Girls Just Want to Have Fun

Girls Just Want to Have Fun

There are some things I'll never figure out in this place, and the curious incident that occurred this week with two guys is one of those weird things people outside here won't believe unless they know someone who's been inside.

Sex offenders are a fact of life in prison; and some of them are relatively young and look "normal", you know, like your neighbor, friend or even family member. So we have this 31 year-old ex-EMT in here. He is active in the church and an outgoing guy who speaks well and is very friendly. He has been locked up for 9 years. Two weeks ago, a baby-faced 18 year old moved in--this kid looks about 12 and was scared to death (maybe part of that was because they had him do his receiving at Nottoway, a notorious level 4 facility). Anyway, this young kid wasn't in the building a day before the EMT changed.

Changed? He started playing "grab ass" with the kid, joking around with his hands and wrestling. Here's the thing inside--you keep your hands to yourself unless you’re ready to use them. Not these two--they soon were nicknamed "Mr. and Mrs." for their behavior.

So the other day, a bunk next to EMT opens and EMT decides to get the young kid to fake a knee injury to get a bottom bunk and move next to him (get the idea behind all this?). The kid goes on the ball court and scrapes his knee and claims he fell; however, medical doesn't believe it and sends him back to the building--no bottom bunk for you until your turn comes up mister. That wasn't the end of the story. 

Two hours later, they called Mr. EMT to the booth and told him to pack his stuff--"You're being moved to another building," he was told. "But I'm in college," he said. Too bad. You can't carry on a relationship so flagrantly...especially if you and your partner are both registered offenders.

Here's the thing--guys try to hide who they are, but your record is public knowledge and your behavior--your predilections--end up giving you away.

And I don't get it. You tell me a guy has a drug problem--I can see that; you tell me a guy got angry and killed someone--I can even see that; you tell me you stole millions or robbed banks--I can understand that. You tell me you find gratification in children and you begin acting out that behavior even after you get arrested and locked up and I think, "this is way beyond a criminal issue; this is mental.”  There's nothing being done in here to change that calculus in that sick man's mind. 

Like I said earlier, I don't get it. It's beyond me and I see it and shake my head. Unfortunately it goes on way too much in here--and those guys get too short a sentence without adequate counseling and treatment--that creates a viscous cycle that endangers others.

I don't know what the answer is; I don't know why it happens; I just see the recurring results.

DC

My friend DC was recognized at graduation the other day. I want people to know about this remarkable man and what he's been through. Candidly, he is like an older brother to me. At my worst in here, when I was losing it over the divorce, or the time facing me, or a hundred other issues that pop up behind these forsaken fences, I could always count on DC to listen and offer sage advice.

He and I are as opposite as two men can be; we come from opposite circumstances; different races; and yet, we found a commonality in this experience that has convinced me that good can come from the worst situation. He has done almost 44 years in the system--44--he came in as a 19 year old and leaves shortly after he turns 63; he was one of DOC's most notorious inmates--one of the original 15 to go to Virginia's Supemax Mecklenburg back in the 1970s. He was there when the Briley Brothers and associates escaped; twice they tried to bring capital murder charges against him for prison violence. He knows everyone and everything about the system--he was deemed incorrigible; and yet, I see in him as the reason I believe in redemption. DC isn't the violent man from the 1970s. He has earned his education step by step; he has earned the respect of the men and staff at this place. He has been as loyal and caring to me as any man in my life.

At graduation, the retired president of the community college announced that DC can do so much good when he goes home--the president is putting his reputation on the line, calling in chips, and getting my friend admitted and working at a prestigious university in the District of Columbia--why? Because he knows both sides of the struggle in the city--the struggle young black men face to avoid violence and drugs and prison; the struggle to earn a degree and lead a noble life.

I can't express to you how it felt the day he stood there in our dayroom with his parole papers in hand. "Main man, they granted me parole." I couldn't have been happier if I was let loose. He and I are the building runners-it never ceases to amaze me that a 56 year old and 63 year old can outrun guys half our age whether its five, ten or even 13 miles.

DC was the first guy I met here. His story--so matter of fact about the violence in these prisons--gives me so much fodder for my writing. His father--a Korean War vet just like my dad passed a few years ago. I was the first person on the compound he told; he shared many stories about his dad that day and that night, as I prayed for his family I thanked God that I was given the chance, the opportunity to find a friend like him.

He'll leave here in a few weeks and he will lead a wonderful life with a wife who has been there raising three daughters all these years; and his grandkids will see their "pop pop" and he will run and he will work and he will make a difference for the rest of his days.

I said earlier I learned that redemption exists from my time with DC. God never gives up on anyone--perhaps we shouldn't either.

