Being in prison, I find my self, trying to find things that
remind me of comforts from home. Perhaps
it is a desire to feel normal in an abnormal place; a desire to see the
blessings instead of the pain; the glass half full instead of empty; or perhaps
it is a perception that I maintain which says I have a good life here despite
where I am. Perhaps it is all the same
thing? Whatever the proper term may be,
these things make me feel like I am home. Not a permanent home; just a rental
with a 7-year lease.
The simple pleasure of getting a haircut is one of those
things. When I was at home, Jeannie had
learned to cut my hair and she did a fantastic job. No appointments, no long waiting lines, and
always the best smile! The price was right! When I moved to Mayberry, I was
enjoying small town living. I even found
an old school barbershop that I went to for awhile. The shop was built onto the front of an old
house. There were three chairs but only
one was in use, as Jerry was retired. He
cut hair with a scissors and used a straight blade to trim your neck line. The
clientele was mostly retired men and they gathered for the art of
conversation. I liked getting my haircut
there, as it was a step back in time.
Here at Camp Elkton we have a tiny little barbershop in the
mall which I call the "Rusty Scissors". There are two chairs stuffed in this tiny
little room. There is a plastic mirror
in front of each chair and small counter to one side. The other side has a
steel mesh cage with just the right amount of hooks for each tool used in the
shop. There is an outline of the shape
of the tool painted on the plywood so each tool is placed in the correct
spot. There is barely enough room in the
shop so the barber has to move into the corner so you can shuffle to the chair
and sit down and to let him get to work.
They have a radio in the room that is tuned to a local top 40 radio
station. It gives the room life.
The barbers who work here depend on who is incarcerated at
the time. Some barbers have never cut hair before and volunteered to
learn. And there is the rare occasion
that a good barber moves into the camp.
Typically, there is a white barber and a black barber. They tend to work on the clients of the same
color and hair type. I have realized
this is not as much an issue of being a racist as it is the type of hair; fine or
course. There are different techniques
for each type of hair. The first half of
the year my barber was the Puerto Rican from New York who did not speak much
English. When I went to see him I worked
to emphasize that I did not want it shaved off.
I must have got my message through as I kept my hair, well, most of
it. He used the clipper for every part
of the cut. It did not look like I
normally like it, but it wasn't bad.
After all, who would I complain to if wasn't satisfied?
Late summer we had a new arrival in our unit. He was an older man and short in stature. I
introduced myself to him when he got settled in. He told me that he was a barber by trade both
in and out of prison. I quizzed on him
his cutting method, as I was conducting my interview. He loves to use the scissors. He told me that he worked as a barber in
Chicago and trained under some guy, named Sebring. The only things that came to mind were a race
track and convertible made by Chrysler.
He explained that some guy, named Vidal Sassoon, trained this Sebring
character who then trained him. This
sounded impressive to me but what mattered the most was that he had training
and wanted the barber job. His name is Dan.
I know the inmate who works in the department, which manages
the Rusty Scissors. He had told me
awhile back that they were looking for barbers.
I went to talk to him and let him know about Dan to see if they could get
him assigned to a chair. He told me that
there was a waiting list and he wasn't first.
I got depressed. There is a saying
we have here in prison; if you want something to change - just wait. You have
time. So I waited. This fall Dan got his chair. I was so excited I went to see him right away
and he cleaned up my comb-over very nicely.
The experience was even better.
He took his time with a scissors and trimmed my hair. He explained how the clippers had been
damaging my hair. I couldn't tell. All I
know is that it just kept growing. I
was surprised when he started giving my head a scalp massage. It didn't seem right, but it felt really
good. My scalp was numb and
tingling. He said something technical
like it invigorated the roots. I am not
sure if that is important or not. I
still have the bald spot on the back of my head. I'm saving that spot to get a tattoo of a big
yellow smiley face on it.
I was happy now that the Rusty Scissors had Dan. I could stop by and get a haircut and a head
massage. He would trim my beard and even
everything up. It felt like I walked out
of Jerry's Barbershop in Mayberry.
During my first visit to Dan's new chair at the Rusty
Scissors, Dan asked me if I liked my prison issue glasses. I told him they work, but they are heavy and
don't stay in place very well. He showed
me his prison issue glasses and they were much different. Slimmer, lighter and even a bit of style to them. I asked him where he got them from and it was
the same as mine but they were modified.
