“We remember the good times, the bad times, the stuff that led us here.” Inmates at the Yaphank jail are receiving lessons in memoir writing. NewsdayTV’s Cecilia Dowd reports. Credit: Randee Daddona

Michael Mouzouris' voice cracked ever so slightly as he read his essay detailing the nerve-wracking ride home from the hospital last year with his wife and newborn triplets.

Were the kids properly fastened in their car seats? Was he driving safely? Would the babies be comfortable in the nursery of their new East Northport home?

As Mouzouris recalled pulling into his driveway with family members there to welcome them — the couple assured that they weren't alone on this harrowing journey — some of the 11 other men in the room, all wearing hunter green jumpsuits, nodded their heads in agreement. A shared moment of parenthood and humanity in the unlikeliest of locations. 

Welcome to the memoir writing class at the Suffolk County Correctional facility in Yaphank.

WHAT TO KNOW

  • Former journalist Andrew Visconti, 65, of East Hampton teaches a memoir writing course every Friday at the Suffolk County Correctional facility in Yaphank.
  • The nonviolent incarcerated men and women get help writing about the experiences — both positive and negative — that shaped their lives.
  • Visconti says he doesn't pretend to be a therapist, "But the dynamic is that of group therapy because people start opening up."
Andrew Visconti, a former journalist, teaches a class at the Yaphank...

Andrew Visconti, a former journalist, teaches a class at the Yaphank Correctional Facility in Yaphank on Friday. Credit: Randee Daddona

Since January, Andrew Visconti, 65, of East Hampton, who worked as an American correspondent for an Italian newspaper, has taught a course every Friday to the incarcerated men and women at the county jail, helping guide their writing to recall the experiences — both positive and negative — that shaped their lives.

Grammar, spelling and punctuation, generally the backbone of most writing classes, aren't emphasized here, with the focus instead on giving inmates who have been stripped of their freedoms an opportunity to reclaim their voice.

"I don't ask them to write about the reason that brought them here," Visconti explained following Friday's session with the male inmates. "Sometimes they do. Other times they don't. I just let them write about whatever they want. And it becomes a wonderful way to be introspective and reflect on your life; to put things in perspective and understand why we make the choices we do."

Mouzouris, 39, who had struggled with substance abuse, turned back to drugs following the death in December of one of the triplets at just 4 months old. It is a path that would lead Mouzouris to a stint behind bars for violating probation.

Mouzouris said writing about his lost "angel" brought up emotions that he has yet to fully grapple with.

"And that's what Andrew's class does to us," he said. "He gives us a prompt, but then we take it wherever we want. We become creative. We remember the good times or bad times. The stuff that led us here, and it helps us to realize our mistakes and what we can do to change."

In Friday's class, the prompt was to write a personal essay about an experience in an automobile. Previous sessions have focused on memories in the kitchen, a gift or a person who inspired them.

It is a learning experience for Visconti, who has taught memoir writing for the past four years at the East Hampton Library.

The retired reporter said he woke up one morning last October and, for reasons he still can't grasp, was determined to bring his writing class to the jail. The program was eventually incorporated into the Sheriff's Addiction Treatment program, where nonviolent individuals choose to participate in the weekly one-hour sessions.

Some inmates participate more than others. A handful speak only Spanish and write — all longhand — in their native tongue. A few share their writing with Visconti for critique while others read their essays to the group. Participants are encouraged to ask questions on issues that may not have been touched on in the essay.

"It becomes a strange form of group therapy," said Visconti, who provides his services on a volunteer basis although he is seeking a grant to fund the program. "I am not a therapist, and I don't pretend to be one. But the dynamic is that of group therapy because people start opening up. You just need one person to start opening up and that person becomes the conduit by which you reached the others."

Suffolk County Sheriff Errol Toulon said it is important to institute programs that allow inmates to leave the facility as better individuals.

"Many jails across the country have writing programs," Toulon said. "But to be able to express themselves in a manner that's going to be able to help understand or relieve some of the trauma that they've experienced is very helpful."

William Gonzalez, 45, of Patchogue, said before joining Visconti's program he had difficulty opening up about his emotions, often trapped by feelings of anger and hate. Now sober, after an arrest for aggravated DWI, Gonzalez is discovering a newfound ability to express himself.

"l learn so much in this program," he said. "For me it's a door open to express my feelings. My new thinking. My new thoughts."

The stories shared in the program range from tragedy to the sublime.

One inmate read an essay recalling the time he and a friend borrowed his brother's 1977 black Buick Regal coupe, crashing it into hedges outside a home in Sea Cliff. The teen exchanged phone numbers with the individual he believed to be the homeowner, who sent them on their way without calling the police.

But when the teen called back hours later offering to pay for the bushes, a new chapter of the story unfolded. A different man answered: The one he had spoken with earlier was apparently having an affair with the homeowner's wife.

Blake Argandona, 25, of Stony Brook, shared a story Friday about the time his dog suddenly had a fatal heart attack on a childhood road trip upstate with his family. Argandona, who was arrested last year on charges of criminal possession of narcotics, said he finds writing "therapeutic" and a positive way to pass the time behind bars.

And while Argandona concedes that jail is not the most conducive location to express vulnerability, he said Visconti's program has created a "safe space" where people can express themselves without fear of being judged.

"The world outside is harsh and cruel but … there's a lot that can come out of rebuilding myself and my future by being able to accept and be open about what I've experienced and who I am," he said. "Because if I'm not I am not going to be able to grow up. I'm not going to be able to experience and learn about myself."

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