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Visit to San Quentin
Section created July 2000Last edited April 20, 2001
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report from death row A
visit to
by Peter Rashkin I was going north for Thanksgiving weekend, and I arranged to stop and see James Anderson at San Quentin Prison. It wasn't the easiest meeting to arrange. James sent me some forms to fill out to be put on the list of approved visitors. I did it. Next, you have to call for an appointment. This has to be exactly one week before your visit, starting at 8 am. First I tried for Friday, but after many busy signals I got through to a recording. "If you are hearing this recording, all slots for the day are taken." I tried again on Sunday, but this time I was able to get a one-hour slot for 8 am. An hour isn't very long, and I was anxious not to waste it checking in, so I got there early, walked around the pretty little town a little, and then headed for the visitor check-in. A lot of rules and regulations posted on the walls. No wallets. I went back to the car and put it under the seat. Went back to check in. "Sorry," the guard said, "you can't go in like that." She pointed to my blue jeans. Regulations. No clothes resembling prisoners' clothes. "And if you want to bring in any money, just change and ones are allowed." I had put a twenty in my pocket, thinking that if it were permissible I'd have liked to give it to James. "What would I want the money for," I asked her. "To get a drink from the machines." Not to give to your friend. Back to my car. Change to green traveling slacks. Grab my photo id. Lose the twenty. "I'm sorry," she said. And really friendly, too. Nothing personal. Regulations. "You can't wear those, either. That's the color of OUR uniforms." I ran back to the car and changed to my purple sweats. They were fine. I was waived through. It was 8:10. The guard at the next gate looked at my paperwork. (All of these people were so friendly. More like what you would expect from service personnel at a resort than from the guards at a high-security prison.) She pointed the way and told me to go in to the Main Visiting area. I saw the sign and went through. A guard sat in a booth. He buzzed the door open. Glass and metal, sliding, heavy. Looked over my paperwork. Buzzed me through another door. On the right was the area with the soda machines. Contact visiting. Prisoners talked and walked casually with their visitors. Most of the area was shielded by a wall. I just saw the action on the periphery. Prisoners in dayglow yellow coveralls swept and policed the area; casual, friendly, never missing an opportunity to be helpful to a visitor. I was directed to the left.the telephones, glass partitions.just like on TV. "He'll be in one of those cubicles," the guard told me, but he wasn't. I walked up and down. You could see through the glass to small closets, and on the far side locked door with a barred window, and behind that a law library. I walked up and down. No James. No one but a young woman with a baby talking through the glass to her man. ".she said 'you're crazy! Do you think he'd come to see YOU every weekend?' but I said 'I'm going. That's it." I told the guard he wasn't there, and he said maybe he hadn't come yet. Just wait. So I did. After a while, another guard talked to this guard and they sent me next door to East Block visiting. More barred doors, more courteous guards in booths, and then they let me in and there he was. It was 8:25. It was a very nice visit. We spoke of mutual friends, our families, his case. Talking through the glass was a pain. I had to hold my hand up to block the glare to see James' face. On the other hand, you could keep a little eye on what was going on behind you. Contact visits would be much more satisfying and James said they are likely to be reinstated soon, so I hope the next time we visit we will be able to shake hands. They let us talk until 9:30 before they came to take James back to his cell. INTERVIEWS with JAMES ANDERSON (text and RealAudio)
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