Corrections Pioneer Tekla Dennison Miller.

Show: FRESH AIR
Date: JULY 17, 1997
Time: 12:00
Tran: 071701np.217
Type: FEATURE
Head: The Warden Wore Pink
Sect: News; Domestic
Time: 12:06

TERRY GROSS, HOST: This is FRESH AIR. I'm Terry Gross.

Tekla Dennison Miller is a woman pioneer in prison work. She's been a warden in both men's and women's prisons. Early in her career, she was the first female probation officer in Oakland County, Michigan and among the first women in the country to manage male felons in her caseload.

She was the supervisor at the first prison camp for women in Michigan. When she started working in corrections in the early '70s, Michigan, like most other states, prohibited women from working inside the security perimeters of prisons; from supervising male parolees or probationers; or even from applying for a correction officer's job in a male facility.

Her goal was to run a women's prison so she could address the inequities women faced within the criminal justice system. But she also worked with men in her 20-year career. I asked her how men responded when they found out they had a female warden.

TEKLA DENNISON MILLER, PRISON WARDEN, AUTHOR, "THE WARDEN WORE PINK": When I was in the men's prison, the male prisoners accepted me, but the men who worked in that prison setting did not, and that's where I had the most difficulty.

The male prisoners knew what, I think, all us -- all the women administrators knew, is that women who come in who are good administrators in that setting bring about a good balance and a more humane setting. So, they were happy to see me come.

The men, who have been socialized entirely different in our corrections system, saw me as a threat to what I used to call -- and forgive me for even saying this, but this is what we used to always call them, was -- cowboys, and very machismo-type of attitude. And they were socialized that way. I don't think they ever understood any other way until we -- until I tried to change that in the men's prison. But I was threatened by some of them.

GROSS: By your staff? Or prisoners?

MILLER: Yes. Oh, yes. I've never been threatened by a prisoner. My life has been threatened by staff.

GROSS: That's really interesting -- how will the staff people threaten you?

MILLER: Well, I've had one who I terminated, who -- in -- that was probably one of the most frightening experiences that I ever had when I was in a prison setting, and that was a psychiatrist called me to tell me that he was seeing this officer -- corrections officer -- and that -- it happened to be a woman, by the way -- and she threatened my life and he thought very sincerely she would carry that out.

So I end up having to have an armed guard, and she was tailed by the state police. And I have had other employees who threatened my life in that respect, because they didn't like what I was trying to do, by making the prison a more humane setting.

GROSS: Give me an example of something that you tried to do that didn't go over big with the staff.

MILLER: Well, for one thing, when I went into the men's maximum security prison in Michigan, it was primarily segregated, which means they were locked down for 23 hours a day, and the majority of the population was mentally ill.

So I had a very volatile, violent group of men. And in order to bring about positive behavior from them, you had to give them some kind of reward, and all they were doing was punishing, rather than rewarding.

And I implemented a program where, in fact, if the men could demonstrate a certain period of positive behavior, they could have a radio -- their own radio, by the way; not one that we purchased -- and if they continued that behavior, then they could have their televisions back.

Well, of course, I was seen as this terribly coddling mother-type of person, rather than a true warden. And what happened was the behavior among this very volatile, violent group that was assaultive and literally hurting my staff, changed. The units became quiet. There was not as many misconducts. There was not as many confrontations where my employees were being hurt.

So it worked, even though the staff didn't want to admit to it, they kept telling me I was just trying to change the old ways. But they did admit it worked.

GROSS: Now, I think I would assume that men seeing a woman warden for the first time would presume that you would be physically weak, easily manipulated both emotionally and physically; that you'd be a little more of an easy touch. Did a lot of prisoners assume that?

MILLER: Well, oddly enough, I don't think they did, but one of the strange things that I saw in my corrections career is that it didn't matter where you were or how long you were there. For instance, even when I was in the women's prison and was promoted from deputy to warden, for some reason, I was going to be a different person and it would start the same questions or requests over again.

And I always handled all inmates and staff the same, and that was with respect. I never tried to talk down to the prisoners. I always was very honest with them. And it took very short period of time for them to realize that I couldn't be manipulated.

I also did -- where -- when I came to the men's prison and I had to deal with the culture that was in that prison, the male officers treated the women staff very badly. They harassed them. They called them names.

So of course, since the prisoners saw that the employees could do this, they did that too. And they treated the women staff with great disrespect, and calling them many vulgar names. And it was accepted in that culture. It was totally accepted.

And I changed that, and I made it very difficult for any male staff, as well as male prisoner, to continue that behavior.

GROSS: What did you do? What did you do to...

MILLER: Well, one of the things I did was when I was coming in -- going across -- one of the coveted cells in the prison, the men's prison, was the ones that were facing the center of the prison, which was the quad, because they could see everybody walking back and forth, whether it was visitors or staff or other prisoners. So those were coveted cells, the windows faced that way.

