By Jean Gonzalez
In April, Ernie Bono witnessed the death of a friend. Plexiglass separating him from Michael Tanzi, Bono caught Tanzi’s eyes and watched as a man he had met behind bars on Florida’s death row was injected with poisons.
Bono and Tanzi are two very different people who lived two different lives. Bono, a 79-year-old staunch Catholic, is an author and motivational speaker with over 20 years of experience in the insurance industry. He serves as president of Order of Malta Federal Association Board of Directors.
Tanzi was convicted of the 2000 kidnapping and murder of 49-year-old Janet Acosta, and after his incarceration he confessed to killing Caroline Holder in Brockton, Mass., eight months before he murdered Acosta. Holder was a 37-year-old mother of two who Tanzi strangled and stabbed. His childhood was plagued by physical and sexual abuse, and he attempted suicide at the age of 20, less than three years before he committed his murders.
But within the walls of Union Correctional’s death row and later the Q-wing of Florida State Prison, the two men forged a relationship with its foundation built upon Jesus Christ. They prayed. They read Scripture. They formed a bond of trust.
Bono is aware there is a big obstacle to overcome for people to understand and support prison ministry.
“People don’t understand the definition of grace. It’s God’s love and care for us,” he said. “We have a world of chaos out there. Death row is chaos. Prison is chaos. How do you get order? With a bridge of prayer,” he answered.
That bridge to prayer is also what keeps Bono going in his ministry. Bono and Bishop-emeritus Felipe Estevez of St. Augustine visited with Tanzi on his final hours. They spent time in prayer for his victims and their families. Although the two men were there for the prisoner, it was Tanzi who tried to make them laugh a bit.
He also shared with the men what he had for final meal — two pork chops, mashed potatoes and ice cream. Although Tanzi wasn’t hungry, he recreated the same meal he had 25 years ago — the last meal he shared with his mother. He hadn’t seen her since being sent to death row as a 23-year-old. Bono worked to reunite mother and son before the execution.
Before he died, Tanzi told Bono, “You don’t understand what you did for me.” Bono said that emotional and sincere comment made his ministry, at the moment, “very challenging.” Because soon after hearing that sentiment, Bono watched the state take Tanzi’s life.
After he drove home from the prison, he found his wife on the phone with fellow Dames and Knights of Malta as they prayed together for all involved in the execution — Tanzi, his victims, their families, his family, the prison staff and Bono himself.
“I asked myself how am I able to do this? It’s the power of prayer that got me through that and I didn’t realize that till I came home and saw the outcome of all the prayer,” Bono said. “I believe in prayer. With prayer, we can accomplish anything. I am a believer that I am guided in this ministry through prayer.”
The role of prayer is tantamount to all prison ministers, especially in 2025 as opponents see the state administration “rush to kill,” according to Marie Deliberato, executive director of Floridians for Alternatives to the Death Penalty. As of Feb. 13, nine men have been executed — James Ford, Edward James, Michael Tanzi, Jeffrey Hutchinson, Glen Rogers, Anthony Wainwright, Thomas Gudinas and Michael Bell. Warrants for the last four inmates were signed on the heels or even days before the previous execution, with the warrant leaving only four weeks before the death sentence is carried out. The next execution is scheduled for July 31, a warrant for Edward Zakrzewski II.
The signing of the warrants is unnerving for the prisoners and those who minister to them. Tanzi described what he heard just before they came for him with news of his execution warrant. Once an execution order is signed, the inmate moves from the cell on death row at Union Correctional to a single, isolated cell in the Q wing of Florida State Prison, which is just down the street. The telltale sign of a warrant being delivered is the sound of the shackles rattling as they are brought to the cell.
Tanzi told Bono that he could hear the sounds of the shackles and knew they were coming to his cell. But the other inmates could hear it as well, which creates an extra layer of anxiety. No persons are more aware of Gov. Ron Desantis’ “rush to kill” than the death row inmates themselves.
Deacon Corkey Hecht, a longtime prison minister who is a fixture at death row, said leaving death row cell for the Q wing can be a devastating, isolating experience.
