Disclaimer:

The scripts featured on this website are intended for future YouTube videos and reflect a working draft format. While I strive for academic honesty and transparency in all my work, please note that these scripts may lack formal citations or the refined phrasing found in my more traditional academic writing.

Additionally, the tone of these scripts is often less formal to align with the conversational style of video content. Scripts may undergo further changes, refinements, and revisions when it’s time to film. That said, I am committed to accuracy and thoughtful exploration of the topics I cover. Thank you for understanding and joining me on this creative journey!

“I’m Going to Prison… to Teach!”

For years, I’ve driven past the local prison here in Lompoc, this huge, imposing complex sitting out in the middle of nowhere. It’s one of those places you pass and can’t help but wonder about—what life is really like inside those walls. Not in a “true-crime documentary binge” kind of way, but more as a literary question. Dostoevsky’s Notes from a Dead House has always fascinated me—it’s this raw, unflinching look at the human experience in incarceration. And every time I passed the prison, I thought, What would it be like to step into that world? To teach there? To connect with people living lives so far removed from mine?

It always felt like a “someday” kind of dream, but then, out of nowhere, I got an email from Allan Hancock College asking if I’d like to teach in the prison. The universe had spoken. At first, I hesitated—I mean, my kids are still young, and I thought this was something to do later in life. But then I thought, If the universe gives you an opportunity like this, who am I to say no? So, I took the leap.

This video kicks off my Teaching in Prison Odyssey, a four-part series where I’ll walk you through this entire experience. In this episode, we’ll focus on the “before” stage—my thoughts, expectations, and preparation as I got ready to step into a classroom unlike anything I’ve taught in before. In Episode 2, I’ll share my first impressions of what it’s like teaching in prison and how it all compared to what I imagined. By Episode 3, we’ll dive into the deeper lessons and challenges I faced, and finally, in Episode 4, I’ll reflect on how this journey has shaped me as a person and teacher.

If you’ve ever been curious about what it’s like to teach in a prison—or just want to hear a wild story about stepping out of your comfort zone—you’re in the right place. So, grab a coffee, settle in, and let’s dive into Episode 1: I’m Going to Prison… to Teach!

Motivations and Goals

So, why did I say yes to teaching in a prison? The short answer is that I wanted to challenge myself. The longer answer? I’ve always believed that growth happens when you step outside your bubble—when you take on something that makes you uncomfortable, something that forces you to see the world in a new way. And for me, this felt like one of those rare opportunities to truly push myself.

On a personal level, I was craving a transformative experience. Life as a teacher can be a routine—rewarding, but predictable. This was different. Here was a chance to test not just my teaching skills, but my moral and artistic mettle. I wanted to walk into a place I’d only ever imagined, meet people whose lives were so different from mine, and see how it would change me. Would I come out with a new perspective? A deeper understanding of human nature? Or just a ton of stories to tell at parties? Either way, I was ready for whatever came next.

On a professional level, there were a few perks, too. First off, I get to call myself “Professor.” I mean, how cool is that? It’s one of those little titles that carries weight, even if you’re just a guy with a beard and an English degree. But beyond that, this felt like real professional development. Teaching in a prison isn’t just about delivering a lesson plan—it’s about figuring out how to reach people in a setting where resources are limited, emotions run high, and trust isn’t given freely. It’s a masterclass in adaptability, and I wanted to see how my teaching voice would evolve in such a radically different environment.

But it wasn’t just about professional growth. There’s also the artist in me—the person who reads Dostoevsky and Paradise Lost for fun and can’t resist the allure of a good existential challenge. I wanted to step into this world not just as a teacher, but as someone who thrives on the intersection of literature and real-life experience. Could this be the kind of shift that inspires new ideas, changes how I think about storytelling, or pushes me to question the assumptions I didn’t even know I had? That’s what I was hoping for.

Ultimately, I went into this knowing I wouldn’t have all the answers. But I was ready to ask the questions, to engage with this environment, and to see what it would give back.

Expectations and Assumptions

When I thought about what teaching in a prison would actually look like, I had some pretty vivid mental images. First and foremost, I imagined a heavily controlled environment. Guards stationed in the classroom, maybe a security camera in the corner, and strict rules about where I could go, what I could bring, and how much interaction I could have with the students. I pictured it as a tense atmosphere—structured, orderly, and not particularly warm. After all, this is a prison, not a college campus.

And the students? I had a lot of assumptions there, too. For one, I expected them to be disciplined—not because they had to be, but because this was an opportunity they wouldn’t want to waste. I imagined a diverse group, mostly Chicanos, Latinos, and Black Americans, reflecting the systemic inequalities in incarceration. I assumed their offenses would vary—drug charges, maybe some abusers, and a few with more serious crimes on their records. But their educational backgrounds were my biggest question mark. Would they have the skills to tackle complex texts? Would they be able to engage in academic discussions? Or would I need to break everything down to its most basic level just to keep the class moving?

