Author: Brielle Entzminger

Since the beginning of the pandemic, people incarcerated at the Albemarle-Charlottesville Regional Jail have called attention to poor COVID containment procedures and unhygienic living conditions at the nearly 50-year-old facility—conditions that reportedly have been significantly worsened by employee negligence and misconduct. Today, staff continue to mistreat the jail’s population, claims Cletorious Rose. 

“The officers antagonize and pick on you. They put their hands on you,” says Rose, who has been incarcerated at ACRJ for a year and a half. “It’s wrong, it’s brutal, and it’s inhumane.”

Rose, who is Black, accuses ACRJ of upholding a system of racism and discrimination. She claims white women incarcerated at the jail have falsely accused her of misconduct, and requested keep-away orders against her, requiring her to be housed in a separate area from them. Though she did not commit these offenses, she claims, staff have placed her in solitary confinement multiple times “for weeks and weeks, and months and months.”

“If I tell girls I don’t want to talk to them [or] play cards with them, they’ll get mad and tell [officers], ‘Oh well. Rose did this and that,’ and then they’ll lock me down,” says the 38-year-old mother of two.

Rose admits she has assaulted two other incarcerated women, landing her stints in solitary confinement. “I hit one because she kept saying [the n-word] … and then I had to defend myself from another girl [who] kept provoking me,” she says. However, she has been sent to solitary confinement eight times based on false accusations, she claims.

Rose will soon be sent to the Fluvanna Correctional Center for Women. On April 25, she was sentenced to four years in prison (with three years suspended) for credit card theft, 10 years (with six years suspended) for robbery, and six years (with four years suspended) for entering a dwelling with intent to commit murder, rape, robbery, or arson. Once at FCCW, Rose says she’ll hire a lawyer and take legal action against ACRJ.

When asked about the misconduct accusations against Rose, ACRJ Super­intendent Martin Kumer declined to share her institutional record, citing concerns for her privacy. Rose also declined to have her record shared publicly, claiming it is full of “lies.” However, Kumer defended ACRJ’s decisions regarding Rose’s programming and housing.

“Ms. Rose has a history of claiming racism when [staff] do not tolerate her disruptive behavior,” Kumer told C-VILLE in an email. “She would often complain that her case manager, who was also African American, was a racist.”

Regarding ACRJ’s solitary confinement policy, Kumer explained that the jail places people in segregation “for their own safety or that of other inmates or staff.” As of May 13, 23 incarcerated people—21 men and two women—are in solitary confinement. Six additional men are in medical segregation.

“Their duration in segregation depends primarily on their behavior,” he told C-VILLE. “Inmates are reviewed every two weeks, or more often if necessary, by a panel made up of security staff, case managers, mental, and medical professionals.”

According to Kumer, incarcerated people are issued keep-away orders for threatening, assaulting, or making unwanted sexual advances toward another person, among other offenses. “Some inmates acquire so many keep-aways that they have exhausted all general population housing and program options,” he said.

Amy Bower, who has been incarcerated at ACRJ for about a month, echoes Rose’s accusations of mistreatment at the hands of jail staff. She claims one female guard consistently targets and harasses her.

“I asked her for razors one night and she never brought them, and she’s been all on me ever since then because I got her in trouble,” says Bower, who is in Rose’s cell block. “It’s like the second she comes in the door, she’s all over me over clothes, something hanging up on my wall.” 

Kumer claims he has not received any complaints about the officer from Bower.

Last month, Rose filed two grievances against another officer who she claims “uses her job to bully and threaten people. … She’s assaulted two inmates and walks around bragging about it.” However, on May 2, Rose requested the jail drop the grievances she filed against the officer. “I apologize to her,” Rose wrote in the request. “I was wrong on my part [and] I have no issues with her at all. Thanks.”

“Ms. Rose has a history of abusing the grievance process to intimidate and manipulate staff when she does not get her way,” said Kumer in a statement to C-VILLE. 

Rose claims she is not alone in enduring racism at ACRJ. In each women’s housing block, “you may find one Black person. … They make sure [there] will be more white people in the block, and then they get together and gang up on the Black person.”

