In a documentary film at a conference I just attended, the directors reveal that 75% of New Jersey's prison population (70% nationally) are functionally illiterate. Poignantly and profoundly, the film tracks a number o inmates at the maximum security prison through their educational enlightenment; one fellow, for example, repeated the second grade course five times. Others had the damnedest time distinguishing, for example, "b's" from "p's," to their chagrin and social retardation. But the most moving aspect of the picture was the at times bright-eyed and trusting zest the inmates took to their chance to succeed, often revealing childish hopes and enthusiasms captivating for their winsomeness, only too often to dissolve into disappointment and dejection in the face of a hopeless task, like glimpsing a frbidden promised land. These frustrations are palpable at times, never more so than before intervention (arrest and corrections), as illustrated in the story of the man who couldn't spell "murder," the crime he was serving his life for.
