Insiders

by Olivia Goldsmith

  ‘First Kiama’s,’ I said, ‘ ‘cause she’s the youngest.’ I handed her the dall and helped her open the package. Her fingers were still so small and soft! When she saw the dall she took it and hugged it and finally smiled at me. I was gonna cry again if I didn’t turn my attention to the others.

  They opened their gifts then and were so pleased with ‘em. I never felt better in my life, havin’ ‘em there with me and happy. I took Kiama up on my lap and put my arm around Jamorah.

  ‘How are you all, my sweet little girls? Tell Mama all about everything.’

  Well things just started spoutin’ outta them, things about school and their friends and their rooms at home.

  Kiama sat pattin’ her lil’ dally and then she started to talk, too. ‘Will you come home with us, Mama?’ she asked.

  Jamorah got a sad look on her face and Talitha started appylin’ the chapstick to her lips.

  ‘Mama can’t go with you now,’ I said to her. ‘Mama’s got to stay here for a while more.’

  ‘But you know somethin’?’ I continued. ‘There’s cookies and juice over there that we ain’t even had. Let’s go and get some.’

  So we walked over to the refreshment table where Jen was pourin’ juice for everybody. ‘What beautiful children you have, Movita,’ she said, smilin’ at them.

  ‘Thank you,’ I said, and introduced them. I was so immensely proud of them at that moment. They were fine, well-behaved children. I could see Jen was impressed and I felt like I had done at least somethin’ good in my life.

  The end of our visit came way too soon. When the ten minute warning came, I felt so bad all of a sudden I didn’t think I’d be able to stand it when they left. I was afraid I’d scream and sob and had to think of some way not to. Maybe Jen would help me, I thought, and took my kids back that way to say good-bye – under the pretext of gettin’ some more cookies.

  Then I told ‘em all that I loved ‘em and that I had each one’s picture up in my room and that I prayed for ‘em every day. I said they could come again to see me soon. When I actually had to watch their little backs walkin’ out, leavin’ me, I took hold of Jennifer’s hand. She seemed to understand and put her arm around my back. I started cryin’ the minute I couldn’t see ‘em no more, and I cried nearly the whole rest of the day, except for when I was feelin’ good, thinkin’ of ‘em playin’ with their presents.

  44

  Maggie Rafferty

  ‘Association’ is one of the most noxious of restrictions placed on people released on parole. ‘Association’ means that the parolee is not allowed to communicate with any person who also has a prison record … [T]hey are not able to associate with any of their old friends and buddies.

  Kathryn Watterson, Women in Prison

  Working with Jennifer Spencer was a great pleasure. And she brought other pleasures into my life. I must admit that I had cut myself off from people and my feelings, and that for me it was a more comfortable way to live. But Jennifer, with her intelligence, her enthusiasm, her optimism, and her can-do attitude, revitalized me. Perhaps she reminded me, just a little bit, of myself at her age. As problems were hurled at her daily she responded with solutions. Once she had a mission she was busy, optimistic, and good company.

  And Jennifer Spencer did a lot more than improve my quality of life. She improved the quality of life for everybody at Jennings and she brought people together. After years of keeping to myself, she forced me to deal with Warden Harding and I found that I had been a snob and that I had not given her enough credit for her intelligence and imagination. She had been hog-tied by the system but she had never lost her compassion. Jennifer also forced me to interact with her crew. Movita Watson, Theresa LaBianco, Suki Conrad and her adorable baby. We had so many meetings that it was easiest to meet over dinner. I found myself enjoying their company, even that of the platitude-spouting Miss LaBianco. And the baby! Neither one of my boys has made me a grandmother but little Christina brought out all my grandmotherly feelings. Despite my arthritis I even began crocheting again.

  As I sat in the library crocheting, I would sometimes be overwhelmed with sadness. The problem of feeling pleasure again is the fact that it also brings pain along with it. It is impossible to catalogue the myriad soul-numbing cruelties that are visited upon us as we serve our time in prison. It is impossible, and it is of no value to try. We need not be reminded of these degradations, for we submit to them daily.

