Echo Yard, Donovan prison’s newest unit, is built around a dirt and concrete lot the size of two football fields. The prairie-flat expanse is bordered by sheer concrete walls, rising 70 feet, with ground-floor doors leading into cell blocks.

To civilian visitors, Echo looks harsh.

To Anerae “X-Raided” Brown, Echo looks wonderful.

“You have to earn your way here,” said Brown, 43, a convicted murderer who logged 20 years in other prisons before entering Echo Yard last November. “This is as close as you get to a field trip to Disneyland in here.”


Inside this experimental yard, classified by the California Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation as a “non-designated programming facility,” normal prison rules no longer apply. Cells are racially integrated. Sex offenders and transgender inmates are housed with everyone else. Gangs are banned.

“The biggest thing about this place, what makes it unique in the state, is that this is where they put all politics aside,” said Capt. Eduardo Garza, Echo’s commander. “We don’t play by those rules any more. We don’t do Crips, Bloods, Mexican Mafia.”

Instead, all 780 inhabitants of this yard “program” are immersing themselves in courses designed to address a criminal past (anger management, victim awareness), law-abiding future (job hunting strategies, money management) and deep-seated pathologies (Alcoholics Anonymous, Narcotics Anonymous, Criminals and Gang Members Anonymous).

Prisoners publish a monthly newspaper, perform in musical bands, raise service dogs for wounded veterans and autistic kids. There’s Saturday morning yoga, Thursday night art class, correspondence courses in geography, history and other subjects.


All of this costs money, but Garza said Echo has been so trouble-free that it requires only one-third the staffing of an ordinary yard.

Since opening in 16 months ago, Echo has challenged veteran inmates’ assumptions. When Mitchell Celestine transferred here in March 2017, for instance, he was the only black man in a six-man cell.

“In the main line,” said Celestine, who has been incarcerated since 1977, “you’d never be in a cell with another race. Never, ever play ball with other races. In the main line, you can’t even give food — or sell food — to someone from another race.”

This is still prison. Guards patrol the yard. Inmates are subject to random pat-downs. Despite the emphasis on preparing for life on the outside, many prisoners are LWOP — life without parole. But the atmosphere is lighter, Garza said, pointing up.


The catwalk atop the yard’s soaring walls was empty. “The other facilities, there’s a man up there with a lethal weapon,” Garza said. “It frees you a bit.”

“This is the top of the line,” Celestine said. “And you’re talking to a man who has been in prison for 41 years.”

You’re talking to a man…

Talking to these men is disorienting, an exercise in double vision — the images don’t align. These men seem like your co-workers or neighbors, yet they committed horrifying — some would say unforgivable — crimes.


In Echo Yard, said a rabbi who counsels these men, “you sit down with serial killers and people who killed their own family members. The problem is right here. What am I supposed to do with this problem? Look away? Kill them?

“But what if these people come from your family? What if down the line these people could become productive?”

Celebs and bottom feeders

Like the other inmates on a committee planning Echo Yard’s spring art show, Anerae Brown was stymied.

The exhibition would be open to a select group of invited guests. These civilians would be welcomed into the yard to view and bid on the artworks.


Laura Pecenco, an assistant professor of sociology at Miramar College who teaches art at Richard J. Donovan Correctional Facility on Otay Mesa, suggested opening the show to all inmates, even those not enrolled in her class.

“The more, the better,” she said. “I want to make this a showcase for the yard.”

