First Impressions

Gary K. Farlow

Like most people, I had a Hollywood image of prison: smoke-filled dormitories inhabited by tattooed bodybuilders carrying hate and homemade weapons. I arrived at North Carolina's Central Prison on a Friday evening. I wore my fear and trepidation like an aura as I, a pallid 128-pound weakling, stepped into my worst nightmare. It was like the old television commercial for E. F. Hutton. All conversation and card games came to an immediate halt when I walked into the dorm. All heads swiveled in my direction to size me up. My first thought was, I'm going to die tonight. I was about to learn just how misleading first impressions can be.

I never knew his real name. 'Preacher' was probably in his late fifties and, despite imprisonment, carried the demeanor of one who hadn't a worry in the world. As fate would have it, I was assigned to the bunk immediately over him. After a couple of days of observing me in my self-imposed isolation, Preacher approached me carrying a soda and a Bible.

Now I always considered myself to be a Christian. I mean, I was brought up in the church, baptized, and 'saved,' so I must be a Christian, right? Yet, like so many, I tended to view God as some sort of 'celestial Santa Claus' I called on only when I wanted something.

'You look like you could use a friend,' were Preacher's first words as he handed me a Bible and a soda. My suspicions must have been obvious. Preacher tilted his head back and laughed. 'Don't worry yourself. I ain't gonna hurt you, and I want nothing from you. My friendship and the Bible are free. You can repay the soda when you're able to.'

My relief, as well as all of the anxiety and apprehension I'd kept bottled up inside, suddenly burst forth. Tears flowed, and my body slumped like a deflated balloon.

'You can live in prison one of two ways,' Preacher explained. 'You can serve time, or it can serve you.'
Somewhat puzzled, I asked, 'What do you mean?'

'Well, it's obvious. God intends for you to learn something. You have a choice now, just like you did when you committed your crime. It's called free will. You can spend your years consumed in anger, bitterness, and blaming everyone and everything else, or you can accept responsibility for your actions and make this time work for you and count for ­something.'

'You mean, sort of like when life gives you lemons and you make lemonade?'
'Kinda,' Preacher responded. 'You have the opportunity, albeit forced upon you, to better yourself—get a handle on your problems, pursue an education, and develop a talent. It's all up to you.'

I stared dumbfounded. I thought, Is this guy trying to tell me to be grateful for prison? 'It sounds as if you think I should be thankful to be here, Preacher.'

Shaking his head, Preacher replied, 'No, Gary, not at all. What I'm trying to tell you is that you should make the conscious choice to not waste this time. Have something to show for it when the time comes.'

Preacher left Central Prison just a few days later. As is the case, inmates are a transient population. When I think of him, I'm reminded of seventh-grade literature class and a book entitled Brief Encounters. It focused on the fact that we often meet people in our lives who we may know only for a short time but who have a lasting and profound impact on us.

©2009. Gary K. Farlow. All rights reserved. Reprinted from Serving Productive Time by Tom Lagana, Laura Lagana. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the written permission of the publisher. Publisher: Health Communications, Inc., 3201 SW 15th Street , Deerfield Beach , FL 33442.