"No One Farted
When I Walked By"
an excerpt from the new book
MY SOUL SAID TO ME:
An Unlikely Journey
Behind the Walls of Justice
by Robert E. Roberts, D.D.S., Ph.D., M.S.W.
INTRODUCTION
The excerpt, below, is from the new book, My
Soul Said to Me, the story of Robert E. Roberts
and the pioneering prison re-entry program he
developed called Project Return.
Bob Roberts turned his back on a lucrative dental
practice, left his family and his hometown, to
teach literacy in prison. For three years, he learned
first-hand about the deprivations and degradations
of America's penal institutions. His program was
so successful at reducing inmate violence that
corrections officials conspired to shut it down
and get rid of Roberts.
Roberts rebuilt his program on the outside, helping
ex-cons re-integrate with society. A five-year
study by the Metropolitan Crime Commission certified
Project Return as the most effective re-entry program
ever, with only 25% of alumni returning to prison,
as opposed to 75% of those not in the program.
For an investment of $5 million over five years,
the Commission calculated taxpayers had saved $209
million in reduced crime, court costs, and prison
costs.
The first part of the excerpt documents the improvement
in the behavior of prisoners and guards at Dixon
Correctional Institution near Baton Rouge, Louisiana.
The second part relates one saga in the growing
effort by Warden Burl Cain to get rid of Roberts.
More information about author Bob Roberts and the
book, My Soul Said to Me, follows the excerpt.
"No One Farted When I Walked By"
an excerpt from MY SOUL SAID TO ME
by Robert E. Roberts
As the weekly community-building workshops progressed,
I continued to witness a slow and steady upward
curve of trust and mutual esteem in the men of
Dorm 7. Life slowly improved in the dormitory as
the men began to use the communication skills they
developed in the workshop to work out their differences.
Men who had lived together in the dorm for years,
barely exchanging words, now began to share with
each other, sometimes even confessing things that
formerly would have put them in positions of dangerous
vulnerability.
When one prisoner admitted that he was a former
narcotics agent, the group accepted him and did
not seek retribution as they would have only a
few weeks earlier. When another man confessed that
he was a closet homosexual, no one in the group
tried to rape him or put a claim on him. Even the
correctional officers noticed a change in climate,
reporting that the men seemed to be carrying on
meaningful conversations instead of the usual jive.
As they explored the new experience of being a
community, the men discovered useful and productive
things about each other. For example, several men
found that their parents and families lived in
the same neighborhood. Since some of the family
members had cars and others did not, the men were
able to arrange for carpooling on visitors' day.
Visitations increased dramatically, which was very
positive. Research has long shown that increased
visitations decrease violence and the number of
infractions of prison rules. In addition, and not
surprisingly, seeing loved ones and friends on
a more regular basis had a calming effect upon
men who were incarcerated.
This carpooling -- or more accurately, this type
of communication -- would have been impossible
before the workshop. One of the greatest terrors
a prisoner lives with is the fear that an enemy
will try to retaliate for a real or imagined wrong,
and that his enemy will have a friend on the outside
harm or kill a family member. To actually volunteer
the location of one's family took extraordinary
trust.
Over the following months, even marriages increased
with the men who were not lifers (many states allow
marriages in prison, the idea being that it stabilizes
the individual, both while incarcerated and upon
release). Some of the men told stories of phoning
family members who they had not spoken with in
years and apologizing for old wrongs.
It wasn't a surprise that these changes brought
about a considerable decrease in violence and other
major rule infractions within the dormitory. As
major infractions decreased, however, minor infractions
temporarily increased. The reason for this was
simple.
As the men learned to respect themselves and give
respect to others, they also began to expect it
in return. This meant that when a correctional
officer blew off at one of them, the individual
would respond by saying, "I don't talk to you like
that and I don't want you to talk to me like that." Andrew
told a correctional officer, "I don't want to be
called Psycho anymore. My name is Andrew Webster."
Since the correctional officers of Dorm 7 did
not yet understand what was happening with this
group, they took these kinds of comments as insubordination
and wrote them up as minor infractions. Once I
had determined which of the correctional officers
I could reason with and explained to them what
was going on, the situation improved.
