Harry Truman's Excellent Adventure - Matthew Algeo [28]
Tucked behind a thick stand of pine trees on the corner of 22nd and Pershing, the Decatur ATC still looks like a motel, a long, straight, singlestory building—the classic “I” shape—with a reception area in the middle. A tired traveler today could be forgiven for mistaking it for a working motel—until reading the sign on the door to the office:
ALL PERSONS, VEHICLES AND OTHER PROPERTY
ENTERING OR LEAVING THIS FACILITY AND ITS
GROUNDS ARE SUBJECT TO SEARCH AT ANY TIME.
BY ENTERING PRISON PROPERTY YOU WILL BE
DEEMED TO CONSENT TO SEARCH. BRINGING
CONTRABAND INTO A PENAL INSTITUTION IS A FELONY.
Like a Holiday Inn, the best surprise here is no surprise. And they most definitely will leave the light on for you.
I wanted to take some pictures of the building but thought it wise to get permission first. I went inside and explained to the guard at the front desk that I was writing a book about a road trip that Harry and Bess Truman took in the summer of 1953 and I …
He cut me off with a wave of his hand. “You’ll need to talk to the warden,” he said. He took my driver’s license and had me sign a logbook. I was given a badge (but was spared the search). Then I was escorted to the warden’s office, which was an old motel room, complete with a full bathroom. The burly warden was sitting behind a desk, holding a cell phone to one ear and a landline handset to the other. He looked harried. On his desk was a copy of Law Enforcement Journal (“Don’t Be Afraid to Pull the Trigger,” “Tasers Getting a Bad Rap”).
I took a seat and put my homemade business card on the desk in front of him. After he hung up the phones, he asked me what I wanted. No introductions, no pleasantries. He wasn’t exactly gruff, but he was all business. I gave him a very condensed version of my spiel: Trumans took a road trip, stayed here when it used to be a motel, can I take pictures? He evinced no interest in the story whatsoever. He just picked up the phone (landline) and called a DOC flack in Springfield. This led to another phone call, and another, before he finally got an answer: yes, I could take pictures, but only of the outside of the building, and I couldn’t photograph any inmates or staff—no pictures of people. I said that was fine with me, thanked him for his time, and hightailed it out of his office.
I went back to the front desk to drop off my badge. The guard who’d been there earlier was gone. In his place was a young woman with dark curly hair and a wide red-lipped smile. She laughed when I told her why I was there. When I said it was ironic that an inmate now slept in the same room that Harry and Bess Truman once slept in, she corrected me: “No, three inmates do!” Like many American prisons, this one is overcrowded: it is about 25 percent over capacity.
The warden joined us, suddenly looking much more relaxed. He chatted a bit about the facility, the goal of which, he explained, is to help inmates “successfully reintegrate into the community.” Besides working or going to school, they are required to attend substance abuse treatment programs if necessary. A lot of people in Decatur were concerned when the ATC opened in 1979. But the facility has proven to be a good neighbor. Inmates set up and take down the stages at the city’s annual street festival. They pick up trash along the streets. They participate in Operation Green Thumb, a gardening program. They raise money for the Muscular Dystrophy Association and help out at the city’s annual Christmas party. They prepare and serve a Thanksgiving dinner for the needy.
Since they are so close to their freedom, the inmates at the Decatur ATC have a strong incentive to behave, yet a quarter of them are returned to higher-security prisons for disciplinary reasons. Still, this is one of the safest prisons in