So I was visiting a young man behind bars a few weeks ago and saw that there was –let's call him "the prison photographer" — another prisoner — snapping photos of a mother and her kids.  They stood near the children's area where there was a TV with a penguin cartoon and a few books and benches.  And behind the "set," because that's what it looked like to me, a stage setting, was a mural.  Murals in visiting rooms are actually pretty remarkable.  In this prison there were several murals on the walls, not disimilar to this visiting room at Graterford Prison in Pennsylvania –although not nearly as clean and without tables.

  But the images are their own kind of art.  And prison murals– well that's a subject for another day — but they are amazing. 

So I asked if we could get our picture taken, and OK I wasn't technically a family member but a few nods here and a few nods there and we were standing in front of the Project Youth Mural which was yellows and browns with a big banner across muted people representing the men who speak to schools about their lives — Project Youth.  We posed, we smiled, we looked at one shot and then another and we did what everyone does when they get pictures taken — want to make sure it's a good shot.

And then came the kicker.  There was gonna be a charge to the prisoner I was visiting.  The state was charging the prisoner and oh boy, how much did the photo on that digital camera cost?  I am anxious to see the bill to the young man I visit who makes nickels and dimes behind bars and has to buy all his toiletries at the canteen.  So, photo or bath soap?  And it wasn't exactly like I had five bucks in my pocket in the prison visiting room so I could slip the photographer some money.  Plus, he wasn't the one who would be getting the money.  I'll have to wait to find out but I'm betting $5.00.

But, overall, I gotta give props to these photo programs, called "Click Clicks" in New York.  At least if you're locked up, you can appear happy and transported to a desert isle and freeze yourself in time somewhere in space — with your loved ones. 

It struck me this past summer when I went to a hearing at the Department of Telecommunications and Cable (DTC) that communication is not a high priority for prison phone companies.  Nope, you can't expect a telephone company to care about the quality of contact when they're raking in money.

Bet you didn't know for some prisoners — after connection fees, after dropped calls, in other words, after incredible frustration — it costs an average of $30 for a 20 minute call from a Massachusetts prison to a loved one.  Bet you wouldn't guess that there's an extra charge to reconnect when a call is dropped. And this is not confined to Massachusetts.

Most of us wouldn't blink an eye about the number of people behind bars who are unemployed and can't talk to their kids or husbands or sisters or dads because they can't afford it.  It wasn't high in my consciousness and I worked in a prison.  Nope, not in this age of calling everywhere for a fixed fee; not in the age of skype.  But surprise, surprise, as if punishment wasn't enough, we now have keep-your-loved-ones-away by creating telephone policies that create more pain.  Prisoners want phone calls so much that a standard punishment behind bars has become taking away phone privileges for a week or so.

Prisoners' Legal Services was asking the DTC to investigate the phone service, both cost and quality.  And after listening to some of the testimony, I was up in arms. My cell phone dropped calls drive me crazy.  My Comcast poor TV reception drives me crazier.  Imagine being in prison and having those problems magnified by gazillions?

One woman testified that she has three sons incarcerated.  She has to get funds from family members and friends to make phone calls.  Another said she has an overdrawn bank account from supporting her friend behind bars.  An attorney testified that a 16 year-old mentally ill client of hers who had never been away from his family is in prison for life; the family cannot afford to call him every day; and he needs that contact to stay sane.

TO STAY SANE PEOPLE.  We are talking about helping incarcerated men and women become better citizens aren't we?  Or are we back to that same old conversation that punishment rather than rehabilitation is the only point of prison. 

►Here's a site to find out more about phone justice for prisoners.  And let's remember, we can only tacklie our criminal justice system, brick by brick.