Baylor Women’s Correctional Institution

The Baylor Women’s Correctional Institution (BWCI) – the only women’s prison in the state – opened December 29, 1991. The facility houses both pre-trial and sentenced adult females at minimum, medium, and maximum security levels.On June 14, 1995 Governor Thomas R. Carper signed Senate Joint Resolution no. 25, which authorized then-Corrections Commissioner Robert J. Watson to name the Women’s Correctional Institution as the Delores J. Baylor Women’s Correctional Institution. Delores J. Baylor was the first African-American to hold a warden’s position in the State of Delaware. She was also the first African-American female to hold such a position. Baylor began her employment with the Department of Correction as a Field Service Counselor and was subsequently promoted to Field Counselor II and III. On June 1, 1974, Baylor was promoted to Correctional Superintendent I at the Women’s Correctional Institution, performing her duties in an outstanding manner.

BWCI provides treatment services, religious services, drug therapy, educational/vocational programs, counseling, and recreation. BWCI also offers the Road to Recovery (R2R) treatment program. The Road to Recovery retains the Therapeutic Community model, an industry best practice which has proven to be effective.On March 20, 1979, the 130th Delaware General Assembly recognized Delores J. Baylor for outstanding service with the Department of Corrections. On June 1, 1979, Delores Baylor was promoted to Warden of the Women’s Correctional Institution. Baylor remained Warden of the Women’s Correctional Institution until her death on March 20, 1983.

The two Best States for corrections are New Hampshire and Maine, which both also rank in the top three for safety. New Hampshire also ranks in the top 10 overall, as do Massachusetts and Utah, the fourth and fifth Best States for corrections, respectively. Four of the top 5 Best States for corrections are in New England or the Far West, and Pennsylvania and South Dakota are the worst states for corrections.

Police1 is revolutionizing the way the law enforcement community finds relevant news, identifies important training information, interacts online and researches product purchases and manufacturers. It’s the most comprehensive and trusted online destination for law enforcement agencies and police departments worldwide.I recently had the opportunity to visit the women’s prison in Bogota, Colombia, better know as “Buen Pastor”, where I was able to enter two cell blocks and talk freely with the women there. The first thing one notices walking into the patio of the cell block is wet laundry hanging everywhere, adding to an already humid climate. Mold is so rampant on the walls and ceilings, I wonder what damage it is doing to these women’s lungs. Water is only available on the first of the three floors that make up the block. The bathrooms are abysmal, with broken pipes and toilet seats.

Other alternatives to incarceration include going to school or job training, which can provide women with the skills needed to obtain decent employment – and can also reduce recidivism. Ideally, these alternatives should be offered before women are funneled into the criminal legal system, so they are not branded with criminal records. Governments across the region must provide these women with the resources and opportunities needed to provide for their families and live with dignity. A world with a decreasing prison population is a better, and safer, world for all.

In comparing “Buen Pastor” to other women’s prisons that I have visited in the region (all of which tend to be characterized by deplorable conditions) what struck me most was the extreme overcrowding. After Brazil, Colombia has more women in prison (6,746 as of July 2022) than any other country in South America. In the “Buen Pastor” prison, tiny cells with only a few feet between bunk beds for two people and the wall had four women sleeping in them. Slightly larger cells, also designed for two women, had as many as seven women crammed in. This means that many are sleeping on the floor – and not all have mattresses. There was even one room – clearly not intended to be a cell as it had no beds – shared by eleven women, all of whom had to sleep on the cement floor.

The women I spoke with complained of the lack of access to basic necessities. I was told that each woman only gets two rolls of toilet paper, a deodorant, a toothbrush and paste, a razor and a bar of soap once every three months. I was shown receipts of the exorbitant cost of basic items that can be bought from the commissary, which also charges a 19 percent tax. Fees to use the telephones are also extremely high – if you can find one that works. Everyone complained that there is not enough food and that it is disgusting. That day, they may have received better food than normal given the delegation that was visiting; yet the “meat,” described to me as a “compressed product,” was truly revolting.The women also talked about the lack of access to legal, health and mental health care services, as well as to educational and training opportunities. They also complained of verbal and physical mistreatment and abuse by prison personnel, and restrictions on visits by family and friends. Though other prisons in Colombia have lifted restrictions put into place during the COVID-19 pandemic, the Buen Pastor prison still only allows visits once a month – though when I was there some women said that it had been more than a month since the last time they were allowed visitors. The vast majority of women I spoke with were mothers, and they miss their children more than anything.In addition, drug laws should be reformed to reduce overly punitive sentences, as well as the number of what are considered to be drug-related offenses. Under no circumstances should anyone be put in prison for possession of drugs for personal use. Incarcerating drug users does nothing to disrupt drug markets, but does have devastating consequences for those who come into conflict with the law and their families.

