During my time at Community Services, I continued in my

volunteer role with M2/W2 at the Matsqui prison. I also remained on the M2/W2 Board.

At about the same time the government pulled the Community Services contract enabling me to work with seniors, Cal Chambers , chairman of the M2/W2 Board made an unexpected announcement. “Ray Coles, our Executive Director and Al, his assistant, have both given notice of their resignation. Both men had come from the Salvation Army and were friends. It was not entirely surprising they had decided to leave at the same time.

This development came as a shock to Board members. Who would replace them? The path ahead suddenly seemed uncertain, and the faces of the men around the table became sombre and troubled. We were not given a reason for their departure, but we knew the organization’s income was meagre. Possibly there had not been sufficient funds for their needs. The work needed to carry on, but who would take on their responsibilities? Most qualified individuals would expect more than the organization could pay.

Within the past year Ray Coles, with the approval of the Board, had applied for funding to create 4 new positions. I had been interested in working for M2/W2. The organization’s approach to re-claiming the lives of prisoners appealed to me. However, Ray Coles had not considered me for any of the proposed positions. He had promised them to individuals who were close to him. When the application for funding was turned down, the whole idea came to nothing.

I wondered now if the resignations might provide an opportunity to come on board as a staff member. I felt drawn to a role that would enable me to have more personal contact with inmates and prison workers. It seemed to me that my degree in sociology, the time at Community Services, being on the Board of M2/W2, and guiding our program at Matsqui Institution had prepared me at least somewhat for this. While the disheartened discussion went on around me, I arrived at a decision.

A pause in the dialogue provided me with an opportunity to speak of my interest. “I have thought for some time that if the opportunity ever came,” I said, “I’d be interested in having a full-time role with M2/W2.”

I didn’t attempt to sell them on the idea. They already had a sense of my character and they were aware of the work I was doing at Matsqui, running our program there. The decision should be based on their evaluation of me and whatever abilities they saw in me.

Vern Reimer, Executive Director for the Mennonite Central Committee in B.C. spoke first. “MCC could take you on under our Voluntary Service program,” he said. “We would pay all your living expenses and there would be something for extras. It wouldn‘t be great pay but you would always be able to count on it.” With Linda not working anymore, I knew this would make for a somewhat lean family economy. Still, I felt it was an idea we should consider. The example of our parents had taught us to be prudent in the realm of finances.

Les Pritchert, a pastor and very capable Board member said, “If Art agrees to take a full-time position, I’d be willing to assume the role of Executive Director on a part-time basis, until we find a permanent replacement.”

I knew Les only as a Board member. He had an incisive mind and a determined “let’s get things done” approach. He was experienced, focused, tenacious and driven. I was intimidated by the thought of working with him. The challenge intrigued and enticed me, though. After a discussion with Linda, I agreed to the arrangement.

Within a short time, Linda, 9 month old Vivian and I were on a plane to Akron, Pennsylvania for the MCC orientation. Here we met volunteers going to various places around the globe, mostly to developing countries in desperate need of skills in trades, medicine and teaching. I recall particularly a bus trip to Washington, D.C. where we met MCC personnel who sought to positively influence government policy. By the end of the orientation, Linda and I felt great respect for what this fairly small but effective organization was accomplishing. We were pleased to be sponsored by MCC.

At that time the M2/W2 office was at 533 Clarkson Street in New Westminster. Most days I drove in from our little 5 acre farm in what was then Matsqui Municipality, near the Canada-U.S. border. In addition to Oakalla and Matsqui Insitituion, the organization had made contact with the BC Penitentiary and also Mountain Prison near Agassiz.

Fortunately, I learned that Les had a wonderfully congenial side. Although he was extremely immersed in other roles, he found the time to fully support and encourage me. Maybe he sensed that he would not live into deep old age and that he must not allow himself to be diverted from the objectives he considered most important. Although our time together was too brief, I was blessed to have him as a role model.

For me it was the beginning of an exciting, challenging chapter of my work life. My responsibilities would take me into virtually every prison on the Lower Mainland and in the Fraser Valley. I would interact with wardens, parole and probation officers, counsellors and security officers. I would deal with men doing time for murder, robbery, trafficking in heroin and cocaine, etc. And I would see citizen sponsors bring a ray of light into lives that had been darkened by crime, substance abuse, dysfunctional relationships and unfortunate choices. It would be an opportunity to work with sponsors to make a significant difference in the lives of men who had long ago lost their way.