“It’s a lot of hearts in here that are crying out for help,” adds Rose.

The jail’s staff is made up of 67 men and 67 women, according to the super­intendent. Around 66 percent of staff members are white, while around 26 percent are Black and 8 percent are another race. “We have staff who represent all races, genders, and sexual orientations, and racism is not tolerated,” Kumer responded to Rose’s accusations.

Rose’s mother, who asked that we not use her name, says she has complained to the jail administration about her daughter’s treatment and urged them to check on her, citing Rose’s medical conditions—but has yet to see any improvements.

“She’s called me so many times crying, saying she’s sick … and [they] are not giving her her meds,” says her mother. “She said she’ll be real cold, and that they have her down in the old part of the jail [where] bugs are crawling around.”

Rose is currently housed in a cell block with Bower and another woman she gets along with, and has not been placed in solitary confinement for over a month due to her good behavior—but continues to face harassment from jail staff, she claims. 

“I have made many mistakes,” says Rose. “‘[But] l’ll be damned if I’m treated like a slave, like I ain’t nothing, when I’m just like them.”

Since hiring law firm McGuireWoods to investigate allegations of severe internal dysfunction and animal mistreatment made by more than 100 current and former staff and volunteers in January, the Charlottesville-Albemarle SPCA has fired two volunteers who voiced concerns about the shelter’s practices and leadership.  

When experienced dog walker Louise Finger showed up at the shelter for her shift on February 21, Volunteer Manager Krystyn Dotson and another employee stopped her at the entrance, she says.

“It’s been determined that you’re not permitted to volunteer with us any longer,” one of the employees told Finger, according to an audio recording of the confrontation. When Finger, who volunteered at the SPCA for several decades, asked why, they refused to answer.

Finger’s dismissal came after she expressed concerns to Dotson, according to emails shared with C-VILLE. On February 14, Dotson sent an email to volunteers instructing them to walk all dogs by 6pm for safety reasons. The following day, Finger urged Dotson to allow extra walking time—the shelter, which typically houses 55 to 60 dogs, does not have enough volunteers to safely walk all dogs by 6pm, she said.

In response, Dotson asked Finger on February 18 if she could shadow a new walker during her shift the following day, which Finger declined to do. “With only 3 EDWs signed up, it is not a good time for me to shadow,” wrote Finger, who is among the many former and current staff and volunteers who have penned letters to the shelter’s board of directors sharing concerns.

While the SPCA may fire volunteers “at any time with or without cause or notice,” those who violate guidelines are supposed to be issued verbal and written warnings before being dismissed, per the organization’s volunteer liability waiver.

When asked why Finger was fired, board president Jenn Corbey declined to offer an explanation. “It is inappropriate for CASPCA to discuss specific volunteers or their actions,” she said in an email to C-VILLE. 

After Finger’s dismissal, experienced dog walker Sarah Lloyd became worried that more volunteers could be fired for speaking out—she had attended a February 11 protest calling for new shelter leadership. “I was super careful not to break any rules,” she says. However, on March 17, Lloyd received an emailed letter from Richmond-based lawyer Buckley Warden notifying her that she had been dismissed for “repeatedly” violating guidelines, including disclosing donor information and recording employees without their permission.

“I didn’t do any of those,” says Lloyd, who volunteered at the shelter for almost four years. 

Regarding the CASPCA’s decision to hire Warden to dismiss Lloyd, “we are a small organization and from time to time rely on external expertise to help us operate,” said Corbey.

In protest against the controversial dismissals, experienced dog walkers Keith Sohr, Emily Sohr, Melinda Clark, and Laura Efford resigned on March 22. Other volunteers have decreased their hours, and are afraid to express concerns, says volunteer Beth Gould. 

“[Resigning] was our only power to make our voices heard,” says Emily Sohr, who volunteered at the shelter for 16 years. “Animal welfare does not appear to be the priority.”

