My ex and I were dog lovers. From the moment we bought our first home we had a dog. Emilee, a sweet, tri-colored basset hound, was soon paired up with Emerson, a black and white basset. Then, we had Tami, an amazing brindle colored Scottie. After a couple of years of Tami alone, we added George to the mix. George was a lovable little westie. He drove Tami crazy, but she eventually learned to tolerate him.
After Tami passed away, we were at a fundraiser. My ex fell in love with a floppy-eared German short-haired pointer pup – Clinton. He may have been the smartest dog we ever owned, but he was stubborn, not easily trained (he grew to weigh around 60 pounds and would never avoid leaping on people). He was high energy. A “sporting” dog, he needed to be run miles every day to wear him out.
Weeks after I was arrested I learned my wife had returned him to the farmer who had given him as an item at the fundraiser. She just couldn’t manage to get him the exercise he needed and deal with all the turbulence created by my arrest and pending trial. It tore me up to learn she had given our dog up, a dog I took running in the woods every weekend.
She and I loved our dogs, though our personalities with them were different. She trained them, housebroke them, disciplined them. I never did. I was too impatient (“why is this dog still peeing in the house?”) and I just wasn’t good at saying “no” or disciplining and being firm. Yet both of us cried our eyes out the day we had to put Tami to sleep. She was racked with cancer, barely able to stand or get to the steps. I dug her grave in our flower garden. With our younger son participating (our older was at college) we buried Tami with her favorite chew toy and ball.
I learned this week from a friend that our westie – George – is ill. There is a story about George I never shared with anyone, but I’ve thought often of it as I deal with broken men and broken relationships.
My ex, as I’ve indicated before, was a perfectionist. She accepted as her personal mission that George would be housebroken in record time. I contributed nothing to the process other than point out how many wet spots were on the carpet.
One evening I came home from work and found her holding George, his left rear leg in a splint. She was crying deeply. “Oh Larry. I got frustrated. He wouldn’t go out. I kept taking him out and he wouldn’t go. Then right in front of me, sitting in the living room, he squatted and peed.”
She told me she picked him up, carried him down the stairs and gently tossed him on the grass. But, he landed awkwardly and immediately took weight off the leg. She drove him to the vet and lied about what happened. An x-ray determined the leg was fractured.
“I’m a terrible person, a terrible mom. I hurt him. I didn’t mean to, but I did. The kids will hate me.” Tears rolled down her cheeks. I put my arms around her and gently kissed her cheek. “It was an accident, honey. You didn’t mean to do it.”
I looked at George. He was snuggled up to her. He certainly was in no fear. He was contentedly lying in her arms, his tail wagging. “I love you and know you. You aren’t a terrible person. George is fine.”
I never said a word about how George broke his leg. I knew she didn’t mean to hurt him. It was a careless, impulsive act by a decent, loving person. Funny, she forgot that family story as she decided I intentionally hurt her, I was despicable, I deserved to go to prison.
I realize as I work with guys in here, whether it involves school or legal issues, that I find the good in almost all of them. I’ve heard and read some horrendously violent descriptions of murders and assaults. But, I’ve also looked these guys in the eye. I’ve seen the regret and the scars and pain these guys carry over their actions. And, I’ve been in the visitation room and watched them with their small children. As with my ex-wife, I know good people are capable of bad decisions, bad actions.
This may seem odd, but my year in jail, my four months in the most despicable, unsafe, poorly run facility know as “Powhatan Receiving”, and my thirteen months here, have confirmed for me what I long suspected: people, by and large, are good. We all make terrible mistakes (sometimes more than once). We all will resort to a lie to keep our shame or embarrassment hidden. And, we all live with regret over the consequences of our decisions.
I knew the kind of woman my then wife was. I knew she didn’t mean to hurt that cute, stubborn, little white ball of fur. I knew she felt terrible about what happened. Why should I jump on her, condemn her, get angry with her.
We are all fallible. I try and remember that when I’m dealing with the men in here. Sometimes, it’s easier to judge someone else’s failures without realizing you’re capable of the same behavior, or worse.
Over and over in the Bible we are reminded “though the righteous man stumbles, He will not let him fall”. We are told “the righteous man falls seven times but he gets up again”. There is a message about our fallibility.
Righteousness isn’t about being perfect. It’s about sitting on a porch crying with regret because you hurt your dog accidentally and it’s about not condemning or judging that person.
There are a large number of people locked away in Virginia, close to 40,000. The vast majority, like me, are guilty. But that doesn’t make them any less righteous, any less deserving of compassion and mercy, than good people, like me ex. Ultimately, our righteousness is measured not by our judgment, but our mercy.
George knew my ex loved him. That’s why he sat so peacefully with her. We can learn a good deal about love and mercy from our dogs.
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
The "At Risk" Grant
Within the next few weeks, I’ll move from my current building to another one on the compound. My new “home” will look exactly like my current home. There will be the same number of bunks (96), same number of showers, sinks and commodes; same dimension building. The difference will be the guys residing there.
I’m one of seven “dorm mentors” for a college/technical training dorm. All seven mentors have Bachelor’s degrees at a minimum. Two of us have law degrees; one has his masters in chemistry. Approximately half the men are enrolled under a federal grant as students pursuing an Associate’s degree through the local community college. There are five terms during the year, three or four classes per term. Instructors come in from the “outside world” to teach their classes. It normally takes an inmate three full years to earn his degree.
The other forty inmates are enrolled in a new initiative aimed at “high risk” offenders. These are men who have had repeated run-ins with law enforcement – usually involving drug dealing and using. They scored “high” on a profile test indicating there is a significant likelihood these guys will get out (all are within two years of release) and return to the same criminal behavior that led to their imprisonment because (1) the deck is heavily stacked against felons, and (2) these guys have limited, marketable skills.
The program – funded by a $750,000 grant and operated by the community college – combines a college general studies curriculum with intense IT training. Four days and evenings a week (Monday through Thursday, 12:30 – 3:30 and 6:30 – 9:00) these guys will be in class.
When they are released there will be resources available to assist them with job placement, dealing with probation issues, and staying clear of the environments and impulses that put them in here.
It’s a laudable, worthy goal and I was excited when the principal asked me to be a mentor.
This program should be the standard for prison rehabilitation for almost every inmate. Unfortunately, it wouldn’t even be considered had the economy not sunk into this long, painful recession. For too long, the public has been told a huge lie by politicians: “You can lock people up for long periods of time without repercussions”.
That lie has led to Virginia’s explosion in its inmate population and the geometric growth in cost and manpower to operate its prison system. $1 billion plus annually. Think about that. $1 billion to operate a system that holds slightly less than 40,000 offenders. And that $1 billion doesn’t include the cost to operate DCE (the Department of Corrections Education, the largest school district in the Commonwealth). It doesn’t include the millions of dollars spent each year by the Attorney General’s office defending (and losing a fair number this year) lawsuits brought by and on behalf of the incarcerated. It does not include the millions spent on welfare, mental health services, community outreach projects; to monitor and maintain broken men and women released from the meat grinder known as corrections who have received little in the way of actual rehabilitation and training while locked up.
