The numbers are staggering and it is an enormous problem in California and for the rest of the country. Somehow the will to reform and fix a system
that is clearly broken does not exist in the politicians whose responsibility it is, nor in the general public who just don’t want to know about it.
You would think then that visiting these places would be frustrating, unpleasant and upsetting. I feel all of those things about the situation as a whole,
but the human beings I play for and their reaction is so positive and life affirming that for me the positive in the specific event far outweighs the
negative of the total situation. One of the reasons for my success is the Arts Facilitators who are in place in every prison in California.
In the recent or possibly distant past, the California Legislature set up a program called Arts in Prison. It consisted of funding a full time arts facilitator
in every prison with a budget for programs to use art, music, and writing to inspire inmates to change their lives. The success of the program is
difficult to measure, and probably wasn’t measured, but the stakes are very high. Every inmate who gets out of prison and stays out of prison not
only decreases crime but saves the taxpayers a fabulous amount of money. Two years ago during a budget crisis all money for programs was cut.
That means no musicians, painters, play directors, dance teachers coming into California prisons and running seminars or giving concerts. The arts
facilitators were on the block as well, but at the last minute their positions were saved, but placed under the education sector, a much larger and less
flexible bureaucracy. The result is that the facilitators themselves, and I know 5 of them personally, have become scavengers and improvisers:
somehow, someway, getting donated arts supplies and instruments, and volunteers to run programs and doing their best to reach as many inmates as
possible. These are good and highly motivated people and the inmates in their core groups believe that art can save the world, and save them, and
they're right.
that is clearly broken does not exist in the politicians whose responsibility it is, nor in the general public who just don’t want to know about it.
You would think then that visiting these places would be frustrating, unpleasant and upsetting. I feel all of those things about the situation as a whole,
but the human beings I play for and their reaction is so positive and life affirming that for me the positive in the specific event far outweighs the
negative of the total situation. One of the reasons for my success is the Arts Facilitators who are in place in every prison in California.
In the recent or possibly distant past, the California Legislature set up a program called Arts in Prison. It consisted of funding a full time arts facilitator
in every prison with a budget for programs to use art, music, and writing to inspire inmates to change their lives. The success of the program is
difficult to measure, and probably wasn’t measured, but the stakes are very high. Every inmate who gets out of prison and stays out of prison not
only decreases crime but saves the taxpayers a fabulous amount of money. Two years ago during a budget crisis all money for programs was cut.
That means no musicians, painters, play directors, dance teachers coming into California prisons and running seminars or giving concerts. The arts
facilitators were on the block as well, but at the last minute their positions were saved, but placed under the education sector, a much larger and less
flexible bureaucracy. The result is that the facilitators themselves, and I know 5 of them personally, have become scavengers and improvisers:
somehow, someway, getting donated arts supplies and instruments, and volunteers to run programs and doing their best to reach as many inmates as
possible. These are good and highly motivated people and the inmates in their core groups believe that art can save the world, and save them, and
they're right.
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CALIFORNIA TOUR, APRIL 2007
The second week of April, I visited Fremont, California known as “Little
Kabul”, and played for a group of Afghan ex pats. It was as if I’d been
magically transported back to Afghanistan. I dressed in my Afghan clothes
and played Bach and then told stories in both Dari and Pashtu. The men and
boys sat on cushions on the floor and the local Afghan television station
recorded the concert for broadcast. In the audience was Osman Mohmand
who manages the website www.sabawoon.com, the most complete source
for news about Afghanistan anywhere on the planet. He was kind enough to
publish my Afghanistan report. I also met the director of the Afghanistan
Cultural Society and he is interested in presenting me in Fremont to a larger
audience. We had tea and food and listened to three boys play Afghan
music. The hospitality and warmth of these people is extraordinary and I
feel that from now on Afghanistan will be a huge part of my life.
The second week of April, I visited Fremont, California known as “Little
Kabul”, and played for a group of Afghan ex pats. It was as if I’d been
magically transported back to Afghanistan. I dressed in my Afghan clothes
and played Bach and then told stories in both Dari and Pashtu. The men and
boys sat on cushions on the floor and the local Afghan television station
recorded the concert for broadcast. In the audience was Osman Mohmand
who manages the website www.sabawoon.com, the most complete source
for news about Afghanistan anywhere on the planet. He was kind enough to
publish my Afghanistan report. I also met the director of the Afghanistan
Cultural Society and he is interested in presenting me in Fremont to a larger
audience. We had tea and food and listened to three boys play Afghan
music. The hospitality and warmth of these people is extraordinary and I
feel that from now on Afghanistan will be a huge part of my life.
