My time in prison has ended. I can no longer talk to any of my Inside friends. I can't ever let them know that I'm thinking of them, or that I repeated a funny story they told me. I feel like no one will quite understand the impact of having a 10-week friend. I wish I could keep encouraging them. This class was much more emotional than I had ever imagined.

I went to the jail again last night. It wasn't the same. And, unfortunately, I don't think I'll ever have the same open-minded naive attitude I had when I first walked in the doors two months ago.

Something inside of me changed. I think I finally reached the point where I, on my own, formed opinions on the prison system. I went in knowing nothing. But now-- within the last week-- it has all started to click. It's overwhelming, really.

-I don't look highly upon prisons.
-I understand that people need to serve their full allotted time, even if they do "learn their lesson," to be fair and withstand their promises. But on the other side, there are some men that should be let out.
-Measure 11 screwed a lot of people over.
-The security is great-- I give props to the people that have analyzed of all the possible loop-holes to get out and have taken appropriate action, even if it means going through security takes 30+ minutes. I have the patience.
-Treatment of the inmates, however, shouldn't be taken so harsh. Who gives them the right to beat another human being? I understand inmates have done something wrong to be placed in jail, but they shouldn't be mistreated. They deserve real food, no something that is 2 years expired or is labeled pigs feed. Humans, in general, deserve better than that.

I don't understand what gives the security that works with the inmates the right to treat them with such disrespect. If they don't do anything wrong, why treat them with such hatred? I must be missing something.

In class I talked more with Doug and Bob. They asked how the tour went. I didn't lie. I told them it was worse than I had expected. Doug asked if anyone hassled us. I said yes and went on to explain. He got very protective, asking me what their names were. He said he'd "take care of them." I laughed. I didn't know anyone's name, nor did I really look at their faces because I didn't know if they'd get offended. It's tough to know how to act in the general populations outside of our class-- do I look at them and smile, or do I not look at them because they are embarrassed. They have nowhere to hide. It's like they're forced to be around me. How do I show them respect? Oh, what to do?

I've been in culture shock for the past 24 hours.

I never thought the prison tour would effect me so much. They say it takes a personal experience to truly learn something. Well, I sure had my dose of reality. It was a lot worse than expected.

Mr. Yoder, the Assistant Superintendent at OSP, gave us the two-hour tour of all the facilities. Four other girls from my class joined me. Before we went anywhere he reminded us of the waiver we signed in the beginning of the term-- if for some reason an inmate gets a hold of us and we are held hostage, they can't do much. They aren't going to give them $10,000 or let them out. They'll do everything in their power, but no promises.

It was a great way to start out the morning.

Yoder walked us through the beginning steps-- how they get here, why, the process, etc. Before any of the inmates are placed in a unit at OSP, extensive testing takes place. They test their IQ, memory, everything. They give them SAT-type tests. I think he said it takes a couple hours. They are then placed in the correct unit... that is, unless they prove themselves differently.

Our first stop was the Mental Illness unit. These are the people who need extra attention because they can't survive in the general population. They have private cells (meaning solid walls with a large window on the door). You could hear a lot of screaming and shouting-- it made you wonder if they were yelling because they were crazy and they were hearing noises in their head, or if it was because they wanted attention. Yoder explained that some of these people have been there since day one. Others are fine for years, and drastically change. He said it's hard to explain what happens, because one day they are fine, and the next, they need tons of help.

He showed us the honors A-Block, in which inmates who are on good terms are housed. The rooms are more private and 'homey'. We then saw C-block, the normal stereotypical cells. Five stories high, each cell was only about 9x7, usually housing two inmates. Small bunk beds, an open toilet and sink are in the room. Not much else can fit. The top three stories had fencing along the walkway, for people have been known to either a) jump off to try to kill themselves, or b) thrown off by another inmate. The fence is to protect from both happening again.

