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  At the hearing, Anders’s parole was revoked. Between his history of violent sexual behavior and the circumstances under which he was arrested, he represented a significant risk to the public. He was ordered to serve the rest of his sentence, which was several more years of incarceration. Society had a right to be safe from the likes of Gerald Anders.

  The years passed and the end of his sentence neared. Anders was allowed a furlough to secure work and a place to live. He was about to be a free man in a matter of days.

  But the furlough was a failure. He absconded and, armed with a weapon, committed a series of monstrous sexual assaults on three victims. Gerald Anders is now incarcerated for the balance of his life. I can only imagine what might have occurred if Anders had been released to live with his girlfriend in Ohio. Likely, she would have been his next victim.

  Why would a person be willing to devote her life to a convicted sex offender whom she has never met? Why would she open her home and risk everything?

  It was just another of many fatal attractions between Big House inmates and women on the outside.

  These fatal attractions are all too common. For certain women on the outside, convicted felons hold an irresistible magnetism. These women seem driven by a need to help the downtrodden, nurture the scorned, the oppressed, and the wicked. They act out of compassion and love, faith and belief–even as the object of their affection manipulates and lies.

  I witnessed one of these liaisons some years ago when I was the Executive Officer of Adult Release for the Minnesota Department of Corrections. One of my responsibilities was to conduct parole revocation hearings. One day I received a long-distance telephone call from a concerned woman in North Dakota who said her husband, Minnesota parolee Jerry Fowler, had landed in the local county jail. When the local authorities checked his record, they found an active fugitive warrant for Fowler; he had absconded supervision several months ago. His wife hoped the Department of Corrections would not extradite Fowler back to Minnesota to face parole violations. She spoke of the life they were setting up in North Dakota and expressed her confidence they could get past his current problem with the local police.

  The odd part about our exchange was her lack of knowledge about her husband. I asked her some basic questions about his background, only to find that she didn’t know what crime he had committed, how much time he had served on his latest offense, or when he had been released from prison. The only thing she seemed to know about Fowler was that he was a convicted sex offender. But she also didn’t know about his long list of victims.

  Because she was so unsure about his offense history, I asked her how long they had been married. “One week,” she answered. They had married in the county jail after his recent arrest. Surprised, I asked how long she had known Jerry Fowler. She told me to hold and spoke to someone in the background: “Mavis, there is a guy on the phone who wants to know how long I’ve known Jerry. When was that carnival in town?”

  These relationships are heart-rending. She was just beginning to experience the anguish of life with a person like Fowler, and one can only imagine what the future would hold.

  As I encountered these troublesome relationships through the years, I soon learned that as bad as one sounded, another would come along and be even more disturbing. Then I learned firsthand about a relationship that eclipsed all others. In my opinion, no fatal attraction will ever be more alarming or disheartening.

  I met the woman when I was a member of the Minnesota State Parole Board. She set up an appointment with me to discuss her boyfriend’s approaching release. In our meeting, I found her to be a pleasant professional woman in her early thirties, attractively dressed in her business attire. She was soft-spoken and polite, yet obviously distressed about something. She confessed that her inmate boyfriend, Bruce Clemmons, had made a troubling request. Her own background was free from criminal activity, and I suspect this relationship was her first experience with a convicted felon.

  Clemmons was a convicted sex offender with a sad history of deviant sexual behavior. What made his case particularly bizarre was his sexual fixation with dogs. His file contained information about his sexual contact with numerous dogs in the area where he lived. The reports indicated that the contact may have included more than a thousand dogs over a ten-year period.

  The problem now facing his girlfriend was Clemmons’s plan upon release. He told her to purchase a dog and get sexually active with the animal so they could be “ready” for him when he was released.

  This woman, a vulnerable and caring person, had become so romantically involved with a deranged sex offender that she was actually in a quandary about whether to start a sexual relationship with a dog! This was Clemmons’s plan for starting their life together in the community. She seemed so defenseless against his request that the suggestion alone should have been a crime.

  I tried my best to counsel her out of the relationship, but my efforts were fruitless. Some months later, I read a discipline report from the Stillwater Correctional Facility indicating that Clemmons and his girlfriend were barred from future visits at the prison due to their behavior during a community awards banquet with special invited guests. The report explained that they had been caught having sexual relations during the program. Obviously something was radically wrong with the setting, the security, and the relationship between Clemmons and his visitor. This woman’s infatuation with a freakish sex offender had become so overpowering that she was willing to sacrifice her own dignity to fulfill his wants as he neared his release date several months ahead.

  A couple years later, I ran into her at a gas station. We didn’t speak. I imagine she was too embarrassed by all that had occurred. The tragic affair had finally come to an end when Clemmons died of a heart attack a few years after release. This painful relationship was over, but the suffering would likely never be forgotten.

  The visiting room is one of the most disturbing areas of the prison. Here, inmates have the opportunity to see friends, relatives, and loved ones. And it’s here that some of these twisted fatal attractions develop.

