Ex-judge sees the flip side

They've given him a number and taken away his name. And his robe. And key.

Garey Ballance, the former District Court judge who was sentenced to nine months in prison for failing to pay taxes on a $20,000 cash gift from his father, began his sentence at a federal prison in Butner on Monday. He has traded in his judicial black robe for the khaki uniform of an inmate.

His father, former U.S. Rep. Frank Ballance, swapped his pinstriped suits for the same attire and began his four-year sentence at the prison Friday. He pleaded guilty to diverting taxpayer money to family, friends and charitable organizations he helped start.

For the next 273 days, the times Garey Ballance eats, sleeps, showers or shaves will be dictated by others. That seems like the ultimate indignity for a man accustomed to dictating to others how, and even where, they'd live.

It wasn't, though, at least not from where I stood.

Where I stood Friday afternoon was directly behind Ballance when he tried to enter a restricted part of the Franklin County Courthouse but was denied access.

He'd embarked on a sort of farewell tour of courthouses where he'd once presided to thank the workers who he said had made his judgeship easier.

I've known lots of people sentenced to prison, but they were led out of court in handcuffs and taken directly to their new residence.

As often happens in federal cases, though, the Ballances were given time to get their affairs in order and prepare themselves mentally, as much as possible, for being locked up.

At the courthouse door, he turned the handle. Nothing happened. Twice.

He then pushed the button to the intercom and asked the deputy at the front, the one who greeted him so warmly when we arrived, to let him into the restricted area.

"I'm sorry, I can't let you in. You need a card and a key," he said. "I'm sorry."

Ballance checked his wallet. "I've got a card, but I don't have a key," he told me.

The weeks since he was sentenced have flown by, he said, making hectic his last weekday before reporting to Butner. He laughed when asked whether he thought the next nine months will fly by, too.

The dude appears to have packed on some pounds since he was a judge -- or maybe the black robes really do make you look smaller -- but he said he hopes to work out and get into shape while in prison. He and his father will sleep in barracks, not cells with bars.

"I'm glad we won't be in cells," he said as we drove on back roads in his hometown, Warrenton. "I get claustrophobic."

Ballance spent part of Friday meeting with his attorney and tidying up business affairs.

His efforts to tidy things up led to yet another indignity to which a Judge Ballance probably wouldn't have been subjected.

Two banks declined to cash a check -- I've got some manners, so I didn't ask how much it was for -- and when we finally got to one that would, the teller left for several minutes while she went, presumably, to get approval.

"You want that in big bills?" she asked when she returned.

He did.

"Would you have had such trouble cashing that check if you were still a judge?" I asked.

"That's hard to say," he said. "They don't know me at this bank. I would usually just deposit a check like this, but since time is not exactly on my side right now..."

At the Warren County Courthouse, he exchanged hugs and chatted amiably with clerks.

At a couple of the stops, Ballance's eyes watered up. I considered asking, but then thought better of it, if he was choked up at the thought of what he was losing or what he was facing.

On the way out of the courthouse, Ballance suffered one final slap of reality when he stopped to check the mailboxes for judges and courthouse staff.

"I see they've taken down my mailbox," he said ruefully. "I guess that means I'm really out of here."

A few slow steps later, he was.