Inside the Shelby County Jail: What a Commercial Appeal reporter saw inside 201 Poplar

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12-02-2025

Four people detained at the Shelby County Jail, commonly called 201 Poplar, died between Feb. 1 and Feb. 7.
Though waiting on a medical examiner to release official causes of death, one is believed to have died from an overdose. Another is believed to have died after committing suicide outside his cell. A likely cause of death for two others has not been released.
The deaths have bolstered concerns over the jail's safety. Shelby County Sheriff Floyd Bonner has advocated for a new jail for years, with little success.
The Shelby County Sheriff's Office invited reporters including a reporter from The Commercial Appeal, to tour the jail after the deaths.
Here's what a CA reporter saw during that tour.
We were brought in through the employee entrance, guided by Shelby County Chief Deputy Anthony Buckner and flanked by jail command staff and the sheriff's office communications team. Buckner had each reporter leave all electronics — cell phones, smart watches, recorders — in a conference room, so we each were carrying a pen and pad of paper.
Fashion sense aside, the tour of nine media members likely resembled the reporters who toured the building when it opened in 1981. Forty-four years later — which is about 132 years in jail time, according to Bonner who said the jail ages about three years for each year it operates — the group of reporters were brought in to see how the facility had deteriorated.
Each of us signed in and turned over our drivers licenses to a corrections officer. We wouldn't get those back until we left the building. Buckner did not make us go through the Tek84 scanner — a similar body-scanning device to what airports use.
We did pass through a metal detector (some of us set it off multiple times). Despite that hiccup, we all passed security.
Buckner and Capt. Alisa Styles led our group down a winding path toward the intake waiting area. We passed under bright yellow "Jail Values" signage posted to the walls, each bearing words like "Loyalty" or "Respect."
The deeper in we went, the more stale the air became. It was like an old gym, dry and dusty.
Around a cinderblock corner, we reached our first barred entrance. A loud buzz went off and the bars, painted a light brown color, slid open. Turning around another corner, we came across the first of the jail's major malfunctions.
The set of escalators that runs from the bottom floor to the fifth floor of the jail were out of order.
"They haven't worked for years," Buckner told us before laying out how exhausting an emergency situation can become when a correctional officer has to run up multiple flights escalator steps, and the difficulty of taking critically injured inmates down them to reach the hospital.
My legs would, by the end of the tour, be a little shaky from the trek.
From there, we were brought to the intake holding area. Almost 50 new detainees were sitting in plastic chairs around the room. Others were in holding cells. Some were talking to people on the phones — which are free and have no limit on the number of calls made. Inmates watched the two working TVs blankly.
There were also men asleep in the chairs. I saw one asleep on the floor until a corrections officer woke him up and had him sit in a seat.
A reporter would go on to say the room "looked full" and deputies quickly replied: "That's not full."
Each of those inmates had been brought in from the initial intake room, where they were searched and changed into jumpsuits. When we first walked in, an inmate was cleaning the floors. The smell of chlorine was strong and made my eyes water.
"It's not bleach, but it's close," Styles said of the smell. "We like it because we know we need it."
Through another door, which we also needed to be buzzed in through, we walked down a hallway with a large sign reading "QUIET" toward the lower level cells.
Styles told us that inmates are kept in those cells for their first 14 days, but sometimes are held longer because other cells may not be open yet.
The jail's main facility was built in the 80s and there is no natural light in it. That's in violation of the Tennessee Corrections Institute's current policies, but 201 Poplar gets a pass during inspections because that mandate came years after its construction.
The lower level was similar to a basement, and the warm, stale air did not help change that comparison.
Each pod, which has its own cells, looked like a large storage unit. Between each pod was a hallway for deputies to patrol. It was also where maintenance was working to update valves and replace rusted floor panels. Small fans were scattered throughout the hallways to dry water that leaked from the showers.
Walking up the out-of-order escalators, we popped into the jail's medical floor. There is no infirmary in the jail, but inmates with behavioral health and mental health concerns — or some with injuries — are kept on the second floor. Unused crutches and walkers were lined up in a side room, and a table in that same room had Christmas decorations on it.
The pod Buckner showed us was full and had completed puzzles hung up on the walls. Many of the inmates were watching TV.
It was warm and muggy on that floor. Buckner said the boiler system in the jail makes it difficult to adjust to Memphis' constantly fluctuating temperatures. Added to the trouble is when the entire water system, boiler included, needs to be turned off if an inmate were to flush something down the toilet that isn't ground up enough.
On the walk to the fourth floor, where the high-security inmates are kept, Buckner noted that most of the time inmates are in their cells and don't have access to natural light. Sometimes they are brought to the outside gym for light, he said.
Inmates held in most areas of the jail only see sunlight when taken outside. The courtrooms at 201 Poplar are all windowless.
