Collect Call From Hell
By: Molly Secours
Tennessee Tribune
Originally posted 1/8/2006
This weekend when the caller id displayed an unfamiliar number, I hesitated, let it ring a few times and finally picked up. Although I've become a careful call screener over the years, something compelled me to answer this one.
Instead of a bill collector or bank trying to sell me a new mortgage, it was an automated voice announcing that someone named "Diesel" was calling collect from a Tennessee State prison. Not knowing anyone by that name, I assumed it was a wrong number and instead of pressing zero to accept the call, I quickly hung up.
After several more rings, I decided to actually accept the call so that the person on the other line would know they had the wrong number and wouldn't feel rejected by a friend or family member refusing the call. The next time I picked up, I pressed 0 to accept and immediately a voice called my name and said, "Hey it's me, Clarence." The voice was not familiar but the name brought a smile to my face.
Clarence was a student from a juvenile facility where I taught writing and video-making several years ago. When we first met he was 17 and still had the voice and mannerisms of a young boy. I was struck by his presence on the first meeting. He was attentive, serious, soft-spoken and one of the most gifted writers I've ever met. Writing was like breathing for him. The first time I gave a writing assignment requesting three or four written pages of ideas by the next class, Clarence came in with 40 handwritten pages of a screenplay (in proper format) and some of the most natural dialog I'd ever read.
Clarence wasn't comfortable with computers and preferred to use his own hand. The longer I knew him the more evident it became that Clarence's reluctance to rely on a computer was about trust and not capability. After all he was the most gifted student in the class.
Having been convicted of murder at the age if 12, Clarence was sent to juvenile prison until the age of nineteen after which time he was transferred to adult prison -- where he will remain until the age twenty-four.
There is no question that Clarence committed a grave and serious crime at age 12 and needed to be held accountable. And he has taken responsibility. During his time in juvenile prison, Clarence met with the victim's family and asked forgiveness for taking their loved ones life in a robbery gone bad. Although he can never undo the irreparable damage, he has clearly made serious efforts to rectify the wrong.
In two more years he will be eligible for release but it is unfathomable that a twelve-year-old child raised behind concrete walls and steel bars is expected to magically cope and behave as a productive member of society upon release. When he is released he will live the rest of his life with a felony record. Regardless of the fact that at 24 he will have paid his debt to society by being imprisoned for half his life, he will always be a felon and suffer the social and economic discrimination that is as inescapable as prison itself.
What qualities and characteristics are likely to be nurtured and cultivated in a child raised by prison guards and authority figures? Imagine your own precious twelve-year-old child without the mental, emotional and spiritual guidance you offer him or her on a daily basis. Who would they become without that?
This isn't to suggest there aren't wonderful people working and teaching in prisons. There are. But the system does not lend itself for one-on-one or even one-on-ten attention in our overcrowded facilities. So how do children become rehabilitated and grow into fully functioning adults?
Clarence, also known as Diesel, has learned not to trust or rely on anyone else -- including people like me. He refers to people who come into his life but don't stay around long term as 'ins and outs'. It helps him keep track of those he can afford to be vulnerable with. And there seems to be a tit-for-tat point system attached. But that's what he's learned at his home in prison -- don't make attachments. And although it makes sense for survival in prison, how well will that serve him on the outside?
Clarence doesn't really know what he's interested in and recently stopped working out on weights because he says he's tired. He doesn't know anything about depression or why he might be lethargic -- just that he doesn't feel like getting up. In the nine and a half years of being in prison, Clarence has received minimum (if any) counseling or guidance about who he really is. And because he missed out on a childhood, he has little idea about what he likes to do or what he might be good at or how he might best serve the world.
Clarence spends most of his time sleeping these days. Although he just graduated from a course in culinary arts he isn't much interested in food. And he knows that because of the limited job market for felons he might have to take any job he can get.
I want to tell him that he can't hold his future hostage because of his feelings of isolation and that he needs to trust himself and others more and know that he can do anything he puts his mind to.
But I can't make myself say it. I hear the hollowness of my words followed by a beep and an automated voice reminding us we have 60 seconds left to speak. I hear a pained sound on the other end of the receiver and a goodbye and I start to say "take care of yourself" but the phone line has gone dead.
As I hang up the phone it occurs to me that Clarence has always taken care of himself. That's why he's so tired.
Molly Secours is a writer/filmmaker/speaker and frequent co-host on "Behind the Headlines" on WFSK 88.1 FM. She can be reached at: mollmaud@comcast.net or www.mollysecours.com
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