MR B

 Mr.B As I sit at my desk there are 7 manila envelopes laying in front of me. At the top of each envelope is a man’s name. A man who needs my signature to get out of prison. You see each of these men are doing time in the Alabama Department of corrections, each man has no home plan and without my signature on their application form, they will not be allowed to leave prison. My signature accepts them into the year long, on site program that I oversee. As Executive Director for the organization, my signature binds them to a year at our program driven facility. They will live confined to the location for a year under our supervision. Through a VERY structured program full of accountabilities and expectations, they have a chance rebuild habits and regain a standing within society that will hopefully lead to a prosocial Life. A life that hopefully never see’s them back on the inside again. I can only take 4 at this time. My capacity is 12 men living at the facility at any one time. Which ones to choose? There is no interview, just words on a form. A filled-out application and a long history of offenses coupled with a cycle of self-destruction that has led them to the point where I now control, with a signature, their immediate fate. I make my selection, make the phone calls, and move on with the work of the day. It’s somewhere around the year 2015/16 not sure exactly. This week my newly selected residents arrive. I will greet each one. Talk about the rules and the expectations. Let them know the importance of compliance and ensure they understand that the same signature that got them out, will surely put them back. I have done this dozens of times over the past 3 years. The cycle of men coming in and out of our facility averages about 20 a year. Some succeed and though hard work make it out the other end of the program a year later with a real chance at a successful future but sadly many do not. My signature has sent many back from where they came, to finish their sentences before being allowed to walk the streets again. The facility was basically house arrest for the men, they were expected to get jobs, pay room and board but when they were not at work, they were confined to the house with 11 other men and a house manager. They had programing daily, they had work assignments to keep the house in tip top condition and random and regular drug tests to ensure they were maintaining their sobriety. Visitors were allowed only by permission and monitored closely. It was a highly structured and highly controlled environment that if embraced by the men, could help create new habits and possibly a life free from incarceration. To check out to go to work each day the men had to climb the stairs past my office to get to the logbook where they would log out noting the time of departure and the time expected back. Most men quietly walked past my door hoping to not be noticed. Most had no interest in talking with me, not for who I was, but more for what I stood for. Full authority over their lives. Everyone except one of the new residents. I’ll call him Mr. B. “Good Morning Mr. Smith” came a greeting as one of the new men passed my door. “Good Morning Mr. B” I responded. Respect was required while living at the house and it was also always given. First names were not used. It was always Mr.? or Mrs.? For the sake of this story, I am going to use Mr. B to hide the identity of the actual person. He will probably read this and if he choses to identify himself that’s his choice, but I will call him Mr. B Immediately after signing out Mr. B heads back down the stairs. “Have a great day Mr. Smith”, “You also Mr. B.” Over the next few months while most checked in after work, hoping to sneak back down the stairs and into the house undetected by me. A hope driven by the desire to avoid questions or any interactions with me. Mr. B was different. Although each day greeted me with a “Good Morning Mr. Smith” and ended with “have a good evening Mr. Smith. About once a week Mr. B would stop by at check in at the end of the day and sit down at my desk for a chat. I learned a lot about Mr. B. He had a great family. He loved to fish. He was a skilled craftsman in his trade. A craftsman who was in high demand and made plenty of money. And he had a strong faith to help guide him. From the outside looking in Mr. B had everything he needed to be successful. Except one thing. Mr. B struggled with substance abuse and the many pains that accompany it. Over the next few months the talks grew longer and more varied. We would talk about the 4 F’s. Faith, Family, Fishing and Football. Oh, ya did I mention Mr. B was a HUGE Alabama Football fan? Mr. B also talked openly and honestly about his substance abuse issues. His battle to hold on to a life most folks in his situation would love to have and the grip drugs and alcohol had on his life. He had been down this path many times before. He was no stranger to the hard road paved by substance abuse. His level of self-awareness was amazing and yet the struggle was real, and I could always sense the fear in his voice when he talked about the possibility of the next “fall” or the next bad choice. Our friendship grew as time went on. A friendship limited by the roles we each played at that stage in life, yet a friendship none the less. Our talks always ended with “Nice talking with you Mr. Smith” and I reply “you also Mr. B.” Mr. B made it though the program and his day to leave was here. He had earned his right to rejoin his family. He earned the right to rebuild relationships with children and loved ones. He was already packed up and ready to head out. He came up to Log out one last time. As he passed my office, he loudly proclaimed “I’m going home Mr. Smith!” with an excitement that was hard to contain. He logged out and stepped into my office for one last chat before heading out to his home in another state. This would most likely be the last time we would see each other. I was proud of what he had accomplished, and I told him so, I was happy we played a small role in helping him get back to a life he truly wanted to live. A life full of happiness, family, fishing, faith, and Alabama football! . “I want to thank you Mr. Smith for everything you have done for me “he said as he stood up to leave. He held out his hand looking for a handshake. I shook his hand and said “from today on call me Al” He smiled for a moment and said. “Yes sir Mr. Smith”. He turned and walked away. It was the last time I would see Mr. B. But thanks, to Facebook we are able to stay in touch. Mr. B is still doing great and has regained the life he wanted so badly. He focuses on the 4 F’s and is doing just fine!!