This morning, I spent an hour with the workout crew doing an intense aerobic calisthenics workout. I’m exhausted. One of the building mentors is a 38 year old man named Randy. Randy is a mountain of a man, 6’4”, muscled and with the personality of a Marine Corp drill instructor. About two years ago he earned his Associates Degree and shortly thereafter completed certification as a personal trainer. Randy may in fact be the most structured man I’ve ever met. He makes me look like “Mr. Spontaneity”.
Randy gets up every morning at 3:00 am. He has a routine synchronized from that point forward. Each day is planned by the minute. He tracks calories and workout routines for his “crew”. Three days running and calisthenics, two days weight training.
Three guys work out with him. There’s Ced, a 32 year old from Richmond. He’s easygoing and polite but another guy in top physical shape. There’s J – mid thirties and strong. He walks with a pronounced limp due to a drug deal gone bad. A “buyer” tried to rob him and shot him in his right leg shattering his tibia. He fired back and killed the buyer. He’s serving 25 years.
Finally, there’s “Cali”. I’ve written before about Cali’s conviction for marijuana distribution. What I didn’t mention is Cali is huge and a big weight pile user.
I also failed to mention that all four guys are black. So, how does a 51 year old white guy get invited to join the crew for work? Before I moved over here I’d watch these guys work out while I’d run (they were all in “2” building, next to me on the west side). Frankly, four huge, muscular black guys running and yelling out numbers intimidated me.
But, me being me, when they all ended up in the college dorm (all four guys are the nonacademic aides), I started “hangin” with them. I discovered they were all cool, easy going guys. J is a Rastafarian and very interested in politics. They all are willing to talk about race issues and justice. Every preconceived notion I had about the crew was shattered in just a few short conversations. They think I’m the coolest white dude they’ve ever met. I think God’s telling me something about my old way of thinking and seeing.
8:00 am and I’m jogging a couple of laps to loosen up. Then, I’m one of the crew spread out on the basketball court doing assorted lunges, squats, leg kicks, you name it. Randy’s barking out “give me a count” and through grunts I join the chorus of “one, and two and three”.
“Keep your hips straight, Larry. Pull your feet in.” My form is terrible, but I refuse to quit. It’s 28 degrees out, yet I am sweating out of every pore.
Next set of exercises begins with leg raises and abdominal flexors. There’s no break. I’m just focused on the exercise, focused on the number.
“A side, door break” is announced over the speaker. We start our last rep, then it’s over. My muscles ache but all the guys come up and “dap me” (hit fists) and give me a hug.
“You made it Lawyer Larry. You hung in there.”
I thank the guys for their patience. I walk in and sit down. I think about the 23rd Psalm, not sure why, but it hits me. I’ve been in the valley for years, yet God has always been with me, guiding me, teaching me, opening my mind and heart.
It’s a beautiful day. I can’t wait to workout with the crew next weekend.
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
General Assembly Update
Once again the Virginia General Assembly is considering a number of bills that will directly affect inmates. But inmates are the one minority it’s OK to mistreat. As pointed out in the book The New Jim Crow, prison inmates today are the last discriminated class in America, akin to the black struggle against injustice in the segregated, Jim Crow era south. Michelle Alexander, the author, is a radical. She believes mass incarceration is as morally repugnant as apartheid.
This year the General Assembly will consider giving inmates additional “earned good time” days each month. The fact that we sit here and hope an additional five, seven or even ten days a month could be earned to the paltry 4.5 days currently on the books should tell you how desperate the prison population is for any relief.
I repeat something I have stated more than once in this blog: Fyodor Dostoevsky wrote 150 years ago that “a society is judged by how it treats its prisoners”.
Virginia has a moral imperative to ease the length of prison sentences and ensure prisons are humane. The Commonwealth, the country as a whole, risks moral bankruptcy unless prison reform becomes a reality.
The General Assembly has a clear choice. They can be just, be honorable, act morally or continue with business as usual.
This year the General Assembly will consider giving inmates additional “earned good time” days each month. The fact that we sit here and hope an additional five, seven or even ten days a month could be earned to the paltry 4.5 days currently on the books should tell you how desperate the prison population is for any relief.
I repeat something I have stated more than once in this blog: Fyodor Dostoevsky wrote 150 years ago that “a society is judged by how it treats its prisoners”.
Virginia has a moral imperative to ease the length of prison sentences and ensure prisons are humane. The Commonwealth, the country as a whole, risks moral bankruptcy unless prison reform becomes a reality.
