“It’s important to understand how someone who has money is able to buy their way out of jail or prison, so you’re much better off in our justice system if you’re rich and guilty than if you’re poor and innocent.”
—Sam Brooke, Deputy Director of the Southern Poverty Law Center (SPLC)1
The first thing Alan Black did was ask Judge Garrett for money for experts to investigate Ray’s case. Judge Garrett granted the motions, and Ray wondered why he would give money now in the appeal when he wouldn’t give the money in Ray’s actual trial. If Ray had had money, Perhacs could have found someone better than Payne. If he’d had money, they could have had an expert prove Ray couldn’t have driven from work to Quincy’s that fast. If he’d had money, he could have gotten an attorney who felt like he was paid for his time.
If he’d had money, he probably wouldn’t have been arrested in the first place.
It always seemed to come down to the money.
Ray received a copy of all his legal filings in the mail, and it was the only mail the guards couldn’t open or mess with. Any letter you wrote had to remain unsealed so the prison staff could read it before it was mailed. Any letter that came in was also read by the prison staff. Every phone call was recorded. Ray couldn’t understand why they had to read the letters that went out, but it became clear that they didn’t want inmates to complain about how they were being treated. They didn’t want someone to call in the attorneys. Holman was always short staffed, and the row was no different. The prisoners were like lab rats being closely monitored for any potential signs of revolt. Ray knew it was easier for them to keep the men in their cages where they couldn’t get into trouble rather than let them out. Summers were the worst. They didn’t allow any fans in the cells because they could be broken apart to use as weapons, but with the tight wire mesh covering the doors, there was zero ventilation or flow of air. It was over 100 degrees outside during the summer months, and in the cells, it had to be 110 or 120. It was like being in a sauna, and some days it felt like you were actually slow roasting. It’s hard to talk, much less fight, when it is so hot you can barely move or take a breath. Much like the staff reading their mail and recording their conversations, the heat was a way to keep control, but the heat also made some guys erratic and even more violent. Ray knew that all the warden wanted was to keep the peace, especially on death row, where it was assumed that they had nothing to lose and would kill if given the chance. But he also knew the warden was going about it all wrong, and it was having the opposite effect.
“Hinton, lunch!” The officer who yelled looked just as hot as Ray was.
“Hey, I need to ask you something,” Ray said.
“What’s that, Hinton?” He sounded annoyed and tired.
“I need to borrow your truck.”
“What?”
“I need to borrow your truck. Just for a little bit. I’ll bring it back with a full tank of gas, don’t you worry about that.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“I know this cool little swimming hole. It’s hidden back in some trees outside of Jefferson County. There’s an old, unmarked dirt road that leads to it, so not a lot of people know about it. You have to walk a bit through the woods. It’s shady, and the water is so clear you can see right to the bottom. I think it’s fed by an underground spring or something. The water is so clear and so cool you can drink it. I’m going to need to borrow your truck, and I’ll bring it back later tonight, I promise. I just need to have myself a float in that spring water. Cool myself down, you know?”
The guard just stared at Ray, like Ray had finally lost it.
“Maybe we should go together? Get out of here and cool off? Otherwise, I just need your keys and you can keep working, and I’ll be back before shift change. I heard you talking about your new truck, and I promise I’ll take good care of it.”
The guard started laughing and shaking his head. “I don’t think so, Hinton, but here’s your lunch.”
And just like that, the guard was smiling at Ray.
“I need to talk to the warden about something,” Ray said, smiling back at him. “Can you get him a message or let the captain know?”
“I’ll bring you some paper, and you write it down and I’ll get it to him.”
“Thanks.”
The guard shook his head at Ray, but he was still smiling as he moved on down the row delivering lunch.
“You making friends with the guards, Ray?” Ray could hear the scorn in Walter Hill’s voice. Hill had killed another inmate at another prison before Holman and was now on the row for a triple murder, so he was one of the guys who the warden thought had nothing to lose. He was angry all the time. Ray couldn’t blame him for that. Ray also wasn’t going to judge him. He didn’t know Walter Hill’s story. Whatever he had done was between him and God.
