This Past Week

Every week in here the monotony somehow gets broken up by slightly off-kilter conversations and events.  Opie has developed a strange habit of not going outside (avoiding rec) except on weekends.  He bought into the prison logic that the more you sleep, the quicker your “bid” goes by.

This past week temperatures hit the century mark (with a heat index topping 106).  I went out and had a leisurely run and Opie, he decided to forgo his sleep regimen that day and “get a little sun”.  You guessed it – Opie got sunburned.

Now Opie is a big, muscular kid.  He’s a kid who grew up in the prison system.  He’s been in fistfights, beaten with locks, belts, and shanked (stabbed) twice while locked up.  But, when it comes to things like colds and sunburn he is, well, he is a little kid.  All day yesterday he whined and moaned “my sunburn hurts”.  He tried to go to medical even filing an emergency grievance to “get some salve.  I’m in pain damn it!”  But, his request was turned down (most emergency med requests are turned down.  “It isn’t life threatening.”)

So Opie has sunburn.  He’s been locked up, disrespected, beaten, stabbed, ignored, had good time taken away and he never batted an eye.  But his red chest – the world was coming to an end. ____________________________________________________________________

Against the backdrop of Opie’s sunburn, there was Paulie’s legitimate med emergency.  Paulie’s an ex-marine:  two tours in Iraq; was in Fallujah during the “bad run”.  Paulie’s doing four years on some ridiculous grand larceny case and a prescription pill addiction.  He’s mid-twenties and he has bleeding ulcers.

The other night – 2:00 am – Paulie collapsed in his cut, coughing up blood.  Medical was called and he was wheeled out and transported to the hospital.  Two days later he was back.  “I’m on a bland diet”, he told me (who isn’t?).  I only have a year left.  They said I can get it fixed better when I get out.”  That is prison medical care.  Lock people up, push pills rather than proper treatment, and put band aids on serious problems.  Medical costs are skyrocketing in prisons.  The solution is, let the non-dangerous inmates go.  That, it seems, is too obvious.

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The dorm political debate the past week focused on New York State passing a law recognizing gay marriage.  Prison is a funny place.  Guys are in here – many back for a second and third visit – and rules don’t matter to them.  Except when it comes to homosexuality.  Then, everyone (well, almost everyone) becomes a member of Focus on the Family.

There is a well-defined group of gays in prison and they are extremely flamboyant.  The dirty little secret is they all have boyfriends.  Associating with gay inmates is almost as bad as being a snitch – except for gang leaders.  Then, it’s business (they serve as “mules” – sneak contraband in).  There is this fear that permeates the general population that these “she men” can turn you.  It’s a clear lack of understanding about human sexuality and your own sexual orientation.  It also helps explain – in part – the ultra testosterone charge guys exhibit in here.  Every compliment has to include the catch phrase “no homo”. 

So, New York passed same sex marriage and the dorm went nuts.  “It’s disgusting.”  It’s immoral.”  “It’s against God’s law” (funny, so is murder, theft, tattoos).  “The children suffer.”

The irony isn’t lost on me.  The guys most upset are the ones who routinely talk about the four babies’ mommas they “ain’t payin’ to support”.  Having multiple offspring by multiple unwed partners is somehow better than two people in love raising a child when the two are the same sex.

A couple of guys asked my opinion.  I’ve changed.  I used to be anti-gay marriage.  I thought marriage vows were sacred; that the mystery of God’s love for us was expressed in a man and woman pledging fidelity and love “no matter what”.  Then, I felt the pain of rejection.  Those vows – always a loophole available.  Marriage is the ultimate commitment.  You lay everything on the line for your spouse because God lays everything on the line for us.  Unfortunately, the vast majority of us are too self-centered and too unwilling to go through the valleys – “the worse” – and bail when the “betters” dry up.  Commitment and love aren’t defined by your sexual orientation.

I reminded the guys of a U.S. Supreme Court case from the 1960’s.  It overturned a Virginia law that made it illegal for blacks and whites to marry.  It seems to me we’d do better focusing on love and commitment and less on how people look.