  To be placed on an offender’s visiting list, an intensive background check is performed and qualifications must be met. The visiting room is a critical area for security to prevent drugs from being smuggled inside. Anything from marijuana to crack cocaine can find a path into prison when a devious inmate and a dishonest or coerced visitor work together.

  A few years ago, we arrested a nineteen-year-old woman as she entered the facility to visit her prisoner boyfriend. Our intelligence information warned us that she would be bringing drugs to the boyfriend. She was apprehended in possession of the contraband and placed under arrest. She was devastated. Previously, she had no criminal record, a past without any major problems. All that changed. She was now taken into custody and booked into the local county jail for attempting to introduce drugs into a supermax prison.

  This was an all-too-common situation. Some years ago, a study examined visitors who had been arrested for attempting to bring drugs to inmates. Most of the arrests were of women with no previous criminal background. They had formed trusting relationships with the offenders and had been threatened or manipulated into committing a felony.

  This young woman arrested for drug possession later told us she had met the inmate through a friend and fallen in love. They planned to marry upon his release in December. Yet he had lied to her and ruined her crime-free life. The prisoner was serving a sentence for first degree murder, and although it was true he would be eligible for parole in December, it was thirty years from this particular December.

  Countless devious and disgusting tales emerge from the visiting area. Here, drugs enter the prison environment by some of the most despicable methods, with hiding places ranging from personal undergarments to baby diapers.

  Typically, the visitor conceals the drugs in a balloon. During a hug or kiss, the visitor transfers the stash to the inmate, who swallows the balloon whole. The normal digestive process allows
the balloon to be excreted, and the prisoner then retrieves it from his toilet. Another method is to simply force regurgitation as soon as he returns to the cell. It sounds crude, but it’s the reality of prison.

  If undetected by staff, this is a cunning way to smuggle and conceal contraband. However, one problem is that the balloon can easily break inside the inmate’s stomach. A bellyful of heroin or cocaine wreaks serious havoc. This precise scenario occurred on two occasions several years ago at the Minnesota Correctional Facility-Stillwater. One inmate suffered serious medical problems as the drugs permeated his digestive system. The other inmate died from the overdose.

  After the two broken-balloon incidents, the department revised security procedures for visiting day. Visitors and prisoners used to be allowed nearly limitless physical contact. They could sit next to each other, hug, and kiss, all of which provided an avenue for drugs to pass into the prison. Visiting rooms were equipped with vending machines, and the candy and soft drinks provided more ways to swallow drugs undetected.

  To restrict the ability to pass drugs, the vending machines were removed and the policy for contact significantly altered. A visitor is now allowed a quick kiss on the cheek and two brief hugs with the inmate–one upon entrance and one at the visit’s conclusion. No other physical contact is allowed during the visit, and the seating arrangement requires space between inmate and visitor. Visits are closely monitored by staff and often by security cameras to make sure these restrictions are followed. These changes have been instrumental in reducing the amount of contraband entering the prison system.

  Though the improved procedures create a safer environment, the visiting room continues to be one of the saddest places imaginable. It is particularly difficult to watch children visiting incarcerated parents or relatives. The children seem so innocent and unaware of their surroundings.

  I recall watching some happy youngsters bouncing on the lap of their father, who was in prison for killing their mother. He was a quiet and generally unnoticeable individual, but he had murdered the woman, cut her up, and used a garbage disposal to get rid of the body. I wondered if the children knew what he had done.

  Knowing the details of their crimes, I often found it a wonder some of these offenders ever received visitors. Maybe their crime was a brutal rape, a vicious murder, or the molestation of a child. How could someone fall in love or stay in love with someone who has committed such heinous acts? The crime often doesn’t appear to matter. All seems forgotten. “Live for the moment” is the philosophy, with little regard for the past or future. It doesn’t make sense but this mindset exists every day in prisons.

  Though I found the majority of these relationships perplexing and sad, some seemed to transcend the sordidness of the situations. I always admired one devoted wife who stayed married to her dying inmate husband and telephoned him from another state for many years. She was as caring as she could be from a lengthy distance away. Their relationship was real, loving, and long lasting. Yet he was a murderer who had been locked up most of his life.

  It didn’t matter to her. She loved him.

  Unholy Alliance

  Never, under any circumstances, share any aspect of your personal life with an inmate.” This is a prison officer’s cardinal rule. The directive is driven into the mind of every correctional officer who works in a prison system. It is an essential part of each officer’s training. The caution is so clear and direct that no one could ever doubt the message.

  Inmates cannot be trusted. When an inmate does get hold of personal information, he will–in almost every circumstance–use it against the officer. No Minnesota case proves this true more than the unholy alliance formed between Correctional Officer Bill Anthony and federal inmate Marshall Walker.

  As the first Internal Affairs Investigator at the newly opened Oak Park Heights prison, I performed the background check on Bill Anthony in spring 1982. Anthony had worked as a correctional officer in the Oklahoma prison system, and his references praised him as an outstanding employee who was competent and well liked by his colleagues.

