Humanity for Prisoners

As the 25 th birthday of Humanity for Prisoners approaches, I’m writing some essays that help to explain where we came from and where we are going.   My friend Tommy suggests that the title should be something like, “If you see a problem, even with no experience, do something about it!” Actually, his language was a bit stronger, suggesting that one get off his or her posterior. That kind of wording didn’t seem quite appropriate for this piece.   Anyway, it is true that 25 years ago, this broadcast journalist and church musician knew absolutely nothing about prisons and their inhabitants. After nearly 10 years of visiting my friend Maurice Carter, serving time for a crime he did not commit, I became fully aware of the way incarcerated men and women are being treated…or mistreated.   At Maurice’s suggestion, it seemed like it was time get our hands out of our pockets and do something about it. As a result, today we have an organization with a title that describes our w...

I’ve never forgotten that line. 80 years ago I was paging through my mom’s newest edition of the Saturday Evening Post when I spotted a drawing of a kid carrying a little crippled guy on his back. The caption: “He ain’t heavy, Mister, he’s my brother!”   The phrase goes back to 1918.   A boy named Howard Loomis was abandoned by his mother at Father Flanagan’s Home for Boys, which had opened just a year earlier. Howard had polio and wore heavy leg braces. Walking was difficult for him, especially when he had to go up or down steps. Soon, several of the Home’s older boys were carrying Howard up and down the stairs. One day, Father Flanagan asked Reuben Granger, one of those older boys, if carrying Howard was hard. Reuben replied, “He ain’t heavy, Father… he’s m’ brother.”   It’s been a copyrighted slogan for Boys Town ever since. Now, as I’m compiling short quotes from HFP clients for our newsletter, I’m thinking that phrase also fits our work very well.   Hu...