So then that's where most of the catcalls were taking place. They would call out those windows, because the windows opened just slightly enough to get air in there. And when the prisoners did that, I -- the very first day, matter of fact it was my very first day on the grounds of that prison, I went into that unit and I moved the prisoner.

And I made it very loud, so everyone in that prison would know -- that unit -- that -- I would not tolerate that behavior, and he was moved into an inside cell, which meant he could not see out.

And that was tremendous punishment for these men, because they have nothing else to do 23 hours a day but look out the window. And it was successful. They started -- in fact, when I walked into the unit, if there was any yelling, I would not talk to the prisoners. And that's another thing: they covet talking to the warden. I mean, it's so important for them to talk to the warden.

And if I came in that cell, and you could hear them going down the whole gallery, "the warden's here, the warden's here," -- and you could hear a pin drop, because they knew I would not come in there and talk to them if there was any kind of noise at all.

So they started learning a lot of that without me even -- any kind of punishment. It was just the way I handled the situation without fear, but with -- I was very firm in what I believed and what I -- how they should treat all staff, men and women, but particularly the women in the prison.

GROSS: My guest is Tekla Miller, and she's the author of a new memoir called "The Warden Wore Pink" about her days as a probation officer, a corrections officer, and warden. Were women considered to pose less of a security threat than men?

MILLER: Yes. And In fact, they still are. And I think that's why if you build a women's prison or prison camp, the public doesn't get as upset. Or we have women public works crews on the streets, the public doesn't get as upset. And in fact, women are less of a threat than men. They tend not to escape or even try to escape. They are less assaultive.

That's not to say we don't have women who are violent or who have been assaultive, but on the whole, there is less of a population than it is at the men population.

GROSS: Now, you said that the most dangerous place -- the worst place -- was the segregation unit. Which women would be segregated?

MILLER: Well, in the women's prison, unfortunately, because -- and this is how they always do that with women -- because the populations are so much smaller, the women's prison segregation housed some of our mentally ill prisoners, who should not have been in that setting; our self-mutilators; and the women who were assaultive; who have maybe attacked other prisoners or who have assaulted staff. And we had women there who actually started a riot at the women's prison. We did have a small riot there, and they were housed there.

But the saddest part was the women who were mentally ill, and had absolutely no control over their behavior; and many of them who were suicidal. So it caused a great deal of problems for staff.

Staff, in most prisons, are not trained -- custody staff -- are not trained to deal with the mentally ill. I mean, they come out of a custody training. So it's very hard for them to make that transition, because you have to deal with the mentally ill differently, particularly when you're working in a segregation unit where you have many volatile personalities and possibilities of assault, and you have a mentally ill person, you really cannot treat them the same.

GROSS: What would it be like to make the rounds in the segregation unit?

MILLER: In a segregation unit? Well, it would be always very noisy -- people yelling and screaming. I can remember, and I think it's something how -- I mentioned in my book -- when I walked down the unit, there was a woman who had thought she had become very religious, and actually had her brains fried from using too many drugs; and was washing her feet in a toilet filled with urine and feces.

I had another woman who came in off the streets, and she was sentenced to prison under the name of Jane Doe -- no one ever knew who she was -- for murdering a man who tried to steal $5,000 from her, which she had. She had $5,000.

And she -- we used to call her "the interior decorator" because she would decorate her cell with feces in her hair, and she would cover her body in it. And we used to have to do a -- virtually, go in and drag her out and clean her cell and clean her.

And then we would have people who were very assaultive. The one who had started a riot in our prison, she was in there. And she was a very tough women -- six foot something; ran every day; lifted weights. Took many, many, many people to control her. And it's one of the stories in the book about one of the men I had promoted to that -- into that segregation unit and his first day with her.

But that would be the type of people in there, so it was -- and then there would be mutilators. There are women and a huge population of men who are self-mutilators. People don't understand that population because they're not considered mentally ill, but they go through psychotic episodes where they do horrendous things to themselves, and they kind of have like a block where they don't feel the pain, and they can actually rip their stomachs open.

So the staff had to deal with a myriad of difficult, difficult situations, and none of them were ever treated -- can never treat each situation the same. Could not do it.

GROSS: From what you describe in the book, it sounds like some of the prisoners used to throw their feces at the guards.

MILLER: Absolutely.

GROSS: That's a terrible situation to have to work in. It must have been miserable for the guards.

MILLER: Absolutely. And if they did that, then the prisoners were put on what they called a "food loaf" and they were -- they had to drink from the fountain in their room, so they have no utensils or anything where they could accumulate any kind of feces.

Well, they could accumulate the feces anyway. They could still throw that, but they couldn't do urine. They loved to do urine. That was one of the major things they did, was throw urine.

But even worse than that, employees -- one of the worst things that a prisoner can do to them is spit on them. That was just like the ultimate. And I had many times where I had to discipline employees because their -- the reflex reaction was to hit the prisoner.

