Wrestling With God

by Hanley, Don;

  "Living in poverty and being the poorest dressed kid in grade school and the shame that goes with it is part of my elephant. Having a dad who is the town drunk is part of my elephant. Living in fear that my dad would get drunk and beat me for whatever reason he wanted is part of my elephant. All of my experiences, good and bad, and all of my feelings and thoughts, both good and bad, are part of my elephant. The anger I felt at my dad, my feeling guilty for killing him, my sadness ... everything, is part of my elephant. I was also the rider but too young and inexperienced to control my elephant.

  "Luckily for me, the sheriff knew my family and had many run-ins with my dad, so when I told him how he died and how I killed him, he didn't take me to jail. If the sheriff had an unruly elephant whom he had not learned to control, perhaps I would have gone to prison." I looked around the circle and saw several nodding heads. "As I have examined my life, I think I decided to become a priest to make amends for killing my dad. Or maybe it was after one of the guys at school called me a father-killer and I beat the shit out of him, that I decided that I better set my life on a better path and learn to control my anger and learn how to relax as I rode my elephant. So, after high school, I did go to the seminary and I did learn to ride my elephant fairly well. I had to learn not to be ashamed of being poor. It really helped to think of Jesus running around in Palestine in old clothes and sandals. He grew up in a poor family, too. I learned that anger is normal. I had to accept my anger if I was to control my elephant." I put my hands together and pretended I was holding a cuddly little animal and I acted like I was stroking the animal gently. "This is my anger now—like a small animal with lots of energy—and in need of TLC."

  I continued to stroll around the area in the middle of the tables. "I needed to learn not to hurt others ... with my fists or my mouth. My elephant's mouth was the most difficult part to control. Many of my earliest attempts to be a good person resulted in my becoming a kind of 'holier-than-thou' pain-in-the-ass. I judged myself and others for every slight. My young adult self would condemn me, or anyone else, for saying 'pain-in-the-ass.' Being an up-tight pain did not allow me to become a gentle rider of my elephant—it became another part of my unruly elephant. I will share more of my story and my elephant's journey as we go along but I hope you get the idea. Our bodies are our elephants. Our appetites, both for food, for power, and for sex, are always in need of the guidance of a wise rider, as is all other parts of ourselves. As we become more proficient and gentle riders, we increasingly become more our true selves. And this learning will continue on throughout our lives.

  "One of the most saintly men I've ever met was one of the professors at the university. He had been a survivor of three years in Auschwitz. He said he believed that what saved him was a decision he made the first weeks in that prison camp. He had decided that every morning, he would decide to have as good a day as possible. He said, 'They could take away my wife and children, my freedom, my clothes, food, heating stoves and everything else, but they could not take away my freedom to choose my thoughts and my attitudes.' I had read the professor's book when I was in the seminary, at a time when I was so disappointed in the education and regimentation that I was thinking of leaving the place. I decided that if the professor could survive Auschwitz for three years, I could survive the freakin' seminary.

  "I now ask you to meet in four separate groups of six. I will be facilitator of one group and Jack, J.J., and Sonia will be facilitators of the other three. Each group will have both inmates and guards. Wardens Henry and Dan will join a group as their time allows. I ask everyone to be as open as you possibly can and be as respectful as you wish to be respected. Everything of a personal nature that is said here is confidential. You may talk about it among those in your group, but not with anyone else. We will meet until noon, break for lunch, and resume at 1:00 p.m." I read off the assignments.

  My group consisted of five inmates: one Caucasian, two Hispanics, two African-Americans, and one Caucasian guard. We stayed in the large conference room, as did J.J.'s group. I had privately asked Henry and Dan to join the women's groups, being they were the least acquainted with the prison regimen and population.

  We pulled one table away from the circle and sat around it. Bruce Leland, the white inmate, turned to me and asked, "Why does he have to be here?" He nodded toward the guard.

  "That's easy to answer. Guards will have to be part of a reformed system. We asked for volunteers among the guards, and Mark Schwartz volunteered. We asked each of the volunteers if they would be willing to work in a system where the inmates had more freedom and some say in how the prison was run. We took only those who thought a reformed system was needed; that includes Mark. Mark, why don't you tell us why you volunteered?"

