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Wednesday, January 20, 2010

BILL

BILL ENTER
By Ike Griffin

Bill stood before the Rotary Club in Sanford, Florida in his painter white bib overalls. He had come directly there from painting the ATM at Sun Bank down the street. That he was the only person in the room in work clothes didn’t bother him in the least. “I am Bill Enter and I live down in Orlando. As you can see, I am a painter, and I have a contract to paint ATMs for Sun Bank. I am here to talk about my Kairos experience. I went through Kairos more than ten years ago, while doing five years as a sex offender. I began sexually abusing my stepdaughter when she was eight years old. By the time she was eleven, she couldn’t stand it any longer and turned me in to the authorities. I deserved to be in prison. The only good thing that happened to me there was attending Kairos, where I learned that people could love me in spite of what I had done.”

I had felt compelled to hire Bill to take over Advanced Kairos Training after watching him work as the rector of a Kairos weekend, ten years after he had been through a weekend as an inmate in that very prison. Incredibly, he had the nerve to tell participants particulars of his crime, unheard of in a prison setting. After witnessing that performance of fearless honesty, I asked Bill to join me in a presentation to a local Rotary Club. I wanted to see if his fearlessness carried into the free world.

Having told the Rotarians something of the work of Kairos in prisons, I introduced Bill as a graduate of the program. Bill began giving them the same brutal honesty he had delivered in prison as I quietly searched for a safe place to dive in case the audience started throwing things. He not only confessed his crime, he continued that he taught a Sunday School class at a church where his students were of the same age as his victim profile. Each year, he would visit every parent in their home to introduce himself, tell who he is, what he had done, where he had been and offer them an opportunity to move their child to another class. He had never lost a student.

Bill Enter was a convicted felon, sex offender, biker, devoted husband to his wife, trusted volunteer trainer employee of Kairos and became one of the best friends I have ever had. Bill died in a motorcycle accident coming through Baltimore on Interstate 95 on his way home from training seminars in Maine and New York. It was raining, and police investigators surmise that he was glancing down at his tank-mounted map when he ran into the back of a stopped automobile on the interstate.

Let me explain that one of the powerful dynamics of Kairos is built into talks by volunteers, who tell their own story of failure to be less than they were created to be. Vulnerability is encouraged because we cannot love one another unless we allow the other to see who we are. Wearing masks promotes more complex masks and relationships turn artificial. I felt very strongly that Bill Enter was needed to model and teach vulnerability among Kairos’ more than 20,000 volunteers annually. Yet, the board counseled me against the decision citing studies that sex offenders never heal, public opinion against this class felon, possible negative perception of the organization, etc.

Bill was hired and he and his wife moved to Orlando. Purchasing a home in a new development, he would go visiting neighbors every evening to introduce himself, explaining who he was, what he had done, etc. He would point out that there were several children in the neighborhood and he asked that all the parents keep an eye on him, just as he and his wife were vigilant of his activities.

That first Christmas, Bill revealed to me at our regular Monday morning share and prayer meeting before office hours that the local neighborhood had asked him to play Santa Claus at a Christmas block party. He said, “You know, I reminded them of my history, but they replied, ‘That’s okay, Bill. We will all be there – we’ll keep an eye on you.’” Following the weekend of the block party, Bill came in to our Monday meeting, blubbering and crying like a baby. “You can’t imagine how that felt to have parents hand me their children to bounce on my knee and lovingly inspire their anticipation of Christmas. The trust, the love they trusted me with… I cannot say I will never disappoint them - or fail, but I would rather die than disappoint any one of them.”

