An unusual entry

It’s unusual to say the least to include my voice here. I type up and post David’s blog but do it without any changes or edits.

But I have made an exception, as I had the privilege of going to visit David in Mayo CI 2 weeks ago. It’s quite the thing, and I’ll try to paint a picture.

We (my daughter and I) got there at 8.30 and the weather was already incredibly hot and humid. We waited in line with maybe 50 other people, all of whom were welcoming to us as “first timers” and many of whom clearly knew each other well from regular visits. Babies cried, elderly people took time to sit away from the line in the shade – and many people joked that as Brits we were great at waiting in line!

After at least an hour, we were gradually allowed in, with totally understandable high security. We finally entered the “visitation park”, a large canteen-like room with folding tables, vending machines, a small “canteen” with microwaveable fast food, a few board games – and a palpable atmosphere of every imaginable emotion – anticipation, sadness, joy, love, misery. I watched a small girl silently crying, tears streaming down her face without making a sound. I also watched a baby walk for the first time to his daddy – and the whole room erupted into applause. And we waited. And waited.

Despite repeatedly asking the guards where David was, and getting reassurances that he was on his way, nothing happened. We began to wonder if he’d had second thoughts. Began to doubt we’d recognise him and maybe he’d come in, not seen us and left. And really worried that he’d think we’d “stood him up”.

After about 2 hours, there was “count”, when everyone had to go back to their dorms. Count wasn’t complete so had to be re-done, so the whole thing took about an hour. All in all, from joining the line outside, we waited 5 hours until David appeared. I’m not going to criticise the guards, who were always courteous to this old British woman. And I’m not going to dwell on the wait (although as a smoker – which David hates – I was climbing the walls at this point!)

When David finally arrived, we of course knew him immediately! It was hugely emotional – although he told me very sternly not to cry! You have to understand that this is someone I have had in my life for over 8 years. First of all by handwritten letters (and he always complained about the smell of smoke!) Then it was typed letters, every fortnight. Then emails. Once he moved to Mayo after the resentencing, we could talk on the phone (and I’m sorry D how many times I miss your calls!) And now to meet, and hug.

I know we were both very nervous. What if we found nothing to say? What if it was just too awkward? But very soon it settled into the same easy communication we’ve had through so many mediums. As D put it “it’s so easy to vibe with you”.

If you’re a regular reader of this, maybe you need me to describe David. Open face. Amazing eye contact. Gentlemanly. Funny. Very able to be teased. So so easy to talk to. Not someone who takes advantage (we were allowed to bring in around $20 for snacks and I watched other inmates understandably buy everything the canteen could provide. D just took a sandwich and a bottle of water, and was more concerned that we had had something).

And it went so quickly. We talked football (soccer). About his legal representation. About our great American road trip. Just stuff, the stuff you chat to a friend about. I can’t give you any major revelations. I met the same guy I’d “met” through letters, emails and latterly phone calls already. I certainly got a greater insight into where he’s living. The time flew, and after just under 1 ½ hours, time was called. And we said our goodbyes. The hardest thing is that what I wanted to say was “see you soon”. But I live 4133 miles away (yes, I looked it up!)

Finally, I’m aware that not everyone reading this will share my views on the death penalty, on rehabilitation and second chances. And I respect that – particularly for families of victims. I am not writing to explain or excuse, to challenge or minimise. I am simply writing to tell you about my friend, and the huge privilege it was to meet him face to face.

Karen Chandler

People can be overwhelming

Now that I’m in general population, I’m interacting with a lot more people; sometimes to the point where it’s overwhelming. I’m in a dorm with 84 other men, the complete opposite of solitary confinement. I get to interact with guys that’s only been in here for a couple of months so far, with guys going home in a few days, to guys that’s been in over 40 years, and everything inbetween.

General population and death row are like two different worlds. On the row, it’s as if you’re frozen in time, because everybody around you is in the same predicament, whereas in general population, there’s no telling what you’re going to get. Someone that has a few days until he gets to go home isn’t focussed on tablets or setting up the Securus app. he’s talking about his worries going back out into the free world and doing better – at least most of them are.

There’s a high turnover rate – guys come and go, so it actually feels like the days are different, especially when you interact with so many different people on a daily basis. I’m constantly learning from the guys around me, from the short timers to the lifers. I also learned from the guys on the row, but now it’s coming at me at a faster pace.

One year on

What a year it’s been! As I think about where I was a year ago, it feels like I’ll look back on this year as the year of reflection. The transition from death row to general population was such a shock to the system that i had to make the conscious effort to slow down, and to really try and figure how to proceed, figure out my new normal. I’ll probably never get over the trauma of being in solitary confinement for 30 years, and will be forever anxious in large crowds. That’s not just something you get over. It was so bad that it didn’t feel right, felt like I was doing something wrong when I was being escorted without full restraint. I felt so much lighter without handcuffs and shackles, but I’ve been carrying that extra weight for so long that it was becoming normal. It also felt good not getting the odd looks, the sad looks that death row inmates get when they get escorted. It’s a full on production to transport a death row inmate. It was good to just blend in and go through the reclassification process without having the full production.

There’s also no such thing as soft transition. I went from a single man cell to a 72 man dorm. Talk about shock to the system. I definitely had a few sleepless nights. I’m doing better now, but I also do have moments when it’s overwhelming, and I need to step back and gather my thoughts.

With all that being said, I’m very aware of the opportunity that I was given. Getting off the row didn’t always seem like it was a possibility. I’ve had many sleepless nights thinking about that as well. I’m very thankful, and even though life in prison is far from ideal, the opportunity won’t be taken for granted.

I’m still trying to figure it out and find my way, but hopefully I’ll make the best of life when it’s all said and done.

One love

David