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.
Sunday, June 27, 2010
Monday, June 21, 2010
Grace - June 21, 2010
This has been an interesting week. I had originally planned on writing about the two gay inmates in another building who had a “lover’s quarrel” and ended up stabbing each other. By the next day both guys were on their way to different high custody facilities. Ah, spring romance.
I thought about the inmate busted a week ago “suitcasing” tobacco in from visitation. I’ll leave it to the reader’s imagination which orifice constitutes the “suitcase”.
Instead, I’ll write about grace, that feeling you get when you realize all that toxic crap that wore you down is lifted. I’m talking about finding your soul, knowing God does love you, forgives you, and even in a dump like this, blesses you. You find that and you view the people around you differently. You see beyond their weaknesses, their faults. You forgive.
I teach a creative writing class for the inmates. This past week two of the guys submitted stories that floored me. The first, by “DC”, spoke about his older brother being drafted by the Phillies one week, the Marines the next. It was 1968 and within 6 months his brother would return from Vietnam in a coffin. His family never recovered. Fast forward to 1971. This then young DC, with a chance at making the Olympic Boxing Team, kills a man. He has been incarcerated ever since. Since coming to the penitentiary, he’s become a pacifist (he practices Hindu meditation) and a Vegan. His wife has stayed by his side these past 38 years. His 2 children, now fully grown, have children of their own.
They all visit him, this extended family, and they patiently wait for his release. I call him a friend. I see the man before me and ask God to show this man justice, mercy. I ask any reading this to consider the basic Christian premise “he who is free of sin cast the first stone”. 38 years is long enough.
Then there is “Black”, a bright funny inmate incarcerated since 1987. His crime? Armed robbery. He wrote a story in the third person about a bright 5 year old boy. He was learning to tie his shoes. His single mom couldn’t be bothered teaching him so she enlisted her boyfriend. The little boy tried and tried until . . . BAM! He awoke in the emergency room with his grandparents, a broken orbital bone and fractured jaw.
He has learned Spanish and French since being convicted. He is an honorable man who discovered his honor after coming to grips with the hell that was his life. How many of us could endure what this man endured as a child.
I have led such a blessed life, even in here. I am fortunate to have developed meaningful friendships with a number of men in here, in particular E and Big S. They listen, they offer compassion and occasionally when needed, a good kick in the psychological ass.
I’ve realized how fragile our lives our. It is true “there but for the grace of God go I”. So many men I’ve met along the way in here have suffered so much in their lives. So many have not overcome. Yet, there are the DC’s and Black’s who each day find strength and peace, and meaning, and hope in this circumstance.
My wife of 28 years divorced me. I haven’t heard from her in 8 months. My 22 year old son has neither spoken nor written me since my arrest in August 2008. I haven’t heard from my youngest son since Christmas that same year.
Rather than feeling angry, depressed, fearful over these circumstances, I have found a sense of peace. It took some time, but I felt a calmness overtake me. The longings for love I so desired from my wife that, in some part, contributed to my actions are understood now. I can look myself in the mirror and remember the decent man I am.
I feel forgiven, by God and myself. And, feeling that way I’ve grown more accepting of people’s shortcomings. I can accept my ex’s failures and weaknesses in our relationship. I forgive her for what she’s done since my arrest.
People are not the sum of their actions. They all come with stories, with histories. We would all be better served by being a little more merciful and a little less judgmental.
I thought about the inmate busted a week ago “suitcasing” tobacco in from visitation. I’ll leave it to the reader’s imagination which orifice constitutes the “suitcase”.
Instead, I’ll write about grace, that feeling you get when you realize all that toxic crap that wore you down is lifted. I’m talking about finding your soul, knowing God does love you, forgives you, and even in a dump like this, blesses you. You find that and you view the people around you differently. You see beyond their weaknesses, their faults. You forgive.
