Sundowners: Auburn Prison (Auburn, New York, c. 1880s)

After a long day’s work, two convicts loaf around their solitary cells, enjoying the sundowners penetrating the windows of Auburn Prison’s B-block in this c. 1880s stereo-view by an unknown photographer. Whoever took the picture managed to capture, for posterity, a dull moment in the highly regimented schedule of convicts that included marches, counts, and a long day of work.

If it seems quiet, that is because prison personnel eliminated idle talk by strictly enforcing a code of silence at all times, even at mealtimes. When they moved, they moved as a group in a neatly synced movement of military precision. To maintain the rhythm and consistency, each man placed his hand on the shoulder of the man in front of him. With heads bowed, the line crawled, like a centipede, toward the shop, the mess hall, or wherever.

After a day’s labor, the centipede returned to the cellblock, each man to his solitary cells. Unlike today’s prisons, they did not double-up or share quarters. One man, one cell. It is at this moment when the unknown photographer captured this image.

The prison couture included black-and-white striped uniforms and matching caps that would set the standard for prisons throughout the United States.

Auburn would set the standard in more than just fashion as the first U.S. prison to execute a convict in the hot seat.

After testing the new-fangled device on a horse the night before, convicted ax-murderer William Kemmler went to the chair on August 6, 1890—about the approximate timeframe in which this photograph was taken.

Kemmler’s execution was not a smooth affair.

Among the witnesses was a New York Times journalist, who described the moment the switch was thrown: “Simultaneously with the click of the lever the body of the man in the chair straightened. Every muscle of it seemed to be drawn to its highest tension…the body was as rigid as though cast in bronze, save for the index finger of the right hand, which closed up so tightly that the blood trickled out on the arm of the chair.

After a few seconds, the prison physician proclaimed Kemmler dead. Then, suddenly, someone in the audience noticed his chest breathing.

“Great God! He is alive!”

Another witness yelled, “Turn on the current.”

“For God’s sake,” another reported pleaded, “kill him and have it over.”

Although Kemmler was for all intents and purposes dead, the prison authorities overcompensated, leaving the juice on for an estimated four minutes.

The Times reporter noticed the scalp around the electrodes was scorched. “The stench was unbearable,” he remarked.

The entire affair was a bit of an embarrassment to Auburn prison officials, who worked hard to maintain order and discipline in the facility.

Practice makes perfect, and in the years following Kemmler’s execution, the prison’s executioners would have plenty of practice.