The Chair
I remember walking into the office of lawyer David Page Moore in Chicago. It was Monday and Paul Crump -- convicted of murder, whose appeals to the Supreme Court had been rejected twice -- was to be executed in the electric chair at midnight on Thursday. Moore had launched a desperate last-minute attempt to save Crump by conceding guilt (a very dangerous tactic) and arguing to the state parole board that they should advise the Governor of the State of Illinois to grant clemency, based on evidence that Paul Crump had been rehabilitated during the nine years he had already served in prison, and was no longer the concededly vicious criminal that he had been. No one had ever made such an appeal before.
Drew and I walked in with our equipment (including the Bulova watches) and Moore beamed at us. He needed publicity and asked what he could do for us. As I recall it, Drew said, “Nothing”. We put our equipment down in a corner and went out for coffee. Maybe twenty minutes later we came back in. Moore was talking on the telephone and we quietly started filming. We went on filming for two days. Every time the phone rang we filmed; sometimes it was an irrelevant call, but more often it was the meat of our film. Meanwhile Pennebaker and Shuker were out at the Prison getting in with the Warden, who was a friend of Crump and had been asked by him to pull the switch if the execution took place. The warden had agreed to do this “out of friendship”. Preparations were going ahead. Crump was in a solitary cell just yards away from the electric chair.
A famous lawyer, Louis Nizer, was on his way from New York to help Moore with his presentation. He was to arrive the night before the hearing to have dinner and a work session with Moore. Drew and I were in Moore’s apartment as he prepared to go and meet Nizer. The bedroom was a shambles; not only was the bed not made, it looked like it had never been made; empty laundry boxes were all over the floor and our half-dressed lawyer crawled around looking for two socks that matched... he wasn’t going to look like a country hick... and he was going to pay for dinner... and what was this guy doing but stealing his thunder... He was angry. Then they met and Moore fell in love with Nizer and all the thunder was gone. We filmed all this but it never made it into the final cut. Too bad.
A young journalist from a local TV station believed that Crump had been framed and was not guilty. He had already made an hour-long film including interviews and, more importantly, re-enactments of the crime. His name: Billy Friedkin. According to Moore, he had called Friedkin and told him that if this film was aired before the hearing with the parole board and the Governor’s decision, he, Moore, guaranteed that the execution would take place. Friedkin delayed the showing. I only saw this film recently and find it interesting to see the same subject treated with such diverse techniques, which give a clear indication of the direction that his splendid fiction films would take.
Drew and I walked in with our equipment (including the Bulova watches) and Moore beamed at us. He needed publicity and asked what he could do for us. As I recall it, Drew said, “Nothing”. We put our equipment down in a corner and went out for coffee. Maybe twenty minutes later we came back in. Moore was talking on the telephone and we quietly started filming. We went on filming for two days. Every time the phone rang we filmed; sometimes it was an irrelevant call, but more often it was the meat of our film. Meanwhile Pennebaker and Shuker were out at the Prison getting in with the Warden, who was a friend of Crump and had been asked by him to pull the switch if the execution took place. The warden had agreed to do this “out of friendship”. Preparations were going ahead. Crump was in a solitary cell just yards away from the electric chair.
A famous lawyer, Louis Nizer, was on his way from New York to help Moore with his presentation. He was to arrive the night before the hearing to have dinner and a work session with Moore. Drew and I were in Moore’s apartment as he prepared to go and meet Nizer. The bedroom was a shambles; not only was the bed not made, it looked like it had never been made; empty laundry boxes were all over the floor and our half-dressed lawyer crawled around looking for two socks that matched... he wasn’t going to look like a country hick... and he was going to pay for dinner... and what was this guy doing but stealing his thunder... He was angry. Then they met and Moore fell in love with Nizer and all the thunder was gone. We filmed all this but it never made it into the final cut. Too bad.
A young journalist from a local TV station believed that Crump had been framed and was not guilty. He had already made an hour-long film including interviews and, more importantly, re-enactments of the crime. His name: Billy Friedkin. According to Moore, he had called Friedkin and told him that if this film was aired before the hearing with the parole board and the Governor’s decision, he, Moore, guaranteed that the execution would take place. Friedkin delayed the showing. I only saw this film recently and find it interesting to see the same subject treated with such diverse techniques, which give a clear indication of the direction that his splendid fiction films would take.