Past the barbed wire, tall fences, and heavy security doors, something special was happening inside the Maryland Correctional Institution for Women in Jessup. For the first time in history, Goucher College held its college graduation for incarcerated students inside the walls of the penitentiary.

Goucher Prison Education System, or GPEP, allows inmates to study and earn credits towards a degree while in prison. Students take about eight to 10 years to graduate because the majority are working full-time while serving their sentences.

Classes are taught twice a week, and most students take two classes per semester. GPEP first started offering classes in 2012 and received further funding in 2016. The classes are in-person, with hands-on learning. The goal is for the classes to be as similar as what’s offered at Goucher’s main campus.

All of that hard work inside the walls came to fruition when two graduates, Jeanne Cascio and Janet Johnson, received diplomas to the applause of their loved ones, professors, penitentiary staff and fellow inmates. A third inmate also graduated from the program but was released in time to walk on Goucher’s main campus last week.

Cascio, 65, graduated with her bachelor of arts in American studies in 2021 and was able to be a part of the official ceremony Friday.

Michael Curry, GPEP faculty, shared stories of having Cascio as a student, such as the time she once made a teapot out of tape for a class project.

“I’d welcome a classroom full of your clones,” he said. “You are an extraordinary person, you’ve accomplished so much and should be very proud and, dare I say it, positively chuffed,” Curry ended, using a phrase that means “very pleased” from Downton Abbey, a favorite show of Cascio’s.

Cascio smiled and laughed and then took the stage to address the room.

“My experiences at Goucher have changed me as a person, as a woman,” she said during her acceptance speech. “Being the first recipient to get a B.A. at Goucher College [through the GPEP program] has given me a tremendous sense of accomplishment. I’ll go as far to say that even at 65 years old, I’ll try for my master’s!”

Cascio’s mother, sister, daughter and granddaughter were in the audience wiping away tears, clapping hard, and shouting her name. “That’s my daughter! That’s her! My daughter!” said Cascio’s mother, 90-year-old Joan Kerner.

“When I was growing up, you didn’t have things like this. Now it’s so different,” said Kerner as she reminisced about when her father was in prison. “I’m glad it is like this now, but not glad my daughter is in here.”

Her other daughter, Cascio’s sister Linda Ness, continued: “We just need her home and out of here now. Goucher is wonderful for allowing this to happen. My sister actually dropped out of school in 11th grade and now look — here she is, getting her bachelor’s degree.”

Cascio and Johnson, their eyes filled with pride and excitement, high-fived each other after they switched their tassels to the other side of their graduation caps as applause echoed off the gray concrete walls of the penitentiary gymnasium.

Johnson, 35, also graduated with her Bachelor of Arts in American Studies last December. She walked next to Cascio down the middle of a sea of her inmate peers Friday. Johnson’s two younger sisters cried and shouted as her name was called. They said how proud they felt seeing Johnson finally get her well-earned degree despite the distractions of being incarcerated during her studies.

“We were in college together and she finished before me! I feel accomplished through her and for her,” said her younger sister Vanilla Murphy. Her other younger sister, Azucar Johnson, mentioned their mother, who died in December of 2018. “She [Johnson] always said she’d be the first to get her degree. She did that. That was the only thing my momma wanted her to have,” said Azucar Johnson.

Azucar continued her praise for her older sister, saying they experienced hardship and didn’t have much growing up in East Baltimore. “She had to be a mom to me. When you have those things, you never know whether or not you’ll even make it in life to live as long as you live. To come to these obstacles and make it through? I’m proud,” she said.

“Even just making it in prison period,” Murphy added. “You never know how your life can go on the inside. Just to make it this far, she did that. We’re proud.”

Smiling and holding her new diploma, Johnson stood among cameras and her loved ones. Her thesis, titled “Emerging Adulthood,” examines the definition of adulthood in the U.S. from legal, social and psychological perspectives.

Johnson’s thesis discusses the science that says brain maturation within an adolescent is not reached until the ages of twenty-four to twenty-five. She was incarcerated at 18, and her research explores how the legal system uses the marker of age eighteen as an adult, but ignores the data showing a more gradual and emerging adulthood. She also explores the policy changes that would result from a more expansive, consistent, and science-based definition of adulthood.

“I’m just proud of the fact that I did it. It’s a hard process and now that I’m done, I spend all of my time trying to help my peers and encouraging them to do the same thing. Even though I’m done my time is still dedicated to GPEP and my community,” she said.

She attributes a turning point in her motivation to Lieutenant Latoya Gray, a supportive figure who called her to tell her she could do it and that she had help if needed. “I didn’t need the extra help, but to know that it was there, that was what made a difference.”