He had connections in another prison to someone who worked in
maintenance. They were really good at
using a belt sander to remove much of the excess plastic on the frames and give
them a stylish flare. I was impressed
and told him that I wish that I had a connection like that here. Of course there was a reason he told me that
story. It so happened that he had an
extra pair of frames that he was willing to part with. A book later (a book is 7 dollar stamps worth
about $5.) I was putting my lenses in my new frames. They stay on my head, they are lighter, and
don't look like a couple of big plastic squares around my eyes. I was styling!!
Last week I told Dan that I was going to stop by and see him
for a trim. My wife was coming to see me
for our anniversary and I wanted to look nice for her. Something inside said I should have done it
then, but I wanted to wait so it was crisp.
I realize now that was a mistake.
Saturday there was some activity around his “house” with a cop. He shares a cube with a well-known snitch,
named Ratz. If Ratz sees something that
he does not like, he does not waste time filling out a cop-out and submitting
it to the cops. This happens often. Most people tend to avoid him but he is a
very good ear and eye hustler. There is not
much that does not escape his attention.
Not only does he snitch well, he is apparently a loud snorer. It is the snoring that caused most of the
disputes between him and Dan. This was
the case again which turned into an argument and allegedly an altercation. The cops had lost their patience for both of
them and both men were sent to the SHU.
I was walking to the bathroom and I passed Dan along the way. I could see he seemed upset so I asked him
what was going on. He shook his head and
told me that he was going to the hole. I
looked at him and told that he could not go to the hole. At least not until he
cut my hair! He laughed. A few minutes later he was gone. I don't know if he will come back here or
not. That will be up to the team that
hears his case. This could take 90 days
before they make a ruling. Then he could
come back here or be sent to another prison.
In prison anything can change.
The cold snap came to the mountain this week and the staff
shut down most of the facility on the coldest day. You would have thought we were preparing for
a hurricane. They let us out for meals
and medical services but most everything was shut down. This was only a snapshot of the cold weather
my family experienced a little Northwest of here. Mr. Wess decided to open the Suds & Duds
so we were called to work even though the memo posted indicated we would not be
open. We had two customers brave the
cold to get clean sheets and blankets. We
closed down early and got back to the housing unit to spend the rest of the day
inside. The barber services were shut
down for a couple of days so I could not get in to find a new barber. Instead it was time to read and watch movies
they played for us on the camp DVD player.
Friday afternoon I went over to the Rusty Scissors to see
what I could do about this hair of mine.
I didn't have to get it cut, but it was my anniversary and I wanted it to
look good. I walked by the window and
there was one chair filled and one barber looking for a customer. I wasn't sure if they wanted to deal with my
thin hair so I walked by thinking maybe I should wait. I walked down the hall and turned
around. Dagnabit, I needed my hair cut! I stopped in to the shop and asked them if
they could give me a trim. I was
welcomed to the chair. I explained I
wanted a simple trim and clean and that I preferred with a Scissors but I would
concede to a razor. My barber was unsure
what I wanted and the other more confident barber intervened to explain. It became clear to me that my barber was not
well trained on the thin hair. To help
comfort him I told him to do what he can.
My only request was not to walk out of the shop with a shaved head like
so many others opt for, to avoid the explanation of how they want their
haircut. Or do they want their hair cut so
no one can tell if they showered and had slept the day away? I want to keep my hair.
The senior barber, whose name is Bonnie, is a towering black
man, who has a great reputation here for cutting hair both thin and
coarse. He stopped the work he was doing
on his customer and came over to show my barber a few tips on handling my
hair. Part of me was nervous for the
potential outcome, but much more of me was at peace as I entrusted these men to
the haircut for my anniversary. It took
awhile for them as they cut my hair. I
didn't mind, I had nowhere to go. It was
a different experience with a barber using a scissors on my hair who is more
nervous than I am. This is not a good
combination, I thought, as he sought validation from the senior barber. Yet I trusted him and did my best not to
appear nervous to him. That would only
make matters worse. As he finished up
and gave me the dim plastic mirror to survey his work the senior barber looked
over from his customer and said; "See, black people and cut white peoples
hair!". I smiled as he said
it. He was right. The hair looked great! I gave the junior barber two dollar-stamps
for a tip, which equates to $1.50. He
was reluctant to take it but I insisted and told him that I would be back next
month and he had to work my hair by himself so he could build his
experience. Now I was ready for a great
anniversary visit!
Saturday morning came and it brought with it some warm
temperatures and rain. How do you go
from 5 below zero to 50 degrees in 5 days?
