Beneath the Bond: Unraveling Secrets in Andrew Miller’s My Guys
Chuck can be very persistent; on his third try, he received permission to start the club. Several months later, I met him at the front gate, and a correctional officer escorted us through the sallyport, four locked doors, across the compound, and into a windowless cinder-block room in the Educational Building. Exposed ductwork snaked across the ceiling. Several rows of table-chair combinations faced the lectern. The president of the Voices of Freedom Gavel Club called the meeting to order. Most of the women were in their 20s or 30s. More than half were white, with a few Blacks, Latinas, East Indians, and one Asian. All wore brown jumpsuits.
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