To: The State Responsible Inmate Realignment Work Group

To: The State Responsible Inmate Realignment Work Group

An article recently appeared in the Washington Post about the work being conducted by a General Assembly Committee to return inmates to the jail closest to their point of release thereby freeing up needed bed space in DOC.

http://www.washingtonpost.com/local/virginia-politics/va-ponders-a-new-sort-of-prisoner-swap/2015/05/27/ed804898-0493-11e5-8bda-c7b4e9a8f7ac_story.html

I write this to the committee members (Delegate William J. Howell, Senator Ryan J. McDougle, Delegate Scott Lingamfelter, Brian Moran, Senator Dave W. Marsden, Attorney General Mark R. Herring, Senator Janet D. Howell) to seriously reconsider this proposal. First, until you actually visit your prison system, you have no real idea what goes on here. The waste and mismanagement is beyond any taxpayer's wildest imagination.

Having said that, as bad as prisons are run, the jails are worse. You claim you want to do this to put inmates closer to their families at release. The problem is, visits with families are terrible at a jail--there is no physical contact; you talk through Plexiglas and then maybe you get a max of 30 minutes per week. While visitation in DOC is heavily regulated (and it is arbitrary from prison to prison, and/or warden to warden) it is better than at the jail.

Programming is virtually nonexistent at a jail. School is limited and there is massive turnover each day with inmates going and coming from court.

Don't get me wrong--prison sucks. The idea that there is "drug treatment and mental health programs” available in here for inmates--please. Mental health consists of guys being drugged up to extreme on high potency antipsychotics and then maybe once a quarter a quick check-in with a DOC psychiatrist via Telemed. Drug treatment and alcohol treatment are taught by counselors who are not thorough and follow rote programming notes--no, the state isn't providing quality drug and alcohol, or psychological care to incarcerated offenders (which is why so many leave here and re-offend).

If you really want to change the dynamic in prisons do the following:
1) visit prisons without giving a big heads up;
2) talk to inmates--there are some of us at least who will tell you what really goes on here;
3) look at the money being spent--this is a rat hole for wasted resources and dollars;
4) ask, "who benefits the most from any change" you make--if it isn't the taxpayers and the incarcerated who are about to be released, it is going to work.
And 5) consider the big picture--Virginia has a major problem with spending over $1.2 billion to keep this system afloat. There is no reason sentences-especially for nonviolent felons--must be so extraordinarily long--no good purpose is served having a man stay in prison for ten or twelve years on a simple drug charge or even--like me--an embezzlement charge; it is a waste of state resources.
And finally, hold DOC accountable. It amazes me that you can send a man to prison for breaking the law, and then you send him to a prison where the law is routinely "ignored"; where "rights" don't matter because security trumps everything.

I ask you, the committee to seriously consider your work.

Saltine Boxes and Nonsense

It finally came around--"Lockdown." And for what? I'm not sure. So, last Monday morning--with just 4 days to go before the graduation and with a selected 10 guys in here studying like crazy to complete a national IT certification program, the security chief decides to put the compound on lockdown. As I've written before, lockdown at this level is nothing but a waste of time and resources--its money not well spent--to conduct quick searches of lockers and turn a building into total disarray.

What goes on? The officers come in and snatch any cardboard boxes they find--"contraband" they call them-- even though they are used to store pens, letters, everything we have that needs to be organized. And it pisses guys off--their stuff is pawed and dumped on their beds. Nothing of significance is found--no drugs, weapons, porn--that stuff can be easily hidden or flushed.

It's costly and it's wasteful and it accomplishes nothing. That's why at other level 2s the wardens (who have discretion to even hold lockdowns) waive them. But when you have a guy in charge of security who wishes he was running a Supermax (the irony of that is, if he acted at a Supermax like he acts here he wouldn't last a day) and you let him handle things, nothing good happens.

The officers get worn down; the guys lay around for a week, and programs--precious time for schooling--gets put off.
That's DOC--no one knows how wasteful and foolish so much of this is. It’s just the same thing over and over and no one--not the officers or the inmates--change.

Lockdown is necessary at some locations. Higher level prisons, after gang fights or deaths or stabbings, use lockdown as punishment or to find the remaining weapons. But here, that isn't going on. What is going on is a battle to get men ready for return to the real world. Only, it's a losing battle because the hearts of the people in charge aren't with fixing things; and therefore, the hearts and minds of those behind bars are still closed.

Why is it that this silliness continues? I'd like to think I'm wrong, but the sad truth is politicians don't give a shit. They talk big talk about being "tough on crime" and making people pay for their lawbreaking; but they don't have the foggiest idea what goes on in here. They create a political system that rewards incompetence with promotion and lets little prison fiefdoms grow; they pay little attention to actual programs that will help; they release inmates still bitter and resentful and lying to themselves about their own responsibility and need to change; and then they bemoan the fact that released inmates commit new crimes.

The crime is the way DOC is allowed to function without adequate oversight. The crime is the waste in lives which becomes generational. But what do I know, I'm just trying to find few new saltine boxes to pick up my letters and envelopes!

Graduation

There's a Bruce Springsteen lyric I can't get out of my head, from his song "Atlantic City:"

“Everything dies baby that's a fact
But everything that dies maybe some day comes back...”

