Tom McLaughlin: Going to the jail

After the last remote-control lock on the last steel door opens with a loud, metallic clang, I walk into B-1, the two-tiered, oval-shaped “pod” at the Cumberland Country Jail in which I’ve been running a weekly Bible study for 2 1/2 years. The 85 inmates are dressed in orange or blue. Some are in their teens. Some look to be in their 60s or 70s, but it’s hard to guess ages of men who live hard lives. Smoking, drinking, fighting, poor nutrition, repeated physical and/or emotional traumas age them prematurely.

Some stand in pairs talking. Some are stripped to the waist doing chin-ups on crossbars. Some are seated at steel tables bolted to the concrete floor and playing cards. Some are just standing around looking scary with neck and face tattoos around primal, calculating eyes. One, sometimes two correctional officers (COs, in jail parlance) are on duty. He or she sits at a desk in the middle of the oval with electronic controls to all cells and rooms on both tiers. I wait a minute for the CO to recognize me and remotely unlock the door to my classroom on the lower tier.