THE PEN

            This high walled anachronistic stone structure sits within the city limits of a town called Walla Walla in the far south-east part of the state of Washington. It hasn’t changed much since it was built in 1886—three years before Washington became a state, and the misery it harbors behind its main gate hasn’t either. The place is better known as the Washing State Penitentiary. To the locals it is simply referred to as “the Pen.”

            Driving into to the visitor’s parking lot a visitor will notice the facility is surrounded by well-manicured green grass, stylish bushes and flowers reflecting a sense of calm and beauty. Nevertheless, looking up at the high walls with guard towers and uniformed men holding automatic rifles peering down at the “yard,” the illusion quickly passes.

            Within the prison, which houses over 2,000 inmates, normalcy is practiced in a very un-normal way. What is taken for granted in “the free world,” doesn’t exist here. In order for an inmate to survive its necessary to adapt, try to stay out of trouble, follow rules and simply “do your own time.” For many others who will spend the rest of their lives incarcerated this can prove to be difficult until, or unless, they realize that this is all there is.

            Their routine is the same day in and day out. Friendships are made within their community and enemies as well. It’s good to have friendships—they help protect your back. The enemies they try to avoid at all costs. Some have jobs which may pay as much as 25 cents a day or some may be taking educational high school or college courses for credit and graduation.

            Checking in at the office we were required to show our identification and reason for the visit. I had contacted the institution week’s earlier requesting permission to do a series of articles for my newspaper. A visit was granted and I was allowed a tour the inside with no reservations or restrictions with one of the prisons officials. It was quite an eye opener.

            Once inside the walls it was a different world. There were inmates scattered around the “yard” and buildings, some just sitting and leaning against a wall and others just taking their exercise. No one was in a hurry to get anywhere since there was no place to go. The officer I was with introduced me to a “trusty” who took over and the two of us continued our peregrination as inmates gave us a curious once over.

            The fellow escorting me was serving time for grand larceny and stealing checks. He was friendly, affable and answered questions without embarrassment or hesitation. I liked him.

            The penitentiary housed several industries. If an inmate wanted to learn a trade there was several available. The upholstery shop made furniture for both the prison and for other state government agencies, an auto shop trained aspiring mechanics and a prison newspaper, staffed by prisoners, was printed for the inmate population. But the one industry that caught my attention was where they made all of the state’s vehicle license plates. Touring the building that housed the machinery for making the plates I was introduced to an older inmate whose name stuck out. It was Jessie James! Walla Walla was to be his home for the rest of his life since he was convicted for murder with no chance of parole.

            The prison included men who were sentenced for as little as a year and a day to those sitting on death row. Those who were waiting for execution were housed in a maximum building within a maximum building. It was known simply as “Big Red.” The method of death gave a condemned man the option to be hung or lethal injection. If the person would not make a decision then the state would make the decision for him and the result would be injection.

            Inmates confined at the prison include some familiar and noted people. There is Kenneth Bianchi, also was known as “the Hillside Strangler.” It was he and his cousin who prowled the streets in Los Angeles, California looking for female victims. His cousin died in a San Quinton. Another well known murderer is Gary Ridgway who murdered over 30 women and dumped their bodies in the Green River near Kent, Washington. Both are serving life sentences with no chance of parole. But with today’s permissive attitude, who knows how long they will remain behind bars.

            And on death row a mild mannered former “family man,” by the name of Robert Lee Yates passes his time as he goes through a series of state and federal appeals. His background is interesting in many ways.  He was once hired by the Washington State Department of Corrections as a prison guard and he also flew helicopters for the National Guard. As a military pilot he was awarded several medals for his service and held in high esteem. Now Yates sits awaiting his death at a state appointed time. He was convicted for murdering some 15 women and one man and had the audacity to bury one of his victims, Melody Morfin, outside his bedroom window! His wife and children never suspected he was a monster in disguise.

            As the seasons pass those behind the grey stone walls can only imagine living in freedom. Many will be released only to return for another crime. The recidivism rate for criminals borders around 50 percent. Some return merely because they are “institutionalized” and can’t make it on the “Outside.” For others they are simply evil men.

            Yet there are others who find confinement an experience they will vow never to repeat. Most of these folks are incarcerated for drug offenses and now that they have had the chance to get “clean” they have no desire to return to the type of life that got them here. For them there is hope. But even in prison narcotics can be obtained if one knows the right person. Drugs are smuggled in by visitors and in some cases in the past, prison guards.

            Prison is an imperfect world at best.

By day’s end it was time to leave. Escorted to the gate separating the main prison from the administration building you have to walk into a room which has two locked doors; one entering and the other leading into the main building. Once in the room both doors are locked and a head count is made and all are required to show identification that matches a sheet. Once cleared the main door opens and you return to the free world.

            Returning to my car it was nice to see the penitentiary disappear in the rear view mirror as I headed west back to my own home and family.