  Mark, a tall, muscular, sandy-haired fellow with what Rebecca would call warm and kind eyes, took a deep breath and said, "First, I wish I was in one of the groups that had two guards in it, because I am feeling a bit vulnerable. And then, again, I suppose that is good because it helps me understand new inmates when they first get here. I was reading about prisons in some European countries and Norway, I think it was, only needed four guards for every hundred prisoners. Here, I think we have about twenty per one hundred. And they have far fewer problems than we do, so we need to make some changes, I think. I like Warden Bonhoeffer. Does that help?"

  One of the inmates, Jorge Perez, said, "Them Norwegian inmates must be pussies."

  Mark responded, "Or it could be that they are smart. Would you prefer that they start rioting and getting shot or beaten or having years added to their sentences, or cooperating and working with the system?" I was glad to see that Mark was looking directly at Jorge.

  "Put that way, maybe they do have a better system. I'd like to learn more about Norway."

  I said, "If our work here is positive, you all will have access to computers. Now, Jorge, being that you started, tell us a bit about your elephant."

  "You mean, like you did, tell all these dudes about my earlier life?" I nodded. Jorge looked around the group questioningly and from what I could tell, everyone seemed attentive. "Well, my mom and dad came up from Mexico with my oldest sister who was three years old. I was born a year after they got here. Both Mom and Dad worked for a meat packing plant in Kansas City for the minimum wage. I think it was $3.00 an hour. We lived in an old shack near the railroad tracks and Mom had four more kids, two boys and two girls. So there were eight of us living on about $800 a month. Sometimes, a lot less when Mom was pregnant and right after. Like you, Jerry, I went to school with old clothes and beat up shoes. I felt shitty. So I guess my elephant felt shitty and I didn't know shit about how to make my elephant do anything. Ain't that the idea of the elephant?"

  "Yes, you got the idea. Jorge. Now, what kind of trouble did you let your elephant get into that got you sent here to Booneville with us?"

  Jorge looked around the group and said, "Now, if I tell all you guys what happened, it will really be just between us here in this group. Would you all tell me yes?" Everyone did and he continued. "Okay. On my eighteenth birthday, my twelve-year-old sister, Maria, came home with a box of candy for my birthday. I didn't know where she got the money to buy it, but I didn't say anything. Anyway, after dinner as I was blowing out the candles on the cake my mom made for me, a policeman came to our house. I should say 'our shack.' And this bastard policeman, a real badass gringo, he grabs my sister by the arm and starts to pull her out the door. He said, 'You're under arrest, little lady, for stealing that candy.' And he drags her toward the door. She fell down and he keeps dragging her like she's a rag doll. I couldn't stand it and I jumped up and I hit the bastard and he let go of my sister and grabbed me. I went to jail and then to court and got thirty years for hitting the policeman. Assault and battery on a police officer, they called it." Jorge began crying and looked away.

  I looked around and no one in the group seemed at all condemning of Jorge's tears. I had tears as well and I was pleased that everyone seemed to be compassionately
moved. After a few minutes, I asked, "Jorge, did you have an attorney at your trial?"

  "Yeah, a public defender. I don't think he was very good, because he kept looking at my file, like he never saw it before. I been here in prison for fifteen years now. I sure would like to get out. Doc Carroll has really helped me feel better. I have gotten my high school diploma and finished four courses of college, thanks to Doc. I'd sure like to hear some of your stories ... about your elephants, as Jerry would say. Thanks for listening to me." We all clapped for him.

  Jake Salman, an African-American, reminded me of a NFL linebacker and towered over all of us. He put his elbow on the table and raised his arm. "I got one helluva badass elephant I wanna tell ya about an if I hear a word about whut I'm gonna tell ya outside this group, I'm gonna turn ma elephant on yer ass. Okay?"

  I raised both of my hands and said, "You've got my word, Jake ..." I chuckled and added, "I sure don't want your elephant on my ass .

  or anywhere else on my body." Jake grinned and everyone laughed. I was rather proud of my not being afraid of Jake or any of the other inmates. I didn't see anyone who reminded me of Sergio who had scared me earlier; or, perhaps, I had grown from that experience.

