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"but In Our Conversations, He Would Return Again And Again To The Electric Chair, Still An Object Of Primal, Almost Talismanic Fear All Of This Time Later."

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"'It cooks you,' he would repeat, folding into himself. 'It cooks you.' While the time of his trial is always within reach for Smith, the intervening decades are somewhere else, behind a curtain he won’t or can’t push aside. Smith isn’t in the habit of personal disclosure, in any case. He does not have friends in the nursing home. 'I keep to myself,' he says often. He doesn’t want to know what people were convicted of, and doesn’t ask. He says he didn’t have friends in prison either, and he isn’t exaggerating: 'Minds his own business and has no associates,' reads one behavioral report from 1964. Smith waves every question about those decades away with an impatient, 'It was prison' or 'I don’t think about that.'... Smith now spends most of his time in his room, watching TV. In conversations over the course of a year, the only person I hear him express something like friendship for is Tucker Carlson.... 'He’s my type of guy. We’re the same type,' he says, though he won’t say more.I could see it, somehow. The grievance, the paranoia, the sense that things are stacked against you."




The Times obit doesn't mention Smith's affinity for Tucker Carlson... perhaps to maintain the Times reader's empathy for the ancient convict.