And sometimes you wonder, you know, what would you have done in that kind of a situation, particularly after working eight hours a day, 12 hours a day in that kind of environment, where it was just constant, constant tension?

GROSS: What did you tell the guards they should do if...

MILLER: Why?

GROSS: ... feces landed on them or a prisoner spit on them?

MILLER: Well, in fact, they -- they're trained that they have to basically accept that. The prisoner is disciplined. They write up a misconduct for that person.

And that's when they are, then, put on the food loaf and maybe even transferred to another room where they wouldn't have the availability of any kind of open cell, or even when they opened a food tray door, they would learn to stand back from that and make the prisoner go on the other side of the room.

But the staff had to accept that, and they had to be above that and use other motives in which to punish or change that behavior of the prisoner.

GROSS: My guest is Tekla Dennison Miller. She's written a new memoir called The Warden Wore Pink. We'll talk more after a break.

This is FRESH AIR.

Back with retired warden Tekla Dennison Miller. Her new memoir is called The Warden Wore Pink.

In men's prisons, rape is a big problem -- prisoners raping other prisoners. In women's prisons, is that an issue?

MILLER: Well, it's not as much of an issue. It has happened. I've had -- women tend to come in the prison and establish families, and maybe it's because they haven't had that on the streets, or if they did, they still want one. I mean, they'll have aunts and uncles, fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers.

And many women will also become involved in a love relationship, and there are many women who are predators just like males, and the women predators have, in fact, sexually assaulted other women. It's not as predominant as it is in men's prisons, but it does occur.

What is even more amazing, I think, when the employees had a very difficult time understanding some of the other relationships -- women who have come from battered relationships in the street, often gravitate to that same kind of relationship in the prison.

And where -- I even had one woman who was so badly beaten by another -- her lover -- in prisoner, her prisoner lover -- that she almost died. And she ended up apologizing to the woman who beat her for her behavior. And it was the same type of thing that would happen to her on the streets. She had -- she never learned that that was not what was expected of her.

So they tend to gravitate to that. But it's not as much as a problem as it is in the men's prison.

GROSS: You write in the book that you knew that there were times when women were able to have sexual relationships with each other in the prison. Is this something that the guards were supposed to try to prevent at all costs?

Or -- I'm wondering if you ever thought that it actually could be a kind of stabilizing, normalizing thing to have a love relationship within the prison? Or is that the worst thing that could happen?

MILLER: I don't think it's the worst thing that could happen. I think what happens is is that we set up policies, and unfortunately, our employees have to abide by those policies. And as you said, you know, it could be a stabilizing thing.

I think that's why the women develop those family situations. It's more normal. It's stabilizing. It's comforting. They feel like they belong somewhere.

And I think that many women who become involved in relationships, as well as men who become involved in relationships with other men or other women, as a safe case -- same-sex relationship -- probably would not be involved in those on the streets. But we all need that physical contact. We all need to feel loved. We all need to feel that we belong.

And I'm not so sure that every one of them, all of my employees -- actually came down hard on it. If not, some, maybe, turned their head every now and then. We did have some that were adamant about that kind of behavior, and were very, very difficult with any even suspected relationship between the women, and would separate them -- move them to different units.

And sometimes I would not know that because there's a whole classification group that would handle that, unless a prisoner came to me and mentioned that. But I don't think it's so abnormal, no.

GROSS: Did you ever have a problem with male guards raping women prisoners?

MILLER: Well, I -- there was a case while I was a warden at a women's facility where the man, male guard, was accused of raping a prisoner, when in fact, he went to court and he admitted to consensual sex. And eventually, she did also.

However, in the State of Michigan, it is still a felony and for very good reason -- and I strongly believe in this -- because even if it is consensual, you still have an authority figure who is the officer or whoever -- whatever position in that prison. And prisoners are afraid not to do what they are asked to do because of retaliation that could very well happen.

And it's not to say we didn't have some women prisoners who were very manipulative and knew they could entice men. What I tried to do in the women's prison is -- when I oriented the new staff -- new officers was to explain to the men and women that if they could not work in that environment, that they shouldn't think less of themselves, and that I would try to have them transferred to an environment where they were more comfortable.

And that I would rather have that than having them threaten my staff -- excuse me, my prisoners -- or even getting involved in a sexual relationship that would end their career. And many of them did not choose that, and many of them became involved and, in fact, ended their career.

GROSS: You write in your memoir that women would often sneak drugs into prison by putting the drugs in any and every orifice of their body. Now, body searches can resemble rape when they're done with aggression and complete disregard for the woman who's being searched.

What were your rules on body searches? And when did you think a body search was appropriate? And when appropriate, how did you tell the people on your staff the searches had to be handled?

MILLER: It was very clear in Michigan, under policy. We had to have almost visual knowledge that there was, in fact, something hidden in one orifice or another, on a person. And it would be at that point that if we knew that -- we saw the transfer -- or we detected it when they came off of visits through a search.

