Interview: The man who gave Aileen Wuornos her last meal

A crash course in serial killers, death row, and prison culture with former correctional officer Ken Eady at Florida State Prison

The day started out like any other.

Except as soon as I got to work and parked I got a text from my boss saying the kid I work with at preschool had a fever and wasn’t coming today.

So I could go home.

I started to pull back out and the police officer who patrols the school playfully put his arms out like, “What?! You just got here!” So I went out to explain the situation.

He said, “What do you do when you’re not here at the preschool?” We were standing on the curb as parents drove in and out to drop off their kids. I told him about my plans to get my masters in mental health counseling and maybe become a psychologist. I figured it was a better answer than “reading and wandering aimlessly.” He asked about what areas of psychology I’m interested in, so we started talking about borderline personality disorder, friendship, grief.

He bridged the gap between our two worlds talking about the importance of mental health and how it’s lacking in the judicial/prison system. Almost immediately after launching into stories of what he witnessed while working in prison, dropped an unmistakable name-

Aileen Wuornos.

Yes, THE Aileen Wuornos, one of the most notorious female serial killers in history. I had to back up, because he said it so casually, like it was nothing.

I can’t quite remember how we got to Aileen’s last meal (raw liver and onions- that he hand delivered to her) but I suddenly realized a quick chat was not going to suffice.

“I need to interview you. When can we talk more?”

“Whenever’s good for you, I got all day.”

Who knew the police officer monitoring a Jewish preschool every day was sitting on a goldmine of information? Officer Ken, as I came to learn his name, was a former correctional officer at Florida State Prison, the same prison that executed Ted Bundy and Danny Rolling. I was surprised at his willingness to divulge everything on the spot, even record it, but I didn’t waste any time-

“I’m free now.”

And with that he ushered me inside, pulled up a chair, and we talked for the next 3 hours.

First he told me about Aileen. She was funny. On her way to lunch she’d pass him and give him shit, “You need to clean your boots.” Always cracking a joke.

On her last day waiting for her liver and onions- “Hurry up! I got somewhere to be.” Dark humor is an understatement.

“What was her demeanor? Was she stressed was she-“

“No! She was actually calm like, ‘Ok, I don’t care.’ Normal day.”

“What were you feeling? Because you’d been on good terms with her.”

“I was actually sad.”

“Are you allowed to say anything?”

“We’re not supposed to, everything’s recorded on death row. You can’t be personable, but I did. I didn’t care. It was the human side of me.”

“What did you say?”

“You ok? You good? She said ‘Yeah. I’m at peace.’ She told me ‘I’m at peace.’ I understood what she was saying, and she understood my concern. And this is funny, my first time bringing her a meal, I was scared!”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. Because she was a serial killer!”

“But that wasn’t the first serial killer you’d been around?”

“I know- but I was scared of her! I guess… Female, I didn’t know what to expect. I was scared. I remember walking in with the tray, the warden’s there. And it was just weird. It was also the first time having a female down there. Never saw a female being executed before. It was just weird to see a female at the Florida State Prison.”

He explained that after learning about her upbringing and the context beyond just the killings, the murders made more sense to him, and that’s why there needs to be a bigger emphasis on psychology in the legal system before you decide someone’s fate.

Of course, that was 2002. Maybe there have been changes, improvements. But probably not enough. He says correctional officers have an hour of training on mental health- one hour, before they go and deal with prisoners. People who are largely unstable and deeply traumatized.

He didn’t miss all the death row inmates. “You heard of the Gainesville Ripper? Danny Rolling. Killed a bunch of students. I’m a Gators fan, so I was happy when he died.”

We talked about the culture of death row. It was very different from the rest of the prison. Calm. And all the inmates had nice things. Better uniforms, fresh sheets, new pillows. Everything brand-spanking-new. TV’s in their rooms. “Because they weren’t there to do time, they were there to die.”

He said it was always quiet and somber inside the prison on execution days. The whole day, everyone was quiet. Out of respect.

In Florida you have a choice, lethal injection or you can request the electric chair. Ken said he only knew one guy who requested the electric chair. “But he was crazy.”

During our conversation he called a couple people for their review, he wanted to establish the quality of his character.

“So I was a decent correctional officer?

“Decent? What the fuck is decent? Decent is some $16 an hour security officer at Walmart. You were extraordinary.”

Florida State Prison changed from an open camp to confinement camp, 24-hour lockdown in their cells. It’s the worst prison you can go to. They wanted a no-nonsense facility. The types of inmates he was dealing with were not your average petty theft, drug charges. These were men doing hard time for serious crimes.

And Officer Ken made a big impact on those inmates.

“I had a lot of em say, ‘Hey Sarge. I wish I knew you when I was out on the street. I wouldn’t be in this predicament that I am now. I didn’t have anybody to talk to me the way you talk to me.’”

And the inmates made an equal impact on him.

