changing of the guard
A few weeks ago we received an email offering the opportunity to be in a photo over at the condemned housing. Death Row would officially be closing for good. My co-worker and I though this sounded odd, but then we considered that this was history in the making. The only existing Death Row for incarcerated males in this states was to be no more.
The first execution at the prison was in 1893, the last was in 2006. A moratorium on the death penalty was signed into law in 2019, ending the existence of Death Row. From that time on, those incarcerated there have remained there, until they could be transferred out to other prisons with electrified fences. There were some 470 still remaining and over the past year, several of my patients were slowly transported out on state buses. The last resident was transported this past month.
So, while we thought it was an odd thought to have pictures taken, we also thought it would be a moment in history to recall that we were there. When the day came, we headed over after our shift was complete. Four of us walked over together. The thing I really noticed is that it was quiet. Normally when you take that path, you would hear all the loud, competing music and yelling from the outer condemned yard. This was the space where particular residents were sectioned off in their own yard spaces, not permitted to co-mingle with others. But this day, things were peacefully and eerily quiet.
It felt even more odd to stand in front of the condemned housing unit for a photo op….Do we smile? Do we pose? Is this wrong? I haven’t seen the photos yet, but I can say it just felt strange. Not really something to celebrate in my mind.
Normally to enter the unit you would have had to don a stab proof vest and sign in at the front. But that day, without any residents, we walked right in. When I had been in there early in my weeks at the prison, I recall it being a lot darker, but that day it appeared light. One of my co-workers commented on exactly the same thoughts. It did seem lighter, despite no changes that we could perceive to the actual structure.
And in those early days, I recall walking the tier and just wanting to divert my eyes downward because I didn’t know what eyes were peering out at me. I also didn’t want to invade their privacy.
On this day, all the cell doors were closed, save but one. The custody left open this one cell for everyone to peer in or even step inside to view. The resident of this cell had painted EVERY inch of his cell space. Painted all over with blue, black, red, green, and white –floor, ceiling and the platform bed. It was dark. All with various satanic images and words. I’d like to share more, but feel it might be oversharing the prisons guarded media. It was sinister to say the least. I chose not to step over the threshold onto the giant 666 painted on the floor.
This must have taken years to create. And we all wondered out loud, how did it begin? What custody officer decided to just allow him continue? Normally they don’t allow anything like this on the walls. I’m assuming they took some good photos to save for the history museum on the facility grounds. I can’t get some of those images out of my mind. It’s definitely one to remember.
After the viewing, my co-workers took off, but I continued to walk some of the tiers, peering into cells, especially if I saw one of my patients name/image outside a particular cell. I was particularly interested when I saw the cell of one of my patients who I knew to be a serial killer. It was interesting to see what they kept in their 4×10 space. No one was around, save one custody officer I saw, so I could really take my time.
It really hit home, imagining what it would be like to have that be your space for 40 some years. Maybe two days a week you get to come out to go to the yard–if that–custody may just decide, no yard today. And the only other time you’re coming out of that cell is to go to medical or legal visits. It’s understandable why some of them would want to come to their PT visits. And yet curious why some would refuse them.
Some of the cells looked like they had left everything they owned, at the time that they were removed. Almost like they had kept refusing to accept they were leaving and then at the last minute, custody said, “you’re leaving whether you like it or not.” Without anything packed and ready, they had to leave it all.
You could see their books, toiletries, state issued jackets, socks. Others had rolled up mattresses that they used for reclining onto. Evidence of makeshift ways they had hung things up with string and headphone wires. They could only take so much with them. Some places they were being admitted to, did not permit items they were allowed to own at this prison. So some things needed to be left behind. A proper historian could have had a field day taking images of each of those cells.
From the tiers, I took in the eery narrow passage way between the rows of cells. Likely a way to get access to the plumbing and electrical for each unit. And the platforms off to the ends of the tiers where a rolling chair and a refrigerator sat—evidence of the long hours custody likely spent on watch. On the lowest tier, bak in the corner, several rows of seating within a cage. It looked like a makeshift church pew. I’m not certain of its purpose.
Finally, I exited the tiers and explored the inner yard, essentially basketball courts with tables on the sidelines. A lonely basketball still sat on the side lines of the court. And custody officers that had worked there for years were taking photos and conversing…..I’m certain this is a huge shift in their careers. As I walked around the unit, I couldn’t imagine being in there daily, especially in the wee hours of the night.
At that point I felt like a stranger. This was their world and we were just guests on a museum tour. A noted time in history at the oldest prison in the state.
*just to note, I’ll be leaving out the name of the institution that I work at. It’s a state prison for reference. Images are not from the prison as no devices are allowed in.
Prison PT 
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