Finding A Way – Part 1

[dedalus_1947]

Jesus answered,
“I am the Way
And the Truth
And the Life…”
(John 14:6)

(In the fall of 2010, I started writing what became the second half of the essay below, after a tour of the Women’s Jail in Los Angeles. The visit graphically illustrated to me the poor quality of the recovery and rehabilitation programs that are currently available for men and women in county jails and it provoked an epiphany about how much more a dozen or so Christian volunteers were accomplishing in the Catholic Chaplain’s Office for the inmates we worked with. But nothing seemed to change after that particular experience, and I couldn’t find a story to tell. So I put the piece aside, hoping to resurrect it at another time. After a year of further service in the jails with Gavin and his assistant chaplains, I finally began seeing a pattern emerging showing the flow and direction of our program. Unfortunately this evolving vision still has to work itself out in my writing, and the tale is proving longer than I expected. So I’ve divided it, and I’m presenting the first part today. If you’re curious to find out how this story ends, stick around for Part 2. If you’re not, wait for a shorter piece I’ll include in between.)

My nervous apprehensions about being prepared for this evening’s program subsided when I saw Gavin, the Chaplain, speaking privately with Justin and Jaime in the hallway outside his office.
This thing may actually come off tonight, I thought to myself, excitedly, realizing that preparations were already underway.
“Rick is printing separate dorm lists of the names of the men receiving certificates tonight”, I heard Gavin explaining, as I moved next to Justin. “Ah good, Tony’s here”, he added, noticing my presence for the first time. “Now each of you can take a list and call the men out from each of the three dorms”.
“Is this what you wanted?” Rick announced, walking quickly out from the office with three sheets of paper in his hand. Behind him I could see the other volunteer assistants going about their usual activities in preparation for their Wednesday night programs in the other sections of the jail. Sam, Maria, and Rosemary were busy collecting the pamphlets they would use in their respective discussion sessions, along with the meditation books, bibles, and prayer cards they would distribute after. However, between these hurried motions, they still found time to look up inquisitively in our direction, sensing that a special event was being planned in the outer hallway.
“Perfect Rick,” Gavin replied enthusiastically, as he took the sheets of paper. “Exactly what I wanted.”
Last week, Gavin had described to us in detail the type of ceremony he was envisioning for today, in much the same way as he had described many other visionary projects that never quite materialized because of the harsh realities and resistance from the authorities in the jail.
“Tonight”, he continued, “I want everything to come off perfectly. Here”, he said, passing out the sheets Rick had given him. “I want you to go to separate cellblocks and call the men out by name, checking them off as they line up. Tell the deputies that the men on these lists have completed the course and they are graduating today. No one else comes out but those men. We have personalized certificates for each of them”.
“Okay”, I said, interrupting his excited instructions so I could get a clear sequence of actions in my head. “Let me see if I get this straight. We go to the senior deputy to request permission for the ceremony and show him our list of recipients, and then we go to the dorms to speak to the guards.”
“Don’t bother with our usual procedures today”, Gavin said, barely containing his excitement. “The Captain has taken care of everything. All you have to do is go to the dorm guard station and the deputies will help you.”
My head sprang up in surprise at this last statement, and I shot a look of astonishment at Justin and Jaime. We had never depended on the active assistance or cooperation of guards and deputies for any of our jail programs and activities. Our usual routine was to ask the senior deputy for the use of a dayroom and permission to call out the inmates who were interested in participating in our program, Finding the Way in Jail. The dorm guards then permitted us to set up chairs in the dayroom, sometimes assigning trustees to help us, and then releasing the men from their cells to attend. We considered it a good evening when the guards did not ignore us, as we stood silently in front of their desk, waiting for their attention to make our requests, and hoping they didn’t delay too long in actually releasing the men.
“The Captain has taken care of everything?” Justin asked in a bemused manner. “We’re talking about your Captain, the one you’ve been telling us about for the last six months?”
“There’s only one Captain of this jail”, Gavin replied, “and yes, he’s the one I’ve been talking about these last six months. He’s assured me that he has talked to his sergeants and senior deputies, and all the arrangements have been taken care of. All we have to do is set up the music player and call out the men who are receiving certificates.”
"What do you want us to say when we make the announcement at the cell bars?” Jaime asked, knowing that Gavin did not like over-publicizing special events like movies, holiday masses, or activities that hinted at celebrations that might cause envy or resentments among the inmates who did not come out.
“You can go ahead and tell them that this is a special event – a graduation exercise for the men who completed the course and that refreshments will be served.”
“The Captain is taking care of the refreshments?” I asked in disbelief.
“He’s taking care of everything!” Gavin repeated firmly. “So I don’t want anything to go wrong. He will be there himself and will be joining us in for the program so I want everything to go smoothly and professionally. I’ve been telling him about you guys and the different programs we’ve been conducting in the 800 dorms, so I want everything to look good tonight.”