I teach a creative writing class for the inmates. This past week two of the guys submitted stories that floored me. The first, by “DC”, spoke about his older brother being drafted by the Phillies one week, the Marines the next. It was 1968 and within 6 months his brother would return from Vietnam in a coffin. His family never recovered. Fast forward to 1971. This then young DC, with a chance at making the Olympic Boxing Team, kills a man. He has been incarcerated ever since. Since coming to the penitentiary, he’s become a pacifist (he practices Hindu meditation) and a Vegan. His wife has stayed by his side these past 38 years. His 2 children, now fully grown, have children of their own.
They all visit him, this extended family, and they patiently wait for his release. I call him a friend. I see the man before me and ask God to show this man justice, mercy. I ask any reading this to consider the basic Christian premise “he who is free of sin cast the first stone”. 38 years is long enough.
Then there is “Black”, a bright funny inmate incarcerated since 1987. His crime? Armed robbery. He wrote a story in the third person about a bright 5 year old boy. He was learning to tie his shoes. His single mom couldn’t be bothered teaching him so she enlisted her boyfriend. The little boy tried and tried until . . . BAM! He awoke in the emergency room with his grandparents, a broken orbital bone and fractured jaw.
He has learned Spanish and French since being convicted. He is an honorable man who discovered his honor after coming to grips with the hell that was his life. How many of us could endure what this man endured as a child.
I have led such a blessed life, even in here. I am fortunate to have developed meaningful friendships with a number of men in here, in particular E and Big S. They listen, they offer compassion and occasionally when needed, a good kick in the psychological ass.
I’ve realized how fragile our lives our. It is true “there but for the grace of God go I”. So many men I’ve met along the way in here have suffered so much in their lives. So many have not overcome. Yet, there are the DC’s and Black’s who each day find strength and peace, and meaning, and hope in this circumstance.
My wife of 28 years divorced me. I haven’t heard from her in 8 months. My 22 year old son has neither spoken nor written me since my arrest in August 2008. I haven’t heard from my youngest son since Christmas that same year.
Rather than feeling angry, depressed, fearful over these circumstances, I have found a sense of peace. It took some time, but I felt a calmness overtake me. The longings for love I so desired from my wife that, in some part, contributed to my actions are understood now. I can look myself in the mirror and remember the decent man I am.
I feel forgiven, by God and myself. And, feeling that way I’ve grown more accepting of people’s shortcomings. I can accept my ex’s failures and weaknesses in our relationship. I forgive her for what she’s done since my arrest.
People are not the sum of their actions. They all come with stories, with histories. We would all be better served by being a little more merciful and a little less judgmental.
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
Graduation - June 9, 2010
I attended our facility’s graduation ceremony yesterday. I went in thinking it was a big waste of time – after all, why recognize guys getting certified as bakers or auto mechanics. In my arrogance I assumed a ceremony in prison couldn’t compare to my college or law graduation. What I witnessed taught me how much I still have to learn.
Education programs in prison are run by the Department of Correctional Education (DCE). DCE provides vocational education – electrical, building and maintenance, HVAC, masonry (to name a few) and academic education. By Virginia law, all inmates without a high school diploma or GED are required to attend class to be eligible for early release. DCE also manages an on-site library and college classes through a local community college.
From the time of my arrest I served as a GED tutor, first at the jail I was held at and now here at the prison. I daily work with men – some as young as 17, others over 70 – who struggle to learn to read and write and do basic math.
Yesterday’s graduation ceremony involved about 100 men who had completed various programs. Many of these men have never completed anything meaningful in their life prior to being recognized here yesterday.
The Warden – a remarkable woman who looks out of place in a place like this, yet has a heart of gold – spoke briefly and said the following: “incarceration is a daily struggle. It’s difficult, and painful, and tough.” But, she added, the men that are able to succeed in this environment prove you can overcome this.
I was deeply moved by her words. No one can truly understand what this experience is like until you’ve lived it; the loneliness in the midst of cramped living conditions the loss of family, of friends, of freedom; the boredom, despair and sometimes, fear.
