The large matron in the dull, brown uniform led me into the room and pointed toward the metal table and chairs, where a young woman sat. The woman was dressed in a fashionable gray, summer-weight wool skirt and jacket. A black purse that matched her shoes sat on the table in front of her. She was busy scribbling on the yellow pad lying on the bare table; when I approached her, she stood up and lifted her hand. “Hello, I’m...

The next week's scheduled time arrived, and Miss Nancy Leonard, a reporter for the Atlanta Journal-Courier, sat waiting for our meeting at the Georgia State Women's Prison visitation center. She dressed in a fashionable grey knit pantsuit and gold silk blouse, her brown hair held back by a faux tortoise shell comb. Her nails, although short, were professionally done with a stunning pink polish. Her makeup was professional...

I walked down the white and grey hall to the visitor center; the large, sturdy matron marched behind me. Nancy, the fresh-faced middle-class reporter, looked up when the door opened to brightly wave me over to the steel table like we were friends meeting for lunch at a cafe. She apologized for being late; she had to drop her dog off at the veterinarian before coming to see me. She told me her pug’s name was Lucky and he w...