San Quentin Prison looks a little like Disneyland from the outside. Rather circus-like with ornamental details and multiple paint colors. At least to a 10-year-old girl.
I had a Dorothy Hamill bowl cut, and so despite, my flowery top and Dittos pants, I was questioned whether I was a boy or a girl. Checking in to visit someone in prison was quite the arduous process. Dress code. Every pocket searched. No belts allowed. Every purse or bag searched for “contraband,” my new vocabulary word. Did I share that with my 5th grade teacher? Anything sharp or potentially sharp, drugs, or anything that could be transferred to the inmate and used for harmful purposes. We were not allowed to bring in money, coins, or wear valuable jewelry; we didn’t own any anyways.
My mother did not prepare my older sister, Jennifer, age 10, and I for this. Did anyone prepare my mom? It was 1980. There were no google searches about “10 Things You Should Know Before You Visit Your Son in Prison.” It is one of the most oppressive places I have ever been. How did she handle it? Her son, second born, in such a place as this?
My half-brother, Jimmy, was in 5 prisons over a few years, and my mother visited him at every single one. EVERY. SINGLE. ONE. His crime? He robbed at gun point the auto part store he worked at, for drug money he owed a friend. This was way up in northern California where he had lived for several years. Jimmy felt so badly about what he had done that he turned himself in the very next day. He was sentenced to 5 years in prison for this crime.
Mom dragged my sister and I along to many of those visits. I am not sure why she did not leave us with our dad or with our grandparents. Maybe we wanted to go. Maybe we were curious. Maybe we did not want her to go alone.
Sometime in the beginning of his prison journey, my brother had been transferred to Soledad State Prison. My mom was beside herself with worry because the guards there at the time did not carry firearms. Which made my brother feel very unprotected. Or maybe my mom was projecting that ominous feeling of fear that she probably carried from the moment he was locked up till the day he was free. I will NEVER FORGET sitting down on the brown plaid living room couch with my sister and mother, writing letters to the Soledad Warden, begging him to transfer my brother BACK to San Quentin. The warden honored our requests.
Some of our visits involved overnighters INSIDE the prison. A Family Weekend. My older half-siblings, Steve and Julie, went with us this one time. We brought all the supplies we needed for a weekend in a trailer on the property of San Quentin. From Southern California all the way up to San Rafael in our station wagon, packed full of food and goodies that Jimmy would get to enjoy with us. Every grocery bag, ice chest, duffle bag, and suitcase searched for hours upon arrival.
We were escorted to the trailer by armed guards. My brother showed up to greet us, and be with us, at his allowed and appointed times. I remember the trailer had a little sitting area outside or was large enough for us to have a hibachi grill. I remember that my mom had to go to the base of the 40 foot tower to get her medications twice, maybe three times a day. They would lower the basket, and she would take the dose, guards scrutinizing her every move, and she would send it back up. Multiple trailers and visiting families were inside four giant, SOLID concrete walls, trimmed with layers of barbed wire, with guards, lights and towers above us. Watching. Who were the other families? What was their story? Did we ever cross paths or exchange glances? I have no recollection. This was not our only family weekend with Jim. I remember more when he was transferred to the California Institute for Men in Chino, just an hour or so away from our home in Los Alamitos. My mom visited him at Chino every other weekend until he was released the summer of 1983.
By all worldly accounts, my mother, Ann, was an ordinary person. She did not go to much college, did not travel, did not have accomplishments to boast about.
But her love, for her 5 children, was unconditional and extraordinary.
She actually came to admire my big brother as he found a strong faith in God and was completely transformed from the inside out. He radiated. It was so real and evident that he was a new person inside, joy oozing out. In fact he was such a changed young man that he was released 1 ½ years earlier than his original sentence. My mom often sought him out, his perspective, his joy. She wanted that type of salvation experience, forgiveness, and transformation, too.
She was extraordinary in her unconditional love for Jimmy. Always there. Always supportive. She did not abandon him when he made his mistakes. She went the extra-extra proverbial miles for him.
Especially as I watched her show up time and again for him. She had no money, not much of a reliable car, but time and again she went to be with him. There was no wedge that grew between them, no shaming, no “I told you so’s” in word or attitude or disposition. She was simply there. In the flesh.
Blue eyes to blue eyes demonstrating a mother’s love.
Author’s Note: This was published with permission from my brother Jim. He added: Mom was ALWAYS unconditional. It was natural for her to be that way and love that way; she was just like that.
HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY 2020!!!! xo
Gayle says
I remember only small parts of Jim’s experience in jail. We didn’t talk about it much as a family. At least I can’t recall it. Thank you for bringing your recollections to light. How traumatic to visit a prison as a young child -and also for Ann. I’m sure part of Jim’s ability to endure his incarceration came from his mother’s unwavering love, and connection to his family. Thanks for writing about this, Jess.
Laura says
I know, from my past experiences with visitation rules and procedures in the county and federal jails and prisons that your mother endured much more than you probably would like to share.
The families are, at times, also treated as criminals. Some of the physical searches were a bit too much as though they were trying to humiliate us.
I held my head up high and just complied.
Pooka Lewis says
WOW She was an amazing example. And so glad to hear that Jimmy came to experience the redemptive love of Jesus. Thanks you for sharing this memory with us.
Linda says
Wow, Jess. An amazing personal story that I’m honored to hear. I hope you see how many of your mom’s wonderful qualities you share. Have a wonderful Mother’s Day, my friend 💕
Barb says
I am so touched by your story, which I had never heard before in the forty plus years that I know you my sweet girl.
Thank you for telling it so beautifully.
Rory says
A powerful memoir of love, strength, commitment, and faith. All of which God can give us in dire times of need. Such great perspective. Thanks for sharing your heart and your life with us Jessica.