On My Honor

Honor codes. Just about every college has one now. The community college sponsoring our college program here has one. The crux of the honor code is simple and straightforward. The student acknowledges “on my honor” that he – or she – has neither given, nor received, help; the student has not cheated, nor plagiarized, nor helped anyone else do so.

            In my prior life I laughed at faculty members who would espouse their campus’s adherence to an honor code. I’d laugh because (1) half those faculty members were with second spouses who started as their students – where was their honor? And (2) honor codes don’t work. If you cheat you’ll still sign the honor code or you will be disciplined for “not abiding by its terms.” So, cheat on the test then lie about it by signing “on my honor.”

            That was the “old” Larry. Prison – education in prison – has changed my perception. Honor, more than ever especially in here, matters. Two quick stories –

            First, the worst moment is a series of terrible moments for me early after my arrest was calling my wife and telling her. A few days later she came to see me at the jail. She looked through the smudged Plexiglas and said, “You’re a liar.” I tried to downplay it with the George Clooney retort in “Ocean’s Eleven,” “I only lied about stealing.” But, even now, I can’t shake her words. I lied; I deceived the person I was closet to. There was – I knew – no way to repair that breach of trust. And, I understood then why I’d had such a difficult time sleeping for so long: I knew the truth, and the truth was I had sold my honor; I had betrayed all I cared about.

            Second, my first year here I was confronted by an unsavory organization leader shall we say. He needed help on his case and wouldn’t take no for an answer. It got to the point where he “made me an offer I couldn’t refuse,” but I did. I told him to watch “Bridge Over the River Kwai” and “The Last Samurai” to understand that “you can beat my ass, but you won’t take my honor.” I never forgot the look on that guy’s face, like I stunned him; but he never asked me for help, nor did anything happen to me.

            Honor matters. Men in prison – for the most part – gave up their honor and self-respect at some point, which led to either their crime or their lack of rehabilitation once behind bars. You want to stop released offenders from re-offending? Help them find their honor.

            “On my honor …” Every college syllabus given to the men in here includes reference to the college honor code. In our recently completed math class the instructor, a wonderful, energetic, attractive, young woman told the men to write and sign “on my honor” on their tests verifying adherence to the college code.

            Last Tuesday morning, one of our students (“Ray”) came to take the chapter test early. We always made special arrangements for him – test anxiety (he freezes up in the classroom when everyone is testing). So, he completed the exam which I then graded (he scored a 100) and returned to him. “Don’t show this to anyone until they take the test tonight,” I told him. “No problem,” he replied.

            I returned to the building later that afternoon. As I was changing clothes, I noticed four students – all “white,” “good,” “middle class” guys huddled around “Ray” – the early test taker. And, I saw “Ray” with papers in his hand. I decided it was not up to me to interfere. Each man has to decide for himself what matters – does his word, does his honor matter? Before we went up to the test, one of the “gang of four” approached me. “Hey Larry,” he matter-of-factly began. “We asked Ray what was on the test, but we never asked to see it.” I paused a moment and told him when I was young trial lawyer I had older, more seasoned lawyers tell me I couldn’t win a particular discrimination suit on the facts. “You need to find an angle, cut a deal,” those lawyers told me. It pissed me off. I would have run into a brick wall before I ever cut corners on that case or before I even conceded I couldn’t win by my own hard work and efforts.

            I wish I’d remembered that tough, conceited, idealistic young lawyer years later, I told him. I never would have landed in prison. I never would have failed my wife. I never would have lost my self-respect and honor. “God help you if you think you would have to cheat to succeed. You’ve already failed.”

            I proctored the exam and watched, watched all four to see what they would do. Did they have the answers I wondered? And what would I do if they did? My buddy DC and I have a simple rule of thumb for the college program and instructors: Nothing will be allowed to happen that hurts or embarrasses them. We came up with that four years ago when this program first began. Over the years we’d confronted guys over behavior issues and a host of other less than honorable things. Before the test I asked DC what we should do. “What we always do. No tolerance for cheating.”

            Not one of the four cheated. I graded their papers and each said to me “I never looked at the test. But I shouldn’t have asked him what was on it.”

            Honor. It is such an antiquated term. We live in a world and a time when it doesn’t seem to matter. And yet, as I sit here in this prison surrounded by men who have done both the horrific and inane I know honor matters above all else.

            “On my honor.” Those words mean something. Your honor matters, matters more than your wealth or social status. It is a lesson I hope stays with four young men. It is a lesson I can never forget.