It was a sunny afternoon and Matsqui Institution’s Citizens

Advisory Committee was on a tour of the prison’s skills training shops. Walter Paetkau, Executive Director of what was then MSA Community Services was walking with me. I respected Walter and his organization highly. He had my immediate attention when he said, “we are getting a government grant to do some projects in the community. You could apply if you’re interested.” Two weeks later I was working for Community Services.

When Walter assigned me to work on a project with seniors, I wasn’t excited initially. For several months I had a partner. Joan was a fun loving red head who laughed easily. She had the looks and personality to be on stage. We organized two town hall meetings that stirred considerable interest among seniors. They liked us and were ecstatic that Community Services was taking an interest in them. When we asked if they would like to have a centre where they could drink coffee, play games and meet people, they quickly said “yes.”

We enlisted several seniors to work on the idea of creating a centre. When we learned there might be money available from the provincial government, I took three senior ladies along to Vancouver to talk with the official who had the power to provide funding. The ladies loved the excursion. One of them insisted on buying my lunch.

We named the centre Friendship House and to my amazement, the seniors persuaded family and friends to donate all the furniture, including a piano. I could plunk a little and Joan had a good voice. For several months we visited the centre once each week. I played the piano and Joan, with her uplifting personality and strong voice quickly created an atmosphere of excitement. The people loved it and I learned that it’s possible to grow old and still be enthusiastic about life.

Knowing I had an interest in writing, Walter began asking me to accompany him to meetings about issues important to the work of the organization. He had a growing vision and the ability to attract people to it. Personal media attention seemed unimportant to him. However, he understood that the media could play a critical role in alerting the community to needs and issues that required attention. In pursuing goals he could be relentless, but he was also able to work patiently at putting pieces in place.

Walter accepted two capable Matsqui Institution inmates as volunteers. One had been successful in a Vancouver radio station until a judge sentenced him to prison for murder. Several individuals on social assistance made a substantive contribution through participation in a work experience program. Walter was able to discern the potential in people, even if their track record was dismal. Observing the blossoming of some of these individuals, I came to realize that through encouragement, guidance and support, a life of failure can be turned into a life of productivity and fulfilment.

Unfortunately, one of the inmates fell in love with a young female volunteer. Desperate to be with her, he persuaded her to run away to Mexico with him. He had concocted a clever scheme to gain control of some Community Services funds. He used the money to finance this poorly thought through plan. His girlfriend returned after a week. He phoned the prison a few days later to say he was coming back. For him it meant no more temporary absences.

The media created a huge uproar and the government withdrew funding for some projects, including the one I was working on. Fortunately, I had learned a lot and felt ready to move on.

Looking back now, I realize it was a stroke of ultimate good fortune to begin this phase of my work life in a position to observe Walter in action. The Community Services experience and the personal influence of Walter Paetkau altered my attitude, outlook and thinking. Walter’s unassuming but forceful leadership style, his values, compassion and perseverance continue to impact my life to this time.

In my volunteer role with M2 I had frequent meetings with inmates and also staff at Matsqui Institution. Very likely someone in a high position noticed that I was there on a fairly regular basis and decided I should be invited to join the Citizens Advisory Committee.

These committees were being developed in Canada’s federal prisons at that time, in response to public concerns about prison policies. Certainly the Temporary Absence Program was a concern in the Fraser Valley.

At the first meeting I found myself sitting around a large

boardroom table in a conference room. When introductions were made, I realized the others were all successful in business or a profession. Among the members was the owner of a real estate agency, a well known radio talk show host, a newspaper columnist, a parole officer and the executive director of MSA Community services. I was a truck driver and cat operator with a BA in sociology and political science. Unlike the others, I had no claim to fame. Also, other than being on the board of M2/W2, I felt I had little experience to compare with these elite members of the Abbotsford community.

When the head of the inmate liaison committee resigned after several months, the chairman surprised me by asking if I would take on that role. Very likely he reasoned that my prison experience would enable me to facilitate dialogue between inmates and the committee.

Eventually the chairman himself also resigned, due to business pressures. Even now I don’t understand why he decided to throw the mantel of leadership on my shoulders. My leadership track record was brief and unimpressive. It occurred to me much later he may have asked other, more capable committee members to take on the role, before approaching me. If others were asked, they may have said they had too much on their plate already.

