“I DID THE RIGHT THING” — Lynda Lyon Block’s Final Words Before Execution | Alabama Death Row (US)
“The law says that simply because I shoot a police officer without considering the circumstances that led to it could land me on death row. They’ve just told me that the state of Alabama wants to put me to death in the most horrible manner. Me, a woman, a mother, a businesswoman, and [clears throat] the only thing that I did was protect my husband. Now, they may execute me, but up until the moment they do, if that does happen, I know I did the right thing, and I do not regret that.”
A Fatal Encounter
A shot rang out in the quiet parking lot of a Walmart in Opelika, Alabama. In an instant, the life of Sergeant Roger Lamar Motley Jr., a dedicated officer with the Opelika Police Department, was violently cut short. He collapsed onto the concrete, his body crumpling in the chaos that ensued. His final moments, filled with confusion and desperation, were a stark contrast to the mundane task that had brought him to the scene in the first place: a routine errand to pick up supplies for his department.
The woman behind the gun that ended his life was Lynda Cheryl Lyon Block. Once a respected member of her community, Lynda’s transformation into someone capable of murder seemed improbable to those who knew her. But on that fateful day, she crossed a line that would forever change her life and the lives of others. Lynda and her partner, George Sibley, had spent years living outside the bounds of societal norms, subscribing to a radical anti-government ideology known as sovereign citizenship. This belief would soon lead them into a deadly confrontation with law enforcement.
When Officer Motley approached their car, he likely had no idea that this simple interaction would soon escalate into a shootout. What happened in those moments? How did a routine welfare check escalate into an execution? Why did Lynda pull the trigger?
The Path to Radicalization
Lynda Cheryl Lyon Block’s life was marked by a series of troubled events that shaped her into the woman she would become. Born in Orlando, Florida on February 8th, 1948, her childhood was far from idyllic. Her father passed away when she was just 10 years old, leaving her to grow up under the harsh rule of a mother with whom she had a strained and often painful relationship. Lynda described the bond with her mother as cold and abusive, setting the foundation for a young girl’s descent into rebellion.
As she reached adulthood, Lynda sought to carve out a life that felt like her own, one that would allow her to reject societal norms. She immersed herself in her community in Key West, Florida, where she worked as a secretary for the Humane Society, became a published magazine editor, and even volunteered on political campaigns. But despite the outward appearance of normalcy, Lynda’s beliefs were anything but conventional.
Her worldview shifted toward radicalism in the early 1990s when she adopted the sovereign citizen ideology, a belief that rejected the authority of government institutions—the very laws that everyone else lived by. She renounced her US citizenship and disavowed the legal system, turning her back on the very fabric of society. It was around this time that Lynda crossed paths with George Sibley, a man who shared her anti-government sentiments. The two formed a bond not just of love, but of ideological partnership.
George, a man with an intense belief in his own sovereign rights, became Lynda’s partner in both crime and life. Together, they would spend the next few years living on the run, avoiding authorities and drawing further into their radical beliefs. George’s refusal to cooperate with law enforcement, combined with Lynda’s defiant spirit, would set the stage for the tragic events that would follow.
The Escalation
At the time of the crime, Sergeant Roger Lamar Motley had been with the Opelika Police Department for over a decade. A man known for his dedication and service, Motley had worked his way from the patrol division to the role of sergeant. He had seen his fair share of traffic stops, arrests, and routine policing. But on the day of the shooting, he was on what seemed like a mundane errand, checking in on a possible welfare concern outside a Walmart parking lot.
It was a woman’s call, a concerned bystander who had noticed a child sitting in a red Mustang parked under the hot sun. The woman believed the child might be in danger, possibly left alone or abandoned. Without hesitation, Sergeant Motley approached the vehicle, ready to check on the child and perhaps offer assistance. What he didn’t know was that this seemingly innocent interaction would soon turn deadly.
In the red Mustang, Lynda and George sat waiting. George, ever the defiant sovereign citizen, had renounced all legal identification—no license, no registration. As Sergeant Motley approached the driver’s side, he politely requested that George provide his identification, but George refused.
“I don’t need a license. I don’t recognize your authority,” George replied, citing his belief that the government had no right to require identification. His response was more than just a refusal; it was an open challenge to Motley’s authority.
Lynda, watching the encounter unfold, could see that the situation was escalating. As George continued to argue, the tension between the two men was palpable. Sergeant Motley, trained to stay alert in such situations, placed his hand near his service weapon—a simple precautionary move. But to George, this was a threat, an invitation for confrontation.
Without warning, George reached into the car and pulled out a handgun. He fired, striking Sergeant Motley. The sound of the shot echoed through the parking lot, reverberating off the concrete. Motley staggered, caught off guard by the sudden violence, and instinctively sought cover behind his patrol car. His mind raced. He needed backup. He needed help. But he was already losing control of the situation.