The last three years I’ve come to some startling revelations about myself.  One that I think about quite regularly is that I was a racist.  I know, we’re all a little racist.  But being a minority in prison has opened my eyes.  White Americans don’t know how tough it is to be a young, black man in America.  Here’s a simple truth:  blacks account for 12% of the population and close to 60% of the inmates.  Yet, drug use in the black community and white community is at the same level.  Fact is, if you’re a young, black male chances are a criminal charge will land you in prison.  The same can’t be said for white kids.

There are a lot of reasons for this discrepancy.  I don’t think the law intends to be racially biased.  I think it just happens.  You have a young, poor, black kid and he gets an overworked public defender or worse, a court appointed lawyer who just wants to get the file closed.  So deals are made, corners cut, and these guys come to prison in record numbers.

In my last three years I’ve been treated with deep respect by young, black men whom prior to this experience I would have shunned.  I have developed friendships with guys like DC, and Ty, and Saleem; men from world’s far removed from mine.

Will we ever be able to not see color? I’m not sure.  You can’t help but notice when someone looks differently.  But, it took prison for me to realize people are all pretty much alike.  We all really just want to be loved and appreciated.  We’re more alike than different.

Randy – the workout guru – had 31, mostly young, guys on the rec yard this morning working out.  Lunges, sprints, calisthenics; on and on they went through this routine.

I was jogging on my own, stopping for reps of dips and pull-ups and some interval sprints.

Later in the day, Randy stopped by my cut, cup of coffee in hand.  He’d just returned from the watch commander’s office.  Seems the tower witnessed his group workout.  Prisons hate crowds.  No groups of inmates numbering over four are allowed to congregate unless it’s an organized church service or program.  It is a series 100 charge (and you will get shipped to max security) for an inmate to organize any work stoppage or protest (ironic huh, in the “land of the free”).

Fortunately for Randy, the watch commander knows he’s just leading a workout.  Things that you take for granted outside are a big deal in here, like who you hang out with.

I’ve got a whole group of guys hooked on “House”.  Frankly, it’s probably the best written show on TV.

Two things from recent episodes.  A friend sarcastically told House “so the great Doctor House doesn’t deserve to be happy?”  He’d been beating himself up for decisions he’d made, relationships that ended.  His friend was right.  House deserved better.  Not everything was his fault.  I understood that.  I’ve dealt with a lot these past three years and beat the hell out of myself for everything.  I made a good many mistakes, but I’m a decent, loving guy.  As Big S and a lawyer buddy from the street have told me, I deserve better.  And I’ll get it eventually.
Lastly, I rewatched the House episode where his love, “Cuddy” broke up with him.  She couldn’t stay with him after learning he’d slipped and taken Vicodin again (House, you see is not just a brilliant, sarcastic doctor; he’s also addicted to prescription pain pills).

House begged Cuddy “don’t do this to us.  I’m doing the best I can.”  Her reply, “that’s not enough”.  Not enough.  I felt those words.  Love, even when you’re broken, is supposed to be enough.

My friend Craig told me his closest friend from the street let him know he was going through a divorce.  “Larry, he’s one of the nicest guys in the world.  She came home, told him she met and fell in love with someone else and she didn’t love him anymore.”  I told Craig my divorce weighs on me more than anything.  There was, frankly, no loss, no pain that hurt more.

“That’s not enough”.  Sad, searing words.  Damn fine writing.

GED tests are being given this coming Wednesday and Thursday to those students who earned passing scores on our recent placement testing.  Three of my guys are going for their GEDs.  One – Hayward – I’m thrilled for.  I met Hayward my first day working at the school in December 2009.  He’d had no success in school or with tutors during his bid.  Reading and math were at third grade levels.  Yet, he is an amazing artist.  He uses a pencil in both hands writing words and math problems with both simultaneously.

In one of those weird things that only can happen in a place like this, we hit it off.  He started improving, gradually at first.  Last week’s placement test results confirmed what I’d been seeing:  he was high school grad material.

Guys in here occasionally ask me why I work so hard and smile so much.  All I needed to keep motivated was the look on Hayward’s face when he realized he succeeded. 