There may have been another reason to turn down the position though. Prisons, even relatively modern ones like Matsqui, have an intimidating, oppressive presence. The high steel fence around the grounds and buildings immediately informs the visitor that security is taken seriously here. At each corner of the fence a tower with armed guards overlooks the prison and surrounding area. The visitor’s first close encounter with the prison’s intimidating presence is at an electronically controlled gate in the high perimeter steel fence. If the officer in the Guard House is preoccupied, the visitor may stand at the gate for a minute or two, wondering if the door will open. Next is the Guard House itself, where a uniformed officer pushes a sign-in book through a slot at the bottom of a sheet of glass. There may be invasive questions.

This was the routine at that time. I had grown accustomed to it but I could never totally relax. Sometimes a new officer, or an older grumpy officer was overly security conscious. I was always aware that bad judgment on my part in any way could result in being black listed by Security.
The members of our committee had agreed to an advisory role. They had no reason to seek significant involvement with the tightly regulated systems that functioned machine-like behind that high steel fence. Accepting the position of council chairman could entail greater involvement.

I was prepared to interact somewhat intimately with the rigid forces inside the fence because I knew some of the men living there. One of these was Roy. He had a step mother who didn’t want him to come around and a father who showed little interest in him. Albert, now in his sixties, had one sister, but she didn’t visit. Steve, who had killed two prostitutes, had no close friends in or out of prison. Robin had died recently of a knife attack in prison, but his own mother had refused to claim the body.

I felt a deep responsibility to the men behind the fence at Matsqui. Their faces were scarred by years of despair and apathy that comes from a drought of hope and meaning. They knew that when they were released, they would return to their former criminal haunts. The addicts would go to “the corner” to buy drugs for a fix. The entire time they would be looking back over their shoulder, wondering if they had been seen by a cop or a nark.

I accepted the responsibility of chairing the committee because I knew the men and their plight, and I wanted the community to be more informed and involved. Chairing the committee would give me greater access to the Warden’s office. I probably hoped this role would also give me increased credibility with other prison staff.

I didn’t have the skills or experience to chair the Citizens Advisory Committee, but the members and also the Warden and senior staff were gracious. By working together, we made a difference, and I learned a few lessons about leadership.

As coordinator of the M2 program at Matsqui Institution, I was more able to see what was happening at the Board and Executive Director level. The Board members were all individuals with demanding careers. Some had little or no time to sponsor an inmate. Like the Executive Director, they had been appointed by Richard Simmons, the American originator of the M2/W2 concept. A high energy visionary, Simmons had begun the program in Seattle, Washington. Charismatic and in a hurry to get things done, he had contacted several individuals in B.C. and with their help had managed to establish the program here.

We, the sponsors, respected the individuals on the Board, but some of us felt our views, ideas and front-line experience needed to be represented at the organization’s policy setting level. At times we weren’t entirely comfortable with decisions coming out of the fledgling office. M2/W2 was experiencing the growing pains common to a startup in any realm.

Wanting to maintain an amicable relationship with Board members and yet have an impact, we suggested two Board members be nominated and elected by sponsors. After considerable dialogue and some prodding on our part, they agreed this would be a positive move.

I had been in frequent conversation on this matter with fellow sponsor and friend, Hugh Wiebe. He was young, vigorous, and a force in his family’s agriculture related business. I felt he had the experience to represent sponsor views. He agreed to let me nominate him. It was with the understanding, however, that I would take his place on the Board for about three months so he could deal with a number of current business issues. I very much wanted him on the Board and I agreed to occupy his chair temporarily. The Board accepted this arrangement and at the next meeting of the organization, Hugh was one of 2 sponsors elected.

In the ensuing months I began to realize that Hugh’s responsibilities in the family company were increasing and I was concerned his considerable management experience might not become available to M2/W2. He wanted to take on the role and assured me the time would come. Unfortunately, business pressures never allowed him time to take his seat on the Board. I served his entire one year term and then let my name stand and was elected for another term. My leadership experience was limited but sponsors apparently felt I was committed to representing their views and desires.

I was willing to serve on the Board because it enabled me to influence our work in prisons. We hired Mel Cox, a balding, middle aged ex-con. Mel had embraced the Christian faith and came to us through the recommendation of his pastor. Having done time himself, he had a pretty comprehensive understanding of prison systems and of prisoners. His sense of humour and quick wit appealed to sponsors and also inmates. He provided us with a better understanding of inmate thinking and how to avoid being conned. Most of us had little experience with individuals whose lifestyle and circumstances made constant scheming a virtual necessity. Mel’s insights enabled us to become at least a little less naïve.