Multiple volunteers have also raised concerns about the shelter’s high turnover and vacancies—because there is no behavior manager or dog enrichment specialist on staff, five to 10 dogs with behavioral issues are being warehoused “in a very stressful environment,” according to a volunteer who wishes to remain anonymous out of fear of retaliation. Additionally, volunteers accuse leadership of retaliating against volunteers by removing their access to challenging animals, among other measures. 

Corbey denied accusations of animal mistreatment, citing a February state inspection that mentioned no evidence of animal cruelty or neglect. Regarding concerns about management, ‘‘McGuireWoods has received all correspondence directed to the CASPCA relevant to their review from former employees, volunteers, and members of the community,” she said.

“We hope to have the results of that review soon,” Corbey continued, “and will take appropriate action based on the findings.”

Hair salons and barbershops have long played a critical role in the Black community, serving as safe spaces for Black people to be vulnerable and open up about their personal struggles. However, Black people are far less likely than white people to seek out mental health services, largely due to inequitable health care access, a lack of Black therapists and culturally competent care, and the stigma surrounding mental illness in their community—fueled by centuries of systemic racism, trauma, and violence.

Beyond the Shop aims to make mental health care more accessible to Black people by hosting conversations—led by a Black therapist—directly inside Charlottesville beauty salons and barbershops. At the monthly sessions, participants can get a free haircut while discussing a variety of important topics, from self-care to generational trauma, with other Black women or men, and receiving encouragement and support.

“We’re walking into a space that’s always been seen as a safe space for us to already have these intimate conversations, and taking it to another level,” says Brave Souls on Fire founder and director Myra Anderson, who received a $15,000 Sentara grant to start the initiative. “It’s been very powerful.”

Since September, Anderson, a longtime Black mental health advocate, has been hosting Beyond the Shop every month at Natre’al Hair Salon, bringing together Black women of a variety of ages and backgrounds. After BSOF received a $7,500 Charlottesville Area Community Foundation grant, co-director Devin Coles started the men’s side of the initiative, dubbed Man Cave, at Mel’s Barber Shop in January.

For participants who are interested in seeking additional mental health care, there is a resource table with information about local services and organizations. At the beauty salon, self-care items, like essential oils, and free eyebrow waxing are also available.

When facilitating the Beyond the Shop sessions, therapist Vanessa Johnson works to create an environment of safety and healing, encouraging Black women to be “their authentic selves.”

“A lot of times [Black women] have a difficult time being ourselves because there’s a lot of generational programming that tells us we have to act a certain way around certain people so they won’t be upset with us,” explains Johnson, owner of Thrive2Heal Counseling. “We have [also] learned as Black women to press it down and move forward … [but] healing has to take place.”

“We’re stopping that generational bondage of just staying wounded,” she adds.

Johnson’s honesty, relatability, and expertise has kept participant LeVonne Yountz coming back to Beyond the Shop every month. She’s been “touched” by the conversations, and says she wishes she had someone like the therapist in the past when she was struggling with mental health issues.

“It’s just an ease talking to [Johnson],” says Yountz. “It’s always good to be with like-minded people … [and] refreshing to be able to bounce off some of these things.”

Coles stresses the importance of offering Black men a safe, comfortable space to have such important conversations—and learn how to heal and cope—too.

“There are so many avenues and resources for women, and we don’t receive the same amount for men. … Men have the same emotions women do—we’re just taught to deal with it differently,” he says. “Which then because of our ignorance … it comes out a different way, and you get these stories of an angry Black man or toxic masculinity.”

The first Man Cave session was supposed to last an hour—but ended up going for two hours, as the men discussed signs of anxiety and depression, and how to manage those symptoms. They also touched on showing love properly to their children, and communicating healthily within their relationships, explains therapist Toby Jenkins, who facilitates the sessions.

“We also got into some of the dysfunctional ways that we were parented … that we have brought forward as parents ourselves,” adds Jenkins, owner of Jenkins Couples and Family Therapy, “[and] “opening up our empathy eyes, so we can see the world from the viewpoint of our partners and children.”

The men ultimately aim to build upon the emotional intimacy and support already present inside the barbershop.

