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Saturday, October 16, 2010

The Platypus, Job and Me

I’ve had another lousy week, lousy enough that it reminded me that God has a warped sense of humor. There’s an old joke about God proving He was a funny, quirky guy by creating the platypus, a mammal that lays eggs, carries its young in a pouch, has a duck bill and webbed feet. It is a complete genetic mish mash.



Tuesday evening I received “legal mail”. Legal mail is the term prisons use to describe any letter, any envelope you receive from an attorney, court, or governmental agency. All “regular” mail is examined prior to delivery to inmates. Envelopes are opened and shaken out (to check for contraband being mailed in – drugs, cash, nude photos). Inmates on the prison “watch list” (known gang members) actually have their mail read before delivery.


Legal mail is different. It has to be opened in front of the inmate. It cannot be read, only shaken out for contraband. Inmates must sign a log book acknowledging receipt of the legal mail.


Tuesday night I was sitting in my cut, writing when the CO hands me an envelope. I looked at it and realized it was from the Court Clerk. I tore open the envelope and find an executed copy of the Court’s order dismissing my Habeas Corpus Petition.


I knew this was coming. I knew I’d lose at the state court level. It’s an exercise in futility. You file with the same judge who convicted and sentenced you and you tell him “judge you screwed up. You didn’t realize my attorney violated my 6th Amendment right to effective assistance of counsel”.


In my case, I went even further. In response to the Attorney General’s motion to dismiss, I challenged the court to face itself and admit the sentence imposed was wrong. I called the judge every non-profane name in the books, daring him to revisit my case.


He held the AG’s proposed order 90 days. Frankly, I started thinking “maybe I’m right. Maybe justice will be done”. No such luck. He did as I expected.


I already had my Notice of Appeal drafted. I already had my pleadings in the works to proceed to the Virginia Supreme Court, and then Federal Court (you have to exhaust your state remedies first before getting in to Federal Court).


But, reading the order – an order drafted by the AG – I started to think “why bother appealing. I’m never getting out of here”. In the last month, I’ve been able to get two guys their hab’s granted and one guy’s pardon request has now moved to the parole board for final processing. My own case, nothing.


I knew then what the platypus feels like going through life. I knew I was the punch line of God’s joke. “Did you hear the one about the lawyer who got everyone he met a new chance in court, except himself?”


Fortunately, Big S and the “Old Heads” (the three convicted murderers I’m tight with) made me realize I had to keep fighting. “You can’t give up. Do you know how many guys are optimistic now because you’re optimistic? You got to fight these bastards.”


Which got me thinking about Job. A close friend in here gave me some advice that I’m trying to take to heart. Funny thing is, it’s the same advice two therapists gave me. Simply put, they all said I needed to quit being so hard on myself and remain patient and hopeful.


I wrote my ex this week. First time in a year. I wrote her because it was 30 years to the day that I found the courage to tell her “I love you” for the first time. In the letter I told her I was sorry the way things ended, sorry she hadn’t been happy and didn’t love me, sorry for letting her down. I also told her I’d always love her.


My friend said “you have nothing. You gave everything to her; you went against your own self-interest with your case to protect your wife and kids. You acted more noble and compassionately than anyone I know. Isn’t it possible her behaviors wrong? Isn’t it possible she’s just about her own selfish interests?”


And then this. “You can’t change people and you’re not responsible for everyone’s actions. Yeah, you screwed up. Good people do that. You’re a good guy and it’s not all your fault.”


I took what he said to heart. I’ve been dealt a lousy hand, no doubt. But, I’ve realized along this path I’m a pretty decent guy. I don’t know why God’s letting all this happen to me. But, I know this; I’m going to get through it.


One of the toughest lessons I’ve had to learn in here is knowing what I can control. I can’t make my ex love me, can’t make her admit she was wrong to divorce me. I’m not responsible for our marriage failing.


I can’t make guys in here decide they need to focus their lives and change. So many guys do their bids, run their hustles in here, get out, screw up again, and come right back. I can’t make them “learn” from their experiences.


So, here’s the “Job” part: I’m not sure why I had to lose everything. In my mind, it just isn’t fair. I’m not sure why I keep getting smacked in the face on my own case while I find it so easy to help other guys get another chance. But, I’ve learned I’m more resilient, kind and loving than I ever thought. I am a good guy, not perfect, but a guy who deserves better than he’s getting.


This isn’t the way I’d play this out if I was “in charge”. But, I’m not. And neither is DOC, or my ex, or the Governor. Ultimately, God’s in charge and I have confidence He’ll see me through this.


There’s a wonderful message about justice in David’s 9th Psalm. It says, in part:


“The Lord also will be a stronghold for the oppressed,
A stronghold in times of trouble;
And those who know Your name will put their trust in You,
For You, O Lord, have not forsaken those who seek You.”


I’ve had a couple of lousy weeks. I may have more. But, I finally realized, no matter what others may think, the platypus is happy being a platypus. My life may suck right now, but I’m OK with that. At least I know who’s in control.

It's All About the "Benjamins"

Any young guy can tell you “Benjamins” (slang for money) make the world go round. DOC spends annually over $1 billion. And yet, as sentences have increased and parole abolished, the number of inmates and cost to house those inmates continues to increase.



In a newsletter release put out this week, DOC’s Director admitted DOC has lost 2400 beds due to prison closings. Additionally, there are currently 3500 DOC inmates being housed in regional jails. Director Johnson then admitted more cuts are likely in the next budget. The Director stated, “DOC would prefer to close facilities than cut programs.”


Most inmates believe prisons flourish and sentences are so long because “the people in power make money off inmates”. Conspiracy theories run rampant in the prison about money made by prisons. And conspiracy theories lead to anger, distrust, and disrespect for the justice system.


“They did away with parole ‘cause the Federal government pays ‘em $100 a day.”


“They make millions off us . . .”


Try and explain to these guys that DOC actually bleeds the state budget and they look at you like you’re crazy.


“If it costs so much, why they lock us up for so long?”


Good question. Locking up a drug user doesn’t help him overcome his addiction. Locking up the mentally ill doesn’t treat their mental illness. Locking up white collar criminals doesn’t help their victims get repaid.


Those are just a few examples. Try these as well:


What is the cost to society for all those children growing up with their fathers incarcerated? How many of those kids live below the poverty level, end up using drugs, quitting school, and end up in prison themselves?


Maybe there’s some truth to all the conspiracy theories. The Commonwealth must be making money off corrections because no sane person would quietly sit by while such an obviously flawed system continued to perpetuate itself and fail over and over.


Instead, politicians lie to voters about “getting tough on crime” and they blindly follow. Here’s a basic truth (and the DOC Director agrees with me): sentences are too long for the vast majority of convicted felons. Too many felons locked up for too long overwhelms the system. Programs can’t keep up; inmates get bitter and on release they’re willing to try almost anything to get back what they lost.


Virginia is one of the worst at treating released felons. As USA Today reported on October 3rd, Virginia is one of the 15 states with the largest prison population (ironically Virginia is not one of the 15 most populous states). Indigent defendants are saddled with exorbitant court costs. Virginia is one of only 13 states that assess public defender costs back to the indigent defendant. Paying off court costs is a term of probation. Inmates in here leave owing thousands. Then, they’re restricted on getting a drivers license. No license, no employment. The conspiracy theorists are starting to look even more credible.


