Stamps and The Visiting Room

 

Chapter 22

Stamps

   Sending money to prisoners in a federal prison is a rather simple process. It is wired, usually by Western Union, to an account set up for the inmate in the Federal Bureau of Prisons. I would wire it to the account and Matt could use it to purchase items at the prison commissary. There was a $300 spending limit per month where prisoners could purchase personal items, toothpaste, deodorant, soap, and even a few special items like gym shorts or radios.  Each inmate had a small locker in his cell which constituted his personal space. His dad and I were generous with his monthly allowance and usually tried to send him between $250 and $300 each month. We considered it our contribution as if we were helping him through college. I had used that analogy when I tried to encourage him about a seven-year sentence. “Your brother took six years to finish college, so it’s just one more year.” Somehow my comparison didn’t bring much joy to the situation.

   So, when I received a phone call asking for money to be sent to some stranger outside of the prison I was totally confused. “Mom, please just do what I ask. I need some stamps. I’ll explain at the next visit but I can’t do it over the phone.”  What now? Do I honor his request? Is he using drugs inside prison? And what in the world are stamps? I could send him stamps if he needed them.

   My curiosity and my motherly need to please got the best of me and I sent a small amount to a person somewhere in Texas for pickup at the nearest Western Union. Am I crazy or what? I was definitely worried but more concerned that he might be in trouble with someone inside. What if he was being threatened? What if the other inmates found out we had a nice home and thought we had some money they could get to? All the thoughts began to surface and I remember taking a quick breath and asking God for guidance in this and all situations regarding Matt. God was faithful.

   As expected, the next visit began with questions about the money and stamps. Stamps, it seems, was a form of currency used between fellow inmates. Yes, they were old postage stamps, but no, one could not buy new stamps. That would be like issuing counterfeit money. Stamps were used to purchase things that could not be bought at the commissary…fruit taken from the kitchen, a place in line for the dentist, a used pair of Nikes that were no longer sold at the prison store. These men had learned how to work the system from the inside. To some of the prisoners, having money to send home was more important than purchasing items for comfort within their cells, so they sold stamps and asked for the money to be sent to someone outside the walls. That is just what I had done for Matt. I had sent money to a family member in exchange for stamps that my son could use inside the prison.

   Out of necessity these men, confined to a small area of a big institution, had found a way to bargain and trade goods and services. No doubt, the trades could be used to purchase contraband like drugs or alcohol but, these men had also found a way to place value not just on tangible items, but also on their own self-worth. They had created a civilization within the confines of their concrete boundaries.

 

Chapter 23

The Visiting Room

   The waiting area for visitors was large at Coleman FCI compared to the other facilities we would eventually visit. There is something intimidating about simply being there and knowing why.  Certain rules apply to all facilities but each one is allowed some discretion in applying and enforcing individual guidelines.  For instance, Joe wore khaki pants at several visits to Coleman, but Edgefield FCI did not allow visiting males to wear them. I can understand the ban on tight shirts for women, but having to wear what was almost a turtleneck was extreme. I saw several women denied entrance because their top was sleeveless. After all, this was south Florida.

   The closest I came to a wardrobe violation was with my shoes. Those who know me will attest that I can almost always be found in a pair of Keens, which are my go-to shoes for all seasons. They can be classified as a sandal, but they are closed toe for protection. The Board of Prisons may have meant sandals when they described non-acceptable foot attire, but the rules said no open-toe shoes so I was granted permission to carry on with the visit. I could wear my capri pants which amount to old lady shorts, but Joe had to wear pants. We were allowed to carry a light jacket into the room since it could get rather cool in the area for visiting. Everything else stayed in the locker.

    At Coleman FCI, we carried cash in to purchase fast food from vending machines. We could carry $30 for each person who went in so we usually had around $60 which went fast when faced with a prisoner who got no outside food for a few months. I remember the Big Az Cheeseburgers that Matt liked were $4 each and he could eat 3 or 4 with each visit. Add a few bags of chips and drinks and deserts and the money did not go far. We never minded the extravagance at each visit. Heck, it would have cost us that to take him out to eat at a restaurant if we were able. I rather enjoyed watching him enjoy his fast food meal. Reminded me of our trips to McDonalds when he was a small child, but this time the playground was two clusters of four small chairs that face each other.

   After passing the first station with metal detectors and the ion scanner, we were seated in a special group of chairs where we waited to be guided over to the visiting room. The guards on duty had specific jobs for the day, so those who did the check in and the metal detectors stayed at the front desk during visiting hours. The other set of guards took the prisoners back and forth stopping at each station. We had to wait until our guard returned from a run and prepared to take another group of seven or so visitors over to the other building.

   When our guard returned, he or she would call us by name to line up. We got the mark for the day with indelible ink that only showed up under a blacklight. We went to the next station where we were matched with our photo id, then led through the first set of metal electric doors. We all waited inside a small chamber where we then showed our mark to another guard positioned behind the glass where we could see different cameras, clocks and security devices.

   Once everyone was checked, the second set of metal doors open and we exited to an open yard. We waited as our guard went ahead of us then motioned for us to come forward. We gathered again outside a solid metal door and our guard signaled for the door to open. We entered yet another chamber and waited for the large metal door to close behind us. This chamber had 2 doors but we entered the visiting room through the door on the left. I assumed the other door went into the prison. Only one time in all my visits did I see anyone come from behind door number 2.

