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“I’m here for a legal visit,” I replied. “It was scheduled earlier this week. The people in the
warden’s office have the papers.” I smiled and spoke as politely as I could to defuse the
situation.
“That’s fine, that’s fine, but you have to be searched first.”
It was difficult to ignore his clearly hostile attitude, but I did my best.
“Okay, do you need me to take my shoes off?” The hardcore officers would sometimes
make me remove my shoes before going inside.
“You’re going to go into that bathroom and take everything off if you expect to get into my
prison.”
I was shocked, but spoke as nicely as I could. “Oh, no, sir. I think you might be confused.
I’m an attorney. Lawyers don’t have to get strip-searched to come in for legal visits.”
Instead of calming him, this seemed to make him angrier. “Look, I don’t know who you
think you are, but you’re not coming into my prison without complying with our security
protocols. Now, you can get into that bathroom and strip, or you can go back to wherever
you came from.”
I’d had some difficult encounters with officers getting into prisons from time to time,
mostly in small county jails or places where I’d never been before, but this was highly
unusual.
“I’ve been to this prison many times, and I’ve never been required to submit to a strip
search. I don’t think this is the procedure,” I said more firmly.
“Well, I don’t know and don’t care what other people do, but this is the protocol I use.” I
thought about trying to find an assistant warden but realized that that might be difficult, and
anyway, an assistant warden would be unlikely to tell an officer he was wrong in front of me.
I had driven two hours for this visit and had a very tough schedule over the next three weeks;
I wouldn’t be able to get back to the prison any time soon if I didn’t get in now. I went inside
the bathroom and removed my clothes. The officer came in and gave me an unnecessarily
aggressive search before mumbling that I was clear. I put my suit back on and walked out.
“I’d like to get inside the visitation room now.” I tried to reclaim some dignity by speaking
more forcefully.
“Well, you have to go back and sign the book.”
He said it coolly, but he was clearly trying to provoke me. There was a visitation log that
the prison used for family visits, but it was not used for legal visits. I’d already signed the
attorney book. It would make no sense to sign a second book.
“Lawyers don’t have to sign that book—”
“If you want to come in my prison, you’ll sign the book.” He seemed to be smirking now. I
tried hard to keep my composure.
I turned around and went over to the book and signed my name. I walked back to the
visitation room and waited. There was a padlock on the glass door that had to be unlocked
before I could enter the space where I’d meet my client. The officer finally pulled out his keys
to unlock the door. I stood silently hoping to get inside without more drama. When he
opened the door, I stepped forward, but he grabbed my arm to stop me. He lowered his voice
as he spoke to me.
“Hey, man, did you happen to see a truck out in the visitation yard with a lot of bumper
stickers, flags, and a gun rack?”