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In 1986, after 12 years on Death Row, Billy Sunday Burt's execution was stayed by the governor,

meaning the death sentence would not be carried out as planned.

Over the years, Burt would have eight separate stays of execution like this.

The bittersweet story of how Stony was allowed to spend eight hours alone with his father

in his prison cell the night before the planned execution made me wonder how I would handle the

same situation, or could I even handle it. What would I say to my father? I mean think about it for a

minute. What would you say to a loving parent, a husband or wife, in the final hours of their life

before being put to death by electric chair? Enough times passed where I can maintain my

composure. When it catches me, when it sneaks up on me, not when I get up in the mornings and I

go fix me a cup of coffee and I'm sitting there by myself contemplating the day and all of a sudden

this song comes on like precious memory at Roy Acuff pops on there and bam it hits me and I go back

you said that's what takes me out. That's getting to be less and less frequent. I'm able to compose

and keep control of myself to the power of ten better than I was a year ago.

Over the next several years, Billy's relationship both with God and Sheriff Lee would continue to

grow stronger. Lee would routinely make the drive to whatever federal prison Burt had been moved to

and pick him up under the pretense of questioning him about murders in his county. In reality,

it was so that Burt's family could spend time with him in the smaller local jail we oversaw.

Up at that time, the 20 times he'd already wouldn't get my father from married, from

Reesville, from Alto, from Jackson. Each time he went, he sent him to the warden. He needed him,

uh, talked to him about this crime or that crime and all that had to be done by Sheriff then was

...