Reading behind Bars Read online

  And into the Fire

  It is the policy of the Ohio Department of Rehabilitation and Correction to provide for a qualified staff person to coordinate and supervise library services within each institution. Library staffing shall be augmented through the selection, training, and use of inmates as library aides.

  —ODRC Policy 58-LIB-02

  As Dr. Harald shuffled slowly down the walkway, I strolled alongside him, taking everything in. I had been inside when I interviewed a few weeks back, but I had been so amped up with interview nerves, combined with Oh my God, I am inside a prison nerves, that I didn’t really remember anything from that first meeting.

  The layout of the yard formed a semicircle with buildings scattered along the perimeter. Starting at the entrance and moving in a clockwise fashion there was Administration, the Operations building, and finally at the bottom of the loop, three dormitory-style buildings where the inmates slept. In the open area between was the yard, an expansive green space that provided outdoor recreation for the inmates. An asphalt path looped around, acting as a walking and running track.

  Dr. Harald first led me to the Administration building. Included there was the Visitation Room, along with the offices for those in charge of the prison, including the Warden, the Major, the Fiscal Officer and, of course, Human Resources.

  Inside Administration, I was reintroduced to Highland, head of Human Resources, and introduced for the first time to Warden Garcia, Deputy Warden Francis, and Major Torres.

  Between the three of them, this trio kept the prison and everyone inside—both staff and inmates—safe. Warden Garcia was in charge of the entire camp and mostly dealt with any security issues that arose, while Deputy Warden Francis oversaw the operational side of things, including the Education department. Before I started, there had been a Deputy Warden of Prison Programs, which was the catchall for the non-security side of things such as recreation, education, and the library, but she had left and Francis was pulling double duty until a replacement was found.

  Major Torres reported to Warden Garcia, and beneath him was a structured hierarchy that ranked the security team at the prison: Captain, Lieutenant, Sergeant, followed by all remaining Correctional Officers. There was only one Warden, Deputy Warden, and Major, but there were a couple of Captains and Lieutenants, a handful of Sergeants, and countless Correctional Officers who rotated their work shifts over the course of twenty-four hours.

  Mixed in with these military-like folks were the civilian staff, like myself.

  After signing all of the necessary papers with HR, I met Lieutenant Hall. He was the resident IT expert and he set me up with the username and password I would use to access my email from my library computer.

  IT was the last stop on my introductory tour, and it was now time for me to get to work. I continued to follow Dr. Harald as he exited Administration and headed down the main pathway. A few yards past Administration, our feet stepped over a fading red line painted on the asphalt. I glanced over my shoulder and watched the security control center, and with it the entrance, getting smaller and smaller with each step. A sense of trepidation followed each step as well. This must be how Harry Potter and friends felt as they ventured into the Forbidden Forest. They had no way of knowing what lay beyond but they knew enough—I mean, it was called the Forbidden Forest for a reason—to know that they had to keep their guard up and that danger lurked under every bush and behind every tree.

  As if to reconfirm my sense of unease, at that moment I noticed a sign posted beside the red strip. Walking out towards the yard, I could only see the back of the sign. Whatever was written on it was meant for those on the other side of the red strip. After walking over the strip, I peeked over my shoulder to read the big block letters: NO INMATES BEYOND THIS POINT.

  It might as well have said ABANDON ALL HOPE, YE WHO ENTER HERE.

  The line represented a demarcation between the levels of inmate interaction that happened among the staff. It was a little like Dante’s Inferno, with the employees working in Admin being stuck in a weird sort of limbo. While the Warden and other security staff had reason to enter the yard and visit the inmates and other buildings, some staff had no reason to ever cross the red line, and so had very limited interaction with the inmates, if they had any at all. But they still worked in a prison, just like the rest of us, only they existed in a gray space between freedom and incarceration.

  Yet, if the inmates decided to “storm the castle,” (to quote The Princess Bride) the major prize would be winning Administration and the Security Control Room. In that regard they were possibly in a more dangerous position than the rest of us.