Released felons have to apply to get their voting rights restored. Virginia is one of only three states that doesn’t automatically restore a felon’s rights.


In Virginia your felony conviction affects your creditworthiness, your employability, where you live, who you associate with.


The idea behind prisons in this country was originally quite noble. Sentenced to the “penitentiary” a person would reflect on his wrong doing. Through work and study he would be “corrected”. On release, restored to society.


That’s not what we have today. It’s all about the “Benjamins”. $100 million here for a new prison; $10,000 there in court costs to the defendant that he can’t pay back. The money keeps adding up and the cost, in dollars spent and lives altered, grows and grows. Something’s got to change.

Friday, October 15, 2010

Thou Shalt . . .

I finished running the other afternoon and headed back from the track to sit on the benches outside our building door. It was a beautiful, crisp fall afternoon. While sitting there I saw another inmate jog back to the building. He stood on our basketball court and faced east. He then began to call, in an Arabic chant, his fellow Muslims to prayer. Within a minute or so five other inmates came to the court and they began their afternoon prayers. I bowed my head and prayed as well.



That evening and the night following, USA Today ran interesting stories on our ignorance about our own faith and our views on God. The troubling story: most Christians know little about Christianity and the Bible. Atheists, Muslims, Jews and Mormons know more Christian doctrine, than Protestants or Catholics (and Catholics, you guys score the lowest).


In the other piece, people’s views of God were placed in four different categories. Most Americans view God as either “critical” (i.e. passing judgment) or “benevolent” (loving, forgiving, helping).


As I thought about the discipline I see exhibited daily by the Muslim inmates, I began to consider both stories and my own faith experience while in here.


I was a poor Christian before my arrest. I grew up in a “church family”. We went every week; my folks still do. But, we never read the Bible. Candidly, I never read the Bible until I was locked up. Then, I read it cover to cover, highlighting and underlining verses and words, memorizing lines and parables, and psalms.


My wife and I went to church each Sunday. She taught Sunday school. We were both church elders. Our kids grew up in the church. I knew doctrine, but I didn’t know what it meant to have a real relationship with God.


Then, I got arrested and my life came crashing down. My church family abandoned me. My minister refused to visit me in jail (“I don’t want to get in the middle of their marital issues”); only three members ever wrote me, and my wife ignored her vows and Jesus’ teaching on divorce and ended our marriage.


In spite of all that, slowly I began to heal, find peace and joy. I realized how wrong I had been about so many things. I read and reread Psalms, Epistles, Gospels and I learned and believed.


I’m one of those who think God is benevolent. I believe we all fall short, we all fail, we all deserve condemnation. Yet, somehow God loves us anyway. He forgives us and if we just trust Him, He’ll see us through.


Having said that, I have a sobering thought for anyone who considers themselves a good Christian: it’s a whole lot tougher than just going to church.


The key, when all is said and done, is forgiveness. That doesn’t mean saying “I forgive you, but I’ll never forget”. No, it means forgiving and forgetting.


Jesus spoke over and over about forgiveness in the Gospel of Matthews. Words like this in chapter 6: “If you forgive, your Father in heaven will also forgive you . . . If you do not forgive, your Father will not forgive you”.


Or how about chapter 18 when Peter asks if he had to forgive someone seven times. Imagine his surprise when Jesus said “you must forgive seventy times seven” then makes the point with the parable about the unforgiving servant.


I still sit there stunned and in awe each time I read those passages. I realized I had no justifiable reason to be angry at anyone. I had made a mess out of my life. I hurt terribly the woman I loved and my two sons. Yet, I know I’ve been forgiven by my God. If I could be forgiven for what I did, how could I not do the same?


Back in August I had to decide whether I would file suit against my former employer. With two other “disgraced” lawyers, I fashioned a unique argument about their handling of my arrest and events leading up to it. I knew all the company “dirt”, the questionable financial activity, the “who’s sleeping with who”. The point of the suit was to be to bring heat on them. I finally told the guys I couldn’t do it. I let it go.


The saddest experience in my life has not been the arrest, conviction, and imprisonment. It was my wife divorcing me and telling me she no longer loved me. I never really got angry, but the hurt cut me deeply.


I’m still sad, always will be. But, I found a way to unload so much of the pain. Now, I only have those wonderful memories of our time together. Do I wish we were still together? Yes. Do I miss her? More than words can express. But, I’ll be OK. I’m at peace.


She was a wonderful companion. She is an amazing woman. In my heart, I will always love her. I can’t really worry about why she did what she did. She had her reasons.


In multiple places the Bible references God “setting the prisoners free”. Each of us, when we let anger, bitterness, and sorrow consume us are imprisoned.


We all could pay better attention to our faith. We all could be more forgiving, more loving, more kind. If we were, the prisons would be less filled, marriages stronger, families more stable and we’d all feel better.


Prison sucks, but I’m blessed. Perhaps that’s the key to all of this, to finding joy in any circumstance. And perhaps, if we realize God loves us, we can love and forgive those that hurt us and all be really free.

Friday, October 8, 2010

Oh Warden Where Art Thou?

We’ve got a new warden and she’s a doozy. I’m starting on my third warden here and I’ve only been at this compound eleven months.



The first, Carol Wallace, was universally hated by inmates. She played favorites, supported a snitch environment and micro-managed the compound. Worse, she was dishonest. She’d say things to inmates then renege. Her word was no good. She allowed her officer corps to act absolutely arbitrarily toward inmates.


When she left at year-end she wrote a venomous letter to the inmate population. It was self-serving and self-righteous. “You will never turn your life around with the behavior and attitudes you exhibit in here.” What she didn’t realize (or maybe she did, but just didn’t care) was that if you treat inmates like crap, they’ll reciprocate in kind. Guys who are locked up almost always feel like they’re getting screwed. She made them realize just how badly.


You can’t help but have a chip on your shoulder when you’re in prison. Even knowing you were wrong, knowing you deserved to be punished, doesn’t make the loss of freedom any easier. Add to that mix a tyrannical, dishonest warden and you have a toxic pool of gang activity, stealing and general disrespect for the rules and the officers.


Carol Wallace was a poor excuse for a compassionate human being; she was a poor excuse for a department manager; that probably made her an excellent DOC employee.


The first of the year a new warden started. Kimberly Runion had been warden at DOC’s Brunswick facility which included Virginia’s sexual offender therapy program. Of the 1100 inmates housed there, over 800 were in the treatment program.


Runion was “pro-inmate”. She started her career back in the 1970’s as a counselor at “the wall”, Virginia’s notorious state penitentiary in Richmond. An avowed opponent of capital punishment and firm believer in the possibility of redemption, Runion was honest and straight forward. She had very few rules:


1) Proper attire


2) No cursing at officers


3) No spitting on sidewalks


4) No drugs


5) No gang activity


She expected, no demanded, that her officers treat inmates fairly and with respect. The number of charges written dropped. Rec hours increased, food improved. She would sit outside the chow hall everyday at lunch and talk to inmates.


