Memoirs of a Prison Lawyer: Prison Wife

By Claudette Spencer-Nurse

This book is more than a successful love story of an attorney who fell in love, married and had a child with a man serving twenty-five years to life in prison. It is the journey of a lawyer who, against all odds, not only fought to protect the civil rights of men and women in New York City jails and New York State prisons but also a prison wife who fights the system as a visitor. Along the way, she faces hurdles and somehow always manages to come out on top. You will laugh and you will cry as you read about her life which includes being the ninth of ten children that never felt loved by her parents , joining the Army Reserve for a part-time job "that wasn't worth it" to partying with her and her siblings on Rockaway Beach and fighting drug dealers in her apartment building. To view a brief video featuring the author, please click HERE.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Jun 21, 2018
• ISBN: 9781641387897

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Memoirs of a Prison Lawyer - Prison Wife

Claudette Spencer-Nurse

Copyright © 2018 Claudette Spencer-Nurse

All rights reserved

First Edition

Page Publishing, Inc

New York, NY

First originally published by Page Publishing, Inc 2018

ISBN 978-1-64138-787-3 (Paperback)

ISBN 978-1-64138-789-7 (Digital)

Printed in the United States of America

To my husband, Ernest Jules Nurse, whom I told in 1986, when he still had sixteen years to go in his prison sentence before any possibility of parole: Time is no barrier, our love will last forever. You have been my rock when times were hard, and I will love you forever;

To my oldest daughter, Shahidah, who has struggled throughout her life to find herself but who, when she puts her mind to it, can accomplish anything;

To my conjugal visit baby, Zakiya, who has always lived up to the meaning of her name, intelligent, and has excelled in everything she does;

To my grandchildren—Jaquanna, Shaheed, Quanay, Jaqwan, Jakhira and Jakhi–who will always be able to count on their grandma for as long as I live;

To my sisters—Lauren (La La), Cherryl, Christine (Chris), Ellen (Pal), Janet, and Gloria—who not only have always been there to give me support but have also been there for my children and grandchildren;

To my twin brother, Salahudeen (Yeng Yeng), who has always felt my pain and been there for me no matter what;

To my brothers, Lawrence (Latique) and Milton (may he rest in peace), who have always been there when I needed them;

To my parents, Gloria and Milton Spencer (may they rest in peace), for bringing me into this world and loving me the best way they knew how;

To my nieces and nephews in order of age—Crystal, Leon, Lisa, Carl, Maurice, Janine, Noel, Wayne, Stanley, Kalif, Bryan, Majeedah, Dymita, David, Salahudeen, Milton, Ameerah, Tiffany, Andre (may he rest in peace), Amber, Cameo, Raymond, and Eddie—and to my many grandnieces and grandnephews, especially Samantha, for being the best extended family anyone could ask for and for providing such good times at our family reunions that it never mattered if any other relatives came; and

Last but not least, to my sister-in-law Joan Morrison, who has always been there for her brother, me, and Zakiya from being the only family member to attend our wedding, to being in the hospital room when Zakiya was born, to attending Zakiya’s wedding in Canada.

Glossary

The following is a glossary of terms used in this book that you might not have previously known.

Bid—slang term used by people in prison to refer to their term or sentence in prison

Bing—slang term to refer to the disciplinary unit on Rikers Island.

Bivouac—semipermanent facility for the lodging of an army. Camps are erected when a military force travels away from a major installation or fort during training or operations and often have the form of large campsites

Box—slang term used by people in prison for solitary confinement.

CDD—Criminal Defense Division

CO—correctional officer

CPR—Coalition for Parole Restoration

Cross-visiting—participation of two inmates in a visit with one or more visitors and is not permitted unless prior approval is requested and granted from the superintendent.

Deuce club—coined by men in prison for people who have appeared before the parole board and have been denied parole, instead given two years—or a deuce—before they are able to reappear before the board

DOC—New York City Department of Correction

DOCS—New York State Department of Correctional Services, now known as the Department of Corrections and Community Supervision after DOCS consolidated with the Division of Parole since 2011

Festival—social event in New York prisons where those incarcerated can invite family and friends, usually held in the yard or a gymnasium where food is served and music is played

Keeplock—form of solitary confinement, but the person in prison is confined to his cell for a period of time

Precedent—a legal principle created by a court decision that provides an example or authority for judges deciding cases with similar facts or issues.