   The visiting room was huge with rows and rows of groups of chairs facing each other. I counted once and I think there were over 200 seats for visiting at Coleman. Upon entering the area, we were directed by the guard to sit a specific set of chairs, our assigned area for the day. All visitors faced one direction and the prisoners faced the other, usually facing the desk area where we checked in. The only contact we had with the other visitors was an occasional smile or a brief comment. The longest conversation I ever had took place at the microwave as I waited for the Big AZ sandwich to heat for 90 seconds.

   There were very few children and even fewer teenagers, but those who did make the journey were allowed to sit on the same side as the inmate. A small table separated our space from the other visitors which is where we placed out drinks and chips. It’s odd some of the things the prison makes visitors do. We had to pour out our chips on a plate and toss the bag. Guess it could be used to hide something if need be. Anyway, all food items were placed on paper plates. Coleman had as many vending machines as any hospital waiting room I’ve been to, even more than the student snack room at a commuter college. Whoever had that business made a nice profit since every visitor there spent just as much as we did by providing fast food for our incarcerated family member. Now, I never take for granted the convenience of driving through and picking up a meal of my choice or sitting down and eating a pleasant meal at a decent restaurant, even enjoying a home cooked meal cooked with lots of love and seasoning.

   At least the rest room doors had locks on them, for the visitors anyway. Matt had to ask a guard for permission to go to the rest room and sometimes that was quite a wait. He said the guards were very careful during visitation to make sure they watched as he peed. They didn’t want him hiding anything that might have slipped from us to him during the visit. I am sure it was done by some visitors and inmates, but I am too honest. I could not even lie about bringing a bottle of liquor into the stadium when it was in my purse. I could not hold to my Poker Face when asked, “Ma’am, do you have any alcohol in your bag?” My husband had learned the hard way not to ask me to sneak in the booze.

   The only contact we were supposed to have with the prisoner was a big hug when we met and when we left. I did pat him over and over. No one was going to deny this mama some love for her baby boy. I managed to get a squeeze in here and there during the visit. I’m sure the guards were constantly watching for illegal transactions between visitors and inmates, not to mentions the shows of affections from two people who had not seen each other in a while. Some first-time hugs were more than just hugs and if a kiss lasted too long the guards would intervene.

   And I am sure transactions did happen. Once Matt told me to quietly drop a quarter from my money to the floor. I gave him a puzzled look, but he asked me to just do what he said. He slowly slid the quarter his way and managed to “tie his shoe” and put the quarter inside. When I asked him why, he said, “Mom, there are guys in here who have not seen a quarter in 20 years. I just want to show them what they look like.” I had never really thought about that thought until right at that moment. Amazing! Some of these guys have never seen a computer or a cell phone and have no concept of what the internet is. When I think about how much has changed in the seven years Matt was serving his time, I cannot even imagine how much those who are serving longer times will miss. No wonder it is so hard to return to society. I don’t think I could even go back to school because technology has changed the way we do so many things. Try as I might, I can’t stay up to date with all the changes in today’s world and I really do try.

   Visiting hours passed quickly since we had so many things to catch up on. Most Federal Correctional Institutions have regular weekend visitation hours. We could visit on Friday from 1-5 but we tried to make the drive down and save our time for all day Saturday, at least 8-2. Waiting until the last group left could take time, so we tried to get there early and leave before closing. We made the mistake the first time and waited until 9 to get there. We were not familiar with Count which happens at 10, 2, and 4 each day. 

   Count is just what it is, a count of the prisoners.  At 10:00 a.m. all prisoners are directed to line up against the wall and be counted. This sounds simple, but it requires a lot of cooperation within the prison. Everything stops for Count. So, no one goes in or out until count is finished. That includes count in all parts of the prison. So, if we get there right before count or during the preparation, we have to wait. If the numbers are off somewhere then we wait even longer. All stations and guards report their count and when all is well, an all-clear is issued. Then visitation gets back to normal. So, by arriving at 9:00 and doing our normal registration, we got held up by the Count, even though it was an hour later. We didn’t make that mistake again. Meeting Matt at 11:30 when we had been there since 9:00 was no fun for either party. Matt knew we were coming and kept waiting for his call and we were anxious to get in. That is another reason we leave before 4:00 and the next count.

   After driving 530 miles for our visit, we got as much time in as we could, so we returned for a Sunday visit before our trip home. As much as we enjoyed our stay, it was tiring with the stress from the visit and the long drive there and back. Still, Joe and I tried to visit every couple of months. Funny, we were only 40 miles from Disneyworld but we never made a trip there. We had one purpose when we traveled to Ocala and that was to visit our son. 

 

Chapter 21 - Feelings

   Not many people I know have experienced seven years of having a child in a federal prison, but they may have experienced loss, rejection, fear and many of the same emotions I have felt but just not for the same reasons.  We all can relate to one another on some level. It is difficult to put those feeling down on paper, but I would have to say there was a strange sense of awe when I first saw the sign marking the entrance. It read “United States Federal Penitentiary, Federal Correctional Complex, Coleman, Florida.”  Filled with awe, I guess that’s the true meaning of awful. And seeing rows of barbwire fences with razor blade wires on top brought on a fear for what Matt lived with daily. It’s like stepping into a horror story I had only dreamed about but now it was my life.

