The extra prisoners from Speigner was only an uncomfortable, even disgusting, inconvenience for me because of my gift— I can smell evil.

I don’t know when it started. It may have begun when I first began working at Walls— leastways, it’s the first I remember it happening. There were plenty of folks, both men and women, who I could smell. They gave off a scent. Petty criminals just had an annoying odor. It was a bit acrid, but not overwhelming. It was a bothersome as bad breath or body odor, yet slightly more pronounced. The more severe the crime, however, the worse the smell and the more pungent the aroma. Death row inmates were the worst.

Back in 1926, I was escorting John G. Whidmore from death row to the gallows to be hung. Whidmore had been convicted on five counts of murder.

“Y’all don’t look so good, Jake,” Officer Cooper said to me.

I could feel beads of sweat trickle down my face from my hairline.

“Ain’t got the belly fer death,” Whidmore guffawed.

The aroma oozed from his pores. It was so heady, so horrifying, and so overwhelmingly nauseating, I could taste it. I saw a ray of light pierce through a high, barred window from above, passing before me like a lightning bolt…

Apparently, I passed out before we got two steps from Whidmore’s cell. A quick visit to the infirmary and a work record entry later, I was never assigned to death row again, or to walk the last mile with an inmate to the gallows.

This is why the influx population of Speigner prisoners disturbed me— more odors, more smells, more crime, more evil. And with the greater need for security, we were required to work overtime, sometimes double shifts.

Times were tough, though. My wife, Rachel, even took it upon herself to seek employment. I should have objected, but I figured she would never find anything. Myrtle Mae McGivens, the waitress at Cal’s Diner on Main Street, got the influenza on October 31st. By the 15th of November she was a goner, and her position at Cal’s needed to be filled. Myrtle got the influenza and my Rachel got the job.

They called it a Great Depression. Well, sir, there was nothing great about it.

To Be Continued…

It was the worst of times; the age of foolishness; the epoch of disbelief; the season of darkness; the winter of despair. The Depression had been in full swing for just over three years. Our only hope was heaven because, on Friday, December 2nd, 1932, we were already in hell— leastways, those of us working at “Walls” in Wetumpka, Alabama had no reason to think otherwise.

Walls or “Walls of Alabama” are the nicknames we gave the Wetumpka State Penitentiary on account of the twenty-five foot high walls surrounding the prison. Walls was a co-ed prison during the Depression, segregating men and women in different barracks.

Just four days earlier, on November 28th, the prison at Speigner was destroyed by fire. All the prisoners, both male and female, were transferred to Walls until they could rebuild the facility. Needless to say, the overcrowding situation was quite tight. Thankfully, Speigner guards escorted a good majority of the prisoners to the mills in Elmore County daily, which kept us from feeling too claustrophobic. The weekend was upon us, however; and from Friday evening until Monday morning, we would be asked to accommodate, to make due, to put up with.

I ain’t complaining, mind you. In these times of woe and want, I’m lucky to have a job. Many farmers all over the state have had to leave their families, or their land altogether, to work in the mills and foundries of Anniston, Huntsville and Birmingham— if they got work at all. Thousands upon thousands lost jobs in the Birmingham steel and iron industry. I’ve been working at the Wall since I came home from the Great War in Europe. I was fifteen years old when I enlisted in 1917 and eighteen years old when I left France and came back to Alabama in 1921. All I knew was following orders, standing guard duty, and killing Germans. The Alabama Penitentiary System was the best fit for what I knew.

The extra prisoners from Speigner was only an uncomfortable, even disgusting, inconvenience for me because of my gift— I can smell evil.

To Be Continued…