The General Assembly has a clear choice. They can be just, be honorable, act morally or continue with business as usual.
Just Like a College Dorm
The principal of the school here (and mover and shaker behind the college/IT grant project) envisioned creating a college dorm to stimulate learning. The past few weeks her dreams were realized. Guys en masse head to classes or study sessions. After school and on weekends there are groups gathered around tables in the dayroom or in front of cuts reviewing math problems or discussing readings in English or American History. For a little while you can almost imagine a “real” college campus.
But, then again, this is prison. Twice this week our “dorm” was emptied, guys patted down and drug dogs brought in. The “Po Leese” (that’s prison talk for the Cos) were looking for weed, pills and tobacco. Guys were led out of the building onto the basketball court behind the dorm. After a brisk pat down, we stand and wait. Thirty minutes, forty minutes, an hour; we stand there waiting for the dogs to finish. We wait for the COs to finish with mirrors slid under bunks. We wait while they look behind lockers, in drier lint traps, under the ice machine. No drugs found, but they know they’re out there. Rumors are all over the compound, “they got a ton of weed in the college dorm”. Guys are called out for urine testing each night. No positives.
Just like a real college? Not really. The English prof, explaining his grade distribution said “I only had one bad year where I flunked all 22 students. That was at LU (a local four year university). “They couldn’t get out of bed and come to class.”
I told him he wouldn’t have that problem here. He had a “captive” student body! Here, you have one unexcused absence (med appointment is the only excuse permitted) and you are removed from the program and removed from the building.
Three guys quit, can’t handle the load. They’re gone. Three empty bunks. Guy from the kitchen pulls a charge for stealing veggies. He’s out. Last night, Opie’s caught smoking a cigarette. 2:00 am the COs show up. Opie heads to the hole. The officers pack up his stuff. Another one bites the dust. Eight-two students started (40 in the IT grant program, 42 in the Associates Degree program), seventy-seven remain.
The new Playboy and American Curves came out this week. Everyone’s focused on the girls. Another week down in prison college.
But, then again, this is prison. Twice this week our “dorm” was emptied, guys patted down and drug dogs brought in. The “Po Leese” (that’s prison talk for the Cos) were looking for weed, pills and tobacco. Guys were led out of the building onto the basketball court behind the dorm. After a brisk pat down, we stand and wait. Thirty minutes, forty minutes, an hour; we stand there waiting for the dogs to finish. We wait for the COs to finish with mirrors slid under bunks. We wait while they look behind lockers, in drier lint traps, under the ice machine. No drugs found, but they know they’re out there. Rumors are all over the compound, “they got a ton of weed in the college dorm”. Guys are called out for urine testing each night. No positives.
Just like a real college? Not really. The English prof, explaining his grade distribution said “I only had one bad year where I flunked all 22 students. That was at LU (a local four year university). “They couldn’t get out of bed and come to class.”
I told him he wouldn’t have that problem here. He had a “captive” student body! Here, you have one unexcused absence (med appointment is the only excuse permitted) and you are removed from the program and removed from the building.
Three guys quit, can’t handle the load. They’re gone. Three empty bunks. Guy from the kitchen pulls a charge for stealing veggies. He’s out. Last night, Opie’s caught smoking a cigarette. 2:00 am the COs show up. Opie heads to the hole. The officers pack up his stuff. Another one bites the dust. Eight-two students started (40 in the IT grant program, 42 in the Associates Degree program), seventy-seven remain.
The new Playboy and American Curves came out this week. Everyone’s focused on the girls. Another week down in prison college.
Empathy 101
The prison’s warden, a 56 year-old African American woman, was killed in a two vehicle accident in a small town, ten miles from here, Thursday evening. At 6:00 am Friday the entire compound knew. First, the details of the accident made the morning news. Initial reports indicated the warden ran a stop sign and was struck broadside by the second vehicle. The warden was dead at the scene. The two people in the second vehicle were seriously injured.
At 6:00 am count, the day shift officers arrived with black tape on their badge. By 8:00, a memo was up in the building from the assistant warden. As with so many “Dear Offender” memos, this one also misjudged the mood of the prison population.
It began: “We regret to inform you. . .” Honestly, there weren’t a great deal of regrets being expressed around the compound.
“Maybe we’ll get chicken and ice cream tonight. . .”
“Karma’s a bitch man. . .”
“F--- her and all the cops. . .”