Virginia currently has incarcerated almost 40,000 men and women. They are someone’s mother or father, brother or sister, son or daughter. The money spent to house this number (over $1 billion) could provide educational opportunities for ten times that number.
What kind of society do we desire? What is our obligation to those on the fringe of society? What does it mean, really mean, to forgive, to reconcile, to rehabilitate? What hope is there for an inmate upon his or her release?
I ponder these questions as the GED students proceed forward to get their diplomas. Family and friends who came into see the ceremony cheer; some cry. Bob Dylan’s words echo through my mind: “the answer, my friend, is blowin in the wind”.
Four men earned associates degrees from the local community college. At minimum, it takes five years to get enough courses completed for the degree.
The student speaker was one of those men. His parents – naturalized Cuban-Americans – drove up from Miami. “Grac” is 42 years old. He has been incarcerated since 1996 and has 3 years remaining on a cocaine distribution conviction. In the time he’s been in prison he became HVAC certified, earned his journeyman status as an electrician and now, completed his associates degree.
His brief remarks focused on how much he hated prison, yet how in this struggle he found meaning, and, a purpose. He then spoke to his parents in Spanish. Choking up, he thanked them for standing by him, loving him unconditionally, never being embarrassed by his situation.
I thought of my own circumstance – a mother who continually points out what I lost, who can’t visit without crying. I thought about losing my wife of 28 years who hasn’t spoken to me in the last 2 years, deprived me of access to my youngest son, and made me realize all those years I felt she was cold and distant from me was because she never truly loved me.
And, I watched these men smile and wave with pride. Regardless of their crime, or their background, or their circumstances they made it. They graduated.
Education programs in prison are run by the Department of Correctional Education (DCE). DCE provides vocational education – electrical, building and maintenance, HVAC, masonry (to name a few) and academic education. By Virginia law, all inmates without a high school diploma or GED are required to attend class to be eligible for early release. DCE also manages an on-site library and college classes through a local community college.
From the time of my arrest I served as a GED tutor, first at the jail I was held at and now here at the prison. I daily work with men – some as young as 17, others over 70 – who struggle to learn to read and write and do basic math.
Yesterday’s graduation ceremony involved about 100 men who had completed various programs. Many of these men have never completed anything meaningful in their life prior to being recognized here yesterday.
The Warden – a remarkable woman who looks out of place in a place like this, yet has a heart of gold – spoke briefly and said the following: “incarceration is a daily struggle. It’s difficult, and painful, and tough.” But, she added, the men that are able to succeed in this environment prove you can overcome this.
I was deeply moved by her words. No one can truly understand what this experience is like until you’ve lived it; the loneliness in the midst of cramped living conditions the loss of family, of friends, of freedom; the boredom, despair and sometimes, fear.
Virginia currently has incarcerated almost 40,000 men and women. They are someone’s mother or father, brother or sister, son or daughter. The money spent to house this number (over $1 billion) could provide educational opportunities for ten times that number.
What kind of society do we desire? What is our obligation to those on the fringe of society? What does it mean, really mean, to forgive, to reconcile, to rehabilitate? What hope is there for an inmate upon his or her release?
I ponder these questions as the GED students proceed forward to get their diplomas. Family and friends who came into see the ceremony cheer; some cry. Bob Dylan’s words echo through my mind: “the answer, my friend, is blowin in the wind”.
Four men earned associates degrees from the local community college. At minimum, it takes five years to get enough courses completed for the degree.
The student speaker was one of those men. His parents – naturalized Cuban-Americans – drove up from Miami. “Grac” is 42 years old. He has been incarcerated since 1996 and has 3 years remaining on a cocaine distribution conviction. In the time he’s been in prison he became HVAC certified, earned his journeyman status as an electrician and now, completed his associates degree.
His brief remarks focused on how much he hated prison, yet how in this struggle he found meaning, and, a purpose. He then spoke to his parents in Spanish. Choking up, he thanked them for standing by him, loving him unconditionally, never being embarrassed by his situation.
