Gary and I sing,or I should say,we used to sing.We were members of our church choir and had been rumored to do karaoke from time to time,but we always sang in the car,sometimes along with CDs.It was a good way to learn new songs, and we enjoyed it.My car has several CDs,but I haven't enjoyed really singing or anything else since Gary's imprisonment.It was strange,silent,unbearably sad in the car but I was on my way to Gary.

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Judy White is the wife of former Jefferson County Commissioner Gary White, collateral damage in the Feds' prosecution of former Alabama Governor Don Siegelman. Judy has never gotten a response to her recent open letter to President Barack Obama, pleading for vital medicine for her husband. Health care reform apparently doesn't apply to political prisoners in need. This interview follows up on a previous interview with Judy on October 13.

Welcome back to OpEdNews, Judy. Our recent interview regarding your husband Gary and his confiscated medications has caused a stir. You've just come back from the prison facility in South Carolina. This was your first one, since the scheduled Columbus Day visit fell through, due to a bureaucratic snafu. What can you tell us?

Hi, Joan. Columbus Day had never been particularly meaningful to me before this year. As a federal holiday, it was to have been when Gary and I would see each other [for the first time since his incarceration]. It was not, however, a holiday for my office, and I had already used all my leave time when I had surgery. But my employers agreed to allow me to take an unpaid day. Regardless of our dire financial condition, and due to Gary's medical abuse, it was important that I see Gary as soon as possible.

Gary is only allowed visitors Friday evenings, federal holidays, and alternating weekends (Saturdays and Sundays). His first weekend in prison would have been "his" weekend, but he had no visitors because no one had yet been approved. After I began pleading for Gary's prescription medications to be returned to him - with the prison first, before going to anyone and everyone who might listen, including public forums - Gary, suddenly received notice that Friday afternoon that he had no visitors approved. This was after being told he had two people who would be on his visitor list. Our considerable efforts yielded no results, so we were unable to see each other.

It wasn't until late Tuesday, October 12th, that Gary had his approved visitors entered into the system. This [delay] was even though we had sent in our paperwork on September 30th, the day after he was imprisoned, and he had been told on Tuesday before Columbus Day that he had two. Perhaps coincidentally - but perhaps not - it was the first work day after the federal holiday during which our efforts to get Gary's medication restored were publicized at OpEdNews and then picked up by other outlets. Gary sounded so excited when he called to tell me that he had a "Visiting List" and I was on it - you would have thought he had won the lottery! I let the children know, and we began comparing schedules to determine travel times and when and which of us would visit him.

Everyone in our family has responsibilities to employers, as well as other obligations. Our daughter, for example, provides child care while attending graduate school. She was committed to caring for a family's children for that weekend, and couldn't let them down with such short notice. So we added caring for our pets to her agenda, and decided our son and I would make the first visit, leaving in the wee hours of Saturday morning so we could spend as much time with Gary as possible.

But Friday morning, there was a problem with our home and workers were there to try to fix it. Then our son, who works more an hour away (in the wrong direction), called to say he would have to work late and might not make it until very late that night. So I made the sudden decision that I was going Friday - alone. I quickly threw some essentials in a bag, and, as soon as my presence was no longer required by the workers, I left to visit my husband, going through the drive-through at the bank on the advice of the Sisterhood, who had explained the need to bring five- and one-dollar bills for the vending machines. I filled the gas tank and got on I-20 heading East (one of the most dangerous and deadly stretches of interstate in the Southeast).

Gary, as we've discussed, was imprisoned in South Carolina, despite the judge's order that he be at the Federal Prison Camp closest to our home, which is located in Montgomery, Alabama, 90 miles south. Instead, this prison is more than 300 miles east, and requires going through Atlanta. Gary, along with our congressman and senators, had asked that he be reassigned to Montgomery, but they, like the judge, have been ignored. In Gary's request, he submitted letters from my surgeon and medical doctor which stated it would be harmful to me, because of my medical condition, to travel such a far distance, keeping in mind the Federal Bureau of Prison's claim to be committed to maintaining family and community ties.

Clearly, in Gary's situation, it appears that making it as difficult as possible to maintain such ties, including disregard to the harm to me, is what mattered.

