Some Measure of Solace

I heard the most poignant story on the radio today.

It seems this fella, we’ll call him “Bill Robinson” worked as a librarian and English teacher in a particular co-ed prison. And while the men and women were denied the opportunity to spend time together, nevertheless, they found ways to interact, and to even foster platonic relationships.

The males and females of the prison were provided a different library schedule, and since the inside wall was glass, and the women sometimes had access to the immediate area outside the glass, it wasn’t unusual when the guys and gals developed a form of sign language.

While any verbal or written contact between the two genders was forbidden, the prisoners discovered an additional way in which to communicate. The prisoners routinely wrote letters, and placed them in pre-selected books for “the next shift” to find. And sometimes they did, and sometimes they didn’t; since among Mr. Robinson’s duties was the expectation that he retrieve as many letters as possible, read them, turn in any especially suspect letters to the warden, and destroy the rest. And since his responsibilities at the prison included additional roles as a teacher and mentor, Bill admitted that each time he read and destroyed letters that were meant for someone else’s eyes, he felt like a Judas.

The women’s cells were located in the 11^th story of the massive prison, and their classrooms, as well. Among the female students whom Bill taught American Literature was a lady named “Jessica.” Day after day the teacher noticed how little attention Jessica seemed to give to his lecture, and how that she constantly starred out a nearby window. After a week of this inattention, Mr. Robinson dismissed his inattentive student from the class, and told her not to come back.

After a couple days, “Sally,” a lady who was known as the Prison Snitch, provided her teacher what passed for “the rest of the story.” Jessica’s son was also imprisoned at “Cartwright,” and while the rest of the class participated in the lecture, her eyes were glued on “Chris,” as he participated in his “yard time;” 11 stories below the classroom.

Mr. Robinson immediately sought out Jessica, and made her aware that he was clued into her little secret. Initially, she feared Bill was “up to no good.” But it was soon apparent that he wanted to help her, when he whispered, “Would you like to rejoin the class?”

She did, and while this time around Jessica “went through the motions,” most of her time was devoted to that barred window.

As the class wound down to its eventual conclusion, one day Jessica lingered after the rest of the students had filed out.

“Mr. Robinson, I need a favor.”

Immediately Bill’s “guard went up.” There were no favors at Cartwright. “Doing favors” was immediate grounds for termination. However, the sensitive teacher took time to listen.

“Go on.”

Jessica paused, and then said,

“Uh, well, I’m being transferred to a different prison in a couple weeks, and I want you to give a letter to my son, Chris, and I also want him to have a gift.”

Mr. Robinson responded,

“Well, I’m listening.”

“I’m working on the letter. The gift? Well, I want somebody to paint my likeness. I still have some time to serve, and I don’t know when I’ll see my son on the outside. Would you do this for me?”

Bill could not resist asking Jessica about the situation which existed prior to mother and son being incarcerated in the same prison.

Jessica hesitated, and tears gathered in her eyes.

“I was an addict. I was no good for Chris. One day I took him to the nice part of town. I went into a large cathedral, and left him there with a note in his pocket which read, ‘I can’t take care of him. Please give my son a good home.’”

Mr. Robinson was filled with compassion, and he promised to give the finished letter to Chris, as well as contact someone about doing a portrait of Jessica.

Whether the painting was done by a fellow prisoner, or outside party, I’m unable to say, but on the day Jessica arrived for her portrait, Bill hardly recognized her. Someone has fixed her hair, and she wore a bit of rouge and bright lipstick.

And though Mr. Robinson urged Jessica to finish the letter, as the days ticked off leading up to the prisoner’s transfer, it wasn’t getting done. After Jessica’s transfer the Prison Snitch told the teacher that Jessica had torn it up, and thrown it in the trash.

Initially, Chris refused to accept the portrait of his mother, but eventually relented.

Later, Bill was informed that after Jessica’s release from prison, she returned to the drug scene, and regrettably, she overdosed and died.

A poignant story, and one which I will never forget.

I hope that after Chris’ release life fell together better for him, than that of his mother, and that he became a productive member of society.

I’m hopeful, too, that the portrait of his mother offered him some degree of solace.

By William McDonald, PhD. (Mc)Donald's Daily Diary. Vol. 17. Copyright pending

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