Life was easy with Runion as warden. Actually, too easy. A lot of guys started acting like they weren’t in prison. They viewed their stay here as something akin to a poorly planned vacation. Guys got comfortable and, as any “old head” will tell you, there is nothing more hazardous in a prison than a bunch of guys who get comfortable.


Gangs made an appearance. Extra investigators were brought to the compound. It took months to clear them out. Guys began making demands for new food, new commissary items, crazy stuff. And, when they didn’t get their way, they bitched and moaned. The officers got bitter because control, in subtle ways was lost.


Runion left August 27th. She was asked to run Virginia’s therapeutic, long-term sexual offender facility in Nottoway. There was a gloom that fell over the compound on her departure. Most guys realized they had it good, probably too good for prison.


Enter Saturday, September 25th, the day the new warden, Ms. Avent, started. Already things are in upheaval and rumors are flying everywhere:


“Ya hear she’s gonna close the rec yards ‘cept for three hours in the afternoon?”


“I hear she’s closed the dog program and movin’ all the kitchen and VCE guys to one building.”


“Oh yeah, hear she’s makin’ all the guys with long bids move to other compounds.”


“I hear she’s gonna close this prison. They gonna give her a big bonus to do it by year-end.”


She clearly “ain’t no Miss Runion”.


On her first day she walked up to a large group of COs outside west chow hall and said “I need two inside and two outside shaking down. The rest of you, get to work.” She then put in place “controlled movement”. If your name isn’t on the “master pass list”, you don’t leave your building.


For months, guys would simply tell their building CO “I need to run up to the school” or the library, or the barber, and you’d walk out of the building. The master pass list wasn’t maintained. It is now. Everyone’s scrambling at school, programs, security, to get the pass list correct.


Then today, the building Lieutenant came in and announced “only two books on your bunks or we’re writin’ charges”. Being OCD about organization, my area was already up to par. But, there are a huge number of rules that are impossible to comply with. Guys just simply lack adequate storage space.


Things are tense. And, when things get tense, tempers flare. There’ll be fights. Guys will start filing grievances. It’s all part of the “circle of life” in prison.


I don’t mind rules. I put myself in here so like it or not I have to live with the hand I’m dealt. Hopefully, she’ll be stricter (a little anyway) than Runion, but not arbitrary or dishonest like Wallace.


You have to pick your battles in here. I’m willing to let things shake out, but if pushed by a dishonest warden, one who jeopardizes my safety and well-being, I’ll file suit. We’ll know more over the next 90 days.

In the Valley

I often recite the 23rd Psalm three, even four times a day. It perhaps is the best known Bible verse and the words give great comfort. As I’ve noted before on the pages of this blog, there are many days when I head out for my afternoon run, feeling as though I carry the weight of the world on my shoulders. I begin my quick sprint strides and whisper the words “The Lord is my shepherd. . .” Gradually, with each line, with each sprint completed, my sorrow begins to fade and I again convince myself I “can endure”.



I had days like that this week. I was stuck on the line “though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death!” Wednesday was a dreary, rainy day here. I felt alone, forgotten, depressed about my circumstances. I missed my ex wife, my kids, what I had, what I’d lost.


I was returning from work and kept thinking on the walk across the compound “God, you’ve had me in this valley 25 months, when will it end?” Big S convinced me to go out in the rain, “run it out”. Don’t ever doubt that in any circumstance you will find angels in your midst.


The rain was cold and steady. The gravel track covered in puddles. It didn’t matter. I began running my 125 yard sprints. Five completed, then ten, fifteen, finally twenty. I ran and I thought. Soaked through my shirt, my shoes soggy, I realized for all those years I lied, all those years I stole and betrayed, I had been in the valley. Then, I was in a fog of rationalization, self-deception and denial.


For the past 25 months I’ve struggled in this valley, but I’ve never been alone. Each step I take somehow has me convinced I am on the right path.


I heard an interview with New Orleans Saints QB Drew Brees the other day. The interviewer described how he had suffered an apparent career ending shoulder injury during the 2005 season. His old team – the Chargers – cut him. Only two teams were even willing to consider him as their quarterback.


He and his wife traveled to New Orleans. The Saints coach took them on a tour of “good neighborhoods” to show them New Orleans was bouncing back from Katrina. He made a wrong turn, however, and he and the Breeses ended up in the Ninth Ward. They saw the destruction brought by the Hurricane.


The coach said later “I thought right then and there we lost our new quarterback”. He was wrong. Brees and his wife decided they were called to New Orleans. If he was given a second chance with a healed arm, then he would work to heal New Orleans.


Everyone knows how the story goes. Brees led the Saints to a Super Bowl victory and was MVP. He and his wife have given and raised over $6 million for rebuilding homes and schools. But, it wasn’t all easy. His mother, who long battled depression, committed suicide shortly before the beginning of the Saints Super Bowl season.


On that rainy Wednesday, I thought of the story of Jesus calming the rough seas. He told his disciples “have courage . . . have faith”.


This place, this imprisonment may be my New Orleans. I don’t know if it was his plan that I needed to lose everything to find my way. I don’t believe He wanted me to do the things I did, nor did He want my wife and me to divorce. But, He knew our weaknesses, our selfishness.


I’m in a valley and I hate it. But, I’m blessed by it. Every day I see a reason to hope, to go on. “For Thou art with me. . .” the valley may appear long and unending, but it isn’t. I will eventually walk through.



Thursday, October 7, 2010

On Evil

I just finished reading a book called “The Death of Satan” by a Harvard-educated psychologist. His premise is that modern society has lost the concept of evil, of sin, of wrongdoing, and as a result has plunged into a moral void where we explain away wrongdoing with psychological evaluation rather than confronting and judging it. As a result, the universal framework of our moral existence is endangered (at least that’s what I got out of it).



I’ve thought about his premise a great deal this week. I confess, I have historically chosen to believe that pure evil did not exist. I know now that is not correct. There are, in fact, evil people, people who have no empathy for anyone else. They view people solely as a means, a tool if you will, to achieve their desired end. Sociopaths exist. Our human experience is littered with examples. In my own lifetime, I’ve seen millions slaughtered by leaders devoid of goodness, leaders who are evil.


But what about the vast majority of us who have a conscience, subscribe to a moral code, yet still do wrong? It is this question, given my own personal experience, that has caused me the most difficulty.


I was at my absolute best, most altruistic, most loving, and responsible, the first meeting I held with my criminal defense attorney. It was five days after my arrest and I was a mess. Depression, anxiety, fear gripped me. My life had come completely unhinged. I was secretly suicidal. The thought of going on even one more day was beyond my comprehension.


I met with my attorney and said the following: “I don’t care what happens to me. Even if I have to spend the rest of my life in prison, I’ll admit to anything, accept responsibility for anything, as long as my wife and kids are protected from all this”. I frankly didn’t care about anything other than their well-being.


Since uttering those words I have had them used against me numerous times by the Attorney General’s office as they challenge my legal attempt to have a fair sentence imposed.


Ironically, I knew what the right thing to do was. My wife presented me with the most one-sided property settlement agreement ever drafted (I don’t even own my underwear!). She was able to get all our possessions because I told the prosecutor “give my family our assets and I’ll plead out”. Two weeks after the papers were signed and my sentence finalized, she filed for divorce.