As for my "medical condition," it is no secret that I had major back surgery at the end of May, including the implantation of two bones in my spine, which are intended to fuse and provide stability along with the surgical repairs to the nerve and nerve canal. Driving or riding, or even sitting or staying in a position without moving for extended periods of time is not recommended, and sometimes causes severe pain and other difficulties. Additionally, being a responsible driver means eliminating prescription medications that could affect my driving. Regardless of the risk to myself, Gary had been without his proper prescription medications since the day he was imprisoned, and from speaking with him on the telephone, it was clear he was not doing well. So, the most important thing was to try to take care of him.

Gary and I sing, or I should say, we used to sing. We were members of our church choir and had been rumored to do karaoke from time to time, but we always sang in the car, sometimes along with CDs. It was a good way to learn new songs, and we enjoyed it. My car has several CDs, but I haven't enjoyed really singing or anything else since Gary's imprisonment, especially considering the withholding of his medications. It was strange, and silent, and unbearably sad in the car, but I was on the way to see my husband, so I was okay, until I approached the Georgia state line.

Even though it meant I was one state closer to getting there, when Gary and I travelled, we always kissed on state lines - not yucky, mushy kisses, just State Line Kisses. We also kissed on the Mason-Dixon Line when we crossed it. So crossing into Georgia, and hours later into South Carolina, were "crying" times. I had let my family know of the change in plans and that I was going alone, so they called from time to time to check on me. My mother was terribly concerned about my condition and whether I would be able to manage. And my closest fellow member of the "Sisterhood" called to check on me as well.

Along the way, I had to stop for more gas and to visit the restroom, and with traffic and accidents, I was delayed and worried. I was trying to get there before 5:00 p.m., because visiting time was supposed to be 5:00 - 8:00 p.m. I hadn't been warned about "government time." 5:00 came and went, with the door locked with the visiting family members waiting in line. The other visitors seemed to be used to it, and were chatting among themselves. I had been warned that visitors were not allowed to talk to each other inside, but I guess the constitution was still in force until we went through the locked door.

I was surprised to hear the other waiting visitors talking about Gary's situation. None of them had ever seen him (or me), but they had become aware of what was going on, thanks to OpEdNews (and other web-based news sources that picked up the story) reporting on the withholding of his medications. I overheard several of them expressing gratitude and hope that maybe this media exposure would bring positive changes. (I also overheard concern about the consequences to Gary, and how mean, vindictive, and retaliatory the prison employees are, especially to anyone who asks questions or makes requests - such as to be provided proper medical care.) But the overwhelming sentiment was hope that perhaps somehow their loved ones' conditions might be looked at and improved. I just had no idea, at that time, what some of those conditions included.

That drive didn't sound like much fun. It's encouraging that OpEdNews coverage of your story even reached the visitors to that federal prison in South Carolina! So what did you find when you finally got in to see Gary, Judy?

The most important thing was that Gary and I were able to see each other after the longest time we had ever spent apart. But there was a price to pay, as we both quickly learned. It became clear that those in control of visitation - and let me stress "in control" - intended to make our time together as painful as they could, through threats, insults, intimidation, humiliation, embarrassment, and fabricated and false accusations. By the time I had to leave on Saturday, I wondered if my visit had been more harmful to Gary, who bore the brunt of the abuse, than helpful to either of us. There was definitely retaliatory and punitive treatment directed toward us because of our efforts to have Gary's proper medications given to him, as commented upon by the other prisoners and their visiting family members. This was despite my assurances from the prison administration that we, specifically Gary, would not be subjected to retaliatory or punitive treatment. Perhaps those in control of visitation didn't get the memo. When our time together ended, I was able to leave, with little they could do to me, at least until my next visit, but Gary had to stay and continue to endure the mistreatment.

On Friday afternoon, October 15th, just before the scheduled 5:00 visiting time, I arrived for my first opportunity to see my husband since I took him to be imprisoned on September 29th. I had never before visited anyone in prison, and had no official information, just the helpful tips from the Sisterhood - nothing sleeveless, nothing where my arms or legs would show, nothing green or camo or orange (at least there would be no uniformed Tennessee fans), no purses, lipstick, cell phones, and so on. I thought about a burka, but that wouldn't work either - no hats or head coverings. The Sisterhood suggestion was to take my driver's license and money for the vending machines in a small pouch, and to be friendly and outgoing to the prison employees, particularly the guards, who have the ability to make life in prison similar to the different stages of hell, with the level of suffering determined by the mood of the guard.