While people are busy thanking George Allen for abolishing parole as Governor (a decision I too applauded at the time), someone should ask him if it was worth the cost, in dollars and lives damaged. If he was honest, he’d have to answer no.
This new program is a good first step. But, it is merely a band aid on a severed artery. The entire system is broken. Every man and woman that comes under the control of the Department of Corrections is at risk. Prison reform must become a reality. The cost to do otherwise is astronomical.
I’m one of seven “dorm mentors” for a college/technical training dorm. All seven mentors have Bachelor’s degrees at a minimum. Two of us have law degrees; one has his masters in chemistry. Approximately half the men are enrolled under a federal grant as students pursuing an Associate’s degree through the local community college. There are five terms during the year, three or four classes per term. Instructors come in from the “outside world” to teach their classes. It normally takes an inmate three full years to earn his degree.
The other forty inmates are enrolled in a new initiative aimed at “high risk” offenders. These are men who have had repeated run-ins with law enforcement – usually involving drug dealing and using. They scored “high” on a profile test indicating there is a significant likelihood these guys will get out (all are within two years of release) and return to the same criminal behavior that led to their imprisonment because (1) the deck is heavily stacked against felons, and (2) these guys have limited, marketable skills.
The program – funded by a $750,000 grant and operated by the community college – combines a college general studies curriculum with intense IT training. Four days and evenings a week (Monday through Thursday, 12:30 – 3:30 and 6:30 – 9:00) these guys will be in class.
When they are released there will be resources available to assist them with job placement, dealing with probation issues, and staying clear of the environments and impulses that put them in here.
It’s a laudable, worthy goal and I was excited when the principal asked me to be a mentor.
This program should be the standard for prison rehabilitation for almost every inmate. Unfortunately, it wouldn’t even be considered had the economy not sunk into this long, painful recession. For too long, the public has been told a huge lie by politicians: “You can lock people up for long periods of time without repercussions”.
That lie has led to Virginia’s explosion in its inmate population and the geometric growth in cost and manpower to operate its prison system. $1 billion plus annually. Think about that. $1 billion to operate a system that holds slightly less than 40,000 offenders. And that $1 billion doesn’t include the cost to operate DCE (the Department of Corrections Education, the largest school district in the Commonwealth). It doesn’t include the millions of dollars spent each year by the Attorney General’s office defending (and losing a fair number this year) lawsuits brought by and on behalf of the incarcerated. It does not include the millions spent on welfare, mental health services, community outreach projects; to monitor and maintain broken men and women released from the meat grinder known as corrections who have received little in the way of actual rehabilitation and training while locked up.
While people are busy thanking George Allen for abolishing parole as Governor (a decision I too applauded at the time), someone should ask him if it was worth the cost, in dollars and lives damaged. If he was honest, he’d have to answer no.
This new program is a good first step. But, it is merely a band aid on a severed artery. The entire system is broken. Every man and woman that comes under the control of the Department of Corrections is at risk. Prison reform must become a reality. The cost to do otherwise is astronomical.
Don't Give Up the Fight
This week I did something in a legal pleading I never considered doing before. In my Petition to the Virginia Supreme Court challenging my sentence on Sixth Amendment grounds, I deviated from mere arguments on the application of the law. In my conclusion I quoted from both Bob Dylan and Bob Marley and urged the Judges on the court to address the unjust results that are so prevalent in multitudes of cases involving the incarcerated.
I normally shy away from political statements in the legal documents I draft. Perhaps it was because of my legal training or it may have been reading “jailhouse lawyer” documents that were heavy on flowery language about freedom but lacked basic knowledge of statutes and case holdings. In either case, I urge guys to focus on what the law says rather than go on some self-serving “it’s all about me” tirade that focuses on using big words without making a point.
I changed my rule with my own pleading. I did so after two guys spoke to me about my incarceration. The first guy is one of my GED students. He’s 22 and an extremely bright kid. His last grade completed: 8th. He was in and out of alternative school and juvenile detention. Yet, placement testing indicates he reads at a college level. He always has a book with him, philosophy mostly. This week we were discussing Immanuel Kant.
He told me “you’re the smartest guy I’ve ever met”. I told him, if I was so smart, I wouldn’t have done what I did and risk my family and my freedom!
But then he said this: “You’re smart enough to tell these people prison isn’t the answer.”
The second man who spoke to me was one of the law librarians. “Ty” has been locked up since the mid-eighties for a series of store robberies to support a drug habit. In his early sixties now, he is ineligible for parole because of his multiple offenses. He has six more years before he’s released. Ty is one of the men I hold in deep regard. He is a kind, wise gentleman who has seen and overcome a great deal of brutality in the prison system. I trust his opinion and value his friendship.
He was watching me craft my arguments for the court when he told me that “so many of the men in here fighting their own cases take their cues from you. They hear you talk about changing the system, speaking out, not losing hope. They’re starting to believe things will get better”.
There is a Bob Marley song called “Get Up Stand Up”. Over and over, with the reggae beat moving on, Marley sings “don’t give up the fight.” I listened intently to that song the other evening as I put the finishing touches on my brief.
Supreme Court Justice Steven Breyer in a television interview with Fox News said the following:
“Judges are not politicians. You can’t hold your finger up to the direction of the political wind to judge with justice.”
I have made that point to the Virginia Supreme Court. Whatever politicians may say, the simple fact is the current level of incarceration and the length of sentences handed down is neither just nor moral.
In all likelihood, the court will reject my Petition. That’s alright. I will fight on; next step will be the United States District Court. Too much hinges on my situation: my own personal freedom and the hopes of a great many men in here that the system isn’t completed corrupt.
In an article recently in Sport Illustrated, Saints quarterback Drew Brees was profiled as “Sports Person of the Year”. He and his wife have worked tirelessly for New Orleans recovery from Hurricane Katrina.
His road to success wasn’t easy. He faced numerous obstacles and disappointments. He was counted out many times. But, he never gave up. He always had faith.
At the end of the day, faith is a good enough reason to keep fighting for what’s right.
I normally shy away from political statements in the legal documents I draft. Perhaps it was because of my legal training or it may have been reading “jailhouse lawyer” documents that were heavy on flowery language about freedom but lacked basic knowledge of statutes and case holdings. In either case, I urge guys to focus on what the law says rather than go on some self-serving “it’s all about me” tirade that focuses on using big words without making a point.
I changed my rule with my own pleading. I did so after two guys spoke to me about my incarceration. The first guy is one of my GED students. He’s 22 and an extremely bright kid. His last grade completed: 8th. He was in and out of alternative school and juvenile detention. Yet, placement testing indicates he reads at a college level. He always has a book with him, philosophy mostly. This week we were discussing Immanuel Kant.
He told me “you’re the smartest guy I’ve ever met”. I told him, if I was so smart, I wouldn’t have done what I did and risk my family and my freedom!
But then he said this: “You’re smart enough to tell these people prison isn’t the answer.”