“The barbershop has always been where these kinds of important conversations take place, and barbers themselves are often … informal helpers,” says Jenkins. “They play a vital role, and are on the front lines in terms of being there in the community [and] helping people.”

“The barbershop is the Black man’s country club,” adds Coles. “It’s a place of comfort, understanding, [and] knowledge.”

Anderson is currently looking for grants to keep Beyond the Shop and Man Cave going for longer, and to help expand the initiatives—many participants have asked for the sessions to be held more often. The Sentara grant will run out in July, the CACF grant in December.

“If I had my way, I would be in four different shops throughout the month,” says Anderson. “We really need to start thinking outside of the box to meet people where they are in the community—and give them things where they feel seen, heard, and culturally affirmed right there.”

To participate in or learn more about Beyond the Shop, email bravesoulscville@yahoo.com.

Nearly two years ago, Virginia became the first Southern state to abolish the death penalty. Before then, the commonwealth had executed over 1,300 people—more than any other state.

As the head chaplain on Virginia’s death row, Reverend Russ Ford ministered to men sentenced to capital punishment throughout the 1980s and ’90s, and walked 28 of them to the death chamber. In his new book, Crossing the River Styx: The Memoir of a Death Row Chaplain, Ford recounts the strong relationships he built with more than a dozen condemned men, and the drastic spiritual transformations many experienced before they were put to death. With co-authors Todd and Charles Peppers, Ford details the men’s horrific crimes and their numerous victims, but also exposes injustices within the prison system, making a strong case against capital punishment throughout the book, published by University of Virginia Press.

“We did everything we could to bring to the reader the worst that these men did,” says Ford, “[but] also showed the human sides of these men.”

Ford immediately pulls readers into the 240-page memoir with a horrifying memory—almost becoming the 245th person killed by Virginia’s electric chair. When Ricky Boggs’ execution was delayed, Ford, after receiving permission from a prison official, went to comfort Boggs while he sat in the electric chair, putting his hand on the condemned man’s hand. A prison official, his back turned to Ford, soon pulled the chair’s activation switch. If someone had not shouted Ford’s name, causing him to lift his hand in the nick of time, he could have been electrocuted along with Boggs on July 19, 1990. Nightmares haunted Ford for weeks after the execution, something that would become a normal occurrence throughout the 13 years he served as a death row chaplain at Virginia State Penitentiary and Greensville Correctional Center. 

Born in Richmond in 1951, Ford grew up in poverty in Chesterfield County, where his parents instilled a strong Christian faith in him. At 18, a powerful spiritual experience at a youth camp inspired Ford to become a minister. While attending Southeastern Seminary, he interned as a chaplain at Hanover Learning Center, a now-shuttered juvenile detention center. “It was tough … [but] I enjoyed it a lot and was successful with it,” and it led to prison ministry, Ford says.

After he graduated with a master of divinity in 1977, Chaplain Service, a nonprofit ministry that served Virginia’s prisons, appointed Ford and senior chaplain Marge Bailey to replace the VSP’s former head chaplain. Ford worked at VSP—where riots, assaults, beatings, fires, murders, and other horrors were rampant—for a year, before accepting a residency at the Medical College of Virginia and serving as a part-time chaplain at HLC. Ford was working at Southampton Correctional Center when Bailey was diagnosed with cancer in 1984. He returned to VSP, where he served as a spiritual advisor for every man on death row.

In addition to leading worship services, Ford visited men in their cells, and built a rapport with them, aiming to understand their crimes and help them reform themselves. Many were neglected, abused, and impoverished as children, and had mental, intellectual, and cognitive disabilities.

“There was a lot of need and suffering. … I listened with compassion,” says Ford. Though he was not able to help every man change, “I got along with a large group of the men, and had success in relating to them.” 

During the final days and hours of their lives, Ford stood death watch with more than two dozen men, praying with them and administering last rites. He hoped to help them achieve “a certain calmness and sense of wellbeing” before they were executed, he explains.

