San Quentin State Prison Tour, Oct. 6, 2011
On October 6th, I was able to go on a tour of San Quentin State Prison, which is located in San Quentin California. It’s actually only about half an hour to 45 minutes away from where I live, but even then, I never really thought about a maximum security prison being so close by. The tour was actually an incredibly overwhelming and enlightening experience that I want to take time to process and think about. I didn’t expect it, but I came out different than I went in.
San Quentin is the oldest prison in California, and actually houses one of the oldest public work projects in the state - the dungeon. The prison was built in 1851 by prison inmates who were housed, at the time, on a nearby shipped named, “The Waban.” Opened in 1852, it is still in full operation, and is California’s only death row for male inmates (also the largest death row population in the country). It also houses the state’s only gas chamber, which took the place of primary execution method from 1937 to 1996, after which it was replaced by lethal injection. Since 1893, 422 inmates have been executed at the facility.
Also unique, San Quentin has at least 70 different rehabilitative projects and classes on the facility, which is rare in all other prisons. They are prison and volunteer run, including the Prison University Project, which is the only one of it’s kind, and the California Reentry Program. They also have the only inmate run newspaper in the state.
I went to the prison with my government class, taught by Prof. Edith Kinney, and we left the school at 1 o’clock in one of the Mills buses. We arrived roughly 30 to 45 minutes later, and spent a similar amount of time being processed into the prison itself. We signed into two different logs, were checked by a metal detector, and were given a stamp on the inside our wrists in invisible ink. Our guide, Lt. Robinson, led us into the plaza just inside the prison, which was actually very pretty - there was a memorial for fallen peace officers, and even a palm tree - all of this surrounded by huge stone walls, and guards with rifles walking the perimeter above our heads. Robinson spoke out about his career at the prison as a lieutenant, and about the memorial we were standing next to that honored fallen peace officers. He then called our attention to the building on our left, called the Adjustment Center. This was basically the facility that housed the “worst of the worst.” At which point, all of us spooked a bit more, as the building had open windows, and Lt. Robinson answered in the affirmative, “Yes, they can see you.” It was made worse by the fact that we couldn’t see them, we couldn’t keep surveillance on the inmates watching us.
During the entire time that we’re being introduced to everything, we’re seeing inmates walking around the plaza behind Lt. Robinson, without accompanying officers, handcuffs, anything. These men all wore blue uniforms. Blue uniforms signified that they were “lifers,” or would at least be there for a very long time. Those wearing orange, whom we saw later, were newer additions to the prison; they’d ether just been arrested, or they were mostly there on parole violations. We did see one prisoner in handcuffs, dressed all in white, which signified that he was serving time in isolation. Those in isolation are escorted by two guards at all times, no matter what, as this man was.
Once he finished talking to us, and had answered a few of our questions, Lt. Robinson escorted us to another part of the plaza. There, we were introduced to four San Quentin inmates, all wearing blue uniforms and jackets. Though anyone who knows me knows that I am terrible at estimating age, I would hazard that they ranged from their 30s to their 50s. I’ll admit, when I first saw them, these men made me very nervous. I’ve never had any real experience with law enforcement or the prison system - I only knew that my cousin had once been a prison guard in Oregon, and that a different cousin by marriage had once been incarcerated at San Quentin - so I had no idea what to expect from them. I was like most of the prison population, only suspicious.
Yet these men were kind enough and confident enough to volunteer to speak with us, to answer our questions, and to generally be open about themselves. As the men spoke, I found them to be eloquent, responsible, and emotionally aware of themselves, surprising me. I will truly say that it was this part of the tour that changed me, gave me so much to think about, and I shall never forget them. I was so entirely impressed by how they expressed themselves, and how open and confident they were.
Unfortunately, and I regret this very much, I was at the back of the group and was not able to clearly hear most of the names of the four men, and I only know what I think I heard. The first man who spoke was probably named Davis, and he spoke at length about the prison system in general. He asked us questions about what we thought justice was. He talked about statistics, recidivism, and the purpose and function of our prison system, and how it had gone wrong. He asked us if we thought that it worked in reality.