     That first step into a prison is one of those life events that are never forgotten. The only event I can think of that might be similar is the feeling that comes with a first day of school in a new school. There is a sense of uncertainty, a fear of not following the rules correctly.  I recall a school day like that after my   parents moved to Huntsville at the beginning of my fourth-grade year. I remember going in that new building without any supplies except a new notebook and a few pencils.  There was no Meet the Teacher in 1964, so mother enrolled me on the first day and I entered the classroom on my own. I was terrified but managed to stay calm enough not to make a blubbering fool of myself. It was a sense of abandonment and survival all rolled into one big stomach ache. There was no time for embarrassment, I had to remain attentive in case someone was looking at me. And yet, I was excited about the new year and meeting new friends.

     That feeling returned several times in my lifetime. I felt it most often when I changed schools or started a new semester of classes in college, but never did I feel that first-day feeling as much as I did the first time I entered the grounds of FCI Coleman. I was scared, nervous, anxious, and excited all at the same moment.

     As we traveled down the long road, passed the guard building and a group of warehouses I began to feel overcome by intimidation before spotting our final destination. Pulling in the parking lot my mood changed. It felt like we were entering the set for some prison movie…surreal. I could see no less than four towers that stood taller than any telephone pole I had ever seen. They compared more to those huge power line poles that lead to a power substation. I’d hate to guess how tall they actually were, but I’d say they stood about 50 feet tall. Each tower had an enclosure at the top that had dark colored glass on all four sides. I would assume that they were manned, at least at random times in alternating towers. Matt said there was a rumor that the towers were not manned at the medium facilities, but I would not want to take any chances at either place.

      During a first trip of any importance, I nearly always become preoccupied with observing every detail I can take in, kind of like my first trip to Disneyworld and our trip to the Holy Land.  I did not want to forget the procedures I had practiced. I wanted to remember exactly what I needed to do on the following visits. Because I was so focused, I was also very quiet. I did not laugh and showed very little emotion to any of the guards. We were also discouraged from talking with other visitors, so most of our communication consisted of a smile or a simple, “How far did you have to come?” I guess the authorities felt that we might strike up a coup or start a conspiracy. Who knows?

     I couldn’t help but feel a sense of compassion for the other guests in the waiting room. We all had something in common, a wayward son or relative who we loved but had to deal with his mistakes. I looked around and saw many different faces. One lady had come from California to visit her son, only to find out he was in the Special Housing Unit and could not receive visitors. A brother was turned away much like I was because he tested positive to cocaine. One young lady was told she could not visit in the clothes she had on because her pants were too tight, so she left to find a store where she could purchase appropriate attire.

      I felt sorry for all of them. I knew their heartaches and their fears all too well. It really didn’t matter what the crime was, we were the families who had to deal with the embarrassment and humiliation we faced on a daily basis. When Matt was first arrested and charged with the robberies, I remember seeing his little league baseball coach and his wife in a retail establishment. I know they saw me, too, but they turned away and acted like we were not there. I’m sure they just didn’t know what to say. It was probably best since in the early days I would cry at the mention of his crimes. The hurt was too fresh and too real.

     Several years later, I was able to put my feelings down in words, so I started a blog called Visiting Prison. It was my way of giving the glory to God even when the situation seemed like a hopeless cause. Through my blog I was able to reach others in similar situations who did not want to talk about it. I tried to give them the hope I have in my Savior Jesus Christ. I wanted them to know that they can make it through the bad times, that God will NOT take the hurt away but He will send a peace and be with them through their journey just as he has been for me.

     Those same people who sat in the waiting room with me had become my purpose, so I began to write. I began to share my thoughts and feelings. I began to share God’s glory to all who would listen.

Chapter 20 -- The Second Visit

    

    The 500-mile trip is not an easy one. This time Joe and I made the trek through Atlanta. We left early on a Friday morning so we could travel at our leisure, eat lunch somewhere below the Florida line, and make it to our hotel just after suppertime. That way we would be fresh for our visit on Saturday morning. I do not like to read while I travel but I had become interested in The Hunger Games so the time passed rather quickly for me. 

     We showered, dressed, ate breakfast and packed for our trip to the prison. I carried my clean clothes packed in plastic bags, just like the guard had suggested. When we reached the parking lot, I slipped into the outfit I had washed and packed in Alabama.

     We were confident we had followed the correct procedure should we be tested again by the scanner.  Since we had been told that those visitors selected for a scan were randomly chosen, Joe and I felt sure the odds were in our favor that neither of us would be scanned on this day. After all, there were guests there who had never been scanned.

     After my first experience with the metal detector, I knew not to wear an underwire bra, so we both passed the first hurdle with no problems. As I moved along the line, I felt a strange sense of discomfort come over me. I thought I was nervous from my first encounter with the ion scanner, but it felt like more than just nerves.  Sure enough, the guard instructed me to uncover my hip pocket. WHAT? Was I being tested again? This cannot be random. They really think I am guilty! They have picked me out to do a scan because they think I produce ecstasy?!?

    Wait! What am I nervous about I have followed the procedure to the letter? I have clean clothes that I put on in the parking lot. Just as all these thoughts passed through my head, I heard the sound of the Ion Scan 500 DT and I knew there would be trouble.

     I was asked, once again, to take my place. Joe was not a Happy Camper. Although he had not been with me during my ordeal during the first visit, he was frustrated with the actions of the guards just the same. And now it appeared to be happening again. Needless to say, his temper was beginning to show.

     When the guard told us we would have to meet behind the glass again, Joe became irate. I will not repeat what he said but it was not pleasant. He let it be known that we had done all that was asked of us on the first positive charge. When he was met with a lack of concern, he asked to see someone higher up in the administrative chain. As we waited, he became angrier just thinking about the situation.  Waiting is not productive when tempers are already agitated.

