Christmas I remember best: 'Angels in prison' richly rewarded for helping family

I became a volunteer at the Utah State Prison about 40 years ago to give something back for all the help I received during a long hospitalization following World War II. I visited inmates on my own for a time and then became an assistant to the prison's LDS chaplain.

When the inmates discovered I was a professional gardener, they asked me to help them fix up the grounds around their cell block. I taught the men — and later women inmates — to plant and care for flowers and vegetables, and we became friends. One December in the early 1960s, the prisoners asked me to locate a struggling family they could help for the holidays.

I turned to the central Salt Lake ward that had once helped me recover my health. I learned of an abandoned single mother who was working and receiving some aid but who had little extra money to provide Christmas for four young sons. When I visited the family, the oldest boy, a 12-year-old, told me that his mom had said she was sorry they couldn't have much of a Christmas. But he told her not to worry; they could eat cornflakes for Christmas.

I was concerned about how the inmates would fund their ideas. But 40 years ago, prisoners were permitted to work on personal leather, wood and metal projects and sell the souvenirs from a showcase in the visitors entrance of the prison and keep the money.

The two inmates had asked their fellow convicts to help, and together they collected an amazing $1,000. Those two men were determined to provide the family a holiday with all the trimmings, including the Christmas stockings.

In those days, some inmates were allowed passes on rare occasions, so I was permitted to take the prisoners shopping uptown, accompanied by a guard. Wearing unmarked green uniforms, the inmates carried coats over their arms to cover the handcuffs on their wrists as they bought clothes, toys, decorations and food.

A few days before Christmas, I returned to the home with the chaplain, the two prisoners and a guard, our arms loaded with bags and boxes. In an act of compassion, the guard removed the handcuffs for this hour. The family greeted us with smiles and tears. As I walked past the mother standing at the door, she whispered to me, "God has angels in prison, doesn't he?" The family helped us carry in groceries, hang new Christmas stockings, set out wrapped gifts and decorate the tree. Being the tallest, I held up the smallest boy to put the star at the top of the tree.

Before letting us leave, the 5-year-old pulled us onto our knees in the living room, telling us he wanted to say a prayer. I remember that it was an unorthodox prayer, and we were all crying, as the boy expressed his own thanks and then looked up to his mother for help.