The second man, who’s name was Troy, talked to us about his experiences and his emotional growth since entering the prison system. He explained that he joined a gang at age 13 for protection, and some years later was arrested for a violent crime. He spent time in prison at that point, but then all charges were dropped as he was free to go. More than a year later, the charges were re-filed against him, and this time he was convicted. In the interim of these two incarcerations, he had begun to turn his life around, even entering an art school. Troy was then brave enough to tell us about he learned to deal with his emotions, talking about how such things cannot be bottled us, and that they had to be dealt with. He recalled waking up in the middle of the night, and having a terrible feeling about his brother. The next morning, once he was able to reach a phone, he called home, only to find that his brother had just been murdered.
I give Troy an incredible amount of respect for his speech, because it is extremely difficult to speak about your emotions, especially to strangers. He said, “That was the first time I was to feel impotent.” Suddenly, he felt all those emotions that he’d forced upon his victims, and the families of his victims. He knew where they were coming from, the impotence, the anger, the sadness, and his own regret for not being able to see his daughter, all for the first time. Being in prison forced him to grow emotionally - to accept his own emotions, and his responsibility for his crimes. He talked about coming to peace and to terms with himself, accepting responsibility for his crimes, asking for forgiveness and forgiving himself, which I very much respected.
When asked what they would change about the prison system, the other two men spoke up. Instead of railing on and on against prison, they made wonderful points that I will definitely continue to think about. The third man, Jon (though he was called JDub), spoke then, and he talked at great length and passion about his views on programs for at risk youth, and making attempts to stop kids before they are termed “at risk.” Specifically he mentioned the Harlem’s Children Zone association that focused on young children instead of adults, and talked about his wish to implement this program everywhere in the country.
The fourth man was named Anthony, I believe, and he was also forthcoming about his past. He told us about the physical abuse that he suffered as a child, and the ways in which eh saw his father abuse his mother; this included a story he related in which he came home one day to find that his father had a knife at his mother’s throat. He said, “It’s not just about bringing the youth to the table, it’s also about bringing the parents to the table.” In relation to his assertion that most prisoners experienced abuse as children. (He also shared that his father, his grandfather, and his great-grandfather suffered from abuse.) He spoke with passion and conviction about the importance of preserving the family, and about how a broken family is a sure way to get a convict. Most importantly, he spoke about the shared culpability of the youth and the parents together.
Together, they talked about how so many of the young men who were in and out of prison all of the time, are in so much trouble - they are looking for their families in the wrong places. And once these men pick up with an older inmate, they’re often taught ways to spite the guards, and to never take responsibility for their actions, losing them considerable emotional growth. “What are you going to get when you put a person in a cage for so many years, and you kick the cage that whole time, then drop the cage right in the middle of town, and open it up?”
After this incredibly impressive interview session, we were escorted around the facilities, the first stop being the hospital. It was rebuilt only a few years ago, and was incredibly new - certainly newer and better than the hospitals I get to go to! After that, we visited the dungeons, the oldest public work project in California. It was used as punishment, and also for the torture of inmates until 1944, until the new warden immediately had all the doors removed to prevent it’s use. Men would be caged in small cells called ‘wells,’ while those who caused trouble would be hung by their wrists from hooks imbedded in the ceiling, and were beaten and tortured. Our entire class actually walked into the dungeons, and it was so dark inside that you couldn’t see the far walls of the wells - pitch black! The wells were so tiny, and when six of my classmates entered one, it was a tight squeeze!
We were then shown the prison yard, which actually had a tennis court (apparently some concerned citizens raised the money for it), a baseball diamond (donated by the San Francisco Giants), a basketball court, and a legally recognized reservation for the use of the Native American prisoners. Lt. Robinson told us, to our great surprise, that the prison often had outside teams come in to play against the prisoners, including schools like UC Berkeley, UC LA, and Standford.
