My name is Gregory Anderson and I am a first year college student at the age of twenty-six. I have always been a fan of writing all throughout my life, ranging from fantasy when I was a young boy to subjective essays when I was in high school. Because I haven’t been in school for over eight years, I felt as though I had lost touch with some of the more basic and fundamentals aspects when it comes to how to structure an essay. Instead I had the tendency to write as if I were delivering a speech, with the topics and ideas constantly interchanging and going off on tangents. After completing College Writing 101, I feel quite confident in saying that I have corrected this shortcoming in my writing style. While I’m by no means a perfect writer, my faults are now fewer and my strengths as a writer have had the chance to shine and deliver a strong narrative voice to my essays, and these three essays have demonstrated how.

     The first composition to my portfolio is the first essay I wrote for my English 101 class – my memoir essay.  In this I discuss my background, misconceptions and overall struggles with my academic career and how it has since been transformed. I describe what I thought college life was supposed to be like from the perspective of an often-wrong-but-never-in-doubt adolescent and how those fears lead to a crossroad later in my life. One where I could either continue the dismal road I was on, or instead trek down the untrodden path of trying to obtain a higher education and better my life. Ultimately I came to the realization that I was now better prepared for college now, in my mid-twenties, than I would have been fresh out of high school. This essay tells of this personal odyssey and my thoughts as it progressed.

     The second entry into my portfolio is my ethnography essay. This was where I drove over an hour away, back to my hometown in central Massachusetts, to observe the environment and culture of a particular church – Saint Mary’s of the Hills in Boylston, MA. Being raised in this religion from birth until I was teenager, I have not returned since leaving the church and organized religion all together, but I was nevertheless eager to return and observe this house of worship and to document my experiences. I tried my best to remove any prejudices or preconceived notions I had of religions and simply observe as if I were a stranger who wandered in off the streets, ignorant as to what these people in this church were congregating for. I feel as though my handling of these observations were well documented, however anything but concise, but nonetheless a well organized chronicle of my experiences.

     The last entry to my portfolio is my argumentative essay. I have a clear and powerful voice when it comes to illustrating a point of view, and I was able to do so in this piece which focused on the two opposing sides brought on by the polarizing issue of ‘should we as a country implement free college and vocational education to inmates.’ After reading and siting several sources from varying authors and studies, I was able to come to the conclusion that it is not only more fiscally savvy to assist inmates in furthering their education, but it also proves to make each town, city and state that follows this course of action to be a safer place as well. This essay was probably the most rewarding, as I did some much research on this matter and it truly opened my eyes to an issue that is, in my opinion, not being talked about enough. I will undoubtedly carry on my own independent research for nothing other than my own intellectual even though this assignment is over.

     I chose these three essays because each one represents something I have a passion for. Be it my own self discovery, observations and documentation, or the chance to take a stance on a hot button issue in today’s times. Over the course of this past semester, I have become a more structured writer, with a concise focus and able to have a clearer narrative. I have enjoyed my first semester of college more than I ever thought I could, and I look forward to taking summer courses and the coming fall semester.

I could hardly stomach the idea of attending a college in my youth. The painting I had depicted in my head when I was an adolescence was the sound of wooden soled shoes echoing down an old corridor – while even older privileged professors in sweater vests scribble the ancient Mesopotamian reading assignment out on the blackboard. Evidently I was envisioning Harvard in 1898. But to me it was all too real, and the idea of attending such a boring and stale environment was too much to bare when I was in my preteens.  Even though the imagery in my head has since evolved from an ivory league school to more of a frat house vibe by the time I was in high school, my resilience was still the same; college is both terrifying and boring (not sure which is worse). What on earth will I do to avoid getting out of it? I was always under the impression that attending college was just something you had to do. That it was as difficult to get out of as the draft was in the sixties. Which is ironic, because one of the few ways to get out of the draft back then was to be attending college.

     So needless to say, by the time I had graduated high school, I was ready and willing to do anything other than college. I’ve heard rumors that folks had not only survived without a college diploma, but some have actually become successful. So why not me? After several years of bouncing around in the work force, I found myself working in the automobile sales industry. And actually making good money for someone my age. It all culminated when I landed the best job to date. The highest paying job I’d had to date. Everything was on the up. Until one morning while at work, there were a few business men at the car dealership. They seemed nice. Too nice. Far too rehearsed. They were wearing suits that cost more than the house I’m going to die in. I was just introduced to the proud new owners of the dealership. And they were here to do one thing: trim the fat. And evidently my paycheck, among others, was in need of trimming. And just like that, I was out. After accompanying so many clients on test drives, I’ve never found myself at such a cross road.

