Ronald Gene Simmons Executed For Slaughtering 14 Family Members | Final Words & Last Meal

Ronald Gene Simmons Executed For Slaughtering 14 Family Members | Final Words & Last Meal

36 years ago on a remote 13 acre property in the Arkansas River Valley, the bodies of 14 people, including eight children, [music] were discovered by the Pope County Sheriff’s Office. This is without a doubt one of the most chilling execution cases in the history of the United States.

 It’s the story of a man who killed 14 members of his own family, leaving a small town in Arkansas shocked and horrified. Ronald Jean Simmons. He committed acts so brutal, so unfathomable that the law didn’t hesitate, the jury didn’t hesitate, and even he couldn’t fully explain why he did it. But before we reach the moment his life ended in the death chamber, we need to go back to the days, hours, and decisions that led to one of the deadliest families in US history.

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 The question was, was he driven by madness? Let’s find out. This is the story of a man whose life on the surface seemed orderly, disciplined, and even admirable. Ronald Jean Simmons was born on July 15th, 1940 in Chicago, Illinois, the second son of Loretta and William Simmons. He had an older sister, Nancy, and a younger half-brother, Peter, who arrived after his mother remarried a man named William D. Griffin.

Tragedy struck early. Simmons father died of a stroke when Ronald was just 2 years old. By the time he was six, the family had moved to Arkansas, following Griffin’s work with the Army Corps of Engineers. A childhood marked by relocation, discipline, and tension would quietly mold the man he would become.

 From a young age, Ronald exhibited a darkness that made even family members uneasy. By 10, he had developed a reputation as a bully, tormenting his sister Nancy and his half-brother, Peter. Relatives later recounted how he seemed to instinctively detect weakness, exploiting it relentlessly. Animals were not spared. Family pets became targets for his cruelty, beaten until they fought back.

 His sister-in-law described him as egocentric, quick to anger, a man who never shouldered blame for his own misdeeds. Attempts by his parents to correct his behavior, sending him to live with friends during summers, enrolling him at the Morris School for Boys, a Catholic boarding school, did little to curb his violent tendencies.

 At 17, he dropped out of school and enlisted in the United States Navy. By November 1957, he was stationed in Guam, where he earned his GED. A few years later, he met Bersab Rebecca Becky Ulibari at a USO dance in Breton, Washington. They married in 1960, beginning a union that would produce seven children over the next 18 years.

Simmons left the Navy in 1962 and immediately joined the US Air Force, eventually achieving the rank of Master Sergeant after over 20 years of service. His career was largely administrative, yet it was marked by accolades. The Bronze Star, the Vietnam Gallantry Cross, and recognition for marksmanship. On paper, his life was one of honor and success, a disciplined serviceman, decorated, respected.

 But behind the uniform, the facade of order, there was a man who demanded absolute control. Becky’s own family had warned her repeatedly about Simmons temper and his need to dominate. She ignored the warnings and she would come to live under his strict rules. No makeup, hair tied back, long dresses. She could not drive, could not have a phone, and all correspondence with her family was monitored or censored.

 Even when she managed to mail letters, Simmons forced her to rely on strangers to deliver them. Becky’s own sense of self eroded under his authority. She was intelligent, resourceful, but Simmons had convinced her that every failure, every imperfection was her fault. Those who saw them together would later describe a household frozen under the weight of his control, where fear and compliance were the law of the land.

From 1976 to 1981, the Simmons family lived in New Mexico on a remote property near Cloudcraftoft. Simmons work at a high security observatory kept him away from civilian oversight, giving him autonomy and authority over his immediate world. As the senior enlisted man, he oversaw top secret operations and maintained strict discipline among his small staff, echoing the control he exercised at home.

 The isolation, both geographic and emotional, allowed him to expand his sphere of dominance, with Becky and their children existing under his complete authority. By 1981, cracks in his facade became public. Allegations emerged that Simmons had sexually abused his eldest daughter, Sheila, fathering a child with her.