Fraternizing 101

We had a troubling incident hit on B side Thursday.  “A”, a mid-forties, married, black lawyer from Richmond, was taken out of the building in handcuffs and led to the hole.  Right now, he’s “under investigation”.  People are pretty tight lipped, but it’s obvious this isn’t your run of the mill visit to the hole.  They don’t take guys out in handcuffs or “cease all movement” on the boulevard when leading an inmate from the building to the hole.  “A” broke a major DOC taboo.  He was fooling around with an officer.

I’ve had an interesting three year experience with “A”.  The day I was arrested and hauled to the Henrico Jail, he was already there.  That was his second visit to jail.  Both times, wheeling and dealing with client trust funds.  He knew all the “big hitters”, the top criminal lawyers in Richmond and had heard me speak at a continuing ed seminar a few years earlier.  A likeable guy, he was none the less, a first class bullshitter.  I knew that when I saw him at the jail so I had no illusions what dealing with him entailed.

June, 2009 rolls around and he tells me “I’m going home; getting my law license reinstated”.  I’m there; mired in deep depression and despair just into my first year of imprisonment and this guy – with his second conviction under his belt – is heading home to rejoin the world.  Sure enough, the next day he’s called out.

Two months later, I get introduced to receiving hell.  For the next four plus months after my transfer I suffer, genuinely suffer, in the worst conditions imaginable battling each day to maintain my dignity, humanity and sanity.  Then, on November 20^th in ’09 I’m transferred to this Shangri La and who is the first person I see as I’m pushing my cart up the boulevard?  “A”.  The bullshitter leaves this July 15^th.

He and I view the world – this world – differently.  He carries himself around the compound like a political candidate telling fellow inmates how he’s going to say this and that to the warden.  Me, I avoid discussions with the administration.  They have a job to do, but so do I.  There job is to hold men here and enforce sentences according to their interpretation of the law and DOC procedures.  My job is to get out of here as early as I can and point out the insanity of the system that keeps them employed.

“A” thinks he can work with them.  He plays up his legal contacts all the time.  Yet, his knowledge level is low.  That’s the thing I’ve learned about bullshitters.  They talk a good game, but they don’t back it up with facts.  “A” comes to me when he’s asked about the law.

“Pride goes before the fall.”  I’ve lived that.  There’s a reason Micah told the people of Israel that the Lord wants His people to seek justice and “walk humbly before your God”.  Hubris kills.

“A’s” been bullshitting a female CO.  She’s attractive enough.  Of course I define attractive through the eyes of someone still reeling over heartbreak from love lost.  But, she’s OK.  She treats the guys well, very pleasant and fair.  But, she’s an officer.  There is a weird psychological occurrence in prison in which guys believe females on the compound dig them.  I don’t get it and the vast majority of times it’s just guys fooling themselves.  But it does happen.  Female officers, female counselors, female psychologists and teachers, fall for inmates and engage in inappropriate relationships.

“A” and this officer had such a relationship.  It was common knowledge.  He’d end up in the office with her and the lights would turn off.  Something happened recently that even went further.  No one knows exactly what – but “A” crossed a line and the fraternization came out and now he’s in the hole and she’s under investigation. 

As I’ve written before, prison life imitates the “real world”.  It’s not called fraternizing out there, but it’s the same thing.  One only has to turn the TV on and see “Aanold” or John Edwards or Congressman Weiner (there are so many jokes I could make here) who followed their groins instead of their brain.  It’s not just a man thing.  Each of those men was involved with a woman.  And those women they were involved with all knew those men were married.

And the really strange thing is, I don’t get it.  We spend our lifetime looking for that one person and then we look for physical intimacy elsewhere.  “A’s” jeopardized his release and his marriage for a couple of carnal connections with an officer.  She’ll probably lose her job.

It all comes back to my alter-ego Dr. Gregory House.  In an episode from five or six years ago, his former lover shows up with her husband who is dying.  House is a broken man – physically, with a damaged leg and Vicodin habit to dull the pain; emotionally, with a broken heart from losing this woman.  He’s fragile and, in a recurring theme season after season, finds it nearly impossible to love another woman.

As with every “House” episode, he finds the correct diagnosis and the husband’s life is saved.  His ex comes to see him and says the following:

“You want the truth?  I still love you.  I always will.  You are the one, the only.  But this life is easier.”

