Headphone Epiphany

This was a weird week leading up to Christmas.  It was a week I learned a major lesson in growth and grace.  It all started typically enough.  Tuesday evening “Big S” had to work for 5^th period school (he’s a vocational aide and recently named computer aide to work with me and the new IT students).  Big S has been working out five days a week with “Jah”.  No big deal, so far.

He gets to work Tuesday night and his left arm – forearm, bicep and elbow – are swelled to three times their normal size.  His arm is blotchy and discolored.  A workout injury?  Possibly, except he and Jah hadn’t lifted since Sunday.  His instructor calls medical for him and at 7:00 pm he’s down with the nurses.

I’m sitting on my bunk doing, well, what I do almost every evening:  watching a “Seinfeld” re-run while reading “USA Today”.  Three officers move into the cut and open “S’s” locker and start packing him up.   I know the officers and one says “they’ve got him at medical.  Keeping him overnight.”

As I’ve described before in this blog – and in an accompanying piece this week – medical care in prison is abysmal.  All of us were worried – what’s up with Big S?

Side theme:  they have him completely packed up and “LA” comes by to see me.  LA because he’s from Los Angeles.  A bright young guy, LA nonetheless has way too much con in him, especially for a 24 year old who’s lost five years of his life to prison.  “Heh, Larry, did they take the other set of headphones?”  “What headphones?” I replied.  “I left a set on his bed.  Guy in 6 building needs repaired.”  Now Big S knew nothing about the repair or the headphones on his bunk.

Wednesday morning and Big S pushes his cart back in.  The diagnosis:  a bug bite (spider?) caused a massive infection in his arm.  High doses of antibiotics (and ten days of “pill call”) and he’ll be fine.  He’s going through his stuff and sees the extra set of headphones.  I explain the entire LA conversation.  That afternoon, Big S takes the phones to work and an electrical aide rewires and builds a new headclip (the phones we are allowed to buy have thin, cheap brittle plastic on the top.  They always crack within days of purchase. A guy in the shop makes a heavier, more pliable headpiece).  Big S gives the phones to LA for return to building 6.  Thursday afternoon two guys come running into the building looking for Big S.

“Gomez” (the guy in building 6) says someone switched out the speakers.  The name and number are scratched out and the earcovers (foam) are worn out.  Big S is perplexed.  The electrical aide had repaired a new set. The set Gomez sent back over for Big S to examine was old and worn.

So Big S goes to confront LA.  And, LA denies, and denies and then finally admits the truth.  He’d switched the speakers (earphone part) to sell before he leaves.  How do I say this other than Big S was pissed!

A couple of things to remember:  prisons are notorious places for cons to be run.  Guys try and get things over unsuspecting inmates all the time.  Conversely, you expect the guys you befriend; you help, to shoot straight with you.  Numerous times I’ve been, shall we say, let down by guys in here who have asked for help and then done slimy things.  You get used to it and you don’t let it change how you behave and who you are. 

The second thing to remember is Big S is a pretty big guy and “pp” (pre-prison) he was a fighter.  He worked nights as a bouncer at a few Richmond area bars and participated in a half-dozen UFC fights.  He also had a quick temper.

I watched LA stammer and stutter his way through before finally, with head down, going back to his bunk area and retrieving the good phones.  And, I watched Big S, jaw clenched, angry, trying to control his visceral reaction which was to break LA into a dozen pieces. 

Big S came back to the cut, obviously upset.  I climbed off my bunk and listened as he explained everything that had taken place.

“So what are you gonna do?”  I asked Big S.  “Forgive him.  Isn’t that what you’re always tellin me God expects us to do?  It’s not worth fighting over.  LA hasn’t figured it out yet.  He’s doomed to come back unless he does.”  “Forgive him.”  Can you imagine?  We throw terms like “forgiveness” around so easily and yet our initial reaction is to, well react.  Big S somehow decided the reaction wasn’t worth it.  Something else was required.  How much baggage, how much anger do we bottle up inside seeking “satisfaction” for wrongs perpetuated against us when the right thing to do is say “OK, I forgive you.”