And many of them had to go through strip searches if they were at high classification, but not a body cavity search. And at that point, if there was enough evidence that the body cavity search was warranted, they were then -- it was then done by a medical doctor with medical staff. None of my custody staff did that.

Many -- for many reasons -- I mean, that -- you had to have somebody who understood how to enter those areas without damaging or, as you said, without sometimes taking pleasure in doing that, whether it was for sexual pleasure or abusive pleasure. So, we definitely had the medical staff doing that.

GROSS: A lot of the women in the prison where you were warden had children, and I wonder what your thoughts were on what visitation for the children should be like, and how much contact you wanted the women to have with their children?

MILLER: I wanted children to feel as normal as they could possibly feel in that setting. And I wanted the women to keep a healthy or, in fact, maybe even to develop a healthy relationship with their children. And we developed at the women's prison, the children's visitation program where -- which was an amazing program because it was started with all volunteers.

And we brought in children from all over the state, because at that time, there was only one prison in Michigan, so the children were all over the state, and the prison was in southeast Michigan. We had volunteers who drove the children to that prison, so that they can have a special visit -- four-hour visit -- with the women, mothers, prisoners.

And it was in a supervised-type of visitation, where there were social workers and activity specialists in there. We had toys. We had special reading programs. There was special play time; snacks. Sometimes it was the only food these kids probably had that day.

So we really, really worked at that. And there are many, many, many wonderful programs now in the United States that -- throughout the women's prisons -- that are doing this because they clearly understand the importance of keeping that relationship and that it is important for the health of that child -- the children of the incarcerated, as I have mentioned in my book -- that they are at the highest-risk at becoming our next criminals; and suffering depression and anxiety; and at being violent.

So we need to pay attention to that group. And right now, there's over 100,000 of them out there under the age of 18.

GROSS: Tekla Dennison Miller has written a new memoir called The Warden Wore Pink. She'll be back with us in the second half of our show.

I'm Terry Gross and this is FRESH AIR.

This is FRESH AIR. I'm Terry Gross.

Back with more of our interview with retired warden Tekla Dennison Miller. In the course of her 20-year career in corrections, she ran both men's and women's prisons. She's written a new memoir called The Warden Wore Pink.

What impact does it have on you when you're a warden and you're virtually living in prison, even though you're not a prisoner?

MILLER: I think particular -- that came about even more so, the impact of that, in the men's prison, because when you walk through that 500-plus population, and three-fourths of them are locked down every day, and you're looking at that whole mass of humanity that's totally wasted -- some of whom you know are very bright, and if they had the right direction, the right support, they wouldn't be there.

I became very depressed, and I felt almost helpless, like, you know, what can I do to change this, because it was such a sad, sad situation. And you do -- you feel totally helpless with that population.

So I think that was more difficult for me than the women's prison, because at least in the women's population, most of the population was general population, which meant that they had -- they were able to go -- go to and from, and I was able to talk to them in normal environments.

In the men's prison, I always talked to them through a plexiglass window, with a little bit of mouthpiece that you could -- so they could hear me. Half the time, we had to yell back and forth. So it was such an abnormal situation, and very depressing.

GROSS: Is there any opportunity for you to receive any type of gratitude when you're a warden? I mean, do prisoners ever thank you for the way you ran a prison? I mean, what emotionally sustains you when you're working in prison all the time, holding things together?

MILLER: Well, I think there are some -- I think there are success cases that do that. And I think that when you watch a woman prisoner come in, or even a man prisoner -- unfortunately, as I said, in the prison I had, I couldn't see that very often -- but particularly in a women's setting, 'cause they would come in and take advantage of educational programs or vocational programs. They would parole and stay on the streets. They would get jobs and make it.

And they would call you and tell you that, you know, "I've been on this job two years. I've stayed sober for this many years. And my child is going to -- into first grade." And those things are terribly rewarding.

Watching the changes in the children and the prisoners in that children's visitation program -- watching all those positive changes -- was immensely rewarding to me. Anything like that would -- it -- you just gave you hope that we can turn this population around; that we can do something for these people.

GROSS: You recently did a consultation at Harvard University to architectural students, I believe, on the subject of how to build a women's prison?

MILLER: Yes.

GROSS: What's some of the advice that you gave them, based on your experience?

MILLER: Well, what has happened in -- and is still going on, is that most time when women prisons are thought of, they use male prototypes or they move women into existing men's prisons. And many of the things that -- well, even corrections practitioners are not aware of -- is that women, of course, need less security.

The most -- majority of the population is medium-custody, so they don't need double fences. They don't need gun towers. They don't need a lot of concertina wiring.

The other thing is that because the populations is small, most states will only build one prison. So you have to be conscious of the different levels, and that means you house prisoners who are just coming into the setting all the way up to segregation, to mentally ill.

