This story was originally published by Prison Journalism Project.
A few days ago, The Lens got an email from Lawson Strickland, the award-winning writer who reported about the spelling bee from Angola prison, where he resides. We included Strickland’s message at the end of this story.
“Aromatherapy.” “Entrepreneur.” “Bachelorette.” “Bugaboo.” “Cahoots.” “Hunky-dory.”
The tension climbed each time a Louisiana State Penitentiary security official read a word aloud for the Angola Spelling Bee. Get a letter wrong and, with a ring of a bell, a contestant would fall by the wayside.
For the prison’s aspiring word champions, the competition was a long time coming. Sponsored by the prisoner-led New Men Ministry and Sobriety Program, it was the brainchild of Daniel Dickerson, who is incarcerated at Louisiana State Penitentiary, commonly called Angola Prison. Dickerson got the idea after watching the 2006 movie “Akeelah and the Bee.” His hope was that a spelling contest at the biggest maximum security prison in the United States would generate interest among people who might prefer reading and word games to traditional sports.
The competition debuted in 2014 and got off to a roaring start.
“We did two that same year, due to its popularity,” Dickerson said.
Michael Taylor, a graduate of New Orleans Baptist Theological Seminary, won both contests. Wayne Deroche, his bee rival, finished third and then second. But it would be over a decade until the next bee, as the creator of the spelling bee dealt with health issues. The two men didn’t have a chance at another showdown until this year.
Taylor, as defending champ, entered as the speller to beat. In February, the preliminary competition whittled a group of more than 50 entrants into nine finalists who competed in March. Eventually, when contestant Dustin Talley misspelled the word “ingenious,” landing him third place, only Taylor and Deroche remained.
Deroche was given his next word: “osmosis.” He spelled it perfectly.
Then Taylor was asked to spell “millennial.” When he left out one “n,” the security official rang her bell.
But contest rules required that Deroche progress one more round to claim the title. The word he got, “adjudicate,” is familiar to prisoners thanks to experience in the legal system. Deroche spelled it correctly.
“Finally,” Deroche said. “This is my third one. I’ve won third, second, and now first.”
It wasn’t easy, he said. “I wake up at midnight, when it’s nice and quiet, and I study until 4 o’clock in the morning, every night.”
His passion for spelling comes from his fondness for writing. “You sit there and study and study and study, and you learn how letters fit together in words,” Deroche said.
Taylor, the runner-up, said a good time was had by all.
“There’s a little pressure but a lot of fun,” he said.
Taylor said he hadn’t always been a great student; he credited his father for his success in spelling and vocabulary.
“It was one of the few things I found that I could do early in school,” he said. “I got to spelling because my father read a lot, so I started reading.”
Talley, a newcomer to the bee, enjoyed the experience.
“I had a teacher that stressed Hooked on Phonics in the second grade,” he said. “But after that, I’m a natural speller.”
Amber Finch, a prison accountant, served as judge and pronouncer for the preliminary round.
“We are just trying to build up the morale of the inmate population,” she said. “They are welcome to ask me about words either before or after the spelling bee. I can help them with a word they might need to know.”
The event concluded with a special meal. Taylor congratulated Deroche, and gave a friendly preview of their competition to come: “I’ll be back.”
Editor’s note: Late last year, The Lens published Lawson Strickland’s story Waiting, after it won the top prize in fiction in the PEN Prison Writing Award contest, his third first-place win in that category. A few days ago, we e-messaged with Strickland on JPay, the correctional email system. We wanted to know how the spelling bee was an indicator of a broader interest for reading and education within in the Louisiana State Penitentiary at Angola.
Here’s what Strickland told us:
“One of the most pronounced problems with prison is that the public tends to look more at who is going into an institution as opposed to who is coming out. Prisons are not college campuses, yet neither are they intellectual wastelands. Institutions such as Angola actually get it right when it comes to providing opportunities for the incarcerated to grow.
“There is indeed a marked lack of education for many entering into the carceral system, reflective of poverty and the poor social systems found in high crime environments. But a Hi-Set general equivalency degree is a requirement for anyone seeking release from prison, through the parole process.
“For many incarcerated people, enrolling in school in prison may be the first time they’ve essentially had nothing else to do but go to school each day, combined with positive incentives for progress toward graduation. It may also be the first time many realize that they can excel in an educational environment.
“Another factor involved with an event like a spelling bee are books. The level of readership in prison is very high. Books tend to fill long hours locked into dorms or cells. Books help to remove oneself from the conversely chaotic and monotonous day-to-day life in prison. The prison library is one of the most frequented areas of the prison. And as with children, reading is fundamental for the development of vocabulary.
“Not only do inmates at Angola participate in spelling bees, but members of the Insider Book Club meet monthly at the Main Prison library. There is also the institution’s annual Big Muddy Short Fiction contest, which draws upwards of 30 submissions and is judged by a panel of outside judges, with the winners announced in December.
“It is not a lack of ability but more often a lack of opportunity that is the dividing line between incarceration and education. Participation in educational activities while incarcerated is not mandatory, it is elective and for those who choose that path, it is indicative of an individual’s changing attitude about oneself and their future possibilities.
“I am reminded of Wilbert Rideau, who came to Angola illiterate but went on to teach himself—with the help of other inmates—to read, and who ultimately became one of the greatest voices from inside a prison for education, reform, and the power of rehabilitation to fundamentally change lives.
“It should not be surprising then, that even in the country’s largest maximum-security prison, so many men may come together to compete with words. It should be surprising that, for so many of them, it was their only real first opportunity to do so. ”
—Lawson Strickland