August at St. Clair prison: a supervisor arrested on drug trafficking charges, reports of guns, two suspected drug overdose deaths, and now a young man with asthma has died and his family has no answers.

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By Eddie Burkhalter, Appleseed Researcher

The family of a 25-year-old man with just over a year left to serve on nonviolent property crimes believes he may have died from a severe asthma attack alone in a segregation cell at St. Clair prison, but because the Alabama Department of Corrections (ADOC) no longer provides full autopsies for all who die in prison, they may never know his cause of death.

Marlon Marshall, 25, was found deceased in a segregation cell sometime after 2 a.m. on Aug. 22, according to ADOC and his family, who spoke with an investigator from the department’s Law Enforcement Services Division (LESD).

Marlon Marshall, a 25-year-old man with severe asthma, died in a segregation cell at St. Clair prison.

Mr. Marshall’s death in a segregation cell, a place where people are often placed to keep them safe, is but another sign of the increasing chaos inside St. Clair prison in recent months. Multiple sources told Appleseed that a man was stabbed there by another incarcerated man on Aug. 21, but the man survived.

Two men died of suspected drug overdoses at St. Clair on July 30. The next day, ADOC Lieutenant Calvin Bush was arrested and charged with trafficking fentanyl and marijuana, and promoting prison contraband. Investigators found a large amount of drugs and contraband at a home in Odenville, where Bush lives, according to court records.

“During the search, agents recovered a significant amount of drugs and contraband, including 4,020 grams of methamphetamine, 350 grams of promethazine liquid, 340 grams of synthetic cannabinoid, nine oxycodone pills, 326 grams of sprayed paper, 156 cell phones, two cellular hotspots, 8,980 grams of marijuana, 100 grams of crack cocaine, 16 grams of cocaine powder, and 610 grams of flakka precursor powder. Additionally, a related search yielded 2.5 pounds of marijuana and 60 grams of methamphetamine,” ADOC told Appleseed in a statement.

On Aug. 12, two guns were reportedly found in St. Clair prison, multiple sources told Appleseed. However, ADOC declined to confirm when asked on Aug. 13.

“On Monday, Aug. 11, 2025, the Alabama Department of Corrections conducted a security search detail at St. Clair Correctional Facility with support from the K-9 Division and the Correctional Emergency Response Team. The search resulted in the confiscation of various contraband. The search results and any subsequent investigation are ongoing,” an ADOC spokeswoman responded.

Asked again whether ADOC would confirm the discovery of two guns in the prison — noting that such a discovery would eventually appear in ADOC’s quarterly reports, and recalling that in August 2023 an incarcerated man armed with a pistol took control of Donaldson prison, a fact ADOC initially refused to acknowledge despite video evidence — the spokeswoman again declined.

“The ADOC cannot elaborate or comment about ongoing law enforcement investigations. People forget that ADOC is a law enforcement agency and details regarding investigations could compromise those investigations. Once the statistical reports are posted to the website, that is no longer the case,” she wrote.

Discovered unresponsive

“He was a very caring individual,” Marlon Marshall’s mother, Marcia Gant, told Appleseed. Mr. Marshall loved music and photography. He had been bullied in public school, later attended an alternative school, and before his arrest had been working toward his GED. Her son suffered from severe asthma.

Ms. Gant learned of her son’s death not from the prison, but from her sister, who called after seeing the news posted on Facebook.

Mr. Marshall had suffered from severe asthma since childhood, said his mother and uncle, Admire Gant, a Mobile County Sheriff’s deputy. Mr. Gant added that an investigator with ADOC’s Law Enforcement Services Division told him his nephew’s cell was clean and contained two asthma inhalers.  “When he was in Metro [jail] in the summertime he was sent to the hospital because of his asthma,” Mr. Gant said, referring to his nephew’s time in county jail prior to conviction.

Mr. Gant said that since his nephew’s death, he has spoken with St. Clair’s warden, the LESD investigator overseeing the case, and the Lee County coroner. Based on those conversations, he fears the family may never know the full circumstances of Marshall’s death. A toxicology screening was conducted, however, Mr. Gant said.

Marlon Marshall was serving a sentence for non-violent property crimes.

