FREEDOM OF VISION
Edited by Stephen B. Gladish
and Robert Yehling
EDITOR’S NOTE
My first contact with Stephen Gladish, the co-editor and a major contributor to Freedom of Vision came through the Society of Southwestern Authors and the Wrangling with Writing Conference, where I present a variety of workshops. Steve was developing a trilogy of novels for which he wanted feedback (they became Moonlight, Missiles & Moana, Mustang Fever and the soon-to-be-published Tornado Alley).
I asked Steve about his background, and he said, “Twenty years teaching in state penitentiaries. I began as a college teacher and career counselor in Ohio prisons. Arizona hired me as an ex-offender rep, designing and teaching pre-release programs. When funds dried up, I begame an adult education teacher in all subjects, specializing in writing/creative writing."
I said, "You've got to write a book about that!"
In time, Steve warmed up to the idea, but with a caveat that reflects the quality of the man's heart—that it transform into an anthology that included writers throughout the country who were either incarcerated or former inmates, with his experiences serving to further illustrate life behind bars.
Our development started with the title. We agreed that we didn't want this to be a forum whereby convicts could air out their grievances about their sentences, living conditions, cellmates or correctional officers, or how they came to be incarcerated in the first place. Nor did we want a collection of pieces that spoke only of the dim hopelessness of serving lengthy sentences in maximum-security facilities — anyone can get a glimpse of that by watching TV or reading the newspaper.
Instead, we hit upon a simple truth: Everyone’s soul yearns to express itself without walls, fences and gates. If we could invite our contributors to share with us their visions of freedom, and their abilities to express themselves creatively while serving their time, then we'd have something that would connect with freedom-based readers on the other side of the wall.
What we received from hundreds of convicts stopped us in our tracks. The material was stunning in its quality, beauty, emotion and portrayal of the freedom of vision and creativity. The poems, narratives, essays, short stories, letters and illustrations candidly portray their creators as expressive, dynamic souls whose lives came crashing down beneath the weight of their own mistakes of judgment and/or action. Many times, a sentencing judge has told a criminal he or she is about to send away, “It’s not your intelligence I question. It’s the wisdom of your choices.”
Here, on these pages, you’ll read from people who made the wise choice to express themselves creatively.
I believe you’ll agree that the material is wonderful. We start with our incarcerated contributors. We also feature Steve’s experiences as a teacher in the penal system, which offer deep insight into why we should never allow our culture to become so hard and unforgiving that we slam the educational door on convicted felons. We welcome National Book Award-winning poet and ex-con Jimmy Santiago Baca, interviews with Baca and Rubin “Hurricane” Carter, the cause celebre of Bob Dylan’s song about wrongful conviction, and Burroughs Award Winner Ken Lamberton, who made his mistakes and served his time.
We also focus much more attention on both sides of the prison teaching experience than other prison anthologies. We received a number of fine pieces from prison teachers, and convicts who served as teacher’s aides. They spoke of the transformation that happened, over and over again, when a teacher believed in a convict’s ability. I would posit to say that, in virtually all cases, this was the first positive reinforcement the inmate had received since his or her childhood—if then. With a fierce national debate continuing about the value of educating and rehabilitating our incarcerated men and women, we decided to stamp our very firm stand on this issue by showcasing prison education through the eyes of those who know best.
I've been fortunate to never spend time behind bars, though I’ve visited folks behind the walls of county jails, state prisons, federal penitentiaries and work camps. I count among my literary friends several authors who have done time. I treasure their fresh approaches to life, the clarity of their voice, and their deep honesty. I also love the way they penetrate masks and illusions, cut right to the heart and truth of matters. It’s a refreshing quality in this world. I’ve also kept on-and-off correspondences with convicts over the years. Among my visits were those with my cousin, Lisa Shannon, who will welcome the summer of 2007 as a free woman — her first summer on this side of the razor wire since 1989. Lisa contributed a fine body of work to Freedom of Vision. She also helped me to understand the mentality of long-term convicts, many of whom sit where they sit because they couldn't express themselves, cry out for help, pick themselves up from tough times, control their anger and rage when violent impulses raced through them, or simply get the hell out of the way of a bad situation as it was developing.
Lisa handed me a moral compass to use when compiling this book with Steve, a compass later sharpened through my brief conversations with Jimmy Santiago Baca—perhaps the greatest champion of the cause walking on this planet today. I would not fall into either judgment or sympathy, but would employ empathy. I would read the work and do what anthology editors do—pick the pieces that sing strong messages to our minds and hearts. I would not be swayed by one’s particular crime or length of sentence; I would only be swayed by what they wrote. This position was well-rewarded, as you’ll see from the many sensitive, heartfelt pieces contained within.
I don’t believe it’s our business to engage in our contributors' legal cases, nor do we wish for you to go there. Let’s pull one rule of the prison yard over the wall: Don’t ask about the crime. After all, our literary world is replete with renowned authors who have done time, and we love these writers and their work dearly.
Instead, we hope you enjoy this presentation from a world in which nearly 3 million Americans currently live, and because of which millions of sisters, brothers, mothers, fathers, grandparents, children, grandchildren, cousins, aunts and uncles are deeply affected.
Robert Yehling
Co-Editor
Spring 2007
DEDICATION
To all students in all prisons everywhere, then to all the thousands of students I worked with over a twenty-year term. To all the incognito sky pilots earning their silver wings in prison: all the teacher aides who worked to help others better themselves: all the former great staff members of Mr. G.’s hallowed classrooms:
I salute you. I thank you. I will never forget you. All our successes could never have happened without your loyalty, your dedication, your strong work ethic, your personal values, your spiritual beliefs. Individual names will be inscribed on a plaque here at home. I think of each one of you as I compose this. I wish you well. I am grateful to have worked with you. I pray for your release from every obstacle, every bar, every limit.
I hope this gets to you.
We took the hell of prison and made it into a small replica of heaven. We were there to lift people up, to encourage them to educate themselves, to have hope and faith, to believe in themselves, to do something spectacular with their lives, to practice a new work ethic, to learn how to work with others. That’s all angel-in-training duty.
You know it. The students know it. I know it. God knows it. And what you sow will come back to you tenfold. The universe will bless your efforts.
I hope you are fortunate enough to find the occasional good guy, or “crazy guy” like me who works in prison just to make a difference in somebody’s life, somebody who takes my place and does a better job at it.
When it’s your time to meet your maker, I’ll be there, if not physically, at least in spirit and in prayer, putting in the good word for you: “He’s gotta be coming to heaven, because he’s served his time in hell— and while he was there, he helped others. He cared for someone outside himself.”
If you get there first, put in a good word for me, ya hear?!
