NASHVILLE, Tenn. — A blind inmate was executed by electrocution Thursday night for the 1991 murder of his estranged girlfriend, whom he killed by throwing a lit container of gasoline into her car. Lee Hall, 53, was pronounced dead at 7:26 p.m. Central Time at Riverbend Maximum Security Institution after 28 years on death row.
His final words, spoken minutes before the current was applied, urged people to “learn forgiveness and love” and to “make the world a better place.” The execution proceeded after a last-minute legal battle over jury bias failed to secure a stay from the U.S. Supreme Court.
Hall, who was legally blind due to untreated glaucoma, chose the electric chair over lethal injection. He is the first blind person in modern U.S. history to be executed by electrocution and only the second blind inmate executed nationwide since 1976.
The crime that sent him to death row was one of horrific brutality. On April 16, 1991, Hall located 22-year-old Tracy Croer sitting in her car outside her grandmother’s Chattanooga home. After a brief argument where she refused to reconcile, he took her car keys.
He then threw a homemade incendiary device—a jug of gasoline with a paper towel fuse—through the driver’s side window. The container exploded, engulfing Croer in flames. She managed to escape the vehicle but suffered burns over 95% of her body.
Conscious and in agonizing pain, she identified Hall by name to a neighbor and a fire commander at the scene. She died the following day at a local hospital. A burn specialist testified her injuries were the worst she had seen in roughly 100 cases.
The attack culminated weeks of stalking and harassment after Croer ended their five-year relationship. Eleven days prior, Hall had set fire to her car at the same location. He told her uncle, Chris Matthysse, “If I can’t have her, nobody can.”
At his 1992 trial, Hall claimed he only intended to destroy the car, not harm Croer. The jury convicted him of premeditated first-degree murder and aggravated arson, finding the murder especially cruel. They recommended the death penalty.
For nearly three decades, Hall’s case wound through appeals. His attorneys argued his blindness, caused by inadequate prison healthcare, made execution unconstitutional cruelty. Courts consistently rejected the claim.
In the final weeks, a new issue emerged. A female juror from the 1992 trial came forward, revealing she had been a victim of domestic abuse and rape by her first husband—information she never disclosed during jury selection.
Hall’s legal team argued this hidden bias denied him a fair trial, especially given a recent Tennessee ruling that granted a new trial to another inmate for an identical juror issue. The state courts and the Sixth Circuit denied relief.
Governor Bill Lee declined to intervene, stating the justice system had thoroughly reviewed the case for nearly 30 years. The execution proceeded as scheduled.
In the death chamber, Hall was strapped into the wooden electric chair. He could not see the witnesses, including Croer’s father and sister, who watched from behind a glass partition. After his final statement, two surges of electricity were administered.
Following the execution, Hall’s attorney read a written apology to the Croer family, expressing hope for their forgiveness. Tracy Croer’s sister, Stacy Wooten, addressed the media, stating a long-awaited day had finally come.
“The day has not brought my sister back,” Wooten said. “We have all fought for Tracy, and today we have won.” The family had attended every court hearing for 28 years, determined to be a voice for the vivacious young woman described by friends as a caring free spirit.
Hall’s defense at trial highlighted a deeply troubled childhood marked by instability, undiagnosed personality disorders, and substance abuse. Prosecutors emphasized the calculated steps of the crime: obtaining gasoline, constructing the device, and trapping the victim.
With this execution, Tennessee has put six inmates to death since resuming capital punishment in August 2018, four of them by electric chair. The case closes a chapter on a crime that horrified Chattanooga and a punishment debated for a generation.