Twelve men sat around a long table surrounded by black stage curtains Aug. 8, arguing about whether a 16-year-old should be sent to the electric chair.
They were playing jurors in an adaptation of the 1957 courtroom drama “12 Angry Men.” It took them out of the prison greens they otherwise wear while incarcerated at the Limon Correctional Facility, a medium-level and closed-custody prison on Colorado’s eastern plains.
For several hours Aug. 7 and 8, the prison’s gym became a jury deliberation room.
The show was the culmination of a year of rehearsals with about 20 men, through the work of ACT Ensemble, a branch of Denver-based theater company Grapefruit Lab.
Among the jurors was TreVon Williams, 35, who has been incarcerated for 15 years after robbery and theft convictions. He played juror No. 7, a goofy guy full of baseball references, jabs at other jurors and a thick New York accent.
“The dialogue, like the accent, is all the movies we watched, all the cartoons. Anything New York that I could reach for is kind of what I channeled,” he said after the performance. “It was really just having fun and bringing a character to life.”
Williams, who many said is similar to the character he played, wasn’t always that positive, said Nathan Howell, an administrator at the prison.
“The first day I met Tre, him and I argued over him wearing sunglasses in class. And from there forward, like he has (advanced) absolutely just light years,” Howell said. “He went from somebody who wasn’t quite sure of if this was even for him to now just working his tail off.”
Williams became interested in theater after somebody suggested it to him.
“Somebody was like, 'Bro, you would be good at this. You should come.' So I came, and I fell in love,” he said.
He stood on the makeshift stage, delivering jokes and sarcastic remarks in character in his second production to date while incarcerated.
Dozens of inmates sat in the gym to watch their fellow inmates, laughing at funny lines from Williams and the other actors. Once the show ended, everyone gave a standing ovation to the cast and crew.
As the men in green left the gym, several of them continued to holler and cheer on the performers.
After the play, the performers reflected on the subject matter – the difficult decisions jurors made. One performer shared about what it was like being on the receiving end of a jury’s decision, having experienced the weight the decision holds. Another performer said being the foreman in the show helped him realize that he can be a leader in prison by being serious about himself and the people he lives with.
“We can make a big difference,” he said.
Beyond the black curtains, there were reminders of reality, like the basketball hoop that hung behind the stage or the occasional voice of an officer coming through another officer's intercom.
Williams sees theater as one of many positive ways to contribute.
“A lot of prison is adopted ideologies,” he said. “You come in how you come in with your upbringing, and depending on how you carry that throughout your incarceration usually equates to how you contribute to the environment, right? Either good or bad.”
“For me, every day in prison is life. These days add up, and they count toward your life,” he said.
Jody Aguirre, 63, played a stern and short-tempered juror. Aguirre, who’s been incarcerated for 33 years, said this program has been a way to form community.
“I’m a loner. I don’t really hang around with anybody. So this kind of gives me a chance to come out of my shell and converse with others,” he said. “This has allowed me to open up a little bit and just broaden my horizons, if you will.”
He never expected he’d be into theater, but now, he’s been a part of three productions.
Just like interest grows within the walls, for some who have been released, a passion for storytelling has continued.
Michael Clifton is an example of that. He’s a former participant in arts programming at a different prison in Colorado who continued with creative endeavors after his release by performing a play about his experience in solitary confinement.
“I wanted people to kind of understand the impact and what a person kind of goes through in those circumstances,” he said. “The character … he’s going through this, he’s wrestling with hope and he wants to have his freedom.”
Julie Rada, who directed the Limon show, said she and many others have spent years bringing arts programming across Colorado prisons. In her experience, participants come from all walks of life.
She said some were keen on the arts before incarceration, while others became intrigued in prison. For some, she said, it is simply a place for community.
The cast and crew were made up of people with various experiences and interests. There were people for sound and lighting, while others played instruments. The music for the show was also created by an inmate who is a musician and composer and an ACT Ensemble facilitator.
“The folks who participate in it are in it for the love of the game. They want a professional arts experience. Some of them were artists before they came inside prison,” Rada said. “I’ve had folks who can tap dance in other programs, but I’ve had guys who are like, 'Oh yeah, I used to do ballet.’ And I’ve had a musical conductor in my programming.” So it’s not like they don’t have any experience always, though sometimes people don’t.”
The cast also spanned generations, with a member as young as 25 and others in their 60s.
After the performance, the performers sat and talked with the audience. One audience member said she was brought to tears. Another said he was amazed at how everyone stayed in character the entire two hours.
The performers then shared their difficulties and triumphs. Aguirre thanked his castmates, who he said “pushed him to continue” after a health incident in April left him wanting to quit.
Aguirre, who is serving a life sentence for murder in the death of a Denver firefighter, said he has seen how beneficial the program has been.
“It’s all about love. It’s all about, they believe in us. They give us this opportunity to be free, if you will,” he said. “People use drugs, people are violent. There’s all kinds of different things that people use to escape prison. This is the kind of program that, it’s an alternative to that.”
For the Department of Corrections, supporting programs like ACT Ensemble is another step toward helping inmates change.
“Rehabilitation happens when people find purpose and connection. Seeing our staff, volunteers and incarcerated individuals come together on a project of this scale reflects the heart of our mission,” Executive Director of the Colorado Department of Corrections Andre Stancil said in a written statement. “Meaningful work, connection and a sense of purpose are important parts of rehabilitation. Programs like this bring those elements together in a powerful way and demonstrate the transformation that can happen through shared experience.”
Aguirre agrees.
“For a lot of guys, this is a savior. It has saved a lot of lives,” he said.
On Aug. 8, within an hour of the show’s finish, inmates were tearing down the set. Props were being packed away, curtains came down and the men who had spent the afternoon in suits changed back into green.
The year of work was finished, leaving the performers on a high. Nothing is officially in the works yet for the next production, but ACT Ensemble will continue arts workshops at the facility, with hopes for another production in the future.
To read more stories from Colorado Public Radio, visit www.cpr.org.
