Going to Aliceville

Article archive / March 2018

Originally published: . Volume 9, No. 3. Source pages: 10.

It took me four hours on back roads to get to Aliceville, Alabama, the small, rural community where one of the Federal Correctional Institutions is located, on Highway 14 a few miles out of town. The facility is a low–security prison for up to about 1,500 female offenders, with a minimum-security satellite camp for another 200 women. Dr. Beverly Stubblefield is serving a 30-month sentence at the satellite camp.

I got there at exactly the time when Beverly had said not to, because the entrance was closed for “count,” the guards making sure all of the offenders were where they are supposed to be. There are no fences. I waited at the front door with a middle-aged woman and two teenage boys, and we were all eventually allowed in to the small, bare, reception area where we were met by the guard who instructed me to fill out a visitors’ form.

He was a crisp, pleasant-looking, businesslike, uniformed Black man, about 6’ and perhaps in his early 30s. He took my drivers’ license, car keys and the visitor’s sheet––on which I swore that I had no weapons, drugs, or so on.

Beverly had already told me in an email (we are pen palls now on the prison email system) that I was not to wear “sandals or green.” She said not to wear a watch or smart watch. But, she recommended I dress in layers because the room is cold and coats aren’t allowed. I would not be allowed to bring paper, pencils, or a tape recorder.

What I was to bring, she said, were quarters. “Bring two rolls of quarters in a clear, zip lock bag.” This was so we could have lunch out of the vending machines. I was all in. I arrived with four rolls.

The guard disappeared behind the glass door with my form, license and car keys. I had a short flash of Zimbardo and losing my identity in a Federal prison.

But, I could see Beverly through the window, and she looked just fine. She was visiting with two young women and an adorable baby. I waved at her and she waved back at me and soon the two women came out and introduced themselves as Beverly’s relatives. They thanked me for coming and I thanked them.

Then the guard ushered me through the door. Beverly and I hugged and said how happy we were to see each other. She was wearing a green uniform and looked to be relaxed and in good health. She told me where to sit and explained that we were not allowed to sit side-by-side but only facing each other. I wasn’t sure exactly what the danger would be, but obeyed 100%.

The visiting area was one large rectangular room maybe 50 ft by 150 ft. Two additional guards, these White and similar demeanor to the first one, joined the other and sat around an elevated desk and platform, to one side of the larger wall.

The room reminded me a bit of an airport waiting room with rows of plastic chairs. There were vending machines around the perimeter and at one end, a play section with toys, for children. A family sat there most of the day while two, cute as buttons, twin girls played on the floor.

Beverly and I talked and drank diet cokes, and talked, and ate some chocolate, and talked, and drank more diet cokes. I wound up putting the quarters in the machines for us because she was not allowed to touch money. This rule took me a couple of reminders to learn and I kept trying to hand her quarters and was probably annoying.

The room was full of visitors and inmates. Beverly later said that there were physicians, nurses, and attorneys in the group and many were in their 50s or 60s. She seemed to know everyone and it was clear that she was in some type of informal, supportive role. She introduced me to several inmate friends, including one whom she was teaching to play the piano and one that was the photographer. When I commented that the restroom was unusually clean and thoughtfully supplied, she said, “We do that, the inmates take care of everything.” She told me she is the senior orderly in the Chapel Library and that she does a lot of supporting of the other women.

During the day another of her friends showed up to visit, unexpectedly. The three of us continued to chat about the world, life and what happened to Beverly.


This article is part of a historical newspaper archive. Read the original issue for its original layout, photographs and graphics.