Evil. It took me a long time to admit this to myself, but what I did, stealing and lying to the woman I loved and who loved me, was evil. It was wrong. I did it for selfish, self-centered reasons.


That doesn’t make me evil, but it does mean I have to accept responsibility for what I did. Yes. I had crap happen to me growing up that messed me up. Yes, I went out of my way to not disappoint people and as such, my self identity, my fear of being rejected was so great I was willing to steal to get that acceptance.


But that doesn’t excuse what I did. Perhaps the most difficult question I had to answer for myself was why. Why would I hurt the most important people in my life? Reinhold Niebuhr, a renowned twentieth century theologian said, “Evil is the capacity to render invisible another human; sin the confusion of self with the world”.


I understand what Dr. Niebuhr meant. Whenever we act out of selfishness, self-interest, we run the risk of succumbing to evil. What concerns me so much about the present state of prisons is that, by there very organization and structure, they promote and encourage evil to flourish. Prison is supposed to be a place of repentance, reflection, rehabilitation, and ultimately restoration – at least for the vast majority of those incarcerated. Instead, it is a warehouse of revenge, refuse, and retribution. No good comes out of prison.


Some may find salvation; some may find meaning and purpose in their imprisonment. But that is not the result of anything the prison system accomplishes. That result occurs in spite of the prison system. It is a replay of Dr. Frankl’s premise that even in the worst of circumstances, light shines through the darkness.


The darkness, I have concluded, is that we all have the capacity to do evil, to cause hurt and pain to another, to violate a moral precept we say we hold dear, yet willingly breach to satisfy our own selfish desire.


My ex-wife is a “good” person. She is pleasant, sweet, loving, kind. Yet, her decision to end our marriage was evil. I remember early on after my arrest she wrote and told me how many people in our church were bringing her meals. I wondered then – and now – how many of those same people spoke honestly with her and said “your professed faith requires you to love and forgive him. Your vow is stronger than his crime.”


We don’t do that. We stand idly by as evil is perpetuated on a personal scale and global scale and do nothing, say nothing. We worry so much about offending. We don’t want to appear judgmental. Yet, we have an obligation to speak the truth, not in condemnation, but in love.


I had a friend who was ignoring his wife. He was totally self-absorbed. They ceased making love. In truth, he was having an affair. His wife would cry about the state of her marriage to my wife. In hindsight, I should have said something to him. I didn’t because of my own guilt over the secret life I was leading.


Months after my arrest she came for a visit with my friend. She always was a beautiful woman, but seeing me imprisoned she broke down. Shortly after their visit, I wrote him. I never mentioned what I knew. Instead, I told him he needed to realize how blessed he was. He needed to love and cherish his wife because at the end of it all it won’t matter how much we made, how much we owned. In the end, it’s all about how much we loved.


One of my favorite movie lines of all time occurred in Primal Fear. Richard Gere played a brash criminal defense attorney, a female reporter asked him “how can you represent those kind of clients?” He said, “I choose to believe that even good people can do bad things.”


We are so consumed with evil, the sociopathologic, that we ignore our own flirtations with it. Perhaps that’s why Jesus’s teaching on the commandments is so profound and difficult: “Love the Lord with all your heart and love your neighbor as yourself”. Our lies would be much better spent if we lived by that law.

Wednesday, October 6, 2010

Iceberg Dead Ahead

DOC settled a 1st Amendment lawsuit on September 23 with the publishers of “Prison Legal News”. DOC agreed to pay PLN $125,000, allow issues previously banned to be delivered to inmate subscribers, and change the book/magazine subscription policy to allow third parties to order books and magazines for inmates.



This is a major victory for advocates of prisoner rights and 1st Amendment rights and another costly lesson for DOC – and Virginia’s taxpayers – for their hubris. DOC has long thought that Constitutional safeguards didn’t apply to them. This year, they are learning, at taxpayer expense, that they do.


For those “get tough on crime” readers: get ready. You want long sentences for inmates. It’ll cost you. And, the cost is staggering, over $1 billion a year.


This year DOC has already lost/settled three significant 1st Amendment cases. Beside the PLN lawsuit, DOC’s prohibition on spoken word CD’s was overruled. An inmate, prohibited from ordering CD’s of a minister’s sermons, successfully sued and had the DOC prohibition on spoken word tapes and Cd's thrown out.


As reported in an earlier blog, another inmate successfully challenged DOC’s censorship policy. U.S. District Court Judge James Turk found the DOC policy void as in violation of the 1st Amendment.


Still pending, a suit brought by the National Lawyers Guild over DOC’s refusal to give inmates access to a legal self-help manual.


Each of these suits cost taxpayers thousands of dollars. And, each of these suits could have been avoided, but for DOC’s arrogance. DOC is its own worst enemy. They are charged with the rehabilitation of incarcerated offenders. Instead, they create and enforce arcane rules that bear no legitimate relation to the safety, security, discipline and order of the institutions they manage.


In the PLN case, DOC took the position that inmates could not have access to court case citations and reviews. In the case before Judge Turk, a senior DOC Director attempted to suggest James Joyce’s classic novel Ulysses was properly banned because “inmates were bartering the book to read sexually explicit passages”. The Judge himself found DOC’s position “laughable”.


As I’ve noted on this blog before, DOC is broken. Literally, inmates are running the asylum. Virginia clings to the hard-hearted, illogical, unsupportable notion that longer sentences mean less crime. Study after study concludes that premise is wrong. Virginia abolished parole in 1995. At that time, there were approximately 9,500 inmates in the system. Fifteen years later, there are over 38,000 in DOC facilities and another 5,000 housed in regional jails awaiting transfer.


Over $1 billion is spent annually on DOC. Yet, the vast majority of that money is for housing and maintaining the inmate population.


Rehabilitation programs are laughable. Big S attended alcohol awareness. It met once a week, 30 minutes, ten weeks.


In my situation, I owe more than $1 million in restitution. Assuming I have to complete my entire sentence, it will cost Virginia taxpayers in excess of $300,000 to house ad maintain me. On my release I will be eligible for Social Security which is not subject to collection. I will pay nothing toward my restitution order.


Instead of creating a system that rewards good behavior, a system that gets an offender to confront his wrongdoing and make amends; DOC oversees a system that tries to make inmates feel hopeless. And, out of hopelessness comes anger and resentment.


Guys in here will challenge any rule. And, every challenge costs money. And, asinine rules cost lots of money. It is becoming painfully clear; there are hundreds, perhaps thousands of lawsuits on the horizon waiting to sink DOC and Virginia’s taxpayers.


Everyone knows the story of the Titanic; the ship that was “unsinkable”. The owners and the crew placed so much credence in their own abilities that they saw themselves as creating the indestructible. But on a dark, starless night a watchman looked up and yelled out the immortal words “Iceberg dead ahead”. Little less than three hours later the “unsinkable” Titanic went below the water.


DOC is the Titanic. Difference is, it’s already hit the iceberg. It’s taking on water. But, it doesn’t have to sink. It will take drastic efforts to save it. First, a complete new mindset. That means the old way of doing things must go. Those senior staff who have presided over this corrupt system must be replaced.


