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The Basic
Training In Federal Prison - Page 6
Another Linda,
tall and slim, told us of having been so moved by the training
that she called her parents at 1 in the morning to tell them
that she loved them.
"When my
dad answered the phone, I said, 'Dad, I love you!' Then he
said 'Hm, I'll let you talk to your mother.' When my mother
came to the phone I said, 'I love you Mom,' and she replied
'Are you all right?' Then mother said, 'Why don't you get
some sleep and tomorrow you can write us what is really the
matter.' " Linda chuckled. She had blown their minds.
A macabre note
was added to the scene by an ugly rumor circulated by some
of the women who had dropped out, comparing Lifespring to
Jonestown and the Guyana experience.
"Have they
given you the Kool-Aid yet?" they would tauntingly ask
the participants. Kausen skillfully laid the rumor to rest
by bringing it up in the meeting and pointing out the diametrical
differences. Lifespring, he said, does not tell people what
to do, how to do it, or how to live, and offers no answers.
"What you learn here comes from within yourself, not
from us."
James Jones
was regarded as a God by his followers. In Lifespring, the
individual is his own power plant, Kausen explained. He then
arranged a role-playing exercise to show the women how to
deal with such taunts from their critics. The message was
"Overwhelm them with love. That'll blow their minds."
But it was not
only the prisoners who were moved by the training. All of
us- the support team-the trainers-and a counselor from San
Quentin who, like me, was were there as a participating observer-were
caught up in the emotional maelstrom. Perhaps it was because
we saw something of ourselves in these women. Or because we
were overwhelmed by their outburst of feeling and love which
they shared with us. We found it easy to love people who bared
their innermost self in their search for love and acceptance.
Notably, Stan
Miller, a San Jose attorney, spoke for all of us. In the closing
ceremony at the end of day four when the staff had gathered
on the stage to make their farewell remarks to the women,
Stan stepped to the mic. He told the group that he was a criminal
defense attorney. His profession won approval in polite applause.
Then Stan said, "Yes, but I used to be a district attorney,
and before that for 7 1/2 years I was a cop. I was hassling
nice people like you for ten years!" His voice broke
and he wept. "I can't believe the difference in the kind
of people I thought you were and the kind of people you really
are."
With tears streaming
down his face, he said, "If there is ever anything I
can do for any of you, I will be glad to."
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