Street roots
S ept 14, 2012
A woman's journey into an unlikely friendship whose time is running out
BY BROOKE ANDERSON
C O N T R IB U T IN G W R IT E R
oday I anxiously await the mail to
arrive. Although I only recently sent
out my last letter, I never know when
I may randomly receive a note from Bobby
Wayne; our correspondence is never
consistent, nor timed. As soon as the
mailman steps off the porch, I quickly
examine the pile of mail on the entryway
floor to see if any are postmarked from
Mobile, Alabama. My spirits sink a little
when I notice only one bill and an
advertisement from Safeway. No letter from
Bobby. Oh well, there is always tomorrow.
However, the familiar and persistent voice
in the back of my head reminds me that
with every passing day he inches closer to
his execution, causing each day and each
letter to be quite sacred. After all, at 33,
Bobby has been sitting on death row for 14
years, and the national average is currently
17 years before execution. I decide not to
linger on that statistic today and remind
myself that at least he will receive a letter
from me shortly, which I know will help to
lift his spirits as his letters do mine.
Recently he was struggling with the fact
that his TV broke (which is one of his only
connections to the outside world), and that
“(his) days right now is dim.” In the midst
of these feelings he wrote,
“But Pm here, and you are there for me,
your letters really brighten my day and make
me sm ile... your friendship means the world
to me. ”
I began writing Bobby nine months ago,
after I learned about the Death Row
Support Project, or DSRP, through my local
church. Although I’ve always held a stance
in opposition to the death penalty, I never
considered writing to an inmate. However,
after browsing DRSP’s website, I learned
about the close bonds that form between
pen pals, both on the part of the inmate and
their pen pal in the “free world” (as Bobby
calls it). This aspect of the project appealed
to me since I believe that it is through
personal relationships that society learns to
humanize and forgive those locked up for
violent crimes. Also, since I’ve been an
advocate for the social justice ministries in
which my church and spiritual community
participate, I saw the Death Row Support
Project as a way to contribute to one of
these ministries, never considering the
impact this “ministry” would have on me.
In the short time I’ve been writing to
Bobby Wayne, I have learned the sacred
details of one man’s struggle, and triumph
T
Brooke Anderson is
originally from
Portland but is
studying for a
master’s degree in
social work at the
University o f
M aryland in
Baltimore,
specializing in issues
o f mental health.
to survive life on death row. Convicted at
age 19 for a double homicide, he has had 14
years to, as he writes, “own up” to the
crime, but:
“I ’ll never be able to come to terms with my
crime because it was a very horrible thing I
did. I was a young kid on drugs and I took
two peoples’ lives that I loved very much; two
people who raised me as their own child. I
don’t think I can ever forgive myself. I ’m so
embarrassed and broken for what I did. I took
my grandparents’ lives. I look at their picture
every day and I miss them so much. ”
The more we write to each other, the
more I am inspired by Bobby’s ability to
continue to grow as an individual on a
personal, emotional, and psychological level
in prison. He spends 16 hours a day caring
for the aged and infirm men in the prison
nursing home. Through his work there he
has developed close relationships with men
such as Paw Paw and Honeybee, whom he
writes about frequently,:
“Honeybee is doing well, as mean as always.
I love him to death. I just hate that he has
Alzheimer’s. He don’t even remember me. He
always calls me “Pete. ” I know that’s gotta be
someone from his past. I just wonder who ...
When asked what he enjoys most about
working at the nursing home, he replied,
“The smile on their (his patients) faces
when I make them happy. Just knowing that
I ’m needed, and helping them to have a better
life, giving them comfort as they prepare for
their death. To hear Honeybee tell me he loves
me blesses my heart. Their love is genuine for
me as mine is for them. ”
Discouragingly, whenever I mention
Bobby, or more specifically, that I am
writing to an inmate on death row, there is
always a lull in the conversation. It’s as if
the person, or persons, I’m speaking with
aren’t quite sure whether this is a good or
bad thing to do. Often I feel like I have to
explain in great detail about Bobby and the
Death Row Support Project so people can
rationalize why I’m writing at all. I find this
to be quite exhausting. I continually attempt
to define individuals, especially those who
have committed horrendous acts, by their
spirit and soul, not by past behavior; I
understand that this is incredibly difficult
for many. However, I believe it essential to
reach out to those who society has deemed
unworthy; not only does it humanize
criminals, it offers an opportunity for
redemption and hope that is so critical given
the injustices we face every day.
Through his letters I have discovered that
Bobby is a thoughtful individual, frequently
reflecting on various aspects of his life. For
instance, at the time of his crime he was
addicted to crack cocaine and was high
when he committed the crime. He quite
frankly points out that being addicted to
crack is like “living in a tunnel, and your
only destination is to find more crack.”
Although Bobby was a successful wrestler,
he lost all his possessions within four
months of his crack addiction, and he and
his wife had to move in with his
grandparents. He acknowledges that it was
his addiction to crack that lead to the
murder of his grandparents, and after 14
years, “the pain is still in my h e a rt... I still
feel it every day.” In my friendship with
Bobby, I see that through acceptance and
humility about his circumstances, he has
been able to grow on an emotional and
psychological level.
“(Prison) has made me a very humble man
... yeah, I hear rumors about me sometimes
but I don’t pay them no mind. I built a very
good character in here for standing on what I
believe in. There’s no middle ground in here.
You can’t show weakness or you’ll be exploited.
It’s sad but true. I love to socialize with others,
love to help people, so to be in that position I
have to demand respect in here. I ’m a very
strong man for the things I ’ve endured in life
... I ’ve learned a lot, and sure I ’ll learn much
more as I carry on. ”
He also recognizes that because of his
crime,“(he) lost everything (he) could have
been in life: a wrestler, husband, father,
grandfather. I’m gonna miss out on all
that.” Despite all his pain and regret, he is
committed to his volunteer work in the
prison, recently completing the Alabama
Department of Corrections “Dignity”
Hospice/Palliative Care Volunteer Training
Program.
What I’ve found most inspiring about
Bobby is that he gives me a fresh
perspective on life through his seasoned
lens. He encourages me to follow through
with my goals, do well in graduate school,
love my family even when they are driving
me crazy, and take nothing in my life for
granted. Recently he wrote:
“I ’m just trying to find a reason to smile
every day. Smiling always makes me feel
better. So, remember Brooke, if I can find a
reason to smile in here every day, I know you
can find a reason to smile out there. ”
In all honesty, I can’t argue with that.
For more
information about
writing to a death
row inmate,
contact the Death
Row Support
Project at drsp@
brethren.org
Or write:
Death Row
Support Project
PO Box 600
Liberty Mills, IN
46946
Or call:
260-982-7480