I just spent two of the most nerve-wracking hours of my life. No, they weren’t spent trying to pay for copies at any of the copy centers on campus. They were spent at Stateville Prison outside Joliet. Yes, Stateville Prison which, now that I think about it, is quite similar to being at a copy center on campus trying to pay for copies.

But, no, really, a group of nineteen NIU College of Law students went to Stateville Prison last Thursday, and I, being the close personal friend of one of those students, was invited along. Some friend. Hey, thanks a lot.

Being known as a “wimp-ola” by a vast portion of the population, I was a little leery of going to a prison, but I figured we’d get a lecture by the warden, maybe see some of the cells (from an observation deck protected by bullet proof glass, of course), maybe see a prisoner or two …

Wishful thinking.

Upon arriving at the prison, we had to sign in, show some form of picture identification and were “frisked.” Men in one room. Women in another. Two at a time. Not only did the female security guard “frisk” me in some interesting places, she also made fun of my socks—black lace. The day was not off to a good start.

Our tour guide gathered everyone in a room and gave us a few warnings: Don’t engage in conversation with any of the prisoners. Don’t look at any of them. Stay close together, women in front, men in back. Move along quickly. He went on to tell us that the women in the group would be sexually hassled and that we might see some very bizarre behavior. Then he mentioned that we would be walking among the worst, most brutal criminal element our society has to offer. Gee, thanks for clearing that up.

As we made our way into the “round house,” a unit of cells which houses 400 or so prisoners, we came across a number of prisoners who were handcuffed at the wrists and some who were just moving about freely. They stopped to watch our bodies and verbalized some of what they were thinking. And let me tell you—they weren’t the sweet nothings you always hoped would be whispered in your ear one day. But, it was what I expected.

A guard with a shotgun stood watch in a tower. Our guide pointed to the ceiling where there was some serious damage and said they were the “warning shots.” He went on to tell us the prisoners are locked in their cells around the clock except for meals, classes and recreational time.

We spent the next two hours touring the facilities. We saw where the prisoners eat, take GED or college classes (which they get paid five dollars a month to do) and where they have recreational time. We saw their library, and at the request of our guide, got to speak to several of the prisoners. One was serving a nineteen-year, another a thirteen and a third a life sentence. I didn’t ask what they had done to be in the situation they are in. I didn’t want to know. I just kept my mouth shut.

In the middle of our tour, our guide mentioned that there is a contract out on his life right now because he stumbled upon some cocaine hidden in the prison and turned it in. Supposedly some of the prisoners aren’t too happy with him. How much was the contract for, we asked? A grand. At this point I decided it might be in my best interest to walk a little farther back in the line.

So, how did I find the prison? Basically how I expected it to be. I’ve never felt so vulnerable as I did during those two hours. My heart was literally beating in my throat. I wondered—what was to stop some prisoner from grabbing one of us? I mean, if he’s already doing life, what has he got to lose?

I’ll close by telling you what a prisoner with a nineteen-year sentence told us when he was asked what advice he could give us. Standing with his hands crossed in front of his chest and hiding behind a pair of very dark sunglasses, he said: “Don’t come here.”

Those are words to live by.