Second, reinstate parole. Have a sliding scale for inmates. Nonviolent felons would be eligible for release after 10% to 30% of their sentence is served; violent offenders’ eligible after 40% of their sentence is served. But, make it based on merit. Work hard in prison, show remorse, seek to rehabilitate, you then earn parole.


Third, make rehabilitation really mean something. Have real treatment programs, more education and vocation opportunities. And, institute “restorative justice” as a central tenet of DOC’s mission statement.


Write your delegates, write the Governor and express your views on prison reform. Better still, suggest to him that he read my blog and meet with me. I’m available 24/7. Through this experience, I’ve been given a life preserver. I don’t want the ship to sink, but I’ll be OK if it does.

Tuesday, October 5, 2010

Frustration

I’m going on a tirade. Simply put, people near and dear to me piss me off. They frustrate me. It’s been building and it came to a head with my parent’s visit this weekend. Should I address these things directly in a letter to them, or anyone else who “doesn’t quite get it”? I could. But I’ve discovered people read into personal letters what they want. They miss the point.



My folks are lovely people. Don’t get me wrong, they are by most definitions “good members of society”. Yet, the more they visit, the more they say hurtful, hateful things, the more I feel my blood pressure shoot through my skull.


In the span of the first fifteen minutes, I heard: 1) how “bitter” they were over various decisions made at their church; 2) how many recent murders occurred in their community and all the “criminals” are guilty – ironically, I’m the only person in the history of the U.S. Justice system who’s ever been mistreated; 3) how screwed up everyone else’s family is; 4) why certain people aren’t communicating with them.


I just sit there, biting my tongue, trying to eat a microwavable sandwich and get the three hour visit to pass without having a stroke. As I’ve told my cousin (who, along with her husband, has done more for me throughout this process than I can ever begin to repay), it takes more self-control and composure, more mental discipline to survive a visit than prison itself.


So, in order:


1) Hey Mom and Dad, it’s church. You’re not supposed to be “bitter” with your fellow believers. Quit being so melodramatic. In the great scheme of things, does it really matter who’s on a particular committee?


2) No, my sentence wasn’t fair, but neither are the vast majority of sentences. And, as “USA Today” pointed out in a page 1 cover story this week, hundreds perhaps thousands, of inmates are wrongly convicted each year due to prosecutorial misconduct. You want to be angry, do something about the “lockem up” mentality that pervades “good citizens”. You don’t solve drug abuse, mental illness, or the vast majority of nonviolent felonies, with prison. Even the Federal Courts are beginning to realize there’s no such thing as “rehabilitation” in prison (see Judge Wald’s dissent in Amatel v Reno - http://cl.bna.com/cl/19981007/975293.htm).


And here’s another thing that drives me nuts. A guy from my town butchered four people, including a woman that worked at the same college as my ex. This week he pled guilty to the four murders to avoid the death penalty. My ex emails my Mom to tell her “. . . was in the courtroom. He’ll be killed by other inmates.” Really? The people making these pronouncements have exactly how many days of prison time experience? Oh yeah, none. Fact is, that sick bastard will go to Virginia’s super max facility. The likelihood anyone gets their hands on him is remote at best. And, when did it become “decent” to wish death and suffering to someone. How do you sit in church praising the prince of peace in one Moment and the other hoping for death for someone in the other?


As for families, yeah there’s a lot of dysfunction floating around. But how about a little more empathy and a little less condemnation. Your 51 year-old son is in prison. You can’t even discuss that with your friends, yet you’re telling me how screwed up everyone else is.


I read a short story recently by an author named Rodriguez (no relation to the crazy Rodriguez in here) who wrote about the dysfunction in his family and then said “though my mother refuses to read anything I write. She won’t look inward at the why’s in life . . .” Wow. I didn’t know I had a half brother out there! My Mom and Dad refuse to read the blog; refuse to read anything I write. They bury their head in the sand and don’t evaluate, don’t analyze, don’t consider their behavior, their actions in the drama that is our family’s life.


Case in point, the exact same behavior they’ve used with me and my brother is being repeated with my brother’s youngest daughter. “She has to listen. I’m a disciplinarian.” How about trying love and praise?


My brother and I have had a very strained relationship most of our lives. He clearly has demons. But he’s always been the “second-class citizen” in our family. That doesn’t mean things were easy for me. I was expected to succeed. When I did, it was met with a “ho hum, you should have done that well”.


My brother has had a tough life, no doubt. He’s had cancer. Now, he sits home while his wife and daughters go on with life. He doesn’t even take care of himself.


I want to tell him to pull his head out of his butt. Get over it. You’ve been given a new lease on life. Lose weight, eat healthy, get exercise, and change your negative attitude! Realize how blessed you are having your wife and daughters. Treat them with kindness and decency. Be loving. And for God’s sake, and your sanity, get over the bitterness with Mom and Dad. They’re never going to admit they weren’t great parents. Know what – they weren’t perfect; they screwed us up in a lot of ways, but we weren’t perfect sons either. Forgive Bro, and lead a joyful life.


Finally, to two of my aunts, who quit writing my Mom because, well frankly, Mom says mean hurtful things (remember I have a “Top 10 Sweet Remarks list by my Mom”), tell her straight up how what she says hurts. If she doesn’t get it, move on.


I could write pages how my ex’s behavior sends me into orbit. She has no contact with me and completely cut me off from our kids. I could write a lot, but I won’t. See, I’m most frustrated with myself. I hurt the woman I love, the woman who was my best friend, my soul mate. I wish she’d see the remorse and sorrow I feel, but I have no one to blame but myself. And, at the end of the day, the loss of that amazing woman is the most frustrating thought I live with.

Karma Gets Me Again

Every time I begin feeling like the guys I’m locked up with are decent, intelligent men who’ve just had a run of bad luck, I get bombarded by a series of really stupid conversations and situations that make me remember why there are prisons. This week, I had run-ins with a number of guys who convinced me, once again, I’m the biggest idiot out there, because I risked – and lost – the most.



There’s Chris – a teacher’s aide – who is a college grad and, oh yeah, back in prison a second time for an assault conviction. He clearly has an anger issue. So how does he address his issue? He decides, in a fit of rage, to go after his bunkmate with a ballpoint pen. Now his bunkmate is a 6’5” 250 lb. black guy who bench presses right at 400 pounds. Chris is 5’10”, 190 lb. He didn’t get within two feet of his bunkmate before “BAM, BAM”, down goes Chris. He’s in the hole with a black eye, busted nose, fighting charge (which means automatic loss of job and good time). Good move Chris. Way to keep your anger in check?


There’s GT, a guy in my writing class. GT tattooed his neck with the “@” sign. Why? “It’s ghetto.” The guys in class call him “at”. He doesn’t get it. He thinks he’s going to write the greatest “gangster novel” ever, full of “pimps and ho’s, crack and bling”. When I pointed out to young Hemingway that it is “which” not “witch” he replied “spellins for white mo fo’s”. I can see it now: “and the 2025 Nobel Prize for Literature goes to At.” Problem for GT: he refuses to read. Dostoevsky, Hemingway, Hesse, Melville? “Who they?”


I had a serious discussion with Will the other day about the 1st Amendment and censorship. At issue: Will was denied access to his September issue of Playboy (men’s magazines are allowed, but particular issues are censored). Will is an absolutist when it comes to the 1st Amendment. “Anything I can read on the street, I should be able to read in here.”