I went in with a pretty optimistic view of their behavior, though. I figured they’d be motivated and focused. After all, prison education isn’t something you’re forced into—it’s a choice. And if you’ve chosen to be in a classroom instead of somewhere else, chances are you want to learn. That said, I was still bracing myself for a wide range of skill levels. I knew some students would be ready to analyze Dostoevsky or Orwell, while others might struggle with basic literacy. My challenge would be finding ways to engage everyone without leaving anyone behind.

Then there were the logistical hurdles I expected. For one, I knew I wouldn’t have access to the internet or any digital resources in the classroom. No PowerPoints, no Google searches, no quick videos to illustrate a point. Everything had to be on paper, and that meant a lot of prep work on my part. I also worried about getting books for the class. The idea of asking students who earned a few cents an hour to pay for their own books felt absurd. Luckily, Allan Hancock College stepped up and covered the costs, so we had class copies. Still, I knew resources would be limited, and I’d have to get creative to make the material accessible.

And then there was the balance between academic rigor and engagement. I wanted to challenge my students, to push them to think critically and deeply, but I also knew I couldn’t overwhelm them. Striking that balance was something I’d have to figure out on the fly, and I was equal parts excited and nervous about it.

In short, I had big plans and a lot of optimism—but I was also prepared for some serious curveballs. How much of what I imagined matched reality? Well, that’s a story for Episode 2.

Preparation

When it came to preparing for this role, I had to do a lot of thinking—and printing. But let’s start with the big picture: the curriculum. I knew I wanted to bring something meaningful, something that would resonate with the unique experiences of my students. So I created three potential paths.

The first option was Dostoevsky’s Notes from a Dead House, a semi-autobiographical account of life in a Siberian prison in the 1840s. It’s raw, reflective, and painfully human—a perfect mirror for anyone trying to grapple with what incarceration means on a personal and societal level. Plus, I couldn’t resist the literary symmetry of prisoners in the 21st century comparing their experiences to those of Dostoevsky’s time.

The second was Viktor Frankl’s Man’s Search for Meaning. Here, I planned to take a logotherapeutic approach, exploring how people survive and find meaning in the toughest of circumstances. The book’s themes of resilience and purpose seemed perfect for fostering deep discussions.

And then there was option three: Orwell’s 1984. This curriculum was going to dive into political theory and dystopian fiction, using Orwell’s work to examine how systems of power operate and how individuals navigate oppression. With all the political subtext surrounding incarceration, I thought this could open up some fascinating conversations.

Ultimately, I went with Dostoevsky. It just felt right for a prison class—raw, direct, and unflinching. Plus, the historical context gave us a chance to talk about how much (or how little) the prison experience has changed over time. Of course, choosing Notes from a Dead House meant securing enough copies for the class. Since the students earned pennies an hour, I couldn’t ask them to pay for the books, but thankfully Allan Hancock College covered the cost. Crisis averted.

Now, onto the logistics. Let’s just say my orientation was… brief. I don’t want to go into too much detail because I’d like to stay on the good side of the government, but it was essentially: fingerprinting, a list of dos and don’ts, and being sent to the wrong prison location (we’ll save that story for Episode 2). The highlights included some amusing rules, like avoiding certain clothing colors so you don’t blend in with the prisoners and—this one’s a gem—don’t dress too “slutty.” Because apparently, short skirts and prison classrooms are a no-go. Got it.

Another big adjustment was realizing just how limited my resources would be. No internet, no computers, no quick access to information. Everything had to be prepared in advance and printed out. And let me tell you, I went to town on the Allan Hancock copier. I’m pretty sure toner trembles at the sound of my name now. I had to make sure everything my students might need was physically in their hands, which meant endless copies of texts, discussion questions, and assignments.

Then there was the matter of being taken seriously. I’m 34, but I still look like I could be carded buying cough syrup. Combine that with teaching a subjective subject like English to grown men, some of whom have likely seen more of the world’s harsh realities than I ever will, and yeah—I was a little nervous. Would they respect me? Would they buy into what I was saying? English isn’t math or science; it’s about trust and belief in the instructor. If you don’t have that, you don’t have a classroom.

But despite all the prep work, nerves, and copier abuse, I was ready—or as ready as I could be. I had a plan, I had books, and I had a strange mix of optimism and curiosity driving me forward.

Closing Reflections and Series Setup

So, here I am, standing on the edge of this journey, equal parts excited and curious about what’s to come. Teaching in prison is unlike anything I’ve done before—it’s uncharted territory. And honestly, that’s what makes it so compelling. I’m stepping into the unknown, into a place where my expectations, plans, and assumptions will inevitably be tested.

But isn’t that the whole point of an odyssey? To step outside the safety of what you know and come back changed? That’s what I’m hoping for here—not just to teach, but to learn, to grow, and to come away with a perspective I couldn’t have gained any other way.

In the next episode, we’ll dive into my first impressions of teaching in prison. What was the environment actually like? How did the students compare to what I expected? And how did I handle those first few weeks of navigating this completely new space? Spoiler alert: not everything went according to plan.

Thank you for joining me on this journey. I hope you’ll stick around for Episode 2: I’m in Prison! Until then, I’m signing off, ready to take on this odyssey one step at a time.