Fast forward.  House is alone in his home.  There’s the background music, Mick Jagger singing:

“You can’t always get what you want

             But if you try some times
             You just might find
            You get what you need.”

House pops a pain pill.   It dulls him.  But, it doesn’t completely take away the ache he feels in his heart for this woman he loves.  Pain, loneliness, heartbreak suck.  Yet, they are preferable to the quick empty feeling of fraternizing.  Ask Arnold if it was worth it; or John Edwards.  Ask “A”.  I think they’d tell you they’re just a bunch of weiners.

A Corinthian House

Who would have guessed that my depressing week would continue thanks to a TV show which, in turn, would cause me to admit some very painful truths to myself.


As I’ve written before, I really enjoy the TV drama “House”. I think I like the show because I relate to his character so easily. He is, next to me, the most arrogant, sarcastic, condescending person I’ve seen.


For the past few weeks I’ve felt my hope toss and turn much like a small sailboat at mooring being battered by a hurricane. In short, I have felt like an emotional basket case. Monday evening “House” came on. The scene was set with House sitting on a bench outside a school principal’s office with a preteen boy and girl. As with every episode, House had done something ethically suspect. But, this episode had the undercurrent of a breakup with Cuddy, his beautiful, intelligent girlfriend. The preteen girl kept asking him “why is she mad at you?”


Flashback and we see House being House. He is acting self-centered, ignoring Cuddy, doing what he wants. A worn out Cuddy finally says “I know you love me. But, you don’t care about me. If you did you wouldn’t treat me the way you do.”


“If you cared about me.” Those words bounced around in my brain for a few days. Those were words I heard and read from someone more dear to me than life itself, someone more beautiful, intelligent and patient than I could describe.


The next day, I received a pastor’s Valentine’s Day sermon built around Paul’s first letter to the Church of Corinth. The thirteenth chapter of that letter is recognized by almost everyone who has been to a church wedding. “Love is patient,” Paul says. He says a whole lot in a few simple lines. The more I read the sermon, the more I read Paul’s words, the more I understood what Cuddy meant.


I finally realized what Paul was telling the folks in Corinth was “You’ve got to let go of your old, narcissistic life.” I realized I used to think of his words as the “Eros” kind of love. “You know ‘love is how you make me feel.” As I read and reread his words, I realized for far too long in my marriage I had been a lousy husband, a lousy father. I realized far too many times I had been envious, arrogant and rude. I had insisted on having my way. That may pass for an Ok husband today, but it doesn’t make me a loving one according to Paul.


Love is not resentful. I realized when Jesus said love our enemies he wasn’t just talking about some far off power, he meant the people who wronged us. That includes the people we live with. Carrying baggage is wrong. Until we can forgive, we are the ones who suffer the wound.


That was Paul’s list of what love isn’t. Then he told us what love is. Simply put, real love is tough. It is patient. It never gives up and never walks out. It is kind; it rejoices in truth. It will bear all things, it looks for the best, believing and willing to hang in there – enduring all things.


That is tough, real tough. And, I knew in my heart I hardly lived up to any of that. I hated to admit it, but I was lousy at real love.


So back to House. He goes through a series of absolutely absurd acts to do something to prove to Cuddy he really does care. “I need her in my life more than she needs me.” I thought about that single line for hours. It was a line House uttered at his most vulnerable, his most honest.


There were few times I lived up to truly loving my wife and kids. That became painfully obvious as I recounted to myself the lies I told to cover my stealing. Then, I remembered that at least one time, when everything mattered, when my life hung in the balance, I did the right thing, the loving thing. Funny as it may sound, it wasn’t a tough decision.


House went and apologized to Cuddy. He admitted his shortcomings. He then told her “I understand you need time. That’s ok” Cuddy then invited him over. Relationship restored another happy ending. It was an amazing episode. Unfortunately, that’s not life, at least not my life.


The thing I realized about love, the love Paul was talking about, is sometimes you’ve got to let go. Sometimes, no matter how much it hurts, you have to say “Ok, I can’t beg, plead, cajole or persuade. I love you and that’s why your decision is alright with me.”