The second man who spoke to me was one of the law librarians. “Ty” has been locked up since the mid-eighties for a series of store robberies to support a drug habit. In his early sixties now, he is ineligible for parole because of his multiple offenses. He has six more years before he’s released. Ty is one of the men I hold in deep regard. He is a kind, wise gentleman who has seen and overcome a great deal of brutality in the prison system. I trust his opinion and value his friendship.
He was watching me craft my arguments for the court when he told me that “so many of the men in here fighting their own cases take their cues from you. They hear you talk about changing the system, speaking out, not losing hope. They’re starting to believe things will get better”.
There is a Bob Marley song called “Get Up Stand Up”. Over and over, with the reggae beat moving on, Marley sings “don’t give up the fight.” I listened intently to that song the other evening as I put the finishing touches on my brief.
Supreme Court Justice Steven Breyer in a television interview with Fox News said the following:
“Judges are not politicians. You can’t hold your finger up to the direction of the political wind to judge with justice.”
I have made that point to the Virginia Supreme Court. Whatever politicians may say, the simple fact is the current level of incarceration and the length of sentences handed down is neither just nor moral.
In all likelihood, the court will reject my Petition. That’s alright. I will fight on; next step will be the United States District Court. Too much hinges on my situation: my own personal freedom and the hopes of a great many men in here that the system isn’t completed corrupt.
In an article recently in Sport Illustrated, Saints quarterback Drew Brees was profiled as “Sports Person of the Year”. He and his wife have worked tirelessly for New Orleans recovery from Hurricane Katrina.
His road to success wasn’t easy. He faced numerous obstacles and disappointments. He was counted out many times. But, he never gave up. He always had faith.
At the end of the day, faith is a good enough reason to keep fighting for what’s right.
Thursday, December 23, 2010
Christmas in Prison
I’ve been thinking a great deal about Christmas. John Prine, a truly gifted songwriter and storyteller, has a deeply moving song called “Christmas in Prison”. It never meant a great deal to me until I actually found myself behind the fence.
For so many in here, Christmas is the saddest of all days, a painful reminder of what has been lost. 2008, I suffered terribly as I spent Christmas alone at the Henrico jail. The meal was terrible; I was depressed, disoriented, and feeling without hope. It was the worst Christmas I ever experienced and I found it hard to believe that there were any “tidings of great joy” in store for me.
Perspectives have a way of changing. Last Christmas wasn’t quite as bad. A minister friend sent me a fold out nativity scene. I unfolded it and displayed it through the holiday season. Each day, I saw that cut out with the gold banner above the manger that said “for God so loved the world”. It didn’t matter to me that my wife had divorced me, that my sons had broken off communication with me, that most of my friends had abandoned me, or that I had been treated harshly by the courts. I felt a sense of hope just by looking at that small, cardboard manger.
I put my nativity scene up the other week. Since then, guys – a few dozen – have stopped and looked at it. “That’s beautiful man.” “He lives brother.” “Thanks for reminding me we gonna be alright.” I smile.
I’ve really thought a great deal about the meaning of Christmas. I used to love Christmas. I’d buy dozens of gifts for my wife and kids; I’d buy gifts for all my employees. We’d entertain, have dinners out, enjoy the season with family and friends. Every holiday season I’d watch my favorite Christmas movie, “It’s a Wonderful Life”. I’d choke up and get teary-eyed, as I’d watch Jimmy Stewart contemplate taking his own life rather than face criminal prosecution and bankruptcy. The movie always had a happy ending. Jimmy Stewart’s wife, knowing the kind of man he was, rallied to support him. Friends and neighbors poured into his home and helped him. At the end, his “guardian angel” left him a simple written message: “No man is unsuccessful who has friends.”
Movies are wonderful, that movie especially. Unfortunately, movies don’t mirror life. My wife certainly didn’t play Donna Reed (of course, she’d tell you I’m no Jimmy Stewart). The number of my friends who stood by me dwindled from my arrest to my conviction. Today, even some of those few stalwart friends from early in my incarceration have also fallen away. Unlike Mr. Stewart’s guardian angel, mine left me a message that said “suck rocks loser!”
Still, I’m looking forward to Christmas this year because I’ve had an epiphany. That may not be the correct word. I didn’t suddenly discover some exciting truth. Rather, for the past few weeks I’ve come to a few profound (in my mind anyway) conclusions.
The first thing I realized is that sometimes we get so hung up and worried about what’s going on that we forget the good circumstances right before us. I read an interesting piece the other day that used the story of Moses being told by God to return to Egypt and lead His people to the promise land, initially reacted with fear and trepidation.
“Look at what is in your hand.” God told Moses and at that his shepherd’s staff turned into a snake. The point was we fear moving forward, doing what is right (notice I didn’t say doing what we want or what’s expedient) because of our worry and fear of the future and our regret about the past. Yet God tells us “Trust me. You have everything you need to get through today.” And don’t forget Moses had fled Egypt years earlier after killing a man.
It is difficult to let go of regret over past failures, past hurts, and heartbreak. But, each day I now remind myself no matter how bad things seem, I’m not alone. I’ve figured out, by fits and tears and so much heartache, I have a purpose in being here. No matter what happened “BA” (before arrest); no matter the pain over the divorce and my sons, and my continuing court struggle, I know what is in my hand.
The second thing I’ve learned these past few months is “shalom”, peace. The whole world seems to be going crazy with war, rumors of war, economic upheaval, turmoil in the lives of individuals, and communities and nations. Somehow, I meditate each morning and sleep soundly each night.
Guys ask me almost daily how I can seem so content, so easy going and relaxed in this environment. “Man, you’ve lost more than any guy I ever met yet you’re always smiling.” There’s a wonderful story about the Apostle Peter, on the verge of being executed, he was in a prison cell fast asleep. “An angel of the Lord” sent to break him out had to first wake him.
I’ve found a sense of inner peace amidst the storms and chaos of my incarceration and divorce. It’s bizarre really, but like Lt. Dan confronting God during the hurricane scene in “Forrest Gump”, I had my argument with God. I told him exactly how I felt about all the crap and obstacles I’d faced growing up, all the desires I had to be loved that were ignored, all my dreams I had put aside for others (I’ve written a short story about a guy having this argument with God though I’m not quite ready to share it with my “editors”) and at the end of all the yelling, all the “why did this have to happen”, I experienced a sense of peace I had never known.
Things might not be as I want, but I have faith, in the end, all will turn out right.
And finally, I realized Christmas really is “for God so loved” us. I always equated God as a super-Santa: “He knows when you’re sleeping; He knows when you’re awake . . . so be good for goodness sake.” I heard a young minister recently say “we think God thinks about us the way we think about us.” In other words, when we’re having a good day, God’s happy with us. And when we lie, steal, decide to end our marriage, He’s upset with us. I realized nothing was further from the truth. God loves us, period, no matter what.
More than that, I now understand that on my worst days, when I stole and then came home and lay beside my sleeping wife in tears knowing my entire life was falling apart, at that precise moment God had compassion for me. He loved me, He loves me, unconditionally.