Sitting on the Board provided me with a basic understanding of how organizational decisions are often made, and what it takes to get things accomplished. The experience was of immense benefit in coming years when I became an M2/W2 staff member and also subsequently in other organizations. Whenever possible, I now advise young people to volunteer in an organization that provides solid training and practical leadership experience. My time as coordinator of the program at Matsqui Institution in a volunteer capacity, and also serving on the Board has convinced me that a volunteer investment is likely to pay generous dividends in the future. In my case it laid the foundation for work and life experiences that brought me a substantive sense of purpose, satisfaction and fulfillment.

My first year of coordinating the M2/W2 (Man-to-Man/Woman-to-Woman) program at Matsqui Institution was in a volunteer capacity. It never occurred to me to think that not being paid for this work was unfair. Although I didn’t realize it then, this year was providing me with experience and skills I would require in various challenging circumstances throughout my life. Particularly important was a growing understanding that in any setting, especially a prison but also in my personal life, it was essential I develop credibility.

Credibility came in part out of many conversations with counsellors, living unit officers, psychologists and other staff. It came also from scrupulously observing the numerous prison rules and regulations, although at times I did give expression to my disagreement with a particular policy.

It was this credibility on my part, and on the part of our sponsors, that enabled us to have a Christmas party away from the institution that first year. Most of the inmates in our program were given a temporary absence pass for the evening. Individual temporary absences for outings with sponsors were also granted to some men who had not been trusted with a pass previously. The men were aware that if they went A.W.O.L. while on a pass with their sponsor, it would bring disrepute to the entire program and possibly prevent other inmates from going out with their sponsor.

As part of the orientation of sponsors at each institution, they were specifically advised to not carry out anything unless it had been cleared by the prison censor. Some years later I heard of a sponsor, a woman of excellent integrity at a female unit elsewhere, who agreed to let an inmate mail a letter while on a temporary absence. The prison authorities learned of this and called her in for a serious grilling. She was deeply embarrassed.

I felt the temporary absence program was an important tool for easing inmates back into the community and frequently made the case for an inmate to receive a TA. However, if the man was a serious escape risk, or if he had repeatedly demonstrated bad judgment within the institution, I would not lend such support.

Steve, a large burly man who had killed a prostitute on two separate occasions, was such a case. He seemingly could not control his emotions or make sound decisions when under the influence of alcohol. When he asked me for a letter of support for day parole, I declined. In the time I had known him, I had seen little indication of serious inner change or growth and I was concerned that another woman might lose her life. He had been granted a temporary absence recently and, contrary to the conditions of the TA, he had gone to a prostitute with a bottle of vodka.

I was certain the Parole Board would question my judgment if I supported Steve with a letter. Also, prison staff participated in parole hearings and I felt my credibility with them would be tainted if I advocated for an inmate with his record both inside and outside the prison. To be taken seriously when I supported an inmate’s application for a TA or for parole, my judgment should not be in question.

The Matsqui Institution experience taught me that whether I am dealing with prison officials, a parole officer, a news reporter, or my wife, children or grand children, my personal credibility must be intact.

In the first year after receiving my Bachelor of Arts degree from SFU, I didn’t earn a single dollar using this hard won education. I was not troubled by that. My volunteer activity at Matsqui Institution was, in essence, an unpaid apprenticeship in corrections. I was experiencing challenge and fulfillment, and there were plenty of opportunities for learning, exploring and growing. The experience I was gaining would prove to be of immense benefit once I became serious about launching a career. My working arrangement with Dad in his landscaping business allowed me considerable flexibility to attend to my M2 prison responsibilities.

Our program rapidly became known within the prison and the flow of applications increased at a rate that alarmed me. As yet we had none of the sponsors I had promised.

Persuading men to become the friend of an inmate proved to be more challenging than finding inmates who wanted to participate. Fortunately at some churches there were groups of men who invited me to come and present the opportunity to make a significant difference in someone’s life. Sometimes I was able to arrange for an inmate to accompany me to these sessions. I had found an exceptionally strong, patient sponsor for Roy, and he soon lost his stern expression and unfolded his massive arms. He was one of the men I took along at times. Although he remained silent during the meetings, he became quite willing to answer questions afterward.