 The family, already confined under his rules, was thrust into an impossible situation. Social services attempted to intervene. The district attorney became involved. And yet, through intimidation and legal loopholes, Simmons continued to assert dominance, insisting the family would raise the child he had fathered. Authorities documented multiple occurrences of abuse.

 Yet for reasons of miscommunication and oversight, intervention was delayed, leaving the family trapped in a controlled, oppressive, and increasingly dangerous environment. This is the world Ronald Jean Simmons had built, a life of structure and achievement on the surface, but underneath a landscape of fear, control, and hidden transgressions.

A man admired for his military service, yet terrifying in private. A husband, a father, a stepfather whose need for dominance would only grow, quietly shaping the circumstances that would one day explode into unimaginable violence. In 19 81, Ronald Jean Simmons and his family began attending counseling sessions after allegations surfaced that he had sexually abused his eldest daughter, Sheila.

For 5 weeks, the family tried to navigate the tension, attending meetings with social workers. But by June, the sessions ended. Simmons’s lawyer had warned him that anything said in counseling could be used against him in court. And so, just as quietly as they had begun, the family withdrew from outside scrutiny.

 But the damage, the threat of exposure, and the fear simmered beneath the surface. By midJune, the district attorney referred the matter to the sheriff’s office, beginning an official investigation. Deputy Jeff Farmer arrived at the Simmons property on June 20th to meet Sheila and her mother, Becky. Sheila refused to make a statement.

 Neighbors, friends, and teachers noticed the tension in the household. School principal Everett Banister, who delivered assignments to Sheila at home, later recalled that Simmons behavior toward his daughter had been unsettling. He remembered seeing Sheila sitting close to her father in a way that felt unnatural, intimate in the wrong sense, like a boyfriend and girlfriend rather than father and daughter.

 Others who observed the family agreed. Simmons had an odd, unsettling presence. A man who dominated and controlled, yet hid his darkness behind the image of a disciplined, decorated military career. By July, the investigation had stalled. Farmers interviews with the family revealed little. The younger children refused to discuss the allegations.

 The mother tried to shield them, and the family appeared superficially cooperative. Sheila herself ignored a grand jury subpoena until threatened with contempt of court. When she finally testified in August, she broke down crying, reluctant to condemn her father, yet forced to recount that he had abused her on multiple occasions.

 The revelations led to criminal charges in New Mexico. But by the time authorities arrived to execute the arrest warrant, the Simmons family had vanished. They moved quietly, disappearing from the state, leaving behind a trail that officials could not immediately trace. The charges were eventually conditionally dismissed, leaving Simmons free and undetected, his legal slate clean.

 No record in the FBI database, no active warrants, nothing to alert the outside world to the danger he posed. To most people he appeared just another military retiree, a quiet man with a family, quietly relocating to begin a new chapter. But those who lived in the Simmons household knew otherwise. Control, fear, and intimidation were his law.

In September 1981, Simmons arrived in Ward, Arkansas, taking a temporary filing job at the Veterans Hospital. Life seemed normal on the surface, but beneath it, his family structure had nearly collapsed. His eldest son refused to move, staying behind in New Mexico, while Becky and the younger children adjusted to a new routine under Simmons tight control.

Even then, disturbing events continued. Simmons impregnated Sheila a second time, the pregnancy ending in a miscarriage. Every move, every decision was dictated by Simmons, his hand pressing down harder on the family, his authority unquestioned. By June 1983, the family settled on a 14 acre tract in Pope County, a property they would call Mockingbird Hill.

Simmons control over the household intensified. A barbed wire fence rose around the property. A no trespassing sign warned away neighbors. The home itself was isolated, a mobile home with small rooms, a broken toilet, and heating only from a single wood stove. The family could not communicate freely with the outside world.

 Phones were disconnected, letters censored, and Becky forbidden from leaving the property unaccompanied. Simmons isolationist tactics were complete. The family trapped, dependent, and under constant supervision. Within those walls, the tension was palpable. Simmons spent most of his time alone in a locked bedroom no one could enter.

