Feedback requested; revisions welcomed. His hearing’s on the 18th.
Dear Parole Commissioners,
I write to you in support of my brother, whose case in consideration of probation is before you. Although I live more than 350 miles away from where David is incarcerated, I have seen him regularly, and I’ve seen him grow up in nine years of those too-brief visits at the prisons. I’ve seen him develop from a self-interested teenager into a mature, generous, and deliberate adult; into someone with a streak of altruism that might startle those familiar with the conditions and workings of the penal system.
David is smart and generous, and he’s someone who has the potential to do a great deal for society outside prison walls. Consider what he’s done inside those walls: at [prison 1], David tutored his fellow inmates in literacy skills. After being moved to [prison 2], David performed tutoring in mathematics for fellow inmates working towards their GEDs. And after being moved to [prison 3], David held a job performing tutoring for fellow inmates in mathematics, social studies, and science, but also volunteered GED tutoring on his own and without pay, pushing three inmates—[inmate name 1], [inmate name 2], and [inmate name 3]—to earn their GEDs, and tutored additional fellow inmates in college mathematics, helping them with skills in advanced algebra. In the nine years of his incarceration, David has made generous and considerable contributions to the education of his peers, and I’m sure you’re familiar with the studies in Maryland, Michigan, and Ohio that demonstrate direct correlation between education and reduced recidivism. David isn’t only one of those less likely candidates for recidivism: he’s also someone who–as an educator–reduces the chances that others will commit crimes.
I teach college English. I see immature and selfish students; I see quiet students; I see outgoing and generous students. And out of all those students, the best characteristic I see is one of generosity: a willingness to work with others. Four years ago, our mother died of ALS. From prison, David could do nothing. But he did. He wrote letters. He talked to my mom’s minister, who I did not know. And he wrote as moving a eulogy as I’ve ever heard, though he could not be present when it was read. But David worked with me, as best he could from prison, and our mother’s memorial service was as respectful a tribute to her memory as we could have made.
I can’t deny David’s crimes. But I know as well that he did committed those crimes at a time when he was far less mature than he is now. David will be thirty years old this November, and he will have spent nearly a third of his life in prison. David has grown, and changed.
He’s a good man, now, and grown up: a man who could help other people, as he’s done in prison. A man who I hope might be free to do so.
Sincerely,
Moi
On the whole, I like this letter because it is respectful, direct and makes its point. The only things that I’d change would be:
1. “into someone with a streak of altruism that might startle those familiar with the conditions and workings of the penal system.” if the parole board is part of the system, they might feel insulted—if not, leave the line in.
2. in the second paragraph, the phrases “performed tutoring” and “held a job performing tutoring” sound wordy. Why not just use the word “tutor” ?
3.In paragraph three are you saying that your selfish students are also generous?
Also, “He talked to . . .” would it be “whom I did not know”?
4. paragraph 4: “he did committed” change to “committed” or “did commit”
5. p. 5: “a man whom I know. . .”
Are you going to be able to attend the hearing? Good luck to David on this.
This is a very strong letter. My only concern is that it presents David in something of a vacuum. No man is an island, and a good support structure is another guard against recidivism.
If you could add a few words about what (besides you, obviously!) will greet David when he is released, I think it might help.
Thanks, Joanna and Dorothea. Joanna, I was worried about (1) for the very same reasons you were, and wish I could figure out some more graceful way to say that the prison system doesn’t always rehabilitate, and so seeing altruism on the part of a prisoner might indeed surprise some folks. I’ll figure out how to re-work that confusion in paragraph 3. Re the “who/whom” in the final paragraph: isn’t he the subject of that sentence, rather than the object of action?
Dorothea, your point about no man is an island is well taken — that’s actually something substantially addressed by my dad’s letter and by the letter from the family in Takoma Park who’ve agreed to let him stay with them, but I should definitely put in some more about support structures.
just a quibble– is “who I hope” a subordinate clause? That’s how I read it, and saw “who” as the object of “hope” (and wouldn’t we all like to be the object of hope? ; ) ) Or, is “I hope” an interruptor–in which case “who” would be the better fit.
“But I know as well that he did committed those crimes at a time when he was far less mature than he is now.”
Not to be picky, but I think you meant commit. Not committed.
Best of luck to you and David. Knowing you and your family the way I do (or did) I feel for you every day that he is incarcerated. Regardless of the outcome you are truly lucky to have one another. This ordeal has only served to tighten your relationship. Send him my best regards.
Hi Mike,
Each year I write a letter to the Colorado Parole Board — but from the another angle (the victim’s side). While my annual letters are often canned and desperate, your language and rhetoric read to me as fresh, honest, and understanding.
It’s gotta be hard to sit on one of those boards, reading documents from different sides and hearing testimony. What I think would put me off, as a reader, would be hyperbole. (I tend to get pretty hyperbolic when I write my annual letter! but I guess I can’t help myself … ) Anyway, I sense none of that hyperbole in your letter — it reads to me as calm, understanding, and thoughtful.
Good luck.
Spencer, I’m a strong believer in the possibility for rehabilitation. Sure, some of the guys my brother’s serving his time with are fools and knuckleheads — but others are decent folk who did something deeply stupid years ago and genuinely wish they hadn’t; who wish for a way to make things better. More than a few go into social work for precisely that reason.
I could not agree more, and this is why I find your letter so touching and right-on in terms of what it gets across.
I haven’t commented on this yet because I don’t have anything useful to add beyond what others have already said, but I do wish you and your brother well. I’ll be hoping and praying on his behalf.