This was also when he explained about inmate segregation, which was self-imposed. California state courts have issued orders to have the prison population integrated more completely, like other states in the south .Unlike those other states, California is having some trouble with this, especially due to prison gangs. A classmate of mine asked whether this was because California has such a heterogeneous prison population due to racial diversity in general, while those other state prisons were made up of a primarily homogenous population. This, as well as the gang explanation, made much sense to me. (In fact, prison gangs were responsible for the riot that occurred the day before our tour.)
We saw the outside cages where troublesome inmates who can’t stand to be socialized in the yard are given their time in the “fresh air.” They were chain link walls, 8 ft by 10 ft, with half of the enclosure roofed over. Inside was only a toilet and a sink, and a cement floor. It was at this point we realized that inmates in another building could see us - they started to bang on the windows. And even after they stopped, and everyone else was listening to Lt. Robinson, I could see them through the frosted windows, waving at us.
After this was the cafeteria, which was split into several sections. The walls were decorated with beautiful murals painted by Albert Santos, who was an inmate many years ago; Mr. Santos is now a famous artist in New York, and for a long time he wouldn’t acknowledge that he’d gone to San Quentin. The murals were sepia toned, and gorgeous, meant to tell the story of California’s history. But the artist had also hid a few things in the paintings - he painted his name on a building, and a peeping tom a few yards down. And then as optical illusions, he painted a few of his personal demons come to life into the walls - his haunting memories.
Also - we tasted the food! The guard that was speaking to us had an inmate bring out a plate of food that they would be serving that night as an example. Some forks were fetched when we said yes to his question of, “Do you want to taste it?” The meal consisted of spaghetti, green beans, a salad, a bread roll, and a brownie. I tasted the spaghetti, and I have to say, it wasn’t too bad! It looked a bit funky, but it tasted alright! There was a kitchen at the back of the cafeteria, with an open door through which inmates stared at us while we tasted the food. They were shooed away by a guard, but we saw them through the windows, just staring as we passed by.
It was at this point that he had our most… interesting experience with the inmates. Lt. Robinson took us into South Block, a housing complex that contained five stories of inmates in little cells. The men there weren’t “lifers” and they wore orange uniforms. The block itself was gross - there was trash everywhere on the floor, hanging from barbed wire along with torn uniforms. I felt bad for the inmates, thinking that they shouldn’t have to live like that, until I found out that they did it on purpose, to disrespect the officers. In fact, one girl almost got hit by something that was dropped to the ground!
At first the inmates on higher levels didn’t know that we were there - we were mostly standing under the overhang of the second level. We’d been allowed to go into one of the prison cells and look at everything within. It was so tiny! There was hardly any room to stand between the bunk beds and the walls ( which had girlie photos all over them, by the by). In the back was a little shelf with some books and effects, and a toilet underneath. Once everyone started to come out, and the group began to get too big for the overhang, the other prisoners saw us. Within seconds, calls started going up the levels of inmates. “Hey, they have people down there on first tier!” and “They have people on first tier!”
And then they saw that we were all women. Well, did they start yelling at us then. I couldn’t understand most of it, but one of them did yell at us, “Take your shirts off!” Oh yeah, sure, why don’t I just strip here, randomly, in front of a bunch of prison inmates. Classy.
We then got to the most intense part of the tour - the execution chamber. We actually had to process ourselves out of the main prison, and then walk down a little street to a small, but heavy door, behind which was an iron door of bars. It was a small room with risers in the corner, and the actual gas chamber in the back; there were two chairs inside the chamber, specifically for the inmate to sit in for execution. Two chairs, because the first execution by gas in California was a duo. Around it was 12 chairs, for the 12 legally required witnesses, and I was surprised by how close they were to the chamber. They were practically pressed against the window, and I know the being so close to a man being executed would make me feel so uncomfortable.
