Stories from Prison

Prison changes people, those sent there, their families, even the
world outside, and it is important to hear diverse voice about those
experiences. Sal, who is 55 and lives in Catskill, N.Y., readily remembers the day he went into the prison system – Dec. 2, 1985 – and when he walked out six years later. While he says that the time in prison has not proved to be the most important determinant of his life, Sal does talk about how those years allowed him to take education courses, giving him a liking for history and politics, and how they affirmed for him his
choices to be a stand-up guy. To those who ask or listen, Sal preaches values that promote a self-directed life outside the walls.
He also draws, and has a collection of the sketches he made while
incarcerated.

This is another in a series of presentations about the effects of
prison in a community sponsored by Freehold Art Exchange, Greene County on the Arts and WorkersWrite, the National Writers United Service Organization. 2015

Drawings by Salvatore Puma
Interview by Terry Schwadron and Esther Cohen
Photographs by Molly Stinchfield

SAL PUMA

The ironworks shop is in a basement on Main Street in Catskill, NY.
Sal Puma works in a neat but crowded forest of iron bars and sorted tools, with metal of different lengths leaning in multiple directions as if they were trees blown by the wind. The business is his own, and while he uses and trains others on occasion, it becomes clear that Sal is his own man, something that comes through repeatedly in his conversation.
A lot of people know him, police officers, young people, neighbors,
people in his business. He thinks that they need to spend more time and effort knowing each other, and maybe keeping one another from troubles of the sort in which he once found himself. But he thinks it is important for him to be available to those who want to ask his advice. He’s been there.
He is a small businessman, loving what he does creating custom
ironwork. As a union ironworker, he found himself building the Jet
Blue terminal at JFK, Lincoln Center, and the new Yankee Stadium;
as a local business owner, he is proud to see his ironwork, designed
and installed structural, ornamental and architectural ironwork on
local residential homes and businesses.
“I listen to people, and I give them what they want as customers,” he said as he told the story of his life. “I interpret their design ideas and build them to meet safety codes as structurally sound ironwork.”
His voice is just this side of gruff at times. He is confident and
can take care of himself, physically and spiritually. He has made it
by being a bit of a tough guy, he admits. There have been isolated
incidents, he suggests, in which a little bit of fighting has continued
to help keep things from rolling out of control.
His ideas flow out in spurts, and he is extremely articulate in
discussing a variety of topics, including politics of the day. He listens to the talk of politicians, business people and even the occasional orthodox rabbi on a website or radio show.
“I’m interested in people who have education, who have learned
something about life. They may have something to teach me, and so I listen,” he explains. “I don’t push what I’ve learned, but I am available to people if they want to talk about their problems.”
It is a respect for education, he says, that may be his biggest takeaway from his time in the prison system, and he rues the idea that education opportunities seem to be slipping away as a mainstay for prisons. “What is the Department of Corrections without the chance for correction? They should be building up the chances for those inside to take more education classes.”
Sal himself earned his high school equivalency status and most
of a college education while traveling through eight state prisons
during his six years. “I became very interested in what history
and psychology could tell us about why we do the things we do.
The stories are amazing. And political science. It all seems a little
ridiculous when you hear politicians talking.”
“Education was very important in me being able to turn my life
around,” he said. It is a central idea to Sal. Continue reading →

Stories from Prison: Robert Hayden

Prison changes people, those sent there, their families, even the
world outside, and it is important to hear diverse voices about those experiences. To Robert, now 68 and living and working as a painter in Cairo, N.Y., prison years served as a platform for him to look anew at his life.  In his telling, prison itself was less critical to making him who he is
than the racism and unfairness that he has felt since childhood, though he preaches optimism and hopefulness.
This interview with Robert is followed by an essay by Robert called
SYNERGIZED, part of his written recollections about his life.
This is another in a series of presentations about the effects of prison in a community sponsored by Freehold Art Exchange, Greene County on the Arts and WorkersWrite, the National Writers United Service Organization, 2015.

Paintings by Robert Hayden
Interview by Terry Schwadron and Esther Cohen
Photographs by Molly Stinchfield

ROBERT HAYDEN

The art studio shares space with the rest of the kitchen in Robert
Hayden’s public housing apartment in Cairo, NY. The sun floods
the space in the afternoon, so often mornings are best for Robert to address the easel propped by the window; his paintbrushes are on a shelf within easy reach. And he has surrounded himself with some of the finished works – scenes from nearby downtown Catskill, a lion’s head, a portrait.
“I did a lot of these while I was in prison,” he recounts. “I just started then,  and I’ve kept going. I’ve studied a lot of painting in books and learned a lot about colors and color combinations along the way,” he told visitors.
His living room and bedroom are lined with more portraits, some more familiar than others. There are Marilyn Monroe and Joe DiMaggio (“They go together, of course, he said), though they hang separately, with a smaller painting of Christ on the cross shown from behind, in between. There is a portrait of Frederic Douglass to go along with others in a yet more striking style of Sojourner Truth and Rosa Parks. (“I’ve got to show respect,” Robert explains.) And there are paintings from the 9/11 World Trade Center aftermath.
“I did a red and green floral scene years ago that shimmered so much,
it could make your eyes almost hurt,” he said of his early paintings. “I learned that certain colors worked with other colors in ways that made things seem just more realistic, they come off the canvas. Like blue and orange, they work that way, or yellow and that kind of purple, he said,  pointing at a light purple frame around a Catskill Main Street scene.
“That combination is what makes it radiate.”
These days, the paintings are for sale, bringing in a little income for
Robert, now 68. Back in 1973 to 1977, the first of the four stretches that Robert spent inside state prisons, it was something else that drove him. “I would lay in my bed, in my block— there were three tiers, two sides or six tiers in all, or 252 beds in a block—and people would be yelling to each other from far away, across the blocks. . . . Noise. I tried to sleep it off all the time. I rolled off my bed to my knees. I asked God to please help me find some way to support my wife and children and take my mind off of all this. It was at that time I was given the gift of being an artist,” said Robert.