For the next four days I did a prison tour of
California. I began in San Quentin just north of the
Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco and ended at
the California Rehab Center in Norco, south of Los
Angeles. There are anywhere from 6000 to 8000
inmates in each of the four prisons I visited and
they are only 4 out of 31 in the state. At $36,000 a
year per inmate, this is a system clearly out of
control. Part of the problem is the three strikes laws
enacted in the eighties which takes the sentencing
out of the hands of the judges, and part of it is the
drug laws which put drug offenders in with violent
criminals instead of in treatment centers.
California. I began in San Quentin just north of the
Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco and ended at
the California Rehab Center in Norco, south of Los
Angeles. There are anywhere from 6000 to 8000
inmates in each of the four prisons I visited and
they are only 4 out of 31 in the state. At $36,000 a
year per inmate, this is a system clearly out of
control. Part of the problem is the three strikes laws
enacted in the eighties which takes the sentencing
out of the hands of the judges, and part of it is the
drug laws which put drug offenders in with violent
criminals instead of in treatment centers.
In San Quentin I saw my old friend, “Stretch”, an inmate who works in the arts
program and who has attended all my concerts. Due to a typical scheduling
problem, the chapel, which is the largest gathering place, was reassigned at the
last minute to another meeting. Steve Emrich, the facilitator, was trying to rectify
it to no avail. “I had it reserved”, he said then shrugged. “You know what it’s
like by now”. So we made our way to the modules where education classes are
held and I did two performances for two different classes. Stretch came to both
of them. After I finished the first one he said, “Well you did it again. You brought
tears to my eyes seeing you put yourself out there like that”, (singing about the
loss of my turtle). In the second class most of the members were non English
speakers, so I did it mostly in Spanish. Afterwards Steve took me to the dining
hall to see the fabulous gigantic murals painted in the fifties by an inmate. They
should be in a museum somewhere. Steve told me a story about Stretch. His
mother died last year and he didn’t get the letter for three days because of
security having to check it out. The day he did find out, Steve had a volunteer
teaching a bluegrass guitar class. Stretch showed up late and said, “Well I didn’t
want to sit in my cell. Besides you all are my family now. “
program and who has attended all my concerts. Due to a typical scheduling
problem, the chapel, which is the largest gathering place, was reassigned at the
last minute to another meeting. Steve Emrich, the facilitator, was trying to rectify
it to no avail. “I had it reserved”, he said then shrugged. “You know what it’s
like by now”. So we made our way to the modules where education classes are
held and I did two performances for two different classes. Stretch came to both
of them. After I finished the first one he said, “Well you did it again. You brought
tears to my eyes seeing you put yourself out there like that”, (singing about the
loss of my turtle). In the second class most of the members were non English
speakers, so I did it mostly in Spanish. Afterwards Steve took me to the dining
hall to see the fabulous gigantic murals painted in the fifties by an inmate. They
should be in a museum somewhere. Steve told me a story about Stretch. His
mother died last year and he didn’t get the letter for three days because of
security having to check it out. The day he did find out, Steve had a volunteer
teaching a bluegrass guitar class. Stretch showed up late and said, “Well I didn’t
want to sit in my cell. Besides you all are my family now. “
The last day of my prison tour was at CRC where I’d spent such a great day in December. It was good to see Violetta Peters, now five months into
the job. “How’s it going?”, I asked. “I’ve got the best job in the world.” She told me about a Comedia Del Arte group who had gotten a grant to come
and work with 16 inmates once a week for several months, and then the inmates had performed for a large group of inmates all in white face. She
had found an inmate who is now teaching theory to interested musicians in the men’s prison and they are video taping the classes for the women. In
the morning I played for two groups of a drug rehab class, about three hundred women. It’s fantastic how women in prison are able to listen to Bach
and have an emotional experience and then the next minute be laughing hysterically. I finished with the song for women written for me in
Afghanistan. I translated the Pashtu poem for them before I played it. They were on their feet again.
In the afternoon I played for two men’s groups, also a drug rehab class. They were not as responsive as the women, but a group of musicians in the
front row more than made up for it. Afterwards we went to the arts room and they played for me. They were from all three racial groups and all
played in different bands, so they had no common repertoire, and had never played together. Violetta was pretty horrified at how it sounded, but I
loved watching the interaction and the mutual respect. Nelson is an African American bass and guitar and every other instrument virtuoso who plays
blues and funk and told me, he loved me man. One of the Mexican’s had played twice with Tito Puente before he died. A country singer from
Arkansas sang a song he had written about getting over drugs and alcohol and I told him he was a huge talent. I was interested to find out that most
of the musicians Violetta had in her program had begun playing in prison. She explained that most of the band members in the four bands she has
work during the day so the plan is for me to stay into the evening next time so I can coach them.
