Writing—the act itself—is solitary, but almost nothing else about the creation of a book is. That’s what acknowledgments are all about.
I would not have been halfway smart enough to even think about pursuing this project had it not been for the foundation laid by a generation of criminologists, sociologists, historians, and others who illuminated the path with their careful and clear-eyed inquiries. Their research is referenced in the source notes and bibliography, but I want to single out just a few whose work opened my eyes, questioned my assumptions, and prompted me to look, listen—and think—in new ways: Joan Petersilia for her pioneering studies; Bruce Western and Marieke Liem for their meticulous chronicling of post-incarceration lives; Caleb Smith for his stunning work on the ideology of the prison; Megan Comfort for her game-changer of a book about women who love and marry men behind bars.
Those who work in the reentry field, juggling the busiest of schedules and shouldering commitments that can sometimes, literally, be life or death, were extraordinarily generous with their time, sharing their professional (and sometimes personal) experiences about the long road from prison to home. I thank Paul Solomon, Brett Bray, Nick Crapser, Kristie Mamac, Amy Myers, Maxwell Morris, Summer Robinson, Brandon Chrostowski, and Jackie Austin. You were not just sources of information. You were (and are) sources of inspiration. And that goes for attorney Ryan O’Connor, who, over many hours of conversation and many emails, helped me understand the tangled legalities of sentencing laws, court cases, and appeals while he worked tirelessly to help gain release for the man who gazed out at the yellow hydrant.
I thank Melissa Michaux, Taryn VanderPyl, and Michelle Inderbitzen for helping me explore the restorative justice terrain and for the extraordinary work they do in their classrooms, both those on campus and those in prison. And, close to home, I am deeply indebted to my son Zane, who first introduced me to the theory and history of restorative justice as he studied it and completed several internships.
Because it is impossible to understand the winding, rock-strewn path that leads from caged to free without understanding the culture inside prisons, I have spent years—for this book and for my previous work, A Grip of Time—learning about what life is like for those who spend decades of it behind bars, especially those who come of age inside. I have gotten so much help here. I thank Steven Finster, a long-time prison staffer, whose optimism, energy, and tenacious support made it possible for me to start and run a writing group inside the walls for those serving life sentences. The men in that group—every one of them in very different ways, but all of them with honesty, humor, and great patience—taught me about incarcerated life and the kind of person one becomes to survive inside. I owe an enormous debt to Michael, M2, Wil, James, Jimmie, Kaz, Don, Jann, Lee, and Eric. Karuna Thompson, prison chaplain, tough and tender, sister-from-another-mother, I cannot adequately express my gratitude not merely for all you have done to help me understand incarcerated life but for all you continue to do, inside, for those living it.
When people are sources of information, you thank them for their help. When people open up their lives to you, let you see their vulnerabilities, trust you with their stories, there is no way to thank them. There is only the responsibility to do right by them. I hope I have done that. I owe this book—and very much more—to Arnoldo Ruiz, Catherine Jones, Trevor Walraven, “Dave,” “Vicki,” and most especially to Sterling Cunio. He thinks I have taught him a lot. It is nothing compared to what he has taught me.
I thank (and so greatly admire) the extraordinary women who stand not behind their men but beside them, and often in front of them, for their candor, their honesty, their trust in me, and for the many hours, virtual and otherwise, we spent together: Cheryl Cunio, Karen Cain, Nicole Lindahl-Ruiz, Loraine McLeod, and Tricia McGilliard Hedlin. As Cornel West said, “Tenderness is what love looks like in private. Justice is what love looks like in public.”
Thanks to my friend and former editor, Julia Serebrinsky, for introducing me to Heather Jackson, the smartest, savviest, most supportive, passionate, and persistent agent in the known universe. This book happened because she cared deeply about it and because she believed in me. I am overwhelmed with gratitude.
Sourcebooks, my publisher, embraces books that change lives. A big thank you to founder Dominique Raccah for her vision and her creative and entrepreneurial energy. I am honored to be a Sourcebooks author. It has been a pleasure to work with my editor, Anna Michels, who is insightful, thoughtful, and sensitive. The book is better because of her. I thank the rest of the team at Sourcebooks (Sarah Otterness, Heather VenHuizen, and Liz Kelsch) for their work on my behalf.
Everyone who shared their stories with me to make the story that is this book believes in the power of stories to change lives. I hope you do too.