Bars – part 2

Last week, I started a short blog series entitled, “Bars.” Sorry if the title fooled some of you. As you now know, the bars I am blogging about are prison bars. I wanted to share my experience as a prison volunteer for inmates on Tennessee’s Death Row. 

First, I’d like to thank the many that responded or contacted me via email.  To my surprise, many of you seem to appreciate the information on the topic. Prison is not usually spoken of in casual conversations. It is my hope that this small attempt of bringing the subject forward bears fruit.  

All descriptions going forward are based on the layout of Riverbend Maximum Security Prison in Nashville, TN. 

The layout of Riverbend is unique in that inmates are housed in smaller buildings called pods. As you would expect, the whole property is surrounded by barbed wire fences and security gates. Buildings are linked by sidewalks.

Death Row’s pod is situated in the rear of the property. The first time I walked down the path to the building it was not lost on me at how separated their building was from the rest of the prison. Everything for inmates on death row happens in this one building. The only time they leave this area is for court, the infirmary or the electric chair.

To become a volunteer, there are more requirements above that of a normal visitor needed. For this particular program, we were asked to attend group meetings led by the program coordinator. She explained the process and security requirements. All visitors are monitored but volunteers have more of a hands-on role. It is important we understand what to do and not do, and how to make sure we are safe at all times. In one meeting, we got to tour the death row pod as a group. I am grateful we went as a group as it prepared you for a real visit experience.

No one can randomly show up at a prison and visit. You must first complete an application, naming the inmate, along with a photo ID. Once approved, your name is entered into the prison data base. (Note: The application process is true for any prison visit. You are only allowed to visit one inmate at a time.) 

It took about three weeks to receive notice via snail mail that I was approved to visit with Tim. I was now free to visit any time during the weekly visitation schedule. At that time, it was Friday, Saturday and Sunday.

You can only bring your ID and car keys inside. If you bring a purse, you will be asked to rent a locker space to store it in or take it back to your car. It’s easier to lock it in the trunk of your car until you leave. If you want to buy snacks to share with your inmate, you withdraw money from the prison’s ATM. The prison takes a percentage for allowing you the privilege of sharing a snack. 

The visitation coordinator works hard to pair you with an inmate, which is not always easy. There is a mixed bag of response from the inmates. Some desire someone to talk with and look forward to a visit. Others do not trust anyone from the outside and want nothing to do with a visitor. 

Finding the right fit can take time. Luckily. the first person chosen for me was a young man from Memphis named Tim who was very artistic. The coordinator felt we would have that in common. She was right.

I felt that it would be a good idea for Tim and me to get to know one another a bit before I made that jump to an in-person visit. I wrote him and explained who I was. The coordinator had alerted him that I would be in contact, and he responded quickly. Within a couple of weeks we were talking on the phone. We immediately made a connection through his love of art and sense of humor.

If you think talking on the phone with an inmate is an easy thing to do, think again. The amount for an inmate (anywhere) to talk to a friend or family member is astronomical. To make it a little easier, there are companies that link outside phone with the prison system. 

Some options available consist of adding money to a phone account. Funds are withdrawn each time the inmate places a call out. At the time I started visiting Tim, this was the only option available. Now, there are plans that allow a small monthly fee for a discounted rate to the inmate.   

The downside is that the inmate has to depend upon family or friends to keep money on that account. For many, such as Tim, his family was poor. Keeping money on a phone account was a huge hardship for them. Once the funds are depleted, he would have to wait until someone added money again. 

If the inmate is lucky enough to have a prison job that pays, they have the option to use their own funds. Given they make very little money for any job they have in prison, money for long phone calls is a rarity.

After about a month of getting to know one another via snail mail and telephone, I planned my first visit on a Saturday. I was nervous, and I hate to admit, scared. Not of meeting Tim, who I felt I already had a rapport with, but the whole environment itself. The only idea I had of prison or “death row” was what the movies portrayed. This sheltered southern girl was about to get a lesson on life. Naively I thought I was already pretty educated on life at that point. I had survived cancer, divorce, and death. I thought I was prepared. I was not.

