“I wish I hadn’t written my name so large.” She has her back to me, scrubbing the wall of the public convenience, in the park. Two other girls are doing the same thing. They are sound. I like them, They’re not gangsters, crooks or nutters. They are just three naughty kids who got caught putting graffiti on the walls. Pointless, aimless stuff. Their words, not mine. The punishment is community service which I am supervising. They have to remove their own handiwork. It is cold, A harsh grey winter in Virginia’s Shenandoah Valley. Civil war grey. They finish and we leave. There is a complaint later from the parks supervisor, about the mess we leave behind – paint particles, dust, that kind of thing. You can’t please everyone. Cut to summer, hot, steamy, 100+. I’ve learnt a lot since the winter. Firstly that the title “Community Liaison” covers a lots of bases and secondly where to buy some brushes to tidy up the mess we leave behind when the graffiti gets scrubbed off. Started covering it up as well. Tidier.
Some of the people I take on graffiti community service are youngsters who have committed various crimes, involving gangs, drug use or getting into fights or stealing. Some have not done anything like that but are excluded from school for other discipline issues, such as swearing at a teacher. Community service is part of their programme. That is common, here in the U.S.A. I also take out prisoners from the jail. Eyebrows were raised when I started. People thought it was a risk to me to be on my own. Any number up to a dozen. What are they going to do to me? Eat me? Really. I discovered they were happy to come out on work detail and…..work. Painting over the graffiti or scrubbing it off. They have a sense of community service too. “I’ve always been a bit of a bad boy – it’s good to do something which people really appreciate and does some good too. I’m a bit tired of doing bad all the time. It’s good to do some good.” He is very large, with no neck but a gentle voice. He is with seven others from the jail as we paint over the building near the High School. It is covered with “Crips” “Blood” and all the rest of it. Rumour has it that the people who did it are very dangerous and very near. They don’t take kindly to people interfering with their paint jobs.
He squints at me in the burning sun. He knows what I am thinking. “What are they going to do to us? Really?” Bit like what I was thinking about them. Everything comes around. They finish painting. It is a very good job. All gleaming white paint. All covered up. It didn’t do any harm that one of the guys from the jail was a professional painter and decorator, before he got locked up. He takes a real pride in the afternoon’s work, giving instructions and advice about the mixing of the paint and the density before it is applied and the temperature. It is a real art and he takes a lot of pride in it. The Community Police Officer drops by as we are packing up. I go out with him, in the patrol car each week. We give books to kids that are hanging around in the street and talk to them about education and literacy and how it can help you get on in life. He is a good man and the prisoners relax in his company despite the traditional culture of mistrust of people in uniform...
READ THE FULL IN-DEPTH ARTICLE
LSD MAGAZINE ISSUE 8 (FREE)
READ ALL BACK ISSUES LSD MAGAZINE (FREE) Click Me or Drink Me Now!
