The Lifers

Welcome to the Oregon State Penitentiary. Visitors must dress appropriately, or they will be denied admittance. No short skirts, hats, halter-tops, see-through clothing, muscle shirts, low cut tops, camouflage, gang paraphernalia, or the color blue. Women must wear a bra, but should not wear an under wire style as it may set off the metal detector. Money is not allowed in the visiting room.

As of 2008, the OSP was home to 14,300 inmates. And of that 14,300, approximately 30 qualified for the “Lifers Club”. How does one join? The requirements are fairly simple: all members must be well-behaved, personable, and willing to share their stories with strangers. They also have to be convicted murderers.

Les loves to talk. He’s a big man, chubby and bald, with these piercing light blue eyes. He killed a man in his early 20s. It was drug related. He is now 46, and up for parole soon. He has a 21 year old daughter. He did not get to see her grow up. When he gets out, he hopes to be a public speaker. He wants to talk to troubled youth and tell them not to make the same mistakes he did.

Les regrets taking someone’s life every single day. But he realizes he can never atone. “How would you feel if I killed one of your family members? You would hate me forever, right? Sorry just wouldn’t cut it.” His eyes are watery with self-hatred. He alludes to the damage he caused, not only to the victim, but to the victim’s family, and even his own family. “My mom had a new boyfriend. And I felt so bad for her because she had to explain to him about me.”

When Les gets out, his wife will pick him up and escort him home. They were married while he was in prison, with a preacher and a ceremony and everything. The two had been pen pals for months before their friendship grew into love. But, he grins mischievously, they never got to consummate the event. If Les could change one thing about the prison system, that would be it.

But not everyone has such a blissful release to look forward to. If an inmate has no family, he will be given a set of clothes and taken to a bus stop. The clothes are handpicked from Goodwill at a prison guard’s discretion. Les chuckles, “I swear it’s like a joke or something with the guards. This one guy I saw leave with bright yellow pants and a pink shirt on.” But at least they’re free. He smiles wistfully, revealing a row of crooked teeth.