  Right then, the yard was empty, partially covered with a blanket of snow, obscuring the baseball field in the distance. I had arrived during what is called “count.” Several times a day, the inmates are counted, making sure all inmates were present and accounted for. Where I was now constituted an open yard, meaning as long as it wasn’t count or meal times, the inmates could move around freely from their dorm to the library to recreation back to their dorm, etc. During count, when the inmates were in the dorms, and meal times were the only instance of controlled movement, when the correctional officers would herd the inmates like sheep. Other than that, the inmates were free to bounce back and forth across the yard into all permissible areas.

  Following the curve of the semicircle, the next place up was Operations, the main hub of inmate activity, a long low building that ran parallel to the entire length of the yard. As we walked, Dr. Harald gestured to the other doors: Quartermaster, Commissary, Chapel, Segregation (ah! the mysterious “Seg” that Schroeder had mentioned), Recreation, Dining, Library, and, finally, Education.

  Dr. Harald pulled out a keyring with a set of keys and chits that mirrored my own. He held a key up, showing me the number engraved on the head. “This one is for Education. The other one is for the library.” He put the first key into the lock on the front of the wide set of double doors.

  The foyer had the same dull beige hue as the lobby. Seems like that was standard issue. Two hallways ran perpendicular to the entrance, creating a backwards L. To my immediate left was the Education department office. At the very end of the hallway was a bathroom available only to staff with a key.

  Opposite the Education office was a classroom with computers all around the perimeter. Set in the middle was a large set of tables. A small group of four people—three women and one man—were clustered around a table. As Dr. Harald led me down the long hallway, the women in the classroom peeked their heads out to watch.

  Next to the computer classroom was another classroom, this one set in a more traditional style with all of the desks facing forward towards a whiteboard at the front of the room. Color punctuated the walls, bright posters with messages encouraging commitment and teamwork.

  Beside the classroom was a large opening in the wall that showed the inmate restrooms. No doors or privacy here. In front of the restroom entrance was a standard-issued desk, now empty. A logbook sat open on top.

  On the other side of the inmate restroom was another office. “This is our addiction treatment team,” Dr. Harald said, waving absentmindedly at them. “They oversee the Alcoholics Anonymous and Narcotics Anonymous meetings here. Those are held in the empty classrooms in the far back corners back there.” He gave another absentminded wave, as if to indicate whatever was down at the end of the hall wasn’t important enough to be included on the tour.

  So this was more than just a prison. Well, it was still very much a prison but it was a prison with a purpose: this particular minimum-security facility mostly housed inmates in on drunk driving charges and drug convictions. There was a smattering of other charges mixed in, but those two made up the bulk of the inmate population. This was not a coincidence; because of the strong focus on rehabilitation and addressing addiction, we were recognized as an institution where inmates could get the help they needed in those areas, in addition to serving their time. That’s where the “treatment
facility” part of the prison’s full name came from.

  Dr. Harald pointed out one more classroom, then circled back around and headed towards the front of the space, making a beeline for the computer classroom. “Everyone,” he announced, entering the room, “this is our new librarian, Miss Grunenwald.”

  The three women and one man who had been sitting at the table when I first came in all stood up, smiling, and each reached out to shake my hand.

  “I’m Mr. Hooper,” the man said, pumping my hand up and down. He was short in stature with tufts of white hair surrounding his pale face, giving him a particular resemblance to Einstein. His large smile extended up to his eyes. “I’m one of the GED teachers.”

  Next to him stood an older woman with big round glasses. “Roberta Carson.” She spoke in a clipped tone at a staccato pace, short and to the point. She kept her silver hair equally neat. It was short and spiky, standing up and out from her ivory skin. Roberta’s brown eyes, enlarged by her thick glasses, held the same level of seriousness as her tone. “I’m the other GED teacher.”

  Beside her was a tall woman, her long blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail. “Nancy.” When she smiled, her cheeks popped like ripe peaches. “I teach the computer classes.”