     This was where I had to wrestle with a tough question. Tough questions always trump easy answers. Do I just simply make an addition to my resume and look for yet another job working on commission? One where I’ll have to work over 50 hours a week (including weekends) and in the end get handed handed a pink slip simply because I’m expendable. Or instead do I finally make the choice in attending a college where my mind will become my greatest asset? My mind wasn’t worth anything because it hadn’t been molded by an education. Either way, I know that I’ll be dedicating over 50 hours a week out of my life. The question becomes would I rather put forth the same time by working a little less obsessively and take a few classes per semester to actually have it amount to something not just 10, 15, 20 years down the line, but for the rest of my life. Ones thing’s for sure, I’ve trekked very far down just one path.

     In the days after I had parted ways with my now former employer, my girlfriend and I had several talks about where I wanted to take my life now that there’s an open door in front of me. She would always steer the conversation towards, “Why not work in a job that you love?” Which would inevitably invite the next sentiment of “Go to college for that. You’ll do fine.” Whenever this routine conversation arose, I was always one to brush it off. Without giving a sound reason or a solid argument as to why not.

     Was I afraid of failure? Afraid of success? Truth be told, I wasn’t simply dodging the question. I simply didn’t know myself. But what I didn’t know wasn’t going to hurt or hinder me. By attempting college, at the very least, I would find out what I was so afraid of. Who knows, maybe I actually was afraid of success. Afraid of landing a steady job with competitive pay. One where I’ll become that old, privileged professor in a sweater vest and wooden soled shoes writing jargon on a black board. Seems terrifying, right?

     In order to find out just how daunting college was, I had to first take the staggering first steps into enrolling. Seeing as how I was not born sliding into home plate with a silver spoon in my mouth, a community college was my first choice – being the most accessible and affordable. I had been told many times before that most people are college material, it’s just the preparation that overwhelms an inbound freshman. But unlike when I was a knee high 1st grader, I found prepping for school and back to school shopping to be exciting rather than grim. Trips to office supply stores for binders, notebooks, highlighters in every primary color – all of this a $20 investment towards the rest of my life.

     Picking my classes seemed as though I was taking a tremendous leap into a far more mature world. “Business Administration Transfer.” What a title. Seemed so much more refined than uttering “Oh, I’m a Junior in high school and I’m failing gym.” It’s something more. Melding both sophistication and pizzazz. And I know what it’s like to hype up a title. My official position at my previous job was “Client Adviser,” which was simply verbal glitter thrown on top of “Car Salesman.”

   Now my classes are picked. With a start date established and a preliminary alarm clock set on my cell phone, college has now become a reality. And through the journey of self discovery and preparation for college, I’ve stumbled upon the value of education. Because I know how far I was going to get without one. The fear of living out my life when its already peaked when I’m in my mid-twenties was motivation enough to yearn for more. I suppose that’s why they say “give it old college try.”

There had always been a very real sense of tranquility found at Saint Mary’s of the Hills. A pristine white jewel of a building seemingly rupturing through the tick foliage of the New England forest at the end of a winding, seldom traveled back road. This Church had always been an institution filled with fond memories from my childhood. All of which came back to me when I turned off that winding dusty back road onto that weathered and cracked asphalt of a parking lot one Sunday evening to attend a morning mass. My first one in I don’t know how many years. Although I have no doubt it had been enough to qualify as a sin.

     Without a Patriots game on this Sunday (New England’s unofficial religion) I suppose there was hardly anything else keeping these people busy. I had a different time finding a parking spot. I drove past rows upon rows of Buick’s and Mercury’s before I found a place to park. Evidently I arrived a little past what was normal for most people. Here I thought an eleven o’clock mass meant eleven o’clock. Not quarter ’til. While I was stammering up the concrete steps planted in the grassy hill leading to the over sized doors where everyone clamored like sheep to a gated pin, I heard an elderly woman say to what I can only presume to be her sister, “if we don’t hurry, we’ll miss out on all the good seats.” I found that to be rather whimsical and amusing. A good seat? As opposed to what, a bad seat? It’s the same stories hashed out week after week. After all, there hasn’t been a sequel to the Bible for a few thousand years. That is of course unless you’re a Mormon. In which case the Book of Mormon is essentially the Return of the Jedi in this Abrahamic trilogy.

