The state of South Carolina carried out its first execution in 13 years on Friday evening, putting to death Freddie Eugene Owens, a 46-year-old convicted murderer whose case was marked by a brutal prison killing, a last-minute recantation from a key witness, and a spiritual transformation that led him to refuse choosing his own method of death. Owens was pronounced dead at 6:55 p. m.
at the Broad River Correctional Institution in Columbia after receiving a single dose of pentobarbital, ending a legal odyssey that spanned nearly three decades and left two families forever changed.
Owens, who also went by the name Khalil Divine Black Sun Allah after converting to Islam in 2015, was executed for the 1997 murder of Irene Graves, a 41-year-old single mother and gas station clerk in Greenville. The crime, which netted just $37. 29, was the first act of violence in a life that would spiral further into darkness just hours after his conviction.
But the execution itself was not without controversy, as Owens’ legal team filed an emergency motion just 48 hours prior, citing a sworn statement from his former co-defendant, Steven Golden, who now claimed he had lied under oath.
Golden, who testified in 1999 that Owens was the shooter, recanted his testimony, alleging that the real killer was another man he feared so deeply he refused to name him even decades later. The South Carolina Supreme Court dismissed the motion, ruling that Golden’s retraction was not credible, especially given Owens’ own multiple confessions to police, his mother, his girlfriend, and even in open court. The decision cleared the way for the execution to proceed, but it left a lingering question about the reliability of the evidence that sent Owens to death row.
The story of Freddie Eugene Owens begins long before the night of November 1, 1997, when he walked into a Greenville convenience store with Golden, both wearing masks. Born on March 18, 1978, to an 18-year-old mother, Owens was removed from his home at age five due to 𝓪𝓫𝓾𝓼𝓮 and neglect, bouncing through the foster care system before being returned to a violent household. He witnessed his grandmother shoot a man when he was just seven years old, and by his teenage years, he was diagnosed with antisocial personality disorder, a condition rooted in the trauma that defined his childhood.
On that cold November night, Owens and Golden entered the store where Graves was working a late shift. According to trial testimony, Owens pointed a gun at her and demanded she open the safe. When she could not, he shot her once in the head, killing her instantly.
The two men fled with the cash from the register, and Owens later bragged to his accomplices about what he had done. He was arrested 10 days later, and despite claiming innocence, the evidence mounted against him, including CCTV footage showing two masked men and testimony from multiple witnesses who said Owens confessed.
The trial in February 1999 lasted a week, and the jury returned a guilty verdict on February 15. But Owens did not wait for the death penalty hearing scheduled two days later. That same night, in a cramped cell at the Greenville County Jail, he attacked his cellmate, Christopher Brian Lee, a 28-year-old serving just 90 days for a traffic violation.
Owens claimed Lee taunted him about the conviction, but the violence that followed was beyond comprehension. He beat Lee, stabbed him in the throat and eye with a ballpoint pen, strangled him with a bed sheet, and then burned his eyes and hair with a lighter before forcing a pen into his nostril to suffocate him.
The next day, in open court, Owens confessed to the prison murder in chilling detail, showing no remorse. He was sentenced to death, and the case entered a decades-long appeals process that saw him convert to Islam, study Arabic, and write essays on African history. But as his execution date approached in 2024, Owens faced a spiritual dilemma.
Islam forbids suicide, and he believed choosing his method of execution would be an act of self-killing. He refused to select between lethal injection, the electric chair, or the newly authorized firing squad, leaving the decision to his attorney, who chose lethal injection.
On the day of his execution, Owens was served his final meal: two cheeseburgers, french fries, a well-done ribeye steak, six chicken wings, two strawberry sodas, and a slice of apple pie. He ate alone, without comment, and spent the afternoon in prayer with a Muslim spiritual adviser. He did not request any family visits.
As the clock ticked toward 6:36 p. m. , when the execution process began, Owens was strapped to the gurney.
His only words were a quiet “Bye” to his attorney, who responded in kind.
Witnesses reported that Owens closed his eyes and took several deep breaths as the pentobarbital entered his system. His breathing slowed, and slight facial twitches were observed for a few minutes before stopping entirely. At 6:54 p.
m. , a medical professional entered the chamber, checked for vital signs, and pronounced him dead. Family members of both Irene Graves and Christopher Lee were present, watching intently as the sentence was carried out.
For them, it was a moment of closure after 27 years of waiting.
But the execution did not come without a final twist. Owens’ legal team had argued that Golden’s recantation, combined with the lack of physical evidence linking Owens to the shooting, should have been enough to halt the proceedings. Golden, who was sentenced to 28 years for voluntary manslaughter in exchange for his testimony, now says he lied to save himself.
The South Carolina Supreme Court, however, noted that Owens had confessed multiple times, including to his mother and girlfriend, and that the CCTV footage showed a man in a ski mask, which Owens was identified as wearing.
The case has reignited debates about the death penalty in South Carolina, a state that had not executed anyone since 2011 due to a shortage of lethal injection drugs. The state recently authorized the firing squad as an alternative, and Owens’ refusal to choose highlighted the ethical complexities of capital punishment. His attorney argued that forcing a religious man to participate in his own death was unconstitutional, but the courts disagreed, ruling that the state had provided a lawful method of execution.
For the families of the victims, the execution brought a sense of finality. Irene Graves’ children, who were just children when their mother was killed, have spent their lives grappling with the loss. Christopher Lee’s family, too, has carried the weight of a death that should never have happened.
In a statement released after the execution, the Graves family said they hoped the event would allow them to begin healing, though they acknowledged that no execution could bring back the woman they lost.
Owens’ journey from a troubled child to a convicted murderer to a man of faith on death row is a stark reminder of the cycles of violence that can consume a life. His childhood was marked by 𝓪𝓫𝓾𝓼𝓮, neglect, and exposure to violence, factors that experts say contributed to his antisocial personality disorder. But the choices he made as an adult, the robbery, the murder of Irene Graves, and the brutal killing of Christopher Lee, sealed his fate.
In his final moments, he found solace in his faith, but he offered no apology to the families he had shattered.
The execution also highlighted the challenges of the justice system when key witnesses recant their testimony. Golden’s statement, filed just days before Owens was put to death, raised questions about the reliability of the evidence that sent him to death row. But the courts ultimately decided that the weight of Owens’ own confessions outweighed the recantation, a decision that will likely be debated for years to come.
As the sun set on Columbia on September 20, 2024, the state of South Carolina closed a chapter that had begun with a single gunshot in a convenience store. Freddie Eugene Owens was gone, but the echoes of his life and crimes will linger in the memories of those who knew him, those who prosecuted him, and those who watched him die. The execution was a stark reminder of the finality of the death penalty, a punishment that leaves no room for error, no chance for redemption, and no possibility of turning back.