That realization has allowed me to look at the men in here, and folks outside, in an entirely new way. God doesn’t prioritize sins. He doesn’t say “stealing is level 15, murder level 55”, and anger at our spouse, “level 3”. We all sin, we all screw up, we all hurt each other and ourselves. Even Mother Teresa admitted in an interview “I’m far from perfect”.
Yet, God loves us. He loves us no matter what. I think that is what Christmas is really all about. From the beginning of our existence here on this orb we’ve been screwing up. And for years, our Creator watched it all and got upset because His children were wayward. Then He did something inconceivable, and illogical, and irrational. He loved us, in spite of ourselves, He just loved us.
My favorite Bible story is the parable of the prodigal son. There’s one particular verse that stands out. The son has lost everything. His life is over. He decides to return home and beg for forgiveness. “And while he was still a long way away the father saw him and ran to him and kissed him.” The father didn’t need an apology. He didn’t need to pile on and refuse to forgive his son. He just kissed him and loved him.
That story sees me through every day. It doesn’t matter what I’ve done, God still loves me. He loves all of us. There is always hope, always tomorrow. Christmas really is an amazing day, even in prison.
For so many in here, Christmas is the saddest of all days, a painful reminder of what has been lost. 2008, I suffered terribly as I spent Christmas alone at the Henrico jail. The meal was terrible; I was depressed, disoriented, and feeling without hope. It was the worst Christmas I ever experienced and I found it hard to believe that there were any “tidings of great joy” in store for me.
Perspectives have a way of changing. Last Christmas wasn’t quite as bad. A minister friend sent me a fold out nativity scene. I unfolded it and displayed it through the holiday season. Each day, I saw that cut out with the gold banner above the manger that said “for God so loved the world”. It didn’t matter to me that my wife had divorced me, that my sons had broken off communication with me, that most of my friends had abandoned me, or that I had been treated harshly by the courts. I felt a sense of hope just by looking at that small, cardboard manger.
I put my nativity scene up the other week. Since then, guys – a few dozen – have stopped and looked at it. “That’s beautiful man.” “He lives brother.” “Thanks for reminding me we gonna be alright.” I smile.
I’ve really thought a great deal about the meaning of Christmas. I used to love Christmas. I’d buy dozens of gifts for my wife and kids; I’d buy gifts for all my employees. We’d entertain, have dinners out, enjoy the season with family and friends. Every holiday season I’d watch my favorite Christmas movie, “It’s a Wonderful Life”. I’d choke up and get teary-eyed, as I’d watch Jimmy Stewart contemplate taking his own life rather than face criminal prosecution and bankruptcy. The movie always had a happy ending. Jimmy Stewart’s wife, knowing the kind of man he was, rallied to support him. Friends and neighbors poured into his home and helped him. At the end, his “guardian angel” left him a simple written message: “No man is unsuccessful who has friends.”
Movies are wonderful, that movie especially. Unfortunately, movies don’t mirror life. My wife certainly didn’t play Donna Reed (of course, she’d tell you I’m no Jimmy Stewart). The number of my friends who stood by me dwindled from my arrest to my conviction. Today, even some of those few stalwart friends from early in my incarceration have also fallen away. Unlike Mr. Stewart’s guardian angel, mine left me a message that said “suck rocks loser!”
Still, I’m looking forward to Christmas this year because I’ve had an epiphany. That may not be the correct word. I didn’t suddenly discover some exciting truth. Rather, for the past few weeks I’ve come to a few profound (in my mind anyway) conclusions.
The first thing I realized is that sometimes we get so hung up and worried about what’s going on that we forget the good circumstances right before us. I read an interesting piece the other day that used the story of Moses being told by God to return to Egypt and lead His people to the promise land, initially reacted with fear and trepidation.
“Look at what is in your hand.” God told Moses and at that his shepherd’s staff turned into a snake. The point was we fear moving forward, doing what is right (notice I didn’t say doing what we want or what’s expedient) because of our worry and fear of the future and our regret about the past. Yet God tells us “Trust me. You have everything you need to get through today.” And don’t forget Moses had fled Egypt years earlier after killing a man.
It is difficult to let go of regret over past failures, past hurts, and heartbreak. But, each day I now remind myself no matter how bad things seem, I’m not alone. I’ve figured out, by fits and tears and so much heartache, I have a purpose in being here. No matter what happened “BA” (before arrest); no matter the pain over the divorce and my sons, and my continuing court struggle, I know what is in my hand.
The second thing I’ve learned these past few months is “shalom”, peace. The whole world seems to be going crazy with war, rumors of war, economic upheaval, turmoil in the lives of individuals, and communities and nations. Somehow, I meditate each morning and sleep soundly each night.
Guys ask me almost daily how I can seem so content, so easy going and relaxed in this environment. “Man, you’ve lost more than any guy I ever met yet you’re always smiling.” There’s a wonderful story about the Apostle Peter, on the verge of being executed, he was in a prison cell fast asleep. “An angel of the Lord” sent to break him out had to first wake him.
I’ve found a sense of inner peace amidst the storms and chaos of my incarceration and divorce. It’s bizarre really, but like Lt. Dan confronting God during the hurricane scene in “Forrest Gump”, I had my argument with God. I told him exactly how I felt about all the crap and obstacles I’d faced growing up, all the desires I had to be loved that were ignored, all my dreams I had put aside for others (I’ve written a short story about a guy having this argument with God though I’m not quite ready to share it with my “editors”) and at the end of all the yelling, all the “why did this have to happen”, I experienced a sense of peace I had never known.
Things might not be as I want, but I have faith, in the end, all will turn out right.
And finally, I realized Christmas really is “for God so loved” us. I always equated God as a super-Santa: “He knows when you’re sleeping; He knows when you’re awake . . . so be good for goodness sake.” I heard a young minister recently say “we think God thinks about us the way we think about us.” In other words, when we’re having a good day, God’s happy with us. And when we lie, steal, decide to end our marriage, He’s upset with us. I realized nothing was further from the truth. God loves us, period, no matter what.
More than that, I now understand that on my worst days, when I stole and then came home and lay beside my sleeping wife in tears knowing my entire life was falling apart, at that precise moment God had compassion for me. He loved me, He loves me, unconditionally.
That realization has allowed me to look at the men in here, and folks outside, in an entirely new way. God doesn’t prioritize sins. He doesn’t say “stealing is level 15, murder level 55”, and anger at our spouse, “level 3”. We all sin, we all screw up, we all hurt each other and ourselves. Even Mother Teresa admitted in an interview “I’m far from perfect”.
Yet, God loves us. He loves us no matter what. I think that is what Christmas is really all about. From the beginning of our existence here on this orb we’ve been screwing up. And for years, our Creator watched it all and got upset because His children were wayward. Then He did something inconceivable, and illogical, and irrational. He loved us, in spite of ourselves, He just loved us.