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by Ruben Juarez

As usual, I was working in the factory on that date. I was listening to a morning talk show on my Walkman. Then someone made a phone call to the radio station and told them that something had happened around the Twin Towers.

He said, ”A plane crashed around the World Trade Center.” He didnot know exactly where; he just saw black smoke in the sky.

A few minutes later, the news started coming in. It was confusing, but after about five minutes they confirmed that a terrible tragedy had happened. I thought that it might be a joke because the hosts of that show are always malting all kinds of jokes.

Then I went to the back of the factory, where we could see the Twin Towers clearly from the windows. Some co-workers followed me and we saw the first tower engulfed in flames and a crowd of black smoke coming out from the tower. Continue reading →

OSWALDO RODRIGUEZ

When I first met Yoko, I was astonished. My eyes opened wide, seeing this huge marvelous ship. I had never seen anything like that before.
I was waiting to see the captain to ask for a job. I expected to meet a tall man with a muscular body, but instead I saw a skinny little man with no hair. He asked me a few questions, and finally he said, “Okay, you can work here.”
I didn’t know anything about fishing on a Japanese ship. When the ship started to move, I saw the workers running and yelling at each other. There were other Ecuadorian workers on the ship. A little man ran into me and said, “Hey, my friend, watching, watching and learning fast, fast.”

I had never seen people so well-organized and powerfuL Around me was only water, as everything else disappeared.
Everyone else had a roommate, but I had nobody. I was lying down on

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by OSWALDO RODRIGUEZ
I would like to tarnish my gaze
with a cloud of crying,
and relieve my heavy eyelids
of tears eager
to fall like the rain.
I would hide my voice
in the echo of the sea
and in the dark northern gannets,
for not to hear the babble of that deep unexpected sigh
that dares to replicate
the sorrow of my life,
with my lips trembling
still pretend
to kiss you yet.
I would like to get away from you
maze of caresses,
sweet halite to ravish
and in the end . . .  you get away.

 
Oswaldo Rodriguez, born in Ecuador 49 years ago,  has lived in the U.S. for 20 years. He writes: I was a literature student in Ecuador. I like to write in verse and prose. I would like to thank my teacher, Jackie Bain, who encouraged me to follow my dream of becoming a writer. Also, I am really grateful to the Consortium for Worker Education for the wonderful program where we can improve
the way we speak and write in English.

by OSWALDO RODRIGUEZ

I remember Jenny, a nine-year-old boy with dark skin, big eyes and straight hair. He was very shy. He didn’t like to talk with anybody, and his big eyes always reflected worry and sadness. He had eight sisters. The five eldest left the house because of his father. Jenny was born into a complicated family. His father was a typical “macho man,” the only one who was allowed to talk at home.

Nobody could do anything without Jenny’s father’s permission.
Jenny was nine when his mother left his father, and took the children with her. Jenny’s life became even more difficult because he had to look after his three youngest sisters while his mother worked as a food vendor on the street. He had to cook and clean and also be the babysitter. His mother was a hard-working woman, but the money was not enough to support Jenny’s ambitions.

Jenny and his mother were very connected to each other. When he looked into his mother’s watery eyes, he understood that he had to go to bed without food. Jenny always wanted to go to school and graduate, but without money it was impossible. So one day he talked to his

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By ORLANDO ALVAREZ

It was the summer of 1990, and I was living in an apartment building in Jackson Heights, Queens. Everything looked good to me. I had started to meet new neighbors and make new friends because I had moved there not long before. I remember at that time there was an important event going on in Europe. It was the soccer World Cup, and everybody was following it.

One Saturday evening, the most important game finally arrived. It was Colombia vs. Germany. A lot of people were outside of my building watching the game because the super had put a TV in the window facing the street. People got very excited, and they made a lot of noise. They were celebrating, and of course, drinking beer.
Suddenly, I turned my eyes to the left, and I saw a woman sitting down next to me. She was holding a plastic bag in her right hand. I remember that she said, “Hello.” But I couldn’t answer because my communication in English was very limited at that time. She continued talking to me and asking so many questions: “What’s happening here? Why are a lot of people on the street?” Finally, she realized that it was a soccer game.

After a little while, I asked her if she drank beer. She started to laugh, “No, I don’t drink. I just pick up the empty cans:’ The game was getting interesting, and the people continued drinking. At the end of the

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