On one occasion I arranged for several inmates to join me in a church group discussion about the corrections system and what was helpful for rehabilitation. One of the inmates I brought to this meeting was Albert, a man of about 60 with a lengthy prison record, much of it for drug possession and trafficking in heroin. In a group setting, Albert was relaxed and congenial, and he expressed himself coherently. Wearing a grey suit and striped tie, his appearance, bearing and speech were entirely distinguished.

One of the church men arrived late. After the meeting he said to me, “I’m really impressed that the warden came.” I was puzzled at this. The warden had not been there. From his description, I realized he thought Albert was the warden. Certainly Albert’s appearance and demeanour could have caused anyone to conclude he was a highly placed official at Matsqui. As a prisoner, he was responsible and his capabilities were exceptional. Unfortunately, out of prison this gifted man had always reverted quickly to his street mentality. On the street he saw himself only as a user and seller of heroin.

I knew a lot of men would be intimidated by the thought of developing a relationship with a man doing prison time. How would they possibly find anything to talk about with someone who had long been confined behind a high perimeter fence? Some were also concerned about their own safety and that of their family.

To counter the various anxieties, I began inviting individual men to go with me to visit an inmate who wanted a sponsor. I phoned a man I had gone to school with but hadn’t talked with in years. I also approached a successful businessman who had previously been with CBC television. Another was a tradesman I didn’t know well but respected highly. I was pleasantly surprised when each agreed to go to the prison with me And, like many others, each decided to sponsor the man they visited. Once they met the individual and talked with him, they realized that this man had many of the same desires, concerns and needs they had. It became an effective strategy and it meant I could select men I believed had sound judgment and would be dependable.

In time, the decision makers at Matsqui came to believe that our sponsors were of good character and would not assist inmates in anything contrary to prison regulations. This gave us considerable credibility and sponsors were able to take inmates out on day passes when they became eligible. Often they took them to their homes for a meal and to meet their family.

Almost without exception, inmates were grateful for these excursions beyond the high, confining prison fences and did not take advantage of their sponsor. The relationship gave them an opportunity to view life in mainstream society. The experience challenged their thinking and in some cases persuaded them this was a life they too could have. Although they would find that straightening out their badly bent lives was difficult, they had someone willing to walk along this path at their side, possibly for the first time.

When I graduated from SFU, I didn’t immediately look for work where I could apply what I had learned. During my 4 years at the university, I had put in quite a lot of time with Dad in his landscaping business. My role had mostly been to operate a John Deere front end loader and deliver top soil, sand, and gravel with a dump truck. Knowing Dad had more work than he could look after alone, I decided to stay with him temporarily.

I arranged a meeting with Doug McGregor to give him a copy of the paper I had written, based on my research at Matsqui Institution. I told him about M2/W2 and asked if he would consider having the organization set up a program at Matsqui.

“Do you think this is the answer to problems with inmate rehabilitation?” he asked. I wondered later if this had been his way of ascertaining how naïve I was in regard to prison issues.

“We don’t claim it will solve all problems,” I replied. “I do believe though that if an inmate has a friend in the community, he won’t feel as isolated from mainstream society. An M/2 Sponsor would commit to visit him once every two weeks. He and his family and friends could be a positive influence in his life. When the inmate is paroled, the sponsor might be able to assist him in finding employment.”

Although he didn’t say anything, I sensed that Doug was listening intently. “In cases where a solid relationship is developed,” I continued, “ the man doing time has someone of good character in his life. This means he doesn’t have to feel as dependent on his past criminal associations. Some men recognize that they need to sever those connections completely, but that certainly doesn’t happen in every case.”

Doug asked a few more questions and then agreed to meet with Ray Coles, the executive director of M2/W2. Several weeks later Ray asked if I would consider coordinating the program at Matsqui in a volunteer capacity. I had derived considerable satisfaction from doing the research at the institution, and although there would be no remuneration, I felt this was a good move for me. It would enable me to gain further experience in corrections. My interest was in the realm of rehabilitation, not in becoming part of the bureaucracy and being enmeshed in its often stifling web.

A few days later I requested a meeting with interested inmates. The staff liaison, who coordinated the activities of the various groups coming into the institution, recognized the benefit of having inmates interact with citizens from the community. She advertised the program among the inmate population and invited interested individuals to attend an informational meeting with me. This meeting took place in one of the institutions’ classrooms. At the time inmates were able to upgrade to a high school level education, something they frequently lacked. Several university courses were also offered.