     I found a set only a few rows separating me from the very back (or a “bad seat” as it were) just in time as the hymns came to their conclusion and the chimes rang, signifying that the priest was about to begin. He made his entrance down the heart of the church while holding the bible above his head, with alter boys at his side. His flowing white robe draped on the bright red carpet leading up to the alter. He was of African decent, spoke with an accent that was easy to understand but quite audible that English was not his first language. He had taken over for the retiring Priest at this place of worship several years ago. He had replaced Father Togaus, the former priest who was the man whom had both held me underwater for my baptism and gave me my first Communion at this church some twenty-years ago. He still lived on the church grounds on a home adjacent to the church with his white and brown floppy-eared dog.

     This new priest was much younger. And had a tangible amount of vigor and energy to his preaching. Not in a fiery, Southern Baptist sort of way. But in an energetic, approachable manner of speaking. You could sense he truly liked being up on that stage. Believing that he was, well, doing the lord’s work. I must admit, it certainly takes a lot of memorization to be up there preaching to a crown that is upwards of about one hundred or more people. It’s not as though it’s a lot of mental exertion to recite passages or tales from the Bible (when he’s up at that podium, it’s sort of an open-book test, as the Bible’s right there in front of him with a golden laced book mark dictating what’s to be read this mass) but in the sense that there was a level of communication going on between himself and the crowd. The priest would say some quote from the Book of Someone or the Letter from Blank to Blank, pause, and the crowd would recite back in unison, “And also with you” or something else recited from memory that I obviously missed the memo on. Most of the people filling the church this Sunday were white, although ages ranged anywhere from infants to the elderly with every generation peppered in between. I imagined categorizing each person into groupings of which president was in the oval office when they were born. As my eyes flickers from person to person, it ranged from the Obama administration all the way back to ‘I Like Ike’ and Roosevelt.

     Most of these church goers were dressed quite well. Not nearly as dapper as my late grandmothers laced hat she and her generation adorned, but snazzy enough to be seated at a restaurant with cloth napkins as opposed to a paper napkin dispenser. I noticed wherever there was a family with either a father and/or mother that was dressed up, usually the children were well put together as well. With combed hair and perhaps a shirt tucked in. That’s not to say that there weren’t people who were about to head out, what my only guess would be, to a Buffalo’s Wild Wings immediately after the priest says “May god be with you, you may leave in peace.” I shutter at the very thought that that’s what they wear when they are dressing up.

     Then came the singing. I looked up at the pillars where there were wooden frames caved in the shape of an opened window sill with the pages that governed which hymns were to to sung this morning. There were to be four during this congregation. Now it doesn’t take a sociology major to figure out why communal singing has in bedded itself with religious institution. It denotes a sense of community, a impression of belonging to something larger than oneself. It’s also easier to memorize the message being taught when it’s sung with a melody. I don’t think there’s person or child in this country who din’t learn their ABC’s to the tune of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. But this in not a song that would be defined in the traditional sense – it doesn’t rhyme. Not a single lyric. Not even by accident. This didn’t seem to affect the abilities of most to recite the lyrics back without even opening their dark green hymn books with the word “Gather” embossed on their cover. Although the “h” in “Gather” had a deep swoop to it’s tale, nearly connecting it and making it into a “b.”  So ever since I was a child, I would always read it as Gatber.

     The priest would go on to tell the tale Noah’s Ark. But his segue was what caught my attention. He would make small talk about how lovely the weather has been over the past several months, which always helps church attendance, and thus thanked the lord for bestowing unseasonably warm weather to this region. And then came the e-brake and u-turn of a segue, “The lord has not always been so favorable with climate where man in concerned.” I could see around the bend where he was taking this. “One would only have to know the story of Noah and his family,” he continued. I almost wanted to exhale and grunt at the candidness of that pivot in what he said. I don’t need to bore anyone in repeating the narrative of Noah. But I All I will say is it was left out that Noah lived to be over 950 years old. Or how the true miracle lay in the fact that when the ark made landfall, the kangaroos and penguins managed to traverse thousands of miles to the opposite ends of the globes, over open oceans and unforgiving deserts. And without any opposable thumbs were able to pick up every bone of their dead along the way both to and from the ark, as no remains of either species have ever been found outside of their home environments. Perhaps all of that will be touched on during next Sunday’s mass, which I sadly won’t be attending.