     When the warden arrived, he acted as if he was aggravated at even being bothered by our request.  He was not very friendly nor accommodating. Joe explained our dilemma and asked what we needed to do to correct this mistake to which he responded, “Well, your wife just doesn’t need to test positive.” WRONG ANSWER!  That was not the reply Joe needed to hear.  Frustration from the first visit combined with the condescending attitudes of the workers at this second visit sent Joe into orbit. HE LOST IT! I watched helplessly as Joe proceeded to spew words directly in the face of the warden. The only thing I heard was “LET ME TELL YOU ONE THING….”

     Here we were at a maximum-security prison and Joe was reading the Riot Act to the Warden, no less. I tried to remain cool and asked him to calm down, but anyone who has ever tried to quiet a redheaded, hot-tempered Hobby would understand. He was going to say his piece even if we ended up at FCI Coleman, too. The other guards and I watched in disbelief as Joe continued to make his grievance known. All I could do was pray and believe me, that is just what I was doing.

     After what seemed like an hour but was really more like 10 minutes, Joe retreated. I don’t know if his common sense took over or he just got worn out, but I knew he did not give up his stance. He would carry this complaint onward and upward if need be.

     Later Joe would investigate the ion scanner and its use in the prison system.  We found out that we were not the only people with complaints about false positive drug tests. Joe considered carrying his complaint even further, like to a Senator or even the Department of Justice, but we both decided that the repercussions might be detrimental to Matt, so he decided to drop his case. We both found it ironic that the guards were never checked upon entry even though Matt had said there was plenty of drugs available in the Yard.

     We continued to visit FCI Coleman without another scan. Either I was just lucky or maybe they had my name in the system with a label “DO NOT SCAN!”, but I was grateful never to face the Ion Scan 500 DT again.  I did, however, face countless body scans and searches.

Chapter 19 - The First Visit

                                                           

    Five hundred thirty miles is a long way to travel for a visit, but if I wanted to see my firstborn that’s just what I had to do. So, Joe and I made plans to travel to Ocala, Florida to see Matt. Ocala is only about 30 miles from Orlando, but we did not ever visit Disneyworld on our trips down. We usually left on a Friday morning and traveled all day. We would visit early on Saturday morning. Leave after lunch and return on Sunday morning before we left to return to Alabama.

    Our first visit turned into a memorable visit for all of us.  My middle son, Jeffrey, decided to make the trip with us, so the three of us set out around 8:00 on a Friday morning on what we thought would be a 9-hour road trip. We thought we would save time by avoiding Atlanta which proved to be a big mistake. We pulled into our hotel around 9:00 pm exhausted from the long ride in the backroads of south Alabama. Atlanta might have traffic but at least there were places to stop for restroom breaks and snacks along the way.

     There was little time to rest in the morning because we had a new adventure ahead of us with numerous unanswered questions. Our hotel was about 20 miles from the prison which was quite a way out in the country. I would not have expected any less considering the acreage the FCC covered. We ate the complimentary breakfast, grabbed a few snacks for later and headed out on our journey to visit Matt.

     The GPS on the phone directed us most of the way until we were so far out from civilization that we lost cell service. I would assume there was a reason there was only spotty cell service on the prison grounds, since the prisoners were forbidden to have cell phones. The lack of coverage assured there would be no calls made from within even if bootleg cell phones managed to find their way into the facility. Inside, the concrete walls and metal fences guaranteed no calls would ever penetrate the airways.

     I must say that the awesome expanse of the complex was most impressive. As we drove the long drive past the first gate, I felt a small twinge of xenophobia that actually lasted until the experience of the first visit was complete. That feeling would return slightly each time we made the turn into the facility. It is a feeling associated with the uncertainty of not knowing the rules or what to expect. After all, there is no operations manual that goes along with prison visits for inmates. No matter how many times I visited the website and read the rules for visitation, there was something I missed on each visit.

     Visiting hours began at 8 so we arrived early, but so did every other visitor. The waiting room was large enough to hold about 50 people and the guards were accommodating. We were let in one by one and signed a registration roster with the date and time. Prior to our visit, Matt was required to make a list of possible visitors. We were told that immediate family members were automatically placed on the list but we would learn later that that was not true for everyone. Brad, Matt’s younger brother and my youngest son, was denied admission after a long drive down for a planned visit.

     We were called up one by one to check identification and have a picture taken for the BOP files. We then returned to the room to wait for our turn to be called. Visitors were taken back in groups which usually contained all family members of prisoners but never more than about 7 at a time. Which meant, if there was a large group waiting to visit it could be hours before we got in to see our person.  In a maximum-security prison or United States Penitentiary (USP), visitors were issued a locker with a key. Any items could be locked in the locker before entering the gates to the prison. That meant, we could bring reading material or something to pass the time while we waited.  The only thing we could take back was money for vending machines and the key to our locker. Which may have been what caused my snag on the first visitation.

     We would find out the hard way that money in south central Florida is not always clean and free of drug residue. So much money trades hands with the illegal drug trade that money can often contain traces of drugs that show up on sensitive scanners that detect drugs and drug substances. I know firsthand that this can happen.

     On a normal visit, Joe and I would sign in, wait to be called, go through the metal detector and proceed through the process of gate checks and on to the prisoner visiting room, but not on this visit.

