The atmosphere was surreal; Visitors and inmates were jammed together at beaten-up card tables with little space between each table. The noise from so many people trying to talk with one another at one time was unnerving. We had to shout just to make ourselves heard.

While I waited to see my young friend, an inmate walked by with his arm around his 12 year old son. The man in prison garb was intense, holding on to his kid like he needed to make every moment count. I wondered what Dad was whispering to his boy and was shaken by the irony that this father-son moment should take place here in a prison.

Waiting at the table next to mine, a young mom held a baby boy in her arms. The little guy had a warm and bubbly personality, one of those babies that would bring a smile to the sourest of faces. His mom shared with me that this would be the first time he saw his Daddy since he was two weeks old.

I looked around at the number of visitors crowded into the visitors’ center. Most were people of color. Only a handful of white faces. Lots of children. I reflected on the fact that the thousands of men and women locked away in California prisons are only a small percentage of the number of people affected by the prison system. Every inmate is part of a family, part of a community. His incarceration affects the lives of many others.

I had to admire the loyalty of the families who come to visit those imprisoned. Visiting days are limited to weekends between the hours of 9 A.M. and 2:30 P.M. People come from long distances. The drive from Santa Rosa took me five hours. If you are traveling with small children or have to stay overnight in the town of Delano, it’s a costly and time-consuming trip. Sometimes, because of the difficulty in handling so many visitors, people have to wait several hours before they can see their family members.

I came away from my experience convinced that visiting those in prison is the toughest of all the corporal works of mercy. What hit me in my gut was this overwhelming feeling of sadness at seeing so many wasted lives, young men locked up for 15, 20 years; many for life. The young man I am visiting was 19 when convicted. At the earliest, he will be 37 years old when he is released. What chance will he have to resume a normal life?

Yes, you can say he committed a heinous crime. He deserved it. You’re right. Society has to be protected. And yet. And yet. I have to think we can do better. Locking human beings in prison should be a last resort not the quick and easy way to proceed. We’re smarter than that aren’t we?

Promptly at 2:30 P.M. we were told that visiting hours were over. We said our goodbyes and made our way to the prison gates. Strangely, people leaving the prison didn’t talk a lot or trade stories. The atmosphere was subdued. Each of us lost in our own thoughts. As we reached the gate, I saw a middle aged woman, rosary beads in hand, pause to take a final look at the barbed wire fence that enclosed the man she was leaving behind. I pictured my own young friend, in his prison blues, trudging back to his cramped and airless cell. It didn’t feel very good at all.




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