Another “Lost” Week” (PT 1 Is this any way to Run Things?)

THIS BLOG WAS WRITTEN IN NOVEMBER, 2014.

 

            As I write this we are still on “modified” lock. Starting Monday morning we went on “lock” for our twice annual compound search. As I’ve written before, these sweeps accomplish little. Sure the COs find extra sneakers and t-shirts. They grab CDs still in the possession of men who traded in CD players for the newly available MP3 players. Shirts, sneakers, and CDs; yet, the drugs remain. Lockdowns are a waste of money and time here. They wear officers out, they piss off the population, and they stop all education programs. They are an exercise in futility and driven by the ego of the security chief. But why would he care about the effectiveness of the lock? Responsibility (“the buck stops here,”) doesn’t apply in DOC for managing a facility. Who cares about another lost week? You should.

            It costs approximately $27 million per year to operate this level “2” facility. And, like everything else in the Department of Corrections, there are operating procedures that govern how a prison is run. “Inmate.com,” the rumor mill that is inmate life, will tell you every prison has lockdown twice each year. And, long-term guys, those who’ve spent time at the higher levels, will remind newbies of “real” lockdowns where you’re confined to your cell with one five minute shower every fourth day. The officers sweep in, enter your cell, then handcuff you. All your personal belongings are dumped on the cell floor. Your bunk is stripped, sheets and blankets thrown in a corner. The COs paw all your stuff then uncuff you and slam your cell door shut. That’s a real lock down.

            Here it’s lay around and wait, wait until the ten to twenty regular shift COs come to our building with counselors in tow. A short walk to the gym then back to the building, twenty or so guys at a time, and “voila” in an hour and a half we’re done. That’s it – an hour and a half. The officers are tired. See, budgets being what they are, they can’t bring in reinforcements to move through in a precise manner. No, they go to “6” – kitchen workers, then “1” –  factory guys (funny how they never miss work, even on lock), then the drag begins.

            What do they take out of the buildings? Nothing but trash and extra clothes. They finish all the other buildings by Wednesday afternoon. We’re done, right? Wrong. For the rest of the week we sit in the buildings. There is no school, no “re-entry” programs (maybe that’s a good thing!). No AA or NA or sex offender treatment. “Ball courts” open on Thursday for three hours; same thing Friday.

            Collage program. We have the academic counselor scheduled to be here and meet with guys for their January semester. Memo goes to “the Major” a month ago reminding him of the college schedule. But, shake downs take priority – even when (1) they aren’t required by policy/procedure (they are routinely waived at other level 2 facilities) and (2) they interfere with education (the number “1” program that breaks the cycle of recidivism). Education doesn’t matter, follow phony procedure even when you don’t have to.

            So Thursday at lunch they give us fried chicken – “chicken on the bone.” Why not? Feed them – and the COs – a little something better and it – hopefully – makes you forget what a waste all this is; a waste in time, money, and lives. Hey, at least the Major got to run his lockdown!

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.

Rainy Saturday Observations

I was all set to go run, clear my head, breathe deep and think and feel and “13” – the C/O in charge of movement whose job it is to stand in the middle of the boulevard and radio in and out of the buildings – he let me know, “there’s a storm moving in, no morning rec.” No morning rec. No 5 or 6 mile run to loosen up from a week on the weight pile trying to do “cross fit” with guys half my age. Prison is schedule; schedule is everything. You organize and discipline yourself or you and your mind turn to mash potatoes …

I’m sitting here and listening to the rain pelt the dorm building roof and it’s rhythmic and entrancing and I feel, for just a second at least, that I’m not in here. I have Johnny Cash playing in the CD player; he’s singing “Long Black Veil” and the peddle drum matches the “thwap” of the rain: “Nobody knows, nobody sees, nobody knows but me …” Damn Johnny made great music. He did time; his life was a mess and then, well then God saw fit to tell Johnny “You don’t have to fight anymore. You don’t have to carry all that anger and guilt and pain anymore,” and he was free.

