Twice a year, in the chapel at William E. Donaldson Correctional Facility in Bessemer, Alabama, we hold memorial services for those who have passed away inside the facility.
It’s an opportunity for closure, and to say an administratively sanctioned, final farewell to the deceased. Since 2016, I’ve cherished the privilege of managing the audiovisual department in the prison, along with my co-worker Zache Horton. Out of respect, I refer to those being memorialized as “outmates” instead of inmates. I call the ritual, which usually happens in January and June, the Outmate Memorial Service.
Incarcerated people, and occasionally guards, come from across the prison to pay respects. At times we’ve honored guards and free-world volunteers who have died. Whether the guard or the guarded, no one denies the bond that doing time together can create.
Although the occasion is somber, the ceremony has always been beautiful. The fragrance of sweet incense fills the air. Ageless flowers and flickering candles line white tables on either side of a podium. The glare from ceiling lights reflects off the hardwood floors, freshly waxed to a gloss the day before. Subtle old-school gospel music plays in the background.
Quietly, guests arrive. Ushers point them to seats. Visuals are shown on a projector screen as large as a garage door.
Before being assigned to produce these presentations, I hadn’t grasped the number of deaths that take place under the care of the Alabama Department of Corrections. More than 1,000 people have died in state prisons since 2019. In 2024, the state registered 277 deaths in prisons — and one year prior, in 2023, tallied a record-high 325 deaths. So far this year, according to the latest statistics from June, 100 people have died.
I recall a presentation from 2022 because it was the most names I’d ever seen for an outmate memorial: 27 people, all from a single facility. I kept thinking our list was done, and then I’d be given more names to add to the presentation.
On that day three years ago, the chaplain opened the service with a prayer, reminding us of the frailty of our mortality. He then signaled me to begin the opening video presentation. Lights dimmed and the song, “I Just Want to Make it to Heaven,” came on. “Welcome to the W.E. Donaldson Outmate Memorial Service” appeared on the screen.
A list of names followed the introduction.*
A song called “Tomorrow” started as pictures of the deceased appeared on the screen, one by one. I received each photo from the prison administration. Using photo editing tools, I removed the backgrounds for uniformity, and placed the deceased in a more pleasant setting of mountains and nature.
The first man to be memorialized appeared. Gasps of surprise swished through the sanctuary. People had only known his nickname, despite being locked up with him for decades. Some people figured he’d been transferred, was at court or hid again in lockup. As his photo faded away, I was reminded that no one wants to die here.
The next slide brought more gasps and whispers. He was the one that “ole boy” stabbed in O Dorm.
Then the next slide, the one who overdosed in Four Block.
The next slide — silence. No one really knew him. He must have just transferred in, then died in the infirmary.
Heads shook, tears were wiped away, and mouths were covered as these pictures brought life back to our memories. The song playing warned us all: Don’t take the time we have for granted.
Once separated by reputations and identification numbers, those honored were now distinguished by their name, date of birth, date of homegoing, and a verse from the Bible. This was their last 30 seconds before us, center stage on the big screen. I wondered if any of them were ever honored so grandly in life.
In 2010, my eldest daughter, Danielle Thomas, died in a fatal automobile accident at the age of 25. As a loving dad, I never contemplated my child dying before me. Nor had I imagined the devastation I would feel not being permitted to attend her funeral services.
In Alabama, not all of us are allowed to attend funerals, to say that final goodbye to our immediate family. Being sentenced to life without parole disqualified me from receiving closure.
It hurts right now, thinking about my daughter’s death and my absence at her funeral. But my wounds heal a little each time I contribute to an Outmate Memorial Service.
The video presentation ended with a song called “Withholding Nothing,” a fitting punctuation. The lights brightened, and our chaplain invited people up who wished to speak. At first, some were shy and hesitant, but then a trickle turned to a flow. People shared heart-wrenching and hilarious stories. Over the years, I have heard about people’s creative crafting, their love of laughter, their gambling or drinking skills, what sports team they cheered for, how faith changed their life, even how they stopped a stabbing and saved someone’s life.
I have rarely visited the memorial line to speak. I usually say my words and make my peace when the pictures arrive at my desk, weeks or sometimes just a day before the ceremony. This is also when I commit to pouring my best into the last viewing of the too-often forgotten. Next Outmate Memorial Service, I pray for fewer names.
*Mitchell Cosby 11/19/1980 – 06/15/2022
Mathew Mork 08/07/1988 – 06/22/2022
Floyd Ponder 07/07/1953 – 06/16/2022
Maxamillion Ward 08/22/1985 – 06/08/2022
Jessie Bennett 09/12/1977 – 07/01/2022
Kenneth James 04/11/1986 – 07/02/2022
Don Robert Barclay 11/10/1948 – 07/07/2022
Joe C. Davis 11/01/1946 – 07/08/2022
Lionel O’Neal 01/22/1977 – 07/09/2022
Jakari Norris 08/10/1991 – 07/10/2022
Calvin Turner 12/07/64 – 07/11/2022
David Sloan 05/25/1977 – 07/17/2022
Paul Smith 08/03/56 – 07/29/2022
Lee Hardy 04/18/1957 – 07/30/2022
Anthony Gay 01/06/1980 – 08/16/2022
Clarence Coefield 11/09/1949 – 09/01/2022
Timmy Wilson 06/11/56 – 09/30/2022
Austin Knowles 09/18/1997 – 09/29/2022
Denarieya Smith 05/10/92 – 10/01/2022
Joseph Agee 06/22/1993 – 10/03/2022
Joseph Mitchell 03/22/1962 – 10/09/2022
Harold Bailey 05/27/1970 – 10/28/2022
Kenneth Ray 07/11/1990 – 11/14/2022
Antoine Rudolph 01/24/1989 – 11/17/2022
Tycia Marshall 01/04/1981 – 11/30/2022
Eddie Robertson 11/05/1958 – 12/06/-2022
Guy Baker 11/13/62 – 12/11/2022
