2010: PrizCon and a life-saving book
This is the 6th in a short series of articles around my 4-decade+ career in software development — for your amusement, edification, and to capture a bit of computing history. They also bring back some memories for me, fond and otherwise.
Agile Java, a fat book of 750+ pages published in 2005, has literally saved at least one life. To get to that story, I need to talk about delivering the keynote to the first-ever software development technical conference at MCI. No, not that defunct telecomm company that I worked for in the 1990s; MCI here is Marion Correctional Institution, a prison located in the middle of Ohio.
Dan Wiebe had been running a “programming ministry” at the prison with a group of convicts (cons) to help them learn about software development. At one point, he asked them what programming language they might like to use. In 2010, the answer was Java, of course. Someone ended up recommending my book, Agile Java, as a great way to learn not just a language but also OO concepts and TDD as well.
As a result of his “Java Guys” adopting my book, Dan reached out to ask me if I wanted to talk to the inmates as part of a first-ever technical conference at the prison. Absolutely! I negotiated travel expenses and no other payment as part of setting up the trip.
On arrival at the prison, Dan ushered me out to his car in the parking lot so he could reimburse me for the travel. I was amused and a bit paranoid as he opened his trunk to retrieve and dole out a few hundred bucks in cash. I wondered what it must look like captured on the prison’s cameras, and half-expected to be nabbed and questioned.
Don’t tell, don’t ask
When I walked into the gymnasium where the conference was held, a clean-cut 20-something gentleman walked up to me and introduced himself as the one organizing the conference from the inside (i.e., he was a con). He told me he tried to have Johnny Cash play on their PA system as I walked in. That would’ve made the visit truly badass. I thought, “Maybe I should pour out a glass of filthy water during my talk.”
The event still seemed badass (for lack of a better word) to me — I stood next to convicted felons, not really thinking about the horrible things that they might’ve done to end up there. Well, I didn’t think about those horrible things until later in the day, when I conspiratorially stood shoulder-to-shoulder with a rather tall, intimidating guy and had a pleasant chat as we watched the conference proceedings.
It’s considered impolite to ask a con “what did you do” or “how long are you in for?” I didn’t. My towering chat companion broached the topic: “I’m up for parole. I’ve been in here eighteen years,” he said, smiling at the prospect of getting out. As I stood but a couple centimeters away, it was impossible not to wonder what got him in there for that duration, and thus impossible not to try and create at least a few inches more space between him and me.
The real badass
The conference was well-organized, maybe even a bit better than some extra-penitentiary “professional” conferences I’ve attended. I delivered a keynote, got a few laughs, maybe inspired a few inmates to build some cool apps, and then commandeered a gym corner as we broke out into an open-space-ish style conference.
The cons lapped up information, though almost all of them were at very introductory levels regarding programming. My carefully-crafted presentation delving into TDD-and-such was abandoned quickly in favor of a protracted open Q&A session.
No shivs or shanks for me by day end, so I must not have gotten under anyone’s skin too much. All the inmates seemed tremendously grateful for the conference and for the other coaches who gave talks. It was gratifying knowing that I helped bring a bit of hope and excitement to folks who might be able to use it as a piece of turning their lives around. That’s the real badass.
After the conference, I continued to get a bit of correspondence from Dan about his ministry, and over the years donated a few large boxes of programming books. I received a printed Christmas card (computer art!) signed by a pile of the Java Guys later that year (no, they do not have my home address, I was reassured).
In fact, the only malfeasance I encountered in the whole gamut of these prison interactions was the USPS basically “losing” one of the boxes of books. At least two friends — employees of said postal organization — suggested it wasn’t likely actually lost, just stolen en route. Pro tip: If you care about your package getting there, use a trustworthy company like UPS or FedEx.
My book saving a life?
Dan later relayed a story involving one of the cons who regularly attended the weekly Java Guys session. Apparently if a con didn’t get to the training room on time, they were locked out and had to return to their cell — too bad, they missed out on the session.
The hapless con, running late and racing through the halls, turned a corner just in time to encounter another inmate approaching the same corner in a wheelchair. He tripped on the wheelchair and went flying, along with the fat book, which landed with a hard Smack! on the concrete floor, maybe a millisecond before his head would have split open on said floor. The Java Guy’s head landed on the softer, fat book instead. Life saved.
You can still buy copies of Agile Java, cheaply because it’s now near 20 years old and stuck on Java version 5. It might save your life someday, even if you don’t end up in the clink.
You can read Dan’s version of the conference in his blog post, “PrizCon 2010: Possibly the World’s First One-Day Tech Conference in Prison.” I also later learned that the ministry sadly ended around 2015, when an inmate “turned the prison upside down” with a clever hacking scheme.