Funny the things you see in here when you scan the building. Seventy men; seventy stories, some worse than others. DC, he’s become the “bird man” of Lunenburg. A few months ago, not even sure why, but he decided a few small birds needed crumbs of bread. Now I see him heading to our ball court with a quart and a half bowl full of breadcrumbs. Twice each day he goes out and feeds dozens of birds, and two small field mice who now venture close.

He’s tearing up bread – I can’t even tell how many slices he’s pulled out of the chow hall this morning – and I’m laughing because he’s so damn precise with his efforts: crust off first (“I shred that between my palms main man!”); then small cube-like pieces. His cut is awash in bread scraps; crumbs flying everywhere; he’s oblivious, focused only on the bread. 

Guys, young mostly – but hey, in here anyone below 40 is considered young – don’t have a clue how you do laundry. There’s a guy jamming everything he has – 3 jeans, 3 blue shirts, sheets, blankets – into the washer and he’s measuring out boxed “All” detergent. Problem is, we buy “All” in one-load boxes and that half of box sprinkled on tap of a non-agitating load of clothes won’t clean anything. “Should I add some shampoo?” he asks.

Look guys, here are a couple of simple rules. First when you use the bathroom you wash your hands (you’d be surprised how many in here don’t bring soap into the bathroom). The shower is for your bathing, not washing your tees and boxers. Second, laundry. You need detergent to clean your clothes. And, washers are built around the principle of agitation and then spin. Don’t over fill. And whatever you do, don’t put your washcloths and towels straight from the shower and throw them in the dryer!

I watch these guys. They don’t know how to make a bed, do a load of laundry, wash a dish, or keep themselves clean. I think we need “life skills” classes. You want to be a “grown ass” man (a favorite inmate expression) then learn to live independently! Institutionalization – you get comfortable letting the institution take care of you. They do. Frankly, it’s easy for them if they can provide for you. You lose your self-respect. You forget everything comes at a price.

Three sex offenders, all white middle-aged guys who in a prior life and without their warped predilections, could have lived in my neighborhood – carry on; they “know more” than anyone. I find myself angry watching these three guys because there’s an undercurrent of racial and economic superiority in their demeanor. None of them will admit to any wrong doing; all “misunderstandings.” Sure those kids (yup, all child sex offenders) asked to be touched and photographed.

What’s the issue? Seems the school has a rule: No sex offenders can work in “academia.” These three all have degrees. The young guys in here can’t stand them – they’re arrogant and abrasive (funny, but at higher levels child sex-offenders don’t behave that way; they become “cell rats”). Me? I work every college class – 3 new ones starting in a week with female faculty who know they can trust me and know there won’t be any crap in the classroom. I read a piece a few weeks ago about “hearing” when God calls you to your vocation. I understand that now.

There is redemption in suffering and atoning. These three don’t get that. They feel persecuted, wronged. Their wives still visit; their lives “outside” still exist (except for that little “registration” requirement!) and yet they feel that they are the victims. I don’t get the mindset …

Rain still falling. There’s a whiff of mackerel in the air. It’s 10:00 am and this guy is microwaving pouch mackerel. “I need 30 grams of protein,” he’ll tell anyone who’ll listen. Health and fitness are big topics yet guys don’t know the first thing about anatomy, physiology, kinesiology. The other day I ran a 6:45 mile – smoked past four young muscle-bound guys half my age. “How’d you do that?” Iggy asked me. “Know your body. Forget 600-pound squats. Get your cardio right. Stretch.

Mumford & Sons on the CD player. Great acoustic music. Dylanesque with their lyrics. They sing, 

“It seems that all my bridges have been burnt

But you say that’s exactly how this grace thing works

It’s not the long walk home that will change this heart

But the welcome I receive with the restart.”

And the rain keeps falling and I feel great. I’m six years in. I lost everything and found so much more. Should I feel this good? I don’t think that judge who sent me here expected this. I don’t think anyone did.