It does not need to be this way. There are immediate steps that governments can take to reduce prison overcrowding, beginning with the criminal legal system. As noted in a declaration by the international network of formerly incarcerated women, “pretrial detention should be the exception, not the rule; investigations and trials should be carried out in a timely and efficient manner; and there should be access to free and fair legal representation before and during the trial.” Women should have access to legal defense so that they can be released from prison when their time is up – numerous women in the “Buen Pastor” prison told me that they were eligible for conditional liberty or release, but they did not have a lawyer who could help navigate the bureaucratic process.

While the factors leading to women’s incarceration vary by country, in Latin America the continued rise in women’s incarceration is driven in large part by punitive drug laws and “mano dura” policies that disproportionately impact women. In most Latin American countries, drug-related offenses are the main cause of female incarceration and the percentage of women incarcerated for such offenses is almost always higher than that of men. Moreover, the profiles of women behind bars are remarkably similar: most are mothers, often single heads of household, who come from situations of vulnerability. In short, they are seeking to put food on the table for their families.The United States leads the world with more than 210,000 women in prison today, a steep increase from the 159,000 held behind bars in 2000. It also has the unfortunate distinction of having the world’s highest female prison population rate of about 64 women in prison per 100,000 in the national population. In contrast, Europe (excluding Russia) is the one area of the world where female imprisonment has decreased, falling about 13 percent during this time period and with a female prison population rate of just 6.9.

Better yet, governments should stop putting women behind bars in the first place. The UN “Bangkok Rules” provide guidance for the treatment of women in prison and the use of alternatives to incarceration. Yet in practice, governments rarely follow them. A new law in Colombia that allows for community service in lieu of prison sentences for women whose sentence is under eight years and live in situations of vulnerability could significantly reduce the female prison population in that country.

SULLIVAN: That’s now how Keppen saw it. One Sunday morning, not long after Flesche broke off the relationship, Keppen went to church. She came home, had lunch and set up coffee and doughnuts for the seniors’ afternoon church service. Then she went to her closet, pulled down a large box and chose a gun from her deceased husband’s gun collection. She loaded it. The number of elderly inmates in US prisons has tripled over the past 10 years, and not just men. There are now more elderly women behind bars than ever before. Yesterday, we heard about one of the oldest men in prison. Today, we meet the oldest incarcerated woman, 91-year-old Lucille Mary Keppen. She committed her crime just three years ago. NPR’s Laura Sullivan found her in Shakopee, Minnesota. Ms. KEPPEN: We have our own private bathroom and a chair. My bed has a light on it, and I have a little thing for my TV. And it’s clean, and we get clean linens every Saturday. So it’s comfortable.

SULLIVAN: The man she shot was 64-year-old Stephen “Bart” Flesche. Flesche had nursed Keppen back to health after her heart attack and spent time with her. In return, Keppen paid most of Flesche’s bills. She bought him a van and paid for his gas. But in early fall 2002, Flesche says their relationship changed.

NPR transcripts are created on a rush deadline by an NPR contractor. This text may not be in its final form and may be updated or revised in the future. Accuracy and availability may vary. The authoritative record of NPR’s programming is the audio record.Bart Flesche eats most of his lunches these days alone. After the shooting, Flesche had to move out of the high-rise where he and Keppen lived when residents called him a troublemaker. Keppen wrote to Flesche a year later. It was supposed to be an apology letter, but that’s not quite how Flesche read it. He says he hopes Lucille Keppen serves the whole seven years because he doesn’t think she’s really sorry and, in many ways, she’s not.

In the second of two reports on elderly inmates in U.S. prisons, a look at the case of the oldest female prisoner in the country. Lucille Keppen is 91 and is serving time in a state prison in Minnesota.SULLIVAN: Bart Flesche describes himself as a missionary. He says he tried to minister to Keppen. He says Keppen grew jealous when he befriended other women, and angry when other women gave him money.

Ms. KEPPEN: And I said to him, `Does it hurt?’ And I said, `I really want it to hurt because you have hurt me so deeply and I was so good to you.’ I said, `Do you realize every stitch of clothing that you have on your body–your glasses, your watch, the ring’–I said, `I’ve even paid for your haircuts.’SULLIVAN: Lucille Mary Keppen is a small, frail woman with a patch of gray hair and a walking cane. Three years ago, when she was 88, she shot and wounded a male companion who lived in her senior public housing complex in downtown Minneapolis. She was sentenced to seven years in prison.