And that they have to be separated, and separated in a humane way -- not just separated -- even to the point of separating the pregnant women from the general population, because they have different needs. They can't work the same as the regular population.

They have different dietary needs. And sometimes that is seen -- that could be resented by other populations -- by the other populations. So we have to separate them to meet their needs.

So there's a lot of -- where with men prisons, you often just build a prison that's specific to a specific security level, like a maximum security or a close medium custody. Women prisons are multi-level, and very challenging to build.

They also, by the courts -- courts are telling the states and the federal government that they don't care if the population is not large; that the states and the government -- the states and federal government have to provide the same programming for women.

So the space in programming buildings or educational buildings, vocational buildings, have to be quite flexible, so that they can utilize them for various types of programs. And women don't need gyms. That's what they do in men's prisons.

They build these huge gyms, which of course, the men use, for they play basketball a lot. Women will play basketball, but not to the crazed intent that men do. They like to play volleyball, but they don't need a huge gym. Women tend to want smaller areas.

They like to be in closer, smaller groupings, so you don't need to waste your money on that, and you're better off making a small yard area where they can walk; a place where they can play volleyball. Women love to roller skate, so you should have a roller skating rink.

Those are the kinds of things I told them, which of course, would not be true of a men's prison. And we don't need urinals. And that's what they would do -- they would put prototypes in and forget to take the urinals out.

And also looking at privacy. Women have a different need for privacy than men, even though men deserve privacy as well. But when you build -- looking at women's bathrooms, then -- when -- architects have to realize that women menstruate, and I don't think anybody wants to watch them changing their tampon. And that pregnant women have a lot of needs for privacy, and there's other issues that we have to look at when we build women's prisons.

And the final thing is, a place for the children to visit that's separate from the regular visiting, so that they can -- I mean, children have to yell; they have to move; they want to play with games. And that has to be provided for them, particularly in a women's setting.

GROSS: Tekla Miller, thank you very much for talking with us.

MILLER: Thank you for having me.

GROSS: Tekla Dennison Miller is the author of the new memoir The Warden Wore Pink, published by the Biddle Publishing Company.

This is FRESH AIR.

Dateline: Terry Gross, Philadelphia
Guest: Tekla Dennison Miller
High: Former prison warden Tekla Dennison Miller wrote a memoir called "The Warden Wore Pink" about her 20-year career as a warden of a men's maximum security prison. She describes the experience of women in corrections and reveals the reality of prison life.
Spec: Women; Prisons; Crime; Labor; The Warden Wore Pink; Books
Please note, this is not the final feed of record
Copy: Content and programming copyright (c) 1997 National Public Radio, Inc. All rights reserved. Transcribed by Federal Document Clearing House, Inc. under license from National Public Radio, Inc. Formatting copyright (c) 1997 Federal Document Clearing House, Inc. All rights reserved. No quotes from the materials contained herein may be used in any media without attribution to National Public Radio, Inc. This transcript may not be reproduced in whole or in part without prior written permission. For further information please contact NPR's Business Affairs at (202) 414-2954
End-Story: The Warden Wore Pink
Show: FRESH AIR
Date: JULY 17, 1997
Time: 12:00
Tran: 071702np.217
Type: FEATURE
Head: Tom Fontana
Sect: Entertainment
Time: 12:40

TERRY GROSS, HOST: Life in an urban prison is the subject of the new HBO series "OZ," which premiered this week. My guest is the series' writer and co-creator Tom Fontana, who also co-created "Homicide: Life on the Street."

OZ is short for the Oswald Maximum Security Prison located in a fictional state. The series focuses on the new experimental wing, nicknamed "Emerald City," which is emphasizing rehabilitation over punishment.

But even in this experimental wing, there's plenty of brutality -- guards beat prisoners, prisoners psychologically and physically destroy each other.

One of the characters is a white supremacist who has turned his new cellmate into his sex slave, and tattooed a swastika on his behind. In this scene, the neo-Nazi has stolen his cellmate's family photos and is using the photos to further intimidate the scared newcomer.

(BEGIN AUDIO CLIP, "OZ")

ACTOR: You've got a lovely family. I'm amazed you haven't showed me these pictures before -- amazed and a little hurt. I hope you don't mind me finding these hidden underneath your mattress. Beautiful. My wife is dead. I got two sons, 17 and 16.

Handsome (BEEP) kids, too. Good Aryan stock, you know? My sons are devoted to me. I am an icon to them because I went to prison for my beliefs. They would do anything I asked them to -- steal; maim; kill.

Maybe I should have them go visit your family? Huh? Just a little friendly call -- what do you think? My sons and your wife; my sons and your daughter?

GROSS: I asked writer and producer Tom Fontana why he wanted to set his new series in the experimental wing of a maximum security prison.