 He demanded heavy labor from his children, hauling 5gallon containers of dirt to maintain the steep driveway. Neighbors rarely saw him. Those who did described an unsmiling man with a piercing stare, always watching, always measuring, always in control. Family members who might have once imagined a way out, felt trapped.

 Friends and relatives were kept at a distance. By the time Christmas approached, the stage was fully set. A family fractured by fear, isolation, and secrecy, with a man whose need for domination would soon explode into unthinkable violence. At Mockingbird Hill, the shadows of control, secrecy, and simmering rage grew long, stretching across the home and into the hearts of the children.

 Life on the outside seemed ordinary. Life inside the Simmons household was anything but. Each day, each task, each command from Simmons reinforced the invisible walls that trapped the family. And as winter settled over Pope County, the house stood quiet, deceptively calm, hiding the storm that would soon erupt in one of the deadliest and most horrifying acts of familial violence in modern US history.

The Christmas season of 1987 should have been a time of warmth, laughter, and family gatherings for the Simmons household. Becky Simmons had sent out Christmas cards to her siblings, each with a handwritten letter inside. Her sister, Edith Nesby, recalled Becky’s excitement. She was looking forward to having all her children and grandchildren together for the holiday.

The family’s home at Mockingbird Hill, a secluded 14acre property in Pope County, Arkansas, was quiet, the snowdusted land stretching far beyond the reach of neighbors. To the outside world, the Simmonses seemed like any other family preparing for Christmas. Inside, tension and control simmered beneath a carefully constructed veneer of domestic normaly.

Ronald Jean Simmons had been preparing for this moment for weeks. He owned three firearms, a long-barreled Ruger 22 caliber revolver and a Winchester 243 rifle, relics from his Air Force days, and a snub-nosed Harrington and Richardson revolver purchased at a Walmart in Russellville just a few years prior.

 These weapons, once objects of distant utility, would soon be instruments of calculated violence. The family’s home, already isolated and fortified with barbed wire, became the perfect stage for the horror Simmons was planning. Weeks before Christmas, he had instructed his children to dig a large hole on the property.

 The task had seemed mundane, a chore to prepare a new outhouse. None of them suspected that it would become a grave. On the morning of December 22nd, 1987, Simmons began his murderous spree. The first victims were those closest to him, his wife Becky, and his eldest son, Jean. They were bludgeoned and shot in their own home, the violence shocking in its precision.

 Moments later, his three-year-old granddaughter, Barbara, was strangled, her small body dropped into the pit dug weeks earlier. One by one, Simmons awaited the return of his other children from school. Each unsuspecting, each a target of his methodical rage. Loretta, Eddie, Maryanne, and 8-year-old Becky were individually strangled, their heads submerged in a filled trash barrel until they no longer struggled.

 The children were left wearing school clothes, small remnants of innocence. Loretta with cuts on her face from a desperate struggle, Eddie with a lunch ticket in his pocket. Barrettes still in the girl’s hair. Gum stuck between teeth. A haunting snapshot of a normal day turned monstrous. Once the family killings at home were complete, Simmons plans shifted to the outside world.

 He would not be confined to his property. Christmas had passed, but Simmons meticulous planning extended to the first workday after the holiday weekend. On December 26th, the rest of his family arrived at Mockingbird Hill for what would have been a joyful reunion. Billy and his wife Ranata were shot dead, followed by their 20-month-old son Trey, strangled and drowned.

 Sheila, his daughter, who he had long abused, was shot, as was her husband, Dennis McNelte. Her children, 7-year-old Sylvia Gail, and 21-month-old Michael, were both strangled. The bodies were arranged in neat rows in the lounge, carefully covered, some wrapped in plastic. a grotesque tableau of a family obliterated.

 After ensuring that no one remained alive in his home, Simmons ventured into Russellville. Armed with two revolvers, he methodically pursued former co-workers and neighbors. His first stop was the Peele Eddie and Gibbons law firm, where Kathy Kribbons Kendrick, who had once rejected him, was shot four times in the head.