The Fatal Shot
What Motley didn’t know was that Lynda Cheryl Lyon Block, seated in the passenger seat, had been waiting for the moment to intervene. Hearing the gunshot, she reached for her own weapon, a handgun concealed in her purse. She stepped out of the car, moving quickly but quietly toward Motley’s position, crouching low as she neared the rear of his patrol car.
The 9-year-old child in the backseat of the Mustang remained unaware of the deadly confrontation unfolding just steps away—a witness to the chaos, but luckily not a victim.
Lynda, now standing behind Motley’s patrol car, took aim. She moved swiftly, carefully positioning herself. Motley, focused on George, didn’t see her approach. The situation had already spiraled beyond control, and with a sudden burst of gunfire, Lynda shot Motley in the chest. He fell to the ground, his life draining away in a matter of moments.
Severely wounded, Motley still managed to call for help:
“Officer down! Officer down!” he cried into the radio, his voice filled with panic and pain.
But it was already too late. The officers who would come to his aid were too far away. Meanwhile, Lynda and George knew they had to flee. Without a second thought, they bolted from the scene, running to their red Mustang and speeding away. Their escape was chaotic, their minds clouded with the urgency to vanish before the police could respond.
The Manhunt and Investigation
What followed was a manhunt unlike any other. Law enforcement agencies quickly mobilized, scouring the area for any trace of Lynda and George. Witnesses gave detailed descriptions of the couple, and police began to piece together the trail. They didn’t get far. Following a dramatic four-hour standoff with law enforcement, the couple surrendered and was taken into custody.
By the time they were arrested, the crime scene had been thoroughly processed. The investigation into the death of Sergeant Motley was methodical:
-
Witness Testimony: Several bystanders confirmed Lynda was present and fired at the officer.
-
Ballistics Evidence: Forensic teams recovered the bullet that struck Motley. Analysis revealed the fatal shot came from Lynda’s gun, not George’s. While George fired the first shot, Lynda delivered the fatal blow.
-
Radio Communications: Motley’s final radio transmission matched witness statements, confirming the timeline and the chaos of the ambush.
Authorities had gathered enough evidence to charge Lynda Cheryl Lyon Block with capital murder, and the road to trial was set into motion.
The Trial of Defiance
The trial began in the summer of 1994, and from the very start, it was not a typical courtroom battle. Lynda made the controversial decision to represent herself. Despite warnings, she refused court-appointed counsel. She viewed the court as an illegitimate entity and a product of a corrupt system.
The case hinged on a central question: Did Lynda act in self-defense, or was she guilty of capital murder?
-
The Prosecution: Argued the evidence was overwhelming. Eyewitnesses and ballistics placed her behind the trigger of the fatal shot. Furthermore, because Motley had already been shot by George before Lynda fired, the prosecution argued her actions were deliberate and calculated, not rooted in fear.
-
The Defense: Lynda contended she acted out of fear to protect her partner, George Sibley.
In the courtroom, her behavior mirrored her defiance outside of it. She interrupted proceedings and engaged in heated exchanges with the judge and prosecutor. The jury was unconvinced by her self-defense claims. After deliberation, they returned a verdict of guilty.
The judge handed down the death sentence, citing two aggravating circumstances:
-
Risk of death to others: Her actions threatened the lives of bystanders.
-
Avoiding lawful arrest: She actively attempted to evade capture after the shooting.
Throughout her time on death row, Lynda remained steadfast in her refusal to engage with the appeals process, consistently arguing procedural error rather than claiming innocence.
The Execution and Aftermath
On May 10th, 2002, Lynda Cheryl Lyon Block became the last woman to be executed in Alabama for 45 years. Her final moments were marked by a chilling sense of indifference. She refused a last meal and declined to make a final statement.
She was strapped into the infamous electric chair, “Yellow Mama,” a relic of Alabama’s past used in over 200 executions. Her decision to choose the electric chair over lethal injection was a statement in itself—a final, unwavering rejection of the system that had condemned her. Lynda’s execution was the last use of the electric chair in Alabama before the state shifted to more modern methods.
George Sibley was later executed in 2005 by lethal injection, consistently maintaining throughout his trial that Lynda had fired the fatal shot.
In the aftermath, questions about the moral implications of the death penalty lingered. Lynda’s death became a moral crossroads, challenging everyone involved to consider the far-reaching consequences of radical belief and the power of defiance against a governing system. Was she a victim of her own convictions, manipulated by a dangerous ideology, or did she knowingly take a life with full awareness of her actions? The echoes of this case continue to resound, leaving behind a haunting debate on the true meaning of justice and punishment.
