Freddie Eugene Owens Execution | Last Meal & Last Words | South Carolina Death Row Inmate (US)
…to death in the 1997 murder of Greenville gas station clerk Irene Graves. A large part of his conviction hinges on sworn testimony from his codefendant, Steven Golden. Yesterday, Owens’ lawyers filed an emergency motion after Golden says he lied to investigators. Golden now claims Owens was not at the gas station when the murder took place, contradicting years of testimony.
Owens’ lawyers say the Supreme Court denied their motion, citing Golden’s contradictory statements and lack of evidence needed to overturn the sentence. His lawyers still want the state to step in and to stop today’s execution. He announced until minutes before the execution is scheduled. And we have crews heading to Columbia, South Carolina, today to bring you live updates ahead of the planned execution.
A Murder Behind Bars
On February 16th, 1999, Freddie Owens killed a fellow prisoner while he was in prison. This was less than 12 hours after he was remanded in prison; Freddie Eugene Owens committed another murder. Inside a cramped cell in Greenville County Jail, surrounded by 10 other inmates, Owens snapped. The man he attacked wasn’t another convicted killer. His name was Christopher Brian Lee, a 28-year-old serving just 90 days for a traffic offense. He never made it out alive.
That night, something inside Owens unraveled. Lee, according to Owens, had taunted him and boasted that a relative sat on the jury that sealed his fate. Whether it was true or not didn’t matter. In a sudden explosion of violence, Owens beat him, stabbed him in the throat and eye with a ballpoint pen, and strangled him with a bedsheet. Then, as if rage hadn’t run its course, he used a lighter to burn Lee’s eyes and hair. He forced a pen into the man’s nostril and pinched the other shut, suffocating him.
The guards found Lee lifeless. And Owens? He confessed to everything the very next day in open court. What kind of man does that within hours of being condemned to die?
The Story of Freddie Eugene Owens
This is not just a story about a brutal robbery gone wrong. It’s about a troubled life, a prison murder, a death sentence delayed again and again. It’s about faith, controversy, and ultimately a state’s decision to end it all. While I don’t support the death penalty, some people really deserve to be put to death. The scene described above looks like something you will see in a movie, but this time it is real. He killed his cellmate less than 12 hours after he arrived at the prison, and in the worst way possible.
This is the final story of Freddie Eugene Owens. We will be talking about his crimes, last meal, and last words before being executed. And it starts the moment his world was supposed to end, but didn’t.
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A Life Shaped by Trauma
Freddie Eugene Owens was born on March 18th, 1978, in South Carolina into a world already cracking at the edges. His mother was just 18 years old, barely an adult herself when she gave birth to him. From the start, Freddie’s life was shaped by instability, chaos, and trauma. At just 5 years old, the state removed him from his home and placed him in foster care, citing abuse and neglect from his own family. But even state protection couldn’t save him from pain.
The foster system brought its own brand of dysfunction. Freddie bounced between households and eventually was returned to his biological mother, who had since separated from Owens’s biological father—a violent man who beat both his wife and his children. But safety didn’t come with this reunion. Owens’s stepfather, the man who was supposed to restore some normalcy, also turned out to be abusive, this time directing the violence at Owens’s mother.
Freddie grew up watching women in his life being brutalized. At just seven years old, he witnessed something no child should ever see: his grandmother shooting a man. That image was seared into his young mind. Violence wasn’t just something that happened around him; it was a part of survival.
As the years passed, the signs of deep psychological scars began to show. Freddie struggled with authority, lashed out in anger, and couldn’t trust people. Eventually, he was diagnosed with antisocial personality disorder, a condition often linked with childhood trauma, neglect, and abuse. He was labeled a danger before he ever had a chance to become anything else. By the time he reached 19 years old, Freddie Owens was already well on his way to self-destruction. He wasn’t just a troubled teen. He was a young man carrying a lifetime of pain and violence on his shoulders with no tools to manage it except rage.
And then came November 1st, 1997, the night that would define the rest of his life.
The Night of the Crime
November 1st, 1997, Greenville, South Carolina. The night air was cold, the kind of chill that sinks into your bones and stays there. Somewhere in the city, Freddie Eugene Owens, just 19 years old, was getting ready to commit a crime that would change four lives and destroy one. He wasn’t alone. With him were three others: Lester Young, Nikio Vance, and Steven Andrew Golden. Their plan was simple. Two pairs would split up and rob separate locations. Owens and Golden took one store. Young and Vance went another way.