     Since this was our first visit, everything we did was a new experience. We were learning the process so we took careful mental notes of how things worked. This day after registering and having our picture taken, we, Joe, Jeff and me, returned to the room to wait for our call. We were fortunate because our wait was not as long as expected. The registration had lasted a bit longer since we needed to know the tag number of our automobile and Joe had to walk outside to retrieve it. We had waited maybe 20 minutes when “Hobby family visitors” was announced on the loudspeaker.

      All three of us slowly made our way to the metal detector. We took off our shoes and any jewelry and placed them in the plastic tub that ran along the conveyor belt beside us. Joe passed through first because he was quicker getting things off, then Jeff. I was last to go and, of course, the alarm went off when I passed through the bars. I stepped back and tried again. Another alarm! I could feel my anxiety level beginning to rise. The guard asked me to step aside.

     Joe and Jeff had passed the clearing and were waiting to be sent with the guards to the visit, but I was not with them. The guard check all my pockets and patted me down and I tried a third time. Still, I set off the alarm.

     After a quick review with the guard, he decided it must be the underwire in my bra setting off the alarm. Easy fix, I thought, just give me some scissors. I was quickly informed that there were no scissors in a maximum-security prison…. DUH! well, I can just take off my bra, right?  Once again that was not an option because women had to be fully clothed for a visit. (Like they could tell a 57-year-old plus size woman was not wearing a bra!)  Well, what did he want me to do? Chew them out of my bra? His response was a classic, “well, women have been known to do that!”  What! I had to chew the wires out of my bra if I want to see my son. I hesitated about 5 seconds then asked for the restroom key. There was also no key, and no locks, on the restroom facility at FCI Coleman II.

     I entered the restroom just off the lobby and quickly disrobed from the top down. Since I knew it would be a while and there was a possibility of exposure from the unlocked door, I slipped my top back over my head. I sat down on the toilet and began my gnawing and twisting. It was easier than I thought since my adrenalin was surging from the excitement. I snapped the threads with my teeth and broke the wire with my hands. I managed to get a sharp point of the stave through a small hole I had chewed and both sides of the wire came free. I repeated the process on the other cup. Success!!! I quickly dressed and returned to my spot in line, but I would face a second obstacle on my quest to visit my son.  

      As I approached the counter one of the guards asked to see my front pocket. What? My front pocket? What could be in my front pocket? He pulled up a small device that I would later learn was an ion scanner. He touched my pocket with something that looked like the receiver of an old dial-up telephone and I had a strange feeling that things were not going according to my plans. The machine the scanner was attached to began making a strange typing sound and a long piece of paper that resembled an adding machine tape fell from the printing device. The guard tore the paper from the machine like a clerk pulls the receipt from the cash register.  The guard examined the printed paper and asked me to take a seat.  He signaled for me to sit away from the others who were ready to make the move across the grounds to the prison entrance so I knew I was in some sort of trouble.  

      As one guard escorted the group to the proper channels for entering the prison, I sat quietly by myself pondering my fate as I watched the others leave the building. The first thing the guard did was to stamp each visitor with imperceptible ink that showed the code for the day. A machine with a an ultra violet light read the stamp at certain points. They held up the stamped hand and the photo ID and were given the go ahead to proceed to the next point. I watched as the group waited for the first set of doors to open and they entered the chamber as the metal doors closed behind them. Now I was all alone. 

      My turn finally came to be addressed and that was where I was told that a substance was found on my clothing that was used in the production of the drug ecstasy. Ecstasy! Really? Why could they not catch the real drug pushers? I was just an old school teacher who wanted to visit her son. How could I test positive for ecstasy? Surely this was a mistake.

     Mistake or not, I could not visit in the normal manner, which meant I had to visit behind glass like I did in the county jails. I was fortunate that I could visit because the medium facilities did not even have a glass room for visitation. If I tested positive at a medium, I would simply be denied entrance all together. But WAIT! Joe and Jeffrey had already gone back. Could they continue with their visit? Did my positive test affect them who were already inside the walls of the prison? The answer to my question was yes and no. Yes, it affected them and no, they could not visit with prisoner contact. In the visiting room, Joe and Jeff were quickly separated from Matt even before they were able to hug. They were separated and ushered into the visiting room with glass windows. Neither one had a clue what was happening to me in the lobby.

     The device that detected my “drugs” was an Ion Scanner, probably and Ion Scan 500 DT. It’s a machine that uses ion spectrometry analysis or some sort of scientific method I can’t even pronounce much less understand to detect even the smallest amount of drugs or explosives.  I read in an internet article in the Prison Legal News that Ion scanners are able to detect trace amounts of illegal substances as low as 0.01 nanograms, or 1/100 billionth of a gram – an amount smaller than a single grain of refined sugar, and completely invisible to the naked eye.  The extreme sensitivity of the scanner has led to many false positives of the people that were tested.  Those affected have taken legal action against the manufacturer.  The lawsuits also argued the machines could not distinguish whether a trace amount of a substance was used in a legal product or an illegal drug.

     While they moved Joe and Jeffrey to a special visiting room with Matt, I was instructed to wait in the lobby waiting room. So, I took my place back where I started in a room filled with about 25 other anxious guests. While there, all I could do was wait. Joe had the keys to the locker and anything I had brought was locked in there. The guard had told me that only two visitors at a time were allowed back in the special room, so Joe and Jeffrey could visit for a bit. Then, Jeffrey would come out and I could go in and visit with Matt and Joe. Meanwhile, no one other than me had a clue what had happened. They had only been told that I had encountered a problem in the lobby.