The aura of extraordinary respect so permeated
Dorm 7 that among correctional personnel it soon
became one of the most coveted jobs in the prison.
On one occasion, I overhead a correctional officer
talking to the warden about the change in attitude
of the prisoners. "Nowadays, during the count," he
said, "When I'm walking back up the aisle, they
don't fart." I had to bite my lip to keep from
laughing. "Now, that might seem like a small thing
to you," he said, looking over at me, "but, really,
it's not."
For many of the prisoners, the workshop opened
up a whole new world. Several reported feeling
as if they had been waiting for this for a long,
long time. Malcolm told the group that, for him, "The
world now seems to have a glow to it, so much brighter
than I had ever thought it could be. I can look
at myself and see what a great work of art I am
and the greatness out of which I was created."
Malcolm also saw the glow on the faces of the
other men in Dorm 7. "I've been watching men leave
this workshop and go back to the cell block to
call loved ones they haven't spoken to in years.
And I ask myself, 'Is this really happening?'"
Many of the prisoners agreed that nothing else
had even come close to the natural high they felt
after the workshops, the dizzy sensation of walking
two feet above the ground. Malcolm admitted that,
for him, the feeling was "greater than the high
I felt on heroin, and more intense than the euphoria
I had the first time I fasted."
Many of the prisoners were concerned how long
the effects of the workshop would continue. Many
were convinced that the changes would not last.
We knew they were right, unless the community-building
workshops continued. But they were wrong about
the changes within themselves. The years since
have shown that, whatever the results of our efforts,
none of the men in Dorm 7 ever really lost the
intrinsic worth of that experience with us and
each other. Whatever light had been turned on inside
would stay on.
THE FINAL BLOW
During one of the ongoing community-building sessions
with Dorm 7, the door suddenly burst open and a
correctional officer announced that Warden Cain
wanted to see me in his office. I responded that
I would be there as soon as the current session
ended. A few minutes later, the officer returned
and said that the warden wanted to see me right
away. Reluctant but worried, I closed down the
group and went to the warden's office.
At the conference table sat the warden, his two
assistant wardens and Colonel Aucoin, who had covertly
been our only ally among the staff and who had
recently become the first black chief of security
at the prison. In addition, there sat the professor
whom I knew from the department at Louisiana State
University that had hosted our study and administered
our grant -- the same professor who had originally
talked me into taking the study to Dixon Correctional
Institution, where he was a long-time, personal
friend of Warden Cain. On several occasions, this
professor had asked me to let him use some of the
money in our grant for departmental purposes --
primarily for travel. I had refused him. As a federal
grantee, we were responsible to justify every cent
we used. Still, I continued to trust him and to
follow his advice on academic matters until, in
a conversation one day, he began to refer to the
prisoners as niggers. From that point, I knew this
man had nothing to teach me and, gradually, I ended
all contact with him. That is, until this meeting.
The professor announced that I was being removed
as principle investigator of the grant and that
he was taking over. In addition, my salary was
being cut 30 percent and my travel benefits were
eliminated. This meant that the cost of my weekly
commutes to the prison and lodging expenses would
have to come out of my own pocket.
My blood began to boil, and I could feel my soul
wanting to leap out of my body and choke off what
this man was saying. Barely able to remain in my
seat, I asked for an explanation. I was told that
I had "mishandled" some of the grant funds with
which we operated the study. Without thinking,
I said, "You know as well as I do that's a lie."
Then the strangest thing of all happened. The
professor got out of his chair and started toward
me. My mind raced. I suddenly remembered the time
when one of the prisoners left his seat and walked
across the circle yelling at me because I had not
answered his question. He had stopped about six
feet in front of me and shouted every four-letter
word I had ever heard in my life. I remained still
except for gently nodding my head to encourage
him to get all of his rage out of his body so that
he could fully participate in the workshop. When
he had done just that, he walked calmly back to
his seat, sat down and began to laugh in a manner
that was in no way disrespectful. I told the group, "That's
where our joy always lies hidden -- underneath
our rage."