“Hey, Walter!” Ray yelled. “You know what my sweet mama always says to me?”
Walter didn’t answer the question. “They’re not your friends, Ray. They trying to kill us, and I don’t like nobody who gets cozy with the guards. You know what I’m saying?”
Ray knew what he was saying. Outside of death row, any inmate who seemed like they were friendly to the guards was considered a snitch. Snitches didn’t do well in Holman. At all. You could get your throat cut if anyone suggested you were a snitch. Ray didn’t know who Walter had killed in general population or why, but it didn’t matter, and Ray wasn’t going to let him or anyone intimidate him.
Ray raised his voice so they would hear him on the other side of the row. “My mama always told me that you get more flies with honey than with vinegar.”
“I heard that before,” said Victor.
“Just because you pour out some honey doesn’t mean you’re a fly. You hear me, Walter? It’s how you catch the flies. It’s how we got an extra fifteen minutes on the yard. You use the vinegar. I’m going to use the honey.”
Ray left it at that. He knew the guards were doing a job. Just like Ray hadn’t dreamed of going into the coal mines and had hated every minute of it, he imagined most of them hadn’t grown up dreaming of someday working on death row. They were all getting through this life the best they could, and it was up to them to figure out what happened next. It was hell on the row—every minute of every day—but in this hell, it could always get worse. Ray thought that maybe it could also get a little better. He was going to do his part to make it that way. His mama had taught him about getting flies with honey, and she had also taught him that you had to work within the system. You couldn’t grow up Black in the South and not know how to work within the system. It was the same at Holman—some people held all the power, and there were all kinds of ways you could fight back. He didn’t believe violence was ever a way to get what he wanted. It didn’t work in the real world, and it definitely didn’t work on the row.
If Ray wanted the guards to cooperate, he had to cooperate. It was a trade-off. He knew others, like Hill, would take his cooperation the wrong way, but it was about survival. Not just for himself but for all of them on the row. Ray had people who loved him and came to visit every week. Lester made sure there was money in his prison account so he could buy essentials. He had grown up with unconditional love. He had faith and a God and a Bible that promised him he would get out of there someday. Ray was better off than a lot of the guys next to him. They were all facing death, but he was facing it with love all around him. He tried to focus on that more than the fact that his life had been stolen from him. Ray didn’t know who else was innocent. Maybe every other guy sitting in his rat cage was innocent too. Who knew? Maybe every other guy in his rat cage had killed. It didn’t matter. They were slowly roasting to death, and making it worse for themselves was not a way to get payback. It only hurt them more. Ray decided he was going to do what he could with what he had. A little bit of kindness was amplified on death row, because it was so unexpected. You can scream out in a crowd of voices also screaming out, and no one hears you—but when you yell into the silence, your voice sounds louder. Ray was going to be that kind voice screaming out on the row, and he was going to make it better for everyone. They were all the same there, all discarded like garbage and deemed unworthy to have a life.
Ray was going to prove them wrong.
Charlie Jones looked every bit like the stereotype of a Southern redneck warden, straight down to his cowboy boots with spurs and a face that was white and fleshy and soft. He had a tough job—keeping a handle on things at the most violent prison in the country. Every day, he was responsible for his staff and an inmate population that would riot if given the chance. Ray was very aware of all this going into his conversation with Jones.
“I hear you’re a talker, Hinton. And I hear that the guys listen to you. I still don’t know why you didn’t want to talk on camera when Geraldo was here.”
Geraldo Rivera had spent a night on death row, brought in cameras, and pretended to be one of the prisoners. Worn whites and slept overnight in a cell, but it was all a joke. A stunt, a pretend game where he was able to leave the next day. Rivera didn’t and couldn’t know what it was like to be locked in a cage when you were innocent. He was playing a game that he knew nothing about, and it was clear to Ray that he only did it for his own ego. The guys on the row saw the show. Geraldo made sure he had his shirt off. Usually, the meals were made in the main jail and sat out in the open, uncovered, as they traveled through the prison before they got to inmates on death row. When they handed Geraldo his tray of food they had another tray over it to keep out the dirt and the dust and rat hairs and the cockroach pieces. The actual inmates didn’t get their food served to them with a cover on it—and that small difference said it all.
