What is involved in 'navigating the prison system' for visits, etc., as a prison wife?
I was raised by a correctional officer. My stepfather retired from the Missouri Dept of Corrections when I was in high school. I didn't go into the u201cprison wife experienceu201d daring one of the staff members who worked at the prison to knock the chip off my shoulder so I could go bat shit crazy. I didn't have a problem with cops, and I don't now. They're all human to me.That said, the 10 or 11 month long delay that I suffered through just to get visits with my husband approved through the prison was 100% the staff's fault.Perhaps staunchly at variance with my no-nonsense stepfather and his varnished prison guard boots was my own father, who was already in prison when my husband went in.I had been putting off applying for visits with my father, fearing it would prevent me from being added to my husband's approved visitor list for whatever reason. But then my mother died, and although my parents had been divorced for over a decade, theyu2019d found deep friendship in one another as co-parents over the last 4 or so years. They had the kind of appreciation for one another that blossoms like a sturdy oak between two people who have known each other intimately for 20+ years, and where simply looking at them feels like returning home, reminds you where you came from, who you've been all these years and who you are now, and why.I knew my father was devastated when he learned of her death u2024 plus he was in prison. So, I thought: u201cOkay, maybe he needs me.u201dOverly cautious as I am (which never seems to do me much good, I might add), I called the prison to ask if getting on my dad's visitor list would mess up my ability to be on my husband's. The woman on the other line told me no. As a precautionary measure, I called a different prison, asked a different staff member. Same answer. Yes, I could be on both visitation lists. No problemo, she could assure me.So, I applied. Turns out, both staff members were fucking wrong, and it fucked my shit up.I had to wait 90 days to be removed from my dad's list. Then I had to wait 90 more days to reapply for visitation with anyone else.Then, during that final 90 day stretch, the prosecutor on my husband's case took a different job, but left a paperwork error behind in my husband's file which caused the new prosecutor (a real gung-ho! motherfucker if there ever was one) to indict him on a charge that had been dropped per the plea deal my husband had signed and was currently making good on by, you know, sitting his ass in prison.One day, he was suddenly uprooted from prison and transported back to county jail for an arraignment hearing, but the prosecutor noticed his error the day of court and filed a hasty motion to dismiss the charge. However, both the prison and the superior court may as well have been living a technology-free Amish existence on two desert islands on opposite sides of the planet for how difficult it was to get the two to communicate. The court simply needed to fax the dismissal over to the prison so they could update their system and lift my husband's detainer warrant. Until they did, I could not visit.This took months. I have no clue why it did, but it did.When the detainer warrant was finally lifted and I was free to apply, I sent in my application and the $25 u201cbackground check feeu201d money order through the mail and paid $8 extra for it to be shipped via certified priority mail (2-day delivery, guaranteed). In other words, the prison had to sign for my application once it arrived, which it was scheduled to do 2 days after I sent it out.It arrived 3 days later (gee, USPS, fucking round of applaus) and was signed for by [an officer] at 9:56 in the morning. The $25 money order I sent for the fee was cashed a week after that. I gave it about 10 more days before I began calling incessantly for updates, getting nothing out of the prison staff besides u201cIt's pending in background, be patientu201d until one day about 6 weeks into my waitu2026u201cMau2019am, we have no record of an application for you. Like, at all.u201dIt was gone. Nothing on file. Not in the electronic database, or in the stacks of paperwork that were threatening to take over the visitation office, or u201cpending in background.u201d The lady even stayed 20 minutes after the end of her shift to search for it with me tripping out on the other end the entire time, because whaaaaat.I wanted to scream at her. u201cBitch, let me find out you guys are doing this shit on purpose!u201dInstead, I broke down and bawled like a baby. u201cWhat am I supposed to do now?u201d I asked her imploringly.u201cReapply,u201d she said, sounding very done with this.Instead, I contacted the AZ Dept of Corrections central office in Phoenix. I told them my application was signed for by one of their officers. I gave them the USPS tracking number so they could see for themselves. I told them my money order had already been cashed, and gave them the tracking number from my money order stub so they could see that, too.Aaaand, they weren't interested. After going back and forth with someone from Constituent Services for several days, I received this email, copied verbatim, from a manager in the Directoru2019s office, who was insisting I simply apply all over again:u201cThe matter is not going to be investigated. Please understand we have 43,000 inmates and each inmate may have 20 visitors/phone calls on their list. We do background checks on everyone initially, and yearly, so that is a great deal of paperwork to process. Unfortunately, sometimes items are misplaced or loss. In addition, Visitation staff at the prisons are Correctional Officers and they often get pulled from working on Visitation to work security, as that comes first. All of the staff at the Arizona Department of Corrections does the best job possible, however, we are only human and sometimes mistakes occur and/or paperwork is lost.I would suggest to