by Hanley, Don;
I nodded.
Henry continued, "Wayne says you are well organized and a very intelligent fellow. My Jesuit friend, Father Francis Peterson at St. Louis University, tells me many of the same things. So, my friend, I already seemed to have met you before you walked in here. Does that answer your question?"
"Yes, thank you. I hope I can live up to those fine recommendations. And how do you see me being helpful to you, Warden?"
"Just call me Henry. I understand that you are now working on a doctorate in psychology, and are close to choosing a dissertation topic."
Jerry looked surprised, "You, I'm guessing, learned that from Father Peterson?"
Harry smiled, "Yes, Father Francis Peterson is a friend. I was talking to him about my plans for the prison. He was very helpful to me when I applied for a grant to do this thing, so Francis suggested I get a doctoral student to help me. When I mentioned that you and Rebecca were working on Jack Carroll's project, he said that you might be interested."
Jerry relaxed back in his chair and asked, "So, did you get the grant?"
Henry grinned even wider, "I did, $900,000 in all, and the bulk of it must be completed in three years. Are you interested?"
They were talking as if I wasn't even in the room, "I'm sitting here wondering if I am supposed to be involved in all this."
The warden looked embarrassed, "I'm sorry, Rebecca, I have been neglecting you in the discussion. I hope you will be willing to lend your writing skills to our project. First to write a critical letter on the state of Missouri's penal institutions. We have done well, I believe, for the adolescent and young adults, but not on the older prisoners. So, hopefully, we can begin a discussion of our 'correctional institutions': positive for the young, and critically lacking in the prisons for the older populations. The articles need to emphasize the need for change and revitalization. Later, we hope you can write up what we are doing here. Is that at all possible for you?"
"If I do not have to take away from my work with Jack Carroll. I do consider his project as my first priority. Does he know of your grant and proposed project?"
"He does and I do not want to interfere with that work. That priest is a real menace and would be a bigger one if he became a Catholic bishop. If the need for an article comes up and you do not have the time, perhaps you could get one of your fellow writers to help. Is this sufficiently clear?" I nodded.
Henry turned back to Jerry, "I would like for you to write up a protocol that would describe in detail the necessary characteristics of an effective counselor, then implement it by selecting the initial set of ten prospective counselors from the prison population and train them. The grant will pay for all of your expenses plus $100 an hour for your work and expertise. Oh, and a bonus of some thousands if we pull this off successfully."
Jerry put his hand on his chin and looked at the ceiling like he was looking for answers from his wrestling God. Finally, he said, "That sounds more like three or more dissertations. Who would I be working with here at the prison?"
"Father Peterson said you might be able to have a second doctoral student help you, if needed. And here at the prison, you would be working with Dan McGuire, whom you've met, and Jack Carroll, whom you also have met. What do you say?" Henry leaned back in his chair, clasped his hands over his stomach, and waited. He obviously felt confident Jerry would say "Yes."
Jerry again looked at the ceiling, then back at the warden. "We need at least one woman besides Rebecca involved in the project itself. As I hope you know, Henry, women can bring a more emotional and intuitive viewpoint and insight into our work." I reached over and squeezed his hand. "You see me as the head honcho on all this, is that right?"
"Yes, at least on all the professional part. Your colleagues in Kansas gave you high marks for organization and insight. One sent me a religious education manual that you had written for the diocese of Aberdeen. So now I know you are capable. I believe that you, Jack, and Dan should choose who should be the coordinator of schedules, meetings, and all of that. Of course, I will be the one who is responsible for the entire project as my name is on the grant. I don't see myself as in any way micro-managing things ... just the one who holds the sign, 'The Buck Stops Here.'"
The warden leaned forward and looked at both of us. "Now, here is another idea. Jack Carroll has not set foot outside this prison since he was twenty-some years old. Now, I'm wondering if you and Rebecca ." He turned toward me and continued, ". could host him for a couple of days at your home in St. Louis, say, around Christmas time. Because of our rules, he would need an escort, so that would include Dan McGuire. That would allow the four of you to get to know one another better and to see if you can work together."
