Scenes of Prison
2. To Address a Prisoner
S oon after completing my new-hire training, it came time for me to begin making casual contacts with prisoners. My introduction came on a Wednesday.
It was yard time, and my supervisor had invited me to join him on the compound. As we strolled, Richard (my supervisor) greeted inmates and introduced me to them. Everything seemed perfectly normal to Richard, but I had noticed a problem right away. Richard addressed inmates by their first names, and I found that disquieting, and I soon noticed that all the rest of the staff did the same thing.
As you 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 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 had worked in a middle school before coming to the prison. We addressed other adults as “Mister” or “Ms.”, and we addressed students by their first names. Students addressed us as “Mister” or “Ms.”, and 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.”
I was uncomfortable every time I heard a staff member address an inmate using only his first name, and I was even more uncomfortable when the inmate was older than the staff member. I was most uncomfortable when there was also a difference in race. When a younger white male staff member would address an older Black inmate by his first name and be acknowledged by the Black inmate addressing the staff member in return with “Mister” or “Ms.”, it took me back to the Deep South and antebellum plantations where slaves didn’t even have last names.
The staff 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. In any other setting in our community, this pattern of public address would not be tolerated, and anyone who addressed an older Black man he didn’t know by only his first name would get a very chilly response indeed. That is, if he chose to respond at all. It would be a disrespectful form of address.
The first time I was alone and needed to address an inmate, I used the inmate’s last name, and I preceded it with “Mister.” The inmate I addressed was startled and a little pleased. I could see it in his face and his 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, and they were inclined to return this unexpected showing of respect with their polite attention to whatever it was that I wanted. They appreciated it.
Without realizing it or intending it, this became my pattern. It was my way of interacting with prisoners . . . my way of being with prisoners and being in the prison. By my form of address, I showed respect to others, and I found that 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.
“Mr. Larsen” was spoken by inmates in addressing 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 right way to address them since I was addressing inmates in this way. Soon, I seldom heard my first name spoken at all in the prison. People called me “Mister Larsen” so routinely that I wondered how many people even knew my first name.
Now, you might be expecting me to describe how my simple pattern of address caught on with others, but that’s not what happened. No one followed my pattern, and in the days that followed, I had a chance to think more deeply about it. The pattern of addressing prisoners by their first names was a practice with deep roots and much utility. It reflected a power balance between the prisoners and the staff at the prison. And it was a balance that was best left undisturbed. We were in charge, and it was best that everyone understood that balance of power. I was an outlier, and I got away with it for 35 years.
Discussion
- How will you address inmates you encounter if and when you come into contact with them?
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