Walking the Dog by Elizabeth Swados

Author:Elizabeth Swados
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9781558619227
Publisher: The Feminist Press at CUNY
Published: 2016-04-29T04:00:00+00:00

The letter was published in the Village Voice. Nonetheless, little attention was paid to it by the mainstream public because of Sam’s criminal activities and her continued association with radical groups outside of Clayton.

So Sam got cadres of volunteers together from different gangs and religious sects, students and lifers, and went about building the thing herself. Several of the volunteers who worked at Clayton reached out to the community and to other townships and acquired wood, glass, steel, tools, and cons from the men’s penitentiary several miles away to help with the heavy lifting, though I tell you these women were strong. The women set up a drop-off called, “No More Benches and Phones on Plexiglass,” where the Salvation Army donated furniture, dishes, and decor.

I hadn’t entered the underworld of motherhood yet, but I was told there was a committee headed up by several social workers who would work with Sam. They planned play sessions with moms and children to clear away some of the emotional dirt that built up over their separations. They were even in the process of planning sleepovers so a kid didn’t have to spend intense, head-spinning visits with their moms only to return to empty beds in false homes: grandparents, foster homes, group homes. Sam had signs stuck up all over the prison that said, “Home Is Here with Mommy!” (I didn’t agree.) Guards were strategically placed at several locations in the facility, but on busy visiting days their uniforms were khaki and casual and their firearms were concealed deep in their pants pockets. Sam’s center didn’t cool the rage among families in the grip of loss, but there was definitely more self-esteem in the women when they dealt with their kids.

Sam’s other project was to provide doctors and advisors to the pregnant population of Clayton, which was made up of women who’d been pregnant or raped before they got there or by prison guards, but were too afraid to name names, as well as stupid idiots like myself who participated in conjugal visits without birth control. Sister Jean contributed to get Catholic funds to repurpose a part of the hospital into a maternity ward. Women worked through their off hours to sanitize the ward, whiten sheets, and do mailings to acquire medical birthing materials, and Clayton Volunteers Inc. traveled around the US collecting incubators, cribs, and blankets, as well as special gynecological tools needed for delivering babies in distress.

I was fed up with the maternity center aesthetically, and intellectually falling to pieces. I needed control so I made a decision. For the first time since I’d been in prison, I called my parents. I told them to sell two or three of my paintings and donate the purchase price directly to Clayton to Sam’s maternity center and be as public about it as they wanted. I refused to say any more to them. Despite the fact that it would put the criminal carnival back in the spotlight again, my parents did their best to sell to my most loyal collectors.

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