Does that mean people will stop conning you, hurting you, trying to take advantage of you?  Probably not.  LA, he’s six weeks from going home and he’s still running cons.  He was willing to sell out his relationship with Big S for a few bucks.  LA was/is one of the high-risk recidivism offenders.  He’s done five years this bid on drug distribution and gun charges.  He’d been in and out of juvenile detention and twice did short jail terms.  He claims “I’m never coming back”.  But, how you behave in this environment largely dictates how you’ll be on the street.  In LA’s case, the prognosis isn’t good.

Will Big S’s handling of the situation suddenly cause a light bulb to go off over LA’s head and he’ll begin “doing the right thing”?  I don’t know.  But I know this:  the old way of doing things doesn’t work.

That all this took place on the eve of celebrating the birth of Emmanuel – “God with us” – came as no great surprise.  Big S just did what that birth was all about. He looked at the world through God’s eyes and said “that’s alright.  I forgive you.”  How odd that I saw that play out in prison.  Then again, “He came to set the prisoner’s free and open the eyes of the blind.”  And it all started with some headphones.  

Birthdays, College Acceptances and Homecoming

This was an interesting week.  A few milestones were met for a couple of guys.  Thanksgiving came and went.  It’s never easy celebrating a holiday in here.  You get used to it – at least you tell yourself that – and you spend your day keeping busy so you don’t get overwhelmed with memories.

Two of the guys I’m very close to celebrated birthdays on the same day.  Craig, one of the college aides, the guy we call “the Dean” (because he’s the inmate contact to the college) turned 40.  He’s spent seven birthdays locked up; he has five more to go.  He tried to keep it quiet, didn’t want anyone to know; big mistake.  Most days, after noon count when one of the guys is ticked at an officer a tradition has developed.  We’re standing silently as the COs confirm the number and the offended guy will yell out “4A, give it up for ____.”  The building erupts with everyone shouting “F--- ____!”  Laughter then ensues.

So we’re standing, waiting, and I yell out “4A, give it up for the dean’s 40^th birthday”.  And, well you know the response, followed by cheers and real birthday wishes.  Craig – beet red just looked at me and said “I’m gonna kill you!”

My young sidekick Mike turned 34 the same day.  Mike’s been in prison since he was fifteen; nineteen years incarcerated.  He comes up for parole every year and is denied (“serious nature of the crime”.  He stabbed a man to death).  Mike has an exemplary record as an inmate, but murder, well he probably won’t get out before his mandatory parole release date which, ironically, is 30 days before my own scheduled release date.  I always tell Mike I’m pulling for him to make early parole because I’m assured of getting out a month later!

I can’t imagine doing “this” at fifteen.  He was kept at a juvenile center until 17, then shipped to “real prison”.  Back then, DOC operated a facility called Southampton.  It was for young, violent offenders:  age 17 to 30.  And, it was a zoo.  A good number of the guys I know here who are mid-thirties to 40 and who’ve been “down” 15 to 20 years started at Southampton.  Southampton was known for stabbings, rapes and drugs.  Chaos ruled.  Somehow, this quiet, tall white kid avoided it all.  He stayed to himself, avoided being a victim, avoided the gang flare ups between the Aryans and the blacks, and he got his level lowered to Lunenburg. 

When I first met Mike he was painfully quiet.  Introverted was defined by “see Mike”.  But, Craig and I saw he was bright – very bright – and we convinced him to come work in my classroom.  And, as is my habit, I talked to him (I talk to everybody).  Mike started talking.  I’ve turned him into a regular chatterbox!  He’s a great tutor, well-read, a “Seinfeld” fan, and I can count on him to hit the occasional “that’s what she said”, when needed.  Nineteen birthdays in prison; nine more to go.  He came in a teenager; he’ll head out in his forties.