TOM FONTANA, TELEVISION PRODUCER: I wanted to be able to juxtapose the old and the new, both in terms of the physical plant and also in terms of the ideas of redemption versus retribution. I'm trying not to make any judgments about it. I don't have a political agenda. I'm not advocating anything one way or the other.

But I thought if I had two distinct environments in one place, it would allow the stories to have more kind of yin and yang to them, and more range to them, as opposed to just saying, well, this is a hell-hole or this is a nirvana. It's kind of a, you know, two worlds crashing together, and so therefore I think it creates more drama.

GROSS: What kind of research did you do in prisons before writing the series?

FONTANA: I went to a number of prisons in various states all over the country. I talked to a lot of inmates and correctional officers. You know, I -- what I was looking for was less stories. I wasn't going up to people -- "tell me the best -- funniest anecdote you have, being in prison."

What I was doing was trying to just get a sense of the texture and the feeling of the place; to try to get if there was a common, you know, feeling to what -- what it is to be locked up in a prison.

GROSS: One of the characters in your series OZ is a white, middle class lawyer who was convicted of accidentally killing a girl while he was driving drunk.

FONTANA: Right.

GROSS: And I'm wondering: is he supposed to be the middle class surrogate -- the person that the white middle class identifies with?

FONTANA: Well he's -- yes, definitely. He's there as a kind of a guide for us, though very quickly stops being the guide for us. But he is someone that you can hopefully, you know, the average white middle class HBO subscriber can look at and say: "oh, wait a minute, I could be that guy, you know. I'm one drunk driving charge away from being this guy."

GROSS: But wouldn't that guy not be in a maximum security prison?

FONTANA: Well, it depends. I mean, one of the reasons I've set the show in a non-existent state -- in a vague and general state -- is because I wanted to be able to not be tied to the specific laws of any particular state that really exists.

With Homicide and St. Elsewhere, you know, Baltimore and Boston, I tried very hard to be true to that environment, and not do things that you couldn't do in those cities.

But with this, what I wanted to do was to be able to have the freedom. In the third episode, it's explained a little further that he was made an example of, and that is why they were harder on him than normally. You know, is it a stretch? I guess in a way, it is. But for me, I don't mind doing that if I can get some deeper story going.

GROSS: Now, do the actors in the series know their fates? Do they know if they're going to get killed or survive? How many episodes they're going to be in for?

FONTANA: Some do and some don't. Just because some of the actors I only had for a limited amount of time, so I tried to work the story to fit in their availability.

But most of the actors are just, thank God for them, they're just going with it and trusting me, and, you know, if -- one character in particular I had decided I was going to kill and the script came out, and it was like everyone that -- the crew and the rest of the cast -- just rose in rebellion and said "no, no, you can't kill him." So I had to rewrite it so that he didn't die.

GROSS: They liked the character too much?

FONTANA: They all liked the character too much, so...

GROSS: Could you say who the character was?

FONTANA: Sure, it's Groves -- the guy who ate his mother and was saving his father for Thanksgiving.

GROSS: And what was so appealing about this character to the cast and crew?

FONTANA: I don't know, because he's not a particularly appealing character to me, but they all seemed to think he was just -- they fell in love with him over the course of four episodes.

GROSS: You've learned a lot about writing dramatic series' with story lines that continue through different episodes, through your writing at St. Elsewhere and Homicide and now, of course, in OZ. Is there anything you've tried to change in OZ about the nature of the plot lines and how they continue from episode to episode?

FONTANA: Well, I'll tell you, the -- one of the great liberating factors of doing the show on HBO is there are no commercials. And so instead of this awful pushing toward the, you know, the act break, so you go to the commercial, so the audience comes back from the commercial. There's no forcing the drama every 12 minutes to try to create that, you know, false sense of danger or suspense or whatever.

So that -- just losing that element has allowed me to tell the stories in a much more natural -- the feeling of them is much more natural than, for me, than I've ever done before.

What has also -- that has also done has taken away the idea that we intermingling the stories, in the sense of that normally on most hour drama shows, you do an "A" story and a "B" story and maybe a "C" story, and you do one scene from the A story and then you cut to the scene from the B story and back to the A story and then maybe to the C story.

With this, what I've done is, it's like little short stories, which are, you know, accumulate over the hour. So, one story might be 30 minutes and the next story might be one minute, and the next story might be 11 minutes. And so, it's totally dictated by the drama, and not by the structure of television.

GROSS: You know, the first episode, as I was watching it, I was thinking: "my God, listen to that language. I think -- this is television. What's going on here?" Then I said: "oh, right. It's cable. They can do that there."

I mean, it's not that I was shocked by the language. I was shocked I was hearing it on television. And I'm wondering if this opens up things for you as a writer -- if you feel like you can write more true to character, because there aren't any restrictions on the language you're allowed to use?

FONTANA: Absolutely. It's -- people are defined, in part, by the way they speak. It demonstrates our level of education; our family upbringing; our -- the neighborhood we come from; the part of the country we come from. I mean, all those elements make up a character.