I butted in, "Henry, you said the 'four of you.' How do you see me fitting into this picture, other than writing a few articles?"
"First, I very much like your style of writing and Jerry will need help making his treatises fully readable and, also, as you may be guessing, this is a rather revolutionary idea. I want to turn this institution into a facility that lives up to its name: Missouri State Correctional Institution. Now it is just a human warehouse, or I should say, an inhuman warehouse. Jack and Dan have already made a slight dent in the place, but we need much more. We will need some articles to help us sell this program to the world, so I believe you need to be involved from the very beginning. We're going to run into a lot of opposition. Do you know what I mean?"
I said, "I'm beginning to see the complexity of it. I hope I don't' sound crass but will I be paid for my time as well, or just for the articles?"
He reached over and patted my hand. Usually, I would resent a gesture like that, but somehow Henry made it seem appropriate. "You are not being crass, you are sticking up for yourself. I like that. I don't expect you to be present at all the meetings but for the ones you do attend, you will be paid $100 an hour, plus whatever is the going rate for each article. Is that OK?"
I turned to Jerry and gave him a 'gotcha' kind of smile. I was sure he would understand it was related to the $l00 an hour item. I was still curious about hosting the two guys - a prison guard and a convicted murderer who acted more like a saintly monk. "Henry, you would like for us to host Dan and Jack for two days at Christmas time?"
"As I said, it would allow the two of you to get to know one another better and I believe it would help Jack feel more like a normal human being."
I turned to Jerry, "Well, Jer, are you ready to wash some dishes and clean and make some beds?" I looked back at the warden, "I hope that Dan and Jack will be willing to fit themselves into our schedule. For example, we were planning to have four or five guests for Christmas dinner. They are wonderful people and I'm sure they would be good company for the two men. Could they come to St. Louis on the day before Christmas and return the day after?"
"That would be splendid. Maybe even stay an extra day or two if needed."
Jerry asked, "Henry, where do you think the opposition will come from?"
"From other prison administrators who believe our role is to punish lawbreakers and not to rehabilitate them. They, like conservative churches, do not believe a person can change and only need to be punished. So every institution and agencies who are governed by conservative ideologues will oppose us."
"What about the State Bureau of Prisons, or whatever it is called, and the governor?"
"The governor will be okay as long as it does not cost more money and he has worked to get the state bureau in a reforming state of mind. It's going to be a battle, and that is another reason I like your resume. You know bureaucratic thinking and know how to battle."
"Rebecca, I like this program, but I'd like to sleep on it and talk to you about this because it will consume a lot to time and dedication on our part. What do you think?"
"I like it, too, but I'd like to talk more. So, Henry, could we commit to the Christmas visit—only two weeks away—and tell you for sure after that? Oh, and what about Dan and Jack, are they aboard on all of this?"
/> "Yes, take the two weeks and, yes, Dan and Jack know all about it." Henry then pushed a button on his desk, and said, "Yes, they are. I'll bring them in right now."
Jack entered first and sat opposite us and next to Henry. Dan followed and sat next to him. They both smiled warmly and Dan said, "Well, are you two coming aboard on this adventure?" He looked at Jerry and then at me.
I answered first, "Adventure. I like that. We have committed, so far, to host the two of you for Christmas for three or four days and then give the warden our final OK. So could you stand spending time with Jerry and me and our sixteen-year-old and two-year-old girls?"
Jack looked at me and said, "It scares the hell out of me, but the excitement of it is even stronger, so I'd say 'yes.'"
Dan nodded and only said, "You bet."
Henry looked at the two at his right and the two on his left, "Let's see, McGuire, Carroll, Brady and Haloran—three Irish blokes and one Irish lass. I'm not sure I can work with that." He chuckled.
Dan stood and feigned anger, and in an exaggerated Scottish brogue, proclaimed, "I'll have ye know, sire, I'm a full-blooded Scotsman." We all laughed.
