The Guys in the Dorm

Our dorm has 96 bunks, forty-eight sets of bunk beds. The school announced last week that a “college dorm” was being set up. There are approximately eighty guys enrolled in college and an IT certification program. In addition, there will be six dorm tutors/mentors. Big S and E are in college and the principal has asked me to be one of the dorm tutors. I know and work with the other five men chosen to be dorm tutors. It will be a good group and I’m excited about the change.



Each dorm tends to develop a personality. My building – 3A – is perhaps the calmest in the compound. We have a unique mix of men, yet not once in the past year has there been a theft or a fight.


Dorm life will change here in the next month or so. The Governor has named Lunenburg as a re-entry facility meaning resources will be directed here for men within two years of release. New inmates will be transferred here for intense educational and vocational programs.


There will be a college dorm, a dorm for the furniture shop employees, and a dorm for the kitchen staff. That’s approximately 300 men in three dorms that leaves another 900 men to get mixed into the remaining ten dorms.


I’m excited about the move and the new responsibilities, but I will miss living with these guys. Truth is, I’ve been blessed living with this group of misfits. They have cared for me and lifted me up when I’ve been down; they’ve given me things to laugh about daily. They have shown me great warmth and respect.


There are fourteen Hispanic inmates. A fifteenth – Hector – went home three days ago. Of the fourteen; two are Cuban, five Salvadorian, two Honduran, two Mexican, two Guatemalan and one from Bolivia.


By and large, they are a very religious group. Four are U.S. citizens; ten are here illegally. They are locked up for either drugs or assaults. One, Jonathan, could teach most women how to walk. He is perhaps the most flamboyant gay I’ve ever seen. I’ve helped almost every one of these guys with understanding their paperwork and the court system. In exchange, Senor Douglas helps me with Spanish (verb conjugation the past few weeks!) and they always include me in their meals.


I’ve changed my attitudes about dealing with illegal immigrants after living with these guys. When you realize that the vast majority of illegals come here to escape poverty, the scope of which is unimaginable to most of us, and want to be here because America offers hope for a future, you see things differently. Here’s a little something I learned: every one of these “illegals” was gainfully employed on the street and paying taxes.


There are twenty-four white guys in the building. With the exception of Big S, Beavers, Curt, Softball Jeff, JD, Max and me; every other white guy is in here on a sex crime. The “dungeons and dragons five” are all middle-aged, educated, and white, and all are either child molesters or pornographers. A couple of older white guys have spent years behind bars for rape. As I’ve written before, I struggle dealing with men convicted of sex crimes. I can’t begin to comprehend the brain functioning of a child molester or child pornographer. I try not to be judgmental, but I can’t escape the conclusion that they are just sick, twisted bastards. Rapists are just as bad.


The back guys run the gamut from uneducated small time drug users doing two or three year sentences (for their second or third time) to guys who have done long stretches for murder. As I’ve written before, I have a deep sense of respect for a number of these “long bid” guys.


There’s “P” (that’s his name. It’s short for penitentiary Pete). He just turned 43 and “celebrated” his 24th year locked up. He is a very kind, thoughtful man who at the age of 19 shot and killed a neighborhood rival. He has five more years before he hits his “mandatory parole date”. That’s the date DOC must let him go.


P has provided me great support as I’ve struggled this past year. He has a calmness about him that has developed over these long years of imprisonment. From guys like P, Jerry Lee, Black, Ced and Malik, I’ve learned that what Viktor Frankl wrote is true – a man can endure anything if he finds meaning in his suffering.


These guys have seen the worst prison has to offer. They’ve all killed men; they’ve all see men die in prison. They’ve all become thoughtful, insightful, compassionate as result of their incarceration. I count each of them as friends. I trust their judgment, their opinions. You cannot endure the degradation and hardships of that many years in prison and not grow wiser, humbler, more giving.


There’s “country Keith”, one of the strongest (physically) men I’ve ever seen. He defies every pre-conceived notion I had about black drug dealers. He talks like he stepped off the stage of the Grand Ole Opry. He’s as country as can be. There’s Sen, who would give Chris Rock a run as a comedian. He calls me “Mr. Larry” and has a humorous story every day. JJ – our kitchen connection; Man – the best hoops player I’ve ever seen; Frank and Bear – both lead cooks in our chow hall; Don and Wilbur – our laundry guys. There’s Briscoe, Reggie and Redskin Mike, and V, and KC, Carolina, Mississippi, and more.


Ninety-six guys. Each followed a different wrong path to land here, yet somehow managed to get by living with each other in 3A. Like a huge dysfunctional family at Thanksgiving, we laugh at each other, curse each other, but at the end of the day, we live side by side with little problem. Given the current state of the world, things could be a whole lot worse.