Toney D. Davis is an innocent man who has been incarcerated on Florida's death row for nearly 30 years. Built in direct collaboration with Toney, this website serves as a vehicle to share his story, mobilize support, and seek Justice for Toney.
About Tony
Toney was born an only child to loving and now dearly departed parents. At a young age he had dreams of playing professional football, and began his quest when his father took him to enroll in youth football. After he aged out of youth football, he played throughout junior high and on into high school. But during those years, he discovered another love: music. Which, besides the love, was the one constant in the home. Every week, his father would buy whatever albums were released that week, so by the time Toney reached his teens, they’d already owned quite an extensive record collection. His father would allow him to use those records to sometimes DJ parties for neighbors and friends.
When dreams of playing football were derailed, he put his energy and focus into music. At 19 he moved to Los Angeles to pursue a musical career. He was in pursuit of that dream when he was unjustly arrested and convicted for “crimes” that have taken away 32 years—and counting—of his life.
Toney D. Davis is an innocent man who has been incarcerated on Florida's death row for nearly 30 years. Built in direct collaboration with Toney, this website serves as a vehicle to share his story, mobilize support, and seek Justice for Toney.
The official charges against Toney were built on distorted facts, manufactured “evidence,” and inconsistent witness testimony. After more than three decades behind bars, there is still no credible evidence that Toney committed the crimes he was convicted of. This section breaks down the case timeline and the inconsistencies in the prosecution’s narrative.
New Arrival
by Toney Davis
It had been only three hours since the sun first peeked over the horizon, but it was already a big orange flaming ball of intense heat, scorching its way across the Florida peninsula. The transport van stopped ten feet or so away from a long concrete ramp with iron railings that ran up to the second level of a three-tiered building.
Florida State Prison, a nearly century old monstrosity,
Florida State Prison, a nearly century old monstrosity, could’ve been easily mistaken for an abandoned building – there were dozens of windows, each measuring at least four feet high by three feet wide, with many of their small panes busted out°, and a vast amount of peeling paint°, also quite a few missing roof shingles. Its pockmarked facade clearly evidenced decades of abuse by sweltering heat, rain, and hurricane force winds.
If, however, not for the additional buildings sprouting out from both sides of the lower portion, the structure would’ve formed a perfect cross.
In obvious contrast to the lush green forest in the distance, just outside the three razor wire topped fences and two-foot-high coils of concertina wire running along dirt paths in-between the first and second fences and second and third, the inside grounds were barren and rather dreary: in places where the grass wasn’t turning brown, it had already died°, All that remained was randomly scattered patches of dirt.
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