“Inmate Marlon Marshall was discovered unresponsive in his cell. Life-saving measures were administered but to no avail. Inmate Marshall was pronounced deceased by the attending physician,” ADOC’s response to Appleseed reads. “The Lee County Coroner conducts toxicology tests for all ‘natural’ and ‘suspected overdose’ deaths unless the death occurs in Jefferson County. A copy of the report is part of the LESD death investigation file. The results are shared with family and/or other entities subject to HIPAA, which survives death.”

Mr. Marshall had served nearly two years of a three-year sentence for nonviolent property crimes. In October 2023, he pleaded guilty to two counts of theft by deception and one count of breaking into a motor vehicle. He was sentenced to 20 years, to serve three years in prison, with the remainder on probation, court records show.  Mr. Marshall was allegedly involved in an altercation with another incarcerated man at Ventress Correctional Facility on Jan. 21, 2025, according to court records, and was ordered to spend 45 days in segregation. He was later transferred to St. Clair, a maximum-security prison. The family does not know why he remained in segregation there at the time of his death.

Autopsies for some, not all

UAB Hospital terminated its longstanding agreement with ADOC to conduct autopsies and toxicology screens on suspected natural and overdose deaths on April 22, 2024.

The agreement had ADOC paying $2,200 per autopsy and $100 per toxicology test, according to court documents in a lawsuit. That revenue may not have outweighed the fallout from a lawsuit in which families discovered their incarcerated loved ones’ bodies had been returned missing internal organs. Since UAB terminated its contract, in-custody deaths from natural causes or suspected overdoses are no longer receiving state-provided full autopsies, leaving many families unsure how their loved ones died.

“All inmate deaths are investigated by the ADOC’s Law Enforcement Services Division. However, under existing state law, post-mortem examinations or autopsies are only required for deaths resulting from unlawful, suspicious, or unnatural causes (Ala. Code Section 36-18-2). In those cases, the deceased is transported to the Alabama Department of Forensic Sciences for an autopsy,” ADOC wrote in a statement to Appleseed in May 2024, when Appleseed first reported UAB’s contract termination.

“Deaths not covered under Ala. Code Section 36-18-2 receive a toxicology screen prior to release to the inmate’s family. Although the department previously contracted with UAB Hospital to conduct autopsies on suspected overdose or natural deaths, UAB terminated its long-standing agreement effective April 22, 2024. Since that time, the department has made numerous inquiries but has been unable to find another vendor to provide autopsies for ADOC inmates who died of natural causes or suspected overdoses,” the statement continues.

Asked this week whether ADOC has since secured a vendor to provide autopsies in such cases, a spokesperson sent the same response Appleseed received in May 2024.

Alabama’s Prison Death Database

Alabama Appleseed is building a database of Alabama prison deaths and has completed its first year of data, covering 2023, which shows a record 334 deaths in state prisons. Because of the change in 2024 that impacts who ADOC approves for autopsies, it will be impossible to know for certain how some have died moving forward. 

There were 28 deaths at St. Clair prison in 2023, according to Appleseed’s research derived from records requests to multiple state agencies. Of those, two were homicides, three were suicides, 13 were deemed natural and nine were overdose deaths. 

Statewide, in 2023 there were 14 homicides and 101 overdose deaths in Alabama prisons. Appleseed continues to collect death data for 2024 and 2025.

 

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Alabama Department of Corrections: $5 billion in spending in five years

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As legislative budget hearings take place this week in Montgomery, it’s a good time to review the recent costs to Alabama taxpayers for our prison system, which consumes 25% of the state’s General Fund budget. 

An Appleseed analysis has found that state prison expenses over five years are $5 billion. That’s right, if you include the annual General Fund allocations to the Alabama Department of Corrections, plus the costs of new prison construction including debt service, the people of Alabama will have handed over approximately $1 billion per year to ADOC in fiscal years 2022, 2023, 2024, 2025, and 2026.