I tried to explain to him that the U.S. Supreme Court has ruled that inmates don’t have an absolute right to any books or magazines they want. Security, discipline, and rehabilitation are more important than an inmate’s access to porn.


That’s not acceptable to Will. Censorship is wrong. He’s an adult and if he wants to look at porn, that’s his business. Did I mention Will’s entering year six of a nine year sentence for “carnal knowledge” of his own seven year old daughter? I’m sure this is what the founding fathers had in mind when they debated the First Amendment.


Perhaps nothing showed how inane these guys can be than the uproar over the new DOC guideline on 5% mandatory withholding.


Every inmate owes something: court fees, fines or restitution. I owe no fees or fines, but the $1 million plus I owe in restitution is a real debt. DOC has now mandated that 5% of every inmate paycheck be set aside in a forced savings account. Six months prior to your release, DOC will contact the court you owe and make arrangements to send your withheld amount to them. Don’t owe anything? The money is yours on release.


Guys went ballistic! “They stealin my money. I already work for only 20 cent an hour.”


Here’s reality:


1) The 13th Amendment outlawed slavery except involving inmate work. They don’t have to pay us.


2) Work is required to earn good time.


3) Inmates owe the fines, fees, and restitution. Paying is a requirement of probation.


If DOC want to take $2.70 a month out of my check to pay down my $1 million plus restitution order, more power to them (forget the fact it will cost more than $2.70 to account for it – ah, the joy of bureaucracy!).


Guys need to get real. Want people to seriously consider prison reform, act responsibly. Setting up a payment plan while incarcerated is a step in that direction.


Karma, you’re killing me!

Monday, October 4, 2010

I Shall Be Released

A great many tunes go through my mind whenever I run. It’s like I have an iPod in my head sometimes. Early on in here I bought a portable CD player/radio and a handful of CD’s. I bought music I know and love: Bob Dylan, Bob Marley, Allman Brothers, Led Zeppelin, Rolling Stones, to name a few.



Music, songs I know, helps get me through. That is, until this past week. I noticed that all the new shows were using songs that mean something to me, songs that remind me of what I’ve lost.


This past week “Parenthood” used a classic Dylan song, “Forever Young” in an episode. I sang that song to both my sons’ moments after they were born. It resonated with me as my prayer for them.


“May God bless and keep you always
May your wishes all come true,
May you always do for others
And let others do for you.
May you build a ladder to the sun,
And climb on every rung
May you stay Forever Young.”


That song plays on in my head each day as I run the track. Only now it is from a father who is separated, alienated from his sons. I hear that song and my heart breaks a little more each day.


A new show, “Raising Hope” was on the other night. A baby refused to stop crying. A woman came in and began quietly singing Loggins and Messina’s “Danny’s Song”, a beautiful ballad about a father seeing his first born and telling his wife even though they have little, he is fulfilled.


“Even though we ain’t got money
I’m so in love with you honey
Everything will bring a chain of love.
In the morning when I rise
Sweet tears of joy to my eyes
And tell me everything’s gonna be alright.”


I choked up. I used to hear that song all the time when I held my kids, when I watched my wife sleep. Now, the loss of her, the emptiness, the loneliness weighs me down. I feel as if in mourning. I’m not complete without them.


My folks come monthly for a visit. They mean well, yet they don’t realize (or don’t want to realize) the pain they cause me with each conversation reminding me of what I lost. “She is shopping with. . .” “The kids are doing . . .” I go a week, maybe two, thinking the pain, the sorrow, the emptiness, is lessening, then the visit and the songs begin again.


I was down this afternoon after the visit. Big S went outside with me. I told him how I feared I’d never get over the loss of my wife, how I still loved her even though I knew I’d never see her again. I told him how much I missed my sons; “how much more”, I asked him, “can I lose”? We walked around the track. His words helped. I am blessed with a friend like him, part son, part best friend.


I began running sprints and the song came to me. Dylan and the Band:


“They say every man needs protection
They say even man must fall
But I swear I see my reflection
Somewhere so high above the wall.
I see my life come shinin’
From the west down to the east
Any day now, any day now
I shall be released.”


There are lonely, difficult days in here. Sometime I have to remind myself God’s way isn’t like my way. Sometime I have to expect that my hardship, my struggle – as difficult as it feels – is still part of His promise to me.


I hate this place. I hate the damage I’ve done to the three people I love the most. But, everyday gives me hope. I am reminded of Simon & Garfunkel’s “Bridge over Trouble Water”:


“When you’re weary
Feelin small
When tears are in you eyes
I will dry them all
I’m on your side
When times are hard
And pain is all around
Like a bridge over troubled waters
I will lay you down.”


Days in here come and go, but my hope remains.

Something Smells

As I write this, convicted murderer Teresa Lewis is hours from her execution in the Virginia death chamber at DOC’s Greensville Penitentiary. Virginia Governor Robert F. McDonnell, a Republican, who successfully ran in large measure by touting his Christian faith refused Lewis’ clemency request late last week. The United States Supreme Court likewise refused to intervene. Absent a miracle, shortly after 9:00 pm this evening, representatives of the Virginia Department of Corrections will begin the IV drip that “humanely” terminates Lewis’ life. This case, the way the Governor, the prosecution, and the courts have dealt with Teresa Lewis stinks.



As I ponder the hypocrisy of Governor McDonnell’s refusal to intervene, I am reminded of an expression my oldest son would utter quite often “hypocrisy is a stinky cologne”. I also thought back to another great Loudon Wainwright tune:


“Dead Skunk in the Middle of the Road
Crossin the highway late last night
Should’ve looked left, should’ve looked right
Didn’t see the station wagon car
Skunk got squashed, there you are


You got your dead skunk in the middle of the road
Dead skunk in the middle of the road
Dead skunk in the middle of the road
Stinkin to high heaven.”


There is no doubt that what Ms. Lewis did was evil. She was having an affair and conspired with her paramour and his friend to kill her husband and stepson execution style while they slept. The husband survived the initial shooting. Lewis waited almost an hour before calling the police. Her desire for insurance proceeds – her greed, her infidelity, led her to that fateful undertaking and it cost the life of two people (the victims).


A great many people love to walk around wearing “WWJD” bracelets. “What would Jesus do” is a fashionable question that many well-meaning, God-believing folks use as a mantra to explain to people their moral outlook. Yet, we as individuals, and as society, terribly miss the mark. No matter how much we profess our faith, our actions indicate otherwise.


In numerous instances, Jesus called us to be better than our nature. When confronted by the crowd over the adulterous woman, he told them “Go ahead and execute her, that’s the law. Only the one free of sin must cast the first stone.” The crowd silently dispersed. He looked at the woman and asked “Where did all those who condemned you go?” When she told him they had all left, Jesus stated one of the great Biblical truths: “Then neither will I condemn you. Go and sin no more.”


How many of us can honestly say we live up to Jesus’ commandments? The law is a hard standard, but forgiveness and compassion are even more difficult. Why do you think Jesus told the Pharisees divorce was wrong, that the divorce laws were in place because people’s hearts were hard? God never divorces you. We are called on to be “God like”.


