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.

Saltine Boxes and Nonsense

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

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

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

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

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

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

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