After climbing a couple more flights on the decommissioned escalator — a steep walk — we were met by banging and yelling from inmates on the fourth floor. The previous floors were mostly quiet, but the fourth was rowdier.
Inmates, crowded into their pods, pressed against one another at the windows and tried to get our attention. One seemed to mouth to me, "It's bad. It's really bad."
Two pods were devoid of detainees while renovations were being done. This area was one that had malfunctioning locks on the cells, which allowed inmates to roam their pods freely.
Fans in the hallways pushed around the air, making it slightly cooler.
We were allowed inside the vacant, 6-foot by 9-foot cells, which featured steel bunk beds, a single metal toilet, a stainless steel mirror (no glass there) and a light over the sink. The stone walls were chipped in places and much of the metal in the cells had rust.
Some of the bedframes had round chunks of metal missing. Deputies said that inmates sometimes use sheets to file away at the frames to make knives. The edges of the frames were still sharp from where those chunks were filed off.
The lock changes aren't the only updates happening to the cells, though. Matthew Robinson, the jail maintenance manager, said they plan to scrape the rust off the cells, repaint and add grates to the lights and one-way glass. The grates — which have been added to some cells — dim the lights inside a cell, but prevent inmates from breaking the lights to get a powder Buckner said is used to get high.
Those charged with low-level offenses are detained on the fifth floor of the jail, a general population area. When we arrived, some inmates were facing the walls and a team of heavily armed officers — and some dogs — were doing a shakedown.
A mural was painted above the entryway. It included an image of Downtown Memphis and a sign for Serenity Towers — the same name as a local apartment complex that has faced criticism for its conditions.
Support beams outside the barred general population area were covered in papier-mâché, making them resemble classic street lamps. This was the hottest floor we visited, and Buckner repeatedly said the heating conditions in the jail as a reason for why it is hard to hire, and retain, corrections officers.
One inmate was outside the barred general population room giving another inmate a haircut. As we passed him, Buckner hollered that he wanted a haircut. Buckner is bald.
Inside the barred area, 64 bunk beds were scattered around. There were no solo cells inside, and the jail's overcrowded nature was apparent there. If 201 Poplar runs out of bunk beds, which it has, deputies bring in plastic, sled-like cots — called "boats" — and place a mattress on top for the inmates to sleep on.
An industrial-sized fan was pumping air into this cell, but that did not seem to help much with the heat.
At the time of the tour, Buckner told us that there were 2,547 inmates at 201 Poplar. The jail has a capacity of 2,400 inmates, he said. The average daily population in the jail has risen steadily since 2020. For the entire year of 2024, the average daily population was 2,342 inmates, which was almost a 16% increase from the average in 2020.
The average population in the jail rose just over 13% between 2023 and 2024, according to SCSO data.
201 Poplar received two additions in 2002. The intake centers were redone and the annex was added. The jail's annex is another set of low-security jail cells but with natural light.
The difference was immediately noticeable in the pod, despite the rain outside. Inmates were playing chess, reading books and watching a movie on the TV inside. They were also quiet, and calm, even with multiple, ununiformed strangers walking into the area.
"This would be the goal," Buckner said of a potential new jail.
After the tour, I sat down with Bonner. The term-limited sheriff did not join us on the tour, but he recalled working in the jail when it first opened. He was still adamant that a replacement is needed and that "we are putting a band-aid on an open wound" when it comes to jail repairs.
"You know, the media called it the glamor slammer," Bonner said. "Well, it's nothing glamorous about it now. It's just old, outdated. We have security concerns. We have overcrowding. It's just a number of things. I would be advocating for a new jail, a more modern facility."
The annex has cells on two floors, and the higher ceilings made the area feel less claustrophobic — or as non-claustrophobic as a jail could be. The pod has a number of programs including a book club.
Buckner said there are fewer incidents inside the annex due to the space. If they need to vent, breathe, or process trauma, he said the annex works as a better place than other cells. In those other areas, other inmates may poke fun at someone for crying and spur fights.
After leaving the annex, a white light lit up on the wall. There were two other lights above and below the white one. Deputies said the light indicated a medical emergency somewhere in the jail, which forced us to remain in place.
Buckner told us that a policy is in place for all code emergencies that prevent unnecessary personnel from moving due to the cramped quarters on the escalators-turned-stairwells.
Eventually, however, Buckner led us back to the employee entrance for the jail — a feat I would not have completed without him due to the maze-like structure of 201 Poplar's halls. Our IDs were returned, and the air outside the jail seemed more fresh than when I walked into the building.
Lucas Finton covers crime, policing, jails, the courts and criminal justice policy for The Commercial Appeal. He can be reached by phone or email: [phone] and [e-mail], and followed on X @LucasFinton.
This article originally appeared on Memphis Commercial Appeal: Inside the Shelby County Jail: What a Commercial Appeal reporter saw