“Have you ever met this Captain?” I asked Justin later, as we walked along the concrete corridor toward the cellblocks, keeping pace with Jaime, who was pushing the AV cart carrying the music player.
“No”, Justin replied. “In all the Mondays and Wednesdays I’ve come to the jail, I’ve never seen him. I’ve only heard about him from Gavin.”
As we turned the corner into a side corridor leading to the dayroom we normally used, the deputy at the guard desk greeted us with a warm smile.
“You’re set up over there tonight”, he said, pointing toward the opposite side of the building. “We thought you’d want to be closer to the dorms you’ll be pulling the men from.”
We thanked him and walked down the connecting corridor, glancing at each other over the friendly reception by the deputy and the acknowledgement that this event had been discussed, planned, and prepared by deputies who usually kept their distance from our activities and us. As we approached the second guard desk, we immediately noticed that it was filled with a large crowd of uniformed men, buzzing with movement and talk.
“You are set up over here,” a sergeant said, moving away from the circle of deputies and greeting us with another smile, as he directed us toward the dayroom. It was already set up with 2 large, white serving tables pushed up against the back wall and two rows of chairs lined up in front of them.
“Are these enough?” he asked, pointing at the plastic patio chairs used in all county jails.
“We have 45 men on our list receiving certificates,” I replied.
“We’ll need about 10 more,” Justin said after counting the chairs.
“I’ll take care of it right now,” the sergeant said, as he peeked out the door and beckoned another deputy who was hovering nearby.
“Steve”, he said to the deputy, “see about getting 10 more chairs while I show these gentlemen where the electrical outlets and food racks are located.”
“Sure, Sarge,” he replied, “I’ll get right on it.”
As the deputy hurried down the corridor searching for a trustee, I again traded an astonished glance at Justin over the solicitous attentions we were receiving. He simply shrugged his shoulders in amazement and smiled.
“It’s great, isn’t it?” he said, passing me to join Jaime and the sergeant who were plugging the extension cord into the outlet in the nearby office.
When the extra chairs arrived and were arranged to form a third line facing the tables and wall, we walked back toward the guards, each of us holding a list, corresponding to one of the three dorms surrounding the station.
“May we call the men now?” Justin asked the sergeant.

“Of course”, he replied, scanning the semi-octagonal array of dorm cells in front of the circular guard station. “But wait until the Captain’s finished talking with those inmates in 813 before you announce there.”
For the first time I noticed a medium-sized man, with wavy black hair, chatting with three or four inmates near the bars of the cellblock. His friendly, open face surprised me by reminding me of the ruddy, Irish-Mexican-AmRickan face of Father Dunphy. Larry was the Catholic school principal of my first high school teaching job, and the blue eyes of his usually stern and serious visage would always twinkle with mirth at one of Kathy’s jokes or stories, during many of our TGIF’s at the convent of our mutual friends. This Captain wore the same khaki colored uniform as all the other deputies clustered around the guard station, and I hadn’t bothered to inspect his collar for the identifying double silver bar insignia of a captain. He was having a jovial exchange with a small cluster of inmates on the other side of the steel bars, so I joined Justin to help him with his dorm.
“You have the louder voice,” Justin said. “Why don’t you get their attention and I’ll read the names?”
“Sure”, I replied, happy to finally be doing something besides watching the noisy action around us. “Radio!” I called out loudly, soliciting the attention of the interned men inside the noisy dorm bay. Moments later the answering shouts of “Radio! Radio” came from inside the cell dorm, affirming my request for their attention and reinforcing it with their own voices.
“Good evening gentlemen”, I began, slowly and deliberately. “We are here tonight from the Catholic Chaplain’s Office to celebrate the completion of a course we have been offering over the last 5-weeks. 45 men from these dorms have participated in this program and we will be calling them out tonight for a special ceremony. When you hear your name, please line up by the door and you’ll be released to the dayroom where the ceremony will take place. Thank you for your attention, and God bless you.”
“God bless you”, came the answering prayer from many of the men in the cell. Then Justin started reading the names from his list.

