Rocksteady - Inmate 14779

“Most of us build prisons for ourselves and after we occupy them for a period of time, we become accustomed to their walls and accept the false premise that we are incarcerated for life.”
- Simon Potter (The First Ragpicker)

After my experience with Daniel ended up in newspapers, magazines and on Good Morning America, I received letters from people from all over the world. However, I was most surprised to receive a letter from a prisoner - inmate 14779.

He became much more than a number to me, his name is Tom.

Tom read the story of Daniel and I in a newspaper article and took the time to write me. He mentioned that he wished he had a friendship like ours and that he wanted a friend who would stand by him, even through the tough times.

When he went to prison, his "friends" and neighbors spread hurtful rumors about why he was incarcerated and inflated the severity of his crimes. He felt abandoned, cast aside and friendless when he needed a friend the most.

I was sincerely touched by his letter and attempted to surprise him. I traveled to the prison to see him just before I left to serve a two-year mission for my church. However, I was disappointed in my attempt to meet him and thank him personally for his letter. When I arrived at the prison, I learned that I wasn’t on his approved visiting list and the prison guards wouldn’t let me see him. Later, I sent him a letter instead, letting him know that I went to see him but wasn’t on his list and that unfortunately, I would be gone for two years. We actually ended up writing each other the entire two years. In fact, along with my mother and my best friend Jessica (now my wife), Tom was my most faithful letter writer for my entire mission. He wrote me every week…sometimes twice. I don't hold it against everyone else, it's not a fair comparison, Tom had a little more free-time (ironic use of the word "free").

Not long after I started my mission, Tom had a surprise of his own - he called me! I was extremely surprised when my companion handed me the phone and said, "Elder Barlow, it’s for you. It’s a collect call from prison!"

Although I was only able to call home on Mothers Day and Christmas, Tom called my Mission President and asked for permission to call me once a week. When he first called the mission office, Elder Mitchell answered the phone and was asked to accept the collect call. Immediately after he accepted the collect call, Tom told him he was actually calling him from prison, to which Elder Mitchell said, "wow that’s cool!" Tom's quick reply was "Yeah, for you maybe!" Eventually, Tom spoke with my Mission President, offered to pay for the calls and happily received permission to call me once a week for my entire two years of service. His calls were an anticipated highlight of my week. I learned a lot from Tom, through every call and every letter (which I still have).

As Tom would have to initiate every call, and as he could only call "collect," I wracked up some healthy sized phone bills. Tom kept his commitment to pay for the calls and would send me checks in the mail. Later I would learn what a sacrifice it was for him to pay for these calls. In prison, Tom had a job. He referred to it as "the best job inside," which consisted of cleaning the prison chapel and assisting the various bishops and pastors as they needed him. His pay was almost nothing; he made a measly 57 cents an hour. His average check to me was about twenty dollars, which means he would have had to work for at least 37 hours to earn enough to cover the check. What a great sacrifice he made to keep in touch with a friend! Why is it so hard to make time for those who matter? (I can do better at sacrificing to show my friends I care, I am interested and they matter).

Cashing Tom’s checks always tried my courage. I dreaded going to the bank because the checks were issued directly by the prison. This fact was evident to anyone who looked at the check as it was clearly marked in bigger-than-life, bold letters on the top left-hand corner of the check:

STATE PENITENTIARY
INMATE 14779

I wish I had a hidden camera with me when I took his checks to the bank to have them cashed. The cashier would always greet me with a friendly smile and ask how they could help me. "Id like to cash a check please," I would say as I slowly handed over the check like a trepidatious teenager handing his father a report card he wasn’t proud of.

The cashier would take the check from my hesitant hand and look first at the dollar amount, then she would notice the issuer of the check and cast me a curious "church lady" look. The "look" was always followed by an awkward pause. I always wondered what went through their minds. "Is he an ex-con? Is he on probation? Is his father in prison! Is he part of the mafia?" Once, to see what reaction I could draw, I leaned toward the cashier and lowered my voice a little above a whisper and said, pointing to the prison check in her hand, "he, uh…couldn’t run as fast as the rest of us."

Read more about Tom and David in "A Wider Road."