Bill began teaching Kairos volunteers, encouraging their fearless honesty, challenging those who wanted to preach. “Sounds like preaching to me. Don’t hide behind your piety. Inspire them that if you can make it, they can make it. Who has loved you enough that you can overcome your human frailties? It doesn’t matter how grievous your sin, half the people in the room carry the same guilt and they need to love you so they can know they are loveable.” Again, he pointed out, “Our regular confession is our protection against having our dependencies sneak up and bite us on the fanny. Inmates may admire your successes if you mention them, but they will connect with you through your mutual brokenness.” Bill carried a mountain of wisdom with him on his motorcycle and he could unpack the whole thing in very short order.

Bill was nervous flying, and typically rode his motorcycle to events that he scheduled around the country. Bill was a very casual dresser, perhaps because of the lack of luggage space. He enjoyed doing his seminars in bib overalls cut off just below the knees. One day I suggested that perhaps the organization called for a bit more dignity than he could muster on a motorcycle. He countered, “Ike, don’t lay that one on me. After incarceration, even a motorcycle has trouble offering all the freedom I crave. I need to sense the wind, rain, sun and smells of the world every day.” He continued, “I may take longer on the road, but I won’t cost more! I eat my meals beside the road, grocery shop at Safeway, have Kairos volunteers put me up overnight. You won’t be looking at any big expense statements from me. I have my laptop. You can reach me by email.”

One time Bill had scheduled seminars in Oklahoma City and Amarillo a couple of days apart and told me he wanted to fly this particular trip. He wanted to drive with his brother between OK City and Amarillo so they could stop by his mother’s house. He had been alienated from his mother since his incarceration and wanted his brother to arrange their meeting. She had not attended his trial, nor had she written to him in prison. Bill could not understand why he had become a criminal and his brother had not. He wanted to talk with her about their childhood history. Both Bill and his brother had suffered the same sexual abuse from their step father, both experienced all of the hurt and pain, but only Bill had turned criminal. Bill’s brother took time off from work to accompany him and did go into the house to seek permission for Bill to could come in, but she refused. Thwarted, Bill returned to Florida… dejected.

The following year Bill planned the same trip and this time she relented and allowed him into her home. They talked and cried, talked and embraced, talked and confessed. She had known what was going on between her husband and her sons, but she did not have the strength to admit it, felt powerless to fight it or stop it. To restore the relationship, she needed to know that Bill forgave her for not protecting him, but had to confess her complicity before he could offer his forgiveness. Healing hurts, at least for awhile.

On the 10th anniversary of Bill’s release from prison, he planned a party, inviting all of the men with whom he had done time. He planned the gathering at a state park near Orlando and invited everyone to bring something to put into a chain-gang Mulligan stew. Bill provided paper plates, chips and soft drinks. Bill was thrilled that about 100 ex-cons and some of their spouses arrived for the celebration. In reporting on the event at our Monday morning meeting, he pointed to the fact that many of these men were sex offenders. “As I looked around at the gathering, I was reminded that society believes sex-offenders can never be re-habilitated, but I will tell you that almost all of those men are making it in spite of all the barriers to re-entering society. They have been to prison and don’t want to return. They each have devised their own survival plan and they are not re-offending.” Because of intense press coverage regarding those who do re-offend, most people do not know that murderers and sex offenders actually re-offend less than most other classifications of ex-cons.

Bill’s funeral was held at Calvary Assembly Church in Winter Park, the largest church in town, and the space was needed. Perhaps because of the diversity of people gathered to celebrate the memory of Bill Enter, the pastor turned the service over to an open microphone, inviting anyone to come forward with stories of Bill. We heard from bikers, ex-cons, neighbors, prison administrators, ministry volunteers, employers and co-workers, who all in one way or another spoke of Bill’s fearless honesty. Each speaker had learned from Bill’s witness and gave tribute to his contribution to their lives, but the best witness was from his shrink – his therapist. She related that Bill was out on a conditional release. One of those conditions was that he see his therapist weekly. “Bill came to me his first week out of prison and we have been meeting weekly ever since. You will be interested to know that for the first few weeks, I was Bill’s therapist, but he turned the tables on me. He continued to pay, but has been my therapist since then.”

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