Overhearing a Story in Jail Changed My Life

14 years ago today I was posted up in the Tuscaloosa County Jail. Over the next 15 minutes I'd overhear a story that would change lives.

It was 2:35am and all of the beeping and yelling was wearing me thin. "Doesn't anyone sleep around here?"

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I was assigned to main control that night.

My job was to watch the inmates on su*cide watch and open doors for other COs (correctional officers).

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It was my favorite post because I didn't have to interact with inmates whatsoever.

I loathed this job. It was by far the worst job I've ever had. Imagine what being a correctional officer would be like, and then multiply the terribleness by a factor of 3.

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It started in the summer of 2009 when my wife got pregnant. We were both full time students at the University of Alabama.

We needed more income and health insurance, and we both waited tables together at a Thai restaurant.

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Not exactly big money.

I heard that this job paid $14/hour, so I applied. $14/hour in Alabama in 2009, as a college student, was basically a 6 figure income as far as I was concerned.

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Around the same time I had auditioned to be on Alabama's top-ranked public speaking team.

It came with a 4-year full ride scholarship, and the opportunity to travel the country to compete, on one of the best teams in the country.

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Within the same week I learned that I got both the jail job and the scholarship, but I had to choose one. There was no time for both.

After praying and talking to my wife, I chose the job. It felt like the right decision, but I never stopped doubting it regardless.

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At the time, this was the only jail in Alabama that allowed smoking. And guess what? Cigarette smoke can never find its way out of a jail.

Like the inmates, the smoke stays trapped, and the air is perpetually thick with it. Like a Marlboro hallway fog that never dissipates.

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Jails are different from prisons, because prisoners have already been sentenced. Prisoners are generally calmer because they're settled into a routine and are waiting out their time.

Jail inmates are still awaiting trial, and sometimes for years. Jail still has r*pists, child predators and serial killers, they just haven't been found guilty yet.

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Jails have folks from ages 16 - 86, and it is a no good very bad terrible place to hang.

Every time I crossed the threshold between the lobby and the jail, and the door clanked behind me, I could literally feel light and goodness going out of me. It was a dark place.

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Anyway, back to that fateful night.

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Us COs would often tell each other stories about inmates. Some true, and some gossip. Sometimes we were able to read about what they did online, and sometimes you just hear things from other inmates.

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This jail had the infamous Garrison Brothers. The Garrison brothers were bad dudes. The word on the street was that they had beaten an old lady to death with a brick.

One of them knocked on the door to distract her and the other went around back to break in. It was a mobile home in a rough part of town, and they needed some drug money.

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The older brother (Timothy) ended up beating her to death while the younger brother stole some VHS tapes. That was the only thing of value that they could find.

This was the rumor going around the jail, anyway. At the time there wasn't much news out there about it.

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At 2:35am I saw Timothy telling an animated story to his cellmate. COs in main control had the ability to click on a cell to listen in on the mic, but this wasn’t one of our responsibilities, it was just a feature of the software.

I’m inherently nosy, and so I’d listen in occasionally when things got really boring.

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I’ll never forget what I heard when I started listening.

Timothy was telling a detailed account of exactly what happened that day in that trailer park.

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He was confessing.

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I could write out his account word for word right now if I wanted to, because those words are seared in my head. It was the most vile thing I’ve ever heard, before or since.

He recalled how mad he was that she’d called the cops, and how he took out that anger with the brick, calling her all kinds of terrible things.

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At the time I had a blog called “My Jail Tales,” where I’d write about my experiences working there. I carried around a pen and paper to take notes to make the writing process smoother. I pulled out my pen and pad and started writing every word I heard.

I also wrote down the timestamps so the sergeant could go back and listen for himself.

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At 7am, after clocking out, I went and told my boss everything I’d heard, and he had me drive straight to the police station to file a report.

I asked him to pull up the video and hear it for himself, but then learned that nothing at the jail was recorded.

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At the police station I was told that this was the most evidence they had on Timothy, and they thanked me profusely. It felt good, but I was tired. 7pm - 7am is a rough shift, and I had class that day. I drove home and crashed.

After filing the report I never heard back. 5 months later, the month my son was born, I quit the job. It had fulfilled its purpose and provided health insurance and tuition money. And man, it felt good to quit.

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A year or two later I was living a few hours away and got a call from the district attorney in Tuscaloosa. He told me that the Garrison Brothers were due for trial soon and asked if I could testify on the stand. I agreed.

They were able to corroborate my story with the cellmate, and that my testimony could be the thing that puts them away for good.

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Shortly thereafter I drove back down and sat in court on the stand. Timothy was dressed in his white jumpsuit and was looking at me about 15 feet away.

Funny enough, we actually had some semblance of a relationship back when I worked there. You get to know the su*cide watch inmates petty well, as you have to check on them every hour.

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We had had a dozen or so conversations about football, cars and who knows what else.

Jail is a funny thing, because these people that have done terrible things, are still just people. Most were heavily influenced by substances or a crappy upbringing, but were also (usually) inherently good people.

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It was surreal to look at his face while I told the exact story I’d heard that night. I was asked to tell the story exactly as I’d heard it, without any editing whatsoever.

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He didn't look mad at me, he looked remorseful.

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It was as if I were Timothy Garrison up there on the stand, telling his own story, while I looked at him.

Believe it or not, that was the last time I’ve cursed!

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After my testimony I drove back home, staring at I-65 out the window. I felt good, and I felt terrible. What a weird day.

The judge ended up handing down the verdict and sentence that the prosecutor was looking for, and those brothers are still in prison today.

One day as I was thinking back to those 9 months at the jail a realization hit me.

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The reason I chose the job is because I was needed to hear that story and give that testimony. It was 9 months of hell for 15 critical minutes that would later ensure justice.

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That job taught me a lot of things, namely.

1. People are good, but do terrible things sometimes. Usually those terrible things are a result of hurt or pain that others have caused them. Hurt people hurt people. Also, healed people heal people (not my quote).

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2. If you thoughtfully make a critical life decision, don’t ever doubt or regret it. You just need more time to learn the reason for making that decision.

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3. Doing something you really don't want to do every day will literally change you. I loathed driving to the jail and clocking every night, but that's what made it amazing. There are so many more stories I could tell.

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But I'm now much more accepting of doing hard things, simply because they're hard.

Thanks for reading. This felt good to write about.