The visitors formed a line waiting to be checked and admitted to the visiting room. When it was my turn to enter the room, I greeted the guard, Mr. Ingram, and introduced myself, saying, "Hi, I'm Judy White, it's nice to see you," while handing him the visitor form I had completed. He responded by asking for my driver's license. I removed it from the small pouch, along with my emergency asthma inhaler and, handing both to him, said, "I bet you're going to want to see this (the inhaler), too." (The rules state that the visitor is allowed to bring in medication needed during the visit. I expected the visit to last three hours, and was concerned that I might need my inhaler.) He took and retained both my driver's license and my inhaler. (Keep in mind I had been fighting desperately for Gary's medications to be returned to him for over two weeks. Also keep in mind that the inhaler has a mouth-contact surface, and Mr. Ingram didn't have on gloves and was handling various items.) I asked, "Are you going to keep my inhaler?" He responded, "Yes," and said if I needed it, I would have to come and ask him for it. Then he told me I could not bring "that" in, indicating the small pouch, even though I had seen numerous other larger pouches that had been acceptable and allowed.

I explained that the pouch is where I normally kept my inhaler and asked if he could put the inhaler in it and keep both. Rather than answer, he repeated harshly, "You can't bring it in." I said, "Okay. Do I need to take it back to my car?" He said, "Yes." I asked if I could exit through the opposite door, as there were numerous people in line behind me. He said, "Yes." I took the pouch to my car and reentered the building, stopping outside the door I had previously exited and asking Mr. Ingram if I could come back in through the door I had exited. He said, "Yes." I returned to the opposite side of the counter and awaited further instructions. He told me to sign in.

One of the questions asked for my husband's register number, which I do not have memorized; instead I had written it on a slip of paper and put it in the pouch, along with my tag number, which I also do not have memorized. Both were required and I had written them on the form I had already given to Mr. Ingram. I told him I didn't know the number and asked if I could get it from the form or if I would need to return to my car to get it. He was clearly annoyed, but he read it to me and I entered it on the sign-in sheet. He told me to step back to be photographed, which I did, then he told me to go sit down. I said, "Thank you," and went to sit down.

Gary was paged and, when he entered, a woman sitting in the same area said, "There he is, go get him," so I went to him. At that point, a female employee yelled at Gary to come there. I returned to my seat, while she publicly reprimanded him. When she finished, Mr. Ingram came from behind the desk and took Gary through a door into a side room. After a few minutes, they both came out and Gary came and sat by me, very visibly upset. Everyone around us was focused on us, and I asked what was wrong, whether I had done something wrong, meaning by going to him. He said the woman had just told him that he was supposed to have gone to see the female employee before greeting me, but, of course, neither he nor I had known that. Then he told me, with everyone around us listening, what had occurred in the room. He said Mr. Ingram had asked, "Is that your daughter?" Gary responded that I am his wife. Mr. Ingram then said, "You are responsible for the behavior of your visitors. She was rude to me. If she's ever rude again, she won't be allowed to come back."

I had not been rude. But I was embarrassed, humiliated, and insulted. And I felt very strongly that this mistreatment was retaliation for my efforts to stop the withholding of my husband's medications. Any claim that I had been rude was false and a total fabrication. But what was offensive to me was the question, "Is that your daughter?" Prior to being approved to visit Gary, I had submitted a detailed questionnaire, including the nature of our relationship, and release for a background check. Any information needed by Mr. Ingram was on the screen he had just checked to verify that I was an approved visitor, including my identity as Gary's wife. It was highly inappropriate, demeaning, and offensive for him to have asked the question.

Mr. Ingram's threat to disallow my visits to my husband, as was explained to me later in the evening, exceeded his authority. But, of course, we didn't know that at the time, so our first visit after such a long time apart became an extremely stressful and upsetting experience, overshadowed by fear of what would be done to us next, rather than a happy, enjoyable time together "to maintain family ties," a stated Bureau of Prisons objective.