I stood apart for a moment, observing this cacophonic spectacle, which I’ve come to accept as normal. Jail cells are rarely quiet places, and they appear especially loud and unruly on the occasions when competing voices are raised from officers, deputies, medical orderlies, and chaplains, all talking to inmates in different cellblocks at the same time. The Captain was talking to men in one dorm, deputies were calling for men from another, orderlies were passing out prescribed medicines, and Justin and Jaime were reading out names. When you factored in the questions, responses, and talking coming from the men inside the cells, the effect could feel chaotic and unsettling. But there was a purpose for all these interactions, and every person felt a priority. There was a time when our small trio of chaplains would have been overlooked and ignored, or told to wait until all the other jail business was over. We would have stood quietly to the side, watching the prisoners inside the cells, catching their occasional glances of recognition from behind the bars, and nodding back to them in silent greeting. But tonight was different. All the logistical details and preparations had been made for us and we were given quick access to the men who had participated in a specially designed, multimedia course over the last 5-weeks. During that time we had expanded upon our typical 23-pamphlet, Finding the Way program, to include the study of the biblical King David and the history of the early Church. We had traveled a long and bumpy road in our ministry with the men in these maximum-security dorms over the course of the last six months. Back in December, we were only allowed to meet with small groups of 8 to 12 men from prescribed dorms in the 800 sections of the jail. Tonight we were recognizing the efforts and consistent attendance of 45 men who had committed to participating in our readings, viewings, and discussions. They had helped transform a program that had once been perceived by jail officials as a do-good, Christian prayer group, to tonight’s recognition as an interactive, faith-based, recovery and rehabilitation program. We had come a long way in the 2 years I had been associated with this Jail Ministry, and I felt good having been a witness and a party to some of the changes that had begun happening in the last six months.

Strangely enough, the first time I began suspecting the true potential of Finding the Way in Jail as a recovery and rehabilitation program was in November of 2010, when Gavin invited Rick and me to accompany him to the Women’s Jail in Los Angeles. He had been invited by a sergeant downtown to attend a meeting for submitting bids on contracts with the Sheriff’s Department. It was called an RFP meeting, a Request for Proposals. Since he had never been to one before, he thought that Rick’s background in contract bidding, and mine in writing grant proposals, would help him understand what was going on. I agreed to go along, although I wasn’t too clear about my role in the process. I imagined it would be an all day workshop explaining how to submit proposals for rehabilitation programs in jail. When I asked Rick, a longtime volunteer assistant chaplain, about it, he gave me a little more insight.
“I think Gavin was intrigued by the invitation to join these private vendors,” he explained. “Our own program, Finding the Way in Jail, is faith-based, and has only been used in this men’s jail. He would love to see how it compares with other programs, and perhaps expand it into other facilities as well. I wanted to go along because I’ve never seen this new Lynwood jail. I’d love to see how it operates and what programs it offers the inmates. I’m not sure how competitive our program will be against the private companies who do this for profit. The Request for Proposal workbook they gave us demands all types of insurance certificates, waivers, and OSHA assurances that we don’t use or need in the Chaplain’s Office. I’m going more out of curiosity than in actually trying to bid on a contract.”
Rick’s approach to this proposal meeting calmed my apprehensions about the value of my presence, and it whetted my curiosity as well.

