Every once in awhile, as you’re strolling through life, moseying down the road of non-events and incidents, turning right at the corner of mundane and predictable … you might run right into a brick wall of enlightenment. You didn’t see it coming, you couldn’t predict its emphasis on you and you certainly were not prepared for the impact. But, the scenario has forever colored your world.

Two weeks ago, the time had come for the library to fly back home again. We librarians are a feisty lot, but this was a daunting move. Even with all the Pilates, the thought of schlepping those books again made my stomach hurt.

And that leads to bathroom breaks of epic proportions, and no one needs to witness that. Again.

The idea presented itself like a beacon in the night. There’s a work release program at the Luzerne County Correctional Facility, and among this group are able-bodied men who are near the end of their stay at The Big House, available to help out with the most laborious tasks.

Plus, I heard they work like mules! Perfect.

Let’s be honest. You hear the word “inmate” and you think all kinds of unsavory thoughts; murder, mayhem, drugs, homicide, pillaging and worse. In reality, our friends in orange frequented a more crooked path of lesser missteps … crimes to be certain, but it’s a bit of a hike from writing a bad check to bludgeoning someone with a piano.

Anyone who has fear in their hearts prior to enlisting these gentlemen should probably just stay home. And shut up. They’ve been judged for most of their lives and really shouldn’t receive further judgment from those who, in fact, are benefiting from their aid. Disembarking from the bland, white van on that first morning, like a parade of orange-clad caterpillars, I witnessed none of what you may have predicted.

Here is what I saw: boys who made a wrong turn somewhere on their path to self-discovery and adulthood. Instead of going right, they may have gone left. Instead of doing one thing right, they may have done three things wrong. Instead of choosing a group of confidants with positive accoutrements and philosophies, they may’ve chosen to belong to a group with too many illegal accessories and paraphernalia. Instead of being born into a family with parents who are loving and functional and kind, they may have been unfortunate enough to be born to a pack of wolves in the wild. Some things they controlled; many they could not.

Life is truly the luck of the draw; a game of chance. You or I could have so easily been brought into a world among thieves and users and savages. Once you know that life, it takes a miracle and divine intervention to dig your way out to rightness.

A sapling needs to be tended to in order to flourish and bear the fruit of prosperity….but it can be just as easily neglected and ignored and trampled…leading to an existence drenched in the color orange.

Our friends soon made this move a personal mission and they were showing more reverence for the library than some others were able to muster these last weeks. At one point, I may have been flinging books haphazardly when one helper politely took the books from my hand, laid them down neatly, spines aligned and facing out and said quietly to me: “Respect the books.”

I felt like an idiot.

Over 10,000 books were hoisted from storage to library. They moved furniture, they moved computers, they moved bookcases.

They moved our hearts.

We quickly realized that without them, there would be nothing but a stack of books, bare walls and some kicky, new carpet upon the floors. Once resituated, each one of the thousands of books had to be washed, again. I wanted to cry and maybe did, but our friends sat elbow to elbow at a folding table and spritzed and wiped every single book as if this was a paying job.

I may’ve not been the best wiper, myself, and they patiently showed me how it was done, effectively. I wasn’t a good worker. I had a lot to learn.

Beginning this journey, I self-righteously thought I could teach these guys some things about how to function as an upstanding citizen in the community. Maybe my civic mojo would rub off on them and they would turn their lives around in a city second. I would be their mentor! Their teacher! Their guide!

Guess what? It was the other way around.

Here is what I learned from our friends:

It takes just one moment to get into trouble, but can take a lifetime to get out of it.

No one appreciates free will until they don’t have it anymore.

Imprisoned or not, always shake hands and look someone directly in the eye.

Cherry chewing tobacco is better than regular. Just so you know.

Pall Mall cigarettes are cheap and nasty, but to some, ambrosia.

You may be labeled “prisoner”, but you can still be labeled respectful and kind.

You don’t forget the good things you did in your life before becoming an inmate.

Respect the books. Always respect the books.

And … homemade tattoos given within prison walls are painful and unsanitary. But once you’re hooked, you’re hooked. And they are badass.

An inmate confined to prison does not eradicate the person, his heart, his dreams and his goodwill. At our core we’re all the same. We travel in different directions and sometimes, sadly, grow wild and unruly.

Some of us are imprisoned in a building with bars; some of us are imprisoned within a vessel of fear, resentment, negativity and bigotry. An orange uniform does not an evil being make.

Our hearts are all in the same place. We just wear different colors.

About the Author

Maria Heck covers for the Times Leader. Reach her at or .

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