Real
Stories

People coming out of prison deserve a new beginning. Aaron Kirkland believes that wholeheartedly.

Radee Hammett isn’t hiding anything – not the trouble he got into as a young person, not his conviction, not the five years he spent in prison, or the nine years he spent under supervision.

Growing up in what she describes as Pennsylvania’s Appalachia, she witnessed it first-hand – deprivation, the constant wearying effort to make ends meet, a future with limited horizons.

As a longtime and newly retired public defender, Brad has brought freedom to thousands of people who were wrongfully confined in Pennsylvania's prisons.

Virginia has been participating with the Prison Society for nearly a quarter century, since her son Christopher was incarcerated in 2001.

Malika knows how important family visits are to incarcerated people. Now 30, she has been visiting her father in prison since she was six months old.

She was a young white woman in her 20s – college-educated, well-meaning, and holding down a job in a Philadelphia nonprofit where she thought she was making a difference, working for the good.

Nancy has more of an influence on my son’s well being than anyone. And I mean that 100 percent.

Greg began volunteering as a prison monitor in 2010. Over the years he has spent helping people, he has built up many similar relationships. As for the golfer, Greg attends his annual birthday party. “His sister makes the best tacos,” Greg said.

They were all incarcerated – sharing a five-bed hospital ward in prison, and James Bright, the Prison Society’s 2024 Corrections Employee of the Year honoree, was on duty as the corrections nurse in charge.

Prison Society volunteer Destiny Brown lives her passion in her regular visits to the Dauphin County jail as a prison monitor.

John has been the heart, soul, and face of the Prison Society for decades in facilities across Pennsylvania. But because John’s so modest, you’ll have to hear from others about the extraordinary impact he’s had on incarcerated people, their families, and the volunteers who help them as he transitions to his new part-time role as senior advisor.

When the Prison Society arranged for Gale Gordon to “see” her incarcerated son for the first time in three years, “tears rolled down my face,” she said, describing their video call via Zoom. “I could see him physically. I could see his whole body.

It’s heart wrenching when you are incarcerated. You wonder, ‘Are they ever going to talk to me again? Am I ever going to see them again?’ No answers. Just more questions. It wears on you.

I was living in a halfway house when my aunt encouraged me to attend one of the Society’s evening classes. This introduction—and my aunt’s belief that I could do better—changed my life.

My time was coming up and I knew it. I was supposed to be released from SCI-Camphill in December of 2021 and was looking forward to coming home. But the new year came and went and I was still in jail.

I had to reimagine everything I’ve learned. I have to take the skills that made me successful on the street and use them for positive, to contribute in a meaningful way.

Having an ongoing relationship with my mentor has been just as meaningful as his help with getting a job and registering for school.

What people don’t realize about those on the inside is that there is someone on the outside there with them.