Killer Sings A Hymn, Then Poison Flows

By THOMAS W. KRAUSE The Tampa Tribune

Published: Oct 26, 2006

STARKE - Asked for final words, Danny Rolling - strapped to a gurney by the arms and a leather head restraint - awkwardly turned toward Ricky Paules, the mother of his fourth victim.

He closed his eyes and began to sing.

"He who flung the stars into the heavens above."

The lethal drugs entered his body.

Rolling repeated the chorus.

"None greater than thee oh Lord. None greater than thee."

At 6:11 p.m., Rolling's chest heaved a labored breath. Then stopped.

At 6:13 p.m., two doctors determined Rolling's death penalty had been carried out.

The final moments were recounted about a half-hour after the execution by Stephanie Tsoflias, a television reporter with WCJB, Channel 20, in Gainesville, one of several media witnesses.

Asked about Rolling's hymn, relatives of the five youths Rolling stabbed to death in a 1990 killing spree scoffed.

"We ignored it," said Scott Paules, the brother of victim Tracy Paules. "It didn't mean anything."

Tracy's mother said she doesn't know whether Rolling looked at her before he died or whether she was just the first person in his line of sight. Regardless, she said, when his gaze hit her, she felt only bitterness.

"Bitter, very bitter," Ricky Paules said. "I saw his breath going out of him, and I continued to look at him. I was mad all the way through it."

In all, 45 people sat in the cramped witness room. Two stood because there were not enough chairs.

Earlier Wednesday, Rolling's brother was allowed a few minutes for a visit. Per Florida regulation, he was not allowed to witness the execution.

Families from Shreveport, La., also were in the room. Rolling is thought to have killed three people there before his infamous murders at the University of Florida.

Bill Cervone, the state attorney in Gainesville, lamented the crimes and the anticlimactic finale to Rolling's life.

"When these crimes happened in 1990 in Alachua County, they were by far the most horrific events to occur to the University of Florida family," he said.

The murders, he said, cast a shadow over the university.

"This execution lifts that shadow," he said.

As he watched Rolling die, Cervone said he couldn't help but remember the violent deaths of five young people and the anguish of their families.

"The punishment may not fit the crime," he said. "To watch his death in such an antiseptic, clinical environment lets me think that the punishment did not fit the crime."

Dianna Hoyt, the mother of victim Christa Hoyt, echoed the sentiment.

"I'm a nurse," she said. "I've watched my patients die. He lapsed into sleep and didn't feel anything."

The Murders

In the fall of 1990, the school year barely had begun. Fathers and mothers sat in homes across the state, and across the nation, having just left their sons and daughters in North Central Florida, hoping for a solid education.

On a Sunday, the first news came.

Sonja Larson, 18, and Christina Powell, 17, were found stabbed to death in their apartment.

The next day brought more dreadful news. Hoyt, 18, mutilated, beheaded and posed in her off-campus duplex.

The next day, yet again: Tracy Paules, 23, and her boyfriend, Manuel Taboada, 23, both found dead.

No one felt safe.

Rolling would tell authorities that he holed up in the woods outside the University of Florida campus. From that encampment, he recorded a rambling message that included bad country songs he wrote. He also expressed anger toward his overbearing father.

After the killings in Gainesville, Rolling stole a car and drove to Tampa. He robbed a grocery store and, in a shootout with Hillsborough County sheriff's deputies, managed an escape.

He stole another car before heading to Ocala, where he was arrested after robbing a Winn-Dixie.

Although in custody for the robberies, Rolling was not charged with the Gainesville murders for more than a year. In November 1991, a grand jury indicted him on five murder charges.

His attorneys worried about explaining away physical evidence that linked him to the murder scenes and confessions Rolling made to fellow jail inmates. As a legal strategy, the attorneys persuaded Rolling to plead guilty so they could focus their attention on the penalty phase of the trial. The maneuver did little to help Rolling. All 12 members of the jury voted for the death penalty. In Florida, a simple majority would have been sufficient.

Songs, Prayers, Laughter

On Wednesday, 16 years after the killings, people gathered outside the prison walls awaiting Rolling's death.

Dusty Bailey of Lake City came to support the families, with duct tape across his mouth and the word "eight" written with black marker.

"He had eight victims, and they weren't able to say anything," he said.

Minutes before news of Rolling's death was announced to the crowd, Jane Hamby of Pomona Park watched the prison gates for any sign.

"It's a dead giveaway when they open the door to the hearse," she said with a laugh. "Then we can go nuts."

A few feet away, death penalty opponents - including more than 40 bused in from the Catholic dioceses of Orlando - prayed in a circle, sang "Amazing Grace" and rang a bell right up to the time of death.

Reporter Mary Shedden contributed to this report. Reporter Thomas W. Krause can be reached at (813) 259-7698 or tkrause@tampatrib.com.