  There is, however, a particularly cruel regulation that tears at our hearts only on occasion. And even under new management this rule couldn’t be changed. That is when a beloved friend – or as they say ‘crewmate’ – is released from incarceration. From the moment she passes beyond these bars, the law prohibits any further communication between that woman and the friends that she leaves behind. After five, ten, or perhaps twenty years of friendship – of living together, laughing and crying together, comforting and nursing one another, and growing together as sisters and friends – it is all brought to an abrupt end. No letters, no phone calls, no visits – nothing. We dare not even mourn, for we know our friend has not passed away. As I say, it is a particular cruelty that can still tear at hearts that have long been hardened to such sorrow.

  I am speaking, of course, of Miss McInnery’s – Cher’s – absence. It was keenly felt by all of the women in her crew, but most painfully, I believe, by Miss Movita Watson. I myself never permitted my heart the luxury of an intense friendship such as the one these two women shared. What one does not have, one cannot lose. And yet, given the new circumstances of life at Jennings, I found my resolve to protect my heart was weakening, and quite before I knew what was happening, it seemed as if I was now a member of Miss Watson’s crew. I shared meals with these women, shared dreams with these women, and after many years of willful solitary exile, I felt at home with these women. It was so very good – and so very hard to witness their loss of their dear Cher. They did not speak of her – as many primitive cultures refuse to speak of the dead – but the sorrow of her absence was keenly felt by all.

  Imagine then, the delight, when the cagey Miss Cher somehow managed to slip a communication past the prison postal officials and into the hands of a nearly ecstatic Movita Watson. It came as a simple tourist postcard from New York City – fittingly with a picture of the Statue of Liberty – and bearing this message:

  Girls –

  Having a wonderful time – wish you were here! I’m looking good, feeling good, and taking my own personal bite out of the Big Apple and enjoying every minute of it.

  Love from Lady Liberty

  Miss Watson put on a brave and defensive show of snorting disregard and ridicule of the message, and yet I could not help but note that she held tight to that postcard throughout the dinner we shared that evening. Everyone was talking about Cher – speculating about Cher – and in doing so, bringing Cher back into their presence, if only for that moment.

  It was Miss LaBianco who first suggested that we collectively return correspondence to Cher. She strongly opined that given the new leadership and conditions at Jennings, we, too, were looking good, feeling good, and – while not taking a bite out of the Big Apple – enjoying more fresh fruit in our diet than ever before. All agreed that we should share with Cher just how nice it had become to be imprisoned. I’ll admit that I was intrigued. However, as no one knew of Cher’s whereabouts, it was impossible to send our greetings (and, may I say, our gloatings?) to her.

  It was Miss Watson who then informed us that she, having access to the Warden’s files, could easily find a mailing address for her friend. I recognized the address at once as being that of an infamous mailing service that enables the pretentious to lay claim to an Upper East Side address. So exactly where Miss Cher was actually residing could not be determined, but I can assure you that it was not on East Seventy-third. However, that was the address we had, and so it was decided that we should – in flagrant violation of the regulations – post a letter to Cher.

  It fe
ll to me to pen this epistle, as I was the only resident at Jennings to possess both personally engraved stationery and (if I may be so immodest) a most beautiful calligraphic mastery of penmanship. Although my Mont Blanc had long ago run dry, I managed with an inexpensive disposable ballpoint to compose a lengthy letter to Miss McInnery in which I shared each of the ‘crew’s’ personal taste of this heretofore rotten – but now considerably rosier – apple we know of as Jennings. I share it with you now.

  My Dearest Lady Liberty,

  Greetings from ‘The Crew’. We were so delighted to receive your most welcome communication. We too, wish we were there. However, as you are no doubt aware, the privatization of Jennings has led to numerous improvements in our living conditions, and so while we cannot be there, being here is not nearly so bleak an experience as it once was. Each of the crew has asked that I share some specifics with you.