The last night of my short tour I played a fundraiser in Venice, on the beach in Grace and Hasty Arnold’s beautiful house, presented by Grace and
new board member Lori Weis. During the conversations afterward, I reflected on how much I’ve had an opportunity to learn about prisons,
Afghanistan, and Palestine. I’m very grateful.
the job. “How’s it going?”, I asked. “I’ve got the best job in the world.” She told me about a Comedia Del Arte group who had gotten a grant to come
and work with 16 inmates once a week for several months, and then the inmates had performed for a large group of inmates all in white face. She
had found an inmate who is now teaching theory to interested musicians in the men’s prison and they are video taping the classes for the women. In
the morning I played for two groups of a drug rehab class, about three hundred women. It’s fantastic how women in prison are able to listen to Bach
and have an emotional experience and then the next minute be laughing hysterically. I finished with the song for women written for me in
Afghanistan. I translated the Pashtu poem for them before I played it. They were on their feet again.
In the afternoon I played for two men’s groups, also a drug rehab class. They were not as responsive as the women, but a group of musicians in the
front row more than made up for it. Afterwards we went to the arts room and they played for me. They were from all three racial groups and all
played in different bands, so they had no common repertoire, and had never played together. Violetta was pretty horrified at how it sounded, but I
loved watching the interaction and the mutual respect. Nelson is an African American bass and guitar and every other instrument virtuoso who plays
blues and funk and told me, he loved me man. One of the Mexican’s had played twice with Tito Puente before he died. A country singer from
Arkansas sang a song he had written about getting over drugs and alcohol and I told him he was a huge talent. I was interested to find out that most
of the musicians Violetta had in her program had begun playing in prison. She explained that most of the band members in the four bands she has
work during the day so the plan is for me to stay into the evening next time so I can coach them.
The last night of my short tour I played a fundraiser in Venice, on the beach in Grace and Hasty Arnold’s beautiful house, presented by Grace and
new board member Lori Weis. During the conversations afterward, I reflected on how much I’ve had an opportunity to learn about prisons,
Afghanistan, and Palestine. I’m very grateful.
Dobbs performing for Afghan community in Freemont
Boys performing for Afghan Community in Freemont
Audience in "Little Kabul"
San Quentin State Prison
The next day I was at Solano Prison in Vacaville near Sacramento. I was greeted by the
facilitator Bill Scholer, who was waiting outside for me. He’s an affable guy with an easy
manner. He told me that he had a band outside the prison, “The Joy Buzzards” (they have
a funky , good time, jug band kind of sound). Another band he was in, Barry "The Fish"
Melton from Country Joe, played at the Hells Angels 50th anniversary party at the
Oakland clubhouse, with 700 Hell's Angels from all over the world inside and 200 police
surrounding the clubhouse on the outside(with helicopter). “Wow”, I said. He had
gathered a group that was exclusively artists: painters, musicians and writers. They also
videotaped the whole performance so that they and others could see it later. I played
against a backdrop of wonderful paintings done by the inmates. When I finished the
Bach, I asked as I always do, if anyone had any questions and immediately a huge black
inmate in the front row said, “Not a question, but a reaction”, and proceeded to tell a
long story covering all six movements of the suite about a gazelle searching for
something, then taken prisoner and suffering in captivity, and finally being set free again.
I’d like to take him around to all my concerts. When I finished the stories, the questions
went on for another half hour.
facilitator Bill Scholer, who was waiting outside for me. He’s an affable guy with an easy
manner. He told me that he had a band outside the prison, “The Joy Buzzards” (they have
a funky , good time, jug band kind of sound). Another band he was in, Barry "The Fish"
Melton from Country Joe, played at the Hells Angels 50th anniversary party at the
Oakland clubhouse, with 700 Hell's Angels from all over the world inside and 200 police
surrounding the clubhouse on the outside(with helicopter). “Wow”, I said. He had
gathered a group that was exclusively artists: painters, musicians and writers. They also
videotaped the whole performance so that they and others could see it later. I played
against a backdrop of wonderful paintings done by the inmates. When I finished the
Bach, I asked as I always do, if anyone had any questions and immediately a huge black
inmate in the front row said, “Not a question, but a reaction”, and proceeded to tell a
long story covering all six movements of the suite about a gazelle searching for
something, then taken prisoner and suffering in captivity, and finally being set free again.
