It’s been about three months since Andy Patrick Williams has been outside, said his wife Jamie.
They got married over the phone after Williams — serving two life sentences for a Norfolk shooting and armed burglary in 2003 — was transferred five years ago from a state prison in Sussex County to the River North Correctional Center in southwestern Virginia.
Jamie Williams said Andy called her nearly every day. But since November, she’s gotten one call a week — for no longer than 20 minutes. She’s been allowed no in-person or video visits.
Those 20 minutes are the only time Williams has outside of his cell once a week, and can choose between showering or using the phone. He chooses to forgo the shower so he can speak with his wife and 17-year-old for the full 20 minutes, Williams told his wife.
River North’s more than 1,000 inmates have been on lockdown since Nov. 17, when an inmate attacked and killed a corrections officer.
That inmate — John Holomon Russell — has been charged with aggravated murder in Officer Jeremy Hall’s slaying. Russell, 32, also charged with the attempted murder of two other officers in the same incident, has been transferred to Red Onion State Prison, in Wise County.
The lockdown — one of the longest in a Virginia prison since the pandemic — has brought daily life, from mental health visits and religious services, to education coursework and programs, to a halt.
“Not knowing if he’s OK, what’s going on and not hearing his voice is taking a major toll on all of us,” said Sheree Salyers, whose husband is in River North for a 2014 sex offense.
With three children together, their family has stayed close with calls and visits during his incarceration. But Salyers said her 4-year-old son has been asking her, “What did I do to make Daddy mad? ‘Cause Daddy won’t talk to him anymore.”
Her husband has phone access once a week – often in the middle of her 9-5 when she can’t answer. In letters, Salyers’ husband said he hasn’t had access to visits with mental health professionals or religious services for weeks.
Kyle Gibson, chief communications officer for the Virginia Department of Corrections, confirmed that River North has been on lockdown as a result of the November attack.
Hall’s widow, Dawn Hall, has since filed a lawsuit against the Virginia Department of Corrections and River North’s warden in the U.S. District Court in Richmond, alleging that her husband’s death resulted from a “civil rights violation due to unsafe working conditions caused by chronic understaffing,” according to her lawyer in Virginia Beach, Tim Anderson.
A 2024 report conducted by CGL Management Group on behalf of the Virginia Department of Corrections to assess security staffing statewide concluded that the department “is critically and, in many cases, dangerously short-staffed,” resulting in “facilities that are unsafe and inefficient.”
The issue is not due to lack of funding, the report stated, but the “lack of the ability to hire, train and retain enough staff to fill positions.”
The DOC declined to detail the staffing at River North, citing security concerns. But in January, for a total of 1,878 correctional officers in its western region in which River North is located, the department had about a 10% vacancy rate — which does not meet what the report considers understaffing.
Two inmates who were among a group of 45 sent to River North from a lower security prison spoke to The Pilot about the lockdown, but didn’t want their real names used for fear of retaliation.
Those inmates are paid 75 cents an hour to perform cooking, cleaning and other tasks while River North inmates must remain in their cells.
Jason had so much good behavior earned in the middle of a 20-year sentence for being an accomplice to a robbery, that he lived as the manager of a trailer outside the walls of a prison.
But in River North’s gym where the 45 men are housed, “it looks like a homeless encampment,” he said over the phone. He described cots lining the floor, and snacks, clothes and electronics strewn about with nothing but a few cardboard boxes to contain them, and no cleaning supplies.
The 45 men shared two working phones, two toilets and two showers — not enough, according to the state’s Department of Corrections policy. Gibson, the corrections department spokesperson, said they are working to offer the men more toilets and phones, as well as access to visits.
“I’ve never experienced anything to this degree,” said Dewayne, who’s been in and out of incarceration since 2003 for firearms possession and drug manufacturing.
In January the two were transferred to another prison and lost access to phone calls.
“It’s hard not hearing his voice,” said Jason’s wife Rachel. “I don’t know if we’ll survive this. I don’t know if it will break us or what it will turn him into.”
Without access to the voices of loved ones, educational coursework, recreation and programming, inmates lose “what anchors you and gives you hope,” said Juanita Shanks, founder of FailSafe-ERA. The nonprofit provides education and training to help inmates deal with trauma and improve their lives.
Shanks is also a Gov. Glenn Youngkin appointee to the Corrections Oversight Committee, which is tasked with overseeing the work of the Corrections Ombudsman. The ombudsman did not reply to multiple requests for comment.
Imagine yourself being locked up in a room the size of a parking space 24/7, Shanks said. She has seen that without hope, “trauma will take over you and then you begin to act out and expand your sentence.”
This is what over a dozen family members of River North inmates said they fear most.
Jamie Williams said loved ones have heard from the DOC that they will be allowed to visit River North this month.
“I can’t wait to see my husband,” said Jamie Williams.
But the lockdown, her husband tells her, has yet to have an end date.
Nori Leybengrub, 757-349-3523, nori.leybengrub@virginiamedia.com