      I sat quietly for what seemed like an hour just waiting. As Jeffrey made his return, he could see me through the long glass window. He had a puzzling look on his face that seemed to say, “What in the world happened?” He communicated through his eyes and his facial expression. I held my angst as long as I could and when he entered the room, I burst out” I TESTED POSITIVE FOR ECSTACY!”  He snickered, I cried, and the entire waiting room began to laugh out loud.

     I finally made it back to see Matt and we even had a normal visit the next day. We hugged until the guards told us to take a seat. As we exited on Sunday, we asked what we needed to do to prevent this occurrence from happening again. We were told to wash our clothes at home and place them in plastic bags, shower before the visit and change into the clothes right before entering the facility. We were also told not touch any money before we enter the building.  We followed their suggestions, but would find out on the second visit that even that was not enough to prevent a positive detection by the Ion Scan 500 DT.

Chapter 17- First stop ** Chapter 18-Atlanta ** Chapter 19-Where Did You Say?

 

Part 3 - After the Incident

 

Chapter 17

First stop

     After Matt left the courthouse, he was sent briefly to Cullman before the processing began to transition him to a federal prison.  He stayed there only a few days before he was transported to Calhoun County Jail in Anniston. We visited him there a few times and Jim went with us. Jim had been raised in Anniston and knew his way around town.

     Calhoun County was an older jail in the industrial part of town. The waiting room was small and the facility was not the cleanest we had visited. Many years later we would have a friend lose her son while in the custody of the Calhoun County Jail. Many questions about his death are still unanswered and may always be. We were lucky that Matt had spent enough time in Cullman County to overcome most of his drug dependence.

     His dad and I knew this would be a long process. From Anniston Matt would most likely be transported to Atlanta which served as a holding prison until assignments were made as to where prisoners would relocate. We had looked at the map from the Federal Board of Prisons and assumed that Matt would go to a medium facility based on his charges, the first offense, and what his lawyer had said. There were several within close proximity to our home. In fact, Talladega was a medium and not too far away. Our attorney informed us that Talladega had just recently had a problem with drugs being brought in to the prisoners so that might not be the best place for Matt.

     All we could do now is wait. We visited Calhoun County on visiting days but we never knew when Matt would be moved. He would simply call us collect when he changed locations. Talk about a stressful time! Just not knowing the future can be nerve wrecking, like sitting and waiting for the hands of the clock to move. As a mom, all I could do was pray for his safety. I prayed daily for a hedge of protection for my son. I knew the kind of people who were in prison and now my baby was one of them.

      I remember a conversation I had with Matt after this all came about. I was wondering what I could have done or did not do that might have prevented this situation. I asked him if maybe I had tried harder to keep him away from despicable characters if that might have made a difference. Maybe I was too tough or too lenient. Maybe I should have filtered his friends more closely. I had known all his childhood friends and their parents, but as he grew older, I did not know the new faces. Some came to see him but didn’t stay long enough for me to introduce myself. If I questioned their motive, he would convince me otherwise. I remember his response so clearly. He said, “Mom, I was probably the worst of the worst. The other parents wanted to keep their children away from me.”  Where had I been? I thought I was doing the best I could at parenting. I took him to church and taught him about Jesus.  He was always polite, made good grades, but he was living another life, an alternate culture that was destroying the child I knew and loved.

     And now, this mom was waiting to hear the name of the Federal Prison where her baby boy would spend the next seven years of his life. How could this be happening?

 

Chapter 18

Atlanta

       The phone call finally came. Collect from the Federal Prison in Atlanta. That is a call you never want to hear. It’s a simple recording that says “Hello. You have a collect call from _______, an inmate in a federal prison. To accept this call press 1.” The blank is filled in by a recording from the inmate. I guess they are prompted to say their name after a beep so the call is more personable.  It is so shocking to get that first call. I knew it would be a collect call, but I was not prepared for the federal prisoner part. It made the whole situation so real, as if I had been dreaming all along.

      Matt’s message was short and to the point. He was in Atlanta Federal prison, he would be processed and sent to his permanent location within 1-2 weeks. He would be locked in most of the time, kept away from the other prisoners, and we could not visit him there. We also could not send him any money on account or any personal items. Basically, he just had to wait. He was in a cell 23 out of 24 hours a day.

      All we could do was wait to hear from him when he was relocated. His dad and I started mapping all the medium facilities within a certain radius. Matt’s pre-trial probation officer had told us that the Federal Board of Prisons tried to keep the prisoner within 500 miles of home, so we located all the qualifying facilities within 500 miles. The website listed every prison, but some could be eliminated in our search because they only housed a certain population, like just women or maximum-security prisoners.

      From the map we determined we would probably be headed west to Mississippi or maybe Arkansas. Never in our wildest dreams could we have imagined our destination for the first visit with our son.

 

  Chapter 18

Where did you say?

     As a way to pass time and fill a need, I would check the Federal Board of Prisons daily. I’d do an inmate search.  I found out I could pull up Matt name on the website and it would tell me his location. It would not always be accurate but I had some idea when he was moved to Atlanta and then to his permanent location.

      We got the call on a Monday, I think. I had my cell phone at school and had already informed my coworkers that I would be taking a call anytime it came in. That meant, even in the middle of class. We had a plan in action in case I needed help with my students. My entire fifth grade team had been a blessing all through the arrest, the trial, and now prison. They supported me with prayer, words of encouragement and even meals when I needed them. We were a tight group who shared all our secrets with each other. I was so blessed to have had a great group of teachers as my friends during my difficult times. They were more like my sisters than coworkers. They were there for the deaths of my mother, grandmother, mother-in-law, and now stood beside me during my troubles with Matt. I have been truly blessed with God given friends who are never judgmental or condescending.

