It’ll be a cold day in Southeast Texas…
A few months ago I heard a podcast about a program in the Northeast that that helped soon-to-be released prisoners learn life skills to succeed outside by teaching entrepreneurship. One of the things mentioned by the woman featured in the podcast was that she had formed a similar program in Texas, which piqued my interest in tracking down the program.
This led me to do some research and I found the Texas Prison Entrepreneurship Program. I liked the sound of what they were offering, and thought that offering pro bono services to some of their graduates would be a good way to do pro bono transactional law. I knew that a lot of their clients get released in the Houston area, but I thought most of what I would be doing would be by phone and by internet, so I figured I could do it from wherever.
After speaking to the coordinator for the program, who I think is also a graduate, I signed up for legal aid, but also was asked to come to the State Prison in Cleveland, Texas to watch the Fall 2017 Final business plan competition. I was feeling particularly zealous about getting involved with the program and didn’t really think about the fact that I’d have to spend time in PRISON for this.
As prison got closer I got more apprehensive…
I’ve spent a significant part of my adult life being grateful that I have never been to prison in any capacity. Not having ever been to prison, I didn’t really know what to expect, but I was sure that it was really bad. Prison is bad. It is known.
In early November I was put into contact with a program graduate who needed some help with his business, and I’ve been working with him. If I didn’t know where he was coming from I don’t know that I would have ever guessed. That said, I started to feel like helping these guys with their legal issues would be more than enough from me and I began dreading the prison visit more and more, not just because its prison, but also because it was going to take up a whole day of my time.
So, on the night before I had to get up and go to Cleveland, I was not entirely enthused. I had a bunch of work to do and I had it in my head that this prison thing was going to be a depressing, burdensome time-sink and I contemplated not going.
Sometimes you just have to go
I planned to leave early from the house to get to the prison even on time. I woke up at the time I planned, but I was hard pressed to get out of bed. I finally rolled out of bed later than I wanted to, let the dog out of her kennel, and headed downstairs to put the coffee pot on. Dog and I wandered to the back door and I took a minute to adjust to the porch light, because my eyes seemed to be showing me white specks falling from the sky. It looked like snow, but snow doesn’t happen in Southeast Texas. It couldn’t be snow.
Then, as I fully grasped the situation, I realized that there were truly two-inches of snow on the ground and it was lightly continuing to snow. The dog tore into the yard and did some laps in the mushy white layer on the lawn. I immediately thought, I’m not driving an hour and a half in this to go to prison. I let the dog back in, put the coffee on, and went to show my wife this rare weather phenomenon. When I woke her up and showed her the snow from the bedroom window, I also noticed that the roads were nice and clear and relatively dry.
I felt like since I’d already committed I needed to go, but I wasn’t really looking forward to it. Especially since it was cold and I would be happier in my warm, comfy office with a nice hot cup of coffee and some legal drafting than in a cold, drafty prison. I quickly got presentable and grabbed a cup of coffee to go and made it out the door. I left, but figured I would soon get an email saying that the event was cancelled, since I had already been notified that school was posponed and I knew that many local employers were telling their workers to stay home and be safe.
Not so cancelled
A half an hour after leaving my house I got an email from the event coordinator. They didn’t cancel. The event was still on. I was on my way.
I neared the prison and got more accustomed to the idea that I was just going to have to suffer through this for a few hours and then I’d be done. I pulled into the prison parking lot with plenty of time to spare and saw people filing in. I got myself ready and I headed in.
I got into prison
All I was allowed to bring in was my driver’s license. I had to take off my boots, jacket, et cetera to go through a metal detector. I got patted down by a prison guard. I loitered in the entryway waiting for direction and noticed a “No Hostages Beyond This Point” sign. We were directed to walk through the doors and entered into a somber hallway where gentlemen in white jumpsuits were sweeping and mopping. We were led further into the penitentiary.
After walking for a few minutes along the yellow path painted on the floor, I began to hear music and saw smiling inmates in the doorway of a cafeteria welcoming us in. Entering the cafeteria, the inmates were lined up in a gauntlet formation giving high-fives, shaking hands, and dancing around. I became utterly confused.
I shook hands and high-fived. I repeatedly was thanked for coming. These guys were friendly and a lot happier than I expected prisoners to be. The prisoners lined us up and took mugshots of each participant. They continued to dance and act in a generally jovial manner. I was more confused.
They served us breakfast. We sat and ate and talked – myself and fifty other local businesspeople in our business-casual and this group of almost 100 inmates in their white jumpsuits. I wasn’t too sure what to talk about, I’m pretty socially awkward under normal circumstances, but I was really out of my element on small-talk with inmates. So I talked to them about their businesses.
Not at all what I expected
I ate my breakfast with a guy who wanted to start a mobile detailing business. He had a pretty good plan. He was realistic about how he wanted to work a day job and do his detail business on the side while he got on his feet. Then I talked to a guy who wanted to start an AC service. He explained more about the AC business than I ever thought I’d need to know. I started thinking that these guys really had done their homework. I talked to more guys who wanted to start trucking businesses, landscape businesses, a little bit of everything.
After breakfast, we were led to an auditorium and we began the festivities for the day. There was a bunch of dancing and tom-foolery. They were happy to be there and hopeful about their lives. I was somewhat overwhelmed with the whole thing.
The final business plans were great. The guys were honest and enthusiastic. They told real stories and had real ideas. They answered questions from the audience and defended their ideas.
My whole perspective was wrong
I begrudgingly went to this event. I didn’t expect much from it. I had other things to do.
After being around these gentlemen and learning more about the PEP program, my whole perspective was changed. Not only did being there give me enormous gratitude for the life that I’ve been given, it also prompted me to go back. I’ll continue to do legal aid work for the PEP graduates, but I also volunteered to go back to prison to be part of their business plan workshops and mentor these amazing, hopeful men who are working hard to get their lives back.