My favorite Bible story is the parable of the prodigal son. There’s one particular verse that stands out. The son has lost everything. His life is over. He decides to return home and beg for forgiveness. “And while he was still a long way away the father saw him and ran to him and kissed him.” The father didn’t need an apology. He didn’t need to pile on and refuse to forgive his son. He just kissed him and loved him.
That story sees me through every day. It doesn’t matter what I’ve done, God still loves me. He loves all of us. There is always hope, always tomorrow. Christmas really is an amazing day, even in prison.
Bob's Singin: Is Anyone Listenin?
My cousin wrote me and mentioned her stepson and his wife had been to see Bob Dylan in concert and he was “unintelligible”. I’m a huge Dylan fan and used to say you could understand anything in life with a Dylan song or baseball.
I think about Dylan lyrics quite frequently in here. Somehow a great deal of what Dylan wrote makes sense when you’re locked up, deprived of your freedom.
Here’s a thought: incarceration is an inhuman punishment. With very few exceptions (sociopathic personalities), the vast majority of men and women in prison could be rehabilitated without incarceration or substantially shorter sentences.
For most men and women locked up, prison is a debilitating mind breaking, soul breaking experience. I read an interesting article recently by an African American Washington Post writer bemoaning the fact rappers who have done time talk about how “bad” they were in the system. Fact is prison alters you in so many ways; for most men and women, the changes are for the worse.
“How many roads must a man walk down
Before you will call him a man
How many seas must a white dove sail
Before she sleeps in the sand
How many times must the cannon balls fly
Before they are forever banned . . . .”
There are some who fight the despair and refuse to give up their freedom of self, of consciousness. They fight against becoming institutionalized.
I have had the privilege of meeting a small group of men like that. They accept responsibility for their crimes, yet never give up learning, never give up striving, never give up hoping for freedom. Though some are murderers, some armed robbers, and drug dealers; they are more humble, compassionate, and caring than any other men I’ve known. They have become more than brothers to me.
Prisons are poorly run and insufficiently equipped to handle the vast majority of societal ills that are comingled behind their walls. Even at a place like this, a lower custody, dormitory style center, the inmates act with each other and staff in a Darwinian ballet. The strongest prey on the weakest; intellect only sometimes overcomes physical strength; the sick and infirmed get worse.
But, prisons are big business. In 2011 it is estimated the federal and state prison systems will spend over $55 billion to operate its prisons. That is more than is projected to be spent by U.S. Forces in Iraq.
“How many years can a mountain exist
Before it is washed to the sea
How many years can a people exist
Before they’re allowed to be free
How many times can a man turn his head
And pretend that he just doesn’t see . . .”
We claim to be a moral country, a moral people, yet we maintain a criminal justice system that leads the world in the number of people behind bars. I wonder how a nation, so committed to spreading freedom and justice worldwide can fail so miserably ensuring it within its own borders.
A majority of Americans consider themselves “Christian”. They fail to realize that the religion they profess to follow is diametrically opposite the lifestyle they lead. Consider that the vast majority of the New Testament, that portion of the Bible dedicated to spreading the word about the resurrected Jesus was written by men in and out of prison. Almost every one of Paul’s Epistles were written behind bars. An elderly John wrote the Book of Revelation while imprisoned on the Island of Patmos doing hard labor. Peter, Stephen, James and hundreds others were imprisoned, tortured, and killed by the powers that be.
We forget that those men who today we consider saints, were “back in the day”, criminals, human garbage, troublemakers. They challenged the societal norms and domestic order of the world’s only superpower, a nation-state more dominant than any in the history of humankind. They challenged a religious order and doctrine that placed greater emphasis on law than grace, a religious establishment that arrogantly held its followers superior to any other.
Do you every wonder why Jesus told his disciples to forgive “seventy times seven?” Do you ever wonder why He told the crowd how they treat “the least of my brothers” is how they shall be judged (and He included those in prison)? Do you ever ask yourself why Paul, in prison, told the Ephesians to “forgive as Christ forgave you?”
These men, these saints of the faith most Americans profess, were societal outcasts, misfits, problems. It was easier for the Roman and Jewish authorities to imprison them, stone them, hack them to pieces, or crucify them than deal with them.
I live with twelve hundred misfits, degenerates, drug addicts, murderers, drunks, mentally challenged men. We are part of 40,000 Virginia outcasts, part of three million criminals, losers, problems, kept confined in despicable conditions. Most have given up and accept that being treated like this for what they did is Karma, their fate. But some refuse. They don’t sit quietly. They shout out “I am a child of God, I will be free!”
“How many times must a man look up
Before he sees the sky
How many ears must one man have
Before he can hear people cry
How many deaths will it take ‘til he knows
Too many people have died
The answer, my friend is blowin in the wind . . . .”
Bob’s singin and I’m hearing every word. It is a call to action, a call to change, a call to address the ills we see. Prison reform must occur. Too many lives are being squandered; too many resources being wasted. The choice is up to each person. Do we do what we profess and ‘trust in the Lord with all our heart” or do we keep doing the same thing, locking people up, damaging them, making them worse. There has to be a better way.
The price we will pay for keeping things “as is” will be more in prison, more broken families, more children raised without fathers, more disparity.
Bob’s singin. I wonder how many are listening. We need to change now or “a hard rain’s gonna fall.”
I think about Dylan lyrics quite frequently in here. Somehow a great deal of what Dylan wrote makes sense when you’re locked up, deprived of your freedom.
Here’s a thought: incarceration is an inhuman punishment. With very few exceptions (sociopathic personalities), the vast majority of men and women in prison could be rehabilitated without incarceration or substantially shorter sentences.
For most men and women locked up, prison is a debilitating mind breaking, soul breaking experience. I read an interesting article recently by an African American Washington Post writer bemoaning the fact rappers who have done time talk about how “bad” they were in the system. Fact is prison alters you in so many ways; for most men and women, the changes are for the worse.
“How many roads must a man walk down
Before you will call him a man
How many seas must a white dove sail
Before she sleeps in the sand
How many times must the cannon balls fly
Before they are forever banned . . . .”
There are some who fight the despair and refuse to give up their freedom of self, of consciousness. They fight against becoming institutionalized.
I have had the privilege of meeting a small group of men like that. They accept responsibility for their crimes, yet never give up learning, never give up striving, never give up hoping for freedom. Though some are murderers, some armed robbers, and drug dealers; they are more humble, compassionate, and caring than any other men I’ve known. They have become more than brothers to me.
Prisons are poorly run and insufficiently equipped to handle the vast majority of societal ills that are comingled behind their walls. Even at a place like this, a lower custody, dormitory style center, the inmates act with each other and staff in a Darwinian ballet. The strongest prey on the weakest; intellect only sometimes overcomes physical strength; the sick and infirmed get worse.
But, prisons are big business. In 2011 it is estimated the federal and state prison systems will spend over $55 billion to operate its prisons. That is more than is projected to be spent by U.S. Forces in Iraq.
“How many years can a mountain exist
Before it is washed to the sea
How many years can a people exist
Before they’re allowed to be free
How many times can a man turn his head
And pretend that he just doesn’t see . . .”