That strategy did not work this time. My former
friend kept moving toward me, and suddenly I saw
his fist coming. Since I had waited too long to
stand up, my only option was to lean back to avoid
his blow. Fortunately, the chair was the recliner
type, and it allowed me enough movement to get
out of the way. But in missing his mark, the professor
lost his balance, fell on top of me and toppled
my chair backward, sending both of us crashing
on the floor.
The next face I saw was that of Colonel Aucoin
as he was pulling the professor off of me. As I
leaped up, one of the assistant wardens, Bubba
McNeil, grabbed me and shoved me against the wall.
I had always intuitively believed that Warden McNeil
was an even stronger covert ally to our efforts
than Aucoin. Sure enough, under the noise and fury
of the moment, I heard him whisper, "Don't do nothin'." I
answered quickly, "Okay."
As I felt Bubba relax his hold, I knew in an instant
that this had been a set up to get rid of me altogether.
I also knew that Bubba had figured I might strike
back, and he was protecting me from falling deeper
into their trap. Later, Colonel Aucoin verified
my suspicions. To this day, I am deeply grateful
to these two men who risked their own well- being
for mine.
About the Author
ROBERT E. ROBERTS left a twenty-year career
in dentistry to devote himself to social reform
and, eventually, the creation of a revolutionary
program for ex-offenders called Project Return.
For the past fourteen years, Dr. Roberts has been
actively involved in various aspects of community
building programs across the country, in Europe
and the former Soviet Union.
Dr. Roberts completed his undergraduate work at
Louisiana Polytechnic University in 1964, received
Doctor of Dental Surgery from Loyola University
in 1968, a Master of Social Work from Louisiana
State University in 1987, and Ph.D. in Curriculum
and Instruction from Louisiana State University
in 1991. His research has been published in the
Journal of Offender Rehabilitation, Vol. 20, 1994.
He is the Founder and currently Executive Director
of Project Return of Louisiana, Inc.
Dr. Roberts has received an enormous amount of
recognition for his work, including 1997 Role Model
of the Year from the Young Leadership Council of
New Orleans; 1998 Extraordinary Contribution in
Crime Fighting Award from the Metropolitan Crime
Commission (the first non-crime fighting agency
to receive this distinguished award); 1998 finalist
for the Harmony Award from the International Association
of Business Communicators; and the 1998 National
Award for Excellence in Crime Fighting from the
American Judicature Society.
Dr. Roberts, has been much in demand as an instructor
at workshops and conferences across the country
and has been interviewed on numerous radio talk
shows, including National Public Radio. Additionally,
he has made numerous appearances on various newscasts
and television talk shows on CBS, NBC, ABC, and
FOX, including the Ivanhoe nationally syndicated
news broadcast. Dr. Roberts and Project Return
recently received notable mention on the front
page of The New York Times and were the
subject of a feature article on the front page
of The Los Angeles Times.
About the Book
MY SOUL SAID TO ME:
An Unlikely Journey
Behind the Walls of Justice
by Robert E. Roberts, D.D.S., Ph.D., M.S.W.
Published by Health Communications, Inc.
(ISBN 0-7573-0064-2, 297 pages, softcover, $12.95)
Available wherever books are sold, online or off.
So there Rusty and I were, behind locked doors,
in a circle with fifty male prisoners. As soon
as our requested three minutes of silence were
over, Billy, a prisoner who was sitting next
to my colleague, Rusty, turned to him, got right
in his face and demanded, "What the f- you doin'
here - you come here to f- with our minds?" Billy
was not much bigger than Rusty, but he was solid
muscle. The expression on his face was serious
and focused. "They payin' you to be here? How
much they payin' you? Wisely, Rusty carefully
and calmly answered his questions with a brief "Yes," and, "Not
much."
Such was the tone at Dixon Correctional Institute
in Jackson, Louisiana, on day-one of Bob Robert's
first workshop. Here, as part of his doctoral dissertation,
he would apply the community building model of
his mentor Dr. Scott Peck to a group of fifty prisoners,
nearly all African American, and chosen at random
by a lottery system. Meeting weekly, and intended
to last three years, the workshops progressed.
