Good Thoughts for Sam

My friend Sam's been gone from ERDCC for a few years. He'd been my neighbor, a friend in Buddhism, and a good, positive person to be around. I appreciated his seemingly endless energy and his willingness to point out when I was being too serious. The day he asked me to be the best man at his wedding surprised and humbled me in equal measure. In return, I got away with calling him Sam; everybody else here he made use his full name, Samuel.

Just weeks before the wedding, Sam was unexpectedly transferred to another facility. We stayed in contact by mail for a few months. Then the Missouri Department of Corrections banned communication between any prisoners who aren't related to one another. The last letter I got from Sam was handwritten on yellow notebook paper. It expressed mixed emotions about the Buddhist community in his new environment. He missed the dedication our group had when he'd still been here. The feeling was mutual.

Sam's a big-time videogame nerd, self-described. Get him talking about memorable titles and you won't be given a chance to change the subject for quite a while. His love for gaming runs deep. It shouldn't have surprised me that he'd find a way to get close to his passion in spite of videogames being banned from Missouri prisons.

Over at Farmington Correctional Center, fifteen minutes from ERDCC, where he ended up, Sam started a television show on one of the prisoner-run closed-circuit channels. The show was all about—you guessed it—videogames. Together with a gamer at FireTV, Farmington's video production studio, Sam created "LFG: Looking for Group," a show for imprisoned gamers to talk shop and watch walkthroughs of the hottest titles. I didn't learn about "LFG" from an exchange with Sam or from seeing the show. I only know about it because of Sam's TED Talk.

There's an app on prisoners' tablets called Edovo. It lets us read and watch all kinds of enriching and educational content, from Kahn Academy, MasterClass, the Marshall Project, and more—including a few podcasts and e-books. While using Edovo the other day, I happened across a program guide for the TEDx event that was held at Farmington last April. I knew about that event but hadn't really been interested in watching the footage, even though it's been available for months. Curiosity about the event's organization was the only reason I opened the TEDx program guide. Perusing its fifty pages, I happened upon a smiling headshot and recognizable name in the list of speakers.

Holy shit! Sam! My mind was blown. Why did I wait so long to get curious about this event?

I got such delight from seeing Sam talk alongside his "LFG" cohost. He looked a little nervous onstage, under those bright lights, but he delivered his message with characteristic openness and enthusiasm. I watched it and thought only, Damn, Sam, you did that!

After the video ended, I conducted a little amateur sleuthing. I learned that, a while after giving his TED Talk, Sam was released on parole. Today he's out of prison, enjoying a new life with the woman he loves, playing whatever game he wants. I feel so much joy for what he gets to experience now.

Someone asked me recently if I felt even the slightest sting, seeing people leave this place. "Not that there's no chance for you," she wrote, "but still, how do you cope with that?" Especially considering what I do for work now, it's a legitimate question. I considered my response awhile before replying.

I choose to be present and aware, and to nurture the good in others. On the path I've chosen to travel, others' successes are cause for celebration. It's like the opposite of schadenfreude. Jealousy gets in the way of our happiness in the same way that plaque builds up in arteries. Why shouldn't I be glad when someone makes it out of prison? They've completed their punishment. They deserve to have that new start so many of us dream about. They deserve some good, for a change.

Sam, if you happen to read this, congratulations! Here's my message to you:

May you be happy.

May you be at peace.

May you be safe.

May you be free.

The Prison Food Survey

Never before in my twenty-four years of prison living has the Missouri Department of Corrections asked those of us in its custody to take a survey—until this week. The interactive form appeared on prisoners' tablets on Tuesday morning. It asked us to rate the temperature, portions sizes, and general quality of the meals we're served, and for me, it posed a real dilemma: in what way should I answer the question How would you rate the overall taste and flavor of the lunch menu?

How, indeed.

There's no question, Texas has it worse. According to an article in the February 2023 issue of News Inside, "meager improvements" in the Lone Star State's notoriously awful prison food were short lived. Between May of 2020 and when the article went to print, Texas prisons were still struggling to serve fresh fruit and bread without mold on it. Our diet here in Missouri prisons isn't raw-potato bad, but it's no picnic.

Bringing Texas into this little diatribe isn't what-aboutism. I'm saying only that the problem is widespread, not that its equally distributed. The Missouri DOC contracts with Aramark, a food service giant that's in institutions of all kinds, all around the country, and exercises what seems to be minimal oversight of its (for lack of a better word) franchises.

ERDCC's food service department has many problems, one of them being roaches. It would help if someone cleaned—at least by wiping counters or mopping the dining hall's greasy floors once in a while. Finding workers who won't use their prodigious downtime to smoke synthetic marijuana at the tables would help with that. Too bad no one—neither guard nor Aramark employee—displays any willingness to enforce the rules.

Whole logs of ground beef routinely leave the dining hall in unsearched wheelchairs. Meanwhile, line-jumpers snatch their second, third, and sometimes fourth extra trays right in front of the guards stationed at the serving window. Many times, the kitchen runs out of something and has to make a last-minute substitution. For entrées, this is usually turkey loaf or bologna. When a vegetable side runs out, someone just adds lukewarm water to mashed potato mix. A bruised and unripe apple usually fills in for desserts. No one likes any of this. Predictably, the survey doesn't ask how often we're served the food we're actually supposed to get.

Imposing a teensy bit of accountability would improve this environment for everyone. I suppose it's easier in the short run not to care.

As I answered the survey, I felt acutely aware of the grace I was affording Aramark. Most of the people taking it are probably going to rate everything a 1 out of 5, just to be spiteful. I kept wanting to ask, "Compared to what?" I suppose there's always Texas.