I thought of my own circumstance – a mother who continually points out what I lost, who can’t visit without crying. I thought about losing my wife of 28 years who hasn’t spoken to me in the last 2 years, deprived me of access to my youngest son, and made me realize all those years I felt she was cold and distant from me was because she never truly loved me.
And, I watched these men smile and wave with pride. Regardless of their crime, or their background, or their circumstances they made it. They graduated.
Flo to the Hole - May 30, 2010
There was a bit of excitement in the building this morning. “Flo” – my former cot mate – was taken to the hole at 5:00 am. He apparently was verbally abusive to a female officer last night during the Lakers-Suns game.
I changed cots last week and moved up by 2 of my closest friends in here: “E” and “Big S”. The 3 of us eat almost every meal together. My old cot mates – “Max” and “Flo” – were decent enough guys by prison standards, but they were grade A slobs. Both guys had trash piled everywhere: dirty clothes, empty containers, apple cores, orange peels. Their cot areas were pig sties.
I moved into a clean area with guys I like talking to and just being around. Space is at a premium. We literally have 3 feet between our bunks. Cot mates – the 3 other guys you live directly around – affect how easily your time goes by. I felt like I won the lottery with my move. I went from living around 2 extremely sloppy guys, one of whom (Flo) was the loudest guy in here, and moved up by guys who keep their areas clean and organized. And, these guys get along with themselves and others.
Back to Flo going to the hole this morning. He clearly crossed the line last night with a female officer. Many of the CO’s (corrections officers) are relatively young females. Because this facility is a low custody prison, female staff actually outnumber male staff. This creates natural tension.
For one thing, a great many of the guys locked up have not had contact with women for years. Many of the women working here are young, single, and attractive. While fraternization between officers and inmates is strictly prohibited, flirting occurs daily. Some CO’s are more friendly with inmates than others.
For another thing, some of the guys flat out do not like being ordered around by women officers. Some women do use their position and power more forcefully than others. The vast majority, however, just come in and do their jobs the best they can.
At any given time we have 2 – occasionally 3 CO’s handling both sides of our building. That’s 3 CO’s for almost 200 men. Last night, the overnight shift (6:00 pm to 6:00 am) consisted of 2 early twenties females and an equally young, skinny male CO.
Flo is a huge Lakers fan. Anytime they’re on he can be heard yelling and cussing. Last night, game 6 of the Lakers-Suns series and Flo was being, well Flo. The CO on the floor – a very petite, young officer known to have a good attitude but who will “write a charge” if an infraction is pushed in her face (charges normally can carry fines of $2 all the way up to segregation – “in the hole” – for 20 days, plus loss of job and good time) is making a late evening round.
So the CO hears Flo cussing and shouting after lights out in the sleeping area (11:30 pm) and asks him to keep it down. His response, by shouting: “Who you talkin to? Come ‘ere girl an say it to me!”
Now Flow is here for (1) running a prostitution ring (aka “pimping”) and (2) attempted murder of a police officer. He’s been locked up for over 10 years and is scheduled to finally be released in November (that doesn’t include the number of years he did in Florida on various gun and drug charges).
They waited until 5:00 am to get him. A sergeant came in and escorted Flo out of the building. All his “stuff” (in his case bags and bags of trash) was packed up by 2 CO’s and hauled away to property storage. At a minimum, he’ll be in the hole 3 days. It’s possible, given his record that the female officer could say she took his remarks as a threat. In that case, he’ll be moved to another prison.
No one will ever say inmates make good decisions (certainly not me - I may be the biggest idiot of them all for my actions!) but Flo just earned another advanced degree in stupidity. Ten years apparently hasn’t taught Flo anything.
On another matter; E, Big S and I made real pizza Friday night. E “found” real pizza dough and we made 2 crusts. Sauce, olives, onions, pepperoni, sausage, bacon, Italian seasoning and provolone cheese topped our pies. About 8 minutes in the microwave and we were eating real pizza and washing it down with ice cold Pepsi.