I’d been working as a volunteer for the Catholic Chaplain’s Office for about a year at that time. I went to the jail once a week and usually teamed with Justin, another volunteer assistant chaplain, in facilitating discussion groups with the inmates in the maximum-security cellblocks. The content of these sessions, called Finding the Way in Jail, was the material in 23 easy-to-read pamphlets that attempted “to help individuals in jail talk honestly about life, God, and faith”. I was comfortable with the format because it reminded me a lot of the peer leadership and conflict mediation groups that I had led or supervised as a teacher and administrator in senior and junior high schools. Only these discussion groups were comprised of self-selected convicts and felons who had spent years in and out of juvenile facilities and jails, and who were now seeking to change their lives by admitting their reliance on God and each other. I found these circles of men to be a powerful mixture of faith, prayer, and a practical determination to make better choices in a life outside of jail. While Catholic dogma, was the guiding principle of the program, the sessions concentrated more on developing a spiritual relationship with God, prayer, and using the actions and teachings of Christ as the model for a loving and happy life outside of jail. I considered it a religious program that challenged the men “to a different way of thinking about themselves, about God, and about their behavior”. However, I too was unsure how it would stack up against the commercially developed recovery and rehabilitation programs offered by private companies.

The Women’s Correction Center I visited in Los Angeles is the jail of the stars. This is the jail where Paris Hilton, Kloe Kardashian, and Lindsay Lohan were incarcerated for brief times. It is far from a luxury hotel, but its appearance is not as intimidating or oppressive as the Men’s Jail in Los Angeles. From the outside it looks like a massive medical center, with bright stucco walls, gleaming windows, and modern architecture. We were quickly directed by the entry guard into an adjacent parking structure and then met by a female deputy escort. We waited there for about 15 minutes for the arrival of five more visitors and were then escorted into a nearby building. There was a noticeable absence of security checkpoints and observation windows in this section of the jail complex. In total, there were about 20 professionally dressed, men and women gathered in the briefing room. A male sergeant, one female deputy, and two female administrative assistants conducted the meeting, whose purpose, we were told, was to review the Request For Proposals requirements for a Gender-Responsive Rehabilitation Program for Female Offenders. The sergeant, a burly man with crew cut blonde hair, began the orientation with a joke I quickly forgot. He introduced himself as the officer in charge of rehabilitation programs at the jail and stated that the Sheriff’s mission was to decrease recidivism by increasing the number and quality of recovery and rehabilitation programs in the women’s jails. The purpose of the meeting was to review the PFR procedures and documents, clarify timelines, and answer questions. A tour of the current programs already in place in the jail would conclude the meeting.

My prior experiences with orientation meetings on submitting competitive grants convinced me that they were laboriously long and boring. In those previous meetings, the educational officials began by distributing and reviewing the contents of bulky, manual binders, filled with applications, timelines, writing instructions, and appendices packed with sample documents and forms. Technical experts would then lecture us on each section and we would highlight, flag, or attach post-its to vital parts. Thankfully, none of those things happened at this meeting, on the other hand I didn’t get much substantive information from it either. The only handouts were a short, one-page agenda, and a one-page schematic of the current programs offered at the jail. Then the sergeant turned the meeting over to the point administrative assistant. She began by reminding the contractors that the RFP binder of procedures and requirements was available online and they were responsible for downloading and using it for bidding. She then cited the section numbers and titles that were important. No technical experts spoke, and no specific instructions or explanations were given. Most of the questions asked by the contractors were answered by the statement, “please submit them in writing, and the answers will be posted online by November 17”. The contractors were also reminded that their proposals were due no later than December 15, by 3 o’clock, and that they would be evaluated and graded by professional proposal readers. That was it! The meeting was over, and my head was spinning at the brevity and scarcity of information.

