I said to a friend on Wednesday that I expected him to have a deep voice and a Southern accent, because in his letters he sometimes uses the word “y’all.” Robby was born in Baltimore but raised in rural Maryland and North Carolina. We’ve been writing each other for a long time, neither of us can remember how long but at least six years, before we both turned 50 a month apart.
Robby is on death row in Raleigh, North Carolina. We were connected by a nun who arranges pen pals for death row inmates in North Carolina who have no infractions on their record. She chose North Carolina because it had such a bad record for racial injustice in the criminal justice system. Not only has at least one person been released from NC’s death row since I’ve been writing Robby, there has been an unofficial moratorium on executions in the state since 2007, when the state’s medical board ruled that participating in executions violated doctors’ medical code of ethics. In other words, doctors (required by law to be present for an execution to take place) refused to participate in this barbaric practice. The harm to the souls of those who participate in executions was movingly portrayed in the film Just Mercy, (now streaming free on multiple platforms in the wake of the George Floyd murder).
When I was assigned Robby, I expected that the letters would be full of platitudes and perhaps even protestations of innocence. However, what I got was a well-written letter from an articulate man. He shared his memories of life on a family farm, the stories of his mother’s battle and eventual death from cancer before he was imprisoned. He answered my questions about his life. Finding out I was a poet, he sent poems by a fellow inmate. I learned about his friend Timmy, who he seems to take care of like a big brother, an important friendship for staving off the isolation of prison.
Robby, a Native American man, is guilty. The crime that he helped plan is heinous. He was not present at the scene when the crime was committed, but he is certainly culpable. The two white people (one his girlfriend at the time) who actually committed the crime were sentenced to life in prison. Only Robby received the death penalty. I do not know the details, nor do I need to. He has a pro bono lawyer working on getting his sentence commuted. Even to move to a different prison block would be a vast improvement for Robby. On death row things are 100% punitive. There are not enrichment programs beyond church services and an occasional religious retreat. Inmates are not able to work in any capacity, so cannot earn money. It became clear to me very early on that writing me was Robby’s job, how he could get food packages and a little cash to use to buy sports shoes, stamps, paper, and other items from the commissary. I can also send him books, and only books, and only from Amazon. Once I included a box of plain envelopes in the order, but they were confiscated. I learned my lesson. Once Robby wrote that they were having pizza delivered from a chain restaurant and it would be the first time in six years he would have pizza. He missed the last opportunity because he was sick. Prison is well known as a place of boredom and punishment, but those two things dominate on NC’s death row.
There are some blessings during this time of Covid-19, and the ability to meet with Robby for a 15-minute video visit is one of them. A week ago I got a letter from him saying that since in-person visits weren’t possible, they were arranging video visits. He gave me, as always, meticulous instruction for what I’d need to do to participate. This included an email address and phone number for the visits office. I’m glad I phoned because what needed to be included in the email request was detailed and specific. Given my experience with the NC prison system, the most surprising thing is that this service was free. I should mention it was only possible because I’m already approved on Robby’s visitor list. I had to get on that list last year to be able to continue sending him food packages and monetary gifts for his birthday and Christmas. To do so, I had to submit a copy of my driver’s license and other personal information I would rather not have given to the corrections department. But today it was worth it.
Today I spoke to my friend Robby, who was wearing a mask, for the first time. His voice is not particularly deep, but Boy Howdy does he ever have a Southern accent. And I could see him smiling behind the mask.
We talked about the things we talk about in our letters– my health and treatment, his health. The one thing that breaks up life on death row are medical appointments, which are often hard won. He is waiting for carpal tunnel surgery, which has been delayed by the pandemic as inessential. I have gotten the feeling over the years that doctors have been his best advocate, at times his only advocate, and have treated him not as a prisoner first but as a person.
He had also sent me a white handkerchief with an image of a wolf for my June birthday (above). Occasionally over the years he’s sent me bookmarks or special cards. This piece was made at the prison, and I thought it might be silkscreen, though I was pretty sure that wasn’t an option in his cell block. I asked him about it, and he said the guy had done it by hand with an ink pen, and he’d known right away that I would like it. Because of Robby’s heritage, the artist added feathers and an arrowhead. It’s a precious gift, mostly because I know Robby has so little, that he liked the image and asked for it specifically, and that he gave it so generously to me.
