CIGARETTES & LIABILITY

In the retelling of my workplace stories, I would never ever think of using a coworker's real name, unless, of course, he were Joe Howard. It does not matter to me that one minute Joe railed against our boss, got right in his face, you son of a bitch, I ought to slap you with a defamation of character lawsuit, and a day later, with tears welling up in his eyes, showed a genuine concern for our boss's declining health. That was Howard, doing everything in life with passion.

I had first met Howard at a MDOC training session. We were working at different prisons--he, at the Adrian Correctional Facility; I, at a prison in Detroit. We were sent to the Carson City Correctional Facility for a presentation on "how to best improve the academic skills of our prisoners." Carson City hosted the event because they demonstrated the largest increases on the TABE scores (Test of Adult Basic Education). I sat amongst my peers, prison educators from all over Michigan, waiting for someone to say what I had been thinking.

Howard stood up. "You're so full of shit," he said to the presenter. "The reason the men at your facility do better on the TABE has more to do with less ride-outs." An argument ensued, and Howard, satisfied for having made his point, agreed to sit back down. Before our lunch break, I introduced myself, and soon we were discussing teaching theories at a local pub over beer and burgers.

We wouldn't meet again until three years later, when I transferred to a new facility; something he had done a few years prior.

After settling into my new classroom, I'd listen to Howard and his students actively arguing and learning simultaneously. During our short breaks, we'd stand on the prison yard, Howard freely dispensing his knowledge on every topic under the sun while searching for a cigarette. On some occasions, faced with a major dilemma, he'd order an inmate to give him a square.

"You know," I said to him once, right before he inhaled, "that's a rolled cigarette."

"Yeah, what's your point?"

"The inmate had to lick the paper."

"I need my nicotine, Jimmy."

Of all the teachers I've met and worked with in the prison system, Howard was the most energetic. He didn't just go through the motions; he actually felt he was contributing to the well-being of the inmates. He ended up transferring to the Maxey Training School for Boys in an effort to keep his special education certification. I haven't heard from him in years. I learned this week that he retired in January.