Harsh? Yes. Shocking to your senses? Absolutely. But, before you get indignant, consider that on the day Ms. Lewis was executed in the Virginia death chamber less than four months ago, pro-death penalty advocates applauded. Consider that it was recently reported that 70,000 Iraqi civilians were “casualties” of our nation’s war effort with little if any public remorse exhibited. I write that in embarrassment knowing I supported both the war in Afghanistan and the war in Iraq.
I pass no judgment on your view of capital punishment or use of military force. I have come full circle on both issues. My prison experience has taught me faith in God means an avoidance of violence in all forms. But that’s my view.
No, I point these things out because I’ve come to the conclusion we have become woefully lacking in empathy. We refuse to seek understanding of someone else’s feelings. “Screw them. Nobody cares how I feel.”
Guys in here use macabre humor and downright gloating when bad things happen to people they blame for their circumstances. Four cops shot in Detroit, guys cheer. Almost every inmate has a story of how the police took advantage of them. Stories of crooked police appear almost nightly in the paper. USA Today ran a series of stories on prosecutorial misconduct. Yet, guys in here continue to struggle to get their story told.
A young kid in the building showed me a picture the other night. He was at a party. There was a girl in the picture. She was obviously high and she was hanging on him. I recognized her. She has filled in here as a CO.
“I met her at Nottoway (a level 4 prison) on my last bid. She was on duty up there. I got out and started dealin’ coke. Got called to a party. Sold a lot of eight balls (3.5 grams). She saw me. I banged her for three days and kept her in coke.” He then got busted on a probation violation – dirty urine. She’s still working as a CO, eight ball and all.
There’s a senior officer here who’s had four (yes four) DUIs. He pulled no jail time and is still working here. Guys here see that and realize the system’s rigged.
Meanwhile, the people on the street demand politicians “get tough on crime”. After all, criminals aren’t good people; criminals are scum.
We live in a course, degraded world and it’s getting worse. Funny thing is prisons just mirror society. Some of the most popular magazines sell precisely because they expose our human foibles. We love when people fail. We love other’s misery. Pretty sick, yet pretty prevalent.
To guys in here the warden represents the machine that is keeping them in this hell. She represents, she controls, the officers that shake us down, strip search us, watch us urinate. Is it rational? No. But then again, neither was my glee when I heard Saddam Hussein was hung or my sentence.
Later in the day I overheard guys say “you know she wasn’t that bad a warden”. Other guys were contemplating the suddenness of her passing. “Man, when your number’s called, it’s time.” The initial jokes passed, most men thought about the “what if” in here. “What if I get a call about my family? My parents?”
Empathy is an interesting thing. You suddenly gain understanding of a person’s problems. You’re more likely to show mercy and forgive.
Two and a half years ago I thought I knew right from wrong. I was quick to pass judgment on others (quick to ignore my own sins). Then, I started meeting murderers and armed robbers. I talked to drug dealers and drug addicts. I discovered no two men were the same. I found some I grew to care deeply about. They became friends. Others I just couldn’t stand. But, I learned to listen. I learned to hear.
There is evil in the world and we should confront it and defeat it. But, we should never gloat over anyone’s suffering. At least, that’s the lesson I’ve learned in here.
At 6:00 am count, the day shift officers arrived with black tape on their badge. By 8:00, a memo was up in the building from the assistant warden. As with so many “Dear Offender” memos, this one also misjudged the mood of the prison population.
It began: “We regret to inform you. . .” Honestly, there weren’t a great deal of regrets being expressed around the compound.
“Maybe we’ll get chicken and ice cream tonight. . .”
“Karma’s a bitch man. . .”
“F--- her and all the cops. . .”
Harsh? Yes. Shocking to your senses? Absolutely. But, before you get indignant, consider that on the day Ms. Lewis was executed in the Virginia death chamber less than four months ago, pro-death penalty advocates applauded. Consider that it was recently reported that 70,000 Iraqi civilians were “casualties” of our nation’s war effort with little if any public remorse exhibited. I write that in embarrassment knowing I supported both the war in Afghanistan and the war in Iraq.
I pass no judgment on your view of capital punishment or use of military force. I have come full circle on both issues. My prison experience has taught me faith in God means an avoidance of violence in all forms. But that’s my view.
No, I point these things out because I’ve come to the conclusion we have become woefully lacking in empathy. We refuse to seek understanding of someone else’s feelings. “Screw them. Nobody cares how I feel.”
