Elmira, NY
11:55 PM
It’s Saturday night and I am home, alone. It’s been many many weekend nights since I haven’t gone out and about. There is no desire tonight. My mind is filled with too many images and thoughts.
I wasn’t sure if I was going to go, but I was the only way my mom was going to make it. As we pulled in and walked up the steps to the barbed wire fences, I was still unsure. Once we checked in with the guard and the iron bars mechanically shut with a thunderous boom, I knew there was no going back. I was now locked in a maximum security jail for the next three hours of my life. I was not there because I did anything wrong and had to do community service. I was not there getting paid to do anything. I was there to meet a group of inmates who had decided to spend the weekend getting closer to Jesus. My dad was a volunteer for the weekend and led a team of inmates on their retreat. My mom and I came down to show support.
Leading up to the weekend, I wasn’t too hip on the idea. Weekends are my time to emerge from the shell that writing keeps me in Monday through Friday. It’s my time to meet new people and get my social interaction. Gas prices caused me to not want to drive the 2.5 hours. The thought of a maximum security lock down was also not appealing. But, I had said I was going, so I was not going to back out. You don’t have much if you don’t have your word.
So there I was, the lobby bars opened. They stamped my hand with ink that only was visible under a scanner. I showed my hand, and another set of bars slid open. The group of 9 of us split up, with those that could not take the stairs going to an elevator somewhere. I followed the guard with the billy club swaying from his hip. The bars slammed shut behind us. We were in.
After about 50 paces he opened up another gate and we began to climb stairs. I could hear the voices of inmates. I was not scared, just curious, but did not stare. There was no one to stare at. As I walked up the flights, in between floors, once we turned, I could see down the long corridor. It was at least three stories high and went as far as my eye could see. Just metal and a 6 foot wide hall. No one was milling about, just sounds and emptiness. I’m trying to think of a movie to compare it to. It was like Shawshank, but there was not an open area in the middle. The cells exited to the six foot hallway and there was nothing else but a tall wall. There was just metal.
After climbing four or five sets of stairs we arrived to the chapel area. There were two guards sitting at the front of the church. I could hear a buzz from inside, but could not see anything. Ray, the guitar man, handed me a song sheet. I took off my coat and tried to remember the rules: Don’t give out your last name. Don’t say which city you are from. Only guy hugs are allowed, handshake and one arm. Don’t ask why they are in.
And Ray started to play a song I can’t recall the name of, but the lyrics talked about being in prison and how there was still a plan for you. He strummed the guitar with force and the group of us followed him, past the guards. We entered the chapel.
A group of 50 people were silent and they turned to see us. We followed Ray and his music if we were snakes being led out by the Pied Piper. He belted out the words. We tried to keep up. My voice is as full as my head of hair, but I didn’t care. The eyes from the group were locked on us. I was shocked by the overwhelming feeling of peace inside of me. There was no fear. The looks of the team leaders was strong, but the smiles and the claps of the men, the inmates were intense. They clapped and sang along with us. After walking from the front of the chapel toward the men in the back, we met up. Ray played. We sang. My dad gave me a hug. The men stared at me and smiled. I shook some hands as the music played on. By this time the new song to me had passed me by. I was clapping throughout and singing during the refrain.
Ray gave the guitar one final strum and everyone erupted in cheering. The men from my dad’s table greeted me warmly. They gave me the guy hug, “God bless you. Thanks for coming,” they said passionately. I told them I was glad to be there. I meant it.
The inmates were a mix of white, black, and Hispanic. There were many ages. I guessed form 18 to a white haired man in his 60’s. At my dad’s table was a black guy as wide as the big guy from The Green Mile. He was a rock, but was about my height. The man sitting closest to me was Hispanic and smiled wide. At the back of a table was black guy with glasses. He fidgeted with a deck of cards and smiled. Next to him was a white guy who looked like a guy I knew from college.
All around the room the inmates greeted the newcomers. We were a big mob of handshakes and hugs. There faces were beaming in joy. So were ours.
The groups moved back to their respective tables and sat down. The guy with the cards and I spoke the most and he had the fastest hands I’d ever seen. He did two card tricks that blew me away. He could’ve cleaned Vegas out. He was asking me about the Sabres playoff hockey game, but I only had a 1-1 score in the second. He was excited to hear it.
The leader of the retreat held his hand up in what I think is the I Love You sign. The room went silent and he began to share what a weekend it had been so far. Then a man form the volunteer team gave what they called the Peace Talk. He shared stories about his life and how his faith had been a part of it. The leader then came back to the front and asked if we wanted to talk about the story. The men said yes. He said no. “Now we want to hear from you. Tell us a little bit about what this weekend has meant to you.” The men fidgeted at the tables.
The table I was at was called first. I stayed seated and focused on the men in green pants. The stories shared in the following two hours were incredibly powerful. One by one the men shared. Some were very nervous. Others glad to speak. Some needed interpreters. One man said he had never hugged so many men prior to this weekend. I thought the same thing. One man from another country said he wrestled with the fact he has no contact with his family. One man shared his inner battle after his daughter died while he was inside. He teared up. Some of the men broke down. Some shared hardships of their life. Others shared how much it meant that others cared enough to come and meet them and help them get closer to God. They used that term a lot, getting closer to God. Many of the men said they had made mistakes and they were paying for them, but they said they were still human beings and that they could change. They told all of us that they could change. They told each other they had to change.
One man quoted from a book I had read, As a Man Thinketh, by James Allen. It is about the power of your mind. You are the only one, wherever you are, you are the one that controls your thoughts and actions. He said they had to apply this weekend to beyond. To not get caught up in what happens once they leave the chapel. I could only imagine what it must be like once they left the chapel.
Men said they had been there for 15 years. Some said they were there for 25 to life. I didn’t know what they had done. And I didn’t ask. I just listened and thought. The energy from the room was intense.
A younger man from another country said he had never talked so openly and honestly with another man as he had on the retreat. Many talked about their wife and their kids and what they were missing out on.
The man from the peace talk gave some great words, “You can’t unscramble scrambled eggs.” Some of the men quoted that. You can only learn and grow from the mistakes that have been made. The men that I met today left a mark on me. They were working hard to get closer to God. It brought them peace in their mind and lives. Some said they had never felt peace until they started to work on getting closer.
After three hours, I hugged each man in green. They thanked me for coming. Some asked if I was coming back tomorrow. I had to tell them no. The energy they received from having strangers take an interest in them was incredible. I realize they have done bad things to get into this place, but you cannot fault anyone for trying to make a change and better themselves. To try and find peace where little exists. I haven’t had bad things happen to me or my family by someone else’s hands, so I don’t know what it is like to have to wrestle with forgiveness and revenge. It might not be so easy to let eggs stay scrambled.
But what I saw today showed me the power of the will and the mind. Day after day, staring at the walls, not seeing the light of day, there are still people fighting to find their peace. They are fighting to live the life they want. They are fighting to become who they want to be, not who they were. All in their mind.
So I take that struggle with me tonight. The fight and the battle to become who you want is easier for those of us on the outside. As I get aggravated at the length of time it takes to swim and navigate in the ocean that is the publishing industry, tonight I feel recharged that I have to keep the will and harness the power of my mind. And I am thankful I took the time to drive down to a maximum security prison to meet some of the inmates. Their passion to change has rubbed off on me. And I feel like I moved closer to God.