  Finally there was Kimberly, Dr. Harald’s assistant. I had met her briefly during my initial interview. Her brown hair was clipped short in a pixie cut, eyes rimmed dark with heavy liner. She was as pale as water, which made the juxtaposition of her dark hair and eyeliner all the more stark, like a ghost from a gothic horror novel. “We’re just getting ready to eat lunch.” She pointed to an empty seat at the table in the middle of the classroom.

  Stacked high in the center of the table was a tower of Styrofoam boxes. My new coworkers resumed their seats at the table and passed the boxes out. Roberta, like me, had brought her own lunch. My own lunch bag was a reusable, insulated Vera Bradley, in one of the popular and ever-stylish blue and white patterns. It was a recent birthday gift from my mom, chosen in colors that represented the University of Kentucky, my equally new alma mater.

  I pulled my peanut butter-and-jelly sandwich, chips, and side of baby carrots from my bag. Nancy opened the lid of one of the Styrofoam boxes: spaghetti and meatballs, a small pile of peas, two slices of plain white bread, and an apple.

  “Employees can have one meal during their shift,” Kimberly explained. “Just call over to dining and they’ll make you a box. It’s the same as the inmates get.”

  “Oh.” I gestured to my own lunch. “I’m a vegetarian.”

  “They make vegetarian meals, too! There’s a whole process the inmates have to go through to get approval, but they’ll make it for staff no problem.”

  Lunch progressed and my coworkers fell into what felt like a usual pattern of chitchat, often asking me questions about me and my life (“Where do you live?” “Downtown.” “Married?” “Long-distance boyfriend.” “Kids?” “No, but I have a cat.”). After me, Hooper was the newest employee of the Education staff, Roberta the oldest. Nancy and Kim both fell somewhere in between. All had worked as teachers previously in both traditional and nontraditional school settings before coming to the prison. Even Dr. Harald had spent a decade or so as a vice principal in a local school district before moving up to what was essentially a principal at this branch within the Ohio Central School System.

  While showing me around, Dr. Harald explained that just as I was going through an onboarding process as part of my new job here, the inmates also had an onboarding process. Part of that intake process included getting classified, or assigned, to a job within the prison. For some inmates this meant school. High-school graduation, or equivalent, was verified and inmates who did not have the required diploma were automatically put on the GED or pre-GED wait list to attend the classes taught by Hooper and Roberta. Priority was given to those inmates under the age of twenty-two who did not have a high-school diploma or GED.

  For those inmates that already had their high-school diploma, there was Nancy’s computer class. There they learned basic computer skills, keyboarding, and Microsoft programs with the aim to better prepare them for when they were released back into the real world and would be fresh on the job market. Having the necessary computer skills would, in theory, help mitigate the guilty conviction on their background check.

  Kimberly glanced up at the clock on the classroom wall. “Jill, come with me,” she said, standing up. “Gotta go pick up the newspapers.”

  I stood up but Kimberly hesitated. “Did you call your keys in?” Huh?

  She nodded at my blank stare and walked out of the room towards the Education office. I followed.

  The office contained two smaller sub-chambers. The inner one belonged to Dr. Harald. His desk, presumably, was hidden somewhere beneath the piles of papers that covered it. Another smaller desk, belonging to Kimberly, was tucked into a corner.

  Outside of that office was a space reserved for all of the employees. There was a shared computer available, a printer, a tiny dorm-room-sized fridge, and our individual mailboxes. I glanced at that. My last name was misspelled. Of course.

  Kimberly directed me to a beige phone sitting next to the shared computer. “Every day,” she said, picking up the handset and handing it to me, “you have to call up front and give them your panic button number.”

  I nodded and took the phone. She pointed to a piece of paper taped to the back of the desk with a list of extensions. I dialed the number for Security Control Center.

  “Yeah?” a male voice answered gruffly.

