Surrounded by acres of asphalt and a maze of chainlink fencing and razor wire, I find finally myself in prison. The voices of the inmates reverberate throughout the yard as I walk the long concrete corridor to the gate. Through the fence, I spy two men sprinting and lunging on a makeshift racquetball court, smashing a ball against a splintered wood partition. Others are sitting on stoops and picnic tables and some are striding purposefully across the grounds.
Despite being flanked by an official prison chaperone and a friend who’s been to the prison on several occasions, I find myself unable to completely quiet the feelings of uneasiness and uncertainty.
We arrive at the gate. My ID is checked, my gear is searched and an officer buzzes us through. The prison chaperone tags out with Lieutenant Eilers, our contact for the day. Eilers certainly looks the part. Stocky build, black Oakley shades, cargo pants, seven-pointed gold badge and a utility belt that Batman would envy. I instantly take a liking to Eilers and I feel immediately reassured as he extends a warm handshake.
Lieutenant Eilers happily greets officers and inmates as he leads us beyond the gate. As we make our way to our destination, we encounter a man wearing a powder blue smock and navy colored sweatpants with “Prisoner”boldly emblazoned on the the leg. He suddenly approaches, looks me in the eye and asks assertively, "Chiefs or 9ers?”. Without even considering the question or the implications of my response on who will win this coming Sunday’s Super Bowl, I blurt out, “Chiefs!” Kansas City is the closest NFL team to my home in Omaha, Nebraska and I’m a fan. But this morning, I am at the California Men’s Colony, a state prison located in San Luis Obispo California, just 175 miles from San Francisco. I immediately realize I’ve just given the wrong answer. The man stares back at me and smiles, “That’s right, go Chiefs!” I’ve feel like I’ve passed my first test.
We arrive at Lieutenant Eilers’ office, where he cross references my gear with the list I submitted, then we head out.
As we walk past the prison barbershop to our destination for the day, I see the dogs first. It’s an assortment of about twelve labs, golden retrievers and doodle mixes. Most are full grown, with a couple irresistible puppies mingling in the mix. They stand, sit and recline dutifully by the sides of their handlers. Everyone, dogs and inmates alike, wait with alert and eager expressions.
I’ve waited a long time for this day.
Two years ago, I learned about New Life K9s from Suzanne Maury and Pat Beitz, owners of the Top Dog Coffee Shop and Rescue Me Coffee Company in Morro Bay California. Suzanne and Pat proudly and enthusiastically sponsor a dog named Cooper in New Life K9s and they were instrumental with getting me connected with the program.
New Life K9s is a non-profit organization that partners with three California state prisons in San Luis Obispo, Soledad and Fresno County where selected puppies are placed with prisoners for an immersive two year learning and bonding experience. Each dog has two inmate handlers; many of whom are serving life sentences. The dogs are eventually permanently placed with U.S. military veterans and emergency first responders in the community who have been diagnosed with PTSD. For the recipients the dogs are a lifeline that provide essential physical and emotional support.
I’d heard from many people about how this powerful program impacts the lives of everyone connected to it, and today I was afforded the rare opportunity to witness it where it begins.
New Life K9’s team members, Nicolle Hern, Rosa Mendoza and Jack Gould join the large group of dogs and humans and enter into a long, clapboard outbuilding. I’m also accompanied by Greg Gallo. I met Greg last year and I had the opportunity to photograph and video him with his dog, Eddie. Eddie was trained in the prison by a former inmate named Mike Nelson. Greg is a former police officer and received Eddie to help with severed symptoms of PTSD. Greg is now employed by New Life K9s. Mike Nelson works for Top Dog Coffee and has also started his own dog training service.
