Sitting on 432 acres of valuable waterfront real estate in Marin County overlooking San Francisco Bay, San Quentin State Prison houses the state’s most dangerous and violent
criminals.
Built in 1852 it is is the oldest prison in California and also operates the largest death row in the country, with roughly 630 male prisoners condemned to death.
Bordered by the San Francisco Bay, the views outside the prison walls are nothing short of picturesque bliss. The Richmond-San Rafael Bridge, San Francisco skyline, and Mt.Tamalpais , Marin’s towering centerpiece are all in clear view. Tourists travels thousands of miles just to see the stunning landscape.
Inside the prison some of the most notorious inmates sit, some in solitude, oblivious to the magnificent beauty. The glassy water of the cove splashes softly against the perilous rocks of San Quentin Point just a stone's throw away. The inmates on death row will never see this splendor again.
Since the 1920's fortunate inmates, who can also play some ball have been permitted to play baseball, but only since 1994 have they played against players from outside the walls. The appropriateness of the privilege has been questioned over time, but the games have continued, and last Saturday Wood Baseball Club braved the morning fog, meticulous bag searches, and intimidation of the prison yard to take on one of the prison's teams- the San Quentin Giants.
Outside the prison walls, it was the usual pregame routine; gathering up bats, pine-tar, helmets, and making sure the uniform was on correctly. Once through the prison gates and into the yard and into a situation far more precarious, emotion took over.
My expectations going in were fairly low. My goal was to, well, come out alive, as I envisioned myself on the losing end of a prison yard pummeling, should I make a step in the wrong direction, use the wrong water fountain, or accidentally bean a player on the opposing team. I feared that the baseball game itself was simply just a distraction; a nine-inning affair delaying the inevitable, as the prisoners plotted an attempt on my life.
I was dead. Dead wrong that is.
As it turned out the baseball game was a distraction. It was a distant second to the emotions, and tremendous life experience that I shared with my fellow teammates. Instead, it was an eye-opening experience I will never forget.
The field at San Quentin is probably downright the worst looking baseball field I have ever played a game on. The infield is comprised of all dirt, most of which is pure sand, and no grass. The outfield grass is home for more gophers, rats, and insects than the Amazon Jungle. The scoreboard is made out of wood (not the team), and is operated by two inmates. The outfield fence is capped off by barbwire less penetrable than Omaha Beach in Normandy. The foul territory has more bad bounces than a handball game played with an octagonal ball. In right field, in the field of the play inmates are playing cards.
No one cared.
All these unique features only added a nostalgic aura.
One of the tons of inmates who came and talked to us while we were on the bench asked us where we were from. When we told him San Francisco, he asked, "What's it like? I haven't been there in 19 years."
19 years?! I was 11 years old. He'd been in prison for just under half of his natural life.
After the first inning or two elapsed and the emotions started to wear down a bit, I was
standing out in left field, wondering which onlooker was going to initiate my maiming, as the fog finally burned off and gave way to a majestic blue sky. Behind it a hill covered with golden brown grass appeared. It was at that moment, that I actually realized...holy shit we are playing baseball at San Quentin Prison! As an amiable smile formed on my face, I realized something. This wasn't a game between Wood Baseball Club and the convicted felons of San Quentin. It was just 18 men men as equals, playing the game that they love.
Nothing more, nothing less.
And the best part of all? The third baseman and shortstop from the Giants had the biggest smiles for the entire game. Every player on the team said thank you at least six times for us coming out to play.
Wood won the game 7-4, however once the last out was recorded, no one on either side seemed to care about anything less than the mutual respect for one another.
As we found our way back to the gates after the game, a handful of prisoners who were watching, some of who could snap me in half in the blink of an eye, gratuitously thanked us for coming out and begged us to come back again.
It was a life changing event, and thinking about it still puts a smile on my face. Sure, realistically I didn't think I was going to get psychically tormented, but I thought I would be verbally harassed, disrespected and resented, but I was shown none of the above. We were treated with the most utmost respect by these "unfit for society" inmates.
People make bad decisions in life, and I'm not going to justify that what each individual did was right. At the end of the day though, to me these guys were not inmates. They were simply men just like myself who love playing the game of baseball. And for one day we were able to share that passion despite our remarkably different lives.
Early on, it came clearly apparent that whoever this Albert character was, did not like Wood, contrary to several eye witness reports taken in the back room of Moby Dick bar in the Castro.