I spoke up, "And Brady is a name I chose when I was eighteen. I learned later that I am a full-blooded Jew!" There was more laughter.
Henry added, "Well, now, I can, as a German, live with two Irishmen, one Scotsman, and a Jewess. That makes a much more insightful and sober team." He then turned to Dan and Jack, "Now you have an invitation for Christmas."
Jerry started clapping and we all joined him.
Chapter 5
JERRY
On Saturday morning, the day before Christmas, I sat downstairs our home office. I looked at the to-do list I had compiled after I left Booneville earlier in the week. The more time I spend with Sergeant Dan McGuire, the prison guard, and Jack Carroll, the counselor-inmate, the more I like them and the better I feel about our two projects. I had told them about my interviews with three doctoral students and that I felt best about an African-American woman who already was licensed as a masters-level psychotherapist. She had finished her doctoral classes and was searching for a dissertation topic. They both said that they would trust my judgment.
Father Peterson, the department chair, had given me five names and a bit of information. I didn't bother with the two youngest, a man and a woman, who were in their mid-twenties and had never worked at anything outside academia except brief summer jobs. I found that in psychology, as well as in the priesthood, those who went from kindergarten to Ph.D. or ordination, without a break, identified more with their professions than their humanity. They often found it difficult to understand men and women who had to struggle with work, family, and life itself, and would surely find prison inmates impossible to work with. Generally, I found kindergartener-to-Ph.D.-or-ordination to be pains in the ass.
I met with each of the other three for lunch at a café near the university. I observed the way they treated the servers. One of the men was obviously very intelligent and had an impressive resume but treated the waitress like she was a servant and far below his status in the world. I told him I would give him a call. I did call him after interviewing the other two, and told him I didn't think he would be a good fit for our project. When he asked why not, I simply said, "Because you treated our waitress like a low-class servant."
He responded, "That's a pretty stupid reason. I'm glad I will not be working with you."
"Me, too." I hung up.
The second one, a woman, couldn't get her head around the idea of what it would take to turn any prison inmates into counselors. She seemed quite sure that they were all ignorant gangsters who just could not possibly be rehabilitated. She didn't want any part of it, and I didn't want any part of her.
My last one, Jasmine Jackson, the African-American, was a pleasant surprise. She understood the need for the project because her father had died in prison. She treated the waiter with the greatest respect and mentioned that she had once worked as a waitress. When I told her about the program, she definitely wanted to be part of it, if she could earn enough to replace her current job at Child Protection Services. When I told her she would be paid $80 an hour, she almost jumped out of her chair to hug me. She was a bit let down when I told her it probably would not always be forty hours a week, and would take several trips to Booneville. She wanted some time to think about it.
My only reservation was that she was beautiful and had a very warm (at age 45, I couldn't say 'hot', could I?) and out-going personality. I hoped Rebecca would like her ... and that I wouldn't like her too much. When I told Rebecca about her, she said being beautiful often opens doors, and being African-American will help her with African-American inmates. I told her, "You should know, from experience, about being beautiful and opening doors." She gave me a kiss.
I crossed off all the names of the prospective list of grad students except Jasmine's. I decided to call her.
She answered immediately, "Hi, Jerry. You have a very distinct voice—and a pleasant one, too. And please, call me J.J."
Her melodic voice was as pleasant to listen to as she was to look at. "Thank you. And have you made a decision about our work at the state prison?"
"I am definitely interested and I have a few questions. I believe I told you that I have two young children and will need to find child care for them when I am away. So about how many trips will I need to make to Booneville each week or month? And may I ride with you or will I need to drive myself? Oh, and will I be paid for the driving time to and from?" Damnit, she sounded almost like she was saying, "May I seduce you, or ." I was sure it was my masculine ego rather than her intention.