“When someone gets grabbed in their midst and taken to the death house, it is very difficult,” he said. “When they are taken from their cell, they are taken with no belongings, no trunk. It is all left behind.”
The deacon served as spiritual advisor to Jeffrey Hutchinson and was there with him right up until he took his final breath. He was the first spiritual advisor who was allowed in the death chamber with the prisoner during execution in Florida. Earlier that day, Deacon Hecht offered Hutchinson viaticum — Communion for the dying. They read Scripture together.
“In Q wing, Jeff was fortunate he had his Bible but not the pictures on his wall. They were of those who reached out to him for healing prayers,” the deacon said, explaining those who found healing would send Hutchinson a picture in thanks. “He didn’t have those pictures, and he missed them greatly because he couldn’t see those faces on the wall any longer.”
That made the time in the death house even harder. And prisoners know if they are grabbed out of their cells to go to the death house, they will face that similar isolation while awaiting death.
“There is a lot of tension right now among the gentlemen on death row,” the deacon said. “Right after an execution, there is another warrant signed. And there are now only two weeks between executions. The governor is ramping it up even closer, and it is nerve wracking.”
While there can be little sympathy for those on death row, it is not just singular men living singular lives. In a 2012 interview with the Florida Catholic, death row inmate W. Thomas Zeigler Jr., who has been on death row since 1976, described death row as a neighborhood, which makes each execution personal.
“It is like a neighborhood in here,” Zeigler explained. “Each one of these executions hurt. … Your neighbors may not be your friends, but you know them. You automatically feel grief when they die.”
And that grief is tenfold when it is a friend who is executed. Jeffrey Hutchinson’s execution hit fellow death row inmate Ray Johnston hard. Hutchinson was sentenced to death for the 1998 killing of his girlfriend, Renee Flaherty, and her three children, Geoffrey, 9, Amanda, 7, and Logan, 4. The killings occurred four years after final deployment in the Gulf War, where he was exposed to repeated concussive blasts and deadly chemicals, including sarin nerve gas released during coalition bombings. He subsequently suffered from combat-related brain damage but received no treatment from the military.
It is not difficult to identify Hutchinson by that single, horrific act. But prison ministers knew Hutchinson to be repentant and prayerful. And to Johnston, himself a U.S. Air Force veteran who served in Vietnam, Hutchinson — who Johnston and his friends called Hutch — was more than a murderer. He was an Army Ranger soldier who fought for his country, suffered a dramatic brain injury and was not offered treatment for those debilitating injuries.
“Men and women who were wounded in combat have often said they heard the bullet coming that hit them,” Johnston wrote in a letter to his daughter. “On Thursday night, May 1, they left a decorated Army Ranger behind. At 8:15 pm Hutch didn’t hear the bullet.”
Johnston wrote how many wounded veterans suffer from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), and it “does not go away on its own and cannot be cured.” Johnston knows firsthand how the Veteran’s Administration has denied treatment of PTSD that results in “destroying many of their lives leading to an addiction, broken families, homelessness and incarceration.”
“It is one of the silent burdens of war that causes unreasonable behavior in both men and women who served honorably but who came back to the world with their heads full of the horrors of war,” Johnston wrote, adding that veterans are told “no one left behind” extends beyond the battlefield, but that is not true for death row inmates.
“Those of us on death row who served honorably have been stripped of our honor and everyone has forgotten where we came from and how we served. What I find so sad is because Hutch was executed on May 1, he no longer can receive a military funeral and be buried in a National Cemetery. He gets no flag to drape his coffin. He gets no service headstone and most sadly TAPS will not be played at his burial,” Johnston wrote. “I remind you — Hutch was a decorated Army Special Forces Ranger who served honorably in the Gulf War. This is shameful. His prison life has nothing to do with the time he spent in Iraq. We are “Veteran’s Incarcerated” not “Incarcerated Veteran’s” because we were Veteran’s first.”
Johnston ended his letter by writing, “Thank you, Hutch, for your service.”
As a minister on death row, Bishop Felipe Estévez intimately feels the sadness, isolation and anxiety among the prisoners. The rash of recent executions has prisoners telling ministers “I might be next.”
