At Stafford Creek Correctional Center, the usual sounds of heavy steel doors and routine were put on hold for a night of laughter. As part of a targeted violence prevention initiative, the facility welcomed comedians Greg Beachler (Federal Way, WA) and Adam Tiller (Seattle, WA) for a performance that was as much about behavioral psychology as it was about punchlines.
The show wasn't open to everyone. It was an earned privilege, organized by the facility’s Violence Prevention Committee—a group of incarcerated individuals working alongside staff to improve the prison culture. According to Associate Superintendent Dan Van Ogle, eligibility was strict and attendees had to be serious infraction-free for at least two years.
"It’s an incentive to avoid violence and infraction-type behavior," Van Ogle explained. "It’s an opportunity just to get away for a minute and have fun."
For the comedians, performing inside Stafford Creek is unique change from the typical comedy club circuit. This wasn't their first show behind bars however, as the duo performed at several facilities across Washington and Oregon, including the Washington State Penitentiary and Clallam Bay Corrections Center.
Adam Tiller, who produces the shows, spoke about the emotional complexity of the work. "When you leave, it's an incredible feeling, but it's bittersweet, too," Tiller reflected. "You’re like, 'that was awesome,' but then you’re like, 'Hey, they’re still here.' Their reality is that."
Greg Beachler, who has visited family members in prison in the past, noted how the environment forces a comedian to grow. Performing for long-termers who may be unfamiliar with Uber or a modern cell phone requires a level of grit and adaptability that comedy clubs don't demand. "Seeing audiences like this has made me a better comic," Beachler said. "You’re dealing with a selection of the population that are all uniquely different people."
The interaction between the comics and the audience often shatters the sensationalized "60 Days In" or "Locked Up" stereotypes. During the show, the comedians were struck by the men’s engagement—like when Tiller joked that he needed to purchase a new outfit after the realization that he might have worn the same thing at last years show, only to hear a reply from the crowd, “It’s ok! We were wearing the same thing too!”
Both Tiller and Beachler are veterans of their craft, approaching their eight and twelfth years in comedy respectively. Beachler compared the journey to the legendary martial arts stories of starting with a white belt that turns yellow, then brown, then black from years of blood, sweat and tears as you master your craft.
"I can tell deep personal stories in a funny way now," Beachler said. "Your original instincts are there, but they’re just not honed yet. Now, I can trust myself."
While the event provided a night of entertainment for a crowd of approximately 220, their impact will hang around much longer. Prison is a place where the feeling of loss is constant as they are away from family and friends, but a comedy show can provide a shared moment of freedom.
As the comics packed up to head home—leaving the world of gray concrete for the drive back to Seattle—they left behind a room that felt a little less like a prison and a little more like a community.
As Van Ogle put it, "They gave them something to look forward to. It’s stuff like this that keeps people motivated to continue on."
