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NC Coalition for Alternatives to the Death Penalty

Committed to ending the death penalty and creating a new vision of justice

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Guy LeGrande

Learn more: People with intellectual disabilities and mental illness are unfairly sentenced

Guy LeGrande
Guy LeGrande, second from right, with his family as a child

As a jury weighed whether to sentence him to death, Guy LeGrande stood before them wearing a Superman T-shirt and made a non-sensical speech that concluded with the declaration that they should “pull the damn switch and shake that groove thing.” A state psychiatrist had deemed him psychotic, yet the judge allowed him to fire his court-appointed lawyers and represent himself at trial. The jury deliberated for 53 minutes before condemning him to death.

Guy LeGrande, who has been on death row since 1996, is perhaps the most striking example of the lack of protections afforded to people with mental illness in North Carolina’s capital punishment system. Before his trial, a psychiatrist at a state mental facility examined Guy and found that he had “narcissistic, grandiose, and hypomanic traits” and prescribed anti-psychotic medication.

Guy stood accused of the 1993 contract killing of Ellen Munford, a white Stanly County woman whose estranged husband, Tommy Munford, promised to pay Guy $6,500 for the murder. Tommy Munford gave Guy a gun, dropped him off in the woods next to the home, and picked up his two children so his wife would be alone. Tommy Munford received a life sentence for plotting the murder.

During trial, Guy, who is African-American, became more and more agitated as three separate witnesses referred to him as a “n****r.” The Stanly County prosecutor trying his case was well-known for wearing a lapel pin in the shape of a noose, and distributing them to his staff as morale-boosters when they won death sentences. Guy made outrageous statements to the prosecutor and others, claiming, among other things, that Oprah Winfrey and Dan Rather were sending him messages over the television. He called the jurors “antichrists.”

Lawyers appointed to be on “standby” to assist Guy were so troubled by his bizarre behavior that they filed a motion arguing he was not competent to represent himself.  When the judge asked Guy what he had to say, he tore the document in half. The judge then allowed the trial to proceed.

During the crucial penalty phase of the trial, Guy’s incoherent ramblings culminated in this antagonistic argument to the jury:

Hell ain’t deep enough for you people.  But you remember when you arrive, say my name, Guy Tobias LeGrande.  For I shall be waiting. And each and every one of you will be mine for all eternity.  And we shall dance in my house. And you will worship me and proclaim me Lord and master.  But for right now, all you so-called good folks can kiss my natural black ass in the showroom of Helig Meyers. Pull the damn switch and shake that groove thing.

Not only did Guy serve as his own lawyer at trial, the N.C. courts also allowed him to represent himself in post-conviction proceedings. He waived those appeals. In 2007, after more than a decade on death row, a Superior Court Judge finally declared Guy  incompetent to be executed, requiring him to stay on death row until a time when he may be rendered competent and then executed. His lawyers’ requests for clemency have been ignored, and he remains on death row.

Filed Under: Mental Illness

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NCCADP
3326 Durham-Chapel Hill Blvd.
Building D, Suite 201
Durham, NC 27707
noel@nccadp.org
919-404-7409

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Pauli Murray said it best: "Hope is a song in a we Pauli Murray said it best: "Hope is a song in a weary throat."

We honor those who came before us – Black, queer, Southern leaders like Pauli Murray – who knew that fighting the death penalty is fighting for justice.

Their work laid the foundation. Ours is to carry it forward.
On this Juneteenth we invite you to learn about an On this Juneteenth we invite you to learn about and advocate for #EndTheException, a campaign of @worthrises, to pass the Abolition Amendment. 

People who are incarcerated and detained across our country are disproportioately Black and Brown and forced to work for pennies an hour to no pay at all under the threat of additional punitive measures, such as the loss of family visits and solitary confinement.
Ten years ago today, nine Black worshippers were m Ten years ago today, nine Black worshippers were murdered during a Bible study at Emanuel AME Church in Charleston, South Carolina. Ten years. A measure of time that cannot touch the grief or honor the grace of those left behind.

We remember the names of those whose lives were taken: Cynthia Graham Hurd, Susie Jackson, Ethel Lee Lance, Rev. DePayne Middleton-Doctor, Rev. Clementa Pickney, Tywanza Sanders, Rev. Daniel Simmons, Rev. Sharonda Coleman-Singleton, and Myra Thompson.

Among those grieving is our friend and fierce partner in this work, Rev. Sharon Risher, who lost family and friends on that day. In the decade since, Rev. Risher has spoken the unspeakable aloud on stages, in sanctuaries, and on pages inked with her truth. Her book, For Such a Time as This: Hope and Forgiveness after the Charleston Massacre, does not simplify the complexity of grief or forgiveness. Instead, she invites us to hold them both, trembling, in our hands.

Last year, Rev. Risher joined us in North Carolina and offered a living example of how to walk through fire and still find language for love. She continues to teach us what it means to mourn collectively, to resist hate, to believe that justice without compassion is incomplete. Rev. Risher is a powerful advocate for gun violence prevention and abolishing the death penalty.

This piece from USA Today traces what ten years have – and haven’t – changed (link also in bio): https://www.usatoday.com/story/news/politics/2025/06/16/charleston-black-church-emanuel-massacre-anniversary/84186073007/?fbclid

Today we honor the lives lost, the families forever changed, and the communities that carry their memory. And we give thanks for people like Rev. Risher, who show us again and again that remembrance is a sacred act and love is a kind of protest too.

(Photos of Rev. Risher speaking at last year’s NCCADP commemoration of 18 years since North Carolina’s last execution.)
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