"I'm guessing that there will be about one trip a week on average and you are welcome to ride with my wife and me, or just me, if Rebecca is not needed at the meeting. There may be times when we will need to stay overnight. I assume we will be paid for the time we are traveling but I'll have to double check with the warden. I'll push for the driving pay as I would like that, too. J.J., did I tell you that we need to meet with Dan McGuire, the head of the prison guards, and the prison coordinator whom we'll be working with, and Jack Carroll, the inmate counselor, with whom we will also be working?"
"You mentioned them but did not say when we would meet. Remember, I had not been officially invited, you know."
"Well, will you be able to meet with us on Monday?"
"Who's the 'us'? And where are we meeting?"
"The 'us' is myself, my wife Rebecca, Dan McGuire, the guard, and Jack Carroll, the transformed inmate. And we will meet here at our house in St. Louis. I would like to start at 9:30 a.m. So, does that work for you?"
"Will I be judged by the three of them?"
"Probably. But you remember Father Peterson telling us that the only way to be completely non-judgmental is to have a lobotomy? So you'll be judging them and they will be studying you. Remember, I have chosen you and I will defend you because I believe you are the right person for the job, okay?"
"Thank you, sir. Give me directions and I'll see you Monday."
I gave her the directions and ended with, "Have a joyous Christmas."
"And same to you and your family."
I hung up and then stood and shook myself to get rid of the too warm feelings and the not so chaste thoughts that were running around in my muddled brain.
The doorbell rang and I shouted, "I'll get it." I went to the door and opened it. I stood there shocked as I faced two middle-aged men dressed in ordinary clothes. "Dan, Jack, wow. Hey, you are all dressed up as regular human beings instead of those god-awful prison uniforms. Come in, come in."
"Hey, smart-aleck, we are regular human beings; well, I am, almost," Dan said as he shook my hand. "I'm not so sure about Jack; twenty years with that ugly blue jump suit, did something to him ... maybe even turned him into some kind of saint."
Jack shook my hand and glanced at Dan, "In your dreams, Sergeant. Blue is a better color than that damn khaki you wear." Now that they were away
from the prison, they could act just like two old friends—which they were.
Rebecca, Julie, and Agnes, our widowed neighbor, came into the living room from the kitchen. They had been working on food for our lunch and for Christmas dinner. I had volunteered to help, but all three of them said I'd just get in the way. I promised to wash the pots, pans, and dishes. I introduced everyone and Rebecca said, "You are just in time for lunch. I hope you haven't eaten." She gave both of them a hug and Julie and Ruth follower her lead.
Dan said, "Jerry told us not to eat before we got here, or you'd shoot both of us on sight."
Rebecca smiled and directed everyone to follow her.
As we headed for the dining room, April, our two-and-a-half year old, and Plato, our Collie-Shepherd dog, came down the stairs. April was rubbing her eyes and dragging her blanket, named 'Blankie.' Plato wagged his tail because he was smart enough to know that if everyone in the family was smiling, he didn't need to get protective. I had brought Plato from the parish in Kansas when Rebecca and I got married. He sat and put up his right paw for Dan and Jack to shake. They did.
After a lunch of sandwiches and salad, Dan and Jack took turns answering April's many questions about where they lived. Jack answered, "In a very large apartment house."
Dan said, "I live in a regular house in Booneville, Missouri." Julie jumped in with, "So both of you can say, 'We live in the Boonies,' right?" Everyone laughed. The entire lunch went on in this light-hearted way and I was glad to see them both relax—especially Jack, who was having his first excursion outside the prison in nearly twenty years.
After lunch Julie said she had to leave to attend a short basketball practice as they were getting ready for a holiday tournament starting Monday. April announced, "Plato and I will show you our house and where you'll sleep." Rebecca and I shrugged our shoulders and followed the trio around.
After seeing every room on the downstairs, April led us to the stairs. Seeing April struggle with the stairs, Dan said, "May I help you go up the stairs?" April put her arms straight out and Dan picked her up, and up we all went. When we got to the room for Jack, he said, "You know this will be my first regular bed in nearly twenty years."