Men who had lived together for years, barely exchanging
words, began to converse meaningfully with each
other. Visitations increased from loved ones and
friends, and a considerable decrease in violence
within the group of prisoners occurred as well.
When tested, the average reading scores of the
community improved an entire grade level every
seven weeks.
In My Soul Said To Me: An Unlikely Journey
Behind the Walls of Justice, Bob Roberts
documents every leg of this unlikely journey
straight through to the eventual sabotage and
demise of the program he implemented in Jackson.
Fortunately, although the author has us despairing
for the Dixon prisoners left behind whom we
grow to understand and care about, Roberts
is inspired to further his work by starting
what would become the country's only privately
operated prisoner re-entry program funded by
the Department of Justice and the most successful
one of its kind.
What began as an experiment that benefited a few
hundred prisoners in Louisiana grew into Project
Return in New Orleans, a program affiliated with
Tulane Medical Center's School of Public Health
and Tropical Medicine. Since its inception, Project
Return has helped break the cycles of addiction,
crime and violence of over 2,500 former offenders
reducing their probability of returning to prison
from 3 in 4 to 1 in 4.
Two significant elements of the work Roberts practiced
in his original program and carries on at Project
Return involve grief work and African studies.
For the first time in their lives, participants
enter a safe environment for unloading emotional
burdens they have carried for years, burdens that
have weighed them down with guilt, shame, and grief
because there has been no place to lay them, no
one to acknowledge their suffering, no vessel strong
enough to contain their rage. From this process,
participants cultivate an environment of "extraordinary
respect" for each other rekindling in them the
flames of dignity, courage, determination, and
destiny.
Exploring the darkest terrain of violence and
human suffering, and the brightest regions of redemption,
human dignity and hope, My Soul Said to Me will
change forever your view of criminal justice, your
appreciation of deep relationships and freedom,
and your ability to determine your own future.
It is a story of deceit and honesty, cowardice
and courage, prejudice and acceptance. Most importantly,
it is the story of the power of friendship and
the ability that lies within each of us to create
beauty in the world through commitment, determination,
and the understanding that all of our souls came
here for a reason.
PRAISE FOR MY SOUL SAID TO ME
"...this worthwhile, important book offers a bright,
optimistic window onto the often horrific conditions
that still exist in prisons today."
--Publishers Weekly, February 2003
"I was privileged to participate in the community
circle of Project Return once, and I grasped immediately
the source for its success -- community. This story
is a refreshing testimony but it's also a roadmap
to community and healing. And, most importantly,
it's a bright and gleaming sign of possibility
that will inspire others to create ways to reach
out and include the 'least of these' which our
society tends to throw away."
-- Helen Prejean, author, Dead Man Walking
"This is a passionate, sobering story that paradoxically
brings hope into dark places of the American psyche."
-- Robert Bly, author of Iron John
"This book tells of one man's courage [and] challenges
the courage of us readers to face our passive complicity
that perpetuates the system."
-- James Hillman, author, The Soul's Code
"My Soul Said to Me is a dramatic story of both
personal and social transformation."
-- Robert Moore, author, The Archetype
of Initiation
"It takes boldness, determination and an acute
sense of service to the world in pain to do what
Bob Roberts has done. His journey speaks to all
souls who have heard the call to live at the edge
courageously and sacrificially."
-- Malidoma SomÈ, author, Of Water and
the Spirit
"Bob Roberts' story is both incredibly moving
and inspiring. His healing model is both effective
and replicable. It goes right to the heart of the
matter. A must read for anyone interested in prison
reform and human potential."
-- Richard Gere, actor and activist
"This book chronicles a unique journey which has
been successful in its goal of giving guidance
and hope to hundreds of ex-convicts, leading many
to productive lives and reducing the rate of recidivism.
It is a truly inspiring story."
-- David C. Treen, former Governor of Louisiana
Copyright ©2003 by Robert E. Roberts. All
Rights Reserved. Please feel free to duplicate
or distribute this file as long as the contents
are not changed and this copyright notice is
intact. Thank You.