Here’s the full breakdown based on publicly available spreadsheets from the Executive Budget Office:

  • $610.7 million from the General Fund in FY2022
  • $663.6 million from the General Fund in FY2023
  • $733.7 million from the General Fund in FY2024
  • $780.6 million from the General Fund in FY2025
  • $826.7 million from the General Fund in FY2026 (which starts in October)
  • $1.3 billion authorized for prison construction during 2021 special session on prisons, currently being used to build the Gov. Kay Ivey megaprison in Elmore County, which is expected to cost $1.2 billion.
  • $85 million from the General Fund in FY25 and FY26 for debt service on prison construction bonds issued to build the 4000-bed prison in Elmore County.

By way of comparison, each bed in the Governor Kay Ivey megaprison, comes at a cost of $300,000, significantly more than the average price of a home in Alabama, which was $235,066 as of July of 2025.

This $5 billion tally does not include at least $57 million paid out of the state’s General Liability Trust Fund in recent years on ADOC legal expenses, primarily private contract attorneys to defend officers accused of misconduct and to defend the ADOC in federal class action litigation over unconstitutional prison conditions. 

ADOC is the second highest General Fund expense in the State. Medicaid is the highest. Medicaid provides healthcare to approximately one million Alabamians at a similar cost to the state for incarceration of approximately 22,000 individuals in custody, plus another 4,300 in Community Corrections.

Last session, lawmakers passed a bill to add another $500 million to the state’s bonding capacity to pay for more prison space, a second planned megaprison in Escambia County.

Appleseed believes Alabamians deserve to know the significant costs to our state of consistently having one of the country’s highest incarceration rates. Alabama is a poor state when compared to numerous other states with large prison populations; prioritizing expensive prisons swallows resources that could be invested in crime prevention and overall wellbeing, such as mental health care, substance use treatment and prevention of child abuse and neglect. Nearly 25% of the entire General Fund pays for prisons, and these funds do not include construction of new prisons. Critical agencies for prevention and wellbeing combined receive 19% percent of the General Fund. Here’s a breakdown:

Also concerning, as ADOC spending has soared over the last 20 years, funding for the Department of Human Resources, the Department of Mental Health and the Department of Public Health has increased at a slower pace, and currently these agencies receive a smaller portion of General Fund dollars than in years past, our analysis found. DHR has been hit the hardest. In 2003, the agency’s allocation was $73 million, or 7.3% of the General Fund. For the current fiscal year, DHR received $146 million, a higher dollar amount but only 4.5% of the General Fund. 

Additionally troubling is that there’s little to show for this spending spree. In 2023, the prisons had the highest number of deaths in its history, 335. Of those 14 were homicides, and 101 were drug overdoses. Last year was slightly better at 274, but still one of the highest death rates in the nation. Officer recruitment appears to be on the rise following large salary increases, but the Department loses officers regularly, many because of criminal charges.

With the complex in Elmore County consuming nearly $1.2 billion, it’s unknown where funding for the second prison in Escambia County will come from or even how much it will cost. “It’s going to be a lot more than we originally thought,” Sen. Greg Albritton, the Senate General Fund committee chair has acknowledged. He sponsored a bill in the 2025 legislative session that added another $500 million to the state’s bonding capacity to pay for more prison space.

 

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Appleseed’s latest report shows that ‘Safer prisons are within reach.’

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By Eddie Burkhalter, Appleseed Researcher

Alabama’s prison system is in crisis. Federal courts have said so. Back-to-back years of record prison deaths show it. The people who live and work inside those facilities feel it every day.

Violence, understaffing, and overcrowded dorms are pushing the system past a breaking point, and while new prison construction continues, that alone won’t fix the deeper problems. Alabama needs answers that go beyond bricks and mortar—answers rooted in what’s actually working in other parts of the country.

This briefing lays out five real-world examples of prison reforms from other states. They’re not theories. These are programs already in place that are reducing violence, cutting recidivism and helping staff do their jobs more safely and effectively.

Take California’s GRIP program, where men serving long sentences learn how to manage anger and take responsibility for past harm. Graduates almost never come back to prison. In South Carolina, a pilot program for young adults has cut the use of solitary confinement and assaults on staff. Missouri, Maine and Oregon are trying models that focus on rehabilitation and basic human dignity—with results that speak for themselves.

These aren’t soft-on-crime experiments. They’re serious efforts, backed by data, that reflect a growing national understanding: safer prisons aren’t just better for those inside. They’re better for public safety, for communities and for the people who go to work behind the fences every day.