And so when you have characters instead of being able to use words we can't use on television, to be able to have them say the words they would really use, it helps define and I think crystallize the characters so much better. So for me, it's only helped me write better to be able to write freely.

Now, not every character in the show says bad words. You know, the -- for example, the Muslim -- the black Muslim leader, Kareem Sayed (ph) -- never swears. Obviously, the nun played by Rita Moreno never swears, though the priest does; B.D. Wong's (ph) character who plays the chaplain -- he swears.

So what I've tried to do is to say: "OK, who is the character and what language would they use and how would they use it?" You know, how limited are they in their language that they have to swear all the time? Or how often do they use it -- and the right word -- to be shocking?

GROSS: What about nudity? What are the parameters you're working with there?

FONTANA: None whatsoever. There's -- we have total freedom to use nudity whenever it's appropriate, and I've tried to be very conscious of that and not just, you know, throw it in for the sake of throwing it in.

GROSS: It might be tempting to do that. I mean, let's face it, nudity does get ratings and there's times on certain comedies on cable where I feel like the bare-breasted woman is there for very specific reasons. She's taking off her shirt because that helps get an audience.

FONTANA: Well, the joke around the set was because the show was set in a male prison, that I had gotten as much female nudity in it as I have. But the one moment that happens is when a guy is looking the window, and his girlfriend is out there naked, was actually based on a story that I read about, where a guy prearranged with his girlfriend, because he hadn't seen her in a while naked. And she showed up on the lawn and danced around naked, and then got in the car and walked away. So even that was based on reality.

GROSS: I'm wondering what it was like for you when you visited prisons. On the one hand, you really needed to do that -- to make your stories credible. On the other hand, it must be kind of embarrassing to be the visiting guy from Hollywood, or from, you know, TV-land who's going to come see what it's really like in prison.

FONTANA: Yeah.

GROSS: It's almost like a cliche at this point?

FONTANA: Yeah. No. Definitely. I -- you know, and those guys are so smart and they're so, you know, they don't -- they don't -- I mean, they'll glad-hand you as much as anybody in Hollywood will glad-hand you, but the reality is they know exactly what the score is. And that's not a problem for them.

I mean, so much of prison life is based on codes of ethics that exist that don't -- aren't necessarily, you know, our code of ethics. And the key to it is, if you respect another man's code of ethics, even if you don't agree with it, you're fine. But if you don't respect that -- their code of ethics -- then there's going to be trouble.

So I did feel a lot of times -- I mean, my whole entire, you know, jail experience was in the '60s when I was arrested for civil disobedience during the Vietnam War, so -- and I think I was there a weekend, you know -- the big weekend.

So I did feel sometimes a little bit like I was, you know, using them in a way that could be offensive. But the truth of it is, what I -- I think my approach to it has been very honest. So I don't think -- I'm not doing it to be exploitive, so I don't feel like I'm really using them that badly.

GROSS: My guest is Tom Fontana, writer and co-creator of the new HBO series OZ. We'll talk more after a break.

This is FRESH AIR.

Back with Tom Fontana, writer and co-creator of the new HBO series OZ, set in the experimental wing of a maximum security prison.

What kind of run-ins in your life have you had with cops or with criminals? Have you ever been victimized? Have...

FONTANA: Yep. Yeah. I've -- actually, the severest thing I ever happened, I remember it was -- now years ago -- but I've -- that weekend, it was Easter weekend, and I had just given this impassioned speech about how living in New York wasn't dangerous, because you just gotta be aware and you gotta, you know, walk a certain way and keep your eyes a certain way, and nobody bothers with you if you don't bother with them.

The next day I got hit on the head. It was like God said: "oh, we'll show you, you stupid idiot." I got hit on the head. I was walking down the street over in the 50s on the West Side, and this guy came up from behind me, hit me with a bottle across my eye, from the back, and broke my glasses and I fell to the ground, and I got up immediately and I was ready to, you know, punch him, and he ran away.

And I was bleeding profusely, but I was in such shock by the whole thing that I actually -- the cops came and they wanted to take me to the hospital, and I kept saying "no, no, no, I gotta go home, I gotta get my other glasses. I can't see anything."

So they were there, like, going "no, you really should go to the hospital" and I was, like, "no, no, no, I really want to go home." I got all the way home, and my wife said -- she looked at me and like screamed because I was just bloodied, completely bloodied, and she put me in a cab and we went to the hospital.

But that was like the biggest kind of like bizarre, random -- you know, I've had my house broken into and those kind of things, but in terms of physical violence against me.

And you know, the thing about cops are -- that are great, is that it depends on where they live and what city they're in. New York cops are just the most -- they're just cool, because they're -- they have a large amount of tolerance for all kinds of behavior. And then when their tolerance is finished, you know it's finished. They make it very clear to you that you have to stop.