Two guys who I helped with college applications received letters admitting them.  “Mouse” was notified of acceptance beginning next fall at his local community college.  He’s halfway toward his associates degree which he’ll complete while working toward a degree in culinary arts.  Then there’s Todd.  Another mid-thirties guy.  Did 5 years in Tennessee prisons and another 5 here for dealing drugs.  Todd is one of my favorite students.  He puts his all into his studies and has maintained a 4.0 GPA.  This week he learned he will finish his studies at a four-year state university after his release early next year.  He was one of the few guys who passed the IT “A+ certification” exam.  He’s going to get his degree in information technology.

I’m waiting to hear about five more guys who’ve applied to colleges next year after their release.  Imagine, going to college in here and then being able to complete your studies in a real college setting.  A college education is the number one determiner in breaking the recidivism cycle.  That these guys have a shot is remarkable.

And then there’s Solo.  Our famous “porn king” heads home Monday.  Nine year bid coming to an end.  Solo’s going home to his wife, his two kids, a job (at his family’s restaurant) and college.  Solo looks like Buddha with a bowl haircut.  He was known – back when smoking was permitted – to slow jog around the track with a honeybun in one hand and a cigarette in the other.  Solo always has a smile on his face and hardcore porn in his pocket.  He’s completed his sentence – nine years for selling powder cocaine (the deal went bad, he was stabbed in the arm severing a major artery.  He was arrested at the hospital once the police realized he wasn’t going to bleed to death).  Solo will spend Christmas with his family.  His last prison holiday behind him.

And me on Thanksgiving?  I enjoyed my meal and watched football.  Later, I ate some ramen noodles and refried beans.  I drank a ginger ale, laughed with the guys in the building and tried not to think about Thanksgivings before.  As I paused and read my afternoon devotional the words from Paul’s letter to the Thessalonians came to mind:

“Pray without ceasing; in everything give thanks….”

I realized it had been a very good, blessed week.

The Summer of George

I’m a huge fan of the TV sitcom “Seinfeld”.  One of my regular TV habits is watching episodes of the show which somehow magically appear for hours each afternoon and evening - Monday through Sunday.  There’s a core group of “Seinfeld” aficionados in the building and we banter back and forth with lines from the show (recently, a new Hispanic, gay inmate arrived on our side of the compound whose speech and mannerisms immediately led to him being id’d as the “ribbon guy” – an obscure Seinfeld character).

About a month ago I received my regular weekly letter from my “blog manager”.  In the letter, she apologized for falling behind on blog postings.  At the time of her letter she had 32 postings to type.  32 – who would ever think I’d write that much?  But, I have a great deal of time on my hands and words just seem to pour out.

I wrote her back and assured her I would never get angry over blog postings.  I also offered to speak to her husband about hiring her an assistant.  Instead, I told her I’d take a month or so off from new blogs.  Just like the Seinfeld character, George Costanza, when losing his job, I enjoyed “the Summer of George”.  I sat in my boxer shorts, ate a block of cheese, and watched the world go by (proverbially, of course).

During the past six weeks I found peace, discovered a good deal about myself and others, reconnected with lost friends (some going back to my high school days), and realized that storms come in everyone’s lives.  But, God is closest to us at our weakest moments, in our darkest days.  I met the Director of Virginia DOC – albeit briefly – and am more convinced than ever that even in “tough on crime” Virginia, real prison reform is close at hand.  And, I collected notecards full of stories about the men who do their time here and quotes by both the famous and not so famous.

“The Summer of George” recharged my battery and gave me renewed optimism for the future.  Over the next few weeks I’ll be putting down on paper what I’ve observed, felt and learned this summer.  In my mind, it has been the most startling few months of my life.  I have thought and wrestled and ultimately gained peace with many issues and I’m convinced it wouldn’t have happened had I not been in this place at this time in my life.  Like Joseph or Paul finding joy in a prison cell, I can honestly say this summer has taught me that God is indeed good; His steadfast love endures forever.

The write Charles Bukowski said two profound things. 

“It’s alright sometimes to pee in the sink.”

           and

“If you want to know who your real friends are, pull a jail sentence.”