We talked about the protests for George Floyd and particularly about Minnesota. We talked about the outlawing of the confederate flag by NASCAR– a bold and difficult act that’s been the subject of battles in North Carolina for over a century. I told him a story he can repeat when he gets back and that made him laugh. We talked about our hopes for sweeping change. I said that if I was not in this cancer battle, I’d be putting more active effort into prison reform and specifically anti-death penalty legislation. I said I needed to find a way to connect with that effort at this moment, as people are “choosing their lanes” for reform.
But for now, this is what I’ve done. I’ve written to and been a friend of sorts to Robby. I’ve been consistent, and though my letters are less frequent than before my cancer diagnosis, they are long and detailed and include, when possible, pictures.
When we started writing, he sent me a photo of himself he’d had taken at the prison. He was a youngish man, long black hair and a white t-shirt. Clean-shaven, muscled, and not giving anything away to the camera. Today, he had short hair (got it cut yesterday specifically for the phone visit so as not to look too shabby) and the unfortunate mask. He is a slender, 56-year-old man, the age I’ll turn in two weeks. I would have liked to see his whole smile, not just the smile of his cheeks and eyes. I’m glad, though, that he got to see my smile. And I got to hear his voice, something I’d thought would probably never happen. And now I’m just wondering how long they’ll be having these visits, and when I can schedule the next one.
Beautiful Susan, making one life better is a very worth accomplishment.
Wow, Susan. This is spectacular. Thank you so much for sharing this touching experience. I am sure Robbie is so grateful for you–being treated as a person first and foremost. I’m so glad you were able to meet each other. One step closer together. His gift of the wolf on the handkerchief is indeed precious.
I am also a believer in stopping the death penalty, especially after reading Just Mercy–I saw the movie on the big screen just before the shut down–it scratches the surface compared to the book. I was fortunate to see Bryan Stevenson (author of Just Mercy) speak last year as well. He is inspiring, passionate and well spoken. Before this, I knew of cases of innocent death row inmates, but not to the extent that really exists and that it often included children and the mentally challenged–its really quite horrifying. I used to be on the fence about the death penalty, but after reading this book and other sources since, I oppose the death penalty absolutely.
I’m glad to hear that the doctors in NC no longer participate in executions–I always wondered how they dealt with that ethically.
Finally, I am wondering if you found yourself picking up a little of that southern drawl during your visit? It’s so easy to fall into…
Thanks, Aunt Rita!
Thanks, Karen! I knew people who worked on behalf of Rolando Cruz, who was innocent and on death row in Illinois, eventually set free by the Center for Wrongful Convictions at Northwestern University Law School back in the 1990s. That was a real eye-opener for me. Then I lived in Joliet, home to Stateville prison where Illinois executions were carried out. It was tough to hear about an execution when driving off to teach at the community college– passing a juvenile prison facility on the way. We just watched “Just Mercy” but I need to also read the book. I highly recommend you also watch “13” about racism in the prison system in general. Robby has a friend he clearly takes care of, Timmy (they all have these diminutive nicknames and strike me as very stunted in their development), who has mental disabilities as far as I can tell. Given the moment we’re in, the idea of just not participating, just withdrawing participation from executions, really seem possible and important as a way of moving forward.
Susan, your story has touched me ever since we met at St. Mary’s College in 2016. Thank you for opening this window into a part of your life you’ve not yet share with those of us who love your postings. This is such a touching story, especially as we are all living in the duality of Covid-19 and world-wide reaction to George Floyd’s death. A close friend’s son committed a heinous crime 5 years ago and is in prison for life in New York State, so I am aware of how much inmates value communication with the outside world.
Thank you for doing this Susan, and for sharing your experience. I recall our “car talks” and your reflections about this man.
Thanks, Mari! I’m sorry to hear about your friend’s son, but glad he’s not on death row. Yes, in this moment it feels like change of all kinds is possible. If doctors can just refuse to participate– think about if prison guards and others refused to participate in executions. This friendship has been a blessing to me for years.
Wow, Susan! What a way to impact a life. I can’t find words to describe how this post makes me feel. I think I’ll still be thinking about it when I’m trying to go to sleep tonight. Bless you.
I will check out “13”–where do you think I can find this? This subject interests and distresses me. In the book Just Mercy, it does talk about stunted development and racism in policing, the justice system and the prison system as well, using specific examples of injustices peoples lives–very personal stories. There are a lot more examples in the book–the movie manly follows the one main story. There is another book–“The Sun Does Shine” by Anthony Ray Hinton. He is the man who was exonerated in Just Mercy–its a biography. I haven’t read it yet but coming up soon in my pile of books.
WOW! I’m speechless!
Colleen K Johnson