  Jake continued, "I been in this fuckin place fer fifteen years. I was twenty-four years ol' and mindin' my own bisness and one day, I was takin my sweet mama to tha store, an dis truckload a crackers came by. They was in dis lil' ol' truck, some call it a pickup, I guess. They call my lil' mama a ho! Dat made me so mad, I ran over ta that lil truck. Dem punks hurried to tha udder side, an I picked it up one side o' dat lil waggin and turned da damn ting over. I guess some 'un musta call da police cause tree of dem cama afta me. Der were four or five honkies in de back an two in de front and almos all of dem got hurt ... two purdy bad, I guess. Anyway, de police thro my sorry ass in jail and then to this palacial place. An my elephant run wild a time or two here in de palace and dey put some mo years on me. So, dat's my sorry-ass story. Oh, an like Jorge here, Doc Carroll hep me ride ma elephant a who lot betta. Mebbe I can hep some otha fellas wif dere elephants."

  I clapped, and all the others joined me. I was getting more and more impressed with Jack's counseling expertise. I definitely would be learning from him. He told me he was applying to St. Louis University for a doctorate in psychology. I would recommend him ... to teach the professors.

  The remaining three inmates had similar stories and only one, Bruce Leland, had been a fairly big-time drug dealer, and seemed to be what I would call a criminal type of person. And even the drug dealer, a Caucasian and probably the smallest man in the group, grew up in dire poverty, as had the others. None were definitely the 'hardened criminal' types I had read about. Each of the group leaders stayed with their groups as the cafeteria folks brought the food in for us. I met briefly with the other three facilitators and all were pleased with the openness of their groups. J.J. and Sonia were as impressed as I was about Jack's counseling work, and we told him so.

  Chapter 17

  JERRY

  I was so pleased by how positive the morning went for all four groups that I nearly forgot who I was to introduce for the afternoon session. My mood was made even more positive when I heard Henry Bonhoeffer tell Dan McGuire that they both should cancel all their other appointments and stay for the afternoon.

  The team chose J.J. to give our second talk. She looked relaxed and confident as she began. "Good afternoon. I hope the other groups are as smart and dedicated as my group is. If you are, then we're going to have a very successful reform program. I hope my group members will be patient with me as I repeat some of my story for the rest of the guys. I am going to start with the idea that each of us is living a script. Part of it comes from our childhood and part of it we have changed as we have grown older. However we have gotten it, we all have a script and we have chosen most of it. It is our hope that this workshop and this reform program will change our scripts ... for the better, of course. Our script includes the idea that each of us has a metaphorical elephant that has grown with each of us.

  "Obviously, a big part of my script comes from the fact that I am African-American. Like Jerry and most of the rest of you, I grew up poor. My poor neighborhood was on the south side of Chicago. That in itself means that I had to be tough to survive. So, I am tough. Not as tough as Jake here ." She walked over and put a hand on his shoulder. She looked tiny standing next to him, and just sitting, he barely had to look up at her standing there. Putting on her most charming smile, she said, "Now, Jake, you'll be my protector if anyone goes after me, won't you?"

  "You bet yer sweet ass, baby." He grinned and then looked menacing at everyone else. We all dared to laugh and did our best to look scared.

  "I did have the good fortune of having three brothers and two sisters, all older than me, who honestly did look after me. So, in that sense, I did live a secure life. My dad worked in a meat-packing plant and my mom worked as a kindergarten teacher in the neighborhood. Because of my many protectors, I did feel safe as a young child. It was when I went outside of our area, into the white Chicago, I soon learned that I was an inferior being—in stores, theatres, parks, on the El—everywhere blacks were the minority. I'm sorry to report that one of my brothers is serving a prison sentence for killing a policeman, the cop who had killed my oldest sister.

  "I can't say that she was little Miss Innocent because she was totally stupid for trying to steal a purse from a department store. She was with my brother when it happened. The policeman saw what she was doing and grabbed her and told her she was under arrest. My brother was in another part of the store and heard Jennifer yell at the cop. My bro ran over just as the cop was putting cuffs on Jennifer. I guess he thought our sister was being treated too roughly and came after the cop. The cop pulled his gun out and aimed it at Jordan, my bro. As I understand it, Jordan hit the cop just as the cop shot Jordan twice. One round hit Jordan in the shoulder and the other hit Jennifer in the head. Jennifer was dead. Jordan was a big guy, kinda like Jake, here, and he knocked the cop down and he hit his head on something and died. Jordan was taken to the hospital. When he got out, he went to jail and later was convicted of second-degree murder." J.J. stood there in the middle of our group and let the tears flow down her face. She slowly turned around and looked at the solemn faces around her.

