Scenes of Prison
12. The Question of Respect
I t was a Wednesday in the summer of 1979, and I was at work. We spent our days in the second floor meeting room in the old Cell House. It had only been three days since I’d finished the new-hire training class and had begun working inside the Men’s Reformatory all day. I was watching carefully and learning about prison and prisoners.
Benjamin and Richard knew it was important for me to get out into the population and interact with inmates, and we did it frequently. It was on this Wednesday that I noticed that the staff in the prison addressed inmates in an unusual, disquieting manner. Benjamin and Richard also used this form of address.
As one would expect, caseworkers addressed their managers as “Mister” or “Ms.” This recognized their superior rank, and it was also an expression of respect. When managers addressed caseworkers, they usually used only our first names.
Inmates followed a similar pattern when interacting with staff. When they addressed a security officer, they used the title “Officer.” When they addressed a caseworker or a supervisor, they called them “Mister” or “Ms.” But when staff addressed inmates, they used only their first names. I was surprised when I heard it.
Back in the middle school where I’d worked before coming to the prison, addressing other adults as “Mister” or “Ms.” was normal. We addressed students by their first names, and they addressed us as “Mister” or “Ms.” When students were present, we always addressed other adults as “Mister” or “Ms.” But in the prison, regardless of age differences, staff addressed inmates by their first names, and in responding, inmates addressed staff as “Mister” or “Ms.”
When I first witnessed it, I winced when I heard a staff member address an inmate using only his first name. I was more uncomfortable when the inmate was older than the staff member who was addressing him, but I was most uncomfortable when there was also a difference in race.
One afternoon, when I was walking on the yard with a younger white male supervisor walking beside me, we encountered an older Black inmate, and I was jarred when the younger white man addressed the older Black inmate using only his first name. The older Black man acknowledged the greeting by addressing the younger white man as “Mister.” It reminded me of race relations I imagined to be true in the Jim Crow era in the Deep South.
The staff I observed were relaxed and comfortable in these interactions, and the inmates seemed to accept the practice. Their demeanor didn’t betray any hostility, and that surprised me, too. In any other setting in our community, this pattern of public address would not be tolerated, and anyone who addressed an older Black man whom he didn’t know by only his first name would get a very chilly response. That is, if the older Black man chose to respond at all. In the community, this would be a disrespectful form of address, and a polite, respectful reply from the Black man would be an acknowledgment of an inferior social rank. We don’t treat people like that in Nebraska.
However, we were in a prison, and I recognized that this pattern of address was long standing, and it reflected a balance of power between the inmates and the staff. It reminded inmates of who was in charge, so the practice had deep roots and was instrumental in keeping control of the prison. It was part of the physical and psychological control that was necessary to maintain control and insure the good order of the institution.
Unfortunately, I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t follow this pattern. I didn’t even try. The words choked me when I imagined myself speaking them.
The first time I needed to address an inmate I didn’t know, I used the inmate’s last name, and I preceded it with “Mister.” It just felt right. The inmate I addressed was startled and a little pleased. I could see this reaction in his face and eyes. I had his attention, and as I repeated this form of address to others, I discovered that other inmates were also surprised and pleased. They were also inclined to return this unexpected showing of respect with their own polite attention to whatever it was that I wanted. They appreciated it.
I was an oddity, but it became my pattern. It was my way of interacting with prisoners . . . my way of being with prisoners and being in the prison. I showed respect to others by my greeting, and the inmates stood a little straighter and replied with a little more thought when I spoke to them. It felt good to them to be respected, and it helped the younger prisoners feel a little more grown up.
“Mister Larsen” was spoken to me by inmates in their address to me with the unspoken assurance that I would return the show of respect to them, and I didn’t disappoint them: “Yes, Mister Jones, what can I do for you?” was my typical response.
I also surprised my fellow caseworkers by addressing them as “Mister” or “Ms.” It just seemed to be the correct way to greet them since I was addressing inmates in this way. Soon, I seldom heard my first name spoken at all in the prison. Everyone called me “Mister Larsen.” It happened so routinely that I wondered if many people even knew my first name. It makes me smile to remember it.
You might expect me to next describe how my simple refusal to follow a disrespectful pattern of address caught on with others. However, that did not happen. It was a practice with deep roots and much utility. I was the outlier, but I was much too busy to think about it. I was inside a maximum security prison with dangerous inmates all around me all the time, and I had only been in the prison for a few days. I had more urgent problems to worry about.
Discussion
- How will you address inmates you encounter if and when you come into contact with them?
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