John Faherty

jfaherty@enquirer.com

There may be no tougher crowd in the world than a room filled with inmates and guards. These people are hard by definition and necessity. On Tuesday they sat waiting for the curtain to rise on the prison stage.

When it did, there was Dorothy, a 6-foot-4-inch African-American man doing eight years in the Ross Correctional Institution in Chillicothe. Dorothy wore braids and a blue dress and Toto was sitting by her side.

The sniggering and eye-rolling began immediately, then it turned louder and more derisive.

Dorothy, something of a diva, let the laughter subside. Then she started to sing with a voice of resounding beauty about a land she once heard of in a lullaby, about chimney tops and lemon drops and wanting to fly away. "Why oh, why, can't I?"

The crowd instantly grew quiet.

This production was the idea of Darwin Secrest, a corrections officer with 20 years of experience and a well-earned reputation as a "hard ass," according to both him and the prisoners.

"I was sitting in Block 1A, looking at some of the characters we had there, and I heard some singing, and I thought, 'We have enough talent here to put on a play.'"

Secrest wrote down the idea, put it in his pocket and eventually passed it on to the administration. The warden said go ahead and try. This was never going to be easy. Secrest needed guys to try out. He needed to get them to read the original book, then watch the movie and then create a play that worked inside a prison. Only then would there be rehearsals and set-building and costume-sewing.

The idea of working with the inmates is practical. It will make them better inmates, and it will make them better citizens when they get out. And they are getting out. "One of these days they might be sitting next to you at your kid's softball game. That's just the truth of it. We need to do something with them."

The palace guards were originally costumed like the ones in the movie, in gray tunics. That had to change once they were made, and it was clear they looked too much like real prison guard uniforms.

The money for the production, some supplies and the sewing machines to make costumes and sets did not come from taxpayers. The production was funded entirely from commissary sales and vending machines from the visiting area.

Secrest says there are two types of reactions when he explains the play to guards or his neighbors. "People either have an immediate understanding, or an immediate dislike."

Some of the other guards said it could never be done. "A couple of the guys said, 'All you got is some faggots and some chomos, and no money. Good luck.' " Chomos is a prison term for child molesters.

Making a musical does not initially seem consistent with Secrest's tough-guy reputation. He said that is not true.

"This play is a chance to work hard and follow the rules and do something positive with their life. I will show them respect if they earn it. To me this makes perfect sense."

Jacob Bokeno is inmate number 647060 and he got 20-to-life for raping children in Butler County. He earned every one of those years, and this story is not forgetting his victims. But he is going to get out.

He said "The Wizard of Oz" was an opportunity to start to rebuild his life by doing something positive. Bokeno, 26, is a talented guitarist and plays throughout the production.

"You don't have an opportunity to show your worth in here," Bokeno said. "I wanted to participate."

When the size of the production grew, the administration at Ross Correctional asked the Chillicothe Correctional Institutional, across the street, if they could perform there because the stage is bigger.

That meant the guys would be playing on the same stage once played by Merle Haggard. Haggard played at the Chillicothe Correctional Institution because his friend, Johnny Paycheck, was doing time there for shooting a man in an Ohio bar.

So Bokeno, a musician before going to prison, was playing on the Haggard stage. "I'm a better person today," Bokeno said. "I'm proud of myself today."

The stage and costumes were made by inmates who could use cardboard, tape and cloth. Lots of tape. The paint had to be a specific type so it could not be used for tattoos. "They needed to find solutions and work together," Secrest said. "That is important in here."

Joseph Sims is doing eight years for creating fake payroll checks and cashing them as part of a criminal enterprise.

Dorothy is not an easy role to play in a prison musical. "This is already a negative environment," Sims, 36, said. "Being who I am, I've had to deal with a lot."

Sims is openly gay and says his fellow inmates cannot understand why he would want to do this. It confuses them, Sims says, which makes them "lash out" at him. So why did he choose to be Dorothy?

"Because this is who I am," Sims said. "This is what I love."

He started singing when he was 2 years old, and sang in churches growing up in Birmingham, Alabama. Singing and acting, he said, helps him "try to remain human."

Secrest says the inmates need to be challenged in the prison system. "This gives them something to do, something positive." And the men in the program have flourished, he said. "You do not have to like it, but these guys are getting out."

Christian Robinson is doing 15 years for assaulting children. In the play, Robinson was the Cowardly Lion, complete with a full costume and whiskers painted on his cheeks.

Growing up, Robinson, 21, watched "The Wizard of Oz" every Christmas morning with his mother. The lion, he knows, acts tough when he is scared and is full of bluster. Robinson came into the system weighing 500 pounds, and is now down to 350. He says everybody in prison tries to act tough.

"There are times in here you have a lot of anger and hatred," Robinson said. For him, "over the rainbow" means going home. There are 11 years before that becomes possible, but it will happen.

He knows people on the outside are going to be critical of a program like this, that people will not be comfortable with inmates staging a play. But that is avoiding the truth.

"A lot of these guys are going home. Most all of us are going home," Robinson said. "What would you like them to do in here, get better, or get worse?"

Secrest is nobody's idea of a bleeding heart, but before the play, he was excited about the idea of these inmates performing before a live audience. Most of them, he said, have probably never heard anybody clap for them. "This whole thing worked because we presented challenges and obstacles for the inmates," Secrest said.

Antoine Davis got 25 years for drug trafficking, gun possession and attempted aggravated murder. He might be the last person on Earth you would expect to be in a play, let alone playing Glinda the Good Witch. Davis, 39, is big and tough and quiet. Secrest thought he could be more than that.

"Somebody convinced me I should try out for the part," Davis said, looking pointedly at Secrest. "But he forgot to mention the pink dress."

Davis said there are limited programs for level-3 inmates facing long terms. They are considered a security risk and will serve long stretches. It can feel like there is no path home. Being in "The Wizard of Oz" has helped him grow. "Being a loner, participating in this program has opened me up," Davis said. "It gave me a sense of accomplishment."

He said playing Glinda, which he accomplishes with a rather rugged aplomb, has helped him improve as a person. In his prior life, he was a drug dealer, making a living off of helping people make bad decisions. Glinda put Dorothy on the yellow-brick road. "She did what she needed to do to get people on the right path," Davis said. "In here you have a group of guys doing the right thing."

This week, the stage was covered with flying monkeys and palace guards and witches both good and bad. There were three Munchkins – one is in for murder, two for aggravated robbery and battery. "I demand accountability from the inmates," Secrest said. "I expect them to work hard and follow the rules.

At the end of the play, when Dorothy sang "Home," from "The Wiz," as performed by Diana Ross, Sims sang about thinking of home, a place where love is overflowing. He sang about trees bending in the wind and snowflakes with meaning and about living in a brand new world.

It is a difficult song to sing, one that he practiced over and again in the months leading to this show. He stood there, in red plastic shoes, covered with sparkles and he sang as loud and as well as he could.

When he was finished, it was quiet again. And then the inmates stood and cheered.