I’ve been lucky to produce some truly incredible events over the years—big, bold, expensive productions that left guests speechless. But nothing, and I mean nothing, compares to the time I walked into Stateville Correctional Center and walked out forever changed.
This story begins with Harold Hirshman. Harold, a legendary figure in his own right, came to us while I was working at Number Project in Chicago. His pitch wasn’t your standard “big client, big budget” request. It was a challenge—and an opportunity. He wanted us to partner with him and the Innocence Project to create an event for the men incarcerated at Stateville Prison.
At first, we hesitated. How do you even begin to plan something like this? What would it look like? What was even allowed? The logistical and emotional weight of it all felt daunting. But Harold’s passion for giving back was infectious, and ultimately, we couldn’t say no.
Walking into Stateville that first time felt surreal. There was this energy in the air—tense but curious. We had worked with strict guidelines, limited resources, and a clear understanding that we were stepping into an environment where joy was not typically on the schedule.
The event itself started cautiously. The men approached the day with skepticism, maybe even indifference. But as the music began to fill the space and the energy shifted, something extraordinary happened.
At first, it was subtle. A foot tapping here, a head nodding there. And then, as the walls of reservation started to break down, everything changed. One man stood up and started dancing—tentatively at first, and then with abandon. Another joined him. And then another. Before we knew it, the room was alive with movement, laughter, and pure, unfiltered joy.
It was a moment that no one, not even the prison staff, had expected. In fact, we were told beforehand that dancing wouldn’t even be allowed. But once the mood shifted, even the guards stood back and let it happen.
I’ll never forget what one man told me that day: “I haven’t danced in over 10 years.”
Let that sink in. Ten years without dancing. Ten years without the freedom to let go, even for a moment. And here we were, watching these men reclaim a piece of their humanity.
In that space, it didn’t matter that this event wasn’t elaborate or dripping in luxury. It didn’t matter that we didn’t have the bells and whistles of a high-budget production. What mattered was the transformation that took place before our eyes.
This wasn’t just about throwing an event; it was about giving these men—some of whom had been wrongly convicted and others who were simply fighting to hold onto their dignity—a chance to feel seen, valued, and human.
I’ve produced events for brands, celebrities, and corporations with limitless budgets, but none of them hold a candle to this day. The joy, connection, and gratitude in that room were unlike anything I’ve ever experienced.
Harold Hirshman’s vision, the courage of the Innocence Project, and the willingness of those men to embrace the moment created something magical. It reminded me why I do what I do—not just to impress, but to impact.
Stateville changed me as much as it changed them. It reminded me that no matter the setting or the limitations, the real magic happens when people connect on a human level.
And to this day, when people ask me about my favorite event, I tell them about the time I went to prison—and witnessed the power of joy to transform lives.