We’re told to “love our enemies”. Anyone can love a friend, but love those who hurt you, who despise you, that’s tough. Yet, that’s exactly what Jesus would have us do.


I saw a news show last evening. A grieving father confronted his daughter’s murderer at sentencing and said “I pray each day that God will show you no mercy.” I can’t put myself in that man’s shoes, but somehow I think his prayers won’t be answered. God will show that man mercy – if he cries out for it – because God is merciful, in spite of our sinful ways.


Did Teresa Lewis deserve to die? Sure. Are we called to a higher understanding, are we to forgive, and love, and show mercy? Absolutely.


Governor McDonnell, if you’re going to “talk the talk”, then “walk the walk”.


Postscript: At 9:13 pm on Thursday evening, September 23rd, Teresa Lewis was declared dead following administration of a lethal injection. Teresa Lewis’s life ended after she apologized for the heinous crime she committed and with praise for knowing a merciful God exists.


I have learned a great deal over these past two years. One thing is that hatred, anger, bitterness breeds more of the same. Our chief obligation in life is to love and forgive. My faith assures me Teresa Lewis is in a better place. At least in the eyes of God, it is not her wrongdoing that defines her, but her soul.


I prayed this evening for our Governor. Doing the “right thing” doing “what Jesus would do” is usually unpopular. But, if it was easy, we’d all act more kindly and compassionately. We’d be more forgiving. Governor McDonnell will live with the knowledge that he could have put his faith in action. He could have spared Teresa Lewis’s life.


Mahatma Gandhi said, “When you apply an eye for an eye, pretty soon the whole world is blind”.


Justice does not include retribution or revenge. Justice smells sweet. What happened this week stinks.

Sunday, October 3, 2010

Karma and Other Thoughts

Big S and I went out this afternoon to workout. It was a beautiful Saturday afternoon and we were walking a few laps before sprints. It was the kind of Saturday afternoon I always loved; grilling, sitting on the deck, glass of wine in hand. Things were a whole lot different then.



Big S is a big believer in Karma. As I’ve written before, he really is innocent of the crime that put him in here. But, he’ll be the first to tell you he deserved to get some time. He had a great job in loss prevention with a major department store chain. He gave it all up, including a chance to be a manager with the chain to become a bounty hunter (a/k/a “The Dog” on A & E Network). He played fast and loose as a bounty hunter and thought he was untouchable. Then, he got caught up in a mess, a victim of misidentification, and he gets prison time.


I kind of buy the Karma theory. My faith tells me how you treat people, how you forgive, is how you’ll be treated and forgiven.


In my case, I knew by late October of 2007 that I was out of control. In 2006 and ten months of 2007, I had taken almost $1 million. I was buying anything I saw for people, flying first class with friends in tow every month.


I came back from a five day trip to Vegas with two friends the first week of November. I totaled up what I’d taken just that year and flipped out. I destroyed all the records I had and vowed never to take another penny.


For weeks after that while I was driving to work I’d be overwhelmed with fear that I was going to get caught. I’d start sweating and I’d cry out “God, I don’t want to go to prison; I don’t want to lose my family”. Then, I’d get to work, things would be fine and cocky me would think everything was gravy.


I made it 92 days without taking any more money. Then, I treated two friends to a Vegas “invitation only” Super Bowl party. Another five days in Vegas, round-trip airfare, rooms, meals. I was going to handle the bills on my own until my broker called. The market was going down and I needed to invest in gold, he suggested. I panicked and prepared a $30,000 check to buy into a gold fund. It was February 8, 2008. I lost hope that day. I knew I couldn’t stop. I frankly gave up. Seven months later when I was arrested, it was because an accounting clerk had seen the investment check from February and thought it looked suspicious. Karma.


Or maybe it was something more than that. I’m a firm believer that God allows things to happen sometimes for a reason. In my case, I needed to be caught; without the arrest I’d probably be dead by now. I hated who I’d become. I couldn’t even look myself in the face. I was drinking a great deal to dull the pain of realizing I had made a mess of my life.


In hindsight, getting arrested saved my life. Big S realizes this experience has taught him how to be a better father. He loves his daughter, always has. But, being apart from her makes him want to be there every moment of her life. He wants to be the father she deserves.


Me, I was thinking as I ran, about the time I taught my wife to drive a four speed stick. I was sweet and patient. I never raised my voice. It was all “more gas, less clutch sweetie”. I thought about the time when she was pregnant with our first son, how I doted over her. I almost got diabetes being so sweet!


I liked that guy. I didn’t like the guy that stole, the guy I’d become. A good number of folks wrote letters on my behalf to the judge. A few testified for me. It was a humbling experience to hear people talk about your decency when you don’t feel it and probably don’t deserve it.


Karma is OK. If you pay attention to it you can get another chance. That’s provided you act decently. Funny, but I realized while hanging with Big S today my life’s gone full circle. I only wish I could teach her to drive that four speed stick again

Personal Ad

Big S and I were talking the other day about relationships. He’s been giving a great deal of thought to his future. In particular, does he try and reestablish a relationship with his daughter’s mom and rebuild their family. As I’ve written before, Big S is a relatively young man (early 30’s) but I think he was born mature. Perhaps it’s the prison experience, but he is wise beyond his, beyond my, years.



Relationships and sexuality are weird subjects anytime. They are even more so in prison. Guys approach their sexuality, their “needs” in all sorts of ways. First, there are the openly effeminate, prancing, dancing gays. They sew their own clothes; call each other “girl” and hook up in the bathrooms in the middle of the night. Almost all of them are housed in two buildings. I’m in a “gump” free zone (gump is prison jargon for homosexual) so my only contact with “La Cage aux Folles” is on the rec yard or at work.


Flamboyance in the prison gay community is a must. At the same time, there is a vicious undercurrent of homophobia in here. The only thing worse than being labeled a snitch is a gump. Guys go out of their way to prove they’re “hetero” and their proof is weight lifting and describing in exact, graphic detail what they’d do to a continuing increasing list of celebrities, models, vice-presidential candidates (Sarah Palin is a big hit in prison). This weeks “girl guest” was the TV Azteca reporter who was sexually harassed in the Jets locker room.


The dirty little secret in here is every gay guy has one or two supposedly straight guys as “boy toys”. And the guys who secretly see the “girls” are the ones who react with such venom when jokes are made about their sexuality. They rationalize that they aren’t really gay, just doing what needs to be done. That may explain why a pimp did so well in 6 building.


My ex used to complain that I was homophobic. I had definite opinions on gays, but like many other things, my opinions have evolved since my arrest. When I was at the jail, a Captain wrote a major charge against a gay trustee (“Kiki”). He asked me for help and I soon realized the Captain had it in for him. I believed correctly (as it turned out), because he was gay. I defended Kiki, won his case and convinced the jail the Captain needed “sensitivity training”. Two days later I was mysteriously transferred to DOC custody and the hell that was Powhatan receiving.


In February, I was walking across the compound and heard a shriek. “That’s him! That’s the lawyer that kicked that F---in Captain’s ass!” Scampering toward me was Kiki and two other “Supremes”. I am the lawyer for gay and straight, black and white.