“You were a lawyer once, right?” The question caught me by surprise. A new “resident” of our building; big burly, country fellow with a Carolina twang and broad toothy smile. He leaned in. “My pen pal, a nice Christian girl in South Carolina reads your blog.” What? I laugh. I started this blog four years ago to document publicly what I was writing in the cells of the jail and receiving unit. I accept full responsibility for every word. I’ve pissed people off at times; I’ve whined and moaned; but I write, I keep writing every day. Why? Because I thought, what seems so long ago, that maybe – just maybe – this journey would someday matter to someone: my sons; my friends; the woman I loved and lost.

I thought, back then, if I wrote I would be steeled and courageous in whatever I faced, even I thought I couldn’t do this; I could never redeem myself. I wrote and I have had guys threaten me and curse me and officers find the blog and tell me to back off (and once, an assistant U.S. attorney read it and said, “you’re a pretty good writer.”) I wrote, I write, because I have a story and I think of Victor Hugo who said, “If a soul is left in the darkness, sins will be committed. The guilty one is not he who commits the sin, but the one who causes the darkness.” The writing brings the light. 

It’s raining and I write because even on a slow, rainy Saturday, this matters. The men in here, so many of them anyway, matter to me. I write so I’ll never forget – good or bad – this. 

“Love it will not betray you

Dismay or enslave you, it will set you free

Be more like the man you were meant to be”

Who you were meant to be. I tell the young guys who daily gather around my cot that idea. Mumford & Sons put it to music. “Be;” “Live;” the words fall like rain…. 

Sex Offender Visits

A new directive was handed down this week by Richmond regarding visitation procedures for sex offenders.  As I have written in the past, the status of sex offenders in this facility presents an uneasy existence.  Simply put, sex offenders are the lowest of low in a prison.  Even the officers hold sex offenders in contempt.  No one is held in lower esteem than child sex offenders and child pornographers.  Sex offenders live in constant fear that their depraved crimes will come to light.  While bounties do not exist for their heads on this compound – as they do at so many higher level facilities – sex offenders are routinely targeted for theft and extortion.  Perhaps it is justifiable.  After all, sex offenders have done – in many cases – unspeakable horrors to their victims.  Still, it is difficult to watch anyone live in fear.

So, this past week Richmond announced a new policy for visits to sex offenders.  Effective immediately, minors will no longer be allowed to visit sex offenders.  That’s no minors, not even the offenders own children.

When I first arrived here at Lunenburg, there were no prohibitions on sex offender visitation. Shortly after my arrival, a new directive was handed down.  Sex offenders were prohibited from having any children on their laps who weren’t their own.  Sex offender visits were closely monitored by staff (yes, the officers know who the sex offenders are.  The inmate “master list” has a code for sex offenders).  Sex offenders didn’t complain.  To do so was to draw attention to yourself.  And, that was the last thing a sex offender would want to do.

That policy has stayed in effect for two years and there have been few – if any – problems reported.  So why the new rule?

As I have disclosed previously in this blog, I struggle with my feelings regarding sex offenders.  I abhor what they did (and contrary to prison “myth”, the vast majority of sex offenders are not incarcerated for “statutory” sex charges, i.e. “I didn’t know she wasn’t eighteen!”)  I also deal with the knowledge that many of the child sex offenders are serving sentences substantially shorter than mine.  Those frustrations are tempered each day by the knowledge that in God’s eyes I’m no better nor worse than that man and God’s grace shines on child sex offenders, embezzlers, and law-abiding folks the same.  None of us are deserving, yet all can receive.

Still, it’s tough to not jump on the “those sick bastards get what they deserve” bandwagon.  But, in looking at the new rule, a number of questions popped into my head.

First, if sex offenders are so awful and their behavior so suspect that DOC can’t trust them in a controlled visitation environment, what are they doing being housed at Lunenburg, a low custody, dormitory-style housing environment?