The only proposal goals and objectives requested by the sergeant was that the programs increase recovery and rehabilitation, and decrease recidivism. I’d heard no description or explanation of what that meant or how effectiveness was to be measured. I borrowed the proposal binder that Gavin was holding and looked at the appendices again. They were crammed with licenses, certificates, and affidavits. They made absolutely no sense to me, and they hadn’t been explained during the briefing. These requirements had no connection with the Finding The Way in Jail program that we conducted twice a week with the male inmates in our jail. I couldn’t tell if I was the only one suffering from this lack of understanding, and the inability or unwillingness of the sergeant to answer questions asked by the vendors further confused me.
“Will we be provided with office space?” asked a slender, blonde-haired woman, in a starchy, tailored suit.
“We’ll get back to you on that,” the burly sergeant replied, noncommittally.
That makes no sense, I thought to myself. How could a resident recovery and rehabilitation program not have office space in a jail? At least the Chaplain’s program already had an office and storage space in the jail we serviced.
“Is there an assessment instrument that you use for a program, or do we use our own?” another man asked.
The sergeant looked befuddled by the question and turned to his assistants for support. Getting no response from them, he repeated the mantra, “Send that question to us in writing and we’ll get back to you online.”
The only question the sergeant did answer was about scheduling the programs into the prison day. The sergeant directed our attention to the second handout.
“These are the classes we currently offer in our Recovery/Rehabilitation curriculum on a daily and weekly basis. The proposals that are selected will need to fit into this schedule, although I expect some changes and accommodation will have to occur”.
Looking at the grid of classes on the paper, I saw that some of the offerings seemed appropriate in a women’s jail: Parenting, AA, Job Skills, Anger Management, and Writing. There were two sections of religious services labeled Jehovah’s Witnesses and Catholic Bible Study. There were also two prominent blocks of class offerings during the week – something called The Blanket Project, and The MP3 Player Program. I wondered what these two types of recovery and rehabilitation programs were, because their titles were so cryptic (Blanket?) and general (MP3 Player?).
“Just remember that you’re the experts”, the sergeant concluded defensively. “A commission will evaluate and grade your proposals and then make their recommendations to the Board of Supervisors. The Board will make the final decision. After a short break, we’ll take you on a tour of some of our classes and a typical dorm.”

My head was spinning from all the unexplained input I’d received that morning, and all the questions I had about recovery and rehabilitation programs. The one island of certainty in this tempest of data and queries was that the Catholic Chaplain’s Office, which had an office and workspace in the jail, provided a concrete service the men who wished to participate. However, the status and merit of our program compared to the services provided by these other organizations and companies in the room were unclear. I paged through the thick RFP binder again, shaking my head as I looked around the room. Obviously these people made a living by following these cumbersome, arcane directions, and producing some kind of a proposal for services.  Before I could share my doubts with Gavin or Rick, the sergeant and deputy resumed the meeting and took us on a tour of the jail.

We walked down a wide, brightly painted hallway, and entered a large windowed chamber with glass doors on opposite sides. An observation booth, composed of darkened windows, with a retractable teller drawer, stood at one side of the room. I recognized it as a security checkpoint, similar to the sally port lobby in the men’s jail. However, I marveled at its un-prison-like design and construction. There were none of the harsh sounds and sights of steel bars, and metal doors, with thick bulletproof portholes, grinding back and forth as deputies and authorized personnel entered and exited the jail. This could have been a lobby to an intensive care hospital room – except there was nowhere to sit, and a uniformed deputy behind the darkened glass controlled the doors. We dropped our driver’s licenses into the teller drawer and received guest badges in return. When all licenses were exchanged, the lock on the glass door was released and we entered the women’s jail.

Our footsteps were muted on the tiled floors of the brightly lit corridor. The first evidence that we were in a jail was a line of five women inmates being led by a female deputy on the opposite side of the hallway. They wore oversized, pale green tunics and white slippers, and they cast their eyes downward as we passed them. We then entered a large bay with two elevators on opposite sides, and divided ourselves into two groups for the trip to the second floor. On exiting, we walked a short distance to another windowed corridor with a classroom on one side. There were eight green clad women standing over tables covered with blankets, holding scissors and sewing materials. A deputy stepped out of the classroom to explain that this was the blanket-making class that was part of the Recovery/Rehabilitation program they offered. I was paralyzed by disbelief. Looking around to see the reaction of Rick and Gavin to this class, I spotted them edging away from the main group and standing silently at the far peripheries of the tour group. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing! This was an instructional program? This class was considered a recovery and rehabilitation program? The scene reminded me of documentaries I’d seen of Indian reservations showing a circle of women kneeling on the ground weaving blankets for tourists. The supervising deputy explained that the women inmates were making blankets for charity organizations. The thick linen was donated and the ladies cut and hemmed the parts into blankets. Cynically, I wondered if blankets were the only objects these women produced here, or if pine straw, wild grass, or weed stems were also brought in so they could weave them into baskets as well.