The area of the prison we are in were once military barracks. It has now been repurposed and it’s where the prisoners reside and work with the dogs. The building we are entering looks as if it could have been a mess hall at one time. Inside, it looks more like an elementary classroom. Cute photos of puppies, paw print stickers and inspirational sayings like, “Ready, Willing, Able” and “Forgive, Teach, Care” adorn the walls. The inmate handlers and dogs file in and sit on low benches and on the tiled floor. It’s packed.
New Life K9’s CEO, Jack Gould, thanks the group for all their efforts and celebrates the upcoming parole of one of the members of the group. He also reminds them the recidivism rate for released members of the group is zero percent. It’s an incredible statistic, but it’s also a source of pride as well as a lofty expectation for the incarcerated members.
The groups are divided into two classes. The first group stays inside with Rosa who is NLK9s Lead Educator while the second class walks outside with Nicole who is the Director of Rehabilitation.
Rosa’s class works on an exercise where the dogs learn to “go get help”. For each trial, the handlers move to the entryway of the building out of sight of the dogs. They simulate a fall by crashing hard to the floor and shouting the dog’s name. When the dog comes, they yell, “go get help!, go get help!” The expectation is for the dog to locate the second handler and lead him to the one “in trouble”. The dogs demonstrate a wide range of proficiency. The puppies simply practice coming when they’re called. There is one particular dog that aces the test. Rosa raises the stakes by asking the handler to go behind a closed door. Now the dog must open the door by pulling it open using a cloth tied around the knob. Again, the dog passes with flying colors and the class erupts into jubilant cheers and applause.
The class outside with Nicole practices walking on a leash around the grounds. While this may seem like a rudimentary task, the cornucopia of sights, sounds and smells the prison offers present alluring distractions for the dogs. Having the dogs walk calmly and consistently by the handlers side is an essential skill; especially if the dogs will eventually be placed with people with physical or mobility challenges.
While handlers are waiting their turn with Nicole, I offer to take portraits. The response is overwhelming. The handlers immediately begin to excitedly line up with their dogs to have their photos taken. The pride they have in being a part of the program is readily apparent.
After lunch, the groups swap. The outside walking class goes inside with Rosa and the class that was working on “go get help” goes outside with Nicole.
As I weave in and out of scenes with my camera, I see so much evidence of the powerful bonds that have been forged. Bonds between handlers and dogs. Bonds between inmates. Bonds that have been forged between the educators and handlers. It’s more than I expected and it is truly inspiring.
At the end of the day after the classes have wrapped up and Rosa and Nicole have made their final comments and given homework assignments, I stand at doorway to thank the men as they leave. As I shake each hand, I become aware of how the trepidation and uncertainty I felt at the beginning of the day has vanished. I have no fear and harbor zero judgment. I simply feel respect and admiration for the unwavering commitment these men have to change lives for the better; the most notable lives being their own. They say prison changes a person. It’s certainly changed me.
Earlier, during lunch in Lieutenant Eilers’ office, I tossed out the idea of getting access to the dormitory where the dogs live with the inmates. I fully expected to hear a litany of regulatory and liability reasons why this would not be feasible. Instead, Eilers simply said, “sure we can make that happen.”
So, now, I walk with the men and the dogs to Dorm 28. The dormitory is another long, narrow wooden building in need of some repair and a fresh paint job. A sign at the top of the steps reads, “Caution. Dogs Inside”. As I enter, I’m struck with the precious commodity of privacy. Even though I’m an invited guest and I sense no resistance or resentment from the men, I worry a bit that I might be intruding.
As inconspicuously as possible, I walk throughout the dorm taking images, and for the first time today the stark reality hits. This is prison. The tiny metal cots are less than three feet apart with no walls or barriers in between them. Each cot is separated by a padlocked, five-foot high metal storage cabinet and a dog kennel. I think about how the inmates sleep an arm’s length away from each other and I realize how much I take my own privacy and freedom for granted.
As the inmates prepare for supper, the dogs nestle on the floor and squeeze onto cots and into kennels. I quietly exit the dorm, leave the prison and return to my life with a new perspective.