Alabama has the opportunity to lead among Southern states in implementing bold, results-oriented reform. The following case studies offer a roadmap for change—one that can enhance safety, reduce legal liabilities, support staff retention, and, most importantly, provide incarcerated individuals with the tools to return home prepared to contribute to their communities.

Read Appleseed’s latest report to learn more. We will be sharing this roadmap with lawmakers, ADOC officials, families of incarcerated Alabamians, and advocates across the state as evidence that transformative change in possible even in prison. And as the report shows, the most powerful change is being driven by incarcerated people themselves.

Positive Programs report
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“Underneath the quilt you’re safe.”

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With help from friends, Appleseed’s Callie Greer is capturing the pain of families who have lost loved ones to violence and creating something beautiful. Join her quilting event on July 19 in Birmingham. Details below. 

By Callie Greer

Appleseed Community Navigator

I’d thought about making a memorial quilt for our loved ones for a while, but I’ve never made a quilt. So, from time to time, I would mention wanting to make a quilt, but there were no takers. Maybe I was dropping my hints around the wrong people. People thought it was a great idea, but I never got any suggestions on where, or how, to start the quilt. 

 

But the more I listened to the stories from mothers like Ms. Barbara Maxwell, who shared with me in one of our conversations about her grieving process, I knew this was something that needed to be done. When we spoke she told me that sometimes she would be crying and had to stop in the middle of her grieving to ask herself which one of her sons she was crying for! You see, Barbara lost two sons within five months of each other–  she’s still seeking answers and justice for both of them. I thought about the quilt listening to Ms. Brenda Page Smith, who also lost her son to gun violence. She started the search for him herself with some help from others and found her son lying in a ditch– she’s also still seeking answers and justice for her son. And of course, I thought of myself and my children that I will always carry in a wound in my heart. With our need for a way to continue healing, the quilt never left my thoughts. 

Then a friend of mine, Dana Ellis, made me and my husband a lovely quilt. Believe it or not, I didn’t connect those two things together, at least not for a while. You see, I wanted my quilt to have the faces of our loved ones who were lost to violence sewn into it, and I wanted it to be a symbol and a dedication of our undying love to them, even though they are not with us physically anymore. I felt like it would be an embrace that only we knew why we needed it. 

Because when I think of a quilt, I think of comfort, warmth, a place of healing when something ails you. You know, the kind of calming only your momma or grandmama can give you when you need to hear, “Everything’s going to be alright, maybe not right now, but in time.” Underneath the quilt you’re safe. Safe to groan, moan, cry, be still, and heal. Covered, safe, quiet, restored, peaceful, and yes, loved. I know that’s a lot, but you can choose whatever you need from it and leave the rest for others. And there are so many others. This quilt will hopefully be all those things and also a gathering place as we come together to sew together the faces that were torn away from us too soon, always too soon. 

And what else will we do with this quilt? We’ll rally for life and the end of so much gun violence. We’ll rally for safe spaces for our families, counseling for those directly affected by the traumas that come with the violence and the loss. 

I offer you the same voice I did before: take whatever speaks to your passion and join the fight.  Don’t waste your pain! Use it to create something terribly beautiful, like this quilt. Thank you Dana Ellis for catching one of my many hints and running with it. Our MAAVIS Memorial Quilt is a reality. Thank you, Alabama Appleseed and Crime Survivors for Safety and Justice for your initial support. And thank you everyone who has since joined.

We’ll be hosting our next event to add to the quilt on July 19, 2025 at Greater Birmingham Ministries, 2304 12th Avenue North in Birmingham from 1 pm- 4 pm. Space will be limited. You can reach out to me at callie.greer@alabamaappleseed.org.

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Freed from prison and burdened with cancer, but finding his voice in songs

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James Jones was one of the first people in the state to be sentenced to life without parole under the Habitual Felony Offender Act. He is also a music lover, a story teller, and a beloved mentor to dozens of incarcerated people. Finally released after 43 years, now he just wants to live. And maybe record a little music.

