Granny Anne
“I don’t want none of them dirty books Toon.” I looked up from the library computer. Granny Anne was standing on the other side of the counter with her glasses perched at the end of her nose, glaring at me. I leaned over and gently took the book out of her hand. “Then Double Fantasy is not a good idea.” She took it back and pointed to the cover. “Hot summer romance, it says romance.” I took the book away from her again. “That doesn’t mean temperatures in the summer time. It means sex, Granny.” She threw her hands up. “Then keep it. You girls like all that goosing in your books. I just want a love story.” I laughed and told her yes, many of the ladies prefer something a little bit steamier, but I wanted to make sure she left with something she liked. “Did you see the Debbie Macomber on the new release shelf? I believe it’s still over there.” The women crowded around the book cart parted as Anne inched towards it. She stared at the books with some confusion. “Whatcha need Granny Anne?” asked a younger woman nicknamed Red. Anne attempted leaning forward but hesitated. “Honey,” she said to the girl, “Will you look for the Debbie Macomber and hand it to me?” The normally impatient crowd waited for the book to be found and Anne was out of harm’s way before jostling each other for space again. She checked out the much tamer romance novel and wandered out the door. Later she sent me a message, “Find me another one just like that.”
And I did, many times over. This is what I remember the most about her, that insatiable desire to read and escape. She told me she liked to snuggle in bed, sip coffee and read. The younger girls cooked for her sometimes and she enjoyed their energy, and conversation but often she just wanted to read. She was a quiet lady, who I knew had a life sentence, though I never asked what for. I found her to be intelligent and warm. She minded her business and led a quiet existence among us.
When a friend wrote recently and said that she had heard that Anne was on a ventilator, I knew that she wouldn’t make it. I don’t know how to explain it but I just felt it. I held out hope that perhaps the prison grapevine was wrong, but on August 24th, the gossip proved true. TDCJ posted Anne’s death. COVID19 had taken Granny Anne in the worst way possible, alone in a prison hospital infirmary.
I don’t know Anne’s criminal history. I can’t speak to anything about her other than our years together at Mountain View, and it is because of that I want to say, I don’t know what justice was served by her suffering and death. She was a sweet person, but to the State and maybe society, she was just another offender, a statistic, a criminal.
I write this as a testament that she was much more than that. She was wise, gentle lady, who made us laugh and taught us respect. I take some comfort in knowing she still exists, as a part of me, and every woman in TDCJ. We are all intrinsically linked. Anne lives on. We will make damn sure of it.
Jennifer Toon is a journalist and advocate from East Texas, currently living and writing in Austin. Toon wrote for the state prison newspaper The Echo for over ten years, and as a freelance writer, she has published work with The Texas Observer, The Marshall Project, and the Guardian. In July 2020, she participated in a Sheltering Justice interview with Texas After Violence Project, which can be viewed here.