Most of the inmates were at work, but there were some in their cells when we entered the block. They stared and made comments. A guy with long hair and tattoos on the second story leaned on his door and just stared at us. He looked around 30 years old. Two Mexican guys did the same thing-- they were making faces and talking to each other about us. Some other guys were making kissing sounds. Others were whistling and making catcalls. It's all very open, so you can hear a lot. Yoder warned us about distractions.

After the cell blocks, we went to see the factories. We toured the metal shop, automotive shop (where people bring their broken cars, pay $3000 for labor and extra for parts, and the inmates rebuild it from the ground up. They get college credit through Chemeketa and certificates so it is easier for them to get jobs once they get out), furniture shop (where many of our classmates work), and laundry services (which washes all of the county's hospital and state linens). About 80 percent of the inmates work regularly.

After the factory tours, we walked into the unit where the troublemakers go. Yoder explained it like this: OSP is like a small city. If you get in trouble you go to "jail". This is the jail. The people who try to escape, who start fights, who do anything wrong-- the ones sent to "the hole"-- are sent here. At this point, the tour was causing me a little more anxiety than I expected. We walked into the unit to hear people yelling and screaming-- screaming bloody murder. These men couldn't see us very well because we were behind a more protecting wall (though it was still bar-type). It was darker where we were and lighter in their area, so that gave us an advantage as well.

One guy on the second floor was boxing to himself (it looked like a violent version of Tae-Bo). Two cells down was two guys yelling at us, "come on ladies, we don't bite." "Don't be scared of us, ladies!" "Come on in, we want to see you little ladies." Every sentence had the word "ladies" in it. We had to move out of the way twice for inmates to go past us. One said, "we're all animals in there, aren't we ladies?" as two officers were escorting the 20-something man, handcuffed, wearing a pair of orange pants and no shirt.

The last place we went-- which was in the same building-- was the death chamber. Yoder forewarned us that if anyone didn't want to go in, we didn't have to. Everyone wanted in.

This was, by far, the worst part of the tour. He unlocked the door and we stepped into a big room with a couple smaller rooms and sections in it. It didn't hit me where I was until I saw the bed. You know when you go to the hospital, and the room is all ready for you with clean sheets and scrubbed floors? In front of me was the bed-- all clean and ready for someone to die on. The straps and belts were ready. Shackles laid where their ankles and wrists would be. Seat belt-type straps were snug and in place. A leather belt was near the bottom of the bed. Arm rests were also set up, as well, with straps. There were no seats in this closed-door section of the bigger room.

By the top of the bed, there were four quarter-size holes in the wall. This is what the IV cords are placed through. On the other end, another section in the room, was where the technician sat-- this is who, in a sense, pushes the button. One-way mirrors are on the other three walls: one for officials in the large room, and two for visitors to watch (who are in the Visitors Room). The visitor room windows are currently covered by the backside of bookshelves, so the current visitors don't look in and see a death bed. I thought that was smart and mindful.

In addition to the technician's quarters and the room with the bed (which the walls aren't fully connected to the ceiling), there are two other closed rooms-- one with a shower and one cell. Once the person on death row is sentenced to die, they sit in the room for three days. This is so they can mentally "check-out", as Yoder explained. By three days, they have accepted the fact that they are going to die. They almost never fight it, but lay down on the bed with ease. They use the room for a smooth transition. They have their own private shower... I guess it's the least they can do...

Yoder explained that they inmate can always say no, even if they are on the bed and ready to go. They can say they've changed their mind and want to talk to a lawyer. The last two said nothing, but accepted it and went though with it. There are also two phones in the room-- just in case a lawyer finds new evidence that can stop it. Last-minute phone calls are always a possibility (and have saved many lives), so those are watched closely.

I guess the part that hit me the most was knowing that someone had died in the room I was standing in, that there were mothers and families on the other side of the windows crying as they watched their son and brother be killed. Yoder said it looks like they just go to sleep. I can't imagine how much pain would be going through the family, to actually be able to prepare and watch a loved one die. They have performed two deaths-- one in 1996 and one in 1997. There are currently 37 men on death row in Oregon.