 Next, he drove to an oil company office, killing James David Chaffen and wounding the owner, Russell Taylor. From there, he went to the Sinclair Mini Mart, shooting the owner, David Sier, and employee Robera Woolery. Sier later recalling that Simmons had been grinning as he fired. Finally, Simmons arrived at the Woodline Motor Freight Company, where he shot his former supervisor, Joyce Buts, leaving her permanently injured, and forced employee Vicky Jackson to call the police.

 Every step of his journey was premeditated, precise, and terrifyingly calm. By the end of the day, the Simmons family, once outwardly normal and quietly isolated, had been transformed into a scene of unimaginable horror. What had started as a Christmas gathering had become a meticulous, merciless act of mass murder, leaving behind bodies, shattered lives, and a community struggling to comprehend how one man could methodically annihilate everyone he claimed to love.

The man who had once been a decorated Air Force master sergeant, respected for decades of service, had transformed into a methodical, merciless killer, leaving a trail of blood and horror that would haunt Arkansas forever. When the police arrived in Russellville, the tension of the previous days crystallized into a single moment.

 Chief Herb Johnston entered the office alone, unarmed, and confronted the man who had terrorized the town and devastated his own family. Ronald Jean Simmons, calm and composed, handed over an H&R model 929 22 caliber revolver without resistance. In a paper bag on the desk lay the Ruger, another weapon used in his deadly spree.

 Ballistics later confirmed that the pistol surrendered to Johnston had killed five of a Simmons relatives. Johnston later recalled walking Simmons to the patrol car. He asked him, “Why didn’t you kill yourself?” Simmons answer was chillingly practical. “He feared making a mess of it,” he said, not wanting to end up a vegetable.

 Simmons own attorney would later confirm the man’s twisted logic. John Harris testified that Simmons had never intended to survive the rampage in Russellville. He had planned to take his life afterward, but the act of killing had proved more difficult than anticipated. He shot seven people. Only two of them died, Harris explained.

 Despite years of military service and a marksmanship ribbon, Simmons claimed he was not familiar with firearms beyond his training. For 45 minutes, he had wielded two revolvers with frightening precision, leaving two dead, four wounded, and briefly holding a hostage. On December 29th, 1987, Simmons was quiet in his cell.

 Sheriff Bolan observed him lying in his bunk, face to the wall, utterly withdrawn. At a probable cause hearing, Simmons refused to answer even the simplest questions. Frustrated, the judge ordered him held without bond and appointed John Harris and Robert Doc Irwin as his defense attorneys. By December 30th, prosecutors formally filed charges.

 Two counts of capital murder and four counts of attempted murder in Russellville alone. They indicated intentions to eventually charge him with the deaths of his 14 family members, laying the groundwork for one of the most extensive murder cases in American history. The investigation quickly broadened. The FBI joined local authorities, bringing their expertise in tracing outofstate witnesses and conducting background checks.

 Simmons safe deposit box opened multiple times during the Christmas holidays was immediately sealed. By January 15th, 1988, Simmons faced two additional counts of capital murder. one for the seven family members killed before Christmas, the other for those murdered on December 26th. Ballistics confirmed that five family members had been killed with the 22 caliber revolver he surrendered.

Prosecutors explained that the killings were two separate episodes, distinct in both planning and execution. Despite past criminal investigations in New Mexico, including incest charges against his daughter, Simmons had passed a military background check in 1982 when he was employed as a personnel clerk at the Fifth Army’s Little Rock Battalion recruiting office.

 No red flags had been raised, leaving him free to commit his atrocities years later. The next step was confronting the horrors he left behind at home. Simmons refused to speak about his family. Sheriff Bolan, aware of the witness’s claims and seeing tears in Simmons eyes, decided an emergency search was necessary.

 The Broomfield Road house, 15 mi north of Russellville, was entered shortly before 300 p.m. through an unlocked window after the sliding glass door had been barricaded. Deputy Ray Caldwell, accompanied by a borrowed video camera, documented the scene room by room. The first discovery was a chilling confirmation of death. William and Ranata Simmons, Sheila and Dennis McNelte, and their daughter Sylvia, all dead, all killed instantly upon arrival.

