Jail Journal Sewing Behind Bars

By Nancie Wiseman Attwater

This is a story of sewing, but it is also the story of the female inmates that Nancie Wiseman Attwater taught at a county jail.

She went to the jail to teach sewing, but she learned patience, understanding, and acceptance. She also ended up helping inmates learn manners, language, math, English, and geography - often without even realizing

• Language: English
• Publisher: Nancie Attwater Books
• Release date: Mar 19, 2021
• ISBN: 9781736888919

Nancie Wiseman Attwater

Nancie Wiseman Attwater is a nationally-known needlework teacher and author of twelve books on knitting, crochet, and quilting. She taught sewing for eight years to the women in a county jail. Her unique gift of sharing herself with her students while she teaches the joy of sewing and needle arts brought many joyful days to the women in an otherwise dreary jail situation. A former registered nurse, she also offers a perspective on the drugs many of the women used and their related problems.

Book preview

PREFACE

Istarted writing Jail Journal, Sewing Behin d Bars while I was still teaching at the jail. I left it for a couple of years, and then suddenly my time at the jail ended. I felt I needed to finish Jail Journal , Sewing Behind Bars , to let the world see what it is like in a jail, including the good days and the frustrating days.

I started writing it as a journal of the weekly happenings at the jail but found there were many personal stories to be told. This is not just about me. The stories are about a group of women who tend to be forgotten or looked down upon by society. I wanted to document the courage and strength of the women who face humiliation and a degrading life in jail. I wanted a memoir for myself as well. I felt their voices needed to be heard and their lives understood, if possible.

Mothers don’t teach their daughters to sew as much anymore as mine did. I became passionate about sewing and needlework and spent many hours over the sewing machine helping my mother with her seamstress business. I wanted these girls to learn a way to cope and perhaps earn a living. If not, at least they would be able to say, Look, I made something beautiful. I am a worthy human being.

The women I taught were mostly young and vibrant but had gotten involved with drugs and all the problems associated with drugs. They were some of the nicest young women I would meet in my life, willing to learn and always fun to be around. I spent many days laughing at their antics and some of the tricks they pulled. I was never sorry I volunteered at the jail.

Every soul matters, whether they are in jail, in prison, homeless on the streets, or a deputy in charge of a jail. Hating people without knowing them is easy. You don’t have to think about who they are, what they’ve been through, or what got them to where they are at this moment.

It’s easy to judge people when you are just looking at where they are. When someone is in jail, it makes you think they are worthless—or else they wouldn’t be there. This is not always the case, and I want people to learn that the women I taught to sew are strong women, perhaps wrapped up in circumstances that got out of control and caused them to lose their footing. But they are worthy of some attention and the feeling that someone cares.

By being there to talk to, give a hug each week, and give lessons in sewing, I gave them something to look forward to in an otherwise dreary situation. When one day runs into the next, and when the days turn into months before they might be able to breathe fresh air again, any change in the routine is welcome.

One day Sergeant Brand said to me, You have seen more here than the average citizen will see in their lifetime. You saw the jail on good days and bad.

This was so true, as many days were joyful and unremarkable, but the days that brought problems because of stealing and manipulative girls made it seem like I was wasting my time and shouldn’t even bother to drive the fifty-mile round trip every week. Fortunately, the good outweighed the bad, and I enjoyed the drive as well as the time in lockdown with the girls.

Note: No real names or places are used in Jail Journal except for my own. Many of the characters are composites of several people I met at the jail.

INTRODUCTION

Meet my girls—gang members, murderers, shoplifters, burglars, robbers, car thieves, pedophiles, ICE detainees, and prostitutes. These are the women I taught to sew in a county jail for eight years. It is a world of crime, drugs, and poverty that few adults ever see. The stories of survival are extraordinary: either living on the streets with a drug habit or living and working in the United States without legal documentation. These lives matter; the girls need to be heard. They are not trash or worthless; they are human beings.

Listen to the voices of these women incarcerated in a county jail, young and vibrant women who are facing prison or deportation and a sad ending to an otherwise vibrant life. Tragedy, despair, and hardship were often relieved for a short time with a hug from me and a lesson at the sewing machine.

Many of the stories are heartbreaking, but there were also happy endings for some who left for a new life outside of jail. However, the return rate, known as recidivism, is high—and many would return through what seemed like a revolving door.