The meeting attracted just over a dozen men. Some were simply curious or looking for a break from prison tedium. Others desperately hoped for something that would halt the downward trend of their lives. The men straggled in, usually one at a time, all clad in the drab grey prison uniforms. As though hoping not to be noticed, each cautiously took a seat as close to the rear of the room as possible. Prison life had tutored them in the art of distrust.

They observed me furtively. Only two or three made even minimal eye contact. These were hardened, discontented, discouraged men who had known mostly failure. Sexual and physical abuse was a common thread in their history. Feeling alone, unappreciated and unloved, they desperately needed a miracle. Of course, they didn’t have the capacity to believe in miracles.

For these desolate men heroin, cocaine and alcohol were the only means of escaping from the sorrow and rage that simmered deep within.  Even for the younger ones, the time had passed when they would willingly make the effort to change and grow. Looking into these disconsolate faces and sensing their lack of ability to believe, I felt a powerful urge to bring into their lives men who might be able to help them accept that good things were still possible.

Several days later, I received seven applications for a sponsor. Among them were three I particularly recall.

One was Steve, a large sombre man of about 55 who had two times killed a prostitute in a drunken rage. He was doing life. He’d need help if he was to get out of prison before he was too old to care. The damage done to his psyche in earlier years was immense. In the time I knew him, I never saw him smile.

Also in attendance at the meeting was Roy, a balding, barrel chested stocky man of about 40. He had come early to secure a seat at the very back of the room. He sat through the entire meeting with his arms folded across his chest and his face radiating distrust. Everything about him suggested extreme skepticism, lack of hope and a strong measure of defiance. I doubted he’d want anything to do with our program but I instinctively felt that if he did, he would be difficult.

Al, doing significant time for an armed robbery in which he had shot a policeman in the leg, also applied for a sponsor. His most recent contact with his parents had been a 45 minute visit six years ago at Stony Mountain Prison in Manitoba. Although he was only 36, he already thought of himself as a hard core con. He spoke out of the side of his mouth and his attitude and values were those of a man who has spent many years behind prison bars.

Looking through the applications, I was mystified when I saw the name of Roy, who had placed an impenetrable wall of reserve and skepticism between himself and me. He did prove to be a handful, as I guessed, but not in the way I had expected. In fairness to him, each of the others also proved to be extremely difficult. In spite of the challenges though, several of the relationships that developed from this first meeting would last a decade or more. As in every other prison, miracles at Matsqui Institution were scarce, but at times we got close.

Although I did not gain a deep sense of satisfaction or fulfillment from the Oakalla experience, it did foster within me an interest in prisons and prison life. I was asking questions such as, “what is the role of personal choices in producing men and women who spend years of their lives behind prison bars and high perimeter fences?” “What part does the family play in this?” “What about societal factors?” “And how does prison life influence and impact the thinking, attitudes, actions and futures of inmates?”

At the beginning of 1971 I needed to write a major paper to complete the requirements for an Honours BA. I discussed my interest in prisons, and especially inmate culture, with one of the SFU profs who would supervise me in this. Fortunately he had an acquaintance who was a department head at what was then the Regional Psychiatric Centre. He readily offered to make arrangements for me to meet him.

On arriving at the Psychiatric Centre, which was actually a high security prison, I quickly realized that the emphasis was definitely on security. An electronically controlled steel door slid open to admit me. I understood at once that from this point on, I would not be master of my own fate until someone opened this door for me again and allowed me to exit. I was buzzed into a small building where an aging, very thin officer was waiting for me. A sheet of glass with a metal aperture separated us. He pushed a book through the opening at the bottom of the glass and said “fill in the blanks, print your name and then sign.”

When I had provided the requisite information, he appeared grudgingly satisfied and said, “wait here, someone will escort you to your appointment.” A young security officer appeared from somewhere behind him. He smiled and said, “follow me”. I gathered that unlike the older man, he was not yet institutionalized and not bored.

Although it was much newer than Oakalla, the place had an intimidating institutional personality. It occurred to me that I probably would not be able to walk anywhere along these halls without being tracked by a camera. My psyche felt under siege and I questioned my wisdom in wanting to do a study in this forbidding place.