We claim to be a moral country, a moral people, yet we maintain a criminal justice system that leads the world in the number of people behind bars. I wonder how a nation, so committed to spreading freedom and justice worldwide can fail so miserably ensuring it within its own borders.
A majority of Americans consider themselves “Christian”. They fail to realize that the religion they profess to follow is diametrically opposite the lifestyle they lead. Consider that the vast majority of the New Testament, that portion of the Bible dedicated to spreading the word about the resurrected Jesus was written by men in and out of prison. Almost every one of Paul’s Epistles were written behind bars. An elderly John wrote the Book of Revelation while imprisoned on the Island of Patmos doing hard labor. Peter, Stephen, James and hundreds others were imprisoned, tortured, and killed by the powers that be.
We forget that those men who today we consider saints, were “back in the day”, criminals, human garbage, troublemakers. They challenged the societal norms and domestic order of the world’s only superpower, a nation-state more dominant than any in the history of humankind. They challenged a religious order and doctrine that placed greater emphasis on law than grace, a religious establishment that arrogantly held its followers superior to any other.
Do you every wonder why Jesus told his disciples to forgive “seventy times seven?” Do you ever wonder why He told the crowd how they treat “the least of my brothers” is how they shall be judged (and He included those in prison)? Do you ever ask yourself why Paul, in prison, told the Ephesians to “forgive as Christ forgave you?”
These men, these saints of the faith most Americans profess, were societal outcasts, misfits, problems. It was easier for the Roman and Jewish authorities to imprison them, stone them, hack them to pieces, or crucify them than deal with them.
I live with twelve hundred misfits, degenerates, drug addicts, murderers, drunks, mentally challenged men. We are part of 40,000 Virginia outcasts, part of three million criminals, losers, problems, kept confined in despicable conditions. Most have given up and accept that being treated like this for what they did is Karma, their fate. But some refuse. They don’t sit quietly. They shout out “I am a child of God, I will be free!”
“How many times must a man look up
Before he sees the sky
How many ears must one man have
Before he can hear people cry
How many deaths will it take ‘til he knows
Too many people have died
The answer, my friend is blowin in the wind . . . .”
Bob’s singin and I’m hearing every word. It is a call to action, a call to change, a call to address the ills we see. Prison reform must occur. Too many lives are being squandered; too many resources being wasted. The choice is up to each person. Do we do what we profess and ‘trust in the Lord with all our heart” or do we keep doing the same thing, locking people up, damaging them, making them worse. There has to be a better way.
The price we will pay for keeping things “as is” will be more in prison, more broken families, more children raised without fathers, more disparity.
Bob’s singin. I wonder how many are listening. We need to change now or “a hard rain’s gonna fall.”
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
God Bless Justice Stevens
I have a friend in here – “Cali” (from Los Angeles) who I’ve been working with the past few months. Cali is three years into a twenty-six year sentence. You would expect that to receive that many years Cali must have murdered someone in cold blood or abused and violated children. If you thought that, you’d be wrong. Cali received that extremely harsh sentence for (1) intent to distribute marijuana, and (2) conspiracy to distribute.
He and a co-defendant were staying at a hotel near Virginia Beach in two rooms reserved by a local friend. The rooms were at opposite ends of the hall. In one room (the co-defendant’s) twelve pounds of weed were found. In Cali’s room $200,000 in cash.
I could write a legal brief on the problems with Cali’s prosecution (in fact, I did): the prosecution’s star witness was the hotel manager, a woman who was an admitted drug user and was paid a percentage of the cash taken from Cali’s room (under drug forfeiture statutes); the false statements contained in the police request for issuance of a search warrant, or the fact that no evidence was introduced that the cash in Cali’s possession came from drug sales (in fact, there was no evidence of any drug sales). For my purposes here, I’ll assume everything the police did was “by the book”.
But, was justice served? Cali’s co-defendant took a plea and got, hold on, three years. He’s already out. Cali on the other hand, has twenty-three more years to go for the exact same charges.
My experience in meeting guys like Cali in here has awakened me to a stark reality. For a country that professes to believe “in justice for all”, we fall terribly short of the mark. That’s where Justice John Paul Stevens comes in.
The 92 year old Stevens recently retired from service as an Associate Justice of the United States Supreme Court ending a tenure as the third longest serving Justice in history. Justice Stevens, a moderate Republican appointed by President Ford soon found himself relegated to being a leading dissenter as the court swung even more to the right.
Stevens believed in “justice for all”. His life was built around that concept and for good reason. Stevens was raised in a prosperous Chicago family. His father built the largest hotel in the city. When Stevens was twelve, his father was arrested and convicted of embezzlement. Eventually his father’s conviction was overturned on appeal.
“I knew my father was a good man. I also knew, even at that age that the system could be wrong.” It was at that point Stevens decided he wanted to be a judge to guarantee justice was done.
Stevens has taken some very unpopular positions in cases involving the accused, especially in post 9/11 America where the general consensus in society has become that security from terrorists is more important than the rule of the law.
In Hamdi v. Rumsfeld, he argued that terrorists held at Guantanamo Bay were held in U.S. custody on U.S. soil and, therefore, guaranteed minimal constitutional protection. In Padilla v. U.S., he argued that Padilla – a United States citizen arrested on terrorism allegations and detained in a military brig for four years without access to courts or lawyers and without formal charges being brought, had his fundamental 4th, 5th, 6th and 14th amendment rights violated.
Even for those accused of being terrorists, without the guarantee of constitutional protection, he argued, this nation could too easily slip into “rule by tyrants”. That is a very powerful, and courageous, and lonely stand for anyone in this age of fear.
I’ve lost my freedom. I’ve seen the power of the state used personally. Conspiracy theories run rampant in prisons. If you want to understand why, just look honestly at the criminal justice system. The government has a virtually unlimited budget to prosecute. In its quest to close crime investigations (notice I didn’t say “solve crimes and bring justice”); the government will make deals, use false evidence, lie, cheat, or steal its way to a conviction. Don’t believe me? Look at the number of convictions that are set aside each year for police or prosecutorial misconduct.
The system is overwhelmed. And, because the system has a human face, it is subject to the prejudices and personality ups and downs of the judges, prosecutors, and defense attorneys. Fact is, most defendants don’t create a favorable impression. They’re paraded on TV or in the paper when arrested and the general perception is “they must be guilty or the police wouldn’t be after them”.
But, that perception is exactly opposite what our system is founded on. The founding fathers knew the dangers inherent in a government able to convict on a whim. They understood that the most fundamental, God given right of all, was the right to be free. Depriving someone of their personal freedom was recognized as tyranny. The safeguards to shield an individual from the power of the state were deep and significant.
Yet, somehow middle America has forgotten that. Somehow “law abiding” citizens believe those “technicalities” are just there to protect the criminals. They couldn’t be further from the truth.
