New York Prison Finds Inmates Can Be a Soft Touch--for Animals

Like wallflowers at a junior-high dance, the Rikers Island inmates hung back. Maybe they knew their street-wise facades were about to be punctured by puppy love.

For two hours, these teen-agers could almost forget the manslaughter, kidnaping or car theft charges that landed them behind bars. Instead, they played with seven visiting dogs and cats, a rare touch of tenderness provided monthly by volunteers from the Animal Medical Center.

“My friends think I’m totally nuts, but it’s not dangerous as people perceive it,” said Edith McBean, the center’s outreach coordinator, who goes to Rikers with Casey, a Jack Russell terrier puppy, and Keen, a Labrador retriever.

“For those two hours, the machismo is dropped; they’re just little boys,” said Diane Smith, coordinator of volunteer visits for the Rikers health services unit.

The goals of these visits, which started three years ago, are to decrease depression, stress and loneliness and to improve self-images, social skills and self-control. The inmates, ages 16 to 19, were chosen because their families and friends don’t visit.

“Even though they’re not family, it’s something. These people go out of their way,” said James, a 19-year-old inmate who dreams of becoming a mechanic and having a cat. “It makes you feel open, good inside. It gets your mind away from the problems you’ve got. It makes you feel special.”

“We’re coming in without an agenda--we’re not writing a paper, not there to save souls,” said Susan Cohen, a therapist on the Animal Medical Center staff. “Pets are an icebreaker. Otherwise, what would we say to them: ‘Do you come here often?’ ”

The results haven’t been analyzed, but at least one effect is evident.

“There are a lot of fights among the adolescents: slashings and stabbings, that sort of thing,” said Smith. “Once they’re put into a relaxed mood, there’s less of a chance of fighting--at least, that day.”

On a recent night, 10 volunteers arrived in an ebullient conga line, cats yawning and dogs yapping as they passed through four security checkpoints. Some are employees of the medical center, some are volunteers there and most bring their own pets.

Toys, water bowls, dog treats and bags of cookies were piled in the otherwise-dismal visitors’ room. The five dogs raced around, wagging, sniffing and barking.

At first, the 16 inmates huddled in knots of three or four. Under the gaze of uniformed officers, the volunteers fanned out, helping the pets introduce themselves. The two cats were coaxed from their carriers and gently placed on laps.

The prisoners, eyes filled with uncertainty, masked their vulnerability with bravado. Several bragged that they had once owned the meanest dog on the block. Some teased the dogs, holding toys or food out of reach.

“I tell them to knock it off in a nice way. They stop, maybe after you’ve said it five times,” said McBean.

Eventually, everyone started to relax. “It’s nice to see how they soften up,” she said.

The beefiest inmates zeroed in on the brawny dogs, like Teddy, an Appenzeller brought by Debra Liccardi, a dog walker, and Nick G. Hayden, vice president of a real estate company.

“Teddy’s got a tough-looking appearance that a lot of guys at prison love,” said Hayden.

Hayden and Liccardi have been going to Rikers for five months with pets they borrow from her clients. She gets the inmates acquainted with the dogs; he talks to them about other things.

“It’s a matter of sitting there and listening,” said Hayden. “They’re all extremely polite. It’s sometimes hard to keep in perspective that they’re not all saints.”

At least until he hears their stories.

“One kid attempted murder a couple of times; another was in for possession of a 9-millimeter gun, an Uzi and vials of crack. I’m sure if I’d seen him on the street, I’d have known he was trouble and walked away,” Hayden said. “But I sat there, talking to him for an hour.”

Some inmates sat quietly, stroking the more tranquil pets, as they spoke with the volunteers.

“I like to observe them; they have their own little world,” said Danny, 19. “I wonder what they think about us.”

“There are times you do get lonely,” confessed Jamar, 18. “I miss my family, girlfriend, brothers and sister.”

“My brothers are facing hard time; I pray for them every night,” said James. “After a visit (from the animals), it’s hard when you go back to the house.”

It wasn’t long, though, before James went back.

An officer bellowed; the inmates filed out. The dogs, panting, sprawled on the floor; the cats hid beneath blankets in their carriers. A corrections worker searched for the key that would return the visitors to freedom.

“You spend a couple of hours and feel like you do something good for them,” said Hayden. “But you leave very confused, frustrated.”

Still, he concluded: “If we can get one guy out and keep him out, I think it’s worth it.”