At this point, the group got into a very sticky discussion about ethics, and the civility of the process as a whole. Lt. Robinson was asked how the process wasn’t cruel, about why it wasn’t considered cruel. Are we actually executing the same man once they are finally executed? At this point the tour was ended, as some of the other students had engagements later that day, and couldn’t wait any longer, but other students would have easily prolonged the conversation for hours. These are incredibly complex issues that we discussed, that I don’t think any one person can answer on their own. Anyone who tries to do so will only create madness, and an equally flawed plan. It’s simply far too difficult, and I would never presume to do so myself.
Though I will say this. Those inmates we interviewed changed me. There was no dimension to my impression of inmates, I didn’t think of them as people. But I do now. Of course, I still know that there will always be inmates who are violent and insensitive and morally bankrupt, and will never change. But if I ever get the chance to volunteer with one of the rehab programs, specifically Prison University Project, I’ll do it in a second. I want to help the ones who will change, I want to facilitate their healing and their responsibility and their self-acceptance. I want to give them the tools they need to turn their lives around after prison. I will never forget Davis, Jon, Troy, and Anthony. Thanks guys.
I'll just end with a few photos to give you all perspective. We weren't allowed to bring in any recording devices or cell phones or anything at all, so these are just things I've found on the internet.
San Quentin, you've been living hell to me.
You've blistered me since 1963.
I've seen 'em come and go and I've seen 'em die.
And long ago I stopped asking why.
San Quentin, I hate every inch of you.
You cut me and you scarred me thru an' thru.
And I'll walk out a wiser, weaker man.
Mister Congressman, you can't understand.
San Quentin, what good do you think you do?
Do you think I'll be different when you're through?
You bent my heart and mind and you warped my soul.
Your stone walls turn my blood a little cold.
San Quentin, may you rot and burn in hell.
May your walls fall and may I live to tell.
May all the world forget you ever stood.
An' may all the world regret you did no good.
San Quentin, I hate every inch of you.
- Johnny Cash, "San Quentin"
The man on the left was one of the inmates who was willing to speak with us at the beginning of the tour.
Aerial view of San Quentin, located in San Quentin, California. The long buildings are the cell blocks, and you can see the baseball diamond that was donated by the San Francisco Giants.
The parking lot at the main entrance of San Quentin. The brick facade of the building to the left of the tower is one of the original buildings built for the facility.
San Quentin is the oldest prison in California, and actually houses one of the oldest public work projects in the state - the dungeon. The prison was built in 1851 by prison inmates who were housed, at the time, on a nearby shipped named, “The Waban.” Opened in 1852, it is still in full operation, and is California’s only death row for male inmates (also the largest death row population in the country). It also houses the state’s only gas chamber, which took the place of primary execution method from 1937 to 1996, after which it was replaced by lethal injection. Since 1893, 422 inmates have been executed at the facility.
Also unique, San Quentin has at least 70 different rehabilitative projects and classes on the facility, which is rare in all other prisons. They are prison and volunteer run, including the Prison University Project, which is the only one of it’s kind, and the California Reentry Program. They also have the only inmate run newspaper in the state.
I went to the prison with my government class, taught by Prof. Edith Kinney, and we left the school at 1 o’clock in one of the Mills buses. We arrived roughly 30 to 45 minutes later, and spent a similar amount of time being processed into the prison itself. We signed into two different logs, were checked by a metal detector, and were given a stamp on the inside our wrists in invisible ink. Our guide, Lt. Robinson, led us into the plaza just inside the prison, which was actually very pretty - there was a memorial for fallen peace officers, and even a palm tree - all of this surrounded by huge stone walls, and guards with rifles walking the perimeter above our heads. Robinson spoke out about his career at the prison as a lieutenant, and about the memorial we were standing next to that honored fallen peace officers. He then called our attention to the building on our left, called the Adjustment Center. This was basically the facility that housed the “worst of the worst.” At which point, all of us spooked a bit more, as the building had open windows, and Lt. Robinson answered in the affirmative, “Yes, they can see you.” It was made worse by the fact that we couldn’t see them, we couldn’t keep surveillance on the inmates watching us.