Sewing has been proven to be a wonder drug of sorts for mental health and stress, as well as a mood regulator. Sewing enhances self-esteem, and the rhythm of it encourages calmness. My lifetime of sewing and needlework has been a passion that has served me well for over sixty years. I wanted to share this with the girls at the jail in hopes that they would find peace of mind when picking up fabric and thread.

The girls learned the joy of sewing while making beautiful quilts, hair scrunchies, and toys. We also had beauty days and enjoyed holiday candy and cookies. Birthday celebrations included the chance to dress up in pretty hats and scarves. The first GED high school graduation in the jail was held in my sewing room, where I became every girl’s mother.

Jail Journal: Sewing Behind Bars is a story of sewing, but it is also the story of the women who lived in the jail, including their court cases, the drugs they used, the crimes they committed, and their lives outside of jail. Whether it was an inmate on an ICE hold or someone in jail for a drug charge, each of them had something to contribute to the sewing class.

I went to the jail to teach sewing. I inadvertently taught manners, language, math, English, and geography. However, I learned much more in patience, understanding, and acceptance.

Volunteering is good for the soul. It also builds self-esteem— for everyone. Caring for others is easy, whereas judging and hating others you know nothing about is work. The simple act of listening without judgment is eye-opening and might lead one to find that one is closer to crossing the line between inmate and law-abiding citizen than one realizes. My girls represent the best and the worst of society, but they are all still human beings. I looked forward to spending time with them once a week for eight years.

I encourage anyone who sews or does needlework to share their knowledge and skill with others. It’s a joyous endeavor to teach others, and it will lift your spirits. Everyone can learn the joy and rhythm of sewing and master a craft that not only feeds the soul but also improves self-esteem and empowers women when they nurture each other.

Sewing

Sewing is the art of fastening or attaching objects using stitches made with a needle and thread. Sewing is one of the oldest of the textile arts, done before the invention of spinning yarn or weaving fabric.

The rhythm of needle pulling thread is music to a sewer’s ears. It’s a melody that brings back warm feelings of time spent learning the craft and spending time with loved ones who also sewed. It’s a solitary event that goes well with friends, and the chatter fills the background with warmth.

HOW TO START TEACHING IN A JAIL

Ihave been asked many times how I started teaching in a jail. I’ve taught all over the United States, but this was the place everyone wanted to hear about. A simple stop at a bookstore and a chance encounter with a deputy, and off I went on a weekly odyssey that would change my life.

In the middle of April 2010, I was in a used bookstore in a small town in California, where I live. I was chatting with the owner about my books. I have written several books on knitting, crocheting, and sewing. She sells them for me, and I was asking if she needed any more.

A deputy from the county jail about twenty-five miles north of my hometown was there and joined the conversation. Deputy James told me the jail was trying to get a sewing program started, but they had encountered several obstacles.

We have two problems: no teacher and no money for funding the program.

She continued, We have three sewing machines, and there are a couple of ladies I allow in the sewing room at night to mend inmates’ clothing and make blankets for the animal shelter.

I nodded in understanding.

I would like to open the program to more inmates. The sewing machines need some repairs, and no one at the jail knows how to take care of them.

She mentioned that in August, she would be the head of Female Programs and would begin working the day shift again. The deputies change shifts every six months; she worked nights at this time. Deputy Wilson was currently the program deputy during the day shift.

I told her I teach sewing, knitting, and crochet and might be interested in coming to the jail to help out. I also knew how to repair the machines. The look on her face was priceless, she looked at me like I was an angel sent from heaven. She was thrilled, and I was intrigued. We swapped business cards, and she said someone would be in touch with me.

I waited for about a week. When I didn’t hear from anyone, I decided to call and see if they were still interested. Yes, indeed, the deputy was interested—just too busy to call me. I spoke to Deputy James, who then connected me with Sergeant Brand, who said in a booming voice: We can’t wait to meet you. Thank you for helping us. It seemed I was already hired without their even meeting me. We set the time and day for my visit: 9:00 a.m. on April 23.

I wasn’t sure where I was going, so before my journey north, I did some research. I knew approximately where the jail was located and that it was old. I’d gone to college north of the town over forty-five years ago, and I used to drive by the jail as I drove back and forth between home and school for holidays and vacations. However, I wanted to learn as much as I could before I went to visit.

The information about the jail on the website is sketchy at best. There is lots of general information about how to get there, what the visiting hours are, and how to send mail to the inmates, but not much else. The lack of information isn’t surprising as jails would not want anyone to use any information provided to get drugs into the jail or break someone out.