      The call came from a Federal Prison in Florida. Florida? Really? The closest prison in Florida was at least 350 miles from home. Could it be as far as Miami? After confirmation from Matt we were informed that he had been sent to the Federal Correctional Complex near Ocala, Florida….530 miles from home.

     The facility was actually Coleman Federal Correctional Institution II (FCI), a part of the Federal Correctional Complex (FCC) which is composed of several facilities within the complex. Coleman is a sprawling complex of penitentiary units with five sections: two high-security institutions, a low and medium-security facility and a camp for female inmates.  All institutions are operated by the Federal Bureau of Prisons (BOP), a division of the United States Department of Justice. We would learn that the facility is the flagship facility of the BOP, housing 1170 inmates in just FCI Coleman II alone. It is the largest facility within the BOP with a total inmate population of almost 6600, in other words, a small city in itself.  And my son was about to become a member of the notorious list of inmates who have served time at what I perceived as a modern-day Alcatraz.

      Matt would be assigned to FCI Coleman II, but it was still a federal penitentiary. His dad tried to convince me that FCI Coleman I housed the worse criminals, but he was telling that to a mother.  Anything with a fence, guards, and locked doors means trouble to a mom. According to Matt the only difference in Coleman I and Coleman II was the fact that Coleman I had gangs and gang activity.  All I could think of was the possibilities of what could happen in prison. It would be several weeks before we could visit Matt, but we were well on our way to full indoctrination with just the first phone call.

 

Chapter 16 The Sentencing

 

    During his time at our house, Matt had met numerous times with his attorney. Considering all the complications from the confession, his lawyer had tried desperately to come up with an adequate defense. What they didn’t know was that Matt had given a lot of details that were incorrect. I don’t know if it was intentional, from the subconscious, or maybe an effect of the anesthesia, but many of the details he described would prove to be untrue.

     Matt had told his attorney, Joe, that he had been forced to rob the pharmacies. He tried to convince Joe that there had been a man he owed money to that had come to the house and physically made him rob the pharmacies. Joe had acquired a private detective who had interviewed Matt and recorded his testimony. He started a search but could find nothing. It was determined that Matt had been lying and simply fabricated the story. Matt swore he was telling the truth, but addicts can be so convincing.

     Whether there really was a man or not, there was a stronger case that Matt had acted alone. He had previously worked at another branch of the pharmacy chain and an employee recognized him. He was even picked out of a group of pictures, a sort of lineup.

     Matt had told his attorney that the gun he had used was a BB gun that looked like an actual pistol. He described how he had come home and threw the gun into the woods surrounding the house. Once again, the detective searched the area with a metal detector but found nothing. Even if the gun had been found to be a toy, it still would be armed robbery. We learned from counsel that even a finger held in a pocket in a way to resemble a gun would still be considered a weapon. There was still a threat because the victims could not know if the firearm was real or not. Matt’s attorney thought the fact it was nor real might lessen his sentence some.

     So, Joe and I combed the area for evidence as well. Several days we searched the wooded area in front and in back of the house and even across the street. We held out hope in finding the toy gun, but we found nothing. We had thoroughly searched the house as well.

     There was no one living in the house after the home invasion and shooting, so the house remained vacant while Matt was in the hospital and then recuperating at our house. We kept the house locked but it was situated in a dark, deserted spot on several acres of property. The house could be seen better from the school parking lot than from the major road in front of the house. Within a week, someone had broken into the house and stolen the refrigerator, stove, microwave, and washer and dryer. In fact, they took anything that was able to be pawned or sold for cash. We assumed it was used for drug money.

      After the robbery we had searched every corner of the house searching for anything valuable that might have been overlooked. Several months after the sentencing and before the house was sold, the missing toy BB gun was found lying on the dining room table. No one could explain the strange reappearance of the weapon.  It would not have changed the charges or the conviction. The only purpose I could make for the gun appearing at that time was that the Lord wanted us to find it. Maybe so that we would know Matt had told some truths. I don’t know why but the gun was there that day.

     Matt was facing a stiff sentence but less time than the possible state charges would bring. It looked to be around 10 to 15 years, possibly twice that amount if convicted on two counts. In the federal system, sentencing is determined in months served, so Matt was looking at 120 to 180 months. Sentencing at the federal level is determined by a set of defined criteria, based on such things as prior criminal charges, severity of the crime, things that factor in to the equation. That is left up to the judge and the attorneys, but the process is pretty well spelled out.

     There are very few exceptions to receiving a lower sentence. However, once again, God provided a way for Matt to have a lesser sentence. It involved a possible disclosure that only Matt knew all the details and he agreed to speak to the FBI. Even his attorney had said there was no way it could happen, but by the grace of God it did.  Five years off his sentence!  Another miracle!

     So Matt was given a sentence that required him to serve 90 months. That day in court will be forever seared in my mind. As a mother I was not sure I could face the drama in the courtroom. I had not even been able to get out of the car that day back in January at the crime scene. How could I face seeing my son in this situation?