Guys in here use macabre humor and downright gloating when bad things happen to people they blame for their circumstances. Four cops shot in Detroit, guys cheer. Almost every inmate has a story of how the police took advantage of them. Stories of crooked police appear almost nightly in the paper. USA Today ran a series of stories on prosecutorial misconduct. Yet, guys in here continue to struggle to get their story told.
A young kid in the building showed me a picture the other night. He was at a party. There was a girl in the picture. She was obviously high and she was hanging on him. I recognized her. She has filled in here as a CO.
“I met her at Nottoway (a level 4 prison) on my last bid. She was on duty up there. I got out and started dealin’ coke. Got called to a party. Sold a lot of eight balls (3.5 grams). She saw me. I banged her for three days and kept her in coke.” He then got busted on a probation violation – dirty urine. She’s still working as a CO, eight ball and all.
There’s a senior officer here who’s had four (yes four) DUIs. He pulled no jail time and is still working here. Guys here see that and realize the system’s rigged.
Meanwhile, the people on the street demand politicians “get tough on crime”. After all, criminals aren’t good people; criminals are scum.
We live in a course, degraded world and it’s getting worse. Funny thing is prisons just mirror society. Some of the most popular magazines sell precisely because they expose our human foibles. We love when people fail. We love other’s misery. Pretty sick, yet pretty prevalent.
To guys in here the warden represents the machine that is keeping them in this hell. She represents, she controls, the officers that shake us down, strip search us, watch us urinate. Is it rational? No. But then again, neither was my glee when I heard Saddam Hussein was hung or my sentence.
Later in the day I overheard guys say “you know she wasn’t that bad a warden”. Other guys were contemplating the suddenness of her passing. “Man, when your number’s called, it’s time.” The initial jokes passed, most men thought about the “what if” in here. “What if I get a call about my family? My parents?”
Empathy is an interesting thing. You suddenly gain understanding of a person’s problems. You’re more likely to show mercy and forgive.
Two and a half years ago I thought I knew right from wrong. I was quick to pass judgment on others (quick to ignore my own sins). Then, I started meeting murderers and armed robbers. I talked to drug dealers and drug addicts. I discovered no two men were the same. I found some I grew to care deeply about. They became friends. Others I just couldn’t stand. But, I learned to listen. I learned to hear.
There is evil in the world and we should confront it and defeat it. But, we should never gloat over anyone’s suffering. At least, that’s the lesson I’ve learned in here.
Bifocals - My Response to Anonymous
I get a fair number of comments from readers. Most times, I read them, reflect on the suggestions made, then move on. A recent response from an anonymous reader caught my attention. She (I’m making an assumption it was from a woman) gave me a good deal to think about. Ironically, the day she posted her comments I was getting fitted for bifocals.
Vision is a weird thing. When I was in college I had perfect vision 20/20. In law school I became hopelessly nearsighted. I would read law books for hours each day trying to absorb the case holdings. I’d look up from the pages and everything in the distance was a blur.
At my wife’s insistence I went to the ophthalmologist and found my eyesight had deteriorated badly. First it was 20/60; later 20/80. All that time I was ignoring my distance sight, rationalizing I just had eye strain. In truth, I was lying to myself. I couldn’t see anything past three feet.
The other day, I went for an eye exam. The doctor, a very nice older man, gently told me my distance vision was steady, corrected from 20/80. But, he told me I’d been compensating by taking my glasses off to read. Now I had to hold the book close to my face to read. “We need to tweak your near vision”, he told me. So, in another week I’ll be sporting state issued “Clark Kent” framed bifocals. “It won’t be like when you had perfect vision when you were young, but it will be better than what you’ve been living with.”
Which leads me to the comments from anonymous. This morning, I read a few passages from the Old Testament book I Kings about Solomon. In the first verse it simply stated “God granted Solomon great wisdom, but God told Solomon “always listen to My commandments”. One chapter later Solomon – who had let his love of women lead him to marry many who had different gods; was left despondent. As he looked back on his life, he wrote the book of Ecclesiastes, a sorrowful look at the meaninglessness of life. The book ends with Solomon writing “fear God and keep his commandments”.
Solomon realized too late that the key to a life full of blessings – even in the midst of despair – is obedience to God. It’s a message that rings true over and over in Jesus’ parables and in my current reading on Dietrich Bonhoeffer. Follow God’s dictates even when they don’t make sense. God knows.
