TWO OF EVERY 3 FEMALE INMATES HAVE CHILDREN

WETUMPKA — They make books on tape here that are one of a kind.

Armed with a variety of children's literature and tape recorders, more than
150 female inmates at Julia Tutwiler Prison produce distinctive storybook
packages for the children they left behind while they serve time.

Each package - a large envelope containing a children's book and a single
tape - is sent to the child by Aid to Inmate Mothers, a non-profit
organization that helps women behind bars maintain family ties across
prison walls.

AIM helps the women with children age 2 to 12 record stories that can be
played at bedtime.

One such book came in the mail Thursday for a 5-year-old Mobile boy. His
mother is serving a 25-year sentence for a drug conviction. Seeing the "I
love you," printed on the envelope's cover, he instinctively seemed to know
what it was.

Using a pair of scissors, his grandmother carefully opened the package and
took out the book, "The Great Fuzzy Slippers Mystery." She handed the tape
to her grandson, and they went into the den to play it.

Sitting on the end of the coffee table, he opened the book, looked at the
pictures of Sesame Street characters and followed his mother's voice,
laughing at her sing-song instructions to "turn the page."

"I miss her not being home," he said. "She's done some bad things, but if
they let her come home, I think she would do good."

Some families have difficulty discussing the circumstances surrounding an
imprisoned female relative. For that reason, a Mobile grandmother and the
grandson, of whom she has custody, agreed to speak to the Mobile Register
only on condition of anonymity.

Because of her daughter's conviction, the older woman spends her days
chauffeuring her grandson to and from pre-school and his extracurricular
activities.

"There are some days that I pray to God to help me get out of bed," she
said, adding that her arthritis occasionally cripples her. "I've got to
take care of this boy. I love him enough that he comes first."

Sometimes, he allows his grandmother to read him a bedtime story. On other
nights, he chooses to listen to the tape.

"I always leave the room because I don't like him to see me cry," she said.
"Every night he prays, 'Dear Jesus, bless Mommy and help me to be a good
boy. Amen.'"

According to prison officials, more than 1.7 million convicted felons are
imprisoned in the United States, of which 6.4 percent are women
incarcerated for non-violent crimes, such as drug offenses, property crimes
and prostitution.

More than two-thirds of female inmates have children under age 18.

Most are the sole custodial parent. Only about 10 percent of the men
incarcerated in the nation's prisons are sole custodial parents.

Behind prison walls, the experience of recording the children's books can
only serve as a reminder of the life left behind.

On a recent day, with the help of 10 volunteers, the inmates gathered in
the prison chapel and each chose a children's book from dozens spread in
rows across the alter.

For each tape, the volunteer positioned the recorder where it would best
capture the mother's voice. The recordings lasted no more than 30 minutes.
Most inmates ended with three words: "I love you."

After scribbling a message on the back side of the book's front cover, they
placed each book and tape into large padded envelope, which AIM volunteers
mail to the children.

"I can't imagine the thought of a child not seeing their mother," said
Valinda Cannon, 29, of Montgomery, one of the volunteers. "I know what it
is like to hear a parent's voice at bedtime. Every night, when my dad got
home from work, he would come and sit down with us and read to us."

It's a picture many take for granted: Parent and child snuggled together on
the edge of a bed, two pairs of eyes fixed on an open book. As they turn
the pages, the walls of the room fall away and both are transported to
another world filled with dinosaurs, fairies and castles and strange houses
built by pigs.

For some inmates, the taping unearths deep feelings.

"The first time, I cried and cried," said Cynthia Harrell, 34, of Mobile,
recalling when she began participating in the storybook project. "It was
very emotional, but it was a wonderful experience. I would read the story,
and it felt like I was there with them."

Mrs. Harrell, who is serving a 20-year sentence for forgery, has three
children, ages 10, 8 and 7.

"My kids know I'm here and they know why I'm here," she said. Her
conviction was related to a crack cocaine addiction, a problem that left
her so thin "a size 3 would fall off of me." Now healthier and 50 pounds
heavier, she said she feels better off.

"Today I'm locked up, but I'm more free than I was when I on the outside,"
Mrs. Harrell said. "I'm safe and I'm free of the bondage

that I was in."

Fellow inmate Sharon Curry credits AIM with improving the relationship with
her two daughters, age 15 and 9.

"I visualize them sitting here listening to me," said Ms. Curry, 41,
president of AIM's prison board. "They laugh at me because my voice is so
deep. They say, 'Who is this man on the tape?' It makes me feel good in my
heart."

With her glasses perched near the edge of her nose and a list of inmates in
one hand, Ms. Curry looked more like a school marm than an inmate serving a
20-year sentence for second-degree assault.

"I'm doing whatever I have to do to get straight," she said. "It's all
about me and my kids now."

More than 85 percent of the 855 women who are serving time at Tutwiler are
mothers, said Angela Villali, the prison's drug program specialist. Their
participation in AIM also gives them a chance to see their children as
least once a month, Ms. Villali said.

"It changes the whole atmosphere around here," she said. "You can feel it,
though, especially if something goes wrong and they don't get a chance to
see their kids. You can feel the mood change among the inmates."

Carol Potok, AIM executive director, said the reading project developed
from similar and successful programs used at other women's prisons. A
$25,000 grant from the Alabama Department of Education funds the project as
well as other educational initiatives that AIM sponsors. The storybook
project costs about $500 per session, Mrs. Potok said.

AIM has worked with the state's female prisoners since 1987.

"It's really good for the women," Ms. Potok said. "A lot of the women get
to see their children once a month, but it's not really enough time to read
to them. Some don't get to see them at all.

"A lot of families are hostile about the woman being in prison and some
don't want to bring the kids," she said. "This is a really personal way
they can continue to connect. It's means a lot to the kids and the mothers."