An Inmate and a Gentleman

By Jacob V. Lamar Jr

The midday sun blazes over a yard at the Mississippi State Penitentiary in Parchman. Enter three new arrivals in clean jump suits, their possessions bundled in white sheets. The other inmates, skinheaded and clad in sweaty green jump suits, watch as prison officers in camouflage uniforms set upon the trio. "Can't you move any faster than that, son?" barks an officer, after ordering the new men to unpack and then repack their belongings. One panicked inmate starts to respond. Snarls the officer: "You don't ask me questions, son! Do you understand that?" "Yessir." "I can't hear you. Speak up, son!" "Yessir!" Minutes later, the young men are sitting in straight- backed chairs having their hair mowed to a stubble.

Welcome to Parchman's "boot camp" prison. Officially known as the Regimented Inmate Discipline program, it is a paramilitary project designed to discourage young, first-time felons from pursuing a life of crime. Under constant harassment from prison officers, the participants are put through a regimen of grueling exercise and labor. After 90 days, the burglars, robbers and petty dope pushers are supposed to be transformed into confident, upstanding citizens.

"We would hope they find it a distasteful experience," says Parchman Superintendent Donald Cabana. "Distasteful enough that they don't want to come back to prison." Of the more than 300 felons who have graduated from the 15-month-old program, only eight have returned to prison, a rate 35% lower than the normal return rate. Says Elzy Smith, a circuit-court judge who would rather sentence some first-time offenders to RID than grant them probation: "It's the best thing to come down the pike since I've been on the bench."

For RID participants, the day starts at 4:30 a.m. After calisthenics and breakfast, drill instructors inspect lockers while inmates stand rigidly at attention. By 8 o'clock, it is time for military maneuvers, conducted to the cadence of the drill instructor. Sloppy performance is punishable by an on- the-spot demand for push-ups. Most recruits are quick to comply, since they are being graded on physical training, response to authority and motivation. Low marks can result in an extension of time in the program.

Each participant undergoes "psycho-correctional therapy," which includes lectures and discussions on fighting criminal behavior. Inmates listen to motivational tapes with titles like "Think Positive" and "Improving Relationships." Psychologist Nanolla Yazdani leads spirited talks on psychology and decision making. "You have the guts to break the law," he admonishes. "I want you to have the guts to break your bad habits too." Says he: "The closest thing to what we do is a brain transplant."

Despite RID's ominous undertones of A Clockwork Orange, most inmates speak highly of the program. "I feel better about myself than I have since I was in the service," says Russell Thomason, 22, who entered Parchman after violating probation on a drug charge.

Overcrowded prisons and the high cost of housing inmates are prompting more states to consider alternative types of sentencing like boot-camp prisons. Louisiana, South Carolina and possibly Michigan are planning similar programs. Oklahoma and Georgia within the past three years have opened camps as successful as the one in Parchman. Says David Jordan of the Georgia department of corrections: "We tear them down, then build them up, we hope, with a sense of responsibility, respect for others and a work ethic--things most of them have never had in their lives."

With reporting by Don Winbush/Parchman