move forward and call us back in about 40 days and we can check on your visitation application, or as mentioned before, you can contact Visitation at the prison and see if they are able to expedite your application, as you indicated they told you they would do.No, there is no one else for you to speak with. Youu2019ve both emailed and spoken to Constituent Services, and to the Deputy Warden at the Unit, and I am a Manager in the Directoru2019s Office.u201dDefeated, I applied once again. (Only to be told by a different member of the prison staff that uh no, they cannot expedite anyoneu2019s application, and I'd just have to sit tight for the customary 40u201360 day wait period while my application was u201cpending in backgroundu201d again).In the meantime, I contacted one Donna Leone Hamm, a former criminal court judge who'd founded the highly effective prison advocacy nonprofit Middle Ground Prison Reform, and has been eating foolish prison staff and the inflated sense of importance they rode in on for breakfast since the 1980u2019s.Donna does not fear the prison staff, nor does she trust their integrity in general. She finds their motives to be utterly transparent, and has no qualms about exposing the rampant mismanagement of the state prison system quite bluntly, like a pin pricking a balloon, whenever the clowns behind the operation start thinking they can get away with something dumb.I sent her a rambling, frustrated, tearful email, not really expecting a reply u2024 the woman is up to her eyeballs in work and letters morning, noon, and night u2024 and sent it off.To my amazement, she replied quite promptly that same afternoon.u201cTell me everything again, except this time cut all the emotional stuff. Just give me the facts in chronological order, and I'll look into it.u201dI complied, hit send, and waited, refreshing my email repeatedly until I fell asleep that night with the gmail inbox page burned into my eyes.Donna never responded to that email, but the very next day I received a call from the woman who'd stayed 20 minutes past her shift to look for my long-lost application, now 5ever ago.She sounded excited, and even in my daze I found that endearing.It was all over at last. My visitation application had mysteriously been approved.Nowadays, I'm used to seeing my husband on weekends. I look forward to it all week long. I've grown accustomed to our little routine.I don't leave at the crack of dawn anymore to hurry into visitation. Our son is 2 now, and he can't handle 8 hours at the prison. So, weu2019ve adjusted around his irrational toddler moodiness because we love him.Now we leave mid-morning. I drive about 91 miles all the way up through the mountains, which I affectionately refer to as the u201crugged terrainu201d when Iu2019m complaining about the long ass, steep ass drive to my husband, who always rolls his eyes when I do that.When we arrive, I remove the keychain clip thing from my keys and put only my car key and u201cfobu201d thing into the clear plastic backpack (u201cthe invisible backpack,u201d we call it) I bought exclusively for visitation forever ago, when I was still going to see my dad, when my dad was still in prison.I run down a mental checklist before getting out of the car to make sure I have everything. Keys, driveru2019s license, unopened Marlboro reds (blech! Non-menthol cigarettes are so vile), baby shit (diapers, etc.), and quarters when I can afford it.Then my son and I get down. I check my pockets to rid them of loose change and stray bic lighters. Adjust my shirt so it covers my collarbone (dress code). And then we walk a quarter of a mile (feels like) across the parking lot to stand at the gate and wait for the Gate Guy to buzz us in.The prison my husband is in is small, so visitation is a relatively u201chassle-freeu201d process. When we get inside the Sallyport, I hand over everything except for my baby to the visitation officer so he can inspect it all.Before he begins doing that, though, he slides me a sign-in sheet and pen and picks up a telephone u2024 an ancient landline, bulky and yellowed with age u2024 to call my husband up by his ADC number, which at this point he knows by heart.I fill out the paper u2024 name of each visitor, full address, driveru2019s license number, date of birth, and the date u2024 sign it, and give it back to the officer.Then I bend and remove my shoes, and then my son's shoes, and place both pairs on the desk to be u201cwandedu201d with a handheld metal detector device.Then we have to clear the scanner, which is one of those large doorway-like metal detectors you have to go through 12 billion times at the airport because of goddamn 9/11.I almost never beep the scanner, so we proceed from the Sallyport to the visitation room, where sometimes there is a German Shepherd u201cdrug sniffinu2024 dogu201d waiting, and other times there's not.When there is, we go into a tiny room with this room divider thing that looks like one lone segment of 10 foot high chain link fence that someone has placed in the center of the floor so we can be sniffed for drugs.I stand with my back to the fence. The dog and guard are on the other side of it, behind us. I drop the invisible backpack on the floor next to my feet, and then hold my son, facing forward, against my belly. Directly in front of us there is a little 3-bladed electric fan, cranked all the way up on the highest setting so that it blows our smell towards the dog as if that shit is even fucking necessary.The guy always struggles with the dog leash, the dog always seems really confused, I stand there and wonder how much it gets paid an hour, and then we're told we can go in.We walk through the visitation room and out the double doors to the smoking area, buy a bottle of Mountain Dew for $1.75 out of the vending machine, sit down at one of the far tables, and wait for my husband, my son's daddy, to come out grinning from ear to ear as if we aren't where we are, and for a moment I fall for it.