During the entire time that we’re being introduced to everything, we’re seeing inmates walking around the plaza behind Lt. Robinson, without accompanying officers, handcuffs, anything. These men all wore blue uniforms. Blue uniforms signified that they were “lifers,” or would at least be there for a very long time. Those wearing orange, whom we saw later, were newer additions to the prison; they’d ether just been arrested, or they were mostly there on parole violations. We did see one prisoner in handcuffs, dressed all in white, which signified that he was serving time in isolation. Those in isolation are escorted by two guards at all times, no matter what, as this man was.
Once he finished talking to us, and had answered a few of our questions, Lt. Robinson escorted us to another part of the plaza. There, we were introduced to four San Quentin inmates, all wearing blue uniforms and jackets. Though anyone who knows me knows that I am terrible at estimating age, I would hazard that they ranged from their 30s to their 50s. I’ll admit, when I first saw them, these men made me very nervous. I’ve never had any real experience with law enforcement or the prison system - I only knew that my cousin had once been a prison guard in Oregon, and that a different cousin by marriage had once been incarcerated at San Quentin - so I had no idea what to expect from them. I was like most of the prison population, only suspicious.
Yet these men were kind enough and confident enough to volunteer to speak with us, to answer our questions, and to generally be open about themselves. As the men spoke, I found them to be eloquent, responsible, and emotionally aware of themselves, surprising me. I will truly say that it was this part of the tour that changed me, gave me so much to think about, and I shall never forget them. I was so entirely impressed by how they expressed themselves, and how open and confident they were.
Unfortunately, and I regret this very much, I was at the back of the group and was not able to clearly hear most of the names of the four men, and I only know what I think I heard. The first man who spoke was probably named Davis, and he spoke at length about the prison system in general. He asked us questions about what we thought justice was. He talked about statistics, recidivism, and the purpose and function of our prison system, and how it had gone wrong. He asked us if we thought that it worked in reality.
The second man, who’s name was Troy, talked to us about his experiences and his emotional growth since entering the prison system. He explained that he joined a gang at age 13 for protection, and some years later was arrested for a violent crime. He spent time in prison at that point, but then all charges were dropped as he was free to go. More than a year later, the charges were re-filed against him, and this time he was convicted. In the interim of these two incarcerations, he had begun to turn his life around, even entering an art school. Troy was then brave enough to tell us about he learned to deal with his emotions, talking about how such things cannot be bottled us, and that they had to be dealt with. He recalled waking up in the middle of the night, and having a terrible feeling about his brother. The next morning, once he was able to reach a phone, he called home, only to find that his brother had just been murdered.
I give Troy an incredible amount of respect for his speech, because it is extremely difficult to speak about your emotions, especially to strangers. He said, “That was the first time I was to feel impotent.” Suddenly, he felt all those emotions that he’d forced upon his victims, and the families of his victims. He knew where they were coming from, the impotence, the anger, the sadness, and his own regret for not being able to see his daughter, all for the first time. Being in prison forced him to grow emotionally - to accept his own emotions, and his responsibility for his crimes. He talked about coming to peace and to terms with himself, accepting responsibility for his crimes, asking for forgiveness and forgiving himself, which I very much respected.
When asked what they would change about the prison system, the other two men spoke up. Instead of railing on and on against prison, they made wonderful points that I will definitely continue to think about. The third man, Jon (though he was called JDub), spoke then, and he talked at great length and passion about his views on programs for at risk youth, and making attempts to stop kids before they are termed “at risk.” Specifically he mentioned the Harlem’s Children Zone association that focused on young children instead of adults, and talked about his wish to implement this program everywhere in the country.
The fourth man was named Anthony, I believe, and he was also forthcoming about his past. He told us about the physical abuse that he suffered as a child, and the ways in which eh saw his father abuse his mother; this included a story he related in which he came home one day to find that his father had a knife at his mother’s throat. He said, “It’s not just about bringing the youth to the table, it’s also about bringing the parents to the table.” In relation to his assertion that most prisoners experienced abuse as children. (He also shared that his father, his grandfather, and his great-grandfather suffered from abuse.) He spoke with passion and conviction about the importance of preserving the family, and about how a broken family is a sure way to get a convict. Most importantly, he spoke about the shared culpability of the youth and the parents together.
