Is this anyway to run things? - June 24, 2010

Every day is an adventure in this place. Last night, E, Big S and I were fixing a couple of pizzas for dinner and the guy behind us – “Crazy Dave” says “that smells like diarrhea”. A few words were exchanged and next thing you know, “Crazy Dave” has a combination lock in his hands for “protection”. Now, E and Big S are both weight lifters. E, for a small guy (5’6”) could handle men twice his size. Big S was a mixed martial arts fighter, bouncer and bounty hunter before his arrest. Both are in their early 30’s.



Crazy Dave is severely bi-polar. They call him “emotion” at work because he routinely snaps out. He’s not allowed to work without his medication. Crazy Dave is in his upper 40’s and shaped like a bowling pin with 3 hairs sticking up at the top (he is bald except those hairs and looks like a “who down in whoville” – where’s the Grinch when you need him?).


Dave is representative of about one third of the guys in here – they are literally not right in the head. Mental illness makes up a good percentage of the men incarcerated. I have a student who is struggling with basic math (every class we repeat the same lesson, simple fractions, lowest common denominator). He takes his pencil and twirls it in the air for a minute or two. Then, he writes in a large letter “D” and stops. We wait 5-10 minutes and he writes “O”, again after the twirling.


I’m not sure either of these guys is capable of living independently. They probably aren’t. Both are on their third “bid”.


Here’s a basic truth I’ve discovered during my incarceration: Prison is no place for the mentally ill. Society can do better.


Then there’s the story of Mr. Webb. I spent a good deal of time in the law library working on an expedited pardon request for him this past week. Mr. Webb is 66 years old and is 1 year in on a 10 year sentence for cocaine distribution and firearm possession. He learned a week ago that he has terminal pancreatic cancer.


D.O.C.’s doctors have given him less than a year to live. Virginia law allows a “terminally ill inmate” to be granted clemency by the Governor “in an expeditious manner provided the terminally ill inmate has less than 1 year to live.” So much for the argument that society somehow operates according to moral code!


The forms needed to complete the process are drawn out and tedious. Instructions for the process would make more sense if written in ancient Greek or Latin. You have to “write the Governor” and tell him “excuse me, but I’ll be dead in a year”. Then, a medical committee is formed to make a recommendation on clemency. If the inmate is lucky the response comes back within 3 months.


This is the second cancer patient I’ve worked with while incarcerated. Imagine getting chemo treatments while your shackled, wrists & feet; vomiting from the treatments while lying in your metal bunk, still having to stand for counts 3 times a day.


There was a young guy in our building. He was a great athlete – basketball, soccer, softball. About a month ago he got “sick” – sores on his body, sudden weight loss. They left him in our building like that for a month. Every day he had to struggle get out of bed and walk to chow and pill call; everyday he got weaker. By this past Wednesday, he had lost over 40 pounds and could barely walk. The morning officer saw how bad he looked and forced medical to take him.


We haven’t seen him since. They packed all his stuff up and his bunk sits empty. Who’s the criminal?


Meanwhile I find ways to keep my spirits up. Thank God for good friends and stupid experiences to make you laugh.


Speaking of stupid experiences, this week 2 stand out. First, there was our laundryman Wilbur (yes, whatever you imagine a “Wilbur” to look like, you’re probably correct) who swore up and down the incessant humming on the World Cup games was not caused by 90,000 fans blowing horns. No, it was caused by our prison TV’s not having “PAL” transmitters. What is that you may ask? It’s a transmitter that converts Europe’s sound signal to an American sound signal. But, the World Cup is in Africa you may say. Everyone knows Africa is part of Europe!


Then there’s Jeff. Jeff wanted to give himself a haircut. Jeff held a mirror behind his head, looked in the mirror he was facing, and with his free hand on some clippers shaved his head from the ears half-way up the side of his head. He then squared the top. Add bolts on the sides of his neck and he’d look just like Herman Munster.


One final thought. With the warm summer weather moving in you can always count on the “girls” getting their afternoon sun. There are a couple of “she men” here who have altered their clothes. The door opens for afternoon rec and out pop the “girls” in skin tight workout shorts and tied up t-shirts. With towels around their heads and flip flops on their feet, they head to the rec yard for some “sun and fun”.


That behavior is tolerated, but men with cancer languish. It really is a crazy place.