     Matt entered the courtroom in the orange jumpsuit bound in shackles and handcuffed. It tore at my mother’s heart like a hot branding iron had been placed on my chest. Tears welled up in my eyes but I was able to keep my composure. All around the country people were praying for Matt, the judge, our family, and all those involved with this case.  I felt every prayer at that moment. I remember the peace I had during the sentencing and afterwards…the Peace that passes all understanding. I actually felt as though the Holy Spirit had His arms around me, drying my tears from the inside and keeping me composed and calm.

     Matt’s two brothers were present that day. Joe had asked that they be there to witness some of the consequences for Matt’s behavior and actions. They had been hurt from all the stealing, arguing, and family drama that comes from dealing with an addict in the family. He wanted them to see the high price that Matt had to pay. It would be several years before his younger brother would even talk to Matt because of all the hurt and anger.

     After the judge read his verdict, he motioned for me to come forward. I was allowed to hug my baby for the first time in over 6 months. It felt good just to touch him and know that he was still living and breathing. It was extremely hard for me to breathe that day. I could only imagine what he was going through.

     Jim was also with us that day.  He was a good family friend who had also been Matt’s Youth Director at church. Jim had been faithful to visit Matt with us so it was no surprise that he agreed to go that day, too. Of all people, Jim knew the true heart of Matt from being with him through the years. He had also been through some rough times with Joe and me as we dealt with the frequent teenage problems. He had served in combat duty in Viet Nam, so I guess he thought our problems were minor in the big scheme of things.

      One year, Matt was scheduled to attend a youth retreat in Florida. Something had come up that made Joe and me question letting Matt attend. He had several friends who he had invited and really needed to be there. So, we agreed to let him go if I went along as well. Matt was not happy but we insisted. There was one minor problem: where would I sleep? Bless their sweet hearts, Jim and his wife let me bunk in their room with them. They shared a bed and I had the other one. With 15 or so teenagers there was not much time for sleeping, so all worked out for the good.

      Our minister was also there as the judge read his decision. We all gathered in the hallway after Matt left. Not much was said, just a few thanks for coming, a prayer and a gracious acknowledgement of the power of the almighty in the final terms of the judgement. His attorney was there to witness the lower sentence and now had to be reminded that he had said “no way.” Joe had just witnessed another of the miracles in Matt’s life. With the federal system time can be shortened for good behavior but never less than 85 % of the sentence. Matt was given credit for his time in Cullman, but he still had about seven years to go. Now began the long process of serving the 99 months.

 

Chapter 15 - Cullman County

 

     Matt was taken to the Jefferson County Jail but only for a short time. By the end of the week, he was processed and sent to the correctional facility in Cullman County. We learned that federal prisoners were not housed with the county prisoners. The feds had a contract to house their prisoners waiting trial so Matt was transported by van to the Cullman County Jail.

     The visiting times were different than Jefferson County, so every Wednesday evening Joe and I made our trip up I65 to visit our son. I usually met Joe in Kimberly and left my car so we could ride together. It was only about 45 minutes but the wait was always a surprise.  Sometimes we got right in and sometimes we waited for an hour or so.

    Matt was in Cullman the first Christmas away from home. We were not allowed to give him any gifts but he did ask the warden for one favor. Matt had been smoking when he left but he could not smoke in jail. He had asked the warden if he could have some cigarettes for Christmas. The warden had agreed on one condition: that Matt provide cigarettes for all the prisoners who were incarcerated on Christmas Day. He was asked to provide 2 cigarettes for each prisoner. So, Joe and I went out and bought 1 carton of Basic Menthol and 2 cartons of Basic regular and delivered them to the jail on Christmas Eve.  That was one happy group of prisoners on that smoky Christmas Day!

     We have learned our share of rules and procedures during this journey. One thing for sure: the rules are always different at each facility. We always expected to wait and always needed to have a picture ID, but other details varied at each location. Some places we had to put money in a machine which went to an account for the prisoner. Some of the machines only took money and some would take a credit card. All of the visitation was behind glass. Some had a phone we both talked into and some just had glass with a speaker. There was always a time limit because so many people had someone to visit. There were usually children around waiting to see their fathers and mothers.

     I knew I had entered a different world when I observed some children at Cullman playing Hide and Seek the best they could. They would hide behind chairs, under tables, and beside Coke machines. The teacher in me would focus on their playful antics and I found myself amused at their creativity. No items were allowed in the back with the prisoners, so we usually came in with only our driver’s licenses. The same was true for the children. No books, or toys, or anything for entertainment.

     As I watched the group of three act out their child’s play, I overheard one child say to the other. “OK, now I’ll be the warden!”  Oh, well! When in Rome do as the Romans do… I realized at that point I was totally submerged in a different culture. They were acting out what they knew.  Sad, but true. But that did not make them any less loved by the one true God.

     Little moments like that have changed my feelings about people and families who struggle with issues related to drug addiction. It is a curse inflicted on all families. It knows no boundaries of race, gender, socioeconomics, faith, education. It’s a monster that can raise its ugly head anytime or anyplace. It can rip families apart and make orphans of the innocent. The only thing I can do to help others, besides pray for them, is to reassure them that there is a purpose in their life. That they are part of the big picture, a victim of an unseen battle for each soul that has nothing to do with what we did or did not do. I can encourage them to trust the Lord in each and every circumstance and be dependent on His grace as they face their earthly struggles. I can reassure them of the hope I have found in Jesus Christ. It will not fix the hurt and the anger or pay for the legal battles, but it will provide a peace in knowing that all things work for the good of those who love the Lord. I can tell them what I have been through and what I continue to face on a daily basis. I can share my struggles and my faith.