I went to prison today

A reflection from Lalia Mangione, Artist Team Member

I went to prison today. 

Even from a ways down the road, you can see the fences - how tall they are and how much barbed wire is at the top. There’s a long winding driveway to get to a parking lot and what looks like a fairly small building to enter through in comparison to the height of the fences. 

I braced myself as we walked in. I expected the guards to immediately hate me. Why? Because I’m a woman walking into a men’s prison. I expected I would be the “hassle” of the day - that Rebecca and I coming in together to teach a string class would get some eye rolls. 

The guard eyed Rebecca and me but didn’t say anything while he continued to check ID’s and let people in and out through the gate. Another corrections officer nearby greeted us, but suddenly it was 3 pm and the building was full of staff clocking out. It felt chaotic, with so many people coming in and out for the shift change. Once things calmed down, the guard turned to us, said he recognized Rebecca, and began making calls to check on our gate pass. 

We went through the metal detector with no problems, opened our cases to reveal that only our instruments were inside, and waited to get tested for COVID. Before our tests were complete, our contact, Mr. Gardenhire and Stuart greeted us. I was meeting them for the first time. Mr. G was one of the happiest people I’ve ever met and I instantly wanted to be his friend. Stuart is probably the tallest person I’ve ever met. He’s a large man that makes you feel safe when you’re with him. On the other hand, if I got on Stuart’s bad side, I would be very intimidated by his presence. Escorted by these two men…we finally went inside. 

First thought as I walked into the men’s prison, “Why is there a playground here?!” 

It looks like a compound on the inside - like a college campus almost but a little less aesthetically pleasing than a beautifully landscaped campus. It was rather plain. There’s nothing striking about the brick buildings and cement walkways. I wondered how soon I would get sick of the scenery here… or lack thereof. I later found out that the playground is attached to the visitation building and is for families to use during visiting hours. It felt sweet to know that when families were visiting, they could have some time playing on a playground with their kids, but also sad to know that there are children who come inside this compound and only get to see their dad, brother, uncle, or cousin for short moments within the confines of a prison. 

My second thought - ”where are all the men?” As Stuart and Mr. G walked us to the rec center where we would be teaching class, the place looked deserted. Turns out the men had what they call “count” which is when they are literally counted one by one (this happens multiple times every day). During count they all have to be in their cells or have approval to be elsewhere (like our strings class). 

There was what looked to be a large community garden. The buildings have labels on them, like “visitors” or “chapel/recovery,” etc. As we walked, a storm was rolling in and the wind practically blew us off our feet. Water droplets began falling and it looked like it was about to pour. Just in time, we rounded the corner and made it through to the recreation center. We stepped inside as lightning and thunder clashed and it started raining…sideways. Once inside the rec room, there were about 11 guys sitting in a semicircle, all waiting for their beloved and long lost strings teacher, Rebecca. 

I’m not sure what I expected. I was warned that these guys are slick. I was warned that they might say something inappropriate to me, that they might ask me to do something I’m not allowed to do, that they might ask for favors, or even that they might try to get too close to me. I scoffed at all of this thinking to myself, “I am a woman and even on the ‘outside’ I deal with all the above.” Still… there was something slightly intimidating about walking into a prison full of men who are referred to as “offenders”.

I braced for the worst. 

I don’t know what these men did. I don’t know how long they’ve been in prison. I don’t know how long they have left to be in there. And you know what? I don’t want to know. Ever. What I saw and felt and heard when I walked into that rec room were people. People, just like you and me, who missed their teacher. People who were ready and eager to learn the tricky art of playing a string instrument. 

Rebecca’s face lit up when she walked in (even behind her mask, you could see her joy). It had been over a year since these men had received an in person strings class, and yet they immediately started updating their teacher on how they had tried to work together and help each other out in their practicing. That even though covid was hard and they didn’t practice every day, they did try to practice when they could. They were quick to admit their flaws, and say how much they desired to improve. 

Rebecca had them all introduce themselves to me and each one ended their intro with a polite, “nice to meet you.” It wasn’t long before we discovered how many instruments needed new strings, how many bows needed rehairs, and how many fingerboards needed new finger tapes. Rebecca and I sat down and got to it, taking in the fact that the 11 men were sharing 3 music stands and in some instances working with sub par equipment.

*Note to self: request permission to bring in music stands*

Walking into that room, talking with these men, I felt just like I was down the road from my house teaching a group adult class at a community center. I snapped into teacher mode and began trying to help find solutions for the men to have better success in playing. They performed what they had practiced for us, and it was amazing how much they had retained on their own without instruction. 

What struck me the most about this group of men was that they genuinely seemed to care. They cared to impress their teacher, to follow instruction, and to learn. 

I don’t know why they care. I don’t know why they signed up to come to this class. But, I could see that it meant something to them. The respect they showed to Rebecca and even right away to me as being their instructor, was in a way… refreshing. I’ve taught a lot of adults in the last decade or so, and sometimes it can be a tricky dynamic given that I’m still in my 20’s. 

I had braced. I had expected the worst. I was prepared to be in a difficult situation. Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t scared. I was simply trying to be prepared. But, here, at Grafton Correctional Institution, a medium security men’s prison, in Rebecca’s strings class, I felt completely comfortable. 

“What’s it like? How do they respond? Why do you go there? Aren’t you nervous?” 

These are the questions I get asked when I say that part of my job working with Renovare is to go into prisons. 

I didn’t have answers for these questions until today. 

What’s it like? It’s like walking into a medium security college campus of only men. They respond just like all my adult students respond- with questions, trying to learn as much as possible from me, their teacher, and with their best performance hoping that I will notice how hard they worked and affirm them. 

Why do I go there? Because I believe in affirming the value of all people and in loving all people as Christ loves me, regardless of anything they’ve done. Because every human deserves to be loved and treated with respect. Because I want to use the gifts and skills that God gave me for a purpose. 

Am I nervous? No, not even a little.  

The men were nice, kind, funny, and, well, for lack of a better way to put it, “normal”. I see them and I see a class of fun adult students. I felt how I always feel teaching a group string class. It’s no different. Their enthusiasm, focus, and curiosity made me excited to be working with them. 

The class ended and our incredibly tall escort, Stuart, walked us back to the gate so we could head home. This time, it wasn’t during count and there were men everywhere. I tried not to stare, but I was curious if all the men were like the men in our strings class. Of course, it was hard to tell in passing and before I could fully form thoughts and observations of the men as I walked by, we were showing our ID’s to the guard and walking through the gate back to the “outside”. And just like that, I was back on the “outside”. 

I walked out of there with adrenaline, trying to gather the millions of thoughts running through my head. I did my best to capture them all here. What I really wish for is to be able to photograph and film parts of this experience to more fully share with you. But, rules are rules, so today we will have to settle with pictures painted by words. 

Today I went to prison and honestly… I can’t wait to go back.