Boston Sunday Globe

Toastmasters bar none

At Norfolk facility, inmates learn new ways of making their points

By Naomi R. Kooker
Globe Correspondent

NORFOLK- In a small classroom with four large windows, the Bob Rosenberg Toastmasters International Club holds its regular Tuesday-night meeting. The smell of coffee brewing lingers in the air.

The group is fairly small, about 17 men ranging in age from 20 to 50. There are goatees, shaved heads, and long hair. Two men are Muslim. They are dressed in jeans and faded T-shirts, sweatshirts, work books or sneakers- the usual attire at a medium-security prison.

Here the Bay State Correctional Center, surrounded by a chain-link fence and razor wire, the men have been convicted of crimes such as second degree murder, sexual assault, armed robbery; a handful expect life terms. So, in this precious hour and a half, without a uniformed guard present or chains shackled to ankles, the men get down to business - the business of conducting a meeting, improving communications skills, bolstering self-confidence. In a sense, it is the business of trust.

"The crimes, the races, everything stops at the door," says Paul, a muscular 33-year-old with a shaved head and a Harley Davidson tattoo on his bicep. "A reminder," he says, "of what I'll never have".

The Bob Rosenberg Club, named after a retired military man who established a Toastmaster Club at the Northeastern Correction Center (Concord Farm) years ago, is one of four clubs in the state Department of Correction system. Ted Taraski, a manager for a small manufacturer in the Franklin Industrial Park, is the link between the prisoners and the outside. "I like to think of Toastmasters as a tool, like learning a trade," Taraski says.

Some, like Donald, 40 originally just came for the coffee. Donald stayed, and ultimately found himself serving as president - until tonight. Tonight, he passes the gavel to George, who is quickly voted in. The reason for the transition of power? Donald hopes to be out of prison in two weeks. (Although inmates wear ID tags, they asked that their last names not be used.)

Tonight, they host a special guest. Darren LaCroix, 35, of Auburn just won the World Championship of Public Speaking, an annual contest held by Toastmasters International. He joined the Bose Speakers Toastmasters International Club years ago to foster his dream of being a stand up comedian. He recently left his 11 year job at Bose in Framingham to work his dream and be a keynote speaker full time.

The Bob Rosenberg was his first stop in practicing his award-winning speech, "Ouch!" - about how failure begets success if you are willing to "fall on your face." He promised the men, if he won, he would return. Tonight LaCroix makes good on his word.

"The humor keeps you going," says Michael, 30, who has a stash of material he wants to send to "Saturday Night Live." "You meet a lot of guys here who are very depressed."

"People here welcome me with opened hands," says George. "Something I never had in my life."

But some are less receptive, at least at first. Paul was weary of the welcoming handshake. "It seems, in prison, everybody has an angle," he says. "'What does this guy want from me?'"

Tonight, Paul delivers an intense monologue, a story that takes place in a department store. He says that he has practiced it 25 times earlier in the day to get it right.

A few smirks and chuckles escape from the audience, but then they fall silent. At the end many applaud, and some exhale audibly.

There are no statistics on whether inmates in the Toastmaster clubs have a lower rate of recidivism. But the silver-tongued plea for a parole or a transfer never hurts. "Basically, it benefits the inmates as far as it prepares them for future interviews for parole classification - so they can request another prison," says Jaileen Correira, correctional program officer for the Department of Correction. "They need to be able to articulate why they feel they're a good candidate to do that."

Many members, such as Paul and Michael, use their Toastmaster skills in other prison programs such as Prison Voices, where the prisoners talk to youth about their incarceration and learn to take responsibility for what they've done.

For Michael, it also provides him with confidence to present himself before the parole board.

"It's like our Toastmasters club, but more serious, it seems," says Taraski, a 10-year Toastmaster veteran.

From time to time, you can hear a distant car from Clark Street or Route 1A beyond. The only visible indication of Christmas within the chain-linked-fence and razor-wire landscape are pale poinsettias on a table in the administration building.

For an hour and a half, the men conduct their business meeting. Often they erupt with laughter and ride it out as long as they can. Speakers take turns. They socialize at the coffee break and make an effort to make a visitor feel comfortable. They follow an agenda. Omar delivers the thought of the day. He says: "Believe only half of what you hear, but make sure it is the right half."

James, 30, says he was blown away by LaCroix's winning speech. "Much better this time," he says. "Much more convincing to me."

And he was ecstatic that LaCroix, "a guy of that stature," singled him out and recognized him for his own passionate speech. "That's huge," James says.

At 8:30, a uniformed guard appears from the library next door and without dallying, ushers the men out. Leo calls it "the sad part."

"For the guys coming into prison, there's a tendency for them to forget someone cares," he says. "When someone comes in from the outside - like Ted and Darren - it shows someone cares."

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