By Eddie Burkhalter, Appleseed Researcher

James Jones walked into the nearly empty waiting room at his Birmingham oncologist’s office on April 1 and saw a man seated by himself.  “How are you?” Mr. Jones asked the man, who responded politely. Talking to strangers in quiet rooms changes the atmosphere for the better, Mr. Jones explained, especially in places where people feel frightened and alone. 

Mr. Jones was diagnosed with cancer just before he was released from St. Clair Correctional Facility last December. The disease that threatens his life also sped up his release. One of the first people in the state to be sentenced to a mandatory sentence of life without parole under the Habitual Felony Offender Act in 1981, Mr. Jones spent 43 years in prison following a robbery at a North Birmingham shoe store. 

Appleseed was investigating his case when we learned of his sudden cancer diagnosis. We developed a post-conviction petition seeking his release then quickly gained support from Jefferson County District Attorney Danny Carr. Within a week, Mr. Jones was home.

At 77-years old with a multiple myeloma diagnosis, James Jones is brightening the atmosphere in dim places around the city and quietly showing everyone who comes into his orbit that it should not have taken cancer to set him free.

Appleseed Researcher Eddie Burkhalter and James Jones visit during a picnic at Railroad Park.

Three tumors and no spare parts

On that April day in his doctor’s office, Mr. Jones would learn the extent of the spread of the cancer and how his doctor planned to treat it. 

“Multiple myeloma is a malignancy of the plasma cells. Those are the blood cells in your body that form antibodies, and your bone marrow has no idea when to stop. When that happens, your bones start being eaten away by the plasma cells and in places you can form actual masses, which are called plasmacytomas, meaning a tumor plasma cell,” his doctor told him. 

The doctor explained that Mr. Jones has three tumors: Two on his spine that are an inch-and-a-half and an inch in size, and a third on his seventh rib of almost two inches. Radiation can shrink specific tumors and relieve pain, but overdoing radiation treatments can do more damage than good, she explained, so his treatment would include chemotherapy and three medications. To start, he’ll have weekly injections at the doctor’s office. 

His doctor pulled down the bedroll made of smooth paper and began to write down the medications she planned to prescribe him and how those drugs might affect his body, side effects that can range from nausea, vomiting, diarrhea or constipation to immunosuppression, tingling in his limbs and fatigue. 

“It’s quite a bit, doc,” Mr. Jones told his doctor. 

“I know. I’m sorry. It will be a little bit disconcerting at the beginning, but once you are on cruise control it will be like coming in for a tune up,” the doctor said. 

“I can’t get any spare parts so I’ve got to deal with the ones I’ve got,” Mr. Jones responded. 

The doctor explained the timeline to begin his treatments and asked if he had any questions. 

“Got anything for a broken heart?,” Mr. Jones asked her. 

“I got nothing, but if you find something let me know,” she said. 

Before his release 4 months ago, Mr. Jones was among the growing number of older incarcerated people in Alabama’s prisons. In 2005, there were 2,879 prisoners ages 51 and older, comprising 11% of all people in ADOC custody. By 2025, the number had grown to 7,675. People 50 and older are the costliest to imprison due to the cost of medical care and the least likely to reoffend once released. Mr. Jones is one of three older formerly incarcerated men Appleseed freed from life without the possibility of parole sentences who are being treated for cancer. 

James Jones and his longtime friend Norman Askew, who has worked in the Jefferson County courts for years mentoring individuals and assisting with community corrections services.

After the doctor’s visit, on the ride back to his brother’s home in Powderly where he’s lived since leaving prison, Mr. Jones talked about life inside Alabama’s deadly prisons, where access to medical care is sparse and the threats to one’s life are myriad. He explained the importance of not owing anyone anything in prison and of staying away from the drugs that drive much of the violence and death inside. He talked about what it’s like to live free after so many decades locked away, of coming to terms with the loss of those many years.  “I tell people that once I got out it didn’t feel like I was gone all that long,” he shared. It’s only when he sees someone who he knew as a child before he was incarcerated and who’s now grown and with children of their own that the enormity of those years locked away becomes apparent. 

Mr. Jones knows another man who is facing a cancer diagnosis, and says the disease has changed the man, and turned him angry and bitter. Mr. Jones doesn’t hold those same feelings about his diagnosis, but the weight of the disease is taking its toll. 

