The final public execution in the United States took place on August 14, 1936, in Owensboro, Kentucky. Rainey Bethea, a 22-year-old Black man convicted of rape and murder, was hanged before a crowd of 20,000 spectators. The event, intended as a deterrent, turned into a grotesque spectacle that marked the end of an era.
Bethea’s case was fraught with controversy. He confessed to the rape of 70-year-old Lischia Edwards but denied her murder. Despite doubts about his guilt, he was swiftly convicted and sentenced to death. What made the execution infamous, however, was its public nature. Kentucky law required executions to be carried out by the sheriff of the county where the crime occurred. In this case, the sheriff was Florence Thompson, the first woman to hold the position in Kentucky. Her involvement drew national attention, with newspapers dubbing her the “Hangwoman.”
The execution was a media frenzy. Reporters flocked to Owensboro, and vendors sold souvenirs like popcorn and lemonade. The crowd, described as rowdy and carnival-like, included children and families. Bethea’s hanging was botched; the drop was too short, leading to a slow, agonizing death. Witnesses reported hearing his neck crack as he struggled.
The backlash was immediate. Newspapers condemned the spectacle, calling it barbaric and outdated. Public opinion shifted, and states began moving executions behind prison walls. By the 1940s, private executions became the norm, ending a centuries-old tradition of public punishment.
Bethea’s execution remains a dark chapter in U.S. history, highlighting issues of race, justice, and morality. It’s a reminder that justice, when performed as entertainment, loses its meaning. Today, public executions are unthinkable, but their legacy lingers in debates over capital punishment and transparency.
So, next time you hear about a high-profile trial, remember Rainey Bethea. His death wasn’t just the end of a life—it was the end of an era. And if you ever doubt the power of public opinion, consider this: sometimes, change comes from the most unlikely places. Even a popcorn stand.