PC—protective custody

PD—public defender

PRP—Prisoners’ Rights Project

Rikers Island—jail complex in New York City comprised of ten jails for men and women before trial, serving a sentence of a year or less, or waiting to be transferred to a state prison after being sentenced

ROR—released on own recognizance, written promise signed by the defendant, promising he will show up for future court appearances

Shank—anything that can be fashioned into a weapon by a person in prison and can be used to cut or injure someone

SHU—Special Housing Unit used for people confined to solitary confinement

Ticket—slang term used by people in New York State prisons for a disciplinary infraction

Chapter One

It was a snowy day in November 1984, and I was sitting in the visiting room at Elmira Correctional Facility, waiting for my next interview to start. I wondered silently whether the person I was to interview would know anything about the Ku Klux Klan (KKK) activity that my partner, Bill, and I had been investigating at the prison.

At the sound of footsteps, I looked up to see a man walking toward me with a big grin on his face. He was clad in a bright-red sweatshirt and green prison pants, his long dreadlocks swaying from side to side. My eyes kept wandering toward his beautiful smile. As he got closer, I stumbled to get up to shake his hand and introduce myself.

Hi, I’m Claudette Spencer. How are you? I said.

He responded, I’m fine, thanks. I’m Ernest Nurse.

Little did I know, I had just met my future husband. I never intended to fall in love with a man serving twenty-five years to life in prison for murder, but shit happens!

* * *

My investigation of Ku Klux Klan activity at Elmira was my first in my new position as a staff attorney with the Prisoners’ Rights Project (PRP). As of August 1984, I had moved from Philadelphia, where I attended law school, back to my hometown of New York City. The PRP was a unit in the Legal Aid Society of New York (LAS) that protected the legal rights of people in jails in New York City and state correctional facilities. To this day, they investigate complaints received from people in prison—both in New York City jails, overseen by the New York City Department of Correction (DOC), and in upstate prisons, overseen by the New York State Department of Corrections and Community Supervision (DOCS).

PRP had started the Ku Klux Klan investigation after receiving a letter from a man incarcerated at Attica Correctional Facility. In the letter, he’d alleged that, in 1983, when he was housed at Elmira, he was dragged out of his cell by correction officers (COs) clothed in white sheets, assaulted, and called racial slurs. He’d written that officers, particularly those assigned to the night shift, bragged about being members of the Ku Klux Klan and routinely assaulted black and Hispanic men incarcerated at the prison, calling them niggers and spics.

* * *

As I chatted with Ernest during that first day of my investigation, I learned that he had only recently been transferred to the prison, so he didn’t know much about any Ku Klux Klan activity going on there. Before the visit ended, however, he asked me to look into problems with him receiving a magazine, The Militant, and I gave him an assignment to get some information for me to help with my investigation.

After that visit, I told my law school friend, Beverly, that I had met a Rastafarian man at the prison.

Beverly, I said, you wouldn’t believe how attractive this man was. I’ve never even been interested in men with dreadlocks, but this one really was good-looking.

I had never believed in the concept of love at first sight, but I think I fell in love with Ernest from the minute I laid eyes on him. From that day in the Elmira visiting room onward, I never stopped thinking about him and his gorgeous smile. And apparently, he was thinking the same.

He later told me that upon returning to his cell that day, he told his friends, I just met the woman I’m going to marry.

Most of them laughed at him when he mentioned I was an attorney who had come to interview him, but he got the last laugh when he married me.

* * *

In December, Bill and I visited the prison again, and this time, I included Ernest in the list of persons to interview, so I could update him on what I’d found out about his magazine subscription. Ernest came in while I was still interviewing another person, but when Bill called him over, he politely informed him that he was waiting for me. After I finished with my interview, I called Ernest into the attorney visiting room, but before the interview was completed, the count started.

