by Elton Kelley, San Quentin State Prison, CA
Seldom during my time of incarceration have I found anything of significant beauty. I understand it’s prison, after all, and beauty is not normally to be associated and certainly is not one of the prison’s design criterion.
A couple of years ago I spotted some deer grazing on the hill situated on the northwest end of San Quentin Peninsula where California’s oldest prison is located. The hilltop is visible from most vantage points within the facility so nearly anyone interested can catch a peek of whatever is going on up there.
On this day a doe and her fawn widely nipping at the tips of succulent blades of hillside grasses. The fawn’s spotted coat triggered recollections of Disney’s “Bambi.” For a moment I supposed for it, a pet’s name as I watched them traverse one of the east-west trails they had carved in the vegetation.
In springtime of the next year, I was able to spot a solo yearling who had somehow managed to walk through the front gate. I considered it may have been the previous year’s fawn. I also wondered if instead it hopped over the perimeter fence, avoiding its concertina wire, or possibly it swam around that portion of the fence that protrudes a few yards into the shark-infested northern waters of the Bay of San Francisco. I’m guessing as to how Yearling got in, of course.
Regardless, I thought its present on the prison grounds was fairly cool. Even more so that it went about its business without appearing disturbed by the occasional human passing by as it wandered the roadsides eating grass sprouts and other deer delicacies.
Then there’s the other critters that call San Quentin home and like to feast on the grounds: Canada geese, seagulls, sparrows and their cornered nests, pigeons, raven, finch and mallards. Always each year brings fresh crops of wild youngsters. Usually the two-web-footed kind. So seeing the yearling, the doe and her fawn were real things of beauty to me. I wasn’t moved to wetted eyes or anything. But still being moved by beauty while in prison was significant for me. It showed that my emotions were not shunted by the system. Yet.
Last night I cried. Perhaps only the second time during my term of incarceration. The first time was after realizing I had been railroaded into taking a bum deal from the State’s prosecuting attorney. I was particularly upset that my own attorney didn’t support me better, but that’s another story.
The second time I cried was last night. KQED, our local PBS station aired a program called “Concert For George,” a tribute to one of the original Beatles who died November 29th, 2001. The program first aired on the one year anniversary of George Harrison’s passing, succumbing to cancer.
A number of gifted and talented artists appeared on stage. To include a few would include Eric Clapton, Tom Petty, Billy Preston, Monty Python and many, many others. They flooded the stage to the point of it being overcrowded. George’s son, Dhani, took center stage with his acoustic and electric guitars.
George’s lido Olivia Harrison was said to comment on the likeness of Dhanie to George, “It looks like George stayed young and everyone else got old.” Yes, the resemblance between father and son is that strong.
Ringo Starr introduced Paul McCartney as “another of George’s friends…” It would be as close to a reunion of The Beatles as we will now ever get. In turn, both Ringo and Paul rendered memorable playlists personifying their relationships with George. I was moved in seeing such great musicians coming together for the memorial cause. Social decorum is still alive and doing quite well.
Over the course of the two-hour broadcast, edited for time constraints, the ensembles played, “While My Guitar Gently Weeps.” The sheer beauty of the rendition moved me to tears. And again my emotions were racked when they played “My Sweet Lord,” both in long form riffs.
As I sat there reclined in my comfort, blankets wrapping me into cocoon, I was struck with how I had somehow been so busy with my insignificant seeming life twenty years ago, (when the program first aired in 2002 that I somehow missed this phenomenal event that closed appropriately with (the song), “I’ll See You In My Dreams.” I can’t imagine a dry eye in the theatre.
Personally, my tears were in appreciation of such acoustic beauty. My tears also served to remind me not to be so wrapped up in myself that I missed the finer, important things in life.
As I said in my opening, seldom does one who is incarcerated get to see real beauty while on the inside. I can say I did. Both inside myself and on the screen. It moved me, and I loved it, tremendously. In fact, I watched two more repeat airings that night, staying up until 3am.