Twenty-two minutes.
That's how long it might take to run a few kilometers. To prepare a meal. Calling a loved one.
It's also about how long it took Kenneth Eugene Smith, 58, to die.
As he convulsed in the tight black straps of his stretcher, his wife, Deanna, began to sob.
The slogan on her shirt – “Never alone” – reflected in the dim light of the thick, dim glass window that separated her in the witness room from her husband in the execution chamber.
At William C. Holman Prison in Alabama shortly after 8 p.m. local time on Thursday evening, Smith became the first person in history to be gassed with nitrogen.
Smith had been on death row since 1996 – convicted of a 1988 murder-for-hire where he was paid just $1,000 for killing Elizabeth Sennett, the wife of a preacher who ordered the murder.
This wasn't the first time the state tried to kill Smith.
At William C. Holman Prison in Alabama shortly after 8 p.m. local time on Thursday evening, Smith became the first person in history to be gassed with nitrogen.
This wasn't the first time the state tried to kill Smith. (Pictured: View from the witness gallery at Holman Prison, Alabama).
Smith (left) had been on death row since 1996 – convicted of a 1988 murder-for-hire in which he was paid just $1,000 for killing Elizabeth Sennett (right), the wife of a preacher who ordered the murder.
In November 2022, prison officials spent more than 90 minutes attempting to inject a lethal drug cocktail into Smith's veins, but failed.
Deanna also wore the same “Never Alone” shirt at the time.
A year later, Alabama Gov. Kay Ivey announced the state would try again — only this time with a controversial new method: nitrogen asphyxiation.
Alabama officials argued that the gas would incapacitate the convicts within minutes because it was administered using a face mask.
But opponents of nitrogen hypoxia, including the United Nations, have warned in recent months that the method could amount to human experimentation and even torture.
Author: Lee Hedgepeth.
The risks of a botched process are so high — including the possibility of you slipping into a vegetative state or choking on your own vomit — that it's not even commonly used to kill animals.
As an Alabama-based journalist, I have been reporting on the state's continued enforcement of the death penalty for nearly a decade.
Although it is technically legal in 27 states, only five people killed someone last year. Alabama was one of them.
Since the first failed attempt to kill Smith, I began following his case – meeting with his family and even getting to know him personally.
In the weeks before his death, Smith and his wife asked me if I would attend the nitrogen execution so that I could provide the first detailed account of this historic – and horrific – moment.
In the days and hours before his death, Kenneth Smith spent time with family and friends in the visiting room at Holman Prison.
There, surrounded by peeling paint and neon urinal deodorizers hanging on the walls as air fresheners, Smith's family cried as they held him.
“We did,” he told them with a bright smile.
On Thursday morning he refused breakfast. Prison officials reported he was slow to get up, even though he had been on the phone with Deanna since 6 a.m.
He met with his family one last time in the visiting room, where they read letters Smith had sent from around the world.
“In our chapel we pray for you every day,” wrote one correspondent.
In the days and hours before his death, Kenneth Smith spent time with family and friends in the visiting room at Holman Prison. There, surrounded by peeling paint and neon urinal deodorizers hanging on the walls as air fresheners, Smith's family cried as they held him. (Pictured: Smith's wife Deanna).
On Thursday morning he refused breakfast. Prison officials reported he was slow to get up, even though he had been on the phone with Deanna since 6 a.m. He met with his family one last time in the visiting room, where they read letters Smith had sent from around the world. (Pictured: Smith's designated pastor, Reverend Jeff Hood).
At about 9:20 a.m. Smith was brought his last meal: T-bone steak, cheese-covered hash browns and scrambled eggs from Waffle House.
He ate a little – and then offered the rest to his family.
“Let’s break bread together,” he said, pushing the tray into the middle of the cheap plastic table.
No food was allowed after 10 a.m. (an attempt to address concerns that Smith might vomit under the nitrogen mask).
But it wasn't until that afternoon – around 2:45 p.m. – that Smith's optimistic façade collapsed.
When his 78-year-old mother, Linda, began to cry, Smith also finally collapsed.
Deanna and the rest of the family watched blankly, unable to comfort her.
Smith's son Steven – from a previous relationship and only four years old when his father was jailed – sat with his head bowed. He said he suffers from migraines.
It started at 4 p.m.
The end of the visit was announced by a knock on the door. “Let’s go, guys,” the guard said flatly.
Smith's family and friends had formed a circle and held each other's hands. He went from person to person, hugging each one and telling them he loved them.
