New Book!

My time at Brushy Mountain was short – several months at the most. Brushy had become a shadow of its former self by 2005, when I was classified in the Tennessee Department of Corrections. But even with the firing lines gone, the mines closed, and corporal punishment banned, the old guard was alive and well behind those iron gates and more than willing to revert to old-school policing.  

New prisoners entering the system were subjected to a battery of aptitude and socialization tests, which determined their security level and placements in various programs. The “Castle” section (the foremost buildings topped with embrasures and merlons) of Brushy Mountain State Penitentiary (BMSP) was converted to this use in 1983, three years after Morgan County Regional Correctional Facility (MCRCF) came on line.

In 1989, a new maximum security section was added at Brushy, affectionately called “The Tombs.” This more modern structure took up a portion of the recreation yard behind the prison and served as a conversation piece to the rest of us lowly convicts, as we did laps around the yard.

In 1997, Brushy was combined administratively with MCRCF to form the Brushy Mountain Correctional Complex. The mountains in the picture above separated the two facilities.

As the Morgan County prison continued to grow – adding a medium- and high-security section during my years there – it started to assume responsibilities and staff from the once-great BMCX (or BMCC, depending on when you acquired the acronym). By 2009, it seemed the state could no longer afford the aging facility, and BMCX finally closed its doors for good.

The staff that had run the hardcore Brushy Complex steadily infiltrated the ranks of Morgan County, which now assumed the “Correctional Complex” moniker. As they began to implement their military-style tactics, the once peaceful MCCX experienced spikes in violence. Soon the administration in Nashville also adopted a “punishment over rehabilitation” mindset, and the environment further destabilized.

Mountain Review chronicled these changes in real time, and that record is presented here for you. Sit back, relax, and put on your thinking cap: A lot is not said in these pages.

I began working at Mountain Review shortly after being classified at site one (the Castle) to Brushy Mountain site two, Morgan County. The Morgan County Regional Correctional Facility (MCRCF) was situated on the other side of the mountain that skirted the rear of the Castle, and in the summer of 1997 the two were combined administratively to form BMCX, the Brushy Mountain Correctional Complex. Mountain Review served as the official publication for the entire complex. Two year after the last issue covered here, Brushy, which opened in 1896, closed its doors forever.

This compilation starts with the first issue I was part of, though the history of the paper far exceeds me. Unfortunately, the papers I once held, dating back to about 1992, were lost during a remodel of the school where our offices were originally located. In an effort to trace some of that history I interviewed one of Brushy’s oldest residents, Jim Slagle, in 2014 (Jim, along with the remainder of Brushy’s residents were moved to Morgan County in 2009, when the facility closed. According to state records, Jim made parole in February 2018, at the age of 81. He had been incarcerated since June 24, 1968.)

Jim was best known for mailing himself out of the Brushy Mountain mailroom – a story he’s not too fond of perpetuating, though nonetheless true (sorry, Jim). The package was unfortunately “returned to sender” before getting too far down the road. At the time of our interview, Jim had been in for 46 years and was 78 years old. He didn’t remember the prison having a paper before 1981. That year Brushy’s warden, Otie Jones, allowed Jim to start a publication called Cabbages and Kings, a name Slagle said he took from the walrus’ dialogue in Alice in Wonderland (if you know Jim, you believe him). Jim Slagle’s paper ran for two years before a new warden shut it down, not caring much for Jim’s uncensored style. He said at least four more years would go by before the facility produced another publication, around 1987.

Jim’s account is indicative of the paper’s more modern history as well. Over the nine years I was involved with this publication various officials and entities confiscated materials or obstructed and maligned the process, but somehow the work went on (despite losing two sets of computers, countless files and man-hours of work). And thanks to the digital process, the publications here survived – escaping prison the same way Jim tried to.

In October of 2003, the Golden Bears Veterans Association (a prisoner club at site two) donated two computers to the News department, and in April of 2004 the first digital file was created of the 10.25" x 11.5" newsprint publication Mountain Review was at that time. (The original Review, prior to 2003, was a magazine-size publication with 16-20 pages. Its camera-ready proofs were made by hand with a typewriter, layout paper, Exacto knives and paste.) Since the introduction of those machines, a digital history has been kept. In these pages are part of what I was able to preserve.

All profit from sales of our books fund our charity.