The opening song of The Witness, a musical by Carol and Jimmy Owens, made thin echoes as it bounced off the high domed walls of the “Bubble” at Collins Correctional Facility in western New York. The inmates, dressed in dark green coveralls, leaned forward in the folding chairs and strained to make out the words.
The director, Tony Chiarilli, had warned his group of 55 singers not to stare out at the captive audience separated from them by an open space of guarded floor. “It’s been really tough for us to break into prison,” Tony warned. “Let’s not spoil our professional image by being rude.”
But Tony’s eyes strayed often to the attentive audience, whose members were surprisingly young. As the choir went to work, he remembered the beginnings of the singing group in the winter of 1984. At the suggestion of another parishioner who had seen a performance of The Witness, Tony, a high school English teacher, built a cast of members from his church (Immaculate Conception, of Eden, New York).
Immaculate Conception’s pastor and assistant pastor were active in prison ministries, as were some choir members. Jesus’ words, “I was in prison and you visited me” (Matt. 25:36), served to nudge the group further. Tony called a meeting to discuss performing the play in prison. Most of the singers were willing to carry out Jesus’ instructions to visit prisoners, but they also felt nervous about performing for a large group of criminals. Would the inmates boo? Throw food? Capture the children (young singers and dancers) and hold them for ransom? These wild fears had to be talked out before the group agreed that the Spirit meant for them to sing to the inmates.
The next hurdle was permission to perform in the prison. At first the state insisted that only 20 people could sing. But eventually the authorities relented and consented to allowing the entire choir of 55 people to perform.
Time seemed an enemy on the evening of the play. Tony stressed the importance of leaving no later than 5:30 so everyone would clear security and have time for prayer and a warm-up song. The play had to begin at 7:30, ready or not. Most group members skipped supper in order to dress in their home-designed costumes, put on full stage makeup, and catch the rented school bus before it left the church parking lot. The foyer of the church that hectic evening echoed with nervous doubts.
“Does everyone have proof of identity?” Tony worried, mopping his face with a wilted sash.
“I had to pin my license to my cloak. Will the pin clear the metal detector?” one woman asked.
“I put my library card in my shoe. Hope I don’t sweat my signature off!”
“Where can I put my car keys?” A general concern.
One lady turned back the edge of her tunic to reveal three throat lozenges taped to the material. Think they’ll keep me in jail if they find these?”
“You can always swallow the evidence,” someone else joked.
The nervous group left the church parking lot on time.
A soft rain fell as the bus turned in at the prison gate. Nervous performers waited on the bus as armed guards took groups of 10 to 15 through security. The metal detector went off as one choir member stumbled through the narrow doorway. The buckles on her sandles contained too much metal. She removed them and went through again with no problem.
After everyone cleared security, they were ushered in small groups down a fenced walkway, through several gates that clanged shut behind them, past huge rolls of sharp barbed wire, and on to the Bubble, an amphitheater enclosed by plastic walls and ceiling. A revolving door admitted them one at a time to the evening’s stage—a hall big enough to play football in. The music had already started.
As the singers milled around and tried to adjust themselves to the problems of a wide-open stage, a prison host warned everyone to keep a clear distance from the inmates. (The group learned later that, had they mingled with the prisoners, the inmates would have had to undergo a strip-search before returning to the dormitories.)
The Witness Group joined hands in a large circle and offered prayers for a meaningful performance. The correctional staff members were invited into the prayer circle, but they shook their heads and adjusted the weapons and walkie-talkies that hung from each belt.
Now, the inmates listened, the correctional officers patroled, and the choir sang with gusto. The play is based on Peter’s witness to Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection. During an early scene, Mary, sung by Kathleen Kopryanski, held the baby Jesus (actually a Cabbage Patch doll, since a real infant was not allowed in the prison). Later the dancers performed, most of them children 10 to 14 years old, and the prisoners watched with close attention. “Do they miss their children, their sisters, their nieces?” Tony wondered.
During the Hosanna scene, a reenactment of Christ’s triumphant entry into Jerusalem, the singers flung fresh flowers into the audience. At this moment, everyone in the group caught a glimpse of the meaning of prison. The inmates, heedless of warnings from the alarmed guards, captured the flowers with glad cries and held them up to their faces.
When the play ended, the prisoners stood, waved their flowers, and would not stop clapping and whistling.
But the group wondered later if the applause meant mere appreciation for a night’s diversion from prison boredom.
The following week, a letter arrived from Collins. Tony read it at the weekly song practice.
“Dear Brothers and Sisters,
“I was present at your play The Witness at Collins in the Bubble. I thank all persons involved in the production and actual participation of such a well-done performance.… I was very moved. You made me feel like a person again.… I sincerely thank everyone involved for bringing some joy and the word of God into my life.”
By Cecile Bauer, a free-lance writer now living in Sacramento, California.