I stayed until Mr. Ingram announced that visitation was over. Gary left through the side room. I maintained my distance from the desk until Mr. Ingram held my inhaler and driver's license toward me. I approached the desk, accepted my belongings, and asked, "Is there someone in administration I can speak with?" He said, "No." I waited. "They have already left." So I asked, "When could I speak with someone in administration?" He said, "Come back tomorrow and see the duty officer." I asked, "Do you know what time I would be able to see the duty officer?" He said, "Just come at 8:00." I said, "Thank you," and left.

In my car in the parking lot of the prison, I called the prison and asked for the duty officer. I was connected after a brief pause. I explained what had happened during the visit, everything from Gary getting yelled at and the false accusation that I had been rude, right up to Mr. Ingram's refusal to allow me to speak with anyone, claiming there was no one there. The duty officer was very kind and encouraging, and relieved me of the fear that Mr. Ingram would stop me from visiting Gary the following day or in the future. She expressed surprise that Gary had never had orientation (he still has not) nor been provided with basic information concerning visitation, which is supposed to be provided at orientation. She committed to look into the issues I shared with her, asked for my telephone number, and said she would call me back.

The following morning, Mr. Ingram was again present but not sitting at the desk when I entered to visit Gary, so I had no interaction with him. The duty officer I had spoken with Friday evening came into the room, approached me, introduced herself, and inquired whether I had encountered any problems that morning. I thanked her and told her everything had been fine. But I noticed Mr. Ingram watching, rather intently, during my conversation with the duty officer. After her departure from the visiting room, Mr. Ingram made a show of putting on gloves, and as visits ended, prisoners leaving the visiting room were strip-searched, two at a time, despite the written policy that any prisoner required to remove clothing for a search would be searched privately, not in the presence of other prisoners.

Gatlinburg, TN, Christmas, 2009

Visiting with Gary had escalated, not relieved, my concern about his well-being. He was not feeling well, and he was not functioning well. From the time Gary was first allowed to call me, and I became aware of the withholding of his medications, I asked that he would call me for just one minute each morning at 6:15, just to let me know he was still alive and hadn't died during the night. Before making the long drive home that Saturday night, I removed my contact lenses and, sitting in my parked car, cried uncontrollably, grieving the loss of so much of the husband I love.

Let's take a break here, Judy. In our next installment, we'll hear a lot more about what life in federal prison is like. Stay tuned!

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My recent interview with Judy , October 13, 2010

Judy's open letter to President Barack Obama

Authors Website: http://www.opednews.com/author/author79.html

Authors Bio:

Joan Brunwasser is a co-founder of Citizens for Election Reform (CER) which since 2005 existed for the sole purpose of raising the public awareness of the critical need for election reform. Our goal: to restore fair, accurate, transparent, secure elections where votes are cast in private and counted in public. Because the problems with electronic (computerized) voting systems include a lack of transparency and the ability to accurately check and authenticate the vote cast, these systems can alter election results and therefore are simply antithetical to democratic principles and functioning.



Since the pivotal 2004 Presidential election, Joan has come to see the connection between a broken election system, a dysfunctional, corporate media and a total lack of campaign finance reform. This has led her to enlarge the parameters of her writing to include interviews with whistle-blowers and articulate others who give a view quite different from that presented by the mainstream media. She also turns the spotlight on activists and ordinary folks who are striving to make a difference, to clean up and improve their corner of the world. By focusing on these intrepid individuals, she gives hope and inspiration to those who might otherwise be turned off and alienated. She also interviews people in the arts in all their variations - authors, journalists, filmmakers, actors, playwrights, and artists. Why? The bottom line: without art and inspiration, we lose one of the best parts of ourselves. And we're all in this together. If Joan can keep even one of her fellow citizens going another day, she considers her job well done.


When Joan hit one million page views, OEN Managing Editor, Meryl Ann Butler interviewed her, turning interviewer briefly into interviewee. Read the interview here.

While the news is often quite depressing, Joan nevertheless strives to maintain her mantra: "Grab life now in an exuberant embrace!"


Joan has been Election Integrity Editor for OpEdNews since December, 2005. Her articles also appear at Huffington Post, RepublicMedia.TV and Scoop.co.nz.