  I looked around the group, also. I wanted to see if everyone was seeing and hearing the sad human story J.J. was telling. I wanted to make sure that no one was looking contemptuously or accusingly at her. Compassion seemed to be the common response ... which is exactly what we needed in our inmate-counselors.

  J.J. continued, "So my script included a great deal of sadness. Also it included that being black made me different from the people who were somehow blessed by God, if they had lighter skin. The lighter-skinned people lived in better houses, went to better schools, and well, had more freedom to move around in this world without worrying about getting arrested or getting shot. My mom and dad told us about white and colored bathrooms and waiting rooms and stuff like that when they were growing up. They often said that we had it good. Anyway, it took me many years to learn to ride this script-elephant in a patient, relaxed, and confident way. I was a good student and did get a full scholarship to the University of Chicago. I thought I was just getting a scholarship to a neighborhood school. To give you an idea of how ignorant I was, it took till Christmas to learn that Chicago University is one of the premier schools in the world." J.J. put her thumbs under her armpits and tried to look snooty and said, "So, you all, I'm really hot stuff!"

  She grinned and went on, "Later I got a job as a social worker here in Missouri. Almost every month, I visit Jordan in the Illinois State Penitentiary. And like some of you, he has completed high school and some college while in prison. I told him of my work here with Jerry, Jack, and Sonia and he is excited for me. He also told me I should hurry up and get my ass to Illinois because their prison sure did need some reforming." Everyone laughed at this.

  I
clapped and everyone joined me. The wardens and unarmed guards tensed up as Jake Salman rushed up to J.J. They all sat back down as Jake gently took her hand in both of his and said, "Thank you, J.J., thank you so much. You are, indeed, hot stuff." J.J. shed tears and Jake went back to his seat next to me and said, "Ya know, Jerry, my man, maybe this reform thing might just work."

  I wonder if the wardens and guards would have been so alarmed if Jake had been white.

  We broke into our four groups and as we sat down, I said, "Thanks, Jake, for your comment about our program. I sure hope it will be a success. And I do believe it will ... with people like you. Now, team, tell us about the script you grew up with. Mark, you didn't get a chance to really get into your elephant, so tell us about your script and the elephant will come out, too."

  Mark was ready. "First, I want to join Jake with the thought that this reform will work. While J.J. was talking I was thinking about my own life. My dad was a policeman but I couldn't get into the police academy in Kansas City before I got married and I needed a job and this one here in Booneville came up. I guess being in law enforcement was in my script because of my family." He went on to tell how his family had all been kind of "red neck" conservative people and he had been more than a bit prejudiced until he got to know Doc Carroll and saw how easily he got along with everyone. Doc changed his script.

  The others expanded their elephants to include their scripts and I asked each of them to start thinking about how they wanted to change their scripts. They began sharing their ideas. All included being more tolerant and positive.

  We went on until 4:00 and broke for the day. All four of the team spent the evening and night at Dan McGuire's home in Booneville. I called Rebecca and told her that our workshop was a fantastic success.

  Jack Carroll began the second day with his story. I was glad to see that our wardens, Henry and Dan, were back. Jack began, "All but four of you guards have heard bits and pieces of my story, or elephant, or script, but I think Jerry and Dan are the only ones who know the whole story. Rather than elephant or script, I call my story, 'my time wrestling with God.'" He told them of his family—his dead sister, mom and drunken and dead dad—and growing up with a twin brother. Like a good professional story-teller, he built up to last weekend when he saw his twin for the first time in twenty years while he himself was in chains and in jail. "Joe, my twin, didn't seem to wrestle with God, but conformed to most of the rules of the Catholic Church and became a priest. The gigantic exception to his rule-following was that he was a pedophile and molested a bunch of children." The way Jack said this made everyone gasp. He ended with the exhortation, "I hope that you all have been wrestling with God and will continue to do so until the day you die."