I write about these guys so you see they aren’t much
different from folks you see every day.
In Virginia today, a state of slightly more than eight million
residents, there are in excess of 350,000 convicted felons still denied the
right to vote. Add to that the number
presently incarcerated in DOC (or waiting shipping to DOC facilities) and the
number approaches 400,000. That’s 5% of
the state population, an astounding number.
The men in here - as much as DOC and the courts, and even
the general public want to make them mere numbers – aren’t just statistics. They are living, breathing men with families
and friends. Some have committed
horrendous, violent crimes. Others are,
in many ways, victims of the ignorance and poverty and despair that surrounded
their lives “out there”. But, they all
breathe, all live; they all age and die little by little in here. And their stories confound me, and move me,
and yes, sometimes disgust me.
I’ve learned some things during my stay here: I’ve learned I know so little about so
much. At the beginning of the Advent
season this past December, just a few days past what would have been my
thirtieth wedding anniversary to the only woman who ever took my breath away, I
began conducting my daily Bible meditations from the Reverend Eugene Peterson’s
“The Message”, a complete Bible translation in contemporary language. In the preface, Rev. Peterson wrote the
following:
“Nothing is glossed
over. God works patiently and deeply,
but often in hidden ways, in the middle of our humanity and our history. Ours is not a neat and tidy world in which we
are assured that we get everything under our control. There is mystery everywhere. The Bible does not give us a predictable
cause-effect world in which we can plan our careers and secure our expectations…There
is pain and poverty and abuse at which we cry out in indignation ‘You can’t let
this happen’. For most of us it takes
years and years to exchange our dream world for this real world of grace and
mercy, sacrifice and love, freedom and joy – the God saved world.”
How, I wondered, did Reverend Peterson know so well what I’ve
seen and felt for so many years? I have
learned God is here in prison, and in crack houses and homeless shelters and
cancer wards. He’s with gays, and
terrorists and pedophiles and good taxpaying, patriotic citizens. He’s everywhere and He loves all of us,
unconditionally.
So, I wish the best for Jersey. He lived less than two miles from my
home. Early thirties, bright – enrolled in
college at Virginia Union and serving in the National Guard, he and his wife
began robbing convenient markets to support a drug addiction. She did three years, he’s finishing five.
Jersey breezed through his college classes and aced the
certification test. His marriage not
only survived his – and her – incarceration, it strengthened. He’s headed home, already admitted to a
four-year state University. Goodwill has
helped him line up part-time employment in the computer field.
Jersey should make it.
He’s smart, he’s sober and clean, and he and his wife are in love.
Then there’s Stoney.
Stoney is 44 and is finishing his third bid. When he was 19 he committed a sex crime. He did ten years. Released, he couldn’t find work. “No one would hire me”, he told me. He had two children he’d seldom seen. They needed support. He couldn’t find work. He did what so many of the guys do: he began selling drugs. And selling drugs is a losing
proposition. He’s been busted and
imprisoned twice.
He leaves next week.
He’s scared, deathly scared. “I
don’t want to come back, but I’m afraid no one will give me a chance.”
Stoney is a guy who always has a smile on his face. He always walks by my cut saying “hey Big Guy!” And here he was, tears on his face afraid,
afraid he’d fail.
“Stoney”, I said. “I
consider it a blessing that I met you, I believe in you. I know there’s someone out there who’ll take
a chance. It’ll be tough, but I know you
can make it.”
I pray about Stoney.
He’s a guy that can go either way.
He needs a chance, just someone to give him a chance, and he’ll be
alright.
Then there’s Tex, a fifty year old crack addict. He did ten years in the Navy, then was
discharged for selling drugs while on an aircraft carrier. He’s been in and out of prison for the last
15 years. He moves from state to state
with his wife, getting high, living in crack hotels, doing odd jobs on the
side.
She’s in Texas, at a half-way house waiting on his release
after this two year bid. He’ll tell you
he’s learned from this experience and he’s ready to live right. Then ten minutes later, he’s on the phone
explaining to his wife – in code – how to run scams for the extra rent aid and
food vouchers.
The sad part is, Tex is a very smart man. He’s just not smart enough to learn from his
mistakes.
Finally, there is Tattoo, aptly named because he is covered
in tats. He shaves his head and has
tattoos around his skull. Twenty-two
years incarcerated for murder. He is one
of the scariest looking people I’ve ever seen and also one of the quietest,
calmest and peaceful men I’ve ever met.
Prison is not good, but sometimes good can come from
prison. Tattoo proves what Hemingway
said: “The world breaks everyone and
some are stronger at the broken places.”
Tattoo has lived the worst prison creates: the rapes, the beatings, the killings. And, he’s overcome. He is scholarly, deep, peaceful. I count Tattoo as a man I trust and as a
friend.
He’s going out into a world he knows little of, yet he has a
focus, an inner peace. Tattoo has paid
for his crime. It’s time for him to
live.
Four guys going home.
Some will make it, some will fail.
All have left a mark on me. As
Reverend Peterson said, ours is not a neat and tidy world. There is mystery everywhere. And yet, His message remains the same.
May your New Year be blessed.
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