     Then came the time for everyone to step out of their pews to receive communion. Everyone (aside from the children) shuffled out from their respected pews, formed an even and organised line to the alter and received a flat piece of bread and the option to wash it down with some wine. When I was a child, I always wondered what that bread tasted like. And upon completing my first communion, I came the realization that all that waiting was disappointment. The mushy, flavorless bits would get suck in every crevice of my teeth and I was still tasting it well into the car ride home. When this seventh inning stretch was over, there was one more hymn to be sung and the chorus repeated until the priest walked back down the aisle signifying that the gathering was now over. Some stayed to chitchat with friends and neighbors, but most shuffled out to make it to their cars and beat the gridlock of trying to leave a barely-wide-enough driveway exiting the parking lot. The priest stood a the the doorway as people left, shaking hands and making small talk with pretty much everyone as they trotted by. Not entirely sure if he actually knew everyone he was greeting and shaking hands with, or if it was more of a politician’s approach of crowd pleasing. A good firm handshake and pat on the shoulder accompanied with a smirk can instantly from a connection with an individual. I’d image this would be helpful for someone who’s in the business of preaching to people the mysteries of the universe and what happens to the souls of you and your loved ones.

Most everyone already has an opinion when it comes to prisoners and the life’s they’ve lived. Usually it involves a feeling of superiority, in the fact that they could never image themselves to regress to such barbarity. But one thing is for certain; there will always be crime, people will be incarcerated for their crimes and the rest will have to cover the bill. Is it really the best course of action to allow this revolving door of offenders to continue, or is attempting to educate those behind bars the best way to spend our tax dollars and their time? Or is it a handout that proves to be more costly than it’s worth? Some view educating prisoners as a way to give the downtrodden a ladder for upwards mobility, a chance to be reintegrated into society and contribute rather than be a burden. If they had a job, they could actually afford to pay taxes and have play along with the system of living we have in place. By integrating education into our nation’s prisons system would not only save tax payers money, but it would also reduce the level of recidivism.

     A very common counter argument to the approach of integrating education within prison walls is the opposition to the “hand-out.” It’s easily understood that many citizens believe that these criminals have had their chance in society and they have squandered it. By giving convicts a handout would be a proverbial slap to the face of lady justice. “Where’s my free ride?” They’ll groan. “I’ve never stolen, lied or hurt anyone in my life, and all I get is debt from my school loans? It’s certainly a sympathetic argument, but if you delve deeper you’ll see that it may prove to be cheaper  and a benefit to society if we assist those who end up in prison as opposed to simply lock them u and throw away the key.

     In inner cities and areas stricken by poverty, there is often little to no consequence in the eyes of those commit the crimes. The 1994 Federal Crime Bill can easily to singled out as a large contributing factor to this nation’s misanthropic attitude towards the incarcerated. This bill placed heavy restrictions on Pell grants bestowed on incarcerated people, leaving many with no path to acquire or continue their Associates Degree while in prison (Scott 2). Because of the lack of education, be it vocational training or the traditional four year college, the offenders often don’t have steady employment (let alone a career) and thus don’t see the harm that having a criminal record. As opposed to someone who was working similar “dead-end” jobs, but are working those jobs as a means to an end because they are working their way through college. A blemish on this persons record could severely hinder their employment opportunities when “theft, grand larceny, breaking and entering” appears on their background check to a potential employer or admin to a college. So because criminals often fall on the spectrum of dropping out of high school, they don’t see the effects of their actions as consequential as their more affluent counterparts who live in suburban areas (Zoukis).

     So it’s really no surprise that most inmates don’t have much schooling beyond that of high school. But this raises the proposal of what to do when men and woman wind up behind bars. On average, most state jail sentences for those within a state prison are 3 years, with a recidivism of regulars who make their return to prison for committing the same crimes (“Drug and Crime Facts”). All of this gets rather costly. After all, it’s both your and my tax dollars which go towards keeping these inmates fed and housed, as well as the steady construction of new prisons. This comes to a staggering amount per inmate, in excess of $1,400 annually for the average tax payer (Bazos and Hausman 7). The effectiveness of selling a ‘three-strikes and you’re out’ mentality, and the lack of salesmanship of post-secondary education for prisoners can best be summarized by Chief Justice William Ray Price, “We have been tough on crime, but we haven’t been smart on crime.” (qtd. in Zoukis). What I would derive from this statement is how we’ve tried doing things the hard way – with harsh punishments and strict enforcement. But on a national level, we have yet to implement the method of allowing prisoners to complete an education to better their life’s, helping them obtain a trade and thus keeping them off of the streets. An overfilled prison say “hey, look at the criminals we’re removing from your streets. Don’t you feel so much safer now?” Well that might not be the whole story. What cannot be seen by the public but certainly has been measured by the data is by providing post-secondary education to prisoners will provide a drop in re-offenders. Over a 15% reduction within the first six months of a prisoners release after completing some form of vocational or conventional education. That’s a significant drop off of repeating offenders, but it gets even higher still if inmates complete some form of college courses during their stay, with a 20% reduction in repeat offenders (Bazos and Hausman 5). These drop offs in repeating criminals obviously leads to the state saving money. In one instance in Texas, they saved $95 million in one year by reducing the recidivism of their convicts. And if California were to use this approach, reducing their crime by 10% by never having those 10% resort to crime again, it would save the Golden State over $233 million per year (Zoukis, Christopher). The only way the “tough on crime” approach of locking up more people and increasing the length of their stay is working is by that methods only result – incapacitating the criminals by removing them from the streets. After all, they can’t do wrong when they’re removed from the outside world. 

