Most of my day today was spent driving (riding with an investigator, actually) to visit a client in prison. I don't often go to see my clients; the nature of habeas cases rarely demands a face-to-face meeting, and my non-driving status makes it impractical for me to schlep out to the hinterlands (where we put prisons so we can forget about them) on a regular basis. But this guy's case presents some really complicated factual and legal issues, and he's had pretty bad past experiences with lawyers. Throw in the lousy acoustics of the prison phone system (all those extra ears on the line . . . .) and it makes for some rather unproductive phone conversations. So I decided that the only way this guy was going to trust me -- and cooperate in my strategy in his case -- would be to pay him a visit. I think it was the right call; by the end of our meeting, he understood why I want to handle the case the way I do, and he seems to be on board.
Maybe it's because I don't go to prison all that often -- no more than 4 or 5 times a year, probably -- but it always depresses me.
At this facility, a minimum security institution, the inmates move pretty freely between their jobs, the sparse recreational offerings, and their "houses," so several inmates were milling around as my investigator and I signed in at the gate. I guess they don't see very many women who aren't built like battle axes, and even though I purposely dressed in pretty dowdy clothes for the trip (and my investigator is a tiny little Jewish grandmother in her early 60s), they leered at us openly. The guards yelled at them to keep moving, and they shuffled off, heads slightly drooped, eyes going blank.
Finally, the guards finished triple-checking our IDs (and checking us out) and led us to a private meeting room along with my client. He's an incredibly intelligent man, who did a damn good job of working up his own case until the court appointed us to represent him. What he lacks in legal sophistication, he more than makes up for in street smarts, verbal/linguistic skill, and sheer chutzpah. The more I talked to him about the crazy facts underlying his claims, the sadder I felt that such a smart, smart guy has done such a good job of screwing up his life. He's bounced in and out of jail for years, has four young kids who are living with their grandmother right now, and hasn't ever quite figured out how to use his intelligence in a positive and productive way. And there are thousands of men (and women) like him, sitting in prison and jail cells around the country. Some of them get vocational training and solid work experience in prison, but as prison budgets shrink and average sentences lengthen, there seems to be an ever-smaller chance that any of them will become productive members of society, or will be able to support their families and remain in the legitimate economy once they get out. Such a huge waste.
So that's my soapbox for today. Perhaps tomorrow I'll change gears again and talk about why I'm going to be Betty Boop for Halloween (although there's a prison story there, too).
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