1 / 19 Prisoner Melvin Bryant stands with Woody in the yard at the Donovan Correctional Facility. Bryant is part of a Non-Designated Programming Facility known at Donovan as the Echo Yard. Prisoners can get into the program with good behavior, attending classes, and performing jobs. Bryant and Woody are in the Prisoners Overcoming Obstacles & Creating Hope (POOCH) Program where prisoners train therapy dogs. (Photo by K.C. Alfred/ San Diego Union -Tribune) (K.C. Alfred / San Diego Union-Tribune) 2 / 19 Prisoner Melvin Bryant walks with Woody in the yard at the Donovan Correctional Facility. Bryant is part of a Non-Designated Programming Facility known at Donovan as the Echo Yard. Prisoners can get into the program with good behavior, attending classes, and performing jobs. Bryant and Woody are in the Prisoners Overcoming Obstacles & Creating Hope (POOCH) Program where prisoners train therapy dogs. (Photo by K.C. Alfred/ San Diego Union -Tribune) (K.C. Alfred / San Diego Union-Tribune) 3 / 19 Inmate Cesar Swain works with Woody as part of the Prisoners Overcoming Obstacles & Creating Hope (POOCH) Program where prisoners train therapy dogs at Donovan Correctional Facility. Swain is in the Non-Designated Programming Facility known at Donovan as the Echo Yard. Prisoners can get into the program with good behavior, attending classes, and performing jobs. (Photo by K.C. Alfred/ San Diego Union -Tribune) (K.C. Alfred / San Diego Union-Tribune) 4 / 19 Inmate Cesar Swain works with Woody as part of the Prisoners Overcoming Obstacles & Creating Hope (POOCH) Program where prisoners train therapy dogs at Donovan Correctional Facility. Swain is in the Non-Designated Programming Facility known at Donovan as the Echo Yard. Prisoners can get into the program with good behavior, attending classes, and performing jobs. (Photo by K.C. Alfred/ San Diego Union -Tribune) (K.C. Alfred / San Diego Union-Tribune) 5 / 19 Inmate Cesar Swain works with Woody as part of the Prisoners Overcoming Obstacles & Creating Hope (POOCH) Program where prisoners train therapy dogs at Donovan Correctional Facility. Swain is in the Non-Designated Programming Facility known at Donovan as the Echo Yard. Prisoners can get into the program with good behavior, attending classes, and performing jobs. (Photo by K.C. Alfred/ San Diego Union -Tribune) (K.C. Alfred / San Diego Union-Tribune) 6 / 19 Inmate Anerae Brown, known as the rapper X-Raided rehearses with a band at Donovan Correctional Facility. Brown and the others are in the Non-Designated Programming Facility known at Donovan as the Echo Yard. Prisoners can get into the program with good behavior, attending classes, and performing jobs. (Photo by K.C. Alfred/ San Diego Union -Tribune) (K.C. Alfred / San Diego Union-Tribune) 7 / 19 Inmates Anerae Brown, known as the rapper X-Raided, left, and Lyle Menéndez walk through the yard at Donovan Correctional Facility. The two are in the Non-Designated Programming Facility known at Donovan as the Echo Yard. Prisoners can get into the program with good behavior, attending classes, and performing jobs. (Photo by K.C. Alfred/ San Diego Union -Tribune) (K.C. Alfred / San Diego Union-Tribune) 8 / 19 April 4, 2018 _ Inmates gather in in Echo Yard at the Donovan Correctional Facility in Otay Mesa. The prisoners earn the right to be in the program with good behavior, speaking with a counselor, attending classes, and performing jobs. (Photo by K.C. Alfred/ San Diego Union -Tribune) (K.C. Alfred / San Diego Union-Tribune) 9 / 19 Inmates Anerae Brown, known as the rapper X-Raided, left, and Lyle Menéndez walk through the yard at Donovan Correctional Facility. The two are in the Non-Designated Programming Facility known at Donovan as the Echo Yard. Prisoners can get into the program with good behavior, attending classes, and performing jobs. (Photo by K.C. Alfred/ San Diego Union -Tribune) (K.C. Alfred / San Diego Union-Tribune) 10 / 19 An inmate walks from his cell to the yard in the Non-Designated Programming Facility at the Donovan Correctional Facility in Otay Mesa. Prisoners can get into the program with good behavior, attending classes, and performing jobs. (Photo by K.C. Alfred/ San Diego Union -Tribune) (K.C. Alfred / San Diego Union-Tribune) 11 / 19 Inmates roll dice in the Non-Designated Programming Facility known at Donovan as the Echo Yard. Prisoners can get into the program with good behavior, attending classes, and performing jobs. (Photo by K.C. Alfred/ San Diego Union -Tribune) (K.C. Alfred / San Diego Union-Tribune) 12 / 19 The moon rises over Donovan Correctional Facility in Otay Mesa. (Photo by K.C. Alfred/ San Diego Union -Tribune) (K.C. Alfred / San Diego Union-Tribune) 13 / 19 Linda Litteral teaches a Project PAINT class at the Donovan Correctional Facility. Prisoners can get into the Non-Designated Programming Facility with good behavior, attending classes, and performing jobs. Project PAINT has an upcoming art show with inmates’ work on display. (Photo by K.C. Alfred/ San Diego Union -Tribune) (K.C. Alfred / San Diego Union-Tribune) 14 / 19 Inmate Michael Briggs works in a Project PAINT class at the Donovan Correctional Facility. Prisoners can get into the Non-Designated Programming Facility with good behavior, attending classes, and performing jobs. Project PAINT has an upcoming art show with inmates’ work on display. (Photo by K.C. Alfred/ San Diego Union -Tribune) (K.C. Alfred / San Diego Union-Tribune) 15 / 19 Inmate Mitchell Celestine holds a Continent of Africa Lion Clock he made out of popsicle sticks at the Donovan Correctional Facility. Celestine is part of a Non-Designated Programming Facility known at Donovan as the Echo Yard. Prisoners can get into the program with good behavior, attending classes, and performing jobs. (Photo by K.C. Alfred/ San Diego Union -Tribune) (K.C. Alfred / San Diego Union-Tribune) 16 / 19 Inmate Gwen Randal works in a Project PAINT class at the Donovan Correctional Facility. Prisoners can get into the Non-Designated Programming Facility with good behavior, attending classes, and performing jobs. Project PAINT has an upcoming art show with inmates’ work on display. (Photo by K.C. Alfred/ San Diego Union -Tribune) (K.C. Alfred / San Diego Union-Tribune) 17 / 19 Laura Pacenco, founder of Project PAINT, talks with inmate Mitchell Celestine at the Donovan Correctional Facility. Prisoners can get into the Non-Designated Programming Facility with good behavior, attending classes, and performing jobs. Project PAINT has an upcoming art show with inmates’ work on display and Celestine donate some of his work. (Photo by K.C. Alfred/ San Diego Union -Tribune) (K.C. Alfred / San Diego Union-Tribune) 18 / 19 Inmate Gwen Randal works in a Project PAINT class at the Donovan Correctional Facility. Prisoners can get into the Non-Designated Programming Facility with good behavior, attending classes, and performing jobs. Project PAINT has an upcoming art show with inmates’ work on display. (Photo by K.C. Alfred/ San Diego Union -Tribune) (K.C. Alfred / San Diego Union-Tribune) 19 / 19 Art teacher Linda Litteral displays a work of art by a prisoner in the Project PAINT class at the Donovan Correctional Facility. Prisoners can get into the Non-Designated Programming Facility with good behavior, attending classes, and performing jobs. Project PAINT has an upcoming art show with inmates’ work on display. (Photo by K.C. Alfred/ San Diego Union -Tribune) (K.C. Alfred / San Diego Union-Tribune)