I was to visit a jail, not a prison. In a jail, not everyone has been sentenced or is serving time. Many have just been arrested and are waiting to go to court to find out their charges, get bail set, and obtain an attorney. Others have had their day in court and are now awaiting sentencing or are serving a jail sentence instead of prison time. The inmates are innocent until proven guilty, until the courts complete their case. However, there are some inmates serving prison time in jail because prisons are overcrowded.

Built in 1962, the jail I taught in underwent a major renovation in the early 1990s, including an addition. It has a capacity of 428 inmates. In 2016, the average daily population was 374 inmates, which was composed of, on average, 160 ICE (Immigration and Customs Enforcement) contract prisoners and 214 county prisoners. The jail was almost full all the time.

I learned that several jails in California house ICE detainees for the federal government. They are paid a daily fee for housing them. California does not have detention camps, so they use jails and privately-owned facilities for ICE detainees. These jails are located in Northern California, as this one is, all the way down to San Diego near the border between California and Mexico.

After my research, I was intrigued by what the jail would look like, who the inmates were, what their ages were, and where they were from. The ICE detainees made me extremely curious. I suspected we might have a language barrier. I was thinking they would all be from Mexico or Latin America. Women from those areas turned out to make up only a portion of the detainees. I would eventually meet women from all over the world.

With all of this new information to spur me on, I was eager to go and see the jail. I checked a map on the computer and found that it was an easy forty-five-minute drive away. I set off early on a Friday morning and made the twenty-five-mile drive to take my first walk through a jail. The eight-year adventure of weekly sewing in jail was about to begin.

MEET THE SERGEANT

The experience probably should have been overwhelming, I realize, as I think back to the first time I went into the jail. When I arrived, a sergeant came out to the lobby to meet me and get me through all the locked crash doors. These doors make a loud pop noise when opened. I would learn the phrase pop the doors very quickly when telling someone I needed to go through one.

I swear the sergeant was seven feet tall. When we got to booking, there was a man coming off a drunken night who was screaming and rattling the bars. The night shift was preparing to leave, while the day shift deputies were milling about getting their paperwork sorted out to start the day. All of this was going on, and I still managed to remain calm and not be bothered by any of it.

I noticed the cement walls were an ugly green-yellow, the cement floor was a dingy red, and the bars on the doors were thick with chipped paint. There were no windows to the outside and no fresh air coming in. There were a few holding cells around the central booking area; people were sitting in some of them with the door locked, and some were wide open, depending on what the inmates were there for and how high risk they were. They might be sitting or sleeping on a cement ledge meant to be a seat or on the floor with a blanket.

Men and women were also sitting in chairs in their street clothes, watching TV, or sleeping in a lobby area. These were the people who had just been brought in and were waiting to be booked. Some of the same people would still be sitting and waiting in the same spot when I left.

I was taken behind the booking desk to an office for an interview. It wasn’t like I was applying for this job; the staff and I were just getting to know each other and trying to decide how we wanted to set the program up. They’d already decided this was my program.

I met Deputy Wilson, who was the female inmate program deputy for the time being. She was small in stature and had a kind face. I wondered about how she managed the big inmates in the jail. There was also a male inmate program deputy who worked with the men. He would never work with the women.

There were many women deputies. As I said, Deputy Wilson was the program deputy for the time being. The job is given to someone new every six months when they change shifts. Only female deputies can go into the women’s tanks, so a female deputy must run the women’s program.

The tour of the jail was next. There are four floors, and the female inmates were all on the first floor. Many of the inmates were in for immigration detention, called an ICE hold. We walked by several male cells to get to the female section. Some of the men were lying on their bunks, some had their arms hanging out through the bars, and some were sitting at the long tables. TVs were always on. The men watched us walk by; I tried not to look at them.

The jail became a maze as we continued the tour. I didn’t think I could find my way out after we had been roaming for a while. At the entrance to each new area, the deputy radioed for the door to be opened. There were also gate type doors that unlocked with a giant key. The deputies carried several of these heavy keys on their belts, along with a radio that was on at all times so that all deputies could hear all radio calls from all areas of the jail.

The girls, as well as most of the men, live in tanks. A tank is a large room with bunk beds: no windows, a shower, and a toilet. A metal picnic-type table bolted to the floor is where they eat, sit to watch TV, play cards or games, or sit and do nothing. The TV is small, and there is only one—and there can be as many as twenty people in the room. Each inmate has to have a chair. If you sleep in the top bunk, you use that chair to get up there, and you also sit on it to