Together, they talked about how so many of the young men who were in and out of prison all of the time, are in so much trouble - they are looking for their families in the wrong places. And once these men pick up with an older inmate, they’re often taught ways to spite the guards, and to never take responsibility for their actions, losing them considerable emotional growth. “What are you going to get when you put a person in a cage for so many years, and you kick the cage that whole time, then drop the cage right in the middle of town, and open it up?”
After this incredibly impressive interview session, we were escorted around the facilities, the first stop being the hospital. It was rebuilt only a few years ago, and was incredibly new - certainly newer and better than the hospitals I get to go to! After that, we visited the dungeons, the oldest public work project in California. It was used as punishment, and also for the torture of inmates until 1944, until the new warden immediately had all the doors removed to prevent it’s use. Men would be caged in small cells called ‘wells,’ while those who caused trouble would be hung by their wrists from hooks imbedded in the ceiling, and were beaten and tortured. Our entire class actually walked into the dungeons, and it was so dark inside that you couldn’t see the far walls of the wells - pitch black! The wells were so tiny, and when six of my classmates entered one, it was a tight squeeze!
We were then shown the prison yard, which actually had a tennis court (apparently some concerned citizens raised the money for it), a baseball diamond (donated by the San Francisco Giants), a basketball court, and a legally recognized reservation for the use of the Native American prisoners. Lt. Robinson told us, to our great surprise, that the prison often had outside teams come in to play against the prisoners, including schools like UC Berkeley, UC LA, and Standford.
This was also when he explained about inmate segregation, which was self-imposed. California state courts have issued orders to have the prison population integrated more completely, like other states in the south .Unlike those other states, California is having some trouble with this, especially due to prison gangs. A classmate of mine asked whether this was because California has such a heterogeneous prison population due to racial diversity in general, while those other state prisons were made up of a primarily homogenous population. This, as well as the gang explanation, made much sense to me. (In fact, prison gangs were responsible for the riot that occurred the day before our tour.)
We saw the outside cages where troublesome inmates who can’t stand to be socialized in the yard are given their time in the “fresh air.” They were chain link walls, 8 ft by 10 ft, with half of the enclosure roofed over. Inside was only a toilet and a sink, and a cement floor. It was at this point we realized that inmates in another building could see us - they started to bang on the windows. And even after they stopped, and everyone else was listening to Lt. Robinson, I could see them through the frosted windows, waving at us.
After this was the cafeteria, which was split into several sections. The walls were decorated with beautiful murals painted by Albert Santos, who was an inmate many years ago; Mr. Santos is now a famous artist in New York, and for a long time he wouldn’t acknowledge that he’d gone to San Quentin. The murals were sepia toned, and gorgeous, meant to tell the story of California’s history. But the artist had also hid a few things in the paintings - he painted his name on a building, and a peeping tom a few yards down. And then as optical illusions, he painted a few of his personal demons come to life into the walls - his haunting memories.
Also - we tasted the food! The guard that was speaking to us had an inmate bring out a plate of food that they would be serving that night as an example. Some forks were fetched when we said yes to his question of, “Do you want to taste it?” The meal consisted of spaghetti, green beans, a salad, a bread roll, and a brownie. I tasted the spaghetti, and I have to say, it wasn’t too bad! It looked a bit funky, but it tasted alright! There was a kitchen at the back of the cafeteria, with an open door through which inmates stared at us while we tasted the food. They were shooed away by a guard, but we saw them through the windows, just staring as we passed by.
