Maybe it's not terribly kind to talk about work we would not want during a time when so many people in this country are struggling to hold on to their jobs. But, during some of the precious hours of free time I had this week, I came across a job that I'd only take under the more dire of circumstances.
When we think about the food industry, we think about restaurants, Asian families with woks passed down from their ancestors, coffee shops, or the phrase, "Would you like fries with that?" Maybe if we feel creative, we think about farmers, food critics, health inspectors, or cooks who compete on TV shows like Iron Chef or Top Chef.
Until the other day, of all these food-related occupations, I had never considered the guy who makes the last meal requests for prisoners about to be executed.
I mentioned the other day that I had watched a PBS documentary called The Meaning of Food. They chose several typical, though, heartwarming stories to which we can relate somehow: a family man making a great Italian feast for his daughter's wedding, a man who fell in love and opened a great restaurant with his wife only to have to find a way to move on with their only son after she died, a Samoan family gathering with food to mourn the death of a grandmother, a lively Mexican family making tamales together, a young Muslim girl trying to survive the fasting ritual of Ramadan, etc. Quite moving was the story of a book complied by women who lived in a concentration camp in Terezin during the Holocaust. The way they survived, they would tell you if they could, was by sharing stories of their favorites foods and recipes. These recipes were later put together by Cara de Silva in a book called IN MEMORY'S KITCHEN. But, the story that follows me sometimes when I look at my plate is that of Brian Price, who makes the last meal for prisoners on death row.
He mentions in his interviews that, since the prisoner doesn't exactly need to eat when facing death, that the last meal is about more than physical sustenance. These are last pleasures, last desires... the last shred of compassion any human being is ever going to bestow upon this prisoner. He doesn't seem to consider so much what that person did to get to death row...
...which is the part that catches my breath. I don't know if I could detach myself from what a prisoner did and show them the kindness that Mr. Price offers. He refuses to just slap anything together and toss it in a bowl as if this person were an unwanted dog. I admire that so very much about Mr. Price. Perhaps he feels they're about to be punished enough by the State... why send this person to death without a glimmer of humanity shone upon them?
He has been thanked through the guards for the last meals he has prepared for people. He says the requests are sort of heartbreaking. Most people ask for things that must remind them of childhood comfort. Some people asked for butter beans, Frosted Flakes, ice cream, or fruit arranged on a flowered paper plate. Mr. Price would try, before the preparation of every meal, to consider what it was that made people choose these things. Then, he did the best he could to prepare something special, something to meet the very last needs of a person.
What does food mean to you at that point? Not to be morbid, but, if I knew my last meal was coming to me, I can't imagine what I'd want, but I do tear up a little at the idea of noodle soup (as prepared by my mother and grandmother), string cheese, creamed cucumbers, and Clementines... I start going through my head and thinking about foods that mean something to me because of who made them, when we ate certain things (like those cookies at Purim or stuffing at Christmas), and how those things looked on the plate. There's a familiarity of who you were, who loved you, and, if you're lucky, of simpler times.
Mr. Price imagines that these people are brothers, sisters, or children to somebody. What would give everyone the most peace? That your son or daughter, brother or sister, received one good last meal, or that they were treated like scum, with no forgiveness in sight, no peace, right up to the very end? Of course, if we ask the families' of the victims involved, I'm sure they either would have a different opinion or would prefer not to think about how they're supposed to feel about a murderer or rapist's feelings. I wonder if there are people who do the sort of work Mr. Price does with more sympathy towards the victim's position.
I'd like to think we're better off with brave, kind people like Mr. Price sending people to their final resting places with one good memory in their bellies. We've already taken it upon ourselves to decide the deaths of these people, so, they'll feel that no matter what.
At some point, I believe, Mr. Price did eventually feel the need to do something else with his time. In a nightmare, he imagined himself on the gurney, feeling the poison moving into him. He heard a voice saying, "Just cough, Brian, and you'll be with Jesus." He woke up coughing and found his resolve rather shaken. While he continues his work with inmates, he does so with his radio ministry on Sunday mornings.
Somebody else does this kind of work... often enough that the nightmares are sure to come eventually no matter how you approach your work. While moved by the story, I'm grateful this is not my job...
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