“We had men who … while they were getting ready to be executed, they treasured where they were,” says Ford. “In death, they were fully alive for the first time.”

Crossing the River Styx was decades in the making. In 1994, Ford began doing research in partnership with another writer, and completed a 180-page manuscript, but later paused working on the book. In 2001, he suffered a traumatic brain injury, and spent the next four years in rehab. Then, in 2015, Todd Peppers, a law professor and former lawyer, reached out to Ford while working on his book about death penalty activist Marie Deans, who Ford worked closely with for years. Ford did multiple interviews with Peppers, and shared portions of his unfinished manuscript. After Peppers and co-author Margaret Anderson published A Courageous Fool: Marie Deans and Her Struggle against the Death Penalty in 2017, Peppers, moved by Ford’s story, offered to help the chaplain finish his book, and recruited his child Charles, then a high school senior, to assist with research and editing. 

Each chapter shares Ford’s experiences with a specific man, or, in a few chapters, several men with similar traits or cases, including exact dialogue from the chaplain’s conversations with them. Ford “took a lot of notes” during and after these meetings, and referenced his stacks of notebooks throughout the writing process. The chapters also shed light on the men’s crimes and their victims, including accounts from family members who wanted their loved ones’ murderer to be executed—and those who did not.

Throughout the book, Ford vividly describes the horrors of capital punishment. He argues there is no such thing as a “humane” execution, and that capital punishment fuels a continuous cycle of violence. 

“Really no one needs to be killing other people like that. That’s just wrong,” says Ford. “There were people there [in the prison] doing these things to the men who were professed Christians, and I have a hard time seeing Jesus pulling a switch and sending 2,000 volts of electricity through someone’s body, or sticking a needle in someone’s arm and shooting them up with poison.”

In addition to denouncing the terrible conditions, inadequate medical care, and poor management he witnessed, Ford criticizes the death penalty system’s failures. Without help from death penalty activists like Deans, three men he worked with would have been executed for crimes they did not commit.

It remains difficult for Ford to read his chapter about Morris Mason, the first person he saw executed. Morris—who raped and murdered 88-year-old Ursula Stevenson and 76-year-old Margaret Keen Hand, as well as raped a 12-year-old girl and shot her 13-year-old sister in 1978—“suffered from paranoid schizophrenia [and] had the mental capacity of an eight-year-old,” writes Ford. The chaplain claims Morris did not understand death or execution.

Ford, along with fellow chaplains and Mason’s attorney (now Charlottesville mayor) Lloyd Snook, petitioned then-governor Chuck Robb to lessen Mason’s sentence to life in prison due to his disabilities. Still, Mason was executed on June 25, 1985.

“[Mason] had the biggest impact on my psyche seeing him executed like that,” says Ford. “The blistering of his face, the smell—he was being cooked inside out.” 

Albert Jay Clozza also had a significant impact on Ford. Though he initially did not want to work with Clozza—who raped and killed 13-year-old Patricia Beth Bolton in 1980—due to his heinous crime, Ford later forged a strong relationship with the man.

“[Clozza] had such difficulty. At first he numbed himself [with] the drugs they gave him in prison. … Then all at once, he cleaned himself up and started working on himself,” says Ford. “He died happy.”

Death row took an immense toll on Ford. Dealing with post-traumatic stress, he found himself withdrawing from friends and family because he “could not relate.” The executions stayed with him “like a shadow,” he says.

Coleman Wayne Grey, who died by lethal injection in 1997, was the last man Ford walked to the death chamber. “I got to where I couldn’t handle it anymore. I could not go back,” he says.

Ford hopes readers will come away from the book staunchly opposed to the death penalty, and urges those already against capital punishment to remain vigilant.

“I would like for people to know the other side of the story,” he says. “Even those who may support [the death penalty] may learn something and may even be changed.”

Crossing the River Styx: The Memoir of a Death Row Chaplain will be published March 1.

