Most of us agree on a few things about prison. It should not be a vacation. It should not be nicer than the apartment of the working man whose truck got stolen. A sentence ought to feel like a sentence. I have never met a Texan who disagreed with any of that, and I have met a good many Texans.
Most Texas prison housing units have no air conditioning. When I first learned that, my reaction was probably the same as yours. Good. My grandmother’s house didn’t have it either, and she never robbed anybody.
But I’ve kept thinking about it, and I want to go one step past where most folks stop. I don’t think the heat is an oversight we tolerate. I think it’s the sentence doing its work. A judge can give a man years, but he can’t make him feel each one. A Texas summer can. The thermometer is the most honest officer of the court we have.
People ask me about a man inside who is old, or sick. They ask about the officers, who spend their whole shifts in the same air. I’ve thought about that. I don’t believe a sentence should be adjusted for a man’s age or his heart. Justice is blind, and I take that to mean it shouldn’t have to look at the thermometer either. As for the officers, they chose the work, and I have always believed the work you choose is the work you don’t complain about.
Then there’s the money. I expect cooling those buildings would cost a good deal. I don’t know how much, and I don’t need to. I know what the money would be for and who it would be for, and I’d rather spend it on just about anybody else.
I go to a church that believes in redemption, and so do I. I believe a man can be changed in prison. I just believe the heat is part of what changes him. Suffering has always been a teacher, and I see no reason to take a teacher out of the classroom because the lesson is hard. I will have that in mind when I vote for my party’s man for the Senate this fall. From what I hear, the other fellow would like those buildings cooled, and I would like the teacher to stay where it is.
Scripture tells us to remember those in prison. I do remember them. I remember them every August when I come in from mowing and stand in front of the vent for a minute with my hat off. It’s good for a man to know where he could have ended up, and to be grateful he didn’t.
I sleep with the window unit running, and I sleep well. I’ve always thought that’s what a clear conscience is for.
D. M.