Prison counsel

A group of inmates warns youths against violence in new film

The cast of this public service announcement is known for the wrong reasons: murder, armed robbery, gang shootings, and drugs. They are nine burly convicts with faded tattoos and hard stares, men who grew gray behind bars.

But as these nine inmates at the Old Colony Correctional Center looked into a video camera and told their stories, they had a message for teenagers living in their former neighborhoods in Dorchester, Roxbury, Mattapan, and Brockton. It is a message that inmates such as Herby Caillot did not hear on the streets, but one he now cannot escape as he serves a life sentence for murder.

"You don't want to end up like me," Caillot warned.

The nine interviews were compiled into a 25-minute film titled, "Voices From Behind the Wall," which is scheduled to debut at the 16th annual Youth Peace Conference today at 1 p.m. Organizers hope it will draw more then 1,000 people to the Strand Theater in Dorchester.

The making of the film was spearheaded by Darrell Jones, a 41-year-old father of three boys from Dorchester who has been imprisoned since 1985, serving life for first-degree murder. Jones's three sons, who were struggling on the same streets he left for prison at age 18, were the motivation for the public service announcement.

It took eight years to come to fruition, which was too late for his middle son. Darrius Jones, 23, was shot and killed in January as he left a funeral in Roslindale.

"This was my son's life," Jones said in an interview this week at the Old Colony Correctional Center in Bridgewater, describing his efforts to make the film. "This was trying to stop some kids that I knew, because this was where they were going to end up."

In the film, the inmates describe what prison is like: standing counts at dawn and dusk; small portions of unsatisfying food; showering with shoes on; and living in a cell that is essentially a bathroom with a mattress. They talk about how their families were destroyed, the shame, the helplessness, and being abandoned by the people they ran with on the street.

"I had some friends who I thought were going to stand by me," Caillot said, staring straight into the camera with a sober expression. "They didn't."

The goal is to demystify the gangster image that has made prison a rite of passage on some urban streets.

"It is invaluable for youth to see that there is nothing grand, noble, or romantic about prison life," said Stanley Pollack, executive director of The Center for Teen Empowerment, which produced the film with the Department of Correction. "It is a deplorable experience."

Organizers hope to use the film to push for a renewed focus on urban schools, with education serving as an antidote for violence. A rally with educators and community leaders is scheduled for May 21 at the State House.

Prison officials and community leaders such as the Boston city councilor Chuck Turner helped make the film happen, but Jones was the driving force.

His story behind bars dates to November 1985, when he was charged with first-degree murder in the fatal shooting of 42-year-old Guillermo Rodrigues on Montello Street in Brockton. Rodrigues left a wife and 1-year-old daughter. His family could not be located for comment for this story.

Jones maintains his innocence and said this week that he did not shoot Rodrigues. He acknowledges, however, that as a teenager he was seduced by the lure of street crime.

His voice swelled with the passion of a preacher when he talked about the courage it took inmates in the film to talk about the humiliation of prison and the pitfalls of crime.

That includes Anthony Warren, 31, the man who shot and paralyzed 3-year-old Kai Leigh Harriott in 2003. At Warren's sentencing, Kai offered him forgiveness from her wheelchair. He thanked her during taping of the film last month and then gave some advice.

"There are people out there who care about you, who want to see you succeed," Warren said. "Reach out. Gravitate towards those people, because they are not always going to be there."

Convicted murderer Mark Thomas offered a message that was a little more jarring.

"These young cats need to see you grow old in prison," Thomas said. "Consider I was 22 years old when I came into prison. I'm going on 51 now. It's not funny anymore. I want guys to see when they view this video, this could be you.

"I'm doing life."