It was at this point that he had our most… interesting experience with the inmates. Lt. Robinson took us into South Block, a housing complex that contained five stories of inmates in little cells. The men there weren’t “lifers” and they wore orange uniforms. The block itself was gross - there was trash everywhere on the floor, hanging from barbed wire along with torn uniforms. I felt bad for the inmates, thinking that they shouldn’t have to live like that, until I found out that they did it on purpose, to disrespect the officers. In fact, one girl almost got hit by something that was dropped to the ground!
At first the inmates on higher levels didn’t know that we were there - we were mostly standing under the overhang of the second level. We’d been allowed to go into one of the prison cells and look at everything within. It was so tiny! There was hardly any room to stand between the bunk beds and the walls ( which had girlie photos all over them, by the by). In the back was a little shelf with some books and effects, and a toilet underneath. Once everyone started to come out, and the group began to get too big for the overhang, the other prisoners saw us. Within seconds, calls started going up the levels of inmates. “Hey, they have people down there on first tier!” and “They have people on first tier!”
And then they saw that we were all women. Well, did they start yelling at us then. I couldn’t understand most of it, but one of them did yell at us, “Take your shirts off!” Oh yeah, sure, why don’t I just strip here, randomly, in front of a bunch of prison inmates. Classy.
We then got to the most intense part of the tour - the execution chamber. We actually had to process ourselves out of the main prison, and then walk down a little street to a small, but heavy door, behind which was an iron door of bars. It was a small room with risers in the corner, and the actual gas chamber in the back; there were two chairs inside the chamber, specifically for the inmate to sit in for execution. Two chairs, because the first execution by gas in California was a duo. Around it was 12 chairs, for the 12 legally required witnesses, and I was surprised by how close they were to the chamber. They were practically pressed against the window, and I know the being so close to a man being executed would make me feel so uncomfortable.
At this point, the group got into a very sticky discussion about ethics, and the civility of the process as a whole. Lt. Robinson was asked how the process wasn’t cruel, about why it wasn’t considered cruel. Are we actually executing the same man once they are finally executed? At this point the tour was ended, as some of the other students had engagements later that day, and couldn’t wait any longer, but other students would have easily prolonged the conversation for hours. These are incredibly complex issues that we discussed, that I don’t think any one person can answer on their own. Anyone who tries to do so will only create madness, and an equally flawed plan. It’s simply far too difficult, and I would never presume to do so myself.
Though I will say this. Those inmates we interviewed changed me. There was no dimension to my impression of inmates, I didn’t think of them as people. But I do now. Of course, I still know that there will always be inmates who are violent and insensitive and morally bankrupt, and will never change. But if I ever get the chance to volunteer with one of the rehab programs, specifically Prison University Project, I’ll do it in a second. I want to help the ones who will change, I want to facilitate their healing and their responsibility and their self-acceptance. I want to give them the tools they need to turn their lives around after prison. I will never forget Davis, Jon, Troy, and Anthony. Thanks guys.
I'll just end with a few photos to give you all perspective. We weren't allowed to bring in any recording devices or cell phones or anything at all, so these are just things I've found on the internet.
San Quentin, you've been living hell to me.
You've blistered me since 1963.
I've seen 'em come and go and I've seen 'em die.
And long ago I stopped asking why.
San Quentin, I hate every inch of you.
You cut me and you scarred me thru an' thru.
And I'll walk out a wiser, weaker man.
Mister Congressman, you can't understand.
San Quentin, what good do you think you do?
Do you think I'll be different when you're through?
You bent my heart and mind and you warped my soul.
Your stone walls turn my blood a little cold.
San Quentin, may you rot and burn in hell.
May your walls fall and may I live to tell.
May all the world forget you ever stood.
An' may all the world regret you did no good.
San Quentin, I hate every inch of you.
- Johnny Cash, "San Quentin"
The man on the left was one of the inmates who was willing to speak with us at the beginning of the tour.
Aerial view of San Quentin, located in San Quentin, California. The long buildings are the cell blocks, and you can see the baseball diamond that was donated by the San Francisco Giants.
The parking lot at the main entrance of San Quentin. The brick facade of the building to the left of the tower is one of the original buildings built for the facility.