A month out from his third execution date, Robert Roberson is not ready to die

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LIVINGSTON -- Robert Roberson III is not ready to die.

After more than two decades housed almost exclusively in isolation and two narrowly-avoided executions, the 58-year-old has just over a month left before the state's third attempt to put him to death.

" I'm not afraid to die," he clarifies, "but I'm not ready to die, 'cause I think God has more for me to do."

Fear dissipates with time and exposure, and Roberson has been facing his own mortality since 2003, when prosecutors in the East Texas town of Palestine convinced a jury of his peers that he murdered his 2-year-old daughter, Nikki, the toddler with whom he shared his dark hair and blue eyes.

His prosecution relied, in part, on proving Nikki showed symptoms of a particularly violent end -- "shaken baby syndrome," a medical determination that has since come under wide scrutiny by experts and been denounced by the man credited with establishing the theory.

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Roberson's attorneys, meanwhile, have argued Roberson is not only innocent of murder, but that no crime occurred at all -- that Nikki, who was chronically ill, died of natural and accidental causes, including severe, undiagnosed pneumonia and a fall from bed.

Despite multiple attempts to bring him to the state Capitol to testify, the public hasn't heard directly from Roberson since his execution last October was stayed following a novel intervention by a bipartisan group of state lawmakers.

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Last week, he spoke to The Dallas Morning News from the Allan B. Polunsky Unit in Livingston to share his perspective on his case, his faith and his future, in his own words.

This interview has been edited and condensed for clarity.

Who were you just starting to become before Nikki died?

"I was wanting to change my life. I was wanting to raise my kids, you know, be responsible for being a father and stuff, you know, and, I was wanting a chance to be able to do so. I had took a welding vocational course, and then I already had my GED and I was taking a few college credits and stuff.

I was excited -- I was excited because I was going to be able to get a chance, you know, because my other kids in my life, I hadn't really been there for 'em, you know what I'm saying? I had been to prison, I'd done drugs and stuff before in my life, and when I decided to get my life right and stuff, I was very excited, very happy about it."

When you think of Nikki now, how do you remember her?

"She is a sweet little angel to me. When first trying to get to know her, she was kind of skittish, 'cause she didn't know me. I'd be skittish too, you know, meeting a stranger. She was kind of quiet in a lot of ways. She was small and stuff, you know, and I was trying to get to know her better.

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I seen her smile and I seen her playful heart, her playing with other kids too, you know. She didn't see no enemy or no harm in nobody."

You've maintained your innocence since you were first convicted and sentenced to death in 2003. Did you believe the system would have corrected itself by now?

"I believed with the appeals over the years, that they would find out what really happened, would find out I wasn't done right.

When I lost [Nikki] ... I was in shock. Then they accused me of it, and put me deeper in shock and stuff. I was thinking, 'How can the justice system allow this' and stuff, you know?

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I was angry ... and I was hurt. I always believed that we had a good criminal justice system and stuff until I went through it myself. Until then, I thought everybody that was locked up probably is guilty. Over the years, God has allowed me to go through this saying, 'Now you see: Everybody that's locked up, probably most of them is guilty, but not everybody locked up is guilty.'"

You were diagnosed with Autism Spectrum Disorder in 2018. What has your diagnosis taught you about yourself?

"I didn't really know nothing about it before, and I barely had heard about it in life, but I can see now why I acted or why I was a certain way in my life.

I realized, even though I'm different from a lot of people, it don't make me no less than they are, you know what I'm saying?"

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Walk me through how you remember Oct. 17, 2024, your last execution date.

"It was a long day. It was a real long day.

Around 12 p.m. or something, they carried me to Huntsville in the van and got over there. They drove down a bunch of back roads. When I got in there, they said, 'Well, from this point on you're going to be free walking and stuff, you know, unless you act up with something.' So they put me in the cell, gave me some more clothes.

C.F. Hazlewood, the chaplaincy director, was trying to get me drunk on Folgers coffee that night, and his wife or somebody had made some homemade brownies and stuff. So, by the time I got my meals, I wasn't really hungry, you know. I had my mind on my case.

Then I was making phone calls. I was talking to my wife and I was talking to some friends on the phone. I had talked to [Gretchen Sween, my lawyer] several times that night. Last time I talked to her, she said, 'Hang on.' So that's when she went to Jeff Leach and Joe Moody and them that night and went to the Texas Supreme Court and stuff.

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So all that in my mind, then me being in that cell back there, 20 feet away from the [death] chamber, I was walking back and forth, praying, talking to the Lord.

Every so often, Mr. Hazlewood would pray with me; every 20, 30 minutes and stuff, you know? I remember, at 10:07 p.m., we had prayed the last time, and about 10:08 p.m., he said, 'I think you got a stay.'

I was relieved, not only for me, but for my wife and my family and loved ones, my friends and supporters.

When Amanda Hernandez [the Texas Department of Criminal Justice's director of communications] came in there and asked for a statement, I said, 'I'm just as innocent now as I was when I went in there, you know?'

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God provided a miracle that night."

Did you expect to get another date when you went to your latest hearing in July?

"When I got in the courtroom and stuff, just the way the judge was acting, I knew he was probably gonna set a date. To be given another date, that's hard because I'll be thinking 'What do we have to do to get them to do the right thing?'

I didn't think I was gonna go to court. They could have denied me from coming, but to see all the supporters, the supporters on my side and stuff, you know, that believed in me -- and that's, only a part of them, you know?

I would never give up, you know, and that's what a lot of people now might have done: gave up. I'm not giving up 'cause I know God knows this stuff, you know, and I don't want to be executed. I want them to do right, but we just gotta see what the court's gonna say and stuff, to see how it works out."

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You've been on death row for more than 23 years. How have you kept your hope for so long?

"My daughter, when I first got here, in that first letter, you know what she said in there? 'Daddy, have hope.' And I have hung onto that hope, but it has been some hard days.

If it wasn't for God -- for me or anybody -- a lot of people would have balled up and given up, you know?"

How do you feel you've changed since your conviction?

"God has worked on me and my heart these years. I'm more humble now, and I got a different perspective. I see things like God sees. Don't never ask God to help you with your patience, 'cause he'll put you in situations to help your patience.

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I think I'm way better now. I don't smoke no more, I don't drink no more, no more drugs, you know, besides prescribed drugs. I don't gamble no more. I used to play fantasy football when I first got here, but I gave that up. I surrendered all that to God and stuff, you know, and he has shown me what's important in life.

We just don't know how much of an impact we have on people and stuff, you know? We might never know until we go to heaven. People tell me that all the time, and I'm just Robert, trying to do right. That don't make me any better than nobody else. That don't make me perfect, because we're human, we're fleshly, you know, but we shouldn't practice sin."

If, after all of this, you were to be released, what would you want to do with the rest of your life?

"Don't call me old yet, but I'm getting older.

I would like to start my own business one day and stuff ... or ministry, to get to be able to give back to people what I was given, you know? Maybe visit guys here [on death row], or the homeless. I may even try to be a life skills coach or something, or go to college or something.

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To be honest, I would take any job I could until I could find a better one. That's what I would do and stuff to support my family, to enjoy how many more years I got left, to try to help people, to try and give back."

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