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.

Rotten Meat

Shortly after Mecklenburg Receiving Center began its final shut down process in March, our diet here at Lunenburg began to change.  The freezers at Mecklenburg had been well-stocked and the food had to go somewhere.  Lunenburg, less than thirty miles from Mecklenburg, became the main recipient of Mecklenburg’s kitchen closing.

For a few weeks the change was extraordinary.  As with everything else in prison, meals repeat over and over.  The state tells us we are fed a “nutritionally sound” 2500 calorie diet, yet it is heavy (three servings each meal) on starches and carbohydrates and low grade and highly processed meats.  Syrupy, high fructose juice bags are provided each morning as a “fruit substitute”.  Is it any wonder diabetes and high blood pressure ravage almost a third of the compound population?

But, things did look up right after Mecklenburg closed.  We began getting breakfast “hot pockets” with cheese, potatoes and Canadian bacon.  Mesquite and hickory smoked sausage appeared at lunch.  Pork pepperoni, corn dogs, and thick cut pork bologna was served at dinner.  Yes, these were all highly processed meats and probably not the best thing for you to eat (which may explain why I usually eat bean trays almost five nights a week), but it was something different.

It lasted about three weeks.  And then came the rotten meat.  As you can imagine, per day cost for an inmate’s meal must be kept low.  Gravy of some hue is given at almost every meal.  Potatoes likewise appear on every tray.  Meat is usually low grade, a combination of four parts ground chicken to one part ground beef.  It is shaped into burgers which cook up gray.  Or, it is scooped into meatloaf wedges (also called Salisbury steak).  And, it is left loose in pasta dishes from Texas hash (which has no connection to Texas at all), Chili Mac, Yorkisoba (spaghetti noodles and meat).  All these dishes, with the 80/20 mix, while not mom’s home cooking, are edible.

That all changed.  Mecklenburg had low grade “mechanically separated “ground turkey.  What is “mechanically separated”?  Imagine turkeys going through a jet engine.  In principle, the meat (and feathers, fat and skin) being lighter are forced through the rear of the engine.  Bones fall below.  This shredded, compressed amalgam of everything on old Tom Turkey is then forced into cinder block size cubes (five pound blocks).  It is a sickly off grey color with specks of red blood.  And, it smells.  Filler is added as well to “stretch” the cubes use out.

You can always tell when this turkey is being served:  the chow hall stinks of rotting meat and the bean line is out the door.  A pet owner wouldn’t serve his family’s beloved dog or cat this hideous meat mixture.  We’ve had it on at least one tray everyday for almost a month.

A curious thing happened the other day however.  Staff has their own chow hall.  A “perk” of the job is one free meal each shift and subsidized pricing for other meals.  The staff chow hall has a salad bar, ice cream and pre-made sandwiches.  For entrees, they are served the same main course as the population (sided are different and better).  This week, following repeated complaints by the staff, mechanically separated turkey was removed from their chow hall.  Cold cut sandwiches have been substituted until the rotten meat issue is resolved.  The population found out about the staff’s objection to the mystery meat and now a flood of inmate grievances have been filed.

No one’s suggesting we eat steak and get a salad bar (though it sounds delicious!).  But, the state has an obligation to serve at minimum; healthy, safe meals.  When the state takes a person’s freedom away, they must provide at minimum, a set level of care, health and safety.  Budget problems don’t excuse the state’s responsibility.

Tonight is Chili Mac night.  Good news is they’re serving navy beans!

Life Lesson

My friend DC learned last evening that his father passed away.  Death is never easy to grasp; in here it is even more difficult.  For fifty years DC’s father has regularly visited.  With his age and health deteriorating his visits to spend time with his incarcerated son became less frequent.  Recently, DC’s mom traveled alone or with DC’s wife for their regular monthly visits. 

When DC took me aside last night and told me the news, I found myself struck by the grace and dignity he possessed.  Later that night as I prayed, I stopped and wrote a few things that in the light of this beautiful, warm, January day surprised me.

But first, a little about DC’s dad.  I had the privilege of meeting him once, up at visitation; but in truth I knew him well through DC’s stories.  He was an infantryman in the United States Army and served in some of the bloodiest battles in Korea.  He served his country and fought and watched friends bleed and die all the while being repeatedly referred to as “boy” and “colored” and being denied basic civil rights living in the segregated south of the ‘40s, ‘50s and early ‘60s.  We, as a people, tend to gloss over our failures, our evils, our sins.  I’ve learned in this experience that too often we like to see things neatly, “us versus them” and the “us” is always right, always justified.  That, I believe, is why it’s so easy for “us” to justify our anger at a whole host of peoples overseas, why “we” so easily support this nation incarcerating two million.  “We” are honorable; “we” are decent.  “They” are terrorists, “they” are criminals.