Since the fall, Charlottesville and Albemarle County have seen a significant spike in shootings—several involving juveniles. On January 23, a male juvenile was injured in a shooting in the area of Sixth and Garrett streets. Three months earlier, Charlottesville police arrested three teenage boys, ages 14 to 17, in connection with an October 15 Omni Hotel parking lot shooting that left two male juveniles injured. After a middle school student Daniel Fairley works with was shot multiple times on Hardy Drive on November 12, he and Fernando Garay wondered how they could help stop gun violence among young people. 

“We had just both felt that pain for the city,” says Garay, owner of House of Cuts Barber Studio, located on the UVA Corner. “[We thought], ‘What can we do to create preventative measures and an impact?’”

“[We wanted] to address the issue right here, right now,” adds Fairley, president of the 100 Black Men of Central Virginia.

After securing a large donation from the Charlottesville Alliance for Black Male Achievement, House of Cuts and the 100 BMOCV offered 100 free haircuts to Charlottesville High School students in December, aiming to provide young Black and brown men a safe space to open up about their feelings and struggles—and receive guidance and advice from men who experienced similar challenges. Now, all Charlottesville and Albemarle County public school middle and high schoolers can come into the shop for a free cut, thanks to the over $3,000 in donations the program—dubbed the #100Cuts Initiative—has received from local organizations and residents.

“When you look clean, that really just helps you with your day-to-day life,” says Garay, pointing to young men who get teased when they don’t have their hair cut. “When you look better, you feel better. When you look cleaned up, you perform better.”

“There’s almost an air of invincibility that comes from the kids when they step out of the barber’s chair,” says Fairley, who is also a youth opportunity coordinator focused on Black male achievement for the City of Charlottesville. “When you come out of the chair, no one can do anything but lift you up.”

The free cuts have been a big help for students whose families cannot afford to take them to the barber shop—a cut typically costs $40 at House of Cuts. (Each sponsored cut costs a discounted $30.) 

“Some of these students … only received a haircut previously during our free back to school bash [in August],” says Garay. “This is a need for the community—not a want for the community.”

To serve students who may not have a way to get to the barber shop, the initiative leaders have partnered with CCS and ACPS to bring barbers into schools. On January 24, barbers gave more than 30 free haircuts at CHS, and on February 13, provided 30 more at Buford Middle School. Teachers and administrators have also volunteered to bring students to appointments at the shop.

“All those kids [at CHS] were looking rough and joking on each other … but as soon as those shape ups were put on them and the fades were done, they were like, ‘Oh my gosh, you look so good,’” says Garay. “Just that in itself is so important.”

To date, barbers have provided more than 150 free haircuts at schools and House of Cuts. Later this month, they will head to Albemarle High School. And next month, Lugo-McGinness Academy students will take a trip to the Corner shop. 

Soon, the initiative will go beyond haircuts—in partnership with Charlottesville-Albemarle Technical Education Center, 100 BMOCV and House of Cuts are working to develop a barber program, which the center has not had since 2015. 

“[The program] will allow kids to be pulled out of these circumstances [and] see themselves in a different way [and] a future for themselves,” says Fairly. “The things you think you may be wanting or getting in the streets, it’s not the same as what you can be getting legally through barbering.”

Some students who have received free haircuts have already shown interest in becoming a barber, says the initiative’s Community Engagement Coordinator Amanda Burns. A teacher shared with Burns that one student “never talked about anything that he wants to do in the future,” but after he came to the shop for a cut, “we had to start googling clipper sets.”

Longtime barber Will Jones—Garay’s mentor—will lead the new program, which will allow both high schoolers and recent grads to participate, and offer night classes “to keep kids out of trouble” after school, says Fairley.

In addition to training students to earn their barber license, the program will partner with local nonprofits to teach students entrepreneurship skills, and with Black therapists to provide them with counseling and mental health training.

“Barbers often act as confidants, and are trusted with important sensitive information from their clientele,” says Fairley. “We want to prepare them for those experiences.”

This summer, the organizations plan to start fundraising for the barber program, something that will cost between $30,000 and $40,000 to get off the ground. They aim to launch next year.

To donate to the #100Cuts Initiative, visit linktr.ee/100cuts.