The count was a regular occurrence in New York State prisons. Several times a day, every man and woman in prison was counted so the COs could ensure that no one had escaped. During the count, no one could move inside the prison.

Because the count was still in progress after our official interview was completed, Ernest could not return to his cell, so he and I chatted to pass the time. He revealed the details of his crime to me, being completely honest.

So what did you do to get into prison? I asked him.

Well . . . I killed a man, Ernest confided, his fingers folded together on the edge of the table. It was the weekend before the Labor Day Parade, and I was at a party in Brooklyn.

Okay, I responded.

He continued, I was inside for a while, and I started feeling pretty hot, so I decided to go outside to get some fresh air. When I tried to get back in, the men at the door stopped me and claimed I was trying to sneak in. I showed them the stamp on my hand, and they let me pass.

All right, so what happened then?

"Well, I was a bit of a hothead. I didn’t like being challenged back then, and I didn’t like the way they’d spoken to me. So instead of going into the party, I went back and said, ‘So what the fuck would you have done if I hadn’t paid?’

Next thing I knew, several of them had surrounded me, and one hit me. So I took out my guns and started shooting. When the gunfire ended, one man was dead, so I ran before the police arrived. Two months later, they caught me. I went to trial, and they gave me twenty-five years to life.

I didn’t want him to feel like I was cross-examining him, so I quickly changed the subject and asked him about his family. He told me that he came from a large family, was originally from Trinidad and Tobago, and that his birthday was in February. I made a mental note to remember to send him a birthday card.

At that time, I was engaged to a man I’d met when I was still living in Philadelphia.

Of course, Ernest noticed the ring, and he told me, I don’t think you should get married.

Why not? I exclaimed.

Because I don’t think you’re ready.

You don’t know anything about me, I responded, getting defensive.

He softened his voice and answered, Well, I sure would like to get to know you better.

Right then, the count ended, and the next man I was to interview was sent down, so I was forced to end my visit with Ernest.

Chapter Two

I didn’t see Ernest again until June 1985, but I had remembered to send him a birthday card in February, and I’d received an Easter card from him in April.

When I finally visited the prison again in June, it was for three days, and for the first time, I was traveling alone. By that time, PRP had dropped the investigation into Ku Klux Klan activity since the only evidence we had found was that one of the guards working there had admitted to being a member of the Ku Klux Klan in 1979, and DOCS had tried unsuccessfully to fire him.

The new investigation involved looking into allegations of discrimination against black and Hispanic men in housing and jobs at Elmira. During the course of our previous interviews, men had routinely referred to white jobs and black jobs and white housing blocks and black housing blocks.

As we probed further, we learned that there was a disproportionate number of white men at Elmira assigned to what were considered the best and highest-paying jobs, such as clerk positions and industry jobs. There was also a disproportionate number of white men living on the preferred housing blocks. These blocks were preferred because they were smaller, quieter, and cleaner. Black and Hispanic men at the prison, on the other hand, were most often housed on the larger housing blocks, which persons told us were dirtier and more dangerous than the smaller blocks.

More white men were also housed on the honor block that had additional privileges—such as the ability to stay out of one’s cell longer, the use of a microwave, and the officers assigned there were nicer and would overlook small infractions. At that time, when whites only accounted for 20 percent of the population of the prison, honor block was more than 40 percent white.

We were also investigating allegations of disparities in discipline at Elmira, as we had been informed that blacks and Hispanics were disciplined more harshly than their white counterparts for similar infractions. It seemed that the white men in prison enjoyed white privilege¹, as COs often ignored behavior from them that would have earned black and Hispanic men tickets, which COs would use as punishment for bad behavior.

* * *

On the first day of my visit to Elmira, I called Ernest down to the visiting room; but since I had to interview other people before I could get to him, he didn’t come down until about an hour before the visiting period ended.

When Ernest saw me, he asked, Why did you call me down so late?

I replied, Don’t worry, I’ll be here for two more days, so I’ll make sure to call you down early tomorrow.

We chatted casually in the time we had left, and then Ernest returned to his block. When I came back the next day, he told me that the visiting room officer,