The truth is, there is no “us” or “them”, there is only “we”.  We all fail, we all have the capacity to hurt and be hurtful.  We all can act a little more humanely.

So DC’s father and mother moved to the District married in ’46; drafted he was sent to Korea.  They raised a house full of children; buried two.  DC’s dad bought a liquor store on the edge of Georgetown.  Kept it his whole life.  Never robbed, never burned during the riots.  DC’s Pop was respected in the community and DC – he was feared.

Years passed.  There was the day in 1968 when his dad came to school and picked him up.  Driving home his dad lowered his voice and gently said “Paul’s coming home.  He was killed over there.  We have to be brave for mom.  She needs us.”  Paul was DC’s older brother.  DC idolized him.  He was drafted by the Phillies one week, the best pitcher they’d ever seen in D.C. they told the family.  Two weeks later the army drafted him and Paul ended up fighting and dying in Vietnam for a war that made no sense, fighting for “freedom” for a foreign people while his own family was denied equal rights in the nation’s capitol. 

Years later, DC asked his dad about the war, if he was angry about Paul dying for such a senseless cause.  “I don’t think nothin of it”, he said.  “I respect your brother cause he went, he fought, he did what he thought was right even knowing the risk.”  DC told me that story a few months after we met during a particularly tough time for me.  “You’re a stand up guy…even in here.  My Pops says that counts for something.”

DC’s dad.  He turned DC’s life around.  As I’ve noted in this blog, DC was one of the most feared, brutal inmates in the Virginia Prison system for years.  A week ago, I began writing a story – an essay really – built around DC.  I’ve been stuck for an ending.  See, my view of DC, the man I know today has largely developed as my faith has grown.  For obvious reasons, I call the story “Damascus”.  I’ve always been intrigued by Paul’s faith journey.  The Apostle Paul was ruthless in his pursuit of members of “the way”.  The blood of dozens was literally on his hands.  And then one day, on the road to Damascus, on the way to attack more Christians, he was struck down.  Why, I wondered, can church people, “good people”, accept that God could change Paul, but not someone like DC?  (You’ll have to wait for the story to come out to get my answer).

This afternoon I found my ending.  DC came by the cut while I was writing.  He just needed to talk about his dad.  So I listened as my friend spoke.  “My daughter was with Pops when he died.  He gripped her hand and called her close and said ‘tell you daddy to remember the goose’.  Then his hand went loose and he was gone.”

DC then told me what that meant.  Back in the early ‘80s, when DC was at Mecklenburg Corrections Center and in the middle of eighteen months of segregated living, i.e. “in the hole”, he was called to a surprise visit.  Visits in segregation are non-contact.  You talk through phones and Plexiglas.  “It was Pops.  He’d come down by himself to see me.”  For hours they talked.  Finally, his father with the phone close to his mouth asked DC why.  “Why do you keep doing this to yourself in prison when you got so much waitin on you out there?”  DC hemmed and hawed.  He had no answer.  “Figure it out son, before it’s too late.  You figure it out and we’ll get you out of here.  And you and me’ll share a bottle of Grey Goose and we’ll talk.”

Ten years later, DC had figured it out.  His dad was at another visit only this time the man sitting in front of Pops wasn’t the same angry, brutal man behind the Plexiglas.  Instead, his dad saw the DC I know, a man of peace, kindness and decency.

“It was about fear, Larry”, DC told me and I felt as though I was looking in the mirror.  Fear had driven me to my own self-destructive meeting with prison and divorce.  “I asked Pops why he came to see me that day in the ‘80s.  He told me a guy called him.  Said he’d just gotten out of prison and knew me.  And he told my Pops if I didn’t get reached soon either the state would kill me or another inmate would kill me, but I’d never make it out.  He just got in his car and drove down to see me.”

There are times in this experience when I’m not sure I can make it another day.  And then there are times, like these past twenty-four hours, when I thank God for this.  I don’t know why all this has happened, but I know I’m a better man for meeting guys like DC.  And I know life; death; pain and joy make so much more sense to me having been put in this place.

DC’s hurting right now but he’s also very much at peace.  He’ll have his time with his dad.  And I promised him, after we’re both out, we’ll go see his dad and have a glass of the goose.  May God bless DC’s Pops.  May God bless DC.  May God bless us all.

