This entry was written in the spring of 2017 but not published.
Memorial Day, 2017
Two bags of Fritos Scoops
A quart of Bill’s famous chili-based dip
Three tomato sandwiches on white bread (with mayo, salt, and pepper)
A pound of mozzarella with roma tomatoes, lemon pepper, olive oil and fresh basil
Eight steaks, marinated by the steak-marinade pro (Bill) and grilled to perfection
Eight ears of corn, grilled in the husk
Half a gallon of potato salad, by the potato-salad-making pro (also Bill), and topped with bacon.
Three onions, grilled whole
Two green peppers, grilled whole
Six Cheerwine ice cream bars
Four Klondike brand ice cream sandwiches
Countless cans of Mt. Dew, Cheerwine, and Pepsi
This list? The food served at our house today (Memorial Day) as we hosted three incarcerated gentlemen from the local prison. They have served over 70 years among them, and each has some more to go before they are ultimately free again.
I was struck, as I often am, by the gentle calm and humility of the men as they sat in my living room and later on my deck.. I believe this is the winning combination for those who will make it to the end of their sentence and then be successful in the community following their release. The men I meet who are still full of bravado, who believe they have all the answers -- those men seem destined to return to incarceration. The gentlemen in my house today, though, exude calm, gratitude, and reserve. After decades of being frustrated by an obtuse system and having to swallow emotions to get along with literally hundreds of people literally all the time, they have channeled any negativity into peace and (now) gratitude to be in our quiet living room.
Bill recently had to replace his smartphone, and as part of the deal, he was offered a new Google Home device. So we have this gray device, about the size of a wide-mouthed, pint Mason jar, and when you ask it a question, it answers. It has a remarkably powerful speaker on it--the sound is absolutely incredible. The other night, a Facebook meme about “The Lion Sleeps Tonight” being only “a whim away,” got me craving that song so I said, “OK Google, play The Lion Sleeps Tonight.” And it did, followed by a delightful romp down memory lane with Johnny B Goode, Splish Splash and Rockin’ Robin, among many others.
So today, we set the rounded gray device on the porch and said, “Ok Google, tell me the weather.” And the pleasant woman’s voice responded with the current temp and a warning that it was going to thunderstorm later in the day. The three visitors smiled in surprise.
Bill asked Chip, who has “been down” for over 20 years, what his favorite music is. “Iron Maiden!” he responded enthusiastically. Bill said, “Ok Google, play Iron Maiden,” and the cheerful female voice replied with some information about the Google Play list, and then the music burst forth from the tiny device, filling the space between us all and rocking out our small porch. Chip’s eyes grew big as saucers, and even the slightly sassier other two had to admit it was pretty amazing. I went in, then, to fix the tomato-mozz plate and could hear them on the porch taking turns saying “Ok Google,” and picking a new song. I’m not sure they made it through any single song all the way, but they enjoyed the experience and teased each other for their choices.
At one point Dave came into the kitchen and we got talking about his job as a cook at a local restaurant and his love of food. He was pleased to see the tomato-mozz plate being prepared and helped himself of some of the rejected slices of both cheese and tomato. I don’t think Stan or Chip had ever had that particular combination, and they were effusive in their gratitude for it, once the plate went onto the small table between them and was quickly consumed.
I watched as they waved to the neighbors who drove by in either direction -- happily seated on our suburban porch, smiling and waving at the Memorial Day passers by. On our block, everyone waves, and we talked a little about how nice it is to have such great neighbors.
Dave and Bill were overseeing the grill, where the steaks, corn and vegetables were being prepared, and soon enough we were passing plates of food and chomping on our small feast. We made a list of everyone’s favorite foods and what they really have trouble getting. We included what they absolutely didn’t ever want to have, and no surprise that “turkey ham” (wth???) and stewed okra topped the list. I know someone else with the same aversion, and I gave him a can of stewed okra on the one-year anniversary of his release as a reminder that from now on -- forever and ever -- he could say no. He never again has to settle for stewed okra or sweet potatoes or pork products made from turkeys and nitrates, when what he really wants is steak.
We got talking, then, about our childhoods, and all three said they had lovely childhoods--that their parents were caring and attentive, and they always had what they needed. I wasn’t surprised, actually -- these men whose circumstances had led them down three different, but equally tragic paths. None was without empathy; none had difficulty feeling connected to the people around them or the web of life energy that flows through everything.
Eddie the Wonderdawg injured his knee literally minutes before Bill had left to pick them up, so when they arrived, we were still working out the logistics of keeping Eddie calm and off his feet. Each took a turn going over to him, introducing themselves, petting his face and making a gentle, loving eye contact. Each talked about pets they’d had and how much they had loved the connection to animals. They spoke to each other and to us about the feral cat population on the camp and how they work to take care of the cats -- how the animals can tell which people have good energy and which to avoid, and how they each take their cues from the cats when they don’t otherwise know.