It was late when Owens and Golden walked into a local convenience store. Their faces were covered, Golden in a stocking mask, Owens in a ski mask. They moved quickly with purpose, like they had done this before, or at least like they thought they could. Behind the counter stood Irene Granger Graves, a 41-year-old single mother. She was just trying to finish another shift, maybe counting down the hours until she could get home to her three children—two sons and a daughter who were probably already asleep.
Owens pointed a gun at her. He demanded she open the store safe. But Irene didn’t move fast enough. Or maybe she didn’t know the combination. Maybe she was scared. Maybe she was trying to think of a way out. We’ll never know. What we do know is this: she couldn’t open the safe. And that’s when Owens made a decision. One that couldn’t be undone.
According to Steven Golden’s later testimony, when the safe wouldn’t open, Owens didn’t wait. He raised the gun and shot Irene once in the head. She died instantly. There was no shouting, no warning, no second chance, just a bullet and then silence. Afterward, Owens and Golden grabbed what they could from the register: $37.29. That’s all Irene’s life was worth to them in that moment. They ran.
Later that night, Owens told the others exactly what he had done—that he shot the woman in the store. No sign of guilt, no hesitation, just the casual confession of a teenager who had just taken a mother from her children. Irene Graves never got to go home that night. Her children would wake up to a world without her, left only with memories and questions that would never have answers. And for Owens, this wasn’t the end. It was just the beginning.
Arrest and Trial
Ten days later, on November 11th, 1997, Freddie Eugene Owens was arrested for the murder of Irene Graves. He didn’t resist, but he didn’t confess either. He said he didn’t shoot anyone, that it wasn’t him. Still, the evidence was stacking up. The CCTV footage from the store showed two masked men: Golden in a stocking mask, Owens in a ski mask. The man in the ski mask was the one who pulled the trigger.
Multiple people said Owens confessed: his mother, his girlfriend, even one of the other accomplices. And Steven Golden, the very person who went in with him, testified under oath that Owens was the one who shot Irene when she couldn’t open the safe. In exchange for his testimony, Golden took a plea deal. He avoided the death penalty and was convicted of voluntary manslaughter. He was sentenced to 28 years in prison.
Owens didn’t take a deal. He went to trial.
February 8th, 1999, Greenville County. He was charged with murder, armed robbery, criminal use of a firearm, and conspiracy. The trial lasted a week. Owens denied pulling the trigger and claimed innocence, but the jury saw the footage, heard the testimony, and looked at the faces of Irene’s now-orphaned children.
February 15th, 1999. The jury returned a guilty verdict on all counts. A death penalty hearing was scheduled for two days later. But Owens didn’t wait for that because hours after being convicted, Freddie Owens killed again.
The Second Murder and Death Sentence
The victim was 28-year-old Christopher Brian Lee, in jail on a 90-day sentence for a traffic violation. A man who had nothing to do with Owens or the robbery, just a cellmate. One of 10 others sharing the space. What triggered it? Owens claimed Lee mocked him, bragged that his cousin was on the jury that convicted him, and taunted him about getting the death penalty. That’s all it took.
In a fit of rage, Owens attacked. He punched Lee, stabbed his eye and throat with a ballpoint pen, and strangled him with a sheet. Then he went further, burning Lee’s face and eyes with a lighter, shoving a pen into his nostril to suffocate him. The assault was relentless and sadistic. Lee died in that cell just a few feet away from the others.
And when Owens stood before the judge the next day for sentencing, he confessed in full detail right there in open court. He didn’t show remorse. He said he was falsely convicted and had nothing left to lose. The courtroom was stunned. The prosecution argued he was a menace, a man with no regard for human life. Not in a store, not in a prison. Irene Graves’ children, they said, lost a mother. Christopher Lee’s family lost a son.
That same day, Owens was sentenced to death. But this was only the beginning of a long, drawn-out legal battle. And through it all, Owens would continue to fight in court, on appeal, in prison, and eventually on death row.
Life on Death Row and Spiritual Conversion
In the cold, locked world of South Carolina’s death row, Freddie Eugene Owens spent over two decades waiting for the state to carry out his execution. But those years weren’t quiet. While the courts battled over the legality of his sentence, Owens underwent a transformation. It began inside his prison cell, cut off from the outside world, surrounded by steel bars and the slow passing of time.