  We hired him in July and quickly found him to be all that was promised–bright, articulate, and enthusiastic. Anthony fit in well with the staff. He had a positive way about him, a friendly personality that attracted colleagues. His charisma and experience made him easy to like and look to for leadership. And he carried out assignments with polish and professionalism. We felt fortunate to have him.

  Anthony was assigned to work in the Segregation Unit, one of the toughest tours of duty available. During the prison’s first few years, we had some difficult times in this intense setting.

  The destruction and eventual remodeling of the cells during Richard Samuels’s visit was stressful and cumbersome. Our staff was relatively young and inexperienced, and they were constantly challenged trying to control Samuels and the other antagonistic offenders.

  Working in Segregation demands staff members to be their very best every minute of every shift. The offenders in this unit are the worst of the worst. They are high risk, incorrigible, and know how to cause problems. Rules and regulations must be followed explicitly to prevent injury. Control is the highest priority and deviation from policy risks serious harm.

  Even under the most precautionary conditions, inmates still sometimes manage to assault staff. Inmates can be predatory, waiting patiently for the precise time and place to attack. This is why Segregation requires the highest quality staff, the best trained and the most trusted. Officers in this unit rely on each other more so than any other prison assignment.

  In one potentially serious incident at Oak Parks Heights, a handcuffed inmate managed to pull away from an officer’s grip and, turning the metal handcuffs into a weapon, strike the officer repeatedly on the back of the head. Though the inmate was quickly subdued in this instance, these attacks can turn deadly.

  That is exactly what happened in 1983 in the Control Unit of the United States Penitentiary at Marion, Illinois. In separate incidents within eight hours of each other in the prison’s most secure unit, inmates attacked and killed two guards. They were dangerous offenders who waited for their opportunity, then struck, carefully executing their murderous plans.

  Officer Bill Anthony seemed up to the task of the Segregation Unit. His experience in Oklahoma was invaluable, and it didn’t take long for him to make significant contributions to our procedures. He performed well under demanding circumstances.

  Then he met double murderer Marshall Walker.

  Walker was one of those felons with the outward appearance of a “nice guy.” He was a model inmate, friendly and talkative, one not likely to cause trouble. His good behavior had earned him prime work assignments out of his cell and in close contact with the staff. During his work time, he spoke with Anthony of his life on the outside, describing it as filled with wealth and glamour.

  In contrast, Anthony’s life had recently taken a turn for the worse. He had become financially strapped. His marriage was failing. He was separated from his children. He was drinking too much and abusing drugs. As his personal life fell apart, Anthony did not turn to friends or family, a counselor or religious leader. Instead, he turned to a convicted murderer.

  Months later, Anthony would describe Walker as a “high roller who was easy to talk to, and someone who lived in the fast lane.” In fact, Walker was smart, cunning, and dangerous. Federal authorities were temporarily detaining Walker at Oak Park Heights pending transfer to another prison. He was an accomplished and manipulative felon with a plan, and Anthony was to become a major player.

  Anthony’s work assignment required him to spend long days in the unit, and he spent a lot of time around Walker, who was a floor cleaner and thus often out of his cell during the day. Their routine conversations took a wrong turn. Instead of communicating with Walker on a purely professional level, Anthony broke the cardinal rule. Disregarding the most protected of all correctional officer practices, Anthony brought Walker into the sacredness of his personal lif
e. Anthony allowed his judgment to become contaminated by alcohol and drug abuse, as well as a misguided belief that his association with Walker would somehow enhance his perception of himself. He was wrong. Instead, he became a hopeless pawn in a scheme of manipulation and conspiracy.

  As Christmas approached, Anthony continued to outwardly perform his duties at the prison without difficulty. Inwardly, however, he worried about the looming holiday season and how few dollars he had for his children’s Christmas presents.

  The more contact he had with Walker, the more he became enamored with the seemingly glamorous felon. During their conversations, Anthony was able to escape, however temporarily, some of his personal troubles. Walker bragged about his wealth and his status in the world of criminals. Anthony listened, captivated.

  If Anthony had followed what he learned in the academy, it may have saved his career. Instead, he lost all control, talking freely with Walker about his financial difficulties and even some of his after work activities. He gave Walker a picture of his life outside the prison–a tragic error on his part. Walker absorbed it all.

  Walker tracked the dates, places, and activities that Anthony confided to him. Slowly, he began to feed the information back to Anthony. The officer had given Walker so much personal information he couldn’t remember exactly what he had told him. Anthony quickly became frightened. The inmate named details such as when and where Anthony went bowling.

  Anthony wondered if Walker was having him followed in the community. He couldn’t believe Walker knew that much about his personal life.

  Then Anthony began to get calls during his off-duty hours from Walker’s friends on the outside. His personal life was falling apart and becoming intertwined with his work life. He was scared.