Stop Wining and Get Righteous

A couple of the young chuckleheads whom I associate with got the bright idea a month ago to make wine. The recipe is rather simple; you sneak as many oranges as you can out of the chow hall – even paying guys a stamp for their oranges – add ten bags of crushed jolly ranchers and wacky taffy, twenty orange juice bags and let sit in a plastic trash bag for ten days. Storage and smell are two problems easily addressed. No one wants to get caught with a bag of wine in their locker. Because the fermenting process builds up gas, the bag has to be burped. Open the bag and the air stinks like, well, like fermenting fruit.



The solution? Pay a guy to store the bag and dump cologne on the outside to kill the smell. The other major problem is secrecy. You don’t want people to know what you’re doing. The more people who know, the more likely you’ll get ratted out.


The guys asked me to participate. At first I was “alright; this will be great!” Then I had a conversation with DC unrelated to the wine, but completely related to my situation. As I’ve written before, DC may be one of the most unforgettable men I’ve ever met in my life. Into his 39th year of incarceration, he has an outlook, a peaceful presence I have never seen before. He behaved horrendously, violently in his early years of incarceration, but when I see him now I know there is a God, He does forgive, and you can be redeemed.


DC and I were talking about the guys in the college program not having hope. He sees me as a guy, like himself, who exudes hope. But, then he told me about his days at Buckingham (a level 3/4 facility).


“I was into everything. I ran the parlay for the entire compound. My take every month was over 500 packs (cigarettes). I wanted to get right, lead a righteous life. You can’t be 95% righteous.”


DC told me he quit every scam and hustle he had that day. That is courageous. You walk away in prison and the first reaction people have is “he’s turned. He’s workin’ for the po’leese.”


I thought about what DC said, “95% righteous.” I thought about a letter I received in which a deeply spiritual person told me “God understands your battles and your prayers. He may be pointing something out that you need to correct. Get right with Him first.”


I told Big S I was out. I wasn’t joining in on the wine or the food regularly stolen from the kitchen. The young guys looked at me like I was nuts.


Friday night rolled around. The plan was to let the mixture cook until Sunday, then strain it (through a kitchen hairnet) and pour it into collected empty peanut butter jars. The guys would carry the jars out to the rec yard, sit on a picnic table and get drunk. Great plan except for one little problem – the bag burst.


Around 8:00 pm, Monkey Pox (his name coincides with his complexion) came running over to E. The bag had burst in his footlocker. The entire cut stunk. The guys panicked. E scooped the bag up, ran across the pod and huddled by the wall against my locker. Fermented juice and orange chunks spilled all over the floor. My cut stunk. I was pissed. Meanwhile, every guy in the building knew what took place. The four lunkheads were running around, grabbing jars, and trying to stop the leak. Opie disappeared. E “was on lookout” (that’s a fancy way of saying he got as far away as he could!). Big S and Go Chez were busy pouring the remnants into the containers and helping clean my cut.


Around 9:30 it was cleaned up. Big S was doing laundry (the towels and clothes stunk). The bathroom still stunk, but was more like someone had gotten sick. 10:00 pm count came and went and the guys start kicking back jars. I went to sleep, but not before telling them they were a bunch of “f---in idiots!” Yes, I was still pissed!!


Saturday and I’m still angry beyond words. Big S and Opie pull up on me when I come back from visitation.


Big S: “So you’re still pissed?”


Me: “(expletives deleted) you guys are idiots! E disrespected me by bringing that crap in my cut, jeopardizing me. S, you could have been thrown out of college, lose your job, lose your good time, not see your daughter for months more. Was it worth it?”


Opie: “Larry, I’m a grown ass man. I know the risk. I’m willing to go to the hole. I’ve been locked up my whole life.”


Me: “You know the risk? How about the picture you showed be from last weekend holding your little niece and nephew? (Opie’s family surprised him with a visit last weekend. They came up from Florida. It was the first time he held his 18 month old nephew and 8 month old niece). You want to only see those kids in here?”


Opie: dead silence


I made my point. They both thanked me for caring. Big S admitted he screwed up. Opie admitted I made him think.


Would a jar of homemade wine be great? Absolutely. But, like DC pointed out, you can’t be 95% righteous. No one totally understands the risks you run until you actually screw up. Is a glass of wine worth six additional months away from your daughter? Is $2 million worth losing your wife and kids? “You can’t be 95% righteous.” You’ve got to be one hundred percent all day.