On the other side of the sexual revolution in prison are the serial gunners. “Gunning” is the prison term for self love. There are guys in here who will announce “headin’ to the shower for some me time”. We have a few “shower guys” in here. You just learn to give them their space.


There are always incidents at visitation involving “conjugal” visits from wives or girlfriends. At least once a weekend a guy gets sent to the hole for receiving a “helping hand” from his “girl”. No matter how discreet, the camera in the sky knows!


I always wondered, back in my free days, how Catholic priests did the celibacy thing. I’ve learned over these past two years it’s not that hard (“that’s what she said!” - sorry, too many episodes of The Office). I was with my wife for 28 years. In that time I never cheated, never strayed. We had our problems, no doubt, but I loved her and viewed our physical relationship as part of who we were as a couple. Frankly, sex, without that loving relationship, just doesn’t interest me very much.


Back to Big S. He’s been thinking a great deal about his daughter and trying to create a loving home for her when he’s released. “Do you love her (the mom)?” He does. Then I told him about my situation. How I still love my ex and the thought of growing old without her fills me with deep sadness. But, I also know things couldn’t just go back to the way they were. I’ve realized through this experience that our relationship wasn’t as good as it should have been. I realized I put in an incredible amount of energy out of fear – fear she didn’t love me – and it made me not be the kind of man I should have been.


Big S understood exactly what I meant. I was reminded of a letter I received from my ex shortly after she filed for divorce. In it, she told me the reasons for her action. She said:


“You’re a convicted felon with a huge debt to repay and probably a lousy credit rating. You’re not much of a catch!”


It got me thinking about a personal ad I should run to find a new “significant other” (my ex used to teasingly suggest we go on “eHarmony” to see if we were a match). After all, advertising is really about the message, not the reality (case in point, our current President). So here goes:


“Physically fit, mature hairline, 51 year old male seeks any communication from females ages 35+ to 55. Must enjoy writing, reading, outdoors, my cooking, and be willing to overlook a $1 million plus restitution order. Must wait – patiently – for years – for an actual date. Interested candidates must be pre-approved by Big S and DOC (I can’t associate with know felons).


I’ve discovered it’s easier for guys to get hard core porn smuggled in than sustain a loving relationship with the one you love. It’s sad really. You get jaded about love, then you see “DC” and his wife in visitation. 38 years she’s stood by him. 38 years she comes for visits and they hold hands. “She knows I’m not the murderer they defined me to be. She knows the man I am, the man I can and will be. We’re in this together.”


Now, that’s love.

Saturday, October 2, 2010

Moore Stories

There’s a guy in here named Moore. Moore is a mid-fifties black guy who’s been in and out of the system a number of times. He’s also a prime time “whaler”. Whaler is prison jargon for liar, a guy who makes up stories that are so far-fetched they can’t possibly be true.



In Moore’s case he whales about his athletic prowess. One day he tells everyone he was in an NBA training camp. The next, he was a triple A infielder for the Yankees. It’s gotten so bad when he walks by I’ll stop and say “yeah, I invented ramen noodles”, or “yeah, I invented writing”. Or, my personal favorite, “I’m really a 30 year old black rapper who’s married to Halle Berry. I’m just here to research a movie”.


The thing about prison is, you can be whoever you want to be. The more desperate and pathologic the inmate, the more outrageous the story. There’s the guy I tutor with rotten teeth, early 40’s, reading at a third grade level who swears up and down he drove a 2006 Bentley.


Cars, women, jewelry, it all becomes the subject of far-fetched tales. But, as I’ve written before, prison merely mirrors “the street”. This past week the 9th U.S. Circuit Court of Appeals held as unconstitutional a federal law making it a felony to claim you were awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor. The defendant, Xavier Alvarez, claimed to not only be a medal recipient, but also a retired NHL hockey player married to a Mexican movie star.


The court wasn’t condoning lying, but was saying lying – without something else like defrauding someone of money – isn’t a crime. I think about the concept of lying a great deal. In one particularly venomous letter, my then wife stated “you’re a liar and a thief”. I wrote back and told her “I only lied about stealing”.


Shortly after meeting my wife in college I took a look at her application to the school. I worked for the associate dean of students and back then privacy wasn’t as big a deal as it is today. Besides the amazing photo on the application, under “extra-curricular activities” she had written “high school cheerleader”. I knew it had to be true. She was the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen. I didn’t tell her I saw her app, I just asked her one night about cheerleading. She told me she wasn’t ever a cheerleader. I never said anything else to her about her embellishment, but I always wondered why. She didn’t have to do it. She was beautiful, and brilliant, and pleasant.


Everyone lies. We do it everyday, multiple times. We lie about big issues (“yeah the money is legitimate”) and we lie about small issues (“you look great”). My ex insisted in one letter “I never lied to you, except telling you sometimes it was good when it was so so”. Less than a paragraph later she wrote “I haven’t loved you for a long time”. Funny, the night before my arrest she told me “I love you”.


I think we lie because in the short term it’s easier. Why hurt someone’s feelings with the truth? Why unload your problems on those around you? Lying is a lot less risky. You can be who you want, not who you are.


But lying comes at a price. You can’t keep up with all the lies. Eventually, the truth comes out and there are always consequences.


I often wonder what my wife’s feelings would have been if I was more assertive to what I needed in our relationship. Would she have been receptive to change? I don’t know; but, I do know the price I paid was way too severe. I lost her. And, ironically, I lied so I wouldn’t!


Back to prison. I teach beginning and advanced writers programs for the school. There’s a teacher for an advisor, but she doesn’t attend class. She just helps me prep materials and topics.


I teach by telling stories. A lot of them are about me. The guys in the class sit spellbound as I describe my ineptitude in building a garbage can holder, or a trial I conducted, or my arrest. My stories are all true. I go out of my way to be painfully honest about successes and foibles, emotions and actions. They gaze on in amazement then say “no one ever tells us the truth about their life”. But, I’ve discovered its OK to be me, like Popeye the sailor, I now hold my head up content that “I yam what I yam”.


Yesterday afternoon “Hank” asked to walk the track with me. He was down. The Virginia Supreme Court dismissed a petition he filed. It was tossed on an urban legend that exists in prison that states an inmate can “de-incorporate” (the government gives you a social security number; you become a corporation. Return the number and they have to release you). From the moment I arrived in prison I told guys “this is a crock. It doesn’t exist. It won’t work.” I upset a good number of guys with my honesty. But, I was proven correct.


Hank told me he had paid an inmate $300 to handle the dismissed petition. “I feel hopeless, like God’s give up on me.” As we walked and I listened I felt the pain in his voice. He’s back here on a probation violation. He previously did three years for grand larceny, got hooked on heroin, forged/altered a check an the judge gave him all his suspended time: 12 year to do. Harsh sentence? No doubt. Decent guy who got in trouble because of a drug addiction? Absolutely. Being helped in prison? No.


After he finished, I told him my story: a perfect life; deeply in love with a beautiful woman; two amazing sons; friends; great job and education. I told him how it was all gone.


He stopped walking and stared at me. “How do you go on?” he asked. I told him the most honest thing I knew; that I trust, I hope, I know this will all work out for the best. Everyday I get up believing that people can endure anything with hope and that’s the truth.


In honor of Moore, let me just say “I invented hope and truth”.