“Tomorrow, do not wear aftershave or cologne.”
It’s BC – Before COVID. I had just finished a speaking tour. I’m in Miami, having dinner with my wife, Sarika, and Chim Francisco – a Toastmasters District Director for Southern Florida. On this tour, Chim had gotten me a few Fortune 500 speaking engagements, and I was the keynote speaker at her conference.
My wife and I had decided to spend a few extra days in South Beach.
Chim: “Ed, since you have some extra time on your hands, would you consider speaking at the Everglades Correctional Institution?”
Ed: “What’s that?”
Chim: “It’s a prison.”
Images of the movie Shawshank Redemption race through my mind. Not the good parts!
Ed: “No, thank you, Chim.”
Chim: “Ed, no need to worry, you will be speaking to the Gavel Club Toastmasters. These are the best-behaved inmates in prison. Being a member of this club is a privilege. No one wants their privileges taken away. And since you are a Toastmasters World Champion of Public Speaking, they would consider it an honor.”
Did she hear herself say, “best-behaved inmates in prison?” This was not a selling point!
Chim had gotten me a few speaking engagements on this tour. I felt I owed her.
“Yes,” I said reluctantly.
As we are leaving the restaurant, Chim says,
“Tomorrow, do not wear aftershave or cologne.”
Curiously, I ask, “Why?”
“The inmates have been locked up for a long time, and they have a heightened sense of smell.”
When my wife and I got back in our rental car, Sarika laughed so hard I thought she was having an epileptic seizure.
She reaches into her purse and starts spraying me with Chanel No. 5 perfume.
Sarika: “Come on, Baby! Give them a little something-something!”
Ed: “Didn’t you near her? Give them nothing-nothing!”
My wife teases me the entire evening.
Later that night, I Googled the Everglades Correctional Institution (ECI) and discovered it was a “Level 5” facility –this means maximum security.
The highest security is a supermax prison. This is where infamous inmates were kept like John Gotti and the Unabomber.
Think of ECI like diet Coke – all the danger, none of the celebrities.
What was I thinking?
“Chim’s a good friend. Right?”
“She would not put me in danger. Right?”
Later that evening, I’m thinking, “How well do I really know this woman?”
My wife is laughing non-stop in the background.
The following day, we (Chim and me) arrive early at the prison for a ‘safety briefing.’
They should rename it and call it ‘What to do in case of a prison riot.’
WTF!
I took copious riot notes!
Once the lecture is over, the guard hands me a device that looks like a garage door opener.
“What’s this?” I asked.
“A Body-Alarm.”
Two words I never thought I would hear in the same sentence!
“How does it work?”
“If you press the button, the prison will be shut down, and then every guard will come to your rescue.’
I said, “Great! Let’s test it!”
The guard demanded, “Don’t push the button!”
“What do you mean, don’t press the button!? Let’s make sure it works! Let’s do a drill!”
“Don’t push the button! It is to be used only in emergencies. And besides, you are not in jeopardy.”
“Sir, I am a handsome man in prison! This is the Wikipedia definition of jeopardy!”
I continued my inquiry:
“When was the last time you tested the batteries? It’s April. Did you change them on January 1st? We are in Miami, where people like to party on New Year’s eve. Who’s to say that the person who was responsible for my body-alarm wasn’t drunk! And they forgot to put in new batteries!”
“What type of batteries are in my Body-Alarm? Duracell? Eveready?”
“Oh, God! Please don’t tell me that these are the lowest bidder batteries in my body-alarm.”
Sternly, the guard says, “Don’t push the button!”
As we are walking towards the meeting room, I imagine that the room layout will be similar to an episode of the television series Law & Order – The inmates would be behind bullet-proof glass, 8-feet away, and I would be safe on the other side.
But it turned out to be more like an episode of the TV show The Property Brothers. This presentation room had an ‘open plan!’
No glass. No bars. No safety.
This wasn’t the architectural design I had in mind!
The meeting room was 15 yards deep and 10 yards wide, with 250 inmates and one guard posted at the room’s back.
Can I press the button now? This feels like jeopardy! We need backup!
A series of questions raced through my mind:
• Why is there only one guard?
• Where is his machine gun?
• Where is MY machine gun?
• What isn’t he posted at the podium next to me?
• Is Chim really my friend?
Thank God, I didn’t wear Cologne!
Finally, I begin my talk.
Initially, I was supposed to give a prepared presentation complete with a slide deck, that had been approved by the warden.
The moment I stepped before these men, I knew I would never touch my laptop. These prisoners don’t do PowerPoint.
These prisoners don’t do PowerPoint.
I decided to tell them a brief story to get them laughing, and then I would take their questions.
The first question was from a 25-year-old white guy:
“I’m out on parole next week. How will it be for me on the outside?”
Complete silence.
I asked the young man and the entire group,
“Do I have your permission to speak frankly?”
He said, “Yes.”
“All of you have a stigma, and metaphorically a scarlet letter stamped onto your chest. You will always be marked, and you’ll always be judged, despite paying your dues to society.”
“It’s not fair. It’s human nature.”
It will be ten times harder for you to get a job.
You’ve got several choices:
1. Go back to the same habits that got you here. According to Google, over 80% of you will return to prison or be dead within eight years.
2. Avoid the circumstances and people you previously associated with and accept that it will be ten times harder for you to find a job and commit to not stopping until you get a job. Don’t let excuses take you back to a life of crime.
That’s how the conversation went for the next 90-minutes.
It was a real-talk, rather than a speech.
It was real-talk, rather than a presentation.
It was real-talk.
A page from the spiral-bound notebook, drafted in thanks by the inmates.
A month later, I received a bound notebook with 47 handwritten letters of appreciation from Everglades Correctional Institute inmates.
Here is one excerpt:
“Coming to a prison can be a scary thing. Most people wouldn’t think twice about walking in a prison and much less talk to a group of inmates.
Men behind bars are usually forgotten. They feel voiceless and, at times, hopeless. Your message gave us hope.”
Looking back on my speaking career, this will be one of the most meaningful moments.
The moral of the story: Do something daily you don’t feel like doing.
At Ed Tate & Associates, we help individuals, teams, and organizations win high-stakes presentations. There is always something in our lives that we don’t feel like doing, but we must, like speaking at a prison.
Chim is an excellent friend.
Of course, the title led me to your story Ed, simply out of curiousity: great hook! I also love your sense of humour and I burst out laughing a few times. However, you seem to have a natural way of linking your stories to the serious yet important and practical message that people can relate to. I’m not at all surprised that you deeply touched the inmates’ lives. Thank you for sharing the essence of you and this story. ( I can actually hear you delivering it with your voice and accent: so memorable!) <3
It was truly a remarkable experience to have been visited and treated with such dignity and respect as Mr. Tate did. We had such an amazing and fun time that day. I was honored to have been the President of Draft Picks Toastmasters club and to be able to witness such a moment for our club that day. Events such as these truly boost our spirit to become better not only as people, but as speakers and leaders. I know that prison seems like a different world (because it is), but everyone can still be impacted just the same-if not more. When we heard that a World Champion of Public Speaking was coming to speak to us, it changed our lives forever. We finally felt like we were a part of something bigger than our past. Thank you for giving us this moment.