“This is my little girl,” he said as he reached his mother. “One of my first memories is of us running through the forest in front of my father.” We never had to do that. But she always looked after me.'
Smith's father was a violent alcoholic who often neglected or abused his wife and children. He died years ago.
Smith began to cry again and his mother squeezed his hand.
“You were my pride and joy,” she said. 'I love you.'
Smith stopped to pray, then asked his mother to lead him to the waiting guards.
They handcuffed him and took him away. Deanna signed “I love you” with her hands – index and pinky fingers raised, the other fingers pressed to the palm of her hand with her thumb.
At about 9:20 a.m. Smith was brought his last meal: T-bone steak, cheese-covered hash browns and scrambled eggs from Waffle House. He ate a little and then offered the rest to his family. “Let’s break bread together,” he said, pushing the tray into the middle of the cheap plastic table. (Pictured: Holman Prison).
It started at 4 p.m. The end of the visit was announced by a knock on the door. “Let’s go, guys,” the guard said flatly. They handcuffed him and took him away. Deanna signed “I love you” with her hands – index and pinky fingers raised, the other fingers pressed to the palm of her hand with her thumb. (Pictured: From top left – Smith's son Steven and his wife below him. Smith's mother Linda, his wife Deanna. His other son Michael and his wife).
A few hours later, the U.S. Supreme Court rejected Smith's final appeal.
At around 7:45 p.m. we gathered in the witness room of the execution chamber.
Smith's mother, Linda, was not present – he had asked that she not watch.
“STAY SIT AND CALM,” read the sign above the viewing window. The curtains were drawn.
Our room was dimly lit with salmon-colored light. About a dozen chairs in a small, tiled room. A single box of tissues on the windowsill.
Selected media representatives followed us.
The family of Smith's victim, Elizabeth Sennett, sat in an adjacent, separate room – with no press.
Then, at 7:53 p.m., the curtains opened to reveal the plain, white room, no larger than 10 by 10 feet, lit by bare fluorescent lights.
Smith was already strapped into a “Stryker” stretcher, his gas mask on and covering his entire face from forehead to chin. A brand name on the mask had been covered with tape.
Smith lay on his stomach, his arms outstretched to his sides, held in place by black buckles.
A silver cross hung around his neck. He was wearing his prison uniform – a dark brown shirt and pants marked “Alabama Department of Corrections.”
He looked at the viewing window and smiled.
Deanna and his son Steven both signed “I love you” again.
Despite the restrictions, Smith came back.
At about 7:55 p.m., a correctional officer without a name tag — one of three in the execution chamber along with Smith's designated priest, the Rev. Jeff Hood — removed a cap on the side of the gas mask and stuck a microphone into the wall.
The death warrant authorizing Smith's execution was then read – and Smith was asked to say the final words.
“Tonight, Alabama causes humanity to take a step back,” he said, before addressing his family and friends: “I leave with love, peace and light.” Thank you for the support. I love you all.'
It wasn't clear exactly when the nitrogen flow began, but after a few minutes Smith began to react violently.
Then, at 7:53 p.m., the curtains opened to reveal the plain, white room, no larger than 10 by 10 feet, lit by bare fluorescent lights. Smith was already strapped into a “Stryker” stretcher, his gas mask on and covering his entire face from forehead to chin. A brand name on the mask had been covered with tape.
I would describe the ordeal as the most violent execution I have ever witnessed. Others called it a “horror show.”
Smith began banging against the risers, his entire body and head jerking back and forth.
As he convulsed for several minutes, Deanna, sitting next to me, sobbed.
Smith appeared to be choking and retching in the mask. Every time he gasped for air, his body heaved against the restraints.
Slowly his movements became weaker.
Rev. Hood prayed the entire time, tears streaming down his face.
At one point, a correctional officer leaned over Smith and peered into his mask before quickly returning to his position at the back wall of the room.
Then Smith made his last visible effort to breathe and stopped.
We watched him lie motionless on the stretcher for about ten more minutes. His hand, which had previously flashed the “I love you” sign, was now clenched into a fist, his wedding ring glinting in the neon lights.
The curtains drew closed – and an official told a reporter the time of death: 8:25 p.m.
Smith's relatives sat in silence.
A journalist behind us was hastily leafing through a notebook and whispering something to a colleague.
Deanna turned around and asked calmly, “Does it bother you?”
Lee Hedgepeth writes the newsletter “Tread by Lee,” which reports on news from the southern United States.