In 2015, Owens converted to Islam. He adopted a new name: Khalil Divine Black Sun Allah. To the court, to the state, he remained Freddie Owens. But inside, to himself, he was someone reborn. He began writing essays and poetry, often reflecting on his past and his beliefs. He took a deep interest in African history, discussing with his legal team everything from the ancient university of Timbuktu to the legacy of Queen Amanirenas. He studied Arabic, learning to read and write the language. But most of all, he embraced the teachings of Islam fully.
As his final death warrant approached in 2024, the state of South Carolina gave Owens a choice: death by electric chair, lethal injection, or the newly authorized firing squad. But for a man who now adhered to Islamic doctrine, that choice presented a spiritual conflict. Islam forbids suicide, and to Owens, choosing the manner of his own death felt dangerously close to exactly that. In his view, to select his method of execution would be to accept and participate in his own killing.
Owens refused. He could not in good conscience make the decision. So instead, he did something rarely seen in modern capital cases. He wrote to his legal representatives and asked them to choose for him. His lawyers would later confirm that this wasn’t a delay tactic. It was an act of religious conviction. He had placed his fate in the hands of others, not out of fear, but out of faith.
The Final Appeals and Execution Day
Even as his execution drew closer, Owens’s team submitted emergency motions. One came just 48 hours before his scheduled death when his former accomplice, Steven Golden, issued a new sworn statement, claiming he had falsely identified Owens as the shooter. Golden now alleged the real killer was someone else, a man he feared so deeply that he remained unnamed even decades later. But the South Carolina Supreme Court dismissed the motion. They noted Owens had confessed multiple times—to police, to his mother, his girlfriend, even in open court. The judges ruled that Golden’s retraction was not credible. The execution would proceed.
On the morning of his execution, Owens remained in the death watch cell at Broad River Correctional Institution. Having converted to Islam in 2015, he adhered strictly to its teachings. When presented with the choice of execution method—lethal injection, electric chair, or firing squad—Owens declined to choose, citing his religious belief that selecting a method would equate to suicide. Instead, he entrusted the decision to his attorney, who selected lethal injection on his behalf.
At midday, Owens was served his requested final meal: two cheeseburgers, French fries, a well-done ribeye steak, six chicken wings, two strawberry sodas, and a slice of apple pie. He consumed the meal in solitude without comment. As the evening approached, Owens spent time in prayer, accompanied by a Muslim spiritual adviser. He did not request any family visits.
At 6:36 p.m., the execution process commenced with the administration of a single dose of pentobarbital. Owens, strapped to the gurney, turned to his attorney and softly said, “Bye.” She responded in kind. Witnesses observed that Owens closed his eyes and took several deep breaths. His breathing became shallow, and slight facial twitches were noted for a few minutes before ceasing.
At 6:54 p.m., a medical professional entered the chamber, checked for vital signs, and pronounced Owens dead at 6:55 p.m. Family members of both victims, Irene Graves and Christopher Lee, were present during the execution. They watched intently as the sentence was carried out. Owens’s execution marked South Carolina’s first in 13 years, concluding a case that had spanned nearly three decades and stirred debates over justice, redemption, and the death penalty.
The Final Chapter
Under the fluorescent lights of the execution chamber, time stood still. The man once known as Freddie Eugene Owens had come to the end of a long, turbulent path. One that began in chaos, passed through a prison cell of spiritual reckoning, and ended in silence on a journey. He did not resist. He did not speak to the families of his victims. He had no grand final statement. His journey concluded with a quiet “bye” to his lawyer, his only connection to the outside world in those last moments. For some, it was closure. For others, it was far too late. On September 20th, 2024, at 6:55 p.m., the state of South Carolina officially pronounced Owens dead.
He did not resist. He did not speak to the families of his victims. He had no grand final statement. His journey concluded with a quiet “bye” to his lawyer, his only connection to the outside world in those last moments. For some, it was closure. For others, it was far too late. On September 20th, 2024, at 6:55 p.m., the state of South Carolina officially pronounced Owens dead.
But long before the chemicals took effect, the story had already etched itself into history. A grim reminder of the lives shattered, the justice pursued, and the haunting weight of final judgment. This was the last chapter of Freddie Eugene Owens and the end of a case that never stopped echoing. True crime matters.
