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The Bench. It's a winter's night in 1991.

It's a winter's night in 1991. The air in Benetsville, near the northern border of South Carolina, feels more

like spring than the usual chill of February.

The peaceful chirping of Cicadas breaks the silence around Evans Correctional Institution,

fences with double-raiser wire, separate it from the rest of the world. During the day this prison is full of noise from

over a thousand inmates but at night it's quiet. The prisoners are locked in their cells and now and then you hear the

shuffle of a guard's feet on patrol. The men here are the state's worst.

Murderers, rapists, and criminals too high risk to go anywhere

else.

On this night, one inmate has waited for the noise to die down,

for the guard's footsteps to fade into the night.

He's waiting for the right moment to press record. I am John Todd and his tape is being made in the

prison cell in South Carolina. It is very late at night. All the inmates are locked down in their cells.

It used to her noises off and on.

John is six foot four. His wiry frame is hunched over a contraband cassette recorder.

And if the guards come by, I have to stop and be very quiet.

John has a message for the world outside the prison walls.

...