Ms. KEPPEN: I said to myself, `If he’s just halfway decent to me, just halfway decent, I’ll take it upstairs.’ Well, when he came down so arrogant, and he looked at me and he went, `Good evening,’ and I thought, `That’s it.’ And he turned around so fast, and I caught him in the back.SULLIVAN: The 1980s and ’90s brought about tough, anti-crime initiatives and harsher sentencing. Because of that, the ranks of elderly in the nation’s prisons have exploded. Most elderly inmates have spent decades in prison. But a few, like Keppen, are sentenced late in life as court’s have grown less willing to show leniency because of age.

Mr. FLESCHE: It felt kind of funny, because at first, I was in shock. I never expected it, and all of a sudden, I realized, `Oh, my God, I’ve been shot.’Here in the quiet suburbs of Minneapolis, in a modern brick facility with carpeted floors and dormlike rooms, lives the oldest female prisoner in the United States. SULLIVAN: Today, Lucille Keppen spends her days writing letters and walking in a large, well-tended courtyard. Shakopee is one of the newest facilities for women in Minnesota. Keppen says she misses life on the outside. She lost her savings, her friends and, of course, her freedom. But in some ways, for a poor senior, the health care and accommodations here are better than they are in senior public housing. SULLIVAN: That’s unlikely to happen. Despite a small group of supporters who want Lucille Keppen let out early because of her age, Minnesota’s governor is not considering an early release. Laura Sullivan, NPR News.

SULLIVAN: A woman in her 20s rushes to the front to hold Keppen’s tray. One group of women has saved her the last seat at their table; they call her Grandma.

Opened in 1931, it is located on US 522 / SR 6 between Maidens and Goochland, in central Virginia. The Virginia Department of Transportation maintains the entrance road as State Route 329.Rural Fremont County is the location of 15 prisons; most of these are operated by the state. ADX Florence, the only federal Supermax prison in the United States, is in an unincorporated area in Fremont County, south of Florence, and is part of the Federal Correctional Complex, Florence. As of March 2015, Fremont County leads the nation among all counties as the one with the largest proportion of persons incarcerated. Prisoners are counted as part of the county population in the census, and 20% of residents are held in the prisons in the county.

The daily operations of the county are controlled centrally from the County Administration Building, located in Cañon City. It houses the offices of both elected and appointed officials, including:The Federal Bureau of Prisons operates the Federal Correctional Complex, Florence in Fremont County, which consists of several separate Federal prisons, including the only supermax facility in the federal system, home to many convicted terrorists and other notorious criminals.

As of the census of 2000, there were 46,145 people, 15,232 households, and 10,494 families residing in the county. The population density was 30 people per square mile (12 people/km). There were 17,145 housing units at an average density of 11 units per square mile (4.2 units/km). The racial makeup of the county was 89.52% White, 5.34% Black or African American, 1.53% Native American, 0.50% Asian, 0.06% Pacific Islander, 1.22% from other races, and 1.82% from two or more races. 10.35% of the population were Hispanic or Latino of any race.Fremont County is a county located in the U.S. state of Colorado. As of the 2020 census, the population was 48,939. The county seat is Cañon City. The county is named for 19th-century explorer and presidential candidate John C. Frémont.There were 15,232 households, out of which 30.00% had children under the age of 18 living with them, 56.30% were married couples living together, 9.20% had a female householder with no husband present, and 31.10% were non-families. 26.90% of all households were made up of individuals, and 12.50% had someone living alone who was 65 years of age or older. The average household size was 2.43 and the average family size was 2.93.In the county, the population was spread out, with 20.60% under the age of 18, 7.50% from 18 to 24, 33.40% from 25 to 44, 24.00% from 45 to 64, and 14.60% who were 65 years of age or older. The median age was 39 years. For every 100 females there were 133.90 males. For every 100 females age 18 and over, there were 143.50 males.

Fremont County comprises the Cañon City, CO Micropolitan Statistical Area, which is also included in the Pueblo-Cañon City, CO Combined Statistical Area.The median income for a household in the county was $34,150, and the median income for a family was $42,303. Males had a median income of $30,428 versus $23,112 for females. The per capita income for the county was $17,420. About 8.30% of families and 11.70% of the population were below the poverty line, including 14.80% of those under age 18 and 7.40% of those age 65 or over.

The prison was named after Delores J. Baylor, the first African-American , and first African-American woman to hold a warden’s position in the State of Delaware. She was recognized for outstanding service with the Department of Corrections in 1979, and was Warden of the (then) Women’s Correctional Institution from 1979 to 183.