The designated Saturday arrived, and I drove across town to the prison. I pulled into an already full parking lot at 10 a.m. and my heart was beating out of my chest.  I took a deep breath, locked my purse in the trunk of my car and headed inside. 

I decided for this first visit to meet him in one of the private rooms partitioned by glass. Right up until the guard lead him into the other side, I was thinking, “What are you doing?” All I knew was I was supposed to be there. Something would not allow me to run away from the experience. I am forever grateful I did not.

Entering the administration building it is full of guards with guns on their hips. I step up to present my ID, while they check to see if I am in their database. I am. Next I am body searched. Women visitors are asked to step into a side room where a female guard pats me down. I appreciate the privacy, trust me.

I then get in line and walk through a scanner. You place your car keys on a tray and walk through. If you beep, you are pulled to the side and searched until you pass. In the four years I visited, I never got beeped!

Once I made it through the scanner, I walk outside onto a caged walk-way. It leads to the next building which turns out to be the general population visiting area. 

I walk into a huge open room full of tables and chairs, restrooms, and a very large line of snack machines. I decide to stop there long enough to grab some snacks. The noise level is overwhelming. I see countless women with children sitting with an inmate. I realize the gravity of a child having to see their parent in prison. My heart goes out to every single person in the room.

Once I have Tim’s treats, I head outside to make my walk over to Death Row. This is the first time since entering that I am alone. With every step, it begins to feel like a walk of doom. The closer I get the more separate-ness creeps in. I remember about halfway there thinking of turning around and leaving. I was like, “Okay girlfriend, put on your big panties and keep going.”

A guard sees me approaching and I hear the metal door unclick. Immediately I am scanned (again) before entering the visitation rooms. They ask for my ID and verify I am where I am supposed to be and confirm Tim’s name and prison number. Thirty minutes after arriving, I am checked in and ready. My heart was steadily beating out of my chest.

I explain that I would like to meet with him in a private room. The head guard opens a side door to the right and directs me into a small hall where three waiting rooms are back-to-back. He directs me into the middle room. I am locked in. He takes the snacks I brought and places them on the other side for Tim.

I can see through the window the entrance where I had just come from and the door leading into the larger visitation room. It wasn’t a very big room but large enough to hold around fifteen people comfortably. I could hear the low murmur of voices through the glass. You can also hear a tv in the background.

Within a few minutes the door on the other side of the glass partition opens and a guard leads Tim in. He is shackled – both hands and ankles. I advert my eyes while the guard removes them so he can sit across from me. 

Before I could even think what to say he leans up to the speaker and says, “Hey, sister girl…how you doing?” and smiles a huge smile that split his whole face. After that, we sit, talk, and laugh until the warning bell rings that visiting time is coming to a close. He enjoys the snacks I provided and chides me for not getting some for myself. Next time, I promise. I discover that I am the first person from the outside to visit Tim in two years. He thanks me once, he thanks me a hundred times for coming. His gratitude glows out of him.

I have seen this happen over and over again. The inmate, sensing your nervousness immediately tries to make you feel comfortable. Tim went out of his way that first visit to ease any apprehension I had. He introduced me to the guard as his new visiting angel. The guard smiled and conversed with me as I made my way out at the end of the visit. 

As I walk back through the maze that was prison, it occurs to me that “death row” didn’t seem anything like what I thought it would be. I’m not sure exactly what I was expecting, but it looked like a regular prison scene. I decide the difference is the label attached to it – death row. Men live here until they are electrocuted. How bizarre is this? I guess no more bizarre than any other prisoners or slaves from hundreds and hundreds of years ago. It’s just that I had never been this up-close before. 

Another disturbing thought forms in my mind as I pull out of the parking lot toward home. Tim could die unless his appeal takes root. I now know someone on death row. It is no longer a scene out of a movie. 

The human spirit is an amazing thing. In all our wonderful humanity, how have we allowed this sort of system to take root and thrive? Hold your thoughts and comments to this question. 

Next week, I will share Tim’s particular story, his journey and outcome. I will explain why this question continues to burn in my heart and soul. There is information that explains further if you dare to stick around long enough for me to share it.

I hope you will. Humanity needs you.