BY KRISTA RAMSEY
The Cincinnati Enquirer
This spring, Dana Harbin Jr., confirmed a long-time suspicion. He found out he was smart.
After he left high school before graduation in 1991, he had a job, a family and no time to think about education. Then last year, he served a sentence for traffic-related charges in Queensgate jail, and there was plenty of time, especially to think about where his life was going.
The father of two decided it was time to pursue his General Educational Development diploma (GED). This spring, he learned that he not only passed the test, but placed in the top 2 percent of test-takers nationally.
It was the chance he had been waiting for. A first chance to be looked at seriously by colleges, a second chance at life.
Mr. Harbin's chance came about because of Cincinnati Public Schools' adult education program, but also -- in no small part -- because of a feisty little nun named Sister Mary Germaine Thorburn, a corrections instructor and, incidentally, a Hamilton County deputy sheriff. For six years, she has devoted nearly four decades of teaching experience, two master's degrees and her heart to teaching Queensgate inmates.
Loves her job
New acquaintances often express shock at her vocation. Sister Germaine waves off their doubts. She loves what she does and the men she teaches. "They're somebody's father, son, husband," she says spiritedly. "They're somebody just like you and me, but they made a mistake. And they can change."
For 40 hours a week, 50 weeks a year, Sister Germaine spends her life with the people society prefers to avoid. She is their math and writing teacher, their GED coach and their cheerleader. "I say, "Good, good!,' "Rah, rah!,' "Yeah, yeah!' They do take-offs of me all the time," she says with a grin.
Besides their two-hour sessions with "Sister" or "Teach," there is painfully little for the men to smile about.
Many are meeting her at the worst point of their lives. They have committed a crime. They are in "the system." They spend their days in the endless green haze of jail dormitory life, with a bed, locker and 99 other men on "the floor."
For many, it is one more chance to fail, to sink to the low expectations others have long held for them. Dana Harbin always knew he had ability, but many others tell the nun that they are too dumb, too old or too far gone to be educated.
And she tells them, "If you keep playing that little record in your head, that's how your life will go. We don't play that little record here."
Personal touch
In an institution where they are a number -- "Bed 52," "Bed 71" -- Sister Germaine insists on knowing their name. With a few computer commands, she could find out why they are incarcerated. She refuses to. They are not numbers or charges to her. They are men.
She sees them for short periods of time, the days or weeks they are serving out are relatively small sentences. But she is interested in the lives they held before -- sometimes brave, sometimes troubled -- and the lives they aspire to.
That is where Sister Germaine differs from most of society. Where others see an inmate only in the context of his crime, she sees him in the context of his life.
"Many of them are creative, artistic and have wonderful brains," she says. "My guys aren't proud of what they did wrong. None of them are. But, on the other hand, their crime isn't their whole being." It is the message Dana Harbin Jr. heard and heeded.
"She was a great teacher and a great motivator. She got me thinking about college," he says. "I've always felt I was doing something bad. Sister Germaine told me people get stuck in a groove where they can't feel good about themselves. And then she helped me break out of that groove."
Krista Ramsey's column appears on Saturdays. Write her at the Enquirer, 312 Elm St. Cincinnati 45202.
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