Most of the snow was melted but it brought about the Elkton fog. This is not your ordinary fog. Did you ever watch the cartoon Scooby Doo? It
was one of my favorites when I was a grown up and when I was growing up. OK, I
still like it. Are you with me? Do you
remember how they would show the silhouette of the creepy mansion up on a mountaintop,
with a cloud around it that began part way up the mountain? Then the Mystery Machine would have to drive
the team of sleuths up the winding road and go through layers of fog? Then they would get there to solve the
mystery only to realize the man behind the disappearing ping pong balls was the
soft spoken maintenance manager, Mr. Jenkins, whom they never suspected. “Da point is dis...“ The fog hovered only
over the creepy mansion and nowhere else.
This is the fog we often experience here on Elkton Mountain. This fog appeared the day my wife is here to
visit me. I heard them close the
recreation yard which is a sure sign that it is getting worse and could likely
lead to a closed visitation. I checked
my e-mail and wrote a note to Jeannie hoping she would get the message on her
phone. I told her to go ahead and head
back to the hotel and wait for my call when they re-opened the visitation. I was moving the mouse to the send button
when I heard my name paged to the visitation room. I was shocked. So I scrambled to get back to my “house” and
get my uniform on.
Our visit was really good.
The visiting room was not very busy at all that day. We had the good chairs along the window for
more space. Jeannie had purchased some
sandwiches to have them ready along with a package of microwave popcorn just
taunting me while I sat there looking at it.
I didn't care how early it was, I had not had any popcorn for several
months. I wanted to enjoy it.
Jeannie and I talked and talked. (and ate vending food) We
both had stories to tell each other to catch up. We talk on the phone all the time but there
is something about talking in person that makes the story even better. It's the body language, the touch, the smell
of her. It is simply being with her that
makes the story even real. We didn't
have Rachel from card-holder services to remind us that this call was from a
federal prison. Yes, I am convinced that
Rachel is the woman who is making the announcement here on our phones. I was able to point out many faces, who had
visits the same day. It was a good
visit.
Sunday the weather was colder and there was no fog. We got started early and had good seats
again. Jeannie told me about her visit
to the church in Wexford PA that I listen to on the radio here. The church is called Orchard Hill and they
broadcast sermons five days a week on WORD FM.
I love the pastor as he teaches with a passion for the love of Jesus
like the pastors back home in Wisconsin. She described a church a little bigger
than North Ridge back home but it sounds like they have great worship in their
service. I was very jealous of her
experience because I don't have the luxury of this kind of worship and teaching
in person. I miss good contemporary
worship, sound doctrine, passionate teaching, messages with difficult truth
delivered in love. Don't get me wrong;
we do get parts of this here but never in a whole package.
We ran out of things to say after awhile. We talked about every thing we could think
of. It didn't matter to us. I don't mind not having things to say. Just being together is enough for us. Holding
hands is enough. Seeing each other is
enough. Our visit ended and she left to
get ready for her trip back home.
I took a nap and woke up to watch the sunset. The sky was clear with the exception of some
wispy clouds in long sweeping formations, like they were drawn with gentle
strokes of God's paintbrush. Their color
changed as the sun reflected its colors on them. They started out as a strong peach color,
which gradually faded toward a deeper red.
Overhead I saw a jet leaving a contrail reflecting the same colors as
the clouds. Who would imagine that a con would be watching contrails in the
sky? I thought about Jeannie being on that plane heading west to go home
tomorrow. This was the last I would see
her for another three months until she could come back and visit some
more. It is painful to think about that,
but I know it will be a temporary separation.
Seeing the sunset was like God making a promise to me that
this separation was temporary. Watching
the sky with the subdued colors changing to a deeper red like that of a dark
grapefruit made me think of Gods' Grace as it changes the color of our lives; if
we let Him; if we turn down the “color of pride” and let the transparent color
of humility be our hue. Then His Grace can be reflected in our lives like the
sun reflects its color in the clouds.
The more transparent we are, the more of God's color of grace shines
through us for all to see. His light can
change the look of any cloud but it works best in the transparent clouds. I see God's grace in my life every day. I see it in the sky as a promise; a promise
that His love will never fail. His Grace
will never end, even though we don't deserve it, he splashes it over us freely.
I love my God.
I love my Wife.
Happy Anniversary, my love.
13 years of marriage. I would do
it all over again. No regrets.
So I will wait patiently for the next visit. McFreedom
