Bryan Stories, Part 2 [Bryan]

Here is my second installment of my personal quest to better know myself by telling stories about myself. (The first can be found here.) This story has to do with a guy named Pete who I met in the Salt Lake County Jail...but it's not what you think.

I was a senior at the University of Utah and I was taking a class called "The University Experience," taught by Jack Newell. This turned out to be a life-changing class for me, and it is actually the class and the professor that sent me along the career path that I am now on. Jack was a guy who believed that teaching consists mostly of telling stories. And boy, could that guy tell a story.

Anyway, we were reading an article that appeared in Harpers Magazine in the late 1990s by Earl Shorris. The article dealt with an educational experiment. Shorris went into the inner city and taught college level humanities courses to the urban poor. He and his co-conspirators taught classes in history, philosophy, logic, and poetry to struggling people who could barely read. The results, he found, were impressive. After taking the course, many of Shorris's students enrolled in college, engaged in political and economic activism, and so forth.

This article hit me like a lightning bolt. I had been searching for a way I could make a real contribution to the world. The article coincided with a growing unease about my easy lifestyle. This unease had started on my Mormon mission, where I worked closely with people living in slums and boxes. Returning to the United State was a jarring experience. Two years after returning, I was ready for closer contact with the world -- the real world of blood, sweat, poverty, and toil, where the drama of survival and redemption really plays out. At the same time, I was growing to love the humanities -- the world of the theater, art museums, dead languages, and Classical philosophers. Shorris's ideas, I thought, offered the chance to put my new passion to use in the service of my fellow man. I subsequently volunteered to teach inmates in the SL county jail. I was supposed to be preparing them for the GED, but I hoped to slip in a little philosophy and literature on the side.

Here is how it worked. The organizers of the program gave me a pass to enter the jail. They also gave me the name and the cell block information of an inmate who expressed interest in being tutored. In short, they expected me to navigate the jail by myself. To be honest, entering that place was always a scary experience. At various checkpoints, I had to wave my ID badge to the surveillance cameras so the guards would open the doors for me. I would pass cell after cell with inmates gazing (leering) at me. I would pass the cells, reeking of alcohol and vomit, where they would throw drunk people to "dry out." Distant shouting. Bars clanging. I was ever fearful of making a wrong turn and ending up somewhere I wasn't supposed to be. (To be honest, the scariest part was the guards, who thought my presence was simply an annoyance -- they had probably seen many do-gooders like me before.)

Usually, I would show up to the cell block, and I would ask the guard to go fetch the prisoner who had requested tutoring. Usually, the inmate refused to come out (often, they would sign up just to win favor with a judge). Sometimes, I would tutor for a session or two and the inmate would lose interest. But then I was asked to tutor I guy named Peter.

Pete had been in and out of jail 39 times, he said. He never told me what he got in trouble for, exactly, and I never asked. Based on some things he said, though, I think he may have been in there most recently for car-jacking. A violent offense, to be sure. But Pete was the first guy who seemed genuinely interested in learning. We worked on arithmetic, basic reading, and other GED stuff.

After a few sessions, I decided to put Shorris to the test. I gave Pete Book 7 of Plato's Republic to read after a brief introduction to text. This is a selection that deals with Plato's famous "Allegory of the Cave." This allegory talks about a man imprisoned in a cave. The man gradually works his way out of the cave, sees the sun, and returns to tell his fellow prisoners about it. The allegory deals with how we overcome "mere opinion" and come to know the truth. I only half expected Pete to read it.

The next week, I grabbed my ID badge and passed through the security checkpoints. Same story: Leering prisoners. Distant shouting. Annoyed guards. Pete emerged from his cell, clutching his copy of the Republic. He had read! Not only that, he seemed genuinely touched by what he had read. He told me about how his experience in jail had mirrored that of the man in the cave -- how he and his fellow prisoners were often blind to sun, which is Plato's symbol for "the good." We talked excitedly for about half an hour before turning to our regular tutoring activities.

I emerged from that dark jail with a feeling of euphoria. I felt like I was bringing something of real value to Pete, something nobody had ever offered him before. I felt like I was living up to the biblical injunction to visit the needy and those in prison. I had faced my fear and made a difference. Finally, I was living up to my ideals. I had found a connection between my passion and my contribution.

Other visits with Pete were equally exciting. I got him reading on the theme of "imprisonment." The next task we tackled was the narrative life of Frederick Douglass. Douglass, of course, escapes slavery through literacy. Pete really seemed to enjoy it. We were developing a good relationship. He was something of an artist, in a gangster sort of way, and often gave me his drawings. Pete seemed to be honored by this exposure to literature, history, and philosophy. It made him feel worthwhile to read such things, as if the treasures of civil society were finally his. It affirmed his humanity.

I wish I could tell you that this story had a happy ending. After a few months,though, Pete gradually began to lose interest. I would show up and the grumpy guard would go get Pete from his cell, only return and report that Pete said he was too tired to come out. After a few more weeks, I lost contact with Pete. Whatever spark had been lit during those few weeks had been extinguished. I still don't know what happened or why.

Did I find, then, the perfect reconciliation of personal passion and social contribution? I don't know. I guess you could say that I'm still looking.