The first quote is pretty straight forward.  Sometimes you have to buck conventional wisdom and do what you think regardless of social convention.  I lived that.  I’ve been criticized and castigated by well-meaning people:  friends and family – for admitting to everything and giving everything up to my ex.    Could I have fought my charges, embarrassed my employer, tied my ex up in property battles?  Yes.  Would people have been so supportive of me if the situation was reversed?  Probably not.  I did what I thought best and would do it again, even knowing the results.  I’d rather have the same sentence and be able to face myself in the mirror, rather be divorced and know what I know about my almost thirty year marriage, than any other result.  I peed in the sink.  And, it was worth it.

As for the second Bukowski quote, no truer words may have ever been written.  For so long I bemoaned the loss of a spouse and supposed friends who disappeared when the cell door closed.  But I’ve realized over the course of these past three years how truly blessed I am.  I have family who wrap me in love and concern that is unimaginable.  And I have friends, real friends, that write and visit and in the quiet of their homes pray for me.  They are few in number, but their care for me is humbling beyond words.

So the “Summer of George” was good, very good.  And I have a lot to write about.  It’s time to get back to work.  If you’re reading this, I leave you with a final request.  As the writer of the Book of Hebrews stated,

“Remember the prisoners as if chained with them” (13:3).

Liar Liar

This week two of the administration top dogs were caught in lies.  I have to tread lightly here because lying became a way of life for me when it came to the money I was stealing.  It was very easy for me to be a faithful, loving husband – on the one hand – and keep my thefts secret from the woman I loved.  Compartmentalizing became easy…for a time.  By 2008, I was so full of self-loathing for what I was doing I was hoping I’d literally die.  The lies, it seemed, were killing me.

I discovered once all the lies were out, that I could deal with honesty a whole lot easier than running through my lies.  But, honesty it seems has a price.  We talk about honesty, but most of us don’t like the truth being shined on us.

Most guys in prison run lies.  They become “whoever” they wanted to always be.  It’s like George Costanza would say on “Seinfeld”, “It’s not a lie if you believe it’s true”.  How else do you explain a guy with a second grade education and missing teeth who will tell you with a straight face he “drove a Bentley” and “poured Moet on a room full of dancers.”  I was living the big life with the money I stole and I still drove a Saturn. But, I’m sympathetic to our proclivity to lie.  Everyone lies.  From the moment Adam told God that first fib in the Garden of Eden (“what apple core?”) we all lie; that is the truth.  The other truth is:  all lies get exposed eventually.

Which leads me to this week at the “burg”.  Two incidents involving administration lies and then an officer comment after my visit this week proved my point.  In the first, “Stewie” had arranged a special visit for his grandfather.  Special visits are arranged through the warden.  If you have family more than 100 miles away, who visit only once a year, you can request “special” status.  They can visit any day (both days on weekends). 

Stewie’s grandfather is from Philly.  He comes down once a year on the way to a family reunion.  Gramps called the warden’s office who then sent Stewie a paper “VI approved for Tue. 6/28”.  No problem right?  Except Stewie thought the warden was the slimy tall guy in the Florida State golfshirt.  So Stewie has the following conversation with Assistant Warden Sunshine:

“Thank you sir for approving my grandfather’s visit.”

“I didn’t approve any visit.”
“Aren’t you the warden?”
“No.  And my staff won’t be tied up in a special visit.”

The next night Stewie received a memo from the Asst. Warden.  “Special VI request denied”.  Stewie called his grandfather who then called DOC HQ in Richmond.  The visit was magically reset.

So, on the 28^th Stewie spent three hours with his grandfather.  He hugs him and his grandfather leaves.  As Stewie’s leaving the visitation room the Asst. Warden is by the Major’s office. 

“This wouldn’t have happened if your grandfather had actually called us to arrange the visit.”

“But he did call.”
“No he didn’t.  The warden never spoke to your grandfather.”

And that’s when the Major’s secretary stepped around the corner with a copy of the “approval form”.  She said, “Yes – Asst. Warden – the warden did approve it and you even received a copy of it.  It’s here in the folder.”

The Asst. Warden turned beet red.  He was embarrassed and humiliated.  It’s bad enough he’s an arrogant, self-righteous SOB.  But, he’s also a liar.  DOC wants guys to follow the rules then they lie through their teeth.  Guys in prison already think they’re getting screwed.  Good job Asst. Warden!