Guys like Cali come into this soul breaking, meat grinder each and every day. Some are innocent, others guilty yet the punishment way too severe. For the vast majority of “good citizens” it doesn’t matter. Thank God for the courageous few, like Justice Stevens, who understand justice and freedom are too precious to be pushed aside by a society convinced that safety and security are just one prison, one conviction, from reality, those lone voices who remind us over and over there is no safe haven, no perfectly secure place without justice and freedom.
Thank you Justice Stevens for your courage, your compassion, your sense of justice.
He and a co-defendant were staying at a hotel near Virginia Beach in two rooms reserved by a local friend. The rooms were at opposite ends of the hall. In one room (the co-defendant’s) twelve pounds of weed were found. In Cali’s room $200,000 in cash.
I could write a legal brief on the problems with Cali’s prosecution (in fact, I did): the prosecution’s star witness was the hotel manager, a woman who was an admitted drug user and was paid a percentage of the cash taken from Cali’s room (under drug forfeiture statutes); the false statements contained in the police request for issuance of a search warrant, or the fact that no evidence was introduced that the cash in Cali’s possession came from drug sales (in fact, there was no evidence of any drug sales). For my purposes here, I’ll assume everything the police did was “by the book”.
But, was justice served? Cali’s co-defendant took a plea and got, hold on, three years. He’s already out. Cali on the other hand, has twenty-three more years to go for the exact same charges.
My experience in meeting guys like Cali in here has awakened me to a stark reality. For a country that professes to believe “in justice for all”, we fall terribly short of the mark. That’s where Justice John Paul Stevens comes in.
The 92 year old Stevens recently retired from service as an Associate Justice of the United States Supreme Court ending a tenure as the third longest serving Justice in history. Justice Stevens, a moderate Republican appointed by President Ford soon found himself relegated to being a leading dissenter as the court swung even more to the right.
Stevens believed in “justice for all”. His life was built around that concept and for good reason. Stevens was raised in a prosperous Chicago family. His father built the largest hotel in the city. When Stevens was twelve, his father was arrested and convicted of embezzlement. Eventually his father’s conviction was overturned on appeal.
“I knew my father was a good man. I also knew, even at that age that the system could be wrong.” It was at that point Stevens decided he wanted to be a judge to guarantee justice was done.
Stevens has taken some very unpopular positions in cases involving the accused, especially in post 9/11 America where the general consensus in society has become that security from terrorists is more important than the rule of the law.
In Hamdi v. Rumsfeld, he argued that terrorists held at Guantanamo Bay were held in U.S. custody on U.S. soil and, therefore, guaranteed minimal constitutional protection. In Padilla v. U.S., he argued that Padilla – a United States citizen arrested on terrorism allegations and detained in a military brig for four years without access to courts or lawyers and without formal charges being brought, had his fundamental 4th, 5th, 6th and 14th amendment rights violated.
Even for those accused of being terrorists, without the guarantee of constitutional protection, he argued, this nation could too easily slip into “rule by tyrants”. That is a very powerful, and courageous, and lonely stand for anyone in this age of fear.
I’ve lost my freedom. I’ve seen the power of the state used personally. Conspiracy theories run rampant in prisons. If you want to understand why, just look honestly at the criminal justice system. The government has a virtually unlimited budget to prosecute. In its quest to close crime investigations (notice I didn’t say “solve crimes and bring justice”); the government will make deals, use false evidence, lie, cheat, or steal its way to a conviction. Don’t believe me? Look at the number of convictions that are set aside each year for police or prosecutorial misconduct.
The system is overwhelmed. And, because the system has a human face, it is subject to the prejudices and personality ups and downs of the judges, prosecutors, and defense attorneys. Fact is, most defendants don’t create a favorable impression. They’re paraded on TV or in the paper when arrested and the general perception is “they must be guilty or the police wouldn’t be after them”.
But, that perception is exactly opposite what our system is founded on. The founding fathers knew the dangers inherent in a government able to convict on a whim. They understood that the most fundamental, God given right of all, was the right to be free. Depriving someone of their personal freedom was recognized as tyranny. The safeguards to shield an individual from the power of the state were deep and significant.
Yet, somehow middle America has forgotten that. Somehow “law abiding” citizens believe those “technicalities” are just there to protect the criminals. They couldn’t be further from the truth.
Guys like Cali come into this soul breaking, meat grinder each and every day. Some are innocent, others guilty yet the punishment way too severe. For the vast majority of “good citizens” it doesn’t matter. Thank God for the courageous few, like Justice Stevens, who understand justice and freedom are too precious to be pushed aside by a society convinced that safety and security are just one prison, one conviction, from reality, those lone voices who remind us over and over there is no safe haven, no perfectly secure place without justice and freedom.
Thank you Justice Stevens for your courage, your compassion, your sense of justice.
Rethinking George
I’ve never been a big fan of George Clooney. Perhaps that’s because my ex thought he was sexy, or maybe it was that I just thought he was an average actor playing average characters. He was certainly no Pacino, De Niro or Eastwood, my three favorites.
But, in the last 24 hours I’ve had to rethink my animus toward Clooney. I watched two of his movies – one for the first time, one for the twentieth, - and came away with a new sense of respect for his acting ability. The characters he played in those two movies spoke to me. Clooney, I’ve come to realize, is good at what he does. Good movies, like well-written books, succeed when the theme speaks to the audience. A man coming to grips with his broken, failed life, believing in love even after divorce, doing the right thing even when it costs you. Story themes work when people can say “I get that”. I said that twice the other night and Clooney was the reason.
First, “Michael Clayton”. Clooney plays a lawyer at a powerful New York firm in the middle of defending a corporation in a class action lawsuit brought by farmers over carcinogens in a fertilizer/weed killer the company sold. Clooney isn’t much of a lawyer; he’s a “fixer”. You have a problem, Clooney gets it fixed.
But his life is broken. He picks his son up from his ex-wife and new husband’s home. He spends time playing poker (and losing badly we come to understand) in illegal, all night games. He’s alienated from his family, he’s lost thousands on a failed restaurant, he owes a loan shark $75,000.
At one point he’s talking to the firm’s senior partner and he says “I’m 45 and I have nothing”. His mentor, another lawyer at the firm and perhaps the finest trial attorney he’s ever seen - has a break down –or is it a profound attack of conscience about defending the corporation.
Clooney struggles as he realizes his life, his career, haven’t been about justice. He’s accomplished nothing. He’s done nothing. He’s been on the wrong side.
I felt what Clooney’s character felt. The law, I learned early in practice, wasn’t about justice. It was about winning. And, I enjoyed winning. Later, in my job with Farm Bureau, I calculated the likelihood of success in court of hundreds of cases. I put a value on injuries and deaths. How much is a four-year olds life worth? How much responsibility does a thirty-year old bear when she fails to yield the right of way and an accident occurs?
I learned Virginia juries (and judges) didn’t go overboard with monetary awards. As a result “I guessed right” on my valuations almost every time. I was good at what I did, but deep down I was conflicted. The law was supposed to be about justice. I couldn’t face the fact that it wasn’t. Like Clooney’s character, I had nothing to show for my life. And, I began to compromise who I was, what I believed, to be successful. Was I a good husband? A good father? A good lawyer? A good friend? A good lover? A good man? I didn’t think so, at least not without being all things to all people, including the woman I thought would love me unconditionally.
