MY, HOW PRISON HAS CHANGED IN THE LAST 14,610 DAYS!
I remember it well, my last
Easter in freedom, Sunday, March 26, 1978.
My nephew and niece, Timmy and
Tammy Norman, were seven and five years old – Tammy would be six in 2 and
one-half months, and I was looking forward to their Easter egg hunt at my
parents’ house in Thonotosassa, FL. I had spray painted and decorated two jumbo
prize eggs, and attached money to them, which delighted the children. Little
did I know that in 10 days time my life in free society would come to an abrupt
end. 40 years later, my dear wife Libby and I celebrated Easter 2018, at the
visiting park in Tomoka CI, in Daytona Beach Florida, my 40th Easter
in prison, her 18th.
I reflected on that last Easter
in freedom, and thought about another Easter in prison years ago, when things
were far different than they are now. I had been transferred to Zephyrhills
C.I. to start a golab chapter in 1983, and by 1985, we had a core of Christian
prisoners and outside volunteers who accomplished things that have never been
done in prison, nor would they happen again.
Months before Easter 1985, we
brainstormed what we wanted to accomplish for a special Easter sunrise service,
where our family visitors would actually come inside the prison for the
service. Many men had wives and young children, and one of the proposals was
for an Easter egg hunt for the children. Why not? Let’s try it. I typed the
memoranda, volunteer Larry Stanley took the papers to the warden, who, to my
surprise, approved everything. A wealthy volunteer agreed to cover all the
expenses. We were in business!
Good Friday afternoon a dozen
of us were dyeing 600 boiled eggs furnished by the kitchen when I was paged to
the gatehouse.. Not good.
Warden Henderson, Maj. Hill,
and Lieut. Commerford were waiting for me in the visiting park. Henderson was a
volatile personality, his moods changing quickly, and I was on my guard. He
flipped through the memoranda pages. What Henderson giveth he could take away.
“Charlie, you’ve done a hell of
a job putting all this together, but we have one big problem.”
“The Easter egg hunt,” I said.
“Right. The major and the
Lieut. are concerned over all these children inside the prison hunting Easter
eggs. You know we have a lot of child molesters here, and we don’t have enough
security to watch all those kids. One incident could cost us our jobs,” the
warden said.
“Sir, you don’t need to worry
about security,” I said. “We have our own security crew, a dozen convicted
murderers and armed robbers who have sworn to protect those children with the
child molesters’ lives. We have already identified all the child molesters, and
they have to stay outside the Easter egg hunt boundary. If any one of them
strays, our guys will take care of it.”
Henderson thought about it, his
eyes moving.
“Let me get this straight.
Murderers and armed robbers are going to protect the children from the child
molesters.”
“Yes sir.”
“Brilliant,” Henderson said,
then burst out laughing. The major and Lieut. followed later. The Easter egg
hunt was still on.
80 men were up at 2 AM to
collect 300 folding chairs from the dorms and set them up on the asphalt
roadway near the chapel. Carpenters had built a stage and a large wooden cross.
At 5 AM, over 100 visitors began streaming into the visiting park. The kitchen
provided orange juice, coffee, and hot cinnamon rolls for the visitors. By 5:40
AM, 200 prisoners had joined the 100 visitors seated inside the prison. The
prison band and choir joined an outside church choir singing Easter hymns.
State Sen. John Grant of Tampa delivered the message, the trial and crucifixion
of Jesus from a legal standpoint. Jesus was shafted by a corrupt system, too.
The sun rose to the east.
My mother Lucille Norman, my
sister-in-law Sandy Norman and niece Tammy sat with me, surrounded by a dozen
men without visitors. My family lived only 12 miles from Zephyrhills, and they
usually joined me each Sunday for church service. The prisoners had gotten to
know my family over the past two years, and had been befriended by my mother.
It was a wonderful time.
After the singing and
preaching, more refreshments were served in the garden area beside the chapel.
Then the Easter egg hunt began. 29 children were given nice Easter baskets by
the smiling volunteers, and the children ran back and forth finding the
hundreds of eggs that had been hidden a few hours before. Some were hidden too
well. Weeks later lost eggs still turned up.
By 9:30 it was time to return
to the visiting park. Everyone had been touched by the sight of the delighted
children finding eggs. We had separate hunting areas for the smallest children,
and mothers and fathers happily pointed out hidden eggs for their toddlers. One
man approached me, holding his two sons, tears in his eyes. He thanked me for
the first opportunity he had had to share such a time with his boys. They were
babies when he came to prison. It was all worthwhile.
That was then. This is now.
Libby and I spent our Easter, 2018, in a crowded, noisy visiting park reading
the Easter story from a dog-eared Gideon Bible. No Easter egg hunts. No church
services. No garden or trees.
Prison is a far un-friendlier
place for visiting families now. It is obvious that a concerted effort is in
play to discourage and eventually to end family visits, which would be a lose -
lose proposition not only for the families and society, but also for the
rehabilitation of prisoners. 98% of the prison population will eventually be
released. Those who had family support get out of prison and stay out. The 95 –
97% of the prisoners who don’t get visits are far more likely to return. A
shame.
On this Easter Sunday, 2018, a
68-year-old man thinks about the 28-year-old man who hid Easter eggs for two
children long ago. The seven-year-old boy, Timmy, is 47, with four children.
Tammy is 45, with a 20-year-old daughter of her own. I wonder where Libby and I
will celebrate Easter, 2019, together. Pray that it will be “out there,” in a
church in free society, no longer inside these razor wire fences.
God bless
you, and Happy Easter!
Charlie and Libby Norman
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