Our guides then led us to the third floor where we passed through another glass door into a dormitory bay. The absence of bars and the carpeting on the floor immediately struck me. A semi-circular counter with a computer monitor served as the guard desk, and the middle of the open room contained tables and stools. There was a glassed-in, open-air dayroom to the side, and side-by-side cell doors with port windows on two levels against the wall. Looking into one open cell, I saw that it contained a bunk bed with a toilet and desk. In comparison to the men’s dorm cell, this was a private and luxurious setting. The guard explained that the dorm housed 124 women. Half were seated at the benches and tables, silently eating their lunches, while the other half remained in their cell rooms waiting their turn. Two trustees were standing by the entrance to the glassed-in dayroom, changing earplugs on wire headphones and stacking medium-sized, square jewel cases.
“That’s our MP3 Player Program,” the deputy explained. “Inmates who wish to can sign up for it. When weather permits they can sit in the dayroom listening to a wide selection of downloads – music and lectures.”
My naïve and optimistic visions of women being taught to create, edit, and develop audio programs dissipated with the reality of the tower of MP3 players awaiting distribution. I don’t know what depressed me more – the numbed silence from the women staring at us from the tables as they ate, or the realization that the two programs I had seen offered them the lowest levels of intellectual activity. Blanket making and audio headphones were nothing more than busy work and distractions. I listened mutely as the vendors asked more questions about the routines of the female inmates, but there was nothing more that I wanted to see. I followed silently as we walked back to the security checkpoint to recover our driver’s license and then returned to the orientation room where we were released.

It wasn’t until Rick, Gavin, and I stepped back into the car, that I finally felt free to speak my mind.
“Gavin,” I began slowly, “now let me see if I have this figured out right. Every jail or prison provides access to religious chaplain services, where the spiritual needs of the men can be addressed. That’s why we have an office and storage space inside the jail, while those outside providers don’t.”
“That’s right, “ Gavin replied. “The constitutional separation of Church and State requires that inmates have access to religious services.”
“Okay,” I continued. “But those services are restricted to only minister to the spiritual needs of the inmates. That means leading prayers services; giving the sacraments, like confession and the Eucharist; and providing one-on-one counseling sessions at the bars.”
“That’s right,” Gavin replied, “and most chaplains and prison volunteers keep it at that.”
“So how did Finding the Way in Jail come about? Did it evolve out of your prayer services?”
“It didn’t evolve on its own,” Rick interrupted. “Gavin developed it.”
“That’s right,” Gavin explained. “In talking to the men over time, I saw that many of them experienced jail as a transformational moment with God, where they could let Him into their lives and begin making changes in their behavior. These men were at a crossroads and they were looking for guidance. My Alcoholics Anonymous background helped me understand them, and I saw that these men were their own best resources in helping themselves make changes. They just needed a structure and some guided topics for discussion. I explained my ideas to Father Gerard, and together, over time, we developed and wrote a series of pamphlets, or folders, for a program we called Finding the Way in Jail. He made sure that the content was consistent with Catholic teachings and dogma, but it allowed plenty of opportunities for discussion about repentance, and changing the behaviors and choices that put them in prison. ”
“So our program doesn’t exist in other jails or prisons?” I asked.
“No it doesn’t,” Gavin replied, “we’re the only one.”
“Wow,” I exclaimed. “I’m shocked. It’s such a great program. Especially when I compare it to those two classes we saw today.”
“I couldn’t stand looking at the blanket making class,” Gavin declared angrily, glancing out the car window at the crowded parking lot. “I felt like I was being smothered and I had to get away from there.”
“Yeah,” Rick agreed. “I just stayed in the back. I couldn’t look either.”
“Those two classes were supposed to be a Recovery and Rehabilitation program?” I asked rhetorically. “Well, I can tell you one thing,” I continued. “As a former school teacher and principal, I can say that Finding the Way in Jail provides better practical services than what I saw in jail today, and I bet we’re competitive with the private companies who are submitting proposals.”
“Yeah,” added Rick, “but because we are part of the Chaplain’s Office, we don’t have the legal infrastructure to compete with them. We don’t have any of the legal requirements, documentation, or certificates needed to make a bid for services.”
“Well, I’m determined to make the program better”, Gavin said, “and I’m praying for God’s assistance. You and Justin are doing a wonderful job among the men in the maximum-security dorms. You trust the men and the program. I truly believe opportunities will arise, and I want all of us to be prepared to take advantage of them. I don’t know what they will be, but I have faith that God will let this program grow.”
That was my first indication of the ideals that Gavin was privately formulating for the program he and Father Gerard had developed 10 years before.

To Be Continued.