 Our Jean Simmons room, the last to be entered, was locked. Behind the door, officers found shelves of books, imported beer, and gourmet food. Evidence of the man’s obsession with control and indulgence. The house’s electricity had been cut, and the Christmas tree still bore unopened presents. Gifts lay hidden in closets, untouched, a silent testament to the lives that had been extinguished.

A search of the property revealed a freshly dug pit 3′ 4 in wide and 6’2 in long. Seven bodies buried together were unearthed. The remaining children found in two cars at the edge of the property completed the grim tally. 14 victims, six shot, eight strangled. Fish stringers, cords typically used for fishing, were among the tools of death.

Walls and ceilings bore evidence of furious blows. Holes punched by hammers or other heavy implements, a testament to Simmons unbridled rage. Autopsies revealed the methodical cruelty. Becky Simmons had been shot twice in the head. Jean Jr. four times in the head and once in the abdomen.

 Sheila six times in the head. Dennis once. William twice. Ranatada five times in the head and twice in the neck. The minor victims had been strangled, their deaths deliberate and merciless. Ballistics tests later linked the 22 caliber revolver used in Russellville shootings to the killings of family members, tying together a murderous chain of events that spanned days.

 By the start of 1988, Simmons had been fully charged, and the evidence against him was overwhelming. His calm surrender, the discovery of his meticulous preparations, and the horrifying aftermath at Mockingbird Hill painted the picture of a man both methodical and monstrously cruel. What had started as whispers of abuse and control decades earlier had escalated into a tragedy beyond imagination, leaving law enforcement, prosecutors, and a nation to grapple with the incomprehensible scale of his crimes.

The autopsy results confirmed the horrifying extent of Ronald Jean Simmons crimes. His victims died either from gunshot wounds or strangulation. On December 22nd, 1987, Simmons killed his wife, Becky Simmons, 46, and his eldest son, Ronald Jean Simmons Jr., 26, with gunshots. his three-year-old granddaughter, Barbara Sue Simmons, and his other children, Loretta, 17, Eddie, 14, Maryanne, 11, and Becky, 8, were all strangled.

 Just 4 days later, Simmons murdered additional family members who had arrived for the holidays. His son, William, Billy Simmons II, 22, and daughter-in-law, Ranata Simmons, 21, were shot. William H. Trey Simmons III, one, was drowned. His daughter, Sheila Simmons McNelte, 24, and her husband, Dennis McNelte, 33, were shot.

 And the two youngest grandchildren, Sylvia Gale, 6, and Michael 1, were strangled. On December 28th, Simmons expanded his spree to Russellville, killing Kathy Kendrick, 24, and James David Chaffen, 33, with gunshots. Despite the scale of the murders, Simmons offered no clear explanation for his actions. He refused to cooperate with investigators and explicitly waved his right to appeal after his trials.

 Psychological evaluations focused on his competency to stand trial, not on motive. The combination of Simmons silence, the legal focus on swift justice, and the lack of diaries, manifestos, or other personal documents left official investigators unable to determine a definitive reason for the killings. Any analysis of a motive relied largely on circumstantial evidence, witness statements, and limited letters written by his wife.

 Simmons had long exercised an abusive, controlling presence over his family. In New Mexico, he subjected them to verbal and physical abuse, particularly targeting his eldest daughter, Sheila, who endured sexual abuse. He kept the family isolated, controlling their daily movements, supervising chores, and punishing any sign of disobedience.

Becky Simmons, according to her sister, Edith Nesby, remained with Simmons out of fear. Letters written by Becky in 1987 reveal her desperation and desire for freedom, noting that she felt like a prisoner, unable to leave her husband due to financial dependence and shame from the abuse.

 In one letter, she told her children she longed for a life where they could visit freely, go shopping, and attend church. simple freedoms denied under Simmons control. Friends and neighbors corroborated the family’s oppressive home life. Children hid to avoid their father, and periods when Simmons worked long hours were the only times they felt safe.

