"When I came to Tijuana and walked in, she said, 'I know why you're here.'

"And I said, 'You do?'

"She said, 'You want to live in the prison, too, don't you?'"

And Father Melvin James had to admit to Mother Antonia, who had been ministering --- and living --- in one of Mexico's most notorious prisons since 1977, that that's exactly what was on his mind.

The Divine Word Missionary --- at the time, pastor of St. John the Evangelist Church in South Los Angeles --- remembered the 5'2" former Beverly Hills housewife saying, "'Oh, you can't because they won't let anyone else do that.' But she said, 'I've been praying for a priest to help me out with our new order of sisters.'"

Then she told the priest how inmates get out of jail late at night and don't have anywhere to go or no money for bus fare back to their hometowns. That's why she started a halfway house called Casa Campos de San Miguel for newly released women prisoners.

"She said, 'Wouldn't it be wonderful if we had a place for the men, too.' So I was getting the message."

Father James has been living in Tijuana since October 2005. The 61-year-old religious works in La Mesa prison a couple days a week, hearing confessions, celebrating Mass, and trying to visit and counsel some 7,000 male and 650 female prisoners. He also serves as chaplain and spiritual director for the sisters of Mother Antonia's congregation, the Servants of the Eleventh Hour. In addition, he works and lives in a local parish plus volunteers at an AIDS hospice, putting his old nursing skills to good use.

"I've been using every talent I forgot," he quips, shaking his head and chuckling during a November visit to the Los Angeles area. "Things that I never would have imagined I would be doing. Probably the weirdest thing was making veils for Mother's Servants of the Eleventh Hour. I was trained as a tailor when I first joined the Divine Word Missionaries, but I'd never made veils, except for Halloween. But I designed one. So now they're wearing my veil."

And he laughs again.

'My boss'
In discussing the 80-year-old woman he calls "my boss," who was the subject of the 2005 biography "The Prison Angel" by two Washington Post reporters, the gregarious priest recalls a scene he witnessed during his first day at La Mesa.

"Mother walked up to the fieriest-looking, tattooed, big-scar-down-the-side-of-his-face prisoner who the guards had separated up against the fence. He had done something. She tried to give him a kiss because she kisses everybody, and he pulled back. And then she got close to his ear, and she said something.

"I don't know what she said, but the man just broke down. I mean, he turned into a puddle. And it all happened in less than a minute. I just stood there in sort of awe. But she has that effect on people. She's just an amazing presence in the prison. It's amazing how the prisoners love her. They call her 'Mamma! Mamma!' It's incredible."

But Father James thinks he knows why the Mexican men and women behind bars (for everything from stealing apples to murder) relate so well to the Anglo senior citizen who had to learn Spanish when she first came to the Tijuana prison. They know her heart is with them, because she's given up her freedom to live in a cold concrete cell.

During her last 30 years, which followed two failed marriages and seven children, the former Mary Clarke has brought inmates food, clothing, pillows, blankets, bandages and medicine. She's paid off their fines so many could be released early and bought them bus tickets back to their hometowns and villages. She has arranged for hurting prisoners to see a doctor or dentist. She's even broken up fights in the yard and kept guards from beating inmates.

"But the guards love her, too, because she also cares from them," Father James notes. "The police love her because she cares for them. She started an endowment fund for the widows of police officers, and police officers are killed like crazy in Mexico."

There is one other thing he wants you to know about Mother Antonia. She's fun. Not only does she kid around a lot, but it's not unusual for her to suddenly break out in a popular Broadway song.

Close to Christ's call
It wasn't jokes and songs, however, that brought the cleric from L.A. to TJ. He has always thought that religious, whose communities were usually founded to serve the poor, would be closer to Christ's call working in public institutions like prisons, schools and social welfare agencies. So when he first read in Reader's Digest about this woman actually living in a prison, it was like a light went on in his head.

So far, he loves his new ministry, especially using all his old talents to serve society's outcasts. "I mean, Jesus told us, 'I was in prison and you visited me,'" he points out.

The former pastor says he also enjoys not having to worry about the rectory's damaged roof or the church's ancient boiler or the cracked playground that needs black-topping. All he has to think about is being a priest --- to inmates, parishioners and AIDS victims.

Still, he's willing to take on all those concerns again, and even some brand new ones like start-up fundraising, to tackle Mother Antonia's newest project --- the halfway house for released male prisoners at La Mesa she enticed him with at their first meeting.

"They tell the men at 10 o'clock at night they're going to get out, and at midnight they put them out in the street," he reports. "Mother can give them a dollar; otherwise they'd have nothing. They're really out in the street and many have no IDs because the cops take their IDs when they arrest them. So the cops just arrest them again, and they end up back in jail.

"If we had a place where a dozen men could crash for a few nights, and then we could contact their families 300, 400, 500 miles away and, hopefully, get them bus fare to get home, that would be great."

The immediate goal is to raise at least $10,000 to rent and furnish a home. The opening target date for "My Father's House" is June 1, 2007.

"Mother believes in providence, and she's taught me very much to live by providence," says Father James. "That's how My Father's House will come about.

"So we're looking for padrinos --- sponsors for what we're calling the 'Tijuana Jail Project.' We're asking people to consider making a pledge of $100, a dollar a day for two years, or more, and say a prayer for the house. And then look for one other person to help out. Most people can manage that."

Donation checks payable to Divine Word Missionaries may be mailed to Tijuana Jail Project; 1835 Waukegan Rd; P.O. Box 6099; Techny, IL 60082-6099.