And then there’s “Ocean’s Eleven”, a man’s quest to reunite with his ex-wife against the backdrop of a casino heist. Clooney (“Ocean”) has numerous conversations with his ex (“Tess” played by Julia Roberts). The entire movie takes place in and around the Bellagio, a Las Vegas casino I gambled and dined at extensively with my ex (I’m no George Clooney, but to me my ex was more beautiful than Julia Roberts on her best day).
How’s this for dialog:
Roberts: “You’re a liar and a thief.”
Clooney: “I only lied to you about stealing.” (We wrote each other those exact words).
Clooney: “Does he make you laugh?”
Roberts: “No but he doesn’t make me cry either.”
Roberts: “How are you going to give me the five years back your lies cost me?”
Clooney: “With better years in the future.”
As the story unfolds, Clooney and his band of sophisticated thieves get millions from the casino. Clooney goes back to prison. This time when the gate opens, Julia Roberts is there, waiting on him.
Sometimes life imitates art. Sometimes it doesn’t. In “Michael Clayton”, Clooney continues to gamble, and lose, even though he’s told everyone he’s done gambling. He “comes right” at the end and yet, we see no repercussions, just him riding in a cab.
In “Oceans Eleven” his ex realizes she always loved him. He’s still running scams, still breaking the law, but that’s OK because they have each other.
Life, at least my life, didn’t play out that way. I did the right thing from August 18, 2008 forward. I made my case easy for the prosecution. I confessed to everything, gave detailed information on every action I took, signed everything over to my wife and kids so they’d be secure and then paid hundreds of thousands of dollars in partial restitution. There was no cab ride for me, no “just drive” moment.
And my ex telling me she still loves me, always loved me, coming by the prison to tell me her faith in me, in us, is unshakable? Didn’t happen.
Today would have been my 29th wedding anniversary. I’ve done well today because I’ve finally realized my life isn’t a movie, at least where it involves my ex. Only one of us is still in love, only one of us misses our mate. The other, another day and life goes on.
For a few hours yesterday I watched Clooney play two roles and recite lines, and salvage his own life and his marriage. For a few hours I thought “if it worked for George, it could work for me”. For a few hours I felt that things would work out for me just like in the movies. That George Clooney really is a good actor!
But, in the last 24 hours I’ve had to rethink my animus toward Clooney. I watched two of his movies – one for the first time, one for the twentieth, - and came away with a new sense of respect for his acting ability. The characters he played in those two movies spoke to me. Clooney, I’ve come to realize, is good at what he does. Good movies, like well-written books, succeed when the theme speaks to the audience. A man coming to grips with his broken, failed life, believing in love even after divorce, doing the right thing even when it costs you. Story themes work when people can say “I get that”. I said that twice the other night and Clooney was the reason.
First, “Michael Clayton”. Clooney plays a lawyer at a powerful New York firm in the middle of defending a corporation in a class action lawsuit brought by farmers over carcinogens in a fertilizer/weed killer the company sold. Clooney isn’t much of a lawyer; he’s a “fixer”. You have a problem, Clooney gets it fixed.
But his life is broken. He picks his son up from his ex-wife and new husband’s home. He spends time playing poker (and losing badly we come to understand) in illegal, all night games. He’s alienated from his family, he’s lost thousands on a failed restaurant, he owes a loan shark $75,000.
At one point he’s talking to the firm’s senior partner and he says “I’m 45 and I have nothing”. His mentor, another lawyer at the firm and perhaps the finest trial attorney he’s ever seen - has a break down –or is it a profound attack of conscience about defending the corporation.
Clooney struggles as he realizes his life, his career, haven’t been about justice. He’s accomplished nothing. He’s done nothing. He’s been on the wrong side.
I felt what Clooney’s character felt. The law, I learned early in practice, wasn’t about justice. It was about winning. And, I enjoyed winning. Later, in my job with Farm Bureau, I calculated the likelihood of success in court of hundreds of cases. I put a value on injuries and deaths. How much is a four-year olds life worth? How much responsibility does a thirty-year old bear when she fails to yield the right of way and an accident occurs?
I learned Virginia juries (and judges) didn’t go overboard with monetary awards. As a result “I guessed right” on my valuations almost every time. I was good at what I did, but deep down I was conflicted. The law was supposed to be about justice. I couldn’t face the fact that it wasn’t. Like Clooney’s character, I had nothing to show for my life. And, I began to compromise who I was, what I believed, to be successful. Was I a good husband? A good father? A good lawyer? A good friend? A good lover? A good man? I didn’t think so, at least not without being all things to all people, including the woman I thought would love me unconditionally.
And then there’s “Ocean’s Eleven”, a man’s quest to reunite with his ex-wife against the backdrop of a casino heist. Clooney (“Ocean”) has numerous conversations with his ex (“Tess” played by Julia Roberts). The entire movie takes place in and around the Bellagio, a Las Vegas casino I gambled and dined at extensively with my ex (I’m no George Clooney, but to me my ex was more beautiful than Julia Roberts on her best day).
How’s this for dialog:
Roberts: “You’re a liar and a thief.”
Clooney: “I only lied to you about stealing.” (We wrote each other those exact words).
Clooney: “Does he make you laugh?”
Roberts: “No but he doesn’t make me cry either.”
Roberts: “How are you going to give me the five years back your lies cost me?”
Clooney: “With better years in the future.”
As the story unfolds, Clooney and his band of sophisticated thieves get millions from the casino. Clooney goes back to prison. This time when the gate opens, Julia Roberts is there, waiting on him.
Sometimes life imitates art. Sometimes it doesn’t. In “Michael Clayton”, Clooney continues to gamble, and lose, even though he’s told everyone he’s done gambling. He “comes right” at the end and yet, we see no repercussions, just him riding in a cab.
In “Oceans Eleven” his ex realizes she always loved him. He’s still running scams, still breaking the law, but that’s OK because they have each other.
Life, at least my life, didn’t play out that way. I did the right thing from August 18, 2008 forward. I made my case easy for the prosecution. I confessed to everything, gave detailed information on every action I took, signed everything over to my wife and kids so they’d be secure and then paid hundreds of thousands of dollars in partial restitution. There was no cab ride for me, no “just drive” moment.
And my ex telling me she still loves me, always loved me, coming by the prison to tell me her faith in me, in us, is unshakable? Didn’t happen.
Today would have been my 29th wedding anniversary. I’ve done well today because I’ve finally realized my life isn’t a movie, at least where it involves my ex. Only one of us is still in love, only one of us misses our mate. The other, another day and life goes on.
For a few hours yesterday I watched Clooney play two roles and recite lines, and salvage his own life and his marriage. For a few hours I thought “if it worked for George, it could work for me”. For a few hours I felt that things would work out for me just like in the movies. That George Clooney really is a good actor!
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