Bill to rename prison honors tireless advocate for female inmates, victims

Most people like the idea of having a school or a park named after them. Or maybe a hotel. But Florence McClure never has been like most people. She's delighted with the thought that she will be honored by having her name placed on something she can be proud of ... a women's prison.

"This will survive," she said Friday.

At 85, she knows about survival. And how to get things done.

McClure has two big notches on her belt. She started the Rape Crisis Center in 1974, pestering the Legislature to change antiquated laws so that rape victims weren't victimized again in emergency rooms and courtrooms. Her second major victory was persuading legislators to abandon the philosophy that prisons should be in remote rural locations for economic development, and instead put women's prisons closer to where most people live. The women's prison was moved to North Las Vegas in 1997.

"My middle name is persistence," she said, explaining her successes.

McClure didn't expect immediate results. She was in it for the long haul. But she knew how to rally women's groups and lobby lawmakers to get changes that improved women's lives in Nevada.

Sometimes lawmakers and attorneys would see her coming and duck down hallways to avoid her because once she had them, it was a good 45 minutes of impassioned conversation until they could escape.

"I was fairly strong-willed if I knew I was in the right," she said. "I was more articulate than I am right now," she added, a gentle reference to her fading memory.

A big smile crossed her face when I told her that Senate Bill 330 to rename the Southern Nevada Women's Correctional Facility in North Las Vegas as the Florence McClure Women's Correctional Center had passed the state Senate unanimously Thursday.

"I didn't know that," she said, obviously delighted.

Before the vote, state Sen. Bob Coffin, D-Las Vegas, said, "She's been a legend for 40 years in Southern Nevada. Single-handedly, she educated judges, police and hospital employees about how to treat women who have been raped."

The woman nicknamed "Hurricane Flo" is more delicate now than when she lobbied her first Legislature in 1975. Her soft brown hair and beautifully manicured hands show she still cares about her appearance as well as women's issues.

She and her husband, James, a retired Air Force major, had lived all over and had no plan to stay here permanently when they moved here in 1966. But stay they did, for the rest of their 59-year marriage, which ended when he died two years ago.

Florence McClure's interest in rape victims stemmed not from any personal experience, but from the way she saw rape victims handled in the military.

"I was angry with the way cases were dismissed in the military. They were always belittling the woman, which didn't sit well with me."

Marlene Adrian, president of Women of Diversity Productions, produced the documentary "Hurricane Florence" about McClure's life, including how she began operating a rape counseling center out of her home in 1973 until realizing that meant she couldn't get grant money.

McClure was the first in Nevada to realize that sitting in the courtroom with the victims puts pressure on judges and prosecutors. She was the force that stopped rape victims from being questioned about their past sex lives. It wasn't just one bill she lobbied for, it was many. Spousal rape, child pornography, victim compensation.

Today she lives with her daughter, Carolyn McClure Dunne, in Henderson. Dunne remembered her mother's dedication to a women's prison in Southern Nevada was so intense that, despite back surgery that made her unable to get up, she called lawmakers from her bed to lobby them for a site in Southern Nevada where women would be able to see their children and families more often.

There's a story that she convinced legislators to move the women's prison to Southern Nevada by describing, then showing deplorable conditions in Carson City. At night, female prisoners weren't allowed to use the bathroom. They had to urinate and defecate in coffee cans placed under their beds.

A surprise visit by legislators, orchestrated by McClure, exposed the coffee cans and prodded lawmakers toward funding a new women's prison in North Las Vegas, the prison that soon will carry Florence McClure's name.

Jane Ann Morrison's column appears Monday, Thursday and Saturday. E-mail her at Jane@reviewjournal.com or call 383-0275.