Behind Prison Walls: Inside Ellis Unit One

by Donna Pendergast

That old white haired judge in Dallas

Didn't pay my story no mind

They're taking me down to Huntsville

I'm bringing in a load of time

--Merle Haggard

Huntsville, Texas, is the execution capital of the world and the headquarters of the Texas Department of Criminal Justice. Huntsville has become a metaphor for incarceration and Death Row issues. Hearing the word conjures up visions of chain gangs, prison riots, and Death Row. Immortalized in books, movies and songs, Huntsville is a metaphor for all things prison-related, and its very existence has served as a threat for generations of Texan school children who taunted each other about being sent to Huntsville for bad behavior.

Being a Midwestern girl from Michigan, Huntsville was not a place that I ever expected to see--especially not from the inside. That all changed in early 2004, when I found myself on a plane with a colleague and two Michigan State Police troopers. We were headed to Huntsville to attempt to interview serial murderer Coral Eugene Watts (right) prior to making a charging decision on a cold case. He was suspected of committing that crime in Michigan in 1979. The reason we were reviewing the cold case is a long and fascinating story (watch for it to be covered in a future post).

Arriving in Texas, I quickly learned that Huntsville is a town with six separate prisons within the city limits and near the actual town. Our intended destination was Ellis Unit One, on the outskirts. Ellis Unit One is a maximum security facility where the average prisoner's sentence exceeds 40 years. The prison, which houses up to 2,400 male prisoners, was the site of Texas Death Row until shortly after a major escape attempt in 1999. Even before the escape attempt, prison officials were busy relocating Death Row to the Polunsky Unit in West Livingston, Texas. After the escape attempt, officials sped up the move, completing it in 2000. The Death Row transfer, performed under heavy security, was the largest transfer of condemned prisoners in history.

While it may have lost Death Row, Ellis Unit One has lost none of its formidable cachet. A foreboding view on the horizon as one travels the field-lined road leading up to the prison, Ellis Unit One makes its presence known, even from a distance. As I saw the building looming up ahead, the stark reality that I was soon entering those walls sunk in. The thought was disquieting, to say the least.

After parking in a public parking lot, we walked to a gate and flashed credentials up to guards in a sentry tower (pictured above), standing watch heavily armed. The guards had been advised of our anticipated arrival, and we were accompanied by a high-ranking representative with the Texas Department of Criminal Justice, so we were buzzed through the gates quickly and allowed to start toward the prison facility itself. Inside the doors we had to sign a log, turn in personal effects, and put on identification badges handed to us through a window in the foyer area. We were then allowed to proceed through multiple sets of doors that clanged shut behind us with an eerie sound of finality.

This was a first for me. I've been in various jails plenty of times before to interview witnesses, but this was a prison; different--and not in a comfortable way. Even accompanied by two police officers, a male colleague and the corrections official, I was still uneasy and ready to get down to business as quickly as possible so we could get out as quickly as possible.

Prison officials had cleared room for us in a small office used for storage. My fellow assistant attorney general and I hunkered down there while the two troopers were taken and seated in a small adjacent conference room, where the interview was set to take place. Prison officials had set up hidden cameras in the conference room, transmitting back to a television set in our makeshift office. That let us watch as the interview  it took place.

While we waited for guards to transport Watts to area, I needed to use the restroom. I was directed to a bathroom in the infirmary, requiring a journey through several halls. As I headed there alone, I cautiously eyed the trustee inmates working openly and seemingly on their own in the hallways just steps from me. I found myself moving quickly, eager to return to the relative security of my office sanctuary. I would have been moving even faster had I known then that another of the Huntsville prisons had once been the site of a seige by three armed prisoners who took multiple hostages using weapons smuggled inside in a ham and  canned peaches. When the siege ended eleven days later, two of the armed gunmen and two civilian hostages -- a teacher and a librarian -- were dead.

There was a bit of levity during the wait for Watts once I got back to the storeroom. My colleague had pulled aside the shade on small window in the corner of the room and was peering outside. He announced there were a couple hundred naked men right outside the window. Certain that he was trying to get my goat and make me even more uncomfortable than I already was, I said, "Sure there are," as I bounded over to the window and pulled aside the shade. I got an eyeful. There were indeed some hundred-plus naked men standing directly outside the window hosing down after coming in from the fields, where they raise crops for the prison. In my haste to close the shade, I tripped over a box while my colleague laughed hysterically, saying "I told you so." To think I thought I was uncomfortable before that.

The interview with Watts was cordial but provided no answers. He played cat and mouse with the troopers for a couple of hours before announcing that he wanted to end the interview and be led away. I breathed a sigh of relief as we passed through the barbed wire fence. We were done--or so I thought. We gave it our best shot but were still going to charge the case even without a statement from Watts.