By the time I hit the end of the week, I felt better. Not great, but I knew in my heart I really did in fact love those three and I was Ok if they were safe, secure and happy even if it was without me.


I pulled out Big S’s modern language Bible and read Paul’s words again:


Love never gives up
Love cares more for others than for self
Love doesn’t want what it doesn’t have
Love doesn’t strut,
Doesn’t have a swelled head,
Doesn’t force itself on others,
Isn’t always “me first;”
It doesn’t fly off the handle
Doesn’t keep score of the sins of others
Doesn’t revel when others grovel
Takes pleasure in the flowering of truth.
Love puts up with anything,
Trusts God always,
Always looks for the best,
Never looks back
But keeps going to the end.
Love never dies.


I realized as I thought about House and Cuddy, about my life, that Paul was on to perhaps the most important single lesson I’d struggled with since my arrest. Love, I figured out, isn’t about how others make you feel. It’s about how you make others feel. It’s about being willing to give everything up for another and never giving up hope.


Those folks in Corinth were fortunate. They got the message a lot sooner than I did.

House Full of Thoughts

I’m a big fan of the TV show “House”. House is the name of the main character, an opinionated, arrogant, SOB doctor with a rash of human faults. He’s condescending, has a hurtful, cutting, sarcastic tongue, and demeans his staff. He also is hopelessly in love with the hospital administrator, Cuddy.



I enjoy House as a character because I feel a certain kinship with him. He is a difficult man, an exasperating man, a broken man, but a good man none the less.


Last week, House was trying to get back in Cuddy’s good graces after she realized he had lied to her. To House, everyone lies and his lie to Cuddy had nothing to do with his relationship with her. To Cuddy, any lie, involves the relationship. House’s solution is simple. He won’t apologize or admit he’s wrong; he’ll just point out to her all the lies he’s caught her in.


Anyone who’s ever been in a relationship can guess how House’s solution works out. I’ve thought a great deal about lying, and trust, and the way men and women react to those issues in relationships.


I’ve always tended to separate lying to my wife about the money I was stealing from my underlying love for her. Compartmentalize it, I thought. My lies, my stealing, had nothing to do with my feelings for her or our relationship. Trouble is, I was wrong.


Garth Brooks said in an interview recently “you can lie to anyone except the voice inside.” Lying to my wife was just like lying to myself. Eventually, I couldn’t look myself in the mirror and couldn’t look her in the eye.


Years ago, I would have rationalized that a few lies wouldn’t hurt a relationship. Having gone through this, I now think otherwise.


Here’s a strange thing, I learned it honestly. My father regularly kept things from my mom. Not big things (that I’m aware of), but “things”. He’d make deals with my brother and me. “Your mom doesn’t know . . .” She’d get mad, time would pass and right back he’d go to making decisions on his own.


Me, I started out telling my wife everything. I told her every dream, every frustration, every minute detail of my day. Things changed. We had issues; I couldn’t tell her how worried I was about her, how frustrated I was with her family. So, I held back, I had secrets, I fudged the truth. It made it that much easier to rationalize the “big lie”, stealing to make everybody think I “was the man”. Once you head down that road, it’s tough to go back.


My wife never had doubts about my faithfulness, never thought I’d cheat on her. I never did. I told her exactly who I was with, where I’d gone. It just wasn’t worth taking a risk to lose her over another woman.


I wish I had the same attitude when it came to my decision to take money years ago to buy her dream house. Lies are built on rationalization. We rationalize; we project how our partner will react. In truth (funny, huh?) we don’t know how someone will respond to the truth. Regardless of how they respond, they deserve the truth.


It’s been difficult for me to admit that. It’s even tougher now because so many things were written and said by my wife leading up to our divorce that have made me think she was never honest with me. That hurts deeply.


Life isn’t like TV. House apologized to Cuddy (still, he thought he was right) and they were fine (at least until next week’s episode). I can’t re-write our scenes. I can’t come up with a happy ending. As much as I’d like to think it would matter, my epiphany is too late.


Garth Brooks was right, you can’t lie to yourself. It took me way too long to learn that.