  I shall begin with Miss LaBianco, as it was at her suggestion that this letter was written. Theresa has brought her considerable business acumen to bear in the development of an entire curriculum of instructional courses covering all aspects of occupational training. From composing curriculum vitae and practicing employment interview techniques, then on to instruction in modern business practices and telecommunications skills and computer use, the course of study fully prepares each participant to reenter the competitive employment market. It is a pity that you could not have availed yourself of this fine program prior to your release. I am certain it would have been of great value in your efforts to find gainful employment in New York City. Be that as it may, Miss LaBianco is both a brilliant teacher and an inspiring motivational speaker. Whenever a student voices a doubt as to the efficacy of the class work – often citing the problems inherent in applying for employment as an ‘ex-con’, Miss L. launches into one of her familiar lectures. ‘Problems?’ she’ll ask. ‘You know what they say about problems, don’t you? Problems are just opportunities to find solutions! That’s what they say about problems.’ She is absolutely right, you know. It is much better to believe that we have opportunities for solutions than to wallow in our problems.

  Which brings me to Miss Conrad. She is the proud mother of a healthy baby girl she named Christina. Suki, too, is benefiting from the changes wrought here at Jennings. In addition to the aforementioned classes in professional training, there are numerous instructional opportunities for expectant mothers, both in pre- and post-natal care. These courses are part and parcel of an entire program of improved medical services. Full-time medical personnel are readily available twenty-four-seven, as they say, and, in addition to improved health care, we have instituted a fine program in preventative medicine as well: nutritional classes, exercise regimens, and effective treatments for substance abuse are available to all.

  You do know, of course, that Miss Spencer is largely responsible for the improvements here at Jennings. While I recall that you and she did not always see eye to eye, I trust that you will agree that she has been a tireless champion of the women here. She continues to conceive, develop, and implement innovative programs and services that seek to rehabilitate rather than to punish. Her legacy is worthy of any philanthropist. She is quite a remarkable young woman.

  As is, as you know, your dear friend Miss Watson. Now while I would not choose to write such sentiments myself, Movita has insisted that I quote her exactly: ‘You tell that honky bitch that she’d better keep her snotty nose clean or else she’ll be draggin’ her sorry white ass right back in here!’ I trust you can read beyond the harsh bravado of those words and see the underlying truth of her love and devotion for you. In addition to her continued service to the Warden, Movita has been instrumental in the development of improved visitation services, and, with the overnight facilities for families nearing completion, it won’t be long before she will enjoy lengthy visits with her daughters. Miss Watson misses you dearly, and while I’m sure she does not wish it for you, be assured that should you ever drag your ‘sorry white ass’ back to Jennings, she would welcome you and it most warmly.

  Which brings me at last to my own distinctive – if somewhat diminutive – contribution to the betterment of Jennings. I have drafted and introduced to both the staff and the residents a most thorough and rigid ‘Code of Courtesy’. It is my hope that I shall live to see the day when we no longer refer to one another as B------s, c------s, and w------s. Instead, I have insisted that we treat one another with the respect that we deserve. The code calls for everyone – residents and staff alike – to use ‘Miss’ or ‘Mrs’ while addressing residents, and to use ‘Officer’ or whatever title is appropriate while speaking to staff members. While many have mocked and ridiculed this code, others have grown to appreciate the new civility and can now see the benefits of good manners and proper decorum. Miss LaBianco has suggested that I teach courses in deportment, and I believe I shall agree to do so.

  And so, Miss Liberty, we remain your less-tired, less-poor, and not-so-huddled masses yearning to be free.

  Sincerely,

  Margaret Rafferty

  I was especially satisfied with the closing. However, upon sharing the letter with Miss Watson, prior to its posting via my son’s hand, she opined that Miss McInnery would well require the use of a dictionary to assist in her reading of the missive. In fact, what she said exactly was, ‘We asked you to write to the bitch in English. She can’t read no foreign language.’ I thanked her for that pithy observation. But as a woman involved in education most of my life, I always champion any effort to broaden one’s vocabulary. As one can probably infer, it is, in fact, difficult for me to articulate the renewed vigor that the changes at Jennings have brought to my life. I wake up without lethargy or depression. It is of no mean import to know that a life’s sentence need not terminate one’s life’s work.