“Well, I would have if you had sent me to New York to film the show. Why, I could have flown on an airplane for the first time and had some of those little peanuts I hear are so good. I was ready to be on the show if it meant I could have some of those peanuts.”
The warden laughed. “Now, what’s this I hear about a club of some kind?”
“I want to start a book club. I was thinking we could meet once a month in the library. But we need to be able to read something other than the Bible. Not everyone cares for the Bible like we do. You know what I mean?”
“Yeah, and it’s a damn shame,” he said.
“So my best friend, Lester, said he would mail a few books here, and we could read them and then have ourselves a discussion.”
The warden looked down, and Ray could see he was considering his proposal.
“Look,” Ray said. “These guys need something to focus on besides what the guards are doing and not doing for them. Besides the heat. Besides the fact that our food tastes like dirt. You know? It’s a way to keep the peace. A book club will help things stay more peaceful.”
The warden nodded.
“You can’t have guys spending twenty-three hours a day thinking about death. It makes them crazy. And when people go crazy, who knows what they’ll do.” It may have been a bit much, but it was the truth. Ray wanted him to believe that if they had books on the row, it would keep the inmates quiet. But really, he knew that it would set them free. If the guys had books, they could travel the world. They would get smarter and freer. There was a reason back in the days of slavery the plantation owners didn’t want the enslaved people to learn to read. Charlie Jones might have had family who once owned Ray’s family, but Ray wasn’t going to bring that up. He wasn’t going to show him anything but how a book club would keep the peace.
“Let me think on it, Hinton. You make a good point, but let me talk to my officers. They’re the ones who are there. I don’t want any trouble from death row. You understand what I’m saying? I let you have some extra time out on the yard, and that’s been all right. But if I have any trouble from the row, we’ll just keep you guys in for the full twenty-four, you understand? Take away them visits if anything gets to be a problem. I got a lot of guys in here who need to be managed.”
“Yes, sir,” Ray said. “I appreciate you taking the time to consider it. I do think it will help your men have an easier time doing their jobs, sir. Thank you for considering my proposal.”
Ray’s manners seemed to puzzle Charlie Jones. He tilted his head like he couldn’t quite figure out if Ray was joking or serious.
“They listen to you, Hinton. You keep things peaceful on the row, and I’ll see what I can do. I can’t have a bunch of you in the library at once. I don’t have the staff for that. Four guys, maybe six. I’ll think about it.”
“Thank you.”
“And we don’t have a budget to be buying books. You’d have to have them mailed to us, and we’d inspect them first. No more than two books at a time. I can’t see what it would hurt to let some other books on the row.”
“That’s a good idea, sir.”
“Anything else, Hinton? I think we understand each other here. Anything else going on I need to know about?” And there it was: Just like that, he wanted Ray to be an informer, but Ray wasn’t playing that game.
“Well, about Geraldo, sir. Some of the guys noticed he got a tray turned upside down on top of his food tray to keep the dirt out. You know, as a lid on his food. And some of the guys thought this was a great idea. Was that your idea when Geraldo was here?” Ray paused then, and Jones nodded and smiled. “It was a great idea. I think it would go a long way if we could use that great idea for all of us, get lids on our food to keep the dust out. You know how dusty it is in here.”
“All right, then, I don’t see why not. I’ll let the kitchen know.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Ray smiled all the way back to his cell. And when the captain of the guard let him know that book club was approved for six guys, he told Lester on visiting day.
“Can you send in a couple of books to the prison? Send them to the attention of the warden.”
“What you up to now?” asked Lester.
“I’m starting a book club.”
“A what?”
“You know, a book club. We’re going to read books and then meet once a month as a club to talk about them.”
Lester’s new wife, Sylvia, had come with him to visit. Her nickname was Sia.
“What you laughing at, Sia?” Ray asked. “You never heard of a book club before?”
“I’ve heard of it, but I think it’s funny that you guys are going to sit around having a book club. What books are you going to read?”
“I’m not sure. What do you think?”
Lester kind of shrugged. He wasn’t a big reader, but Sia looked serious all of a sudden.