A fundamental problem with Virginia’s correction paradigm is that the vast majority of facilities – and, by implication, inmates – are low custody.  I have serious reservations about a system that says a murderer or child rapist is a “violent felon”, yet then allows those inmates to serve the bulk of their sentence at a low level.  If sex offenders are so suspect in their proclivities that they can’t be trusted in the Lunenburg VI room, what are they doing here?

And second, how does denying a sex offender access to his children coordinate with Governor McDonnell’s “re-entry initiative” which states that “90% of all inmates will return to their communities”, and “a goal of re-entry is to promote family support for the returning offender?”  It seems to me limiting structured visits is contrary to those goals.

I don’t know what the answer is.  As I said earlier, I’m very conflicted on the issue.  I do believe child sex offenders have a mental illness that needs to be addressed and prison isn’t the best place to address it (then again, prison isn’t the best place to address most nonviolent criminal behavior).  And, child sex offenders tend to also have been victims themselves.  Somehow, that cycle has to be broken

There’s no easy answer.  I’m just not sure DOC’s new visitation policy helps in any way.

Three Men I Know

There are three men I know and each, I learned this week, are facing a significant crisis.  How they deal with their particular crisis, how they proceed forward, will say much about them.  As I watch and pray over the incidents that unfold around me I see faith lessons.

Woo was one of our first IT students.  I say was because this week he was sent to the hole, locked up after fighting another inmate in the staff kitchen.  Fight is the wrong word.  It was no fight.  Woo, a man I’ve described in the blog before as having a head the size of a Rottweiler’s is a huge man. He has tremendous forearms, almost as thick as thighs, “Popeye” arms.  He is a large, strong, powerful man.

Woo is a staff cook.  Tuesday, during his shift, another staff worker began running his mouth.  Words were exchanged. Woo has been dealing for months with his mother’s passing.  Because her home was in Georgia he was unable to attend (inmates are prohibited from funerals out of state).  So Woo, dealing with the loss of his mother, the despair of incarceration, and the stress of waiting to see if his federal crack sentence is reduced (he has five years to do on a federal conviction which he starts when he leaves VA DOC in June 2012.  In July, President Obama signed into law, applying retroactive sentencing guidelines, that corrects the harsh disparity between crack versus powder cocaine sentences) snapped out. 

He picked the obnoxious inmate up and threw him on the heated stove causing second degree burns.  Woo pled guilty to a simple charge of fighting (could have been much worse), and is doing fifteen days in the hole.  His security level is being raised.  His good time (what little we receive) taken (adding 90 plus additional days to his sentence).  He has been removed from his job and college.

I have become aggressively pacifistic (an oxymoron if ever I heard one) since my arrest.  Violence is never the solution.  Behavior – fighting especially – to settle disputes in prison is commonplace.  I regularly recite the mantra to the guys “you can’t put your hands on someone in the real world”.  Unfortunately, in the “real world” too often “might makes right”.  Violence begets violence.  As Gandhi said “an eye for an eye and we’ll all be blind.”

How will Woo respond?  How will the loss of his job, college and good time affect him for the remainder of his bid?  What has he learned from this that will ensure he won’t repeat the insanity?  This is Woo’s third time in prison.  I pray it’s his last but this past week gave me reasons to think it isn’t.

Monday night the 5:00 pm news put up the photo of a “convicted sex offender” caught in a high school parking lot in Richmond.  “An investigation revealed the offender had failed to register.”  The offender?  Alexander, the “lawyer” I’d written about previously who made thousands of dollars each month off the hopes of inmates seeking a way out, the same guy who became involved with an officer this past summer which led to him being investigated and her being fired.  The same Alexander who was only released 56 days ago.

As I’ve written before, I met Alexander at the Henrico Jail.  To see someone I knew in jail came as a complete shock to me.  I’d seen him around bar events, legal ed seminars, and the like from time to time.  My gut reaction always was “this guy’s full of it”.  My opinion didn’t change when I saw him at the jail or later when I saw him here.  He was too cocky, too crazy with the officers, and to quick to tell guys their cases were beatable.  I avoided him.