Then, there’s our “treatment head”.  This sniveling jerk is embarrassed by his receding hairline so he wears a Virginia Tech hat all day, inside or outside.  “Treatment” is that Orwellian term DOC uses to describe their counselors:  the people who conduct annual reviews.

As I wrote a week ago, our new “leadership” decided DOP 830.0 was irrelevant.  The Asst. Warden advised his treatment head “any charge and we drop good time earning level”.  Here’s the thing – the counselors know it’s wrong and they’ve told the guys “you need to fight this”.

What does “treatment head” do?  He stands in front of a group of guys and tells them two bold faced lies:  “DOC has been doing this for three years”, and “the DOP allows the warden to change good time for any reason”.

He forgot one thing – I have a copy of the “old” DOP and the “new” DOP (effective 8/1/2010).  I hi-light the document, including effective dates and the seven specific grounds for good time overrides and in the middle of these irate inmates I hand it to him.  I ask him “you ever heard of the Nuremberg trials?  Just following orders is no defense.”

His balding head turned beet red and he stormed out of the building.

The counselors are the people inmates turn to for advice and counsel on education, treatment programs, home plans, personal/family issues.  If the inmates think they can’t be trusted, hope for successful rehabilitation is jeopardized.  Treatment head’s behavior has significant ramifications.

Which takes me to leaving the visiting room today.  After a visit, when our guests head out the front, out to freedom and real life, we head to a changing area to be strip searched (little hint – there’s no such thing as modesty in prison).  The two officers in charge in the back were H & S, both good guys.  They do their jobs, don’t hassle anyone, and have the respect of the inmate population.  After Smith made me “squat and cough” he handed me back my boxers and I began to get dressed.  He speaks up “Heh, whatta ya think of your lawyer friend gettin busted?”  I know these two guys real well and I don’t play cute usually with my words so I told them I thought it was morally wrong to charge guys based on false dreams.  I then said this “may surprise you to hear me say something nice about you guys, but I feel badly for Officer D.  I went through public embarrassment, the inaccurate articles.  I don’t wish that on anyone.”

That was when H said this –

“Yeah, you did go through it.  I read every article about you on the Internet.  They said you took $4 mil to deny you bond.”  I looked at H in stunned silence.  He smiled.  “Officers always check out the population.  So many bullshitters here.  You’re one of the few guys whose words here match up.  You don’t lie about any of this.  That’s alright in my book.”

Lying.  I’m not sure how to put this, but honest isn’t always the easiest thing to be, but in the long run, there are fewer repercussions from being honest. We somehow always revert to lies – big and small – because they seem easier.

I’ve been told almost daily in here by men who genuinely care about me that I’m too honest.  “You tell people your real feelings; your real emotions; they’ll see it as a sign of weakness.”  I see just the opposite.  None of us is perfect.  And none of us can stand up to glaring scrutiny.

There’s a wonderful line in the Gospel of John about honesty.  Jesus speaks to a group of people who are challenging him saying “we are descendants of Abraham.  We have never been enslaved.”  He simply says “everyone who continues in sin is a slave to sin…and the truth shall make you free.”  The thing about those words is they came shortly after Jesus saved the adulterous woman.  “Whoever among you that is free of sin cast the first stone.”

I heard a preacher tell a funny story.  Two construction workers stopped to eat their bag lunches.  The one guy opened his bag and moaned “bologna again.  Every day the same thing:  bologna sandwich.”  His friend enjoying a turkey sandwich said, “Why don’t you just nicely ask your wife to fix you something else?”  The man hung his head.  “I’m not married.  I make my own lunch.”  The moral of the story:  most of the bologna in our lives, we put there ourselves.

Lies are like bologna.  For a few days they go down easy.  Then, they just sit in your stomach and eat away at you.  Lies cost me my wife and kids.  Lies led me to embezzle.  Is it any wonder I’m so honest now?  I wonder if the Asst. Warden and treatment head are listening.