It received the most accolades at the art show. A near masterpiece in oil, the magnificent pastoral scene depicted a cozy cottage perched next to a babbling brook. The wispy clouds were reminiscent of angel wings. The variegated greens and blues in both muted and vivid hues suggested peace, beauty and tranquility.

        Was this an invitational sale at the Art Institute of Chicago? Was it launching a new artist at a trendy north side gallery? No. It was a fund-raising event at the Menard State Prison, Illinois’ largest maximum-security facility for men. The inmates created all the exhibits. The man who painted the pastoral scene inhabited death row. He murdered two members of the same family sometime in the late 60’s.

        It was 1971 and I was a sophomore at Southern Illinois University. As I stood admiring the condemned man’s offering, I wondered how someone so evil and worthless could create something so beautiful and treasured.

        This was my first conscious glimpse into the awareness that everyone, even the lowliest of the low, has some kind of value. Many years later, at a different prison in a different state, the notion came to fruition.

        I was one of three volunteers for a Toastmasters Prison Gavel Club at the South Idaho Correctional Institution. It was the men’s minimum-security facility, but the instructors cautioned us not to make light of it. Idaho has a merit system where those who are approaching parole or sentence completion, gradually are transferred from maximum, to medium and finally to minimum security.

        My reasons for volunteering for this service were deep and personal and I didn’t share them. My brother was murdered in 1984. I knew any stored up anger and hatred over this life-changing event eventually would fester inside me until it claimed my own life. I decided not to let my brother’s murderer add me to the notch on his gun, so I took whatever steps necessary to heal myself from this unbearable burden. Twenty years later, after anger, tears, counseling, therapy, forgiveness, and other processes, I found myself wending my car through the prison compound. This was the next chapter in my healing.

        Once the Toastmasters gavel came down, I discovered this was like any other meeting. People got up and spoke. They had fears, concerns and problems just like everyone else. They enjoyed entertaining or humorous speeches and the accompanying laughter, just like everyone else. Some suffered from intense stage fright, but the accepting, constructive environment of a Toastmasters meeting helped them overcome it, just like everyone else. A few “hams” would take center stage now and then, just like any meeting on the outside.

        Something amazing happened as I watched these men: they grew and developed, some in small ways, others in large. They were helpful and supportive of each other. Prisoners learned how to give and receive compliments and constructive suggestions for improvement. They took leadership positions, made commitments, and for the most part kept them. Nearly all of them remarked that during those weekly two-hour meetings, they did not feel as if they were in prison.

        Despite the common bonds these convicts had with Toastmasters on the outside, I had no illusion they were just like everyone else. They were murderers, rapists, child molesters, drug dealers, drug users, small-time thieves, big time embezzlers and who knows what else? As volunteers, we were not allowed to ask about their convictions. However, I could look up the offenders on the Internet and learn about their misdeeds, some of which were major.

        Still, I was reminded of one basic principle: everyone has value. I was in a situation where I interacted with men I would evade on the outside. It was deeply important for me to see that this element of humanity had value and positive qualities. Somehow I was able to transfer that realization: even the man who murdered my brother must have some value. We are all creations of the Creator.

        I think the very talented artist whose magnificent work was displayed in Menard so many years ago, deserved the death penalty. I was aware in those prison Toastmasters meetings, I was in a room with sociopaths, deviants, predators, addicts, people who made a mistake and were paying for it, or other such unfortunates, laughing and sometimes crying about their stories. I am truly grateful the Universe gave me the opportunity to see these souls have a spark of value. That perhaps I could provide a service to help them develop or increase that spark, even in the smallest increment, felt good to me.

[Home] [Workshops] [Blog] [Articles] [3 Teambuilding Tips] [Using the DiSC] [DiSC Styles Stressed] [Unwelcome Companions] [3 Things That Bug Me] [John's Story] [Forgiveness] [Everyone Has Value] [The Sky Is His Palette] [Saving Others] [Nighttime Writings] [The Sneak Preview] [Newsletter] [Client List] [Diana's Bio] [Contact Diana]