It was a great meal. It’s been a good week. I had a visit from a minister friend and another visit from my cousin and her husband. It’s easy to forget how truly blessed you are living in a place like this. But, everyday feels like a blessing. You may not understand it, but God is here in this place and He is so good!
Hopefully, Flo will figure that out while he has a chance.
I changed cots last week and moved up by 2 of my closest friends in here: “E” and “Big S”. The 3 of us eat almost every meal together. My old cot mates – “Max” and “Flo” – were decent enough guys by prison standards, but they were grade A slobs. Both guys had trash piled everywhere: dirty clothes, empty containers, apple cores, orange peels. Their cot areas were pig sties.
I moved into a clean area with guys I like talking to and just being around. Space is at a premium. We literally have 3 feet between our bunks. Cot mates – the 3 other guys you live directly around – affect how easily your time goes by. I felt like I won the lottery with my move. I went from living around 2 extremely sloppy guys, one of whom (Flo) was the loudest guy in here, and moved up by guys who keep their areas clean and organized. And, these guys get along with themselves and others.
Back to Flo going to the hole this morning. He clearly crossed the line last night with a female officer. Many of the CO’s (corrections officers) are relatively young females. Because this facility is a low custody prison, female staff actually outnumber male staff. This creates natural tension.
For one thing, a great many of the guys locked up have not had contact with women for years. Many of the women working here are young, single, and attractive. While fraternization between officers and inmates is strictly prohibited, flirting occurs daily. Some CO’s are more friendly with inmates than others.
For another thing, some of the guys flat out do not like being ordered around by women officers. Some women do use their position and power more forcefully than others. The vast majority, however, just come in and do their jobs the best they can.
At any given time we have 2 – occasionally 3 CO’s handling both sides of our building. That’s 3 CO’s for almost 200 men. Last night, the overnight shift (6:00 pm to 6:00 am) consisted of 2 early twenties females and an equally young, skinny male CO.
Flo is a huge Lakers fan. Anytime they’re on he can be heard yelling and cussing. Last night, game 6 of the Lakers-Suns series and Flo was being, well Flo. The CO on the floor – a very petite, young officer known to have a good attitude but who will “write a charge” if an infraction is pushed in her face (charges normally can carry fines of $2 all the way up to segregation – “in the hole” – for 20 days, plus loss of job and good time) is making a late evening round.
So the CO hears Flo cussing and shouting after lights out in the sleeping area (11:30 pm) and asks him to keep it down. His response, by shouting: “Who you talkin to? Come ‘ere girl an say it to me!”
Now Flow is here for (1) running a prostitution ring (aka “pimping”) and (2) attempted murder of a police officer. He’s been locked up for over 10 years and is scheduled to finally be released in November (that doesn’t include the number of years he did in Florida on various gun and drug charges).
They waited until 5:00 am to get him. A sergeant came in and escorted Flo out of the building. All his “stuff” (in his case bags and bags of trash) was packed up by 2 CO’s and hauled away to property storage. At a minimum, he’ll be in the hole 3 days. It’s possible, given his record that the female officer could say she took his remarks as a threat. In that case, he’ll be moved to another prison.
No one will ever say inmates make good decisions (certainly not me - I may be the biggest idiot of them all for my actions!) but Flo just earned another advanced degree in stupidity. Ten years apparently hasn’t taught Flo anything.
On another matter; E, Big S and I made real pizza Friday night. E “found” real pizza dough and we made 2 crusts. Sauce, olives, onions, pepperoni, sausage, bacon, Italian seasoning and provolone cheese topped our pies. About 8 minutes in the microwave and we were eating real pizza and washing it down with ice cold Pepsi.
It was a great meal. It’s been a good week. I had a visit from a minister friend and another visit from my cousin and her husband. It’s easy to forget how truly blessed you are living in a place like this. But, everyday feels like a blessing. You may not understand it, but God is here in this place and He is so good!
Hopefully, Flo will figure that out while he has a chance.
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