A second look at life

PHOTOS: Fred Lopez

A brush with death often makes people say, “I’m a different person.” The everyday tasks done without thought take on more importance and the value of family and friends is greatly increased. Life is a continuing story; you just never know when you’ll see “the end.”

We all seem to have a natural instinct to be afraid of death. It probably stems from fear of the unknown, but that’s something we face in everyday life when we go to a job interview, meet a stranger for the first time, or asked to do something that makes us naturally uncomfortable.

In these upcoming pages, you are going to read about one man who is a convicted killer and living life on death row inside a Florida state prison. Another man fell 16 feet off a ladder while demonstrating an act of faith in front of a church congregation. Despite their circumstances, both have come away realizing it’s more important to live rather than merely live forever. Because they feel their lives now have more meaning, they don’t waste their time perceiving death as the enemy of life.

Fall with Grace

Pastor Terry Mahan of The Father’s House in Leesburg prepared the congregation for the excitement that was about to ensue.

“You’re going to see something you’ve never seen before.”

Those words proved to be quite prophetic.

During a Sunday church service, member Lon Dowis was supposed to jump off a tall ladder; his only lifeline was a wire above him attached to his harness. To him, this would be the ultimate way to demonstrate his faith. Ironically, it was April Fool’s Day 2007, but what happened next was certainly no joke.

As he stood atop the ladder, he delivered a brief sermon and shouted to the congregation, “No guts! No glory!” He took a leap of faith.

The harness broke.

Lon fell 16 feet, 2 inches and landed on his chest.

Faith didn’t overcome a faulty harness, but it could possibly explain why Lon escaped relatively unscathed. In fact, the only injury he suffered was a bruised jaw.

“My doctor said I should’ve been dead,” Lon says. “Months leading up to this my wife had been praying in the event something went wrong. I’m glad she prayed. It’s definitely a God thing that I lived through that.”

In his youth, Lon was always a daredevil. He once performed a back flip off a football goal post and jumped 60 feet into a small body of water known as “Devil’s Hole” near Palatka.

But he slowed down with age. “Basically, I was just working and paying the bills,” says Lon, owner of The Upholstery Shoppe in Eustis. “Life had become kind of boring.”

That all changed after his accident at The Father’s House. The unexpected fall could have easily brought death; instead, it gave Lon new life.

“That accident made me realize that life is too short to just go to work everyday then go home and sleep. It was time to add some excitement to my life.”

Lon has done just that. Today, the 51-year-old competes in mud runs, frequents the gym, and dreams of one day opening a local zip line. And he recently applied to compete on NBC’s “American Ninja Warrior,” a show that requires competitors to perform death-defying stunts.

“People think Christians are boring. You can have a blast in life and still do what Christ wants you to do. People often ask me what I would do if money was no object. I tell them I’d build a zip line and swing through the redwood trees in California for an entire week.”

Living with Dying

Guard towers, steel gates, barbed-wire fences, and concrete buildings lead visitors of Union Correctional Institution to Florida’s worst crop of male criminals.

It’s here where inmate Jason Wheeler, 40, discovered life in the most unlikely of places—death row. That’s been his home for nearly a decade.

A burly man who’s built like an offensive lineman and sports a buzz cut, Wheeler rarely thinks about being executed and leaving behind his mother and two children.

“I don’t think about dying. There’s an inmate two cells down from me who has been on death row for 37 years. Another inmate in Wing 5 has been on death row for 40 years and just got another trial. I’m still alive and would rather concentrate my thoughts on living.”

Paralyzed and confined to a wheelchair, Wheeler spends most of his time reading his Bible. He says his spirituality helped him discover a sense of freedom—freedom from the morally bankrupt, cold-blooded killer he once was.

“I just want to be the best man I can be with however much time the Father allows me to have. As rebellious as I was against authority, I have switched teams. Now I’m rebellious against the evil things in this world.”

His words seem genuine, but there might be justification for taking what he says with a dose of guarded skepticism.  After all, what kind of man aims a shotgun at a complete stranger and pulls the trigger?

That’s what Wheeler did in February 2005 when three deputies responded to a domestic violence call at his Paisley home. Deputy Wayne Koester, 34, was fatally shot and two others were injured. Later that day, Wheeler fired on law enforcement officers tracking him through the Ocala National Forest. This time, Wheeler was shot and paralyzed.

After being sentenced to death, Wheeler attempted to expedite the process.

“Inside I already felt dead. In fact, I was much closer to death at that point than I am now. I tried to commit suicide three times—once by hanging myself, once by wrapping a plastic bag around my head, and once by choking myself with a cord. Each attempt failed. I realized after the third attempt that I’m still here for a reason.”

Thinking back, he says those near-death experiences ultimately gave him a newfound outlook on life and sparked a relationship with God. Faith helped him deal with his demons.

“I wasn’t a wise individual. I had very little wisdom, knowledge, and discernment. I re-evaluated who I am, what got me here, and the mistakes I made. There is no rehab here on death row, so it’s up to you to decide whether you want to become a better human being.”

Death row at Union Correctional Institution is a lonely yet crowded world where more than 300 male inmates are housed alone in tiny cells. Wheeler spends nearly every waking moment inside his cell—except for two times a week when he is allowed in the rec yard or when he receives occasional visits from his mother, stepfather, and son.

He spreads his newfound faith across the globe by writing anti-death row advocates from as far away as England, Switzerland, and France.

“My letters are more like sermons,” he says. “I rarely talk about anything secular. Most inmates in here center their conversations around food, sex, and money. Those things don’t interest me anymore.”

By no means does that take away from his guilt.

“I’d just like to ask the people of Lake County for forgiveness.”