When our six-hour visit was over, and it went so quickly, I was sad to say good-bye but happy to know we would be seeing them each again soon.
The journey to Memorial Day had started a few months ago when we got word that we were finally able to attend the volunteer orientation at the local prison. As a woman, I am only able to participate in volunteer events that happen at the prison itself. Bill, though, was able to sign up as a sponsor to assist with community integration events, such as hosting three men at our house for a Memorial Day dinner.
The orientation was an interesting experience -- unlike any other I’ve attended. The entire group was included in the first section, where on-site volunteers and community sponsors were “trained’ together. The entire training consisted of a thorough and well-presented discussion of PREA, or the Prison Rape Elimination Act of (hold onto your hats) 2003. It is the first Federal legislation to address the rape of prisoners, and it was passed in the 21st century. Less than 20 years ago. (If you haven’t already, do look for John Oliver’s rant about prison rape. He brings his usual wit and sharp understanding to this not-very-complex-but-somehow-still-perplexing problem, and I love him for it.)
So the on-site volunteers and the community sponsor volunteers sat through this extensive presentation about prison rape elimination and the consequences of a sexualized relationship with incarcerated individuals, and then the on-site volunteers were sent on their way with a schedule of on-site events. No discussion of how to get in touch with lead volunteers for each program; no discussion of what the programs entail or what one might expect from any of them. “Off you go. You’ll get your volunteer card in a couple of months, and you can’t come onto the camp until then.” The staff person in charge of volunteers later complained of the attrition rate following these volunteer training events (that happen exactly once a year -- no more, not ever, no no no.) Attrition? After this highly organized, insightful training? No way!
The community sponsor volunteers were handed a copy of the rules and asked if they had any questions. Shockingly, there were quite a few.
Oh, and the state requires a reference for each community sponsor. So please turn to the person next to you, introduce yourselves, and complete a reference for each other. Wait, what? Yep. The state requires it. So here’s your reference.
There were about three wives still in the room, although there were many more community sponsor volunteers there. I wondered why there wasn’t more of an effort to include household members in the training. After all, in a men’s prison, shouldn’t the wives be informed of the PREA as well? Yeah, well, if Jenny was running the place, a lot of things would be different.
After almost eight weeks of waiting, we finally got our volunteer cards and were able to attend a volunteer event on a Tuesday evening. I had heard about this program on Tuesdays -- I was told that the volunteers sit at tables, and the incarcerated men were happy to have the opportunity to talk in an unstructured way. It opens with a prayer, there are announcements, and it closes with a prayer, but it is otherwise an unstructured opportunity to discuss life issues and, in some cases, prepare men for their release.
On this particular Tuesday, we walked into a room with volunteers sitting, as Bill had described, at different tables. Some tables had one, others had two volunteers, and all tables had mostly empty seats. Bill had been going a couple more times than I -- I was on call, actually, the week the cards arrived. So I had a vision of my other experiences with unstructured crowds, where I am the nerd sitting at the empty table, and people are walking by as I’m making friendly, smiling eye contact, waving; but they walk past, choosing any other table but mine. This is an experience I’ve had far too many times to dismiss, and I was sure I would find myself at the one empty table in an entire room of volunteers and residents. But I should have realized Bill had already gathered a crowd, and as soon as door on the resident side was opened, a rush human energy filled the room, all boisterous, pleasant, and joyful. Five incarcerated men sat at our large table, their seats pre-determined in that way social order naturally happens among people who know each other well. Two were Chip and Stan, whom we had taken out on pass the Sunday before, and several others joined us as well. I had trouble hearing in the ambient noise of the room, but could feel the positive energy regardless of what was being said. After a few minutes to greet one another, we listened to an opening prayer and then the announcement about proposed legislation to increase minimum sentencing (you know, to fill all those for-profit prisons that are currently under capacity), and the efforts of some to fight it. We heard from someone scheduled for release in a couple weeks -- take care of yourself; stay focused on yourself; stay away from toxic people. A message we could all hear more often. Snacks were then served with remarkable efficiency; I saw another volunteer I know, who introduced us to Dave; and before I knew it, the closing prayer was being offered, and we soon ushered out the door.
I can’t wait to go back to the Tuesday group, and I can’t wait to host the guys back at our house. Work schedules means I will see more of Chip and Stan, and Bill will likely be the one who sees the most of Dave. For now, we’ll focus on the next pass, the next Tuesday event.
Blessed be, y’all. It’s such a strange and wonderful journey...
