Calling the Operator from Behind Bars: Norfolk’s City Jail Librarian Who Overcame Odds

By Terrance Afer-Anderson

There was a time before cellphones, when you could pick up a landline, dial 0, and a well-informed woman would provide assistance with any call you needed to make. For Paterson, New Jersey native Derrick Hansford, it proved quite a personal experience. He says, “I used to be able to go and hit the 0, the operator button on the phone, on a payphone or anything, and just automatically get my grandmother.” His grandmother worked as a telephone operator for the Bell Atlantic telephone company.

Like most African American grandmothers, Hansford’s was an ebullient pool of wisdom in his youth, though, having known both juvenile and adult detention, he didn’t always take heed. Yet, she is no doubt still today somewhat of an omnipotent presence, in his ear today, as he earnestly seeks to answer the call of many incarcerated persons seeking assistance.

He works as a librarian at the Norfolk City Jail. When first meeting him in the Jail’s Programs Office, I instantly knew his was a deep, rich and compelling story worthy of sharing.

We sat at a steel picnic table a stone’s throw from the secured employee/contractor entrance at the Jail. He wore his traditional thobe, which is a long, ankle-length robe, and a knitted kufi cap. His attire ever speaks volumes of his impassioned dedication to his Muslim faith.

As we chatted, the occasional bell of Norfolk Light Rail trains arriving and departing the system’s Civic Plaza station, appeared to echo the summons he now imparts to incarcerated men and women, counseling them to correct their own journeys. But I wanted to know more about his very own troubled early years.

“I was in the streets,” he said. “Between the ages of 8 and 9, I had always been involved in street-dealing. I actually sniffed my first bag of dope when I was 8 years old. The drug was ‘heron’ (heroin).

“Down the street from my house, ‘on the block’ called Market Street, we used to hang out. We would go down there and play video games.

“There was a drug dealer who used to keep his stash there. He recruited us and every day we would go down there to watch over his drugs which were behind the machine.  He would pay us $25 in quarters as long as we’d stayed there. If we ran out of quarters, he’d give us another bag. One day one of my friends found one of the bags. So, we ran home and the next thing you know we’re saying, ‘Hey! Let’s have a party.’ We sat in a circle sniffing.

But the drug was much different than the group of 8 and 9-year-old youth had anticipated. “Everybody started groaning,” he said, all chiming, ‘Ah man! This is nasty!’”

Hansford shifted at the metal picnic table bench, noting, “That was my first experience in engaging in drugs, but from there it was just one of those things. I began selling drugs.”

***

He was only 12 to 14 years old when he commenced selling drugs. He recalled trips into Manhattan and managing to get into high-ed clubs like Studio 54 and the Roseland Ballroom to ply his wares. But it wasn’t drugs that introduced him to the Virginia penal system.

“I went down for the crime of robbery,” he said, “but I didn’t rob anyone. I went to a gas station on Raby Road.” 

He had been pumping gas when he saw an old acquaintance, one who owed him $500. Yet he had no interest in settlement. He just wanted to see his friend. As he approached, he said, “Yo, Man! How’ve you been?” Hansford paused for a moment, then continued. “Before I could say anything else, he took off running.”

A stranger, a woman, had been standing nearby. Unsolicited, she spoke up, saying that the person taking flight must have been afraid of him and owed him money.

Hansford then realized that the woman was his friend’s wife. She asked how much did her husband owe. He advised $500. She said she didn’t have that much and asked if he would accept $250. It was then that he realized they were standing next to an ATM machine.

She then shared that she only had $200 to give him. He said that was cool, accepted the money and thought “that was that.”

“A couple of weeks later, as he was returning to Norfolk crossing the Chesapeake Bay Bridge Tunnel complex, his mother began frantically buzzing him on his pager. After completing his crossing, he pulled over to the side of the road and called his mother. She advised that the police had come by looking for him.

The next day, he went down to the police station to investigate their interest. Hansford was stunned to learn that he was being charged with robbery and abduction. Eventually, he said, a “Judge sentenced me to 50 years with 30 years to do.

“In the beginning I was angry, hurt and confused. I was wondering how is this happening to me. What did I do to deserve a life sentence?

“I can remember my mom screaming like she was at my funeral. The judge asked me if I had any final words and I just responded to him, ‘Alhamdulillah,’ which means ‘All praises and thanks belong to God,’ and then he was like, ‘Take him out of the courtroom.’

“And when I got to prison… man… I wanted to kill myself.”

***

Over the next 25 years, Hansford served his sentence at fourteen different correction centers.” The only explanation I can give you for that,” he said, “is that I was a very influential person. I was an Islamic leader. I was a community leader.”

In this moment, Hansford’s recollection became overwhelming, He teared up, lowered his head and his ever-prominent spirit appeared to waft deep inside, desperate to seek a moment’s peace, a respite, from this haunting memory. Eventually, he found his words.

“It was tough,” he said. He then repeated himself, his words now but a mere whisper. “It was tough.”

***

We talked again about his youth and how it is that he became a Muslim.

“When I was a kid I was a 5%er,” he said. “A 5%er believes that the Black Man is God.” He noted that Nation of Islam leader Clarence 13X was “The Father of the 5%ers.”

Later, his faith would bode quite well for him. 

“Having that faith was the key to my surviving. I came to accept the reality that I might not make it home. That doesn’t mean I can’t change my life. I dedicated myself to remaking and remolding who I was. Drugs and alcohol can make you do deviant things. I didn’t want that in my life anymore. I just want to love and be loved. I just want to uplift and pick up.”

He says proudly, “I am the first hired returning citizen at the Norfolk City Jail, hired by Sheriff Joseph Baron and I am so appreciative of that.”

Hansford gets emotional again. He can’t conceal his tears on this occasion.

Eventually, he regains his composure and continues to heap well-deserved praise on Sheriff Baron. “He’s truly a genuine man.” Of the opportunity granted, he added, “It changed my life.”

***

As a librarian at the Jail, Hansford still gets copious opportunities to counsel the men and women who might call on him from behind domicile walls predominated by iron bars.

“I tell them,” he said, “this is your come up. Do you want to be dead and alive at the same time? If you think these bars are stopping you from what you’re doing, then you have already been defeated.”

Refusing to himself be defeated, Hansford conceived and developed numerous programs while behind and beyond bars. His Community of United Focus was created in 2011 at the Deerfield Correctional Center. It was originally known as Community United Faiths, as its founding leaders included the Muslim Hansford, and two partners, a Christian and Hindi.

He also earned a certificate as a drug and alcohol treatment specialist and created the What about Drugs program. He created as well the Man-to-Man to Maintaining Nurture program.

Towards the end of our chat as another Light Rail bell chimed, with great enthusiasm and spirit, Hansford added, “I got blessed to come home December 17, 2020.” Yet, his work still continues.

He worked with a group of men to establish the Men’s G.R.O.U.P. (Giving Resource and Opportunity for Unifying People), a dynamic, very busy, prolific organization he says is committed to “Bring back the foundation of family.” If you’re interested in knowing much of what they are doing, go to their Instagram page, at https://www.instagram.com/mensgroupunited/

On occasion, some men and women at the Norfolk City Jail might be able to hear the Light Rail. Or it just might be after they’ve call upon Hansford for counsel, and he steps up like his grandmother, an operator.

Terrance Afer-Anderson is a writer, actor, director and producer. He is also President/CEO, TerraVizion Entertainment Network.