The department head was middle aged, balding and experienced. He very likely understood immediately that the high level of security and the nature of their inmates might be overly daunting for me. “We deal with extremely difficult cases,” he said, evidently feeling a need to establish a direction for our conversation. “Our clientele includes a number of sexual offenders.” Possibly he didn’t want to discourage me so he allowed some time for discussion. As we talked, I had the sense he was considering where my request might be looked upon favourably. After about 10 minutes he seemed to have come up with

a possible plan. “I think Matsqui Institution would be a more appropriate place for you to do what you have in mind,” he said. “They have the type of clientele you should be talking with. There is more of a cross section of inmates. The Superintendent is Doug McGregor. I’m quite certain he would be open to this. I’ll give him a call and ask him to talk with you.”

Matsqui Institution is a federal medium security prison on the same tract of land as the Psychiatric Centre. I knew it had a reputation as a prison that dealt with a high number of drug users and traffickers. Many were incarcerated for crimes that supported their habit.

I had read in the local papers that at some risk to his own career, Doug McGregor was experimenting with a Day Pass system for inmates. Some in the Fraser Valley community were experiencing considerable anxiety at the idea that federal prisoners were being granted either escorted or unescorted passes.

When I entered Doug’s office, he greeted me cordially and gesturing toward a chair, invited me to sit down. He was wearing slacks, and his shirt was open at the neck. Very relaxed and confident, he helped me to feel at ease. I liked him immediately. For nearly half an hour we talked about prisons, especially his experimentation with the Day Pass System.

When I explained the nature of the research I hoped to do, he listened intently, breaking in occasionally to ask a question. His alert mind quickly grasped what I was requesting. The idea of a study of inmate culture interested him. “Go ahead and do it,” he said. “Just give me a copy of your paper when you’re finished.”

For almost three months, several days a week, I sat in a small room interviewing men doing time for crimes such as break & entry, trafficking in heroin and cocaine, armed robbery, murder, etc. Their sentences ranged from 2 years to life. A life sentence did not mean they would never be released. Occasionally, a man died in the prison as a result of being stabbed, hit over the head with a metal pipe, an overdose of heroin, or some other unnatural cause.

I also spent time talking with counsellors, living unit officers, the warden, and others. Sometimes I was invited to have lunch in the prison dining room and I observed inmates serving food to staff. A senior security officer gave me a tour of the living units. Occasionally counsellors invited me to attend group sessions they were doing with inmates. I had numerous discussions with counsellors and also at times with the prison psychologists.

When I completed the research paper, I gave Doug McGregor a copy, as promised.

Now, more than 40 years later, I still appreciate the prof who arranged my meeting with the department head. I also value the department head for introducing me to Doug McGregor. And I am thankful to Doug for opening the many doors of Matsqui Institution so I could move about virtually without restraint.

When the massive inner steel door at Oakalla clanged shut behind us, my heart told me we had entered an emotional wasteland. We had entered a wide grey corridor with a concrete floor and cells on one side. Each cell contained a simple metal bunk covered with a grey blanket. Steel bars enclosed each cell. The men, clad in light brown prison garb, moved about restlessly, with little discernible purpose. Seeing us, they momentarily ceased their meaningless wandering to scrutinize this troupe of “Square Johns” entering their dreary domain. If they felt surprised, they chose not to reveal it.

We were the first batch of citizens recruited by the newly minted M2/W2 organization. Each of us had already been matched with a specific prisoner in this cell block. Our assignment was to visit this man every two weeks and attempt to establish a relationship with him. M2/W2 organizers believed if a man doing time has a contact in the community outside the prison, he has a better chance of establishing healthier relationships and a more positive lifestyle when released. In time, teams of women would become involved in prisons for women. I was still a student at SFU and had decided that this prison visitation program would be interesting and might provide some insights for my sociology courses.

The first man I was matched with demonstrated little interest in anything. The years of successive terms in prison had seemingly sapped Rick’s humanity. He was never willing to speak about his family or upbringing, but almost certainly he came from an environment that did not nurture. Too many years behind bars had warped and hardened his thinking. Generating conversation with him immediately became my exclusive and difficult responsibility. He had no plans or ambitions that interested or excited him. When I asked a question or introduced a subject, he responded only briefly, his voice remaining flat and without even a hint of emotion.

Rick was paroled a few months later and quickly vanished, probably to the streets of Vancouver. In time I would learn that this was not uncommon. My next match was Pierre, who claimed he had been a lawyer in Quebec. Conversation with Pierre was easy. He loved to talk about his exploits, seemingly without pausing to catch a breath. I loaned him several prized books dealing with sociological issues. When I showed up for my next visit with him, I was told he had been sent back to Quebec. Apparently my books had made the trip with him. I hope he read them.

