Execution Closes Chapter For Victims' Families

Christina Powell was one of five people killed by Danny Rolling in Gainesville in 1990. Liz Looker, Powell's niece, left, and Powell's friends Amanda Iannone and Allison Schoenberger were at the prison in Starke for his execution Wednesday.

AP photo

By MARY SHEDDEN The Tampa Tribune

Published: Oct 26, 2006

STARKE - In the end, it was about Sonja, Christa, Christina, Tracy and Manny.

Serial killer Danny Rolling's death on Wednesday evening marked the last time those closest to Sonja Larson, Christa Hoyt, Christina Powell, Tracy Paules and Manuel Taboada gathered in a show of unity against the Gainesville serial killer.

Their goal on this, the last day they likely would see one another, was to drown out any final attention to the notorious killer who wanted to shock and terrorize a college town in August 1990.

So when corrections officials in the death chamber cut off his microphone a few minutes into his final statement - a church hymn - the families had accomplished a goal that started more than 16 years ago.

"To see him disappear, I don't know, it feels pretty good right now," said Laurie Lahey, Tracy Paules' sister, one of the more than 20 family members to witness the execution. "Right now, he's gone. He's gone."

Long before Rolling was pronounced dead at 6:13 p.m., the families were together in Gainesville - a town where their loved ones died, but a community where they all felt supported.

"We all needed this gathering to get together for unity," said Dianna Hoyt, Christa's stepmother.

Relatives, friends and others tied to the case gathered for a banquet, where pictures of the five young college students and long-stemmed white roses were plentiful. Detectives, attorneys and victim advocates assigned to the massive case were thanked over and over by the survivors.

"I saw our pain reflected in their eyes," Taboada's brother, Mario, said of local law enforcement.

The group left Gainesville midafternoon and headed to Florida State Prison together, a caravan of 20 vehicles and police escorts that resembled a funeral procession. The group of more than 60 relatives and friends included survivors of three Louisiana slayings Rolling admitted to, but for which he was never arrested.

Shared Pain, Shared Goal

Joyce Burton never got a trial, but she felt as if Rolling's sentence in the Gainesville case could bring some resolution to the brutal 1989 Shreveport stabbings. She stood after the execution in a tight hug with all the mothers of the Gainesville victims. Good friends, for a tragic reason.

"What happened today is nothing compared to what happened to all our loved ones," said Burton, mother of Julie Grissom. Grissom, her nephew, Sean, and father, Tom Grissom, were killed in similar ways to Rolling's Gainesville victims.

For 16 years, this extended family of survivors worked diligently to divert publicity from Rolling, a career criminal who mutilated his victims in a quest for fame. Wednesday was no different, with survivors saying how little they listened to Rolling's final song and how little his life meant.

"The events I saw little over a half-hour ago have little effect on my life," said Scott Paules, Tracy's brother. "I spend my time remembering my sister. I won't spend much time thinking about him after today."

Attention was part of the reason Mario Taboada chose to not witness the execution. His cousin and uncle represented the family, while Taboada and his mother, Gladys, waited with dozens of other survivors at a prison office.

"As a tribute to my brother, I want to see him living. I don't want that image [of Rolling] in my head," he said.

What strikes Taboada most about his brother is how he's still discovering stories of his short, 23-year life. People who knew Manny share snippets of him - from dates or about how he would dance on top of loudspeakers at a bar.

"For that split moment, when they're talking, he's alive," said Taboada, a Miami radio sales executive.

At Rolling's sentencing in 1994, Taboada stood and shouted out that Rolling would be executed in five years. Twelve years later, he said that day he was attempting to do what he always wanted: divert attention away from his brother's killer.

"It was a psychological ploy on my part. These animals play games," he said. "That day was my chance. The cameras shifted focus from him to us."

After the execution, the families stood before dozens of journalists, microphones shoved in their faces, much as they have the past 16 years in the sensational case that captured headlines across the country.

No End, Just Another Chapter

Many of them were asked repeatedly whether they had closure from watching their child's killer die. For survivors of murder, there is no end, just another chapter. Ricky Paules, Tracy's mother, said closure will only come once she dies.

"I'm done with it. He's out. Fine,'" she said. "Now it's only Tracy that's on my mind."

Sonja Larson's mother, Ada, she said she witnessed the execution for her late husband, Jim.

"Our pain will never go away, but this evil man has gone away now. He will no longer gain sympathy from those who befriended him. … He will no longer be able to draw his illicit and weird drawings," she said. "He will no longer be housed, fed and taken care of at our expense."

Mario Taboada said his mission now is to remind others that there remain many unsolved murders that won't capture the attention as the Gainesville student murders did.

"I wish we could say something today that will prevent this from happening somewhere else in the country," he said.

The families didn't have a final farewell to the loved ones, and as they left the prison Wednesday night, they made no profound statement. Instead, they headed away from the prison shortly after sunset, in the same caravan in which they arrived.

Together one last time.

For Christina, Sonja, Christa, Tracy and Manny.

Reporter Mary Shedden can be reached at (813) 259-7365 or mshedden@tampatrib.com.