Some of the officers had tipped me off that things weren’t as Alexander said.  He’d tell guys he ran a $4 million plus scheme on the street to gain inmate awe (point of information:  million dollar thefts carry reverence in prison.  I am treated as a genius because I was dumb enough to get caught after steeling $2 million).  He, in fact, took $30,000 from a trust account.  He also neglected to tell guys he had a 1999 conviction for indecency with a minor.

Even worse, there were indications Alexander hadn’t learned anything from his stay in the hole his last three months here – or his three plus year bid.  A number of guys had stopped me the past few weeks asking for help putting letters and materials together to mail to Alexander.  “He’s agreed to have his law firm handle my appeal,” they’d tell me.  Problem is, there is no law firm.  Alexander isn’t a lawyer.  He’s still running the same hustle he ran in here.

Now, he’s back in jail.  He’s facing new charges and these are serious:  failure to register is a major problem for a sex offender.  Being in a school zone as an unregistered convicted sex offender makes things even worse.  Alexander will, in all likelihood, be back in prison within the next few months.  He’ll get new time for his new charges and additional time for his violation of the terms of his probation.

For the guys in here still doing time, it’s just another dumb ass who gets out and screws up and makes it that much tougher on the rest of us to get out early.  Will Alexander ever get it together?  The answer appears to be doubtful.

And then there is Gary.  Gary is an Episcopal minister, a rector at a well-established church in Richmond.  Shortly after my arrest a dear friend who came almost daily to see me telephoned my minister.  The minister’s response when my friend asked him to visit me at the jail?  “I’m not getting in the middle of his legal problems and his marital problems.”  He wasn’t the only one from my church who rejected me after my arrest.  But the sting of being rejected by my clergy was deep.

My friend turned to his own pastor – Gary – to visit me.  Gary didn’t know me.  He’d never met me.  I wasn’t a member of his flock.  Yet, this man, this stranger, called on me at the jail.  He continued to do so monthly.

When I transferred to the hell that was receiving, Gary showed up.  He listened to me.  When I cried out asking “why” he didn’t offer simple, easy explanations for the mystery that is God.  Shortly after my arrival at receiving he sent me a card with the archangel Michael portrayed.  “Michael is the angel who guards and protects the Lord’s people” he wrote.  I put that card on the bunk so that every night as I lay there hearing the screams throughout the building I saw Michael.  That card, that angel, greets me every time I open my locker.

Throughout my stay here at Lunenburg Gary has written me – and visited.  He sent two amazing books about Christian meditation that helped me “silence the noise” in my head during prayers and bask in the quiet presence of God. There are two men that have led me to a deeper understanding of the mystery and magnificence of the Lord.  Gary and my friend Harley, who asked Gary to visit, are those men.

When I seek to model my Christian life after someone, it’s Gary I think of.  He had no reason to reach out to me.  Yet, his faith led him to me.  I am surviving this because of people like Gary.

Last night I received a copy of a letter Gary mailed to his parishioners.  My friend sent it with a short note that said “keep Gary in your prayers”.   Gary advised his congregation that he’d been diagnosed with non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma.  “The doctors are optimistic” he wrote about his prognosis.

I have taken to heart conversations and letters I’ve shared with this wonderful pastor.  Life does indeed not appear to make sense sometimes.  And trials and suffering make their way into our lives and they test us to the point of breaking.  But, God is good.  He is in the midst of all storms and He does see us through.

Every night since that first visit he made to the jail, Gary has been included in my prayers.  I don’t understand why or how cancer strikes.  I don’t understand why good people suffer.  But I do know Gary will be fine.  He is a good man and has the love, respect, and prayers of many.

Three men I know this week confronted trials.  Like all of us, some of the trials faced were the result of anger and impulse, or pride and arrogance, and others just visited upon us for no reason.  I pray for all three men that their trials awaken in them the true purpose God calls them to.

And these three remind me of a story:  “A Rottweiler, an attorney and a priest walk into a bar…”