The men at Oakalla were doing provincial time, two years less a day (a deuce less, as they referred to it). Visiting Rick and Pierre provided me with a basic education concerning prison inmates, prison life and regulations. It also made me aware that other than resignation, bitterness and anger, this prison was indeed an emotional wasteland. These men had little experience with joy, delight or a sense of fulfillment.

Almost without exception, the men I had joined with to visit prisoners had church connections. Many were individuals with a deep faith. Knowing that Jesus had many times responded to cries for help from lepers, blind individuals, parents with sick children, people looking for a source of hope, etc. they believed they too had a responsibility to the less fortunate.

One contingent of men came from a conservative Mennonite church on Ross Rd. in what was then Matsqui Municipality. They were rigorous, resolute, caring men, farmers, teachers, trades people, businessmen. I came to respect them for their commitment and integrity. When they gave their word, it was like a signed contract with a lawyers stamp.

I got to know one of these men, Dan, quite well. A chicken farmer, he was pragmatic and discerning, a good match for Paul. Paul was about half Dan’s age and could have considered himself superior to this farmer who chose not to own a radio or television . He and Dan were at opposite ends of the spectrum in pretty much every respect. Paul had given his life to crime. Dan had devoted himself to his family, church, farm, and the local community. He valued honesty more than money.

Amazingly, a significant rapport developed between them, probably in part because Dan unreservedly accepted and valued Paul. Paul’s past criminal activities did not prevent Dan from recognizing that this young man was a human being with immense potential. When Paul was paroled, Dan invited him to live with him and his family. Paul agreed to this and over time came to see the value in Dan’s conservative views and lifestyle. Dan helped him find work and Paul was launched on the road to a productive life.

He did have to contend with temptation, though. One day he was on the freeway, intending to visit people and haunts from his unsavoury past.

Years later he said to me, “I was halfway to Vancouver. Then I started thinking about what I was leaving behind. I knew if I went there, I would never return.” He took the next exit and drove back to Dan’s farm.

At the church, he soon fell in love with a young woman who was quite happy to accept his proposal for marriage. In time he became a skilled, specialized roofer and his services were in high demand. Now, many years later, Paul and his devoted wife have three grown children and several grandchildren. Like the other men in the church he has grown a beard and, except for his quite non-Mennonite name, in faith, work ethic, integrity and appearance, he is a perfect fit.

Paul told me recently, “I never had a good relationship with my dad. Dan was like a father to me.”

Although Dan passed on some years ago, the memory of him lingers in my mind. The relationship between him and Paul, developed in Oakalla, helped me to understand that although an individual has known only crime, bitterness and failure, such a person can still experience a miraculous change.

When I enrolled at Simon Fraser University, I anticipated an academic education. What I received was also an education in life. During my years as a student, 1967-1971, the university came under the influence of professors and student leaders with radical, anti-establishment, anti-corporation, anti-American views. It was the time of the counter culture and my conservative Mennonite upbringing and outlook were significantly challenged. I entered the university a small town sheltered young man. I emerged at the other end of the experience changed, probably somewhat radicalized in my views.

It had been with considerable trepidation that I had given in to the urging to begin this journey. The main reason for my hesitation was the realization that I would have difficulty reading the small print in text books. Extensive reading of small print was becoming an issue for me.

The winds of change were already blowing strong on a number of U.S. and Canadian campuses when I began attending lectures in the Quad at SFU. Berkley was a hotbed of student unrest. Four students were shot by National Guardsmen at Kent State. Groups like The Black Panthers, Students for a Democratic Society (SDS), and The Chicago Seven were creating anxiety and fear among conservative minded citizens, especially in America. At concerts and rallies of the young, Joan Baez and Bob Dylan sang of freedom, change and protest. One of the main reasons for the disquiet in the United States was the unpopular war in Vietnam. In a very real sense, the earth was shifting on its moral and values axis.

The thinking behind much of the protest originated with Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels. Their ideas were embraced, adapted and propagated by a number of highly articulate intellectuals. Author, professor and public speaker Herbert Marcuse became one of the better known and most influential of these. He advocated intolerance of right wing political movements and tolerance of left wing movements. His critiques of capitalism inculcated the young generation with a growing anxiety and distrust of the society in which they were growing up. The leaders of what became known as the New Left fomented emotions of anger and despair.

In Canada, SFU  was in the forefront of this philosophical shift taking place especially among university students.