The oldest adult children, having left home, were trying to convince Becky to escape Simmons control, further escalating his paranoia. Investigators noted Simmons rage may have been fueled by the fear that his family would leave him, combined with grudges against certain Russellville victims, including Kathy Kendrick, who had rejected his repeated advances.

After his arrest, Simmons was held without bond and underwent emergency psychiatric evaluation at the Arkansas State Hospital. Doctors determined he was competent to stand trial and fully responsible for his actions, diagnosing him with a mixed personality disorder with narcissistic and paranoid features. His trials began in May 1988.

In the first trial for the Russellville shootings, Simmons pleaded innocent but requested a speedy trial, rejecting the option to plead guilty. The jury, seven men and five women, convicted him of capital murder and other charges in less than two hours of deliberation. He was sentenced to death and additional prison terms for attempted murders and false imprisonment.

From the witness stand, Simmons formally waved all rights to appeal, requesting that his death sentence be carried out swiftly. Psychiatrists confirmed he was mentally competent to make this decision. In his statement, Simmons expressed that any punishment short of death would be cruel, emphasizing his wish to end his own suffering and achieve peace.

 Prosecutors and attorneys alike recognized the unprecedented cruelty of his crimes, as well as his unflinching insistence on facing the ultimate punishment without delay. In a May 15th, 1988 interview with the Russellville Courier Democrat, Simmons reflected on death, saying, “Death is not to be feared. It is what comes before death that is to be feared.

 I have no doubts that this death sentence is right, but I won’t believe it until it happens.” He refused to discuss the killings at his home, criticizing the criminal justice system for failing to punish those who deserved it. Simmons described himself as an introvert who had held back information during his state hospital evaluation.

 The next day, Judge John Patterson ruled Simmons of sound mind and capable of waving his right to appeal. Patterson set an execution by lethal injection for June 27th, 1988. Simmons confirmed to the court that he had decided to seek execution on the day of his Russellville shooting spree and would not change his mind. On May 18th, he was moved from the Pope County Detention Center to the Arkansas Department of Corrections Maximum Security Unit in Jefferson County.

Simmons Broomfield Road property, subject to foreclosure, was sold at auction on June 15th, 1988 to the original owner. The home, repeatedly vandalized, burned in March 1989. Ruled arson by the state fire marshal. Simmons confided to relatives that he had considered suicide after his killings, but abandoned the plan, stating, “Do you know what kind of ammunition I was using? 22 caliber hollow points. They don’t penetrate.

 I did not want to shoot myself and become a vegetable.” Attempts by churches and attorneys to intervene delayed the execution temporarily. On June 20th, the Arkansas Supreme Court issued a temporary stay considering whether mandatory review of capital cases or waiver of appeals was required.

 The stay was lifted on July 1st, 1988, and Governor Bill Clinton rescheduled the execution for August 9th. Federal court interventions in August further delayed the execution as attorneys challenged the competency and standing of third parties to appeals. Simmons trial for the 14 family murders began in Clarksville on February 6th, 1989 due to pre-trial publicity.

Extra security was in place. Jury selection concluded with four women and eight men. Opening arguments revealed a note Simmons had written detailing a lovehate relationship with his eldest daughter, Sheila, with whom he had fathered a child. Prosecutors presented 18 witnesses, including Dr. Bennett G. Preston, summarizing autopsy results and a firearms examiner linking bullets from five victims to Simmons gun.

 The defense did not present witnesses. During the trial, Simmons lunged at prosecutor John Binham in a courtroom outburst, striking him in the chin before being restrained. Later, Simmons explained his actions as a mitigating or mitigation neutralizing maneuver designed to leave a violent impression on the jury to ensure a death sentence.

 Jurors returned a guilty verdict after 4 hours and sentenced Simmons to death by lethal injection. He waved all appeals, stating that anything short of death would be cruel and unusual punishment. After the verdict, Simmons formally reiterated his wish to decline appeals, describing those who had attempted to intervene, Reverend Louis J.