That struck some inmates as risky. “We have to be mindful that we are dealing with a diverse population here,” one said.


If some art fails to attract bids, another predicted, the artist could be upset. “We have some sensitive people here.”

This impasse was broken when one of Echo Yard’s latest arrivals spoke up: “Can the show be open to everyone during the day,” he asked, “and then have a private showing at night with works from just the art class?”

Problem solved. Happy with the outcome, Brown fist-bumped the newcomer, Lyle Menendez.

The Menendez brothers, Lyle and Erik, may be Echo Yard’s most famous residents. The subjects of books and a recent “Law & Order” TV miniseries, in 1989 they were convicted of the shotgun slaying of their parents in the family’s Beverly Hills mansion.


Erik entered Echo last Wednesday; Lyle has been there since February.

Lyle met Brown when both were serving time in a prison near Sacramento, Mule Creek. Like the brothers, Brown enjoyed a certain amount of prison yard notoriety. At 15, he had recorded his first rap album, “Psycho Active,” under his performance name, “X-Raided.”

The rapper was also running with the Crips. At 17, he and four other gang members were arrested for the murder of a rival’s mother.

Convicted and sentenced to 31 years-to-life, Brown continued recording — from prison he would call friends, who would tape his rapping — and hanging out with other imprisoned Crips. His story attracted reporters, and he granted the occasional interview.


At Mule Creek, Lyle watched Brown performing for the latest TV crew, playing up his gang affiliation and criminal past.

“I acted like an idiot,” Brown said. “I was hanging out with the bottom feeders, acting like a bottom feeder. And he called me on it.”

“I told him, ‘With young people looking up to you, kids looking up to you, is that what you want to promote?’” Lyle recalled.

In 2012, Brown left the Crips, a move that cost him friends and left him open to retaliation. “It was dangerous,” he said. “But I felt I had risked my life for things that weren’t worth risking my life for. Am I willing to fight for my right to live with my family? Am I willing to redefine what it means to fight?


“Can you respond like a citizen?”

Brown transferred to Echo Yard last November.

Pictures for an exhibition

In the art class, you don’t have to be Sigmund Freud to see the subtext beneath every canvas. For the upcoming show, Mike Briggs submitted a painting he titled “Remission,” inspired by a friend whose son underwent cancer treatment.

The scene shows a boy walking a rural path with two puppies. The boy is bald.


“It’s a picture of a kid getting back to his life,” Briggs said, “to what he wants to do.”

Now 57, Briggs was raised in San Francisco by foster parents. In 1993, he was sentenced to 88 years in prison for the rape and murder of a woman; police suspected him of raping two other women.