I asked Yoder a lot of questions-- it's probably the curious journalist in me. I asked him about wrongful convictions and if there were any recent ones. He said that if people do get out, it is usually because of a technicality. He said there have been a few, but it is not common. The experience was very in-depth and deep... I know it's still going to take a while for all of this to sink in, as it is with the rest of my class meetings. One step at a time...

Tomorrow I take my first real tour of the Oregon State Penitentiary. I don't have any set expectations-- it's been hard for me these last eight weeks to grasp what I'm going through, what I'm experiencing. It hasn't yet registered. It hasn't sunk in yet.

I want it to sink it. I want to be able to analyze these experiences and make sense out of them. I want to be able to take what I've learned and find commonalities within the information I'm learning. This has yet to be successful. I don't even know where to start.

Our group of six students are going to see the real, true population of OSP. It is a maximum security prison for a reason. There are bad people there. There are people who need to be locked up for life in there. I've heard of students getting harassed when they're on the tour. We are told to dress ugly and not try to stand out. One guy dropped his pants during an earlier tour with the other half of our class. It's hard to pinpoint expectations when people suddenly drop their pants.

I think I got more out of yesterday's class than any before. We had no structure for the most part-- Michelle was gone at a Criminology Conference on the East Coast and we were told to just work on our group projects. We all knew there was no way we'd all stay on track for three hours.

I talked mostly with Doug and Bob. I got to know more about Doug and his background. He's probably the one I'm closest with the most in that class. He says "Katie, I like sitting next to you because I like giving you shit." It's too true. I think it's entertaining and funny.

The men are wise. They have had time to think about their mistakes and the meaning of life. Bob told his son to always, no matter what, look at both sides of a story before making any conclusions. He said there are three sides to every story-- both views, and then the real one that neither side can fully justify. I can see how it would be hard for inmates to try to "convince" their children that they are good people-- there's such a stamina and preconceived notion of that if you're in jail, you are automatically wrong-- that you're are a bad person. I bet it's hard to find those children who will honestly look at a situation open-minded.

Today we brainstormed as a full class on what our project was to entail. We decided to create gift bags, and each of the five groups was to contribute. I first signed up for the "Truth or Consequences" advertisement, but later switched to the Resource Guide because I wanted more Inside guys in my group. I like working with them more.

I wish we had a class period to just sit and talk. I get the most out of the breaks-- I get to ask the guys any questions, and they are always answered. I want to know more about wrongful convictions. I want to know how one can get a retrial. I want to know how they get new jeans. I have so many questions, but feel bad distracting the group from our tasks, even if we are done.



Sometimes I forget they're in prison, that they're supposed to be punished. I ask them if they ever see movies, or any magazines. Why should they? I keep forgetting that prison isn't supposed to be (by society's standards) a fun place to get everything you want. It is supposed to be ruthless, boring, and challenging. I keep forgetting.

I told Doug how I was thinking about how many of them hadn't lived a real adult life. He was in jail when he was 20-- my current age-- and he still has about two more years to go. He says that's why he thinks he related to kids so well-- because he only has childhood memories, not adult. He hasn't lived an adult life. Doug is 36. He doesn't know what it's like to pay your rent or drive to work. Who is supposed to help him with that transition once he gets out?

These last few weeks have been significantly challenging. Among school, living situations, and the challenge of seeing my friends of to other countries, I have taken on a new endeavor: seeking out those who need help and attention the most. I am befriending prisoners.

It hasn't quite hit me yet. The impact that I am making on them-- or how they've influenced my life-- hasn't set in. I know it will, and don't get me wrong-- I want it to, but I feel indifferent when it comes to the timing. Is it better for me to reflect after my experience is completed, or should I bask in the reflection now, right when I'm in the midst of it? My head can't grasp it. I honestly don't understand what is going through my head when I meet with them.

Murderers, robbers, thieves-- I'm accepting them for who they want to be, not what they're known for. It's a crazy concept. It's challenging, but once my mindset reaches that forgiving point, there is no turning back. It's a good thing. At least I think it's a good thing.