Lying About Justice

There are consequences for your behavior.  “We tell our kids that.  Hell, Judges say the same thing when they sentence you (my Judge said “I don’t know which man is before me, the one who did so much good in the community or the one who stole...”).  Why is it then, in the name of “justice” that we tolerate public officials lying about crime, sentences and public safety?  Isn’t it time our elected officials (and those hired to manage public agencies) are held to the same standards they so self-righteously espouse?  This week that issue came to mind as I read about Virginia Governor McDonnell’s decision to close Mecklenburg Corrections Center and Judge Timothy Sanner’s sentencing of former Goochland Treasurer Brenda Grubbs for her guilty plea to embezzling in excess of $200,000.

As a matter of self-disclosure, I was sentenced by Judge Sanner.  As I’ve detailed numerous times in the pages of this blog, I volunteered all information about my case, cooperated fully with the prosecution and pled guilty to six counts (five embezzlement and one forgery of public record).  Shortly before my sentencing hearing began, a young man appeared for his sentencing.  This early twenties male was in jail for a third DUI.  The third arrest involved an accident – his friend was killed.  This young man was entered in an alcohol treatment program at the jail.  The Judge, noting he’d completed twelve of eighteen months of the program gave this young man only the remaining six months to complete the program.

I don’t begrudge a lenient sentence to this young man.  Prison wouldn’t bring back his dead friend, nor is prison the place to address an obvious alcohol problem, but how do you sentence a man who has caused a death to a total of 18 months and turn around and sentence another man to 15 years for embezzling from a profitable company (which, coincidentally, is politically well connected in your jurisdiction)?

Brenda Grubbs was the Treasurer of Goochland County.  Married for 30 plus years to a local farmer, Ms. Grubbs embezzled over $200,000 from county funds while carrying out a romantic, internet liaison with a Nigerian con artist.  Sanner allowed Ms. Grubbs out on bond while her case was pending (a luxury I was not afforded).  Then came sentencing day.  Both her husband (who has stood by her) and minister testified on her behalf.

A request was made to allow her to report after the holidays and begin serving her four year imposed sentence.  The Judge rejected the request.  Why?  Because, Judge Sanner noted “defendant is deeply depressed and in need of mental health services”.  Sending her to prison will not address her mental health issues.  In fact, sending her to prison will hurt her mental health.

If a primary purpose of the criminal justice system is the creation of remorse, then the mere process – in cases such as Ms. Grubbs and mine – is enough to create the desired results.  The problem with pronouncement from the bench such as those made by Judge Sanner is they are completely devoid of truth.  He doesn’t have the guts to say “I want to punish you, ruin your family, make you a financial drain on the state because I can.”  Instead he says some quasi – Solomonese statement about justice.

Here’s a message for Judge Sanner and the others who hand down sentences:  justice does not exist in a vacuum.  Justice always includes mercy.  No Judge should serve on the bench without spending a week in the “corrections” system to understand the “consequences” of their decisions.  And, spare us the moral platitudes from the bench.  If morals and righteous behavior were pre-requisites to serving as a judge, there’d be nothing but vacancies.

And then there is the McDonnell Administration announcing the closing of the prison in Mecklenburg County.  The real reason for the closing – Pennsylvania removing 1,000 inmates from Virginia’s Green Rock Prison and cancelling the $20 million annual lease – was correctly set out in the opening sentence.  But then, McDonnell’s spokespeople veered off into the great sea of subterfuge and misstatement.

Closing Mecklenburg and sending those inmates to Green Rock “will save approximately $10,000 per inmate on an annual basis”; the Governor said (“currently it costs $29,562 per year, per inmate housed at Mecklenburg; that cost will shrink to $19,213 at Green Rock”).  “Liar, liar, pants on fire!”  Virginia’s Department of Corrections holds approximately 39,000 inmates (two-thirds of whom are classified as “low custody”).  DOC’s budget is just north of $1 billion.  That equals a per inmate cost of $25,564 per year.  The old expression “numbers don’t lie, but liars use numbers” seems to have been created by governmental bureaucrats to justify their complete lack of cost efficiency and effectiveness and candor.

Here are the facts:  it costs money, lots of money to operate and maintain a prison.  It is labor intensive.  The reason Green Rock wasn’t being used, the reason James River, Brunswick and Southampton were closed (along with a number of other facilities) was simply due to cost.  On average, it takes $25 million annually to operate a 1,000 bed prison in Virginia.  That the Commonwealth is now – by their own acknowledgement – at 137% of adequate bed capacity in corrections is just further evidence of the failure and lies perpetrated in the name of public safety.