  As for Miss Watson, I doubt I shall ever be as great a friend to her as Miss McInnery was. However, despite the difference in our skin color, our backgrounds, our vocabulary, et al., given the shared nature of our incarceration, we shall never have to say good-bye to one another. In total fairness, I should say that I – being many years her senior – will likely never have to say good-bye to her. I trust when the day comes that she bids me farewell, she will understand and forgive my selfish devotion to her. She is my new friend.

  45

  Jennifer Spencer

  Making it out there ain’t no easy thing, honey. We’re as good as lepers out there.

  An older woman parolee. Kathryn Watterson, Women in Prison

  ‘You know what they say about advice, don’t you?’ Theresa asked Jennifer. ‘They say, if you can tell the difference between good advice and bad advice, then you probably don’t need any advice. That’s what they say about advice.’ Theresa leaned back and let her words of wisdom sink in.

  ‘What kind of advice is that?’ Jennifer wanted to know. ‘If I didn’t need any advice, I wouldn’t have asked for any advice.’

  ‘That’s what I’m trying to tell you,’ Theresa explained. ‘You’ve been asking for advice about this parole hearing from every woman in the joint, and has everyone advised you to do the same thing?’

  ‘No,’ Jennifer answered. ‘In fact, it seems like everyone that I talk to has a different idea of how to act at a parole hearing. Some say I should be all passive and regretful, and others say I should be confident and strong and really show them that I’m rehabilitated. And Flora said I should just stay quiet and only answer the questions.’ Jennifer paused. She really was nervous about this. She could be out in weeks if the board passed her. But lots of inmates had told her that the board was reluctant to parole anyone on their first request. Jennifer was confused. ‘I keep thinking, if they all know so damn much about it, why aren’t they out on parole? So the point is, I don’t know what to think. That’s why I’m asking you. What’s your advice?’ She looked at Theresa, who wasn’t an idiot, though she sounded like one sometimes.

  ‘I just gave it to you.’ Theresa smiled. ‘You have to figure out w
hose advice is good advice and whose advice is bad advice, and then you won’t need any advice at all.’

  ‘I can’t believe you actually made millions talking like this,’ Jennifer said in exasperation. ‘You just talk in circles.’

  ‘Okay, fine,’ sniffed Theresa. ‘Let that be my advice. My advice is “What goes round, comes round.” It all goes in circles.’

  ‘That doesn’t tell me a thing either,’ Jennifer sighed.

  ‘Then try this,’ Theresa continued as she fit another damn piece in the puzzle. ‘“It is in pardoning that we are pardoned.” That’s right from the mouth of St Francis, and you don’t get much better advice than his.’

  Jennifer didn’t say anything in response – not right away. She was giving serious thought to what Theresa had just said. ‘That’s great advice, Theresa,’ she finally said, ‘but who is it that I’m supposed to pardon?’

  ‘Who are you pissed at?’

  Jennifer’s brow furrowed as she considered Theresa’s question. Who was she pissed at? Tom? Not anymore – not really. She hated his guts, she despised everything he stood for, and she was sorry as hell that she had ever met the guy. But she wasn’t really pissed at him anymore. She didn’t have the time to be pissed at Tom. Donald? Same story. That sorry son-of-a-bitch would get his eventually. She just hoped that she would be there to watch it happen. Donald Michaels had played her for the fool that she was, and if she was pissed at anyone, it was herself. She was pissed at herself for idolizing a monster, loving a weakling, and letting them both bring out the absolute worst in her. And she was pissed for being stupid, greedy, and gullible. ‘Me,’ she finally said in answer to Theresa’s question. ‘I’m pissed at me.’

  Theresa just smiled. ‘Well, my advice still applies. It is in pardoning that we are pardoned. Go in there and tell that parole board everything that you’re sorry about, and then tell them that you’ve worked damned hard to forgive yourself, and then tell them you would appreciate it if they would forgive you, too.’ Theresa paused for a moment, then asked, ‘Are you ready to pardon yourself, honey?’