“I know,” she said. “You guys need to read James Baldwin, Harper Lee, Maya Angelou. I just read I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings; you guys need to read that one. And To Kill a Mockingbird and Go Tell It on the Mountain.” Sia was getting excited about the idea.
“Okay,” Ray said, “you send us the books. I’ll pay you guys back when I get out of here, I promise. Just send me two books, care of Charlie Jones. We’ll have to read and pass them around to share. You send them in whatever order you think we should read them first. Maybe we could talk about them when you visit, and you could help me think of how to talk about them in book club. How about that?”
Sia nodded. “Let’s start with James Baldwin.”
“James Baldwin it is. He’s going to take these guys right out of death row!”
“What do you mean?” Lester looked at Ray, puzzled.
“Not everyone has my imagination. All day, every day, guys are drowning in fear and death. Imagine knowing the day you’re going to die. How could you think about anything else? These guys have to find a way to think about life.”
At that moment, there was yelling across the yard. Guards rushed over to another visiting table. Ray saw Henry jump up and then get pulled back by a guard. Sirens went off, and that meant they had to lie facedown on the ground.
“Don’t worry. It’s okay,” Ray said to Lester and Sia, who looked scared. Ray was glad his mom hadn’t felt well enough to make the drive. This would have frightened her too. He turned his head and looked over to Henry. He had been having a visit too, but Ray could see his dad was on the ground and the guards were around him. Ray wondered what had happened. He met Henry’s eyes, and Henry looked afraid.
“Visit’s over! All inmates return to cells.”
Ray could hear ambulance sirens in the distance. He turned back to wave goodbye to Lester and Sia, but they were being taken out and didn’t see him. Henry lined up behind Ray for count.
“What happened?” Ray asked.
“My dad was going off about my trial that’s coming up, and then he just fell over. I think it’s his heart. He turned completely white, almost blue.”
Ray could hear Henry’s voice shake. Henry’s father was a racist, murdering man—but he was still his dad.
“I’m sorry, man. I really am. I hope he’s okay.”
“You know they declared a mistrial, because of his heart, before.”
“Yeah,” Ray said. The trial of Bennie Hays had been in the papers, and everyone knew about it, even though Henry never talked about it.
“I’m sorry, Henry. I really am.”
“Thanks, Ray. Thanks for everything.”
Henry hung his head and didn’t talk anymore. The next day, Saturday, Henry’s father died. The guard came to give Henry the news.
Ray prayed for Bennie Hays. He prayed that in death he would know more than he did in life. Someone had taught Bennie Hays to hate, and Bennie Hays had taught his son Henry to hate. And now Henry was learning that hate didn’t get him anywhere.
In Alabama, when someone dies, you bring food to the family. All day long, friends and neighbors show up with casseroles, pies, or some homemade grits. It’s the way to show love and support. By the end of the first day of grieving, the family’s fridge and table and counters are covered with food. Food is love and life and comfort and one small way to show others you are there wanting to nourish and nurture them in their grief.
As soon as the guard left Henry’s cell, Ray passed some coffee out of his cell to Henry. The guys next to Ray reached out and took it from Ray and passed it down to the guy next to him. Up and down the row, all day long, men who might just as soon kill each other as look at each other on the streets passed their precious food items to Henry’s cell—candy bars and soup and coffee and small pieces of chocolate and even fruit. Anyone who had something of value ordered from commissary or left over from a meal passed it one to the other until it reached Henry. Nobody took it for himself. Nobody interrupted the chain of comfort as it wound its way up and down and around the row until it reached Henry.
They all knew grief. They all knew sorrow.
They all knew what it was like to be alone.
And they all were beginning to learn that you can make a family out of anyone.
Even the guards, perhaps caught up in their own humanity or because Henry’s dad had collapsed under their watch, helped pass the food to Henry.
In a twisted way, they were also a part of this big, strange family on death row. They were the ones charged with the prisoners’ care every day—obligated to help them when they were sick yet also the ones who walked them to their deaths, strapped them into the chair, and then turned their backs as the warden flipped the switch to end their lives.
In the end, Ray thought, they were all just trying to find their way.