85 years ago today, my great-great grandfather was a day away from his appointment with the electric chair in Milledgeville, Georgia. He had been convicted of a murder he committed shortly after his release from a twenty-year stint for manslaughter. He had not seen one of his youngest sons, Roy, since he had been a toddler, but Roy, a prominent member of the Dixie Mafia known as "the Candy Kid", happened to be an inmate in the same prison where his father was to be executed, and officials permitted them a visit. ***************************** MCCULLOUGH SOBS IN DEATH CELL AS FATHER, SON MEET AFTER 21 YEARS STATE PRISON FARM, MILLEDGEVILLE, Ga., Aug 24.--(AP)--An old man, slightly bent, with haggard features and tear-dimmed eyes, looked through the bars of the death cell here this afternoon to say "hello and good-bye" to a son he had not seen in 21 years. He was Andrew McCullough, Fayette county man who is to die in the electric chair tomorrow, and the son was Roy. The meeting was brief; they clasped hands, a few words were spoken, and then they were separated. Roy himself is a prisoner, serving a short sentence for a misdemeanor. But the meeting broke down the restraint of the father. He sobbed, and when he spoke of the meeting afterwards he said "it meant a lot to me." "It meant my children love me," he continued. "I thought they'd turned against me. But now I understand. We all understand." The condemned man appeared to realize that there was no hope of a stay of the execution and he fought against it, sometimes excitedly inquiring whether there was any point of law in his case that could be again reviewed by the courts, and at other times weeping silently and praying for mercy. He said he had been given the best of food but could not eat. He had a good bed, but could not sleep. He had prayed but could find no comfort. "I want to find Christ. I want to have courage to face that ordeal tomorrow," he moaned, "but it seems that I can't." "I feel all right about everything and everybody, but there's one thing worrying me. "I wonder if in the eyes of God, a man is as guilty if he kills a man unintentionally as he would be if he did it intentionally? "I know I didn't kill the man they charge me with doing. It was impossible. I shot from the front and he was hit in the side. But if the bullet hit a rock or something and glanced and hit him, I wonder if the Great Judge would call me a murderer?" It was a dramatic moment this afternoon when Roy McCullough was taken to the death house. As he stepped to the iron inclosure where his father sat, there was a tense, anxious expression on his face. The father did not move, but he looked closely at the stalwart young man appeared in front of him. "Roy?" he inquired. "Yes, papa," the young man replied. Then he grasped the old man's hand. He cried out or whispered something in reply to words his father had spoken. In a few minutes they said good bye. "I was so glad for a moment or two I couldn't think of nothing to say," McCullough related afterward. "I hadn't seen Roy in 21 years--and it took this (he motioned to the small gray door that led to the chamber where the electric chair awaits him) to bring us together again." McCullough has been sentenced to death for the slaying of William B. Baker, former president of the Atlantic Ice and Coal Corporation, of Atlanta. The shooting occurred in Fayette county in September, last year. Alvin McCullough, one of the condemned man's sons, is serving a life sentence for participation in the same murder.