So I'm usually very respectful to the police when I'm in any kind of situation that calls for me to come in contact with them. And obviously through Homicide, I've made a lot of friends with cops over the last couple of years. So -- which is ironic given the fact that in the '60s I was throwing rocks at them. So...

GROSS: You're really casting your lot with television, it seems, as opposed to trying to skip to the other side of the tracks and do movies.

FONTANA: Yeah.

GROSS: Do you feel like you can do everything it is you want to do in the setting of television?

FONTANA: No, I don't feel that, but I do feel that I'm lucky enough to be in a position where I'm allowed to get away with more than most people are who work in television. So -- I've never been wildly enamored of film, you know. I'm not one of these guys who says "but I really want to -- what I really want to be doing is writing and directing a feature."

I love television and I love the potential of television even more. Television has such a capacity to embrace everyone and allow everyone a forum and an opportunity to watch things that appeal to them. I mean, I think it's a remarkable gift to be a part of that, and I don't want to walk away from it just because I can get a three picture deal at Fox.

GROSS: In both Homicide and in OZ, you're dealing with pretty dark subject matter.

FONTANA: Mm-hmm.

GROSS: Is that because that's what really drives you as a writer -- an interest in that dark side? Or is it -- does it have more to do with what really works dramatically on television, and you know...

FONTANA: Well, I actually think it's a combination of both. I think that television overall, in general, tends to trivialize the human struggle. We will do -- we'll say "oh, tonight, a very special show about alcoholism" and the whole show will be about it -- "oh, he's in the depths of his alcoholism" and then by the end, in 46 minutes, he finds the truth.

And I think that so trivializes the real struggle that people face, whether it's alcoholism or AIDS or whatever it is. So my stuff is considered, I guess, darker because I'm less willing to say to the audience: "oh, oh, OK. It's going to be OK. Don't worry. There are people who, you know that -- as long as you live your life in a good way" and blah, blah, blah, blah, blah.

I mean -- and I'm not belittling that. As I'm just saying is that I think of myself as giving the alternative story. You know, commercial television's always looking for heroes. And for me, heroicism doesn't come from victory. It comes from the nobility of the struggle -- the ongoing struggle. I'm much more interested in the ongoing struggle to survive than I am in the happy 48 -- 46 minute resolution of a problem.

GROSS: Now, do you have any idea whether your series will go past the first eight or nine episodes?

FONTANA: No, I'm waiting to hear right now. I'm supposed to hear in the next couple of weeks whether or not we'll be back and how many will make if we do come back. So, I just...

GROSS: Is this going to affect how you wrap-up the end of the first season?

FONTANA: No, we actually -- we finished shooting already, so I've already thrown my fate to the wind here. What will be interesting to see is how I get out of what I've done at the end of the eighth episode.

GROSS: Will you blow up the prison, but it's only a dream...

LAUGHTER

GROSS: ... when it starts again next season?

LAUGHTER

GROSS: Well, Tom Fontana, I want to thank you very much for talking with us.

FONTANA: Thank you.

GROSS: Tom Fontana is the writer and co-creator of the new series OZ. HBO is showing it Mondays at 11 p.m. Eastern time.

I'm Terry Gross.

(BEGIN AUDIO CLIP, SHOW "OZ")

FIRST ACTRESS: In Emerald City, we got rules -- and a lot more rules than anywhere else in OZ. Your cell is your home. Keep it clean, spotless. You are to exercise regularly; attend classes; go to drug and alcohol counseling. You are to work in one of the prison factories. You are to follow the routines...

Dateline: Terry Gross, Philadelphia
Guest: Tom Fontana
High: Television producer Tom Fontana has collaborated with Barry Levinson on the critically acclaimed drama "Homicide: Life on the Street." The team is now premiering a new adult drama for HBO, called "OZ," which FONTANA also wrote. "OZ" is a realistic look at an experimental unit of a maximum security prison whose aim is to rehabilitate its inmates. Each episode focuses on a specific theme, such as sex or capital punishment, and how it affects the characters.
Spec: Movie Industry; Television; Media; OZ; Homicide: Life on the Street
Please note, this is not the final feed of record
Copy: Content and programming copyright (c) 1997 National Public Radio, Inc. All rights reserved. Transcribed by Federal Document Clearing House, Inc. under license from National Public Radio, Inc. Formatting copyright (c) 1997 Federal Document Clearing House, Inc. All rights reserved. No quotes from the materials contained herein may be used in any media without attribution to National Public Radio, Inc. This transcript may not be reproduced in whole or in part without prior written permission. For further information please contact NPR's Business Affairs at (202) 414-2954
End-Story: Tom Fontana
Transcripts are created on a rush deadline, and accuracy and availability may vary. This text may not be in its final form and may be updated or revised in the future. Please be aware that the authoritative record of Fresh Air interviews and reviews are the audio recordings of each segment.