That’s the way prison is.
It’s about uniformity. Everyone
dresses alike – “blues”, shirts and jeans – and everyone eventually looks
alike. Whether intended or not, prison dehumanizes
you. Your seven digit “state number”
matters more than anything. It’s ironic,
isn’t it? To stop guys from
re-offending, recommitting, you have to understand their individual stories. Instead, they’re all lumped together. And the failure rate rolls on.
Everything looks the same.
Everything feels the same until…last Thursday. Thursday morning a huge sign went up on the
front of our building. In burgundy
letters on a pure white background, a sign, the logo of the sponsoring Virginia
Community College prominently displayed in the upper left corner. It read:
Southside Virginia Community College
Campus within
Walls
Our college dorm had an identity.
The Virginia Secretary of Education is visiting our college
program Monday afternoon. She wants to
see what’s going on at Lunenburg. That’s
the reaction you get from government when something actually works. See, Virginia has contributed exactly $0 to
this program. The idea for this campus
came from Southside’s President who, coincidentally, is married to our
principal. These two people have devoted
their lives to educating prisoners. And
Dr. and Mrs. C, they understood a college education destroys recidivism.
Dr. C sold this idea to skeptics at DOC and in the Governor’s
office. The state provided no money, no
materials, nothing. In fact, everyday at
least one officer would push back against the college idea. I still remember the day CO Newbill, sitting
in the building, heard me conduct an English review class. He called me over, “You’re wasting your time”,
he said. “These scumbags will be back.” Simply put, that pissed me off.
And that’s the way things went until the Community College
won a Bellwether Award about two months ago.
The Bellwether is the most prestigious award granted community
colleges for excellence and innovation in their programs. Southside won a Bellwether for the “Campus
within Walls” initiative. And then,
everyone wanted to jump on board.
Governor McDonnell’s office put out a press release touting
the Bellwether and then conveniently tied the program into his re-entry
initiative. The community college has
been swamped by community colleges in other states asking “How do we start the
same program?” And Monday, Virginia’s
Secretary of Education is coming. She’s
scheduled to participate in the computer class I assist.
After that, there will be pictures in front of the
sign: The Secretary of Education, Dr.
and Mrs. C, and the college aides. Thursday, we had photos taken of us in front
of the sign with the Warden, Assistant Warden and unit manager. Everyone, it seems, wants in on the sign.
Thursday night as I was falling asleep I was trying to
figure out what it all meant. This week
marked another birthday I missed of my older son. I haven’t heard from either of my sons in
almost 3 ½ years. And my ex? She’s moved on to a new life. Friends have fallen by the wayside. In truth, without the hectic schedule of this
college program, I think the loneliness and emptiness would overwhelm me.
“What does it mean, God?”
And then I remember Lunenburg wasn’t even on my list of prisons when I was
at the receiving unit. I wasn’t supposed
to come here. Yet, I did. And two days after my arrival, I was hired as
an academic aide in the school. Thirty
days later, I was given permission to start a creative writing class. Five months later Mrs. C called me in, told
me about the grant and asked me to head up the academic aides.
Was it a sign? Albert
Einstein said, “God uses coincidences to remain anonymous.” Coincidences are nothing more than
signs. And signs matter, sometimes more
than we realize. 
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