Governor McDonnell stated, “In these difficult times, it is incumbent upon DOC and state government to ensure that public safety continues to be paramount and, while doing so, to be the best stewards of taxpayer’s money.”

Nice words Governor.  Problem is, prisons do not ensure public safety.  And, as I have repeatedly documented in the pages of this blog, DOC spending is a sinking hole.  Money doesn’t go for programs to end recidivism.  Money doesn’t even go to create secure facilities.  Virginia’s prisons are rife with crime, violence, disease, dishonest officers and administrators, and a glaring lack of creative programs and hope.

Governor McDonnell’s closing announcement was nothing but his political attempt to dress up the economic tsunami striking Virginia after years of lies about its public safety and corrections “successes”.

I broke the law.  I was told there were consequences for my actions.  Fair enough.  Its high time Judges and Governors are held to the same standard.

Closing Time

A major DOC announcement hit the airwaves on the noon news today:  “Virginia DOC has announced the closing of its Mecklenburg Prison and Receiving Unit”.  The closing stung another rural Southside Virginia county already weighed down by an unemployment rate above the state average and prospects of real business and industry moving there hovering between slim and none.

Mecklenburg Prison, a facility opened in the late 1970’s with much political fanfare (the then Governor attended its opening) announcing it to be “the most secure prison in America.”  Less than four years later, the notorious Briley brothers – cold blooded rapist/killers from Richmond – and four others executed a daring escape and ran up and down the east coast causing terror and fear each day of their escape.  That escape, from a prison Virginia’s political class sold as being secure, represents the utter failure of the Commonwealth’s corrections’ philosophy.  The end of its dismal life is not as a secure facility for Virginia’s most incorrigible offenders.  No, it is as a dumping ground – a “receiving center”, is emblematic of all that is wrong with Virginia’s bloated, unsustainable corrections apparatus.

I write this blog with some ambivalence.  After all, three hundred Southside Virginia residents arrived at work today and learned – less than two weeks before Christmas – that they will have no jobs.  I feel for those men and women – and their families, even as I wonder how they morally justify working in a place that treats fellow people – many of whom are not a threat to the community – in such vile, degrading ways.

Almost every politician since George Allen (up to our current Governor and members of the Virginia General Assembly) has lied to and betrayed the voters of the Commonwealth.  They’ve told voters they were safer with extraordinary harsh sentencing and abysmal prison conditions.  They’ve told voters the Commonwealth could afford one out of every eight dollars going to corrections – over $1 billion annually – all the while they lined their own pockets and the pockets of selected crony prison enterprises.

They told rural Virginia communities that a prison in their neighborhood would generate jobs and growth.  Nothing could be further from the truth.  Prisons do not generate jobs nor do they create or foster an atmosphere for new businesses.  Study after study has concluded prisons have the opposite effect.  Companies don’t move to towns with prisons.

Still, the lies go on.  Where is the courageous politician who will stand up and say “Virginia needs sentence reform?  We have close to 30,000 nonviolent, low custody offenders in prison and we need to let them out.”  Where is the courageous politician who will propose real work training, education and treatment programs for the incarcerated?

Southside Virginia’s prison communities will continue to suffer high unemployment and high dropout and poverty rates until courageous politicians admit we need less incarcerated persons and more money going to rural areas for education and business development. 

My friend DC was one of the initial 19 “incorrigible inmates” who populated Mecklenburg.  That he wasn’t part of the Briley escape was due to his awareness that they’d all eventually be caught.  He saw stabbings, beatings, rapes, and murders during his time there.  At one point he testified on behalf of the inmates during a 1983 prisoner civil rights case before Senior Federal Judge Robert Merhige, Jr. in Richmond.  His recitation of beatings and abuse at the hands of officers so impressed the Judge that he immediately ordered the U.S. Attorney to investigate.  “If you see a corrections officer lay a hand on any prisoner you get word to me”, the Judge told DC from the bench.

Mecklenburg is closing.  There are almost twenty other prisons holding low custody inmates that can also be closed.  All it takes is some honesty and courage from Virginia’s politicians.

In the 1970’s the late, great Johnny Cash performed inside California’s notorious San Quentin Prison.  Cash himself was a convicted felon and did prison time.  He knew the inhumanity of the prison system.  That night, he sang a song he wrote about San Quentin.  The inmates – black, white, Hispanic – erupted in cheers.  He sang “San Quentin, may you rot and burn in hell…”

Everytime the news announces a Virginia prison closing I think of Mr. Cash.  Its closing time for Mecklenburg.  May it rot and burn in hell.