Jonathan Stephenson’s Appeal for Harold Nichols
When you speak with a man on death row…even over a phone line distorted by static and prison time limits…you learn quickly that life is far more nuanced than headlines can allow for. Case files and trial transcripts can record a person’s worst moments…but they can’t record what came before or after…the decades of transformation, the friendships forged in confinement, the quiet decency that persists even when the world is determined to kill.
Last night, I spoke with longtime Tennessee death row prisoner Jonathan Stephenson, one of my guys that I work with. He’s known Harold Nichols for over thirty years. I wanted to hear what Jonathan would say about the man Tennessee intends to kill next week. I wanted to hear about the real Harold…the one beyond the headlines.
Meeting Harold Nichols, aka “Red”
“I first met Harold back in the early 1990s,” Jonathan said not long after the automated voice announced that our call had begun. “He came to death row just a couple weeks after I got here. His number was right behind mine.” Even across the phone line, I could hear the affection in his voice. “He was quiet. Thoughtful. You could feel it before he said anything. Even before I got to know him, I sensed he was different.”
Jonathan was transferred off death row for a time and placed in general population, but he returned in 2002. Their friendship resumed instantly. “We picked right back up,” he said. “No gap. No awkwardness. For twenty three, twenty four years straight, we lived together. Same pod. Same meals. Same work areas.”
They called him Red…but because of his red hair. “He’s got that bushy red hair. Of course, it’s mostly grey now.” Then he added, warmly, “He’s one of the most unselfish people you’ll ever meet. If he sees you need something…anything…he’ll help. Quietly. No show. That’s who he is.”
Harold Nichols Steady, Peaceful Presence on Death Row
Jonathan described a man who anchored the unit. “I’ve never once known him to get into contraband,” he told me. “Never known him to be involved in anything dangerous or subversive…not one time in thirty-plus years.”
Instead, Harold spent his time fixing things…he’s an excellent plumber…and teaching arts and crafts. “He’s an unbelievable artist,” Jonathan said. “One of the best I’ve ever seen. He brings beauty to a place that tries to crush it.”
I’ve listened to many men on death row talk about the people they live with. Sincerity is unmistakable, and Jonathan is sincere. He wasn’t sugarcoating anything. He was simply describing the man he has known for decades. “He’s normal,” Jonathan said. “Normal in a place where normal is rare. I’ve met men in population…men who will never face execution…who are ten times more dangerous than Harold Nichols.”
Harold Nichols and The Weight of an Approaching Execution
When I asked what Harold’s impending execution has done to him personally, Jonathan’s voice softened. “I miss him already,” he said. “And he’s not even gone yet. When you live in here, a friend is everything.”
As a spiritual advisor, I often find myself standing between two worlds…the official world, where the state insists that death is justice, and the lived world inside these prisons, where men like Harold Nichols spend decades becoming unrecognizably different from the young men they were when they first arrived in prison. Harold’s crime happened well over thirty years ago. The person who committed it no longer exists in any moral or spiritual sense.
The man who remains is a teacher, a tradesman, an artist, a Christian, a friend…a man who has done everything we say we want people to do…reflect, repent, grow, transform. Yet, we are still determined to kill him. Why? Why not take a second to hear Jonathan out?
“I’ve spoken with Harold for decades. I’ve prayed with him. I’ve witnessed his faith and the sincerity behind it. I’ve seen how his presence affects the men around him. If redemption is real…and I believe it is…then Harold Nichols is living proof.”
A Plea to Governor Bill Lee
As our call neared its end and the automated voice warned, “You have one minute remaining,” I asked Jonathan what he would say to Governor Bill Lee if he had the chance.
He didn’t hesitate.
“Please commute his sentence. Please give him life. Please don’t kill him. He doesn’t deserve to die. That was decades ago. He isn’t that person anymore.” Then, with a quiet urgency that cut through the static: “Please don’t take my friend.”
A Pastor’s Final Reflection
I write this as a pastor, as someone who has walked too many men to the edge of state violence, and as someone who has seen the dignity and depth that survive even in the darkest corners of our justice system. I also write as someone who believes with all my heart that a person is always more than the worst thing they’ve ever done.
The State of Tennessee plans to kill Harold “Red” Nichols. But one of the people who knows him the best…who has lived beside him for decades…knows a different man. A better man. A changed man.
And that should matter.
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