      But not all criminals stay removed from the outside world. Most everyone incarcerated will eventually get out – that’s an undeniable fact. Not everyone has a lifetime membership like Manson or Kaczynski. So for those who don’t have three consecutive life sentences to write their manifesto, they’re spending all of their time being confined to a small concrete and barbed wire world of high intensity. A jail community is a far cry from what life is like on the outside. Being exposed to only one environment for months and years at at time have change a person’s disposition; proving them to be very hostile, overly aggressive and paranoid (Zoukis). One of the best ways to ease a prisoner back into what actions would be considered normal is to have them in a classroom environment, with normal interactions between themselves and their instructor, where working with and leaning on your peers is encouraged. These are just some of the traits that most employers are looking for in new hires and this would give inmates several months worth of a head start. All of which is done while they’re otherwise incapable of bettering their lives (Zoukis). But why should John Q. Tax Payer what a criminal does with their lives after they’re released? It’s a two-pronged answer.

   The first is more of a safety issue. Either for your own well being or security of your belongings. The whole point of a prison is to remove citizens who have proved to be too much of a danger or burden to the state or other citizens, essentially an adult time out. If an offender is jailed, then the threat of this individual has been removed for the average length of 3 years. So it’s quite clear that the moral obligation of our government is to provide protection to its citizens, right? So why would they implement a system that does the exact opposite of that by allowing the continuation of the revolving door of criminals. This is seemingly not in the best interest of the public when compared to the alternative of having inmates study a profession or trade while they complete their stay, as it proves to reduce the return rate of criminals because there are fewer crimes being committed. This increases public safety.

     The second answer, which was touched on earlier, is the fiscal analysis. In states which were closely monitored, it was discovered that for every $1 million spent on education within a prison, an average of $1,600,000 was saved in re-incarceration costs (Bazos and Hausman 2). If a state chooses to ignore this practice, the answer is undeniable – they will lose money every fiscal year. The revolving door of inmates will keep a steady supply of criminals coming in to jail and releasing them back onto the streets. This old-school system of thought doesn’t make sense, therefore it doesn’t make dollars. The counter argument that it’s not fair to “reward” a prisoner with with a free education while the vast majority of honest people are left with college loan does’t really have leg to stand on when compared to all of these statistics which prove the contrary. The stance that “it’s not fair” may be true, but it’s not about what’s fair; it’s about what works.

     So the end result is clear – don’t ignore what works. While certain states have proven within the confines of their borders that education and training its prison population is the best course of action in reducing crime and saving money, most states are still stuck in the “tough on crime” approach with varying levels of ineffectiveness (Bazos and Hausman 11). The prevailing wisdom is that more effort should to placed on how to make teaching inmates even more effective, such as following up with them years later to measure how well this method has worked. It shouldn’t prove to be too difficult, as many of them are still on parole for a number of years after their release (Bazos and Hausman 12). At the end of the day, the only two aspects that matter are that of public safety and the almighty dollar. Increased access to college programs undoubtedly does both, and the states have a moral obligation to provide what’s best for its citizens (Zoukis) – so I say its high time they start acting like it.

Works Cited

Bazos, Audrey and Jessica Hausman. “Correctional Education as a Crime Control Program.” UCLA School of Public Policy and Social Research (2004): 2-1. Web. 19 Apr. 2016.

“Drug and Crime Facts.” Bureau of Justice Statistics. Office of Justice Programs. n.d. Web. 26 Apr. 2016.

Scott, Robert. “Editors Notes.” Bringing College Education Into Prisons: New Direction for Community College. San Francisco: Jossey Base, 2015. Print.

Zoukis, Christopher. College for Convicts: The Case for Higher Education in Education in American Prisons, Jefferson, North Carolina: McFarland & Company, 2014. Kindle AZW File.