It is a beautiful late summer, early fall day. I have the window rolled down and the radio cranked up in my car as I drive towards Southern Illinois. I am excited because it’s Picnic Day at Menard CC and I’ve packed a feast for my hubby and me to share. I made all his favorites: buttermilk fried chicken, homemade French Fries, crisp and salty, German chocolate cake (his favorite), a pint of butter pecan ice cream, and stacks and stacks of fresh fruit and vegetables. Everything is loaded into temperature controlled thermos chests so the chicken and fries stay warm, the ice cream remains frozen, and the fruit and veggies crisp. I am also bringing a batch of chocolate chip cookies for him to munch on later when he’s back in his cell.
Once at the prison, I park my car and load up my picnic treats and wheel them up to the gatehouse. A smiling young officer holds the door open for me and says pleasantly, “Good morning, ma’am.” While I am signing in, another young woman comes up to the desk. It’s her first visit and she didn’t know she needed fifty cents for the locker. She has no change and I just spent my last two quarters on my own locker. She drove all the way from the north side of Chicago and fears she’s about to be turned away for lack of two quarters. But a nice female officer behind the desk comes to her rescue and gives her 4 quarters for a dollar.
Because it’s Picnic Day, there are extra staff on duty to check through the food items coming in. Everything must go through the metal detector and x-ray device as well as receive a thorough examination by the officers. Visitors, too, are checked a bit more thoroughly but no one minds. The staff is courteous, kind, and professional. They waste no time getting everyone through. We are escorted to the picnic area to await the arrival of our loved ones.
The sun is out and heating up the day. I’m glad I wore just the tank top and shorts. Jimmy will be glad, too! While I’m waiting, I spread a tablecloth over one of the cast concrete tables that will accommodate our picnic. I set the table with the most festive paper plates I could find. Plastic stemmed glasses will hold the ginger ale that will have to serve as our “champagne.” A plastic glass holds a colorful bouquet of flowers in the center of the table to brighten up the dull surroundings. I watch for Jim as I arrange our food on the table. I know he’ll be hungry.
Across the way, tucked into one corner of the yard, a variety of playground toys are entertaining several small children who have come to visit their dads. They giggle and laugh and play. One little girl stands shyly in her daddy’s arms, her own arms wrapped firmly around his neck, her face buried against his chest. He rocks to and fro, patting her gently on the back and singing her a silly song meant to comfort her and ease her fears.
I look up and there, striding purposely across the yard, is my Jim – all 6’2” , 200 lbs, complete with balding head and impossibly long legs. I run to him and we throw our arms around each other. For a full minute or so, we just stand there and hug, allowing our energy to meld, our souls to mate. We kiss deeply and passionately, as lovers do. The yard, though crowded with life and alive with noise, seems empty and silent as if we were the only two people standing in the glorious sunshine, two hearts locked in a single embrace.
With our arms around each other, we walk to our picnic. I pour glasses of ginger ale “champagne” and we toast the future. I know he’s hungry but all I want to do is snuggle close and inhale his scent, feel his taut, muscular arms, rub his bald head. We have the whole day to enjoy each other. On Picnic Day, the yard is open from 8a.m to 6 p.m. with no time restrictions.
We feed each other strawberries and grapes before digging into the chicken. As always, he eats as if he hasn’t eaten for weeks. The raw, fresh vegetables are the first he’s had since the last Picnic Day a year ago, and he enjoys them almost sensually.
The chocolate cake and ice cream we’ll save for later. For now, our appetite sated, we walk around the yard holding hands and talking. We stop to get our picture taken by one of the inmate workers – a tiny memory of an almost perfect day. Somewhere nearby, there are towers with guards and guns, there are walls and razor wire, there are cells with bars and clanging gates and locks. But right here, right now, I am standing in the sunshine on a glorious late summer, early fall day, holding the hand of the man I love.
And I am home.
* * * * *
Sadly, as you have guessed, this “visit” was just a fantasy. Though other states do have Picnic Days such as the one described above, Illinois continues to maintain a hard line approach when it comes to inmates and their visits. Other states have recognized the importance of not just visits for the inmates, but
quality visits, and of keeping families together by encouraging frequent visits, but Illinois (especially the upper level security prisons) continue to placate the whines and demands of the union rather than doing what is ultimately for the good of society.
Illinois used to have picnic days in at least some of their prisons. But rather than being controlled and restricted to those inmates with exemplary behavioral records, they were open to most inmates. The gangs had a stranglehold on the administration and instead of being family days, the picnics were little more than chaotic free-for-alls with sexual activity taking place pretty openly and who knows what other activities.
That was then; it does not have to be now. IDOC has a tendency to go from one end of the pendulum swing to the other without utilizing all the space in-between. The visits in general are not conducive to encouraging inmate and family relationships. The atmosphere is oppressive, toddlers are made to sit for hours on uncomfortable seats with little to occupy their time, and now contact between inmate and his significant other is reduced to hand-holding across the table. I concede the fact that there may have been “illegal” activity in the past with contraband being passed between visitor and inmate. I do question the frequency of such activities. Overall, in Illinois there are some 45,000 inmates. How many thousands of visits are there per year in the state? At Menard, where more than 3,000 inmates reside, I will estimate that they receive, on average, around 200 visits per week. That’s over 10,000 visits per year at that one prison. What percentage of those visitors bring in contraband? How many visitors have actually been caught with serious contraband (drugs, weapons, cell phones)? How much trouble did the contraband then cause prison-wide? I refuse to believe that what small amounts of contraband brought in via a visitor mule would be significant enough to cause as much damage as the main source of their problems – staff and outside delivery persons wanting to make a quick buck.
Even with such suspicions of illegal activity, there are ways to deal with it besides the punitive methods that affect every inmate and all visitors, the vast majority of whom do not break any rules but who only want to spend time with their incarcerated loved ones.
Dee Battaglia, the ex-warden of Stateville and IDOC’s new head of long-term prisoners’ programs, should look seriously into the policies regarding visits. Bring back the picnic days, but bring them back as family days and make it an incentive; i.e., make it conditional on the inmate not having had disciplinary tickets. Give the inmates something to work towards, to focus on. Have them design a playground for the kids, and put them in charge of the upkeep.
By focusing on family relationships, maybe we can reduce the chances of the next generation seeing so many of its young people spending the best part of their lives behind bars. Isn't that the real purpose of corrections?
*For a complete index of previous IPT editorials click here: http://xsorbit30.com/users5/illinoisprisontalk/index.php?board=92.0
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