As it turned out, we weren't quite done yet. While enjoying a relaxing late lunch at a genuine Texas BBQ joint, we received a call from the warden. Watts had decided he wanted to talk. We hightailed it back to the prison and went through the same complicated entrance procedure. With insufficient time to reassemble the camera setup, my colleague and I waited and paced in the infirmary while the troopers went back into the conference room to reinterview Watts. It was all for naught. In true serial murderer style, he again toyed with the officers. After an hour or so, we left with no more information than the first time around.

When I say I've done my time in Huntsville, it means something different than it does for most. Nonetheless, it was more than enough time for me. As many who are finally let out those exit doors surely say: "I'm not going back."

Last night I dreamed that I woke up with straps across my chest
And something cold and black pullin' through my lungs
‘N even Jesus couldn't save me though I know he did his best
But he don't live on Ellis Unit One
--Steve Earle, "Ellis Unit One"

Statements made in this post are my own and are not intended to reflect the views, thoughts or position of the Michigan Attorney General or the Michigan Department of Attorney General.

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Arrogance + Stupidity = Life in the Pen

by Connie Park

One of the true advantages of being a homicide detective is seeing people at their best, and at their worst. When I think of people at their worst, Vellar Clark comes to mind.

Houston Police Department Homicide Sgt. Gonzales and I were working Evening Shift on a cold Sunday afternoon in March of 2006. We received a call that a woman had been found shot to death behind a warehouse near Bush Intercontinental Airport in Houston, Texas.

My partner and I arrived at the scene and found a woman who had been shot in the back of the head. She was sitting on a motorcycle, and was slumped over. Next to the body, we found a white powder substance that resembled cocaine. Whoever committed this horrible killing wanted to make it look like a "dope deal gone bad." Our intuition, however, told us it was not.

We had the onerous task of calling this young woman's mother, and found out that she had been in a relationship with a man named Vellar Clark. We also put a name on the face of the woman we found dead at this lonely and isolated scene. Her name was Gwen Sneed. We resolved to find the person who did this, and we worked tirelessly to bring the perpetrator to justice.

We did not have to look very hard. Gwen's mother informed us that Gwen was happy about finding out she was pregnant. Gwen's mother also told us that Gwen had already lost a child at a young age, so she was thrilled about the prospect of being a mother. Gwen didn't have any enemies, and we knew that there was only one person who didn't want her to have that child. That one horrible person was none other than Vellar Clark.

Clark had gotten Gwen pregnant. He was also the father of Gwen's first child, who had been found dead in his crib under very suspicious circumstances.

We brought Clark in to find out where he was on the afternoon that Gwen was shot. He told us that he had seen her earlier in the day, but they left on good terms and he went home. He denied ever calling Gwen on the day that she had been killed. However, he did not realize that he had left a trail. We cut him loose and obtained his cell phone records. What we found out was telling—he had called her no fewer than six times on the day she was shot in the back of the head. He had initially denied being at the scene, but due to the activity on his phone, we knew that he was less than one-quarter of a mile from the scene when Gwen made a call on her cell phone. He lied to us, and we knew it. He was guilty, and we had to go about proving it.

After working tirelessly on shoring up this case, we developed enough evidence to get an arrest warrant for Vellar Clark. We had discovered that he owned a .45 semi automatic Smith & Wesson, which was consistent with the spent round that was found in Gwen's head.

Months after this killing had taken place, Vellar Clark was arrested. We interviewed him again, and again, he vehemently denied being at the murder scene. He told us that he had dated Gwen Sneed in the past, but denied being told that she was pregnant. We confronted him with his own cell phone records, and he was boxed into a corner.

Clark then admitted to being at the scene, but told us that Gwen had shot herself with his gun because he told her "she couldn't be with him." He had convinced himself that he was so important, Gwen would take her life and that of her unborn child simply because she was depressed about getting dumped. We caught him in so many lies that we lost count. We asked him to reenact exactly how Gwen "shot herself." His explanation was laughable.

Nearly two years later, we went to trial. We worked hard with the prosecuting attorney on the case to find justice for Gwen Sneed. We did. After a five-day trial, it took a jury less than three hours to convict Vellar Clark of Capital Murder. It was a capital murder because Clark shot Gwen in the head, knowing that she was pregnant.

We found out that he did it, basically because he viewed the victim as a nuisance and didn't want to pay child support for her baby. He was already paying child support for two other kids he had fathered out of wedlock. While Gwen was a daughter, a sister, and a very loving person to those who knew her, she was nothing but a financial burden to Vellar Clark.

And guess what, Clark's stupidity and his arrogance caught up with him. He will have the rest of his life in a Texas prison to think about it.

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