“I have heard that phrase. That is a great anxiety especially as the governor is signing one warrant after the other, more than any other governor in the country,” Bishop Estévez said, adding that he wished there was more media coverage on the rash of warrants signed and how it will not stop. “The media are not covering this because some of these prisoners are the least of the least. They are truly on the margins. And the governor is not receiving push back except from the Florida bishops and letters written by opponents of the death penalty.”
He commends the opponents who stand outside Florida State Prison before each execution in prayer — for the prisoner executed, the victims and their families and execution team. The bishop wonders whether the governor would continue signing warrants if he experienced death row as prison minsters experience it. Because when Bishop Estévez enters the prison walls of a correctional institution, he is struck by many emotions, but one emotion stands out.
Humility.
“I used to do prison ministry when I was an auxiliary bishop of Miami and during my 11 years as bishop of St. Augustine, but that was just once a week. Now that I am retired, I am doing it weekly. It is my favorite work of mercy,” the bishop said. “I have been very impressed with the spiritual life of the prisoners. They share with me. They come to confession to me. … They trust me and they like the way I preach. The way I say Mass. They feel like they can be themselves. And that response is impactful and humbling.”
Bishop Estévez visits four different prisons in his area — one a week — each with different security distinctions. They include Lawtey Correctional Institution, Baker County Detention Center in Macclenny, the Reception and Medical Center in Lake Butler, a Florida Department of Corrections Facility that serves prisoners, and Union Correctional Institute in Raiford, which includes death row.
“Many of the prisoners I have encountered have repented sincerely about the damage they have done to victims and families. Christianity is about conversion, and they have converted. Let us give them a chance to live a life not as punishment but as rehabilitation.”
He recognizes how the Holy Spirit works in the lives of the prisoners and the prison ministers. It is difficult to enter a prison, a place so devoid of joy, and especially death row where hope is so difficult to take root. The bishop said it is the Holy Spirit that motivates himself and fellow ministers to keep coming back. To establish friendships and possibly offer those kernels of joy and hope.
“For the prisoners, the past is the past and they must live in the present moment. Prison is a second chance at spirituality and life,” he said. “This is not an easy apostolate and yet they do it with joy. It doesn’t just come from our humanity, but also from the Holy Spirit.”
Deacon Hecht is also convinced of the hand of the Holy Spirit guides him. When Hutchinson was strapped to the gurney in the execution room, Deacon Hecht wished he could put a hand upon the inmate to offer comfort in his final moments, but that was not allowed.
Yet, his presence was meaningful as it reminded the inmate of what they had spoken about during the hours before the execution. He was not alone. God had not abandoned him. He should remember the “Footprints” poem, and how the one set of footprints in the sand is that of Jesus carrying him to eternity
“To look into that blank stare and know his soul was no longer there…” Deacon Hecht said, his voice drifting as he took a moment to recall his friend of eight years. “I wish he had human contact before he left this earth. But I was grateful to be able to bless his body before I left the chamber.”
All three prison ministers agreed wholeheartedly that the death penalty is completely unnecessary. The commandment “Thou shall not kill” does not include addendums. That is why Pope Francis decreed capital punishment is never necessary and should be abolished, something the ministers hope the new pope will also publicly proclaim.
“It is not a deterrent. It is not cheaper. It is not effective,” Bono said.
For the ministers, life without the possibility of parole — which is no walk in the park — is the better alternative to the death penalty.
“Our prisons are so safe and so well constructed that there is no chance, zero percent that prisoners could get out of prison. Because Floridians are so protected by our prisons, there is need to kill prisoners. Their acts were violent. Why do we continue the violence in return?”
Deacon Hecht said execution was not the only path the state could have taken with Hutchinson. He believed he could have been in a veteran’s dorm where he could have shared his spiritual peace so that other prisoners could repent and find their own peace.
“I’m not saying he should have been released, but I can’t understand why we should eliminate a soul with so much potential,” Deacon Hecht. “It does hurt spiritually, but ultimately, we must put our trust in God. … But witnessing it makes you want to pray harder, pray stronger for the end to the death penalty.”
