|
CENTER ON JUVENILE AND CRIMINAL JUSTICE PRESS ROOM | |
| http://www.cjcj.org/index.php |
| Center on Juvenile and Criminal Justice, 54 Dore Street, San Francisco, CA 94103 | Tel: (415) 621-5661 | Fax: (415) 621-5466 |
After a 29-year career at one of the most infamous prisons in the world, the man known as "the heart and soul of San Quentin" has hung up his keys.
Lt. Vernell Crittendon, who retired Aug. 18, is probably best known as the public information officer who emerged from the prison's yellowed walls to give grim updates as condemned men such as Stanley "Tookie" Williams exhausted their appeals before execution. He also mystified the public in 2005 with news that wife killer Scott Peterson was receiving a hundred letters of support each day from female admirers.
But Crittendon's role at the prison was much broader than that. His straightforward manner and reputation for honesty gained him the respect of prisoners, guards and the public.
And he used this unique status to be the driving force behind the most extensive community volunteer program in the state.
"Prison should not just be gun towers and electric fences," Crittendon said. "Many of these men have never been around people of integrity. They need good citizens to come into the prison and to start building bridges from the inside out."
Crittendon coordinated prison access for 3,000 volunteers who provide a variety of services such as teaching college-level courses, conducting workshops in parenting skills, instructing yoga classes and coaching athletic teams.
The scope of San Quentin's volunteer program is unparalleled. The only other state prison that comes close is the California Institute for Women in Riverside County, which had 600 community volunteers in 2004, said former Department of Corrections Secretary Jeanne Woodford.
Woodford instituted many of the programs Crittendon oversaw while she was warden at San Quentin.
"Vernell put in a tremendous amount of extra time making sure things went right with these programs. He oversaw all the groups, workshops, classes and baseball teams. People are not going to know how much work he's done until he's gone," Woodford said. "He's the heart and soul of San Quentin."
The walls of Crittendon's cluttered office in the prison's 93-year-old Administration Building are covered with photos of prison athletic teams, inmates posing with dogs they trained and autographed glossies of television legends Ed Bradley and Larry King.
On a filing cabinet near his desk are the Department of Corrections Distinguished Service Medal for a body of work and the 2006 Best in the Business Award from the American Correctional Association.
On a recent afternoon before his retirement, Crittendon sat at his desk and talked about his career, death row and the best chances for reforming inmates who genuinely want to change their lives.
A history buff and avid reader, Crittendon reached into a stack of books on his desk and retrieved a copy of Warden Clinton Duffy's "The San Quentin Story," published in 1950. He flipped open the shopworn cover and proudly displayed Duffy's signature.
Known as a reformer, Duffy abolished physical punishment, founded the prison night school and was the first warden to introduce an Alcoholics Anonymous program to a prison institution.
"Warden Duffy was a visionary who truly embraced the belief that people can be redeemed," said Crittendon, who kept a framed picture of Duffy on his office wall. "Thanks to him, there are now AA programs in every prison in the country."
After such a long career in the penal system, one might think that Crittendon would be soured on redemption. After all, 77 percent of California's 171,000 prisoners are likely to reoffend after their release, according to Department of Corrections statistics.
But that's not the case. When Crittendon talks about San Quentin's volunteer program, he sits forward in his chair, and his voice rises an octave or two.
"There are thousands of guys who are just knuckleheads and belong in prison, but there are hundreds who are doing the hard work, taking classes, learning how to be parents, learning to control anger, so they can change," he said. "If we can support those hundreds, they don't have to go home as liabilities. They can be assets to their families and communities."
The best way to increase the likelihood that the hundreds will succeed is by bringing volunteers into the prison to set examples, Crittendon said, to show support and decrease the sense of social isolation most offenders experience in and out of prison.
One ex-offender who took advantage of the volunteer programs at San Quentin is Pastor Michael Tomlinson. A former hard-core criminal, Tomlinson spent 18 years behind bars. He has been out for 12 years and he wrote "From the Pit to the Pulpit," an autobiography that chronicles his transformation. He is married with three sons and runs a transitional program for ex-offenders.
"I'll never go to prison again, but if I did, I would want to go to San Quentin," Tomlinson said. "It was a changing point for me. Most prisons put you on the same level as puke, but at San Quentin you can take classes, interact with people from the outside and that makes you feel your worth. Vernell is a big part of that. I have to attribute him with being part of the success in my life."
Crittendon, who has been an integral part of the state's 13 executions since 1992, said he struggles with the death penalty. He was instrumental is establishing the 1992 execution protocol for Robert Alton Harris, the first man to die in the gas chamber since 1967.
He is convinced that California has never executed an innocent man or woman, but he said it is a crapshoot as to who will be sentenced to death.
"A person can receive a death sentence for a murder in Los Angeles County, but if he commits the exact same murder in San Francisco, it's very unlikely he will be tried for a capital crime," he said. "It's my duty to carry out the law of the state of California, but I'm a human being, too."
Despite his retirement, Crittendon is not planning on slowing down anytime soon. He will continue to sponsor community programs at San Quentin, and he plans to expand the hours at the San Quentin Museum. He is popular at speaking engagements and, though he is careful not to disclose exactly where he lives, he has been casting a coy eye at a possible run for the Contra Costa County Board of Supervisors.
"I've talked to a campaign manager or two," he said vaguely, and then added with some political polish, "I want to make a difference in my community and have a positive effect on Contra Costa County."
Crittendon's retirement has caused uncertainty among many program volunteers. Crittendon himself is concerned about changes in the prison system.
"When I see people like Secretary Jeanne Woodford appearing to be forced out, I question the direction we're going in," he said. "I pray that future administrations recognize the value of community involvement and allow the inmates the space, opportunity and time for transformation."
| This site and its contents © 2002 Center on Juvenile and Criminal Justice |