 Fron and Attorney Mark Cambiano, in disparaging terms. The Arkansas Supreme Court confirmed Simmons competence to wave appeals. Federal courts temporarily delayed the execution due to technical challenges, but ultimately ruled that only Simmons could stop it. On May 31st, 1990, nearly two years after the original schedule, Governor Bill Clinton signed a new death warrant for Simmons.

All legal obstacles cleared. Simmons execution was set, ending the drawn out post-trial proceedings and leaving many to wonder if his death would finally bring closure to the victim’s families. Ronald Jean Simmons spent his final days alone on death row, a decision that frustrated other inmates who believed his refusal to appeal undermined their own cases.

In June 1990, Assistant Attorney General Jack Gillian emphasized that Simmons could halt the execution at any time up to the point of lethal injection simply by opting to pursue his right to an appeal. Simmons was considered a volunteer for execution, a designation used for inmates who actively waved their appeals.

On May 31st, 1990, Arkansas Governor Bill Clinton signed Simmons execution warrant, officially setting the stage for his death. Before the procedure on June 25th, Simmons gave a brief, cryptic final statement. Justice delayed finally be done is justifiable homicide. His attorney, John Harris, interpreted this as acknowledgement that Simmons accepted his punishment, but felt it had been postponed for too long.

 The execution chamber was darkened for the 14 witnesses, which included two reporters, Bob Simmons of the Associated Press and Scott BS of the Arkansas Gazette. At 9:00 p.m., the curtains covering the chamber windows opened without warning, flooding the room with bright fluorescent light. Simmons lay strapped to the gurnie, covered from chin to toe in a white sheet, his arms secured at his sides.

 Catheters were inserted in both arms, and a leather strap held his head immobile. Observers noted he was not physically imposing, and he blinked frequently, scanning the chamber and the witnesses. At 9:02 p.m., warden Willis Sergent announced the execution’s commencement. Simmons tried to glance at the executioner’s room, then toward the witnesses before returning his gaze to the ceiling.

 At 9:06, he coughed and murmured, “Oh, oh.” as convulsions rippled through his body, raising the sheet and causing the gurnie to shift. Over the next four minutes, Simmons continued to convulse with his fingers and face gradually turning purple. By 9:10, movement had ceased, and at 9:15, prison medical administrator Bias checked the catheter, assessed Simmons chest and wrist, and after the Lincoln County Corner’s examination at 9:18, Simmons was pronounced dead at 9:19 p.m.

Simmons died by lethal injection. the method he had chosen. His execution was historic for Arkansas. It was the first using lethal injection, the first in which an inmate waved his appeals and only the second execution since the resumption of capital punishment after a 26-year hiatus. It occurred just one week after the state’s prior execution.

2 hours before his death, officials asked about his burial wishes. Simmons simply replied, “No comment.” With no surviving relatives willing to claim his body, he was buried at Lincoln Memorial Lawn Cemetery near the Varner unit in Lincoln County. Only his sister, Nancy Madden, and her family attended the discrete graveside service.

 Simmons never expressed remorse. Friends and acquaintances speculated that his silence reflected a desire to retain control over his family even in death. Sheriff James Bolan had opposed the fundamental question that haunted authorities throughout the investigation. Why? After Simmons’s death, the answer remained elusive.

 In mid August 1990, Judge Patterson authorized the destruction of three videotapes documenting the murders at Simmons property. Sheriff Bolan recalled the overwhelming public interest in the tapes which had depicted the 14 victims. Four adults and one child found in the house, seven buried in a shallow grave, and two children wrapped in trash bags in a car trunk.

 Portions of the footage had been shown to jurors during the trials. Simmons firearms were later sold at auction. His two pistols, including the one used in the murders, drew bids from a small group of collectors. One weapon not used in the killings sold for 1,325s, while the murder weapon was purchased by attorney John C. Harris for $1,600.

More than 100 people, including a dozen journalists, attended the event, though only a handful actively bid. The auction marked the final material remnants of Simmons violent legacy, closing the chapter on a case that had gripped Arkansas and the nation.