“My sister-in-law thought I was beginning to be hopeless,” Mr. Jones said. “I told her, I think I’m dying.” She encouraged him not to give up hope. “To be chronically ill is something to deal with. I can empathize with others, but when it’s me…,” Mr. Jones said. “Sometimes I say to myself, could this really be it?” 

“Being incarcerated for so long, there are things I wanted to do but most of my productive years were in prison, then when I get out now I’ve got this in my back,” Mr. Jones said. He doesn’t tell many people that he has cancer and said it is his faith in God that sustains him. 

Making music, finding hope

There are still things he wants to do. He’s never ridden in an airplane, and pondered what it would be like to go skydiving. He’d also like to record his own songs, pages of lyrics he penned while incarcerated and seeking a creative outlet. With the help of Appleseed reentry case manager Kathleen Henderson and her son, Alabama musician Ritch Henderson, Mr. Jones has begun the process of doing just that.  A Montgomery music studio, The Alabama Sound Company, and owner Brett Robison are graciously allowing the use of the studio and offering recording services at no cost to help make Mr. Jones’s dream come true. 

“We’re still working on it. Those guys are good,” Mr. Jones said of the musicians working to help get his songs recorded. He’s enjoying moments of collaboration as a singer and a writer, not just an ex-con fighting cancer. 

Mr. Jones loves music from across genres. Chris Stapleton, Elton John, and Ray Charles are favorites. “Every time you hear a clip by Elton John you’re really listening to Bernie Taupin,” Mr Jones said of Elton John’s longtime collaborator, Taupin, who co-wrote most of the British singer’s hits. 

Mr. Jones traveled to a recording studio in Montgomery with Mr. Henderson and his crew, and on another trip the group sang in Pine Torch Church, built in 1850, in the Bankhead National Forest near Decatur. “Once you go in and close the doors the acoustics are so good. We just did one song that we’re really working on. I tell people, once I get real big I might act like I don’t know you,” Mr. Jones said with a laugh. 

It would be easy to spend his days angry over his cancer diagnosis, but It’s not in his nature to wake up each day and let his plight get him down. “Even if I’ve just got tomorrow, I’ll be OK,” Mr. Jones said. “I like people, and I’m always optimistic. Sometimes I ask, Lord, why me? Why not you, James? You’re not the only one. There will be some more behind you.”

Sometimes pain and hardships make you take a better view of life, he said. Then he found a metaphor in nature because he’s a storyteller and that’s how he communicates. 

Musician Ritch Henderson and James Jones following a recording session at the Bankhead National Forest.

“The funny thing about a cocoon. When a butterfly is in there there’s a very tiny hole that appears at the end of it, and he can just barely get his head out, and then he’s struggling with that little hole and if you sit down and watch him and you begin to empathize with him and you go over and crack that thing and let him out, he’ll never fly,” Mr. Jones said. “Because that struggle strengthens his wings.” 

Mr. Jones said that before he left prison one man whom he knew for many years told him  “there’s a lot of guys in here that are happier than even you are that you’re going home.” Mr. Jones worries about those close friends he left behind. “Some of them I took under my wings. They’re my sons,” he said. In prison, everyone knew him as “Honkytonk” for reasons that still aren’t entirely clear to those of us on the outside.

“I hope … I leave a legacy, not just of being an ex-con who spent so many years in prison, but of how I look at life and how I’ve treated people.”

Before checking out of his oncologist’s office that April day he listened as an older woman standing in front of him told the person behind the desk that she’d just had cataract surgery and couldn’t see very well. Moments later, standing in front of the elevator to leave, Mr. Jones approached the stranger and offered his support. He had the same surgery years ago. 

“Once your eyes heal you’ll start to see better,” Mr. Jones told her, and the two talked about her surgery and her concerns. He listened carefully and weighed in with thoughtful words. A man who spent 43 years of a life without the possibility of parole sentence stood in the hallway of the doctor’s office and tried to make a stranger feel a little better on what was a bad day for her. 

“People need to vent like that…she probably won’t forget that encounter either,” Mr. Jones said. “I hope that my life has been impactful for some. That I leave a legacy, not just of being an ex-con who spent so many years in prison, but of how I look at life and how I’ve treated people.” 

 

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