So yesterday was graduation and, in spite of the head of security "Jeffrey" trying to ruin the event--see the man is in over his head; he hates programs that benefit the men, he hates the inmates, he especially hates inmates getting an education--graduation was emotional and wonderful. My man-child friend "Moose" delivered his graduation speech flawlessly. Over and over he would look at the audience and say "believe" and the crowd, about 100 visitors there to see their sons and fathers and brothers earn degrees or certificates began to clap and join in a rhythmic sound of joy--as Moose told his story, the story of getting a college degree while behind bars. And he thanked me and told me I inspired him. Funny, no one in my life ever said I was an inspiration. No one claimed I gave them hope or faith or belief. And yet in here, I play that role. In here, I am father figure to dozens of these young college men who fight the odds and overcome.

The President Emeritus of the college spoke eloquently about the need for college inside a prison--he said, that's what it is, a prison. It's not a correctional center, it's a prison and they try and break you and kill your hope and your dreams. "Don't let them," he urged.

Joy. What a lovely word. We have a literature professor by the name of "Joy." She brought her husband to our graduation yesterday and she marched in the procession. The men, they remember. They remember that in the last British lit class Joy told us, "I pray for each of you by name each night." Joy prays for us. These men don't forget; they know that for the dozens of "Jeffreys" who rely on this place for a living, who see only the worst, there is “Joy” whose prayers are stronger than any negativity from a thousand.

What does school mean to these men? It means everything. It means pride and hope and belief. It means you can overcome the felony conviction. You can leave here and succeed.

They cut visit short yesterday after the ceremony--just another in the "security" measures these people apply to remind you none of us matter. But there's "Joy" who keeps us in her prayers.

Bruce’s lyric goes through my mind. Everything maybe someday comes back. "Atlantic City" is one of those sad, soulful ballads I just love which tear at my conscience; and it reminds me there is always hope.

Graduation--I wrote Moose's speech. I wanted these young men to know that there is life after this. I needed to remind myself of that.

I read a story recently where an American missionary in India was talking to an elderly village elder. "I feel sorry for you Americans," the elderly man said. "You have so much, you forget you need God."
Prison reminds you of your need; and Joy, she reminds us that we can overcome.

"Everything dies baby that's a fact"; marriage, relationships, jobs, even sometimes freedom.
"But everything that dies someday maybe comes back." That was my message in the graduation speech; and the best part of it was, after hearing Moose, after seeing the guys and their families and the folks from the college, I believe it. Believe--God that is a great word, a word that can overcome even all this.

Three Men

If you ever wonder about what's wrong with this place, two men's stories this week will answer that. If you want to know about change, there's a third.

Ziggy, a guy I've written about before, has diabetes. He has significant pain and is prescribed Naprosin. Naprosin is not a narcotic. The doctor here prescribed three doses daily. A few weeks ago, they changed his dosage--twice daily and lower doses (and, every time the prescription expires he goes almost a week waiting on the renewal). So, Ziggy goes to medical to see the doctor--only the nurses won't let him discuss it with the physician (talk about gatekeepers!). The nurses say, "we know what's best and you only need Naprosin twice daily." Ziggy's a big fellow--kind of looks like Baloo the bear in "Jungle Book." He says, "you aren't my doctor--you clearly aren't my ortho; I want to see the Doctor." What happens that afternoon? Ziggy is called out to the investigators for a "routine" urine test and he's asked if he has a drug problem. Funny but there isn't anything "routine" about an investigator call (I know from my own experience with the blog) and they don't "piss test" midday. That's just their way of saying, "we decide medical."

Then there's K--his jacket says he's a gangbanger (because his brother was affiliated). He isn't and the investigators know it. They tell him "we'll get around to fixing it...soon." But, soon isn't anytime "soon." Meanwhile, he goes home in 6 more months. No one wants that label on them, especially when they aren't involved. But, that's how it goes in here--they take their time doing things and then wonder why no one respects "the system." The system is corrupt, badly mismanaged and isn't doing what the taxpayers think--it isn't cost effective, it doesn't rehabilitate people, and it wastes money.

That's a hell of a trifecta!

Then there's the good story--Mr. Rodriguez. He's a thirty-year-old El Salvadorian. At 12 he joined MS 13; at 14 he was arrested as part of a homicide; he ended up at Sussex at 16; he had a 5th grade education and had never read a book. That "lost refuse" is now a reader and completed my computer class. He is a changed man... not because of this place but because he used his time productively. I reread Viktor Frankl's book, Man's Search for Meaning, the other week--and it is clear: you can overcome anything (even the idiocy of the VA DOC system) if you have hope and believe.

It took Mr. Rodriguez a while to figure that out--life in the projects wasn't easy and he did some bad things, but he is a survivor and he is becoming a better man, in spite of this place.

Three men, three stories; unfortunately these stories play out everyday in here with the system dragging its feet and few overcoming.