I’d like to take him around to all my concerts. When I finished the stories, the questions
went on for another half hour.
Farther south, I came to Soledad prison outside of Salinas, near Monterrey. Jack Bowers also met me outside. He’s a jazz pianist, composer and
arranger who’s played around the bay area for years. “I retired last year but they didn’t fill the position so I’m back.” As we walked to the music
room, he pointed out the block where the panthers had been incarcerated back in the 60s. The music room is filled with instruments of all kinds,
including a bass. “Yeah , I called Yamaha one time and somehow got them to donate a huge number of instruments.” There are about 65 chairs in the
room. “Every one will be filled. This is an interesting group. They’re all musicians, some professional some beginners, but they all can read music
because I taught them last year. But here’s the thing. A bunch of them came to me and said, ok we know the theory of reading music but we aren’t
any good at it. So I got a bunch of recorders and I’m teaching them a sight reading class.” These guys are motivated. “When I started out here I
organized some bands, and first thing you know the Mexicans are complaining that the black guys get all the good instruments, and the white guys
that the Mexicans are always rehearsing when they want to etc. etc. You know in prison everything is divided racially. So I said to them, You’re
musicians, you have more in common with each other than with anyone else. I don’t want to hear any more of that crap. It worked out and there are
18 bands in here now." As the inmates filed in it was obvious that this was true. They were a completely homogeneous group, the only segregation
was by Jack, “Bass players in the front row”. There were eight - all electric. A hush came over the room as I played Bach. It was as if they were
sucking it in, using every particle of music to nourish themselves. As soon as I finished the questions started. “What kind of strings do you use?”
“How do you tune that again?” “Are you making a living doing this?” “How do you practice?” “What was your career path?” “I’m a blue grass
fiddler. Should I go to a camp when I get out or just try to find a teacher?” “I’m a violinist, and Jack just handed me this book of scale exercises. I
don’t think I could get through the first 4 measures, and the book is 43 pages long?” It was like a group of conservatory seniors asking advice about
starting their careers, except conservatory students would never be this engaged and intense. They hung on every word as if I were coming from
another world bringing news and help, which I was. They stayed and talked til the last possible moment. Afterwards I said to Jack, “I see why you
came back.” “Yeah, I couldn’t stay away.”
arranger who’s played around the bay area for years. “I retired last year but they didn’t fill the position so I’m back.” As we walked to the music
room, he pointed out the block where the panthers had been incarcerated back in the 60s. The music room is filled with instruments of all kinds,
including a bass. “Yeah , I called Yamaha one time and somehow got them to donate a huge number of instruments.” There are about 65 chairs in the
room. “Every one will be filled. This is an interesting group. They’re all musicians, some professional some beginners, but they all can read music
because I taught them last year. But here’s the thing. A bunch of them came to me and said, ok we know the theory of reading music but we aren’t
any good at it. So I got a bunch of recorders and I’m teaching them a sight reading class.” These guys are motivated. “When I started out here I
organized some bands, and first thing you know the Mexicans are complaining that the black guys get all the good instruments, and the white guys
that the Mexicans are always rehearsing when they want to etc. etc. You know in prison everything is divided racially. So I said to them, You’re
musicians, you have more in common with each other than with anyone else. I don’t want to hear any more of that crap. It worked out and there are
18 bands in here now." As the inmates filed in it was obvious that this was true. They were a completely homogeneous group, the only segregation
was by Jack, “Bass players in the front row”. There were eight - all electric. A hush came over the room as I played Bach. It was as if they were
sucking it in, using every particle of music to nourish themselves. As soon as I finished the questions started. “What kind of strings do you use?”
“How do you tune that again?” “Are you making a living doing this?” “How do you practice?” “What was your career path?” “I’m a blue grass
fiddler. Should I go to a camp when I get out or just try to find a teacher?” “I’m a violinist, and Jack just handed me this book of scale exercises. I
don’t think I could get through the first 4 measures, and the book is 43 pages long?” It was like a group of conservatory seniors asking advice about
starting their careers, except conservatory students would never be this engaged and intense. They hung on every word as if I were coming from
another world bringing news and help, which I was. They stayed and talked til the last possible moment. Afterwards I said to Jack, “I see why you
came back.” “Yeah, I couldn’t stay away.”
Solano Prison
