Happy Thanksgiving!
Today, I’ll share a story about a very special Thanksgiving dinner and party that took place inside the Ohio Reformatory for Women (ORW).
It was 15 years ago, and I was living in a housing unit called C Corridor, which was on the second floor of what once had been the infirmary. There were only 40 inmates total on the unit, and we were a tight-knit group, living in “the best kept secret in all of ORW.” That was due to its honor dorm status and the rigorous interview process we went through to be housed there. Most of us were serving a significant number of years, so we related to one another on a unique level.
When November rolled around, we decided we needed an activity to combat the inevitable homesickness that accompanies the holiday season. So, we asked permission from our unit manager to have a Thanksgiving dinner and party. She recognized that it would be a great way to build morale in our little community, so she granted permission.
We started brainstorming and planning. We wanted decorations, dinner and games with prizes, so we had to figure out how to make our ideas come to life. Everyone agreed to contribute to the meal, which was a going to be a potluck. Then we broke up into small groups, and each group had a task.
As Thanksgiving Day approached, the decoration team turned our rec room into a winter wonderland. There were paper snowflakes everywhere, streamers made of toilet paper (this was pre-COVID, and toilet paper was plentiful), tablecloths made from old bed sheets that had been painted with fall scenes and foil stars made from the inside of potato chip bags hanging from the ceiling.
It was festive and delightful, especially considering our otherwise stark prison surroundings.
Somehow, the team found enough chairs for everyone because we were determined to eat all together in the same room. That was the point – to be together in lieu of being with our families. Just like the old Stephen Stills song goes, “If you can’t be with the one you love, honey, love the one you’re with.”
To make our dinner, we used ingredients purchased from the commissary or received in food boxes sent by our families. Our tiny, secondary rec/quiet room, designated for studying or reading, was temporarily turned into a mini-kitchen, and lots of noisy, chaotic, happy cooking ensued.
We took turns using the microwave, and, to this day, I don’t know how it ran almost continuously in the 24 hours leading up to the dinner without short circuiting, but it did. It must have been God’s special blessing to us.
Ours was far from a traditional Thanksgiving meal; there was no turkey, stuffing, cranberries or pie. Instead, there was pasta salad, tuna salad, refried beans, deviled eggs (from our breakfast trays in the chow hall that morning), pizza bites and macaroni and cheese.
We also had chips, pretzels, cookies, cakes (made from cookies) and peanut butter fudge.
Everyone brought something different to the table, and the diversity was amazing. It became our own version of the loaves and the fishes: We had filled our bowls to the rim, but there was still an immense amount of leftovers.
The most poignant part of dinner was actually two parts. The first was our community prayer to thank God for His many gifts, among them the opportunity to have such a nice day together and the food we were about to eat.
The second part was when we went around the room and, one by one, shared what we were thankful for. In the worldly scheme of things, we don’t have much – we were just inmates in a prison rec room, combining resources for the good of all.
Yet emotionally, one after another, we expressed gratitude for what we did have: our families at home and their love and support. We were grateful to be making positive changes in our lives and hoping for a second chance in society one day.
After dinner, it was time for “Macy’s Thanksgiving Bingo!” I was in charge of that, and my roommate and two other women were on my team. I borrowed a Bingo game and cards from the recreation department but needed prizes, so I made an announcement in our hallway asking for donations.
Talk about “ask and you shall receive!” Donations came in droves, and within a few days I had a trash bag full of stuff: candy, snacks, chips, coffee, makeup, socks, hair accessories, puzzle books, items purchased from the commissary or received in sundry boxes. The generosity was unbelievable.
My team and I spent two days wrapping everything in newspaper or state paper (which another group had decorated) to turn each prize into a surprise.
Instead of traditional B-I-N-G-O, we covered the letters with paper that spelled M-A-C-Y-S. And when someone would win, she had to call out “Macy’s Thanksgiving Bingo!” Getting all those syllables out in one breath is tougher than you might think. Then, the winner would choose and unwrap her prize, and everyone would “oooh” and “ahhh” at whatever it was. The laughter and smiles were unstoppable.
Throughout the day, we took turns calling home to talk with our families for a precious few minutes. I noticed fewer tears were shed that particular Thanksgiving. There was a little more joy. There was a sense of strength in numbers, of lifting one another up. Most of all, I recognized how God blessed us – even behind prison bars.
Michele Williams is an inmate at the Ohio Reformatory for Women.
