In prison again

Thu, 18 Jan 2001 20:21:00 +0000

The metal detector goes off for the fifth time. The officers remove my 80-year-old grandmother's shoes and belt, ushering her into a private room for a thorough strip-search. This humiliating process verifies what I've been telling them all along: She has a metal hip. We pass the rest of the inspection, our hands are stamped with invisible ink and we proceed through three thick steel gates. As I step forward to check in with the next guard, my grandmother retreats to the bathroom to compose herself.

I have visited maximum-security prisons for 17 years and become acquainted with a soft-spoken guard named Jennings, who also happens to be an internationally ranked chess player. Although what I know about his everyday role as a correctional officer is vividly engraved in my mind, I talk to him easily. We chat about his son's accomplishments before he picks up a house phone to call for prisoner 83A6158.

As my grandmother approaches, Jennings jots down the names of two chess books and a Web site for me to carry back to my high school club. Nodding goodbye, my grandmother and I hold out our hands and the translucent ink glows faintly under the ultraviolet light. Jennings unlocks another gate, the final obstacle in our three-hour odyssey. I'm in prison again.

Salon.com > Chesa Boudin

In prison again