  “Yeah, uh, this is Grunenwald.” I stumbled over my words but Kimberly nodded encouragingly. “I’m calling my number in.”

  “Go ahead.”

  I flipped the panic button over to take a closer look at the white label on the back. “Twenty-four,” I said hesitantly.

  “Thank you,” a voice answered perfunctorily. The line went dead.

  Replacing the handset on the phone, I looked at Kimberly.

  “Every day,” she repeated. “Best if you do it right away. That way, if something happens and you have to hit the button, they’ll know it belongs to you.”

  Panic rose inside of me like mercury in a thermometer. I hadn’t even met any of the inmates yet and already my anxiety was running down a laundry list of worst-case scenarios. Sure, I’d gone through that whole unarmed self-defense class but I knew that if something happened, there was no way in hell I’d have the wherewithal to actually apply any of the techniques and moves I learned. Hell, it had been seventy-two hours since the unarmed self-defense course and I’d basically already forgotten every single thing I had learned. My flight-or-fight response would be to hide under my desk and keep hitting that panic button until someone who really knew what they were doing came to the rescue. I silently prayed that it would never come to that.

  Kimberly and I bundled back up and stepped out into the crisp February air. A moving sea of dark blue passed in front of us. We pressed ourselves against the double doors of the Education building as men of all sizes, shapes, and ethnicities flowed past us and into the dining hall next to the library. They all were wearing the same standard-issue, dark blue, hooded winter coat. A few gave me the once-over, as I was new, like an exotic pet that needed to be tested and studied. Or a foreign species that had just landed on their planet, like in a science-fiction novel. The inmates craned their necks for a better view of this new creature that walked among them.

  Once the path cleared, Kimberly began walking. I fell in step beside her.

  “Brrr,” Kimberly said, pulling her coat close. “I miss being able to smoke in here.”

  “I thought the ban didn’t go into effect for another day or two.”

  Kimberly shrugged. “Might as well start early. Can’t even smoke in the parking lot out there; I’d have to get in my car and drive off the property. I’m not wasting my lunch break doing that.” She shook her head. “So dumb.”

  As I quickly learned, the Hollywood trope of inmates
gambling with or trading cigarettes in lieu of cash is steeped in fact. But effective March 1, 2009, all areas of Ohio prisons were to be tobacco-free environments. That included, as Kimberly said, the parking lot. Even as recently as a few years prior, smoking was permitted in the dorms. Just a few weeks before, when Dr. Harald was giving me a tour, he pointed out the clusters of staff and inmates standing around smoking. “Getting it in while they can,” he had remarked.

  At the time the ban was first announced last fall, it was thought that 70 percent of Ohio’s inmates and 25 percent of the staff all smoked. Now, all tobacco products had been added to the long list of contraband. It wasn’t just inmates who could get into trouble for having cigarettes anywhere on prison property—staff and visitors could, too.

  When we reached the control booth, Kimberly leaned up to the voice box. “Just picking up the newspapers.” To our right, the exterior sally port door buzzed open for us. She explained that technically speaking, we were supposed to turn our badge, keys, and chits in when we came through, but the guards made an exception for the newspapers.

  Once inside, she led me around the desk to a door on the other side of the lobby I hadn’t even noticed before. “Hey everyone,” she called out as she entered the room. “This is our new librarian.”

  In the middle of the room was a cluster of smaller tables that had been pushed together to form one big one. Three middle-aged women, all in the same dark black uniform the other correctional officers I had seen wear, sat around the table opening envelopes. Kimberly pointed to each one as she introduced them. “Brown, Williams, and Jordan.”

  Brown and Jordan were both African American and wore glasses, but that’s where the similarities ended. Where Brown was small and petite, Jordan was tall and large. Brown kept her hair pulled tight into a bun at the back of her head, giving her a severe look that extended to the aloof vibe she gave off just sitting there.

  On the other side of the spectrum, Jordan had neatly curled hair that was as light and airy as her personality. She took up space, both literally and figuratively, with a bright charisma that radiated out.