There was one point in the conversation where he almost started crying. He worked the night shift and was in charge of a wing, and you want your wing to be quiet, to maintain control. But one guy was making a lot of noise. Yelling and all kinds of ruckus. Ken was pissed. He went up to his cell asking what was going on. The man was beside himself, “The voices are telling me to kill myself.” Ken had to pause at this point in the story, remembering this experience. Because he could see how much pain the man was in- “I felt it.” He finally saw it with his own eyes, the reality that some people are truly unwell and suffering psychologically, beyond what they can control. Ken looked around, “I didn’t want anybody seeing the soft side of me,” and told the man to recite Psalm 23. They were saying it together, “The Lord is my shepherd…” Ken told the man to keep saying to himself, just keep saying it. “He killed himself later on that night when we left. I cried for him. I had to see a psychiatrist. That’s what confinement does.”

The stories ranged from heartbreaking, to hilarious, to downright disgusting. I learned that a “cocktail” is a mix of urine and feces, and Officer Ken had a cocktail thrown in his face by an inmate with AIDS. Ken didn’t get AIDS and the inmate got 7 more years for assaulting an officer.

He cut down 5 men from hangings. They used their bedsheets. He showed me a scar on his arm from where he was shanked. He described the social infrastructure of CM levels (closed management 1, 2, and 3) of privileges assigned to inmates based on behavior. He told me about his first day on the job, watching one inmate kill another right in front of his eyes.

“Did you sense that was going to happen?”

“I’m a straight-A student, I ain’t from the street! No. My first day on the job, I didn’t have a clue. Didn’t have a clue!”

Ken said, “I got one more story for you.” and he told me about an inmate named Ponz. A big guy, whose arms were the size of legs. “All he did was push-ups. Push-ups all day.” And he’d say, “Hey little man, I wanna fuck you,” when Officer Ken would walk by. One day Ken tried to confront Ponz, it was aggressive. Ken punched a window, which shattered and cut his fist. “I will fuck yo ass up. Try me.” He wanted to demonstrate he was not a man to mess with, while Ponz laughed. Ponz waited for his opportunity and punched him in the jaw so hard he couldn’t chew for 6 months, but he got a swing in and broke Ponz’s nose. The other inmates saw the blood all down Ponz’s shirt and were excited, and this apparently was what earned Ken respect throughout the prison.

Since we’d been on the subject of mental health, I asked if he’d do anything differently about that situation, knowing what he knows now. He said he’d thought about it a lot over the years, and he would. A non-violent approach. Ken said Ponz would read in the dark at night, and he would’ve talked to him then, one on one. “We’re both men. If you give me respect, I’ll give you respect.”

When he first told the story of overcoming a large opponent, it was with a tone of victory. But when I asked about his hindsight perspective, he instantly sounded regretful, even sad. He acknowledged he didn’t know any better and dealt with inmates the best way he knew how. This was 20 years ago, Ken was a young guy. And despite a reputation among inmates and CO’s for being firm but fair, he made some mistakes. A man threatened to hang himself and Ken, having no time for antics, said, “Go and hang yourself then.”

And he did.

“‘If you wanna kill yourself go on and kill yourself, I don’t care.’ I didn’t think I was doing anything wrong. But I contributed to that man dying.”

Ken learned the true value of words during his time working in prison. What you say matters. He compared the job of a CO to working as a police officer, where the default is to always reach for your gun. But in a prison you don’t have a weapon on you, you have to learn how to relate to people one on one. He said he thinks it should be mandatory that all police officers work first as a correctional officer.

At this point it was 1pm, we’d been talking since 9:30am. Ken said,

“You know what, I’ll take you. If you want to see it sometime I can request to bring you along. Meet the inmates. You can eat the food, see death row, and even interview some murderers. Or rapists. Whatever you want.”

It was better than Christmas.

I would say it was a dream come true, but I never knew going to tour a prison was a dream of mine until hearing the inside scoop from the king of correctional officers at one of the state’s toughest prisons.

I asked what to wear. He said, “That, exactly what you have on.” I looked down at my striped t-shirt, jeans, and converse. “And bring a sweater.”

He said he wouldn’t take me down the wings because men start gunning- masturbating in their cells at the sight of a woman.

Of course, as we were walking back to my car I say, “Oh my God…”

The front door of my car was still wide open, from when I first went over to chat with him.

Here was this hardened, experienced officer, who was so good at his job and working with inmates that he started leading the training for correctional officers, implementing new rules and methods, offering me an incredible opportunity because he thinks I’m some novice journalist. And I look like a total dipshit. Oh well.

As I drove out, I rolled the window down. Ken said, “Thanks for the interview, that was fun.”

I was speechless. He was thanking ME. This is what I’m learning- people will tell you their stories, you just have to ask. And if you’re lucky, they may even take you to the Florida State Prison.

On one condition- “You have to watch the Green Mile. I’ll only take you if you see that movie.”

So it looks like I’ll be spending my spring break on a road trip to Florida State Prison with Officer Ken. I can’t wait.