Almost every “fact” anonymous set out was correct. I did something wrong. My vision was so close to my face that I missed what was in the distance. And yes, I put myself ahead of my wife and kids. And Anonymous is right to ask “if you really loved them, how could you do that?” Profound question; simple answer. I loved them, but put myself and a bunch of stupid, impulsive desires first. I was wrong.
But, I want anonymous, and my ex and kids, to know it’s still not too late. God, in His amazing, infinite wisdom, gives all of us second, third and even fourth chances.
I’m not having a pity party or refusing to “take responsibility” for what happened. Matter of fact, my friends and the two therapists I had early on in this process reached the same conclusions: I’m carrying too much responsibility. “Everything is not your fault.” And like the great question, “which came first, the chicken or the egg?” We’re human. We hurt each other way too much; we’re selfish and self-centered. But, we are capable of doing extraordinary selfless things out of love.
My ex is a good woman. She’s beautiful and caring and in her own way – loving. And, I still love her. But, what anonymous missed was, I have moved on.
Christ was in our marriage, yet neither of us listened. For years when I was living the lie I asked God to show me the way out. I expected He would yell out “Larry, you’re going the wrong way”. When He didn’t, I rationalized it would all be OK. Yet, by His silence, He was telling me.
I’ve had terrible days since then, but every night I go to sleep after evening prayers and know God has my back. I sleep peacefully.
Anonymous, you may not like my answer. That’s OK, just keep reading. Like my bifocals, sometimes we need our vision corrected.
Vision is a weird thing. When I was in college I had perfect vision 20/20. In law school I became hopelessly nearsighted. I would read law books for hours each day trying to absorb the case holdings. I’d look up from the pages and everything in the distance was a blur.
At my wife’s insistence I went to the ophthalmologist and found my eyesight had deteriorated badly. First it was 20/60; later 20/80. All that time I was ignoring my distance sight, rationalizing I just had eye strain. In truth, I was lying to myself. I couldn’t see anything past three feet.
The other day, I went for an eye exam. The doctor, a very nice older man, gently told me my distance vision was steady, corrected from 20/80. But, he told me I’d been compensating by taking my glasses off to read. Now I had to hold the book close to my face to read. “We need to tweak your near vision”, he told me. So, in another week I’ll be sporting state issued “Clark Kent” framed bifocals. “It won’t be like when you had perfect vision when you were young, but it will be better than what you’ve been living with.”
Which leads me to the comments from anonymous. This morning, I read a few passages from the Old Testament book I Kings about Solomon. In the first verse it simply stated “God granted Solomon great wisdom, but God told Solomon “always listen to My commandments”. One chapter later Solomon – who had let his love of women lead him to marry many who had different gods; was left despondent. As he looked back on his life, he wrote the book of Ecclesiastes, a sorrowful look at the meaninglessness of life. The book ends with Solomon writing “fear God and keep his commandments”.
Solomon realized too late that the key to a life full of blessings – even in the midst of despair – is obedience to God. It’s a message that rings true over and over in Jesus’ parables and in my current reading on Dietrich Bonhoeffer. Follow God’s dictates even when they don’t make sense. God knows.
Almost every “fact” anonymous set out was correct. I did something wrong. My vision was so close to my face that I missed what was in the distance. And yes, I put myself ahead of my wife and kids. And Anonymous is right to ask “if you really loved them, how could you do that?” Profound question; simple answer. I loved them, but put myself and a bunch of stupid, impulsive desires first. I was wrong.
But, I want anonymous, and my ex and kids, to know it’s still not too late. God, in His amazing, infinite wisdom, gives all of us second, third and even fourth chances.
I’m not having a pity party or refusing to “take responsibility” for what happened. Matter of fact, my friends and the two therapists I had early on in this process reached the same conclusions: I’m carrying too much responsibility. “Everything is not your fault.” And like the great question, “which came first, the chicken or the egg?” We’re human. We hurt each other way too much; we’re selfish and self-centered. But, we are capable of doing extraordinary selfless things out of love.
My ex is a good woman. She’s beautiful and caring and in her own way – loving. And, I still love her. But, what anonymous missed was, I have moved on.
Christ was in our marriage, yet neither of us listened. For years when I was living the lie I asked God to show me the way out. I expected He would yell out “Larry, you’re going the wrong way”. When He didn’t, I rationalized it would all be OK. Yet, by His silence, He was telling me.
I’ve had terrible days since then, but every night I go to sleep after evening prayers and know God has my back. I sleep peacefully.
Anonymous, you may not like my answer. That’s OK, just keep reading. Like my bifocals, sometimes we need our vision corrected.
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