlburt, State Electrician. He is the person who sends prisoners to their death in the electric chair for $150 a head.

The sixteen witnesses are invited into the warden's office where they stand in a semi-circle. Their credentials are again examined. They are joined by Dr. Amos Squires, prison physician and his assistant. The State Electrician disappears.

Major Lewis Lawes, the warden of Sing-Sing, address the men. 'Gentlemen, you know why you are here. When you pass the Death House please observe silence.' He takes out his watch. They stand silently; nobody whispers. Outside his office, the switchboard suddenly buzzes. The warden looks up anxiously. The receptionist quickly answers it. The call is not from Albany. There will be no reprieve.

At one minute before midnight, Warden Lawes signals to start. He instructs the witnesses to form a column and marches them out two by two. The warden is at the head. The witnesses stumble in the darkness before reaching a heavy steel gate between two stone piers. 'Open up!' orders Warden Lawes to a rifle-bearing sentry dimly silhouetted against the sky. The gate slides noiselessly up and the party enters.

A small yellow building stands out in the darkness. It looks like a chapel. It is the death house. A door opens and a brilliant shaft of light falls through. As they enter, a keeper orders, 'gentlemen, remove your hats.' The room is brilliant with light reflected off the buff colored ceiling and walls. It could be a hospital ward. Unlike the movies, there is nothing dark or drab. They sit in four pew-like benches.

The sinister thing stands in the center of the room bathed in a powerful light. It is not a heavy clumsy looking chair as imagined, but a lightly constructed chair of light oak. On either side are three guards. Dr. Squires and his assistant stand in front of the chair. The electrician is by the switchboard fussing with a little switch.

All eyes are on a little door. Then audible to those in the witness seats, comes the tread of feet in slow cadence. There is the low rumble of voices in prayer and the answer of another voice.

In comes Principal Keeper McIntyre, with a portly priest, followed by a bareheaded-disheveled looking young man in a loose fitting flapping trousers. He wears a white shirt with the neck cut away. He does not shrink or hesitate. In his hands he carries a black crucifix. He listens for a moment at the priest as he recites the litany of the Saints. 'Oro Pro Nobis,' Mike answers. His stocking feet make no sound on the floor.

He sits down. His arms are strapped in and the electrode attached to his head. Before the black hood is placed over his face, the condemned man blurts out, 'Dr. Squires, shake my hand. You have always been kind to me. Good-bye to all of you. I thank you for what you have done for me.'

Dr. Squires grasps his hand, steps back, then gives a signal to the man at the switchboard. A switch snaps.

Mike Casalino was 24 years old.

That's the way it was on Death Row in Sing-Sing.