He’s “in recovery” from violence and criminality, Briggs said, taking courses on anger management and criminal thinking. Active on several inmate committees, he’s also learning to weld.

“I am intent on making myself a better person,” he said, “whatever I have to do.”


Even after 13 months here, he finds Echo Yard unsettling.

“There’s so much diversity here, it’s a shock to the system,” he said. “I am adjusting but it’s rough.”

Across the classroom, one of those diverse inmates is intent on her assignment, a face done in the cubist style. “This is my main rehabilitation right here, art,” Gwen Randal said. “Helps me express myself in ways I’ve never been exposed to.”

As a 16-year-old living in Sacramento, Timothy Randal murdered his mother and sister. Convicted in 2001, Randal began to transition from male to female while in another prison. As Gwen, she wears a modest amount of makeup and braids her long hair.


“This yard is a lot better than the one I was in before,” she said. Some “hard cases” look down on the transgender inmates, she said, but that’s rare. “We actually get along with the majority of the people here.”

While she focuses on drawing people, she also framed the pieces in the upcoming inmate art show. The “wood” frames are tightly rolled and painted 11-by-17 sheets of paper.

Working with real wood is a challenge, as knives and saws are not allowed in the yard. Yet Mitchell Celestine builds clocks with sleek wooden surfaces. His latest is about a foot tall and shaped like the African continent, a color photo of a lion lacquered over the surface.

The clock’s surface looks like polished cherry wood. “Popsicle sticks and tongue depressors,” Celestine said. “Three layers.”


Each clock requires four to five weeks, Celestine said, and he shaves the sticks and depressors with the kind of pencil sharpener used by first-graders. Layers are joined with non-toxic, non-intoxicating Elmer’s glue.

The symbolism behind these timepieces is obvious to everyone, including the artist. For Celestine, the Africa clock stands for freedom, strength and time.

“The many hours, minutes, seconds and years,” he said, “spent in prison.”

‘We’ve got you’

In class, Pecenco moves among the men, issuing advice and encouragement. For the last five years, her Project PAINT has aimed to help inmates see themselves as more than locked-up criminals.


“The whole idea of having status in prison is being tough,” said Pecenco, “being the toughest, baddest guy in the yard. In art, that’s not helpful.”

At 5 feet 3 inches and 110 pounds, Pecenco is often the smallest person — and only civilian — in a room of inmates. Strapped to her waist is a small boxy object, like a garage door opener. It’s an alarm.

Years ago, while she was teaching a class inside a windowless room, Donovan’s power failed.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been in such darkness,” she said.


As she reached for the alarm, Pecenco heard an inmate at her side: “Don’t you worry. We’ve got you. No problem.”

“That was actually a very reassuring moment for me,” she said. “If anything, it showed they were there because they care about the art.”

Limited to 24 students, her class always has a waiting list. Having something worthwhile to do, inmates say, makes the long hours bearable.

There’s also a waiting list for the POOCH (Prisoners Overcoming Obstacles & Creating Hope) Program.


“When I heard about the cause,” said Cesar Swain, 31, imprisoned since 2013 on a manslaughter conviction, “that the dogs were going to veterans and autistic children, I had to be a part of that.”

The dogs are assigned to inmate trainers, who drill the animals on 23 behaviors — everything from opening doors to fetching prosthetic limbs — during the 16 months they live together.

Melvin Bryant’s cell is home to six inmates and two dogs. It’s tight, but the 54-year-old former gang member doesn’t mind.

“It doesn’t just help the dogs, it helps the inmates as well,” said Bryant, who was convicted of murder as a 17-year-old. “By working with the dogs, you learn to deal with your own core beliefs. That old mentality from the gangs — once you break that, you have a better understanding of who you are.”


Echo Yard is too new to have been thoroughly studied; it’s unclear whether its graduates will be more successful in the outside world than convicts emerging from more traditional prisons.

Still, this experiment reminded University of California San Diego economist Gordon Dahl of his research on Norway, which has a much lower recidivism rate than the U.S. That Scandinavian country operates both “open” and “closed” prisons, the former giving inmates more programs and responsibility, the latter meting out hard time to hard-core criminals.

Yet even those sent to closed prisons eventually transfer to an open prison, to help make the transition back to civilian life.

“The idea is, if you can’t handle an open prison, how will you be able to handle society?” Dahl said.


Norway is not the U.S., and Echo Yard is not “open” — visitors have to pass through six locked doors to reach the yard. But there are echoes of the Norwegian approach in Echo.

“Here,” said Celestine, the clockmaker, “you are in with people that might be called degenerates. You adjust, as you do in society. You are going to live with people from all aspects of life. If you can adjust to this environment, you can adjust to society.”