Fear spreads behind bars after two prisoner deaths at Lee State Prison

Several inmates and employees have tested positive
Lee State Prison in a 2017 photo. Courtesy of The Albany Herald.

Lee State Prison in a 2017 photo. Courtesy of The Albany Herald.

An inmate at Lee State Prison in southwest Georgia started feeling sick last weekend. Nausea, dizziness, fatigue -- symptoms consistent with the disease caused by the coronavirus.

He remains in his three-person cell, one of his cellmates told The Atlanta Journal-Constitution.

“They pretty much won’t do anything until you’re bedridden,” said the  sick inmate’s 20-year-old cellmate, a convicted sex offender who’s spent more than a quarter of his life behind bars. The cellmate spoke to the AJC on the condition his identity not be revealed out of fear of reprisal.

>> COMPLETE COVERAGE: Coronavirus in Georgia

Another Lee State inmate, Phillip Patterson, died Saturday due to complications from COVID-19. Lee State inmate Anthony Cheek died last month, also after testing positive for coronavirus.

Many more are sick, say inmates who’ve communicated with the AJC by phone, email or through family members.

The inmates say they have been on lockdown inside their cells for nearly three weeks, that hand sanitizer is scarce and that they receive just one small bar of soap per week.

RELATED: Second Lee State inmate dies of COVID-19

“I have never seen so much peanut butter sandwiches in my life,” wrote one prisoner, who’s served 21 years on a murder conviction. “When we do get a hot meal, it's such a small portion that it would not satisfy a small child.”

Other inmates gave similar accounts, of meals consisting of little more than peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. They also say cleaning products are watered down to make them last and that they have limited exposure to outside news sources.

Lee State houses around 760 inmates.

Lee County is less than 20 miles from Albany, which has emerged as one of the largest outbreak clusters in the nation.

Reporters seeking comment from the Department of Corrections are directed to press releases posted on the agency’s website.

“Facility sanitation enhancements have been implemented, including increased chemical orders statewide; increased availability of hand sanitizer and soap for staff at all GDC locations; increased availability of soap over and above normal issue for offender population; increased sanitation rounds and required cleaning of high traffic areas and high touch areas; and additional sanitation officers assigned at all facilities,” one reads.

Nine Lee State staff members and seven inmates have tested positive for COVID-19, well beyond the totals seen in Georgia’s other state prisons.

“I’ve written everyone I can think of to write to: The president, the governor, you name it,” said Sissy Nicholson, whose 47-year-old brother is in Lee State on a probation violation. He’s due to be released in October.

“You can tell he’s scared,” she said. “They’re all scared.”

She worries her brother isn’t receiving his blood pressure medication, which he’s supposed to take each evening before bed.

“A lot of times they don’t see a guard at night,” she said.

Health experts predict those numbers will continue to rise exponentially. Last week, the Georgia Board of Pardons and Paroles announced it was beginning a review process that could, by month’s end, lead to the release of up to 200 inmates who are serving time for non-violent offenses.

But Robert Greifinger, a leading expert on the transmission of infectious diseases inside detention centers, said facilities need to release far more prisoners if they’re going to prevent massive outbreaks.

“When you have people crowded in confined spaces, the risk of transmission is really high,” he said.

Many of the prisoners and family members interviewed said sick inmates remain among the general population. They’re told they don’t have COVID-19, but most haven’t been tested.

Cherokee Buford said she feels helpless. Her son’s sentence on a rape conviction concludes in six months, a span of time that feels like an eternity, she said.

“No one tells them anything,” Buford said. “I’m so worried about my son. He’s not an animal.”