r25288.com Blog

By R25288  ( c )  2006

www.r25288.com

r25288@yahoo.com

 

Chapter Eight

 

Fuck God

 

“They shall take up serpents and if they drink any deadly thing, it shall not hurt them;  they shall lay hands on the sick, and they shall recover.”

The Gospel According To Mark  16:18

 

 

“I learned that courage was not the absence of fear, but the triumph over it.  I felt fear myself more times than I can remember, but I hid it behind a mask of boldness.  The brave man is not he who does not feel afraid, but he who conquers that fear…

“Man’s goodness is a flame that can be hidden but never extinguished…

“I knew as well as I knew anything that the oppressor must be liberated just as surely as the oppressed.  A man who takes away another man’s freedom is a prisoner of hatred, he is locked behind the fear of prejudice and narrow-mindedness.” 

Nelson Mandela, Long Road To Freedom

 

 

“Fuck God,” that was basically what I was saying as I lay in my bathtub, in my red swimsuit.  I had my suit on to be more presentable in death.  They were quite fashionable.  Lord knows, I didn’t want to appear inappropriate in death, as if death cares. 

“Someone saved my life tonight, sugarbear,” had just played on the radio.  ”Daniel,” by Elton John, was now playing on the radio.  “Daniel is leaving tonight on a plane…”  The warm water is filled to the brim of my bathtub, as I slip my left foot behind my clock radio that I had sitting on the upper ledge at the foot of the bathtub.  I had it plugged into the wall outlet, with an extension cord, so it wouldn’t come unplugged, as my foot pulled the radio into the bathtub with me, to end my life, through electrocution.

Zap, crackle, pop, and smoke, and I heard nothing more about Daniel.  I was out one clock radio, but no closer to death.  Another failure.  Fear of prison I had, however, I had no fear of my death or afterlife.

It was 2am, Monday, October 8th, 2001, as I lay all wet in my Dunedin, Florida, condo bathtub, just hours away from my sentencing.  I thought of my last failure just twenty-four hours earlier.  I copied the late 1960’s radical, Abbie Hoffman, who offed himself by ingesting sixty Valiums.  I figured that would be a neat, clean way to go out.  In ninth grade, I had been voted the kid with “The Cleanest Locker.”  I was into clean.

So I mixed sixty Valium with thirty Dalmane’s ( sleeping pills ), both legally prescribed to me, and a large quantity of Jack Daniels’ whiskey.  I took them out of their plastic coated shells, and mixed them into the Jack.  Of course, I used a large plastic glass.  By the way, isn’t a plastic glass, an oxymoron?  Do other people think of these things, too?

Oh well,  I didn’t want any broken glass that might cut my body if I got woozy and fell down.  Death was OK, but let’s leave out the messy blood, that might also stain the carpet, or furniture.

In the movie “Soylent Green”, with Charles Heston, which was also Edward G. Robinson’s last movie, my concoction might have been called, “A Sleeping Beauty.”  It tasted sickenly pharmaceutical.  Maybe, I should have used Southern Comfort instead of Jack.

In reality, when you’re offing yourself, God, grammar, and cleanliness really falls by the wayside.  I sat on my queensize bed in my bedroom, with my HBO on, and emptied the contents from the pills into the plastic glass.  They came apart easily enough, but I really hadn’t thought this through enough.  What to do with the empty capsules?  Well, I made as neat a pile as I could on the floor, next to my bed.  It became like an ant hill, made up of empty half capsules, instead of dirt or sand.

Next, after emptying the capsules, which took some time, I poured in the Jack Daniels, which I had brought into the bedroom.  Then, I used the spoon I had brought in earlier, to stir the “Better Life Through Chemistry” mix.  Then, I put in three ice cubes, from the brown ice container, with the white lid, that I had also brought in earlier.  I had it set up on the end table next to my bed.  It was a $.25 garage sale purchase.  Suicide can require so much time and preparation. I had now made a deadly concoction, literally. 

I sipped it.  Now, that was a mistake. Deadly concoctions were not meant to be sipped, maybe fine wines or cognacs, but not deadly concoctions.  How was I suppose to know?  It was my first deadly concoction.  As this was my first attempt at suicide, I was a novice about offing myself. 

This wasn’t going to work, so, I went into the kitchen and poured some sugar into a cup , and returned to my bedroom.  I added two teaspoons of sugar to my deadly mixture, and sipped again.  Still too bitter, and pharmaceutical.  So, I added three more teaspoons of sugar.  Still too bitter.  I was getting discouraged.  You might think that attempts at suicide are as discouraged as one can get.  I’m here to tell you, that that too, is a false assumption.  The better question might be, “Is getting discouraged while trying to commit suicide, a sign of mental health?”  I don’t know, but it’s fun to think about, and I do know that fun, and laughter are good signs of mental health.

I used my left thumb, and my left index finger to hold my nose, as my right hand guided the fatal drink to my lips and I chugged it.  That was the ticket.  I finished it, and carefully place the oxymoron on a coaster, so the sweat wouldn’t stain the wooden end table.  It was right next to my then working clock radio, which I hadn’t killed yet.  My twin sized pillow and the head board of my bed were just inches away from the end table.  The radio was next to my brass table lamp, with the beige lamp shade.  Everything was nice and neat, and in its place, except for the ant hill of capsules.

I laid back on my pillow, and channel surfed, as I petted my cat, FIPS, who I had rescued from the Pinellas Park Food Stamp parking lot, thirteen years earlier.  FIPS stood for Federal Intervention Program System, designed basically to catch food stamp frauds.

FIPS was an independent cat, like most cats.  Every time I took her to the veterinarian, he always wanted to pull one of her teeth.  I figured it was expensive, but I also figured he knew best.  After he had extracted all but seven of her teeth, I figured as her Dad, that I finally knew what was best.  I continued to take her for her annual examination and shots, with the strict instructions of, “Pull no teeth.”

I turned off the light as FIPS purred on my stomach.  I had placed one of my pillows under my knees, as my Dr. had always recommended, due to back problems.  No need to put extra stress on my back during my last few hours of life.  I wanted to be comfortable when I approached the light.  I was fifty-one years young, and had lived a good life.  My eyes closed, and I slipped away.

Then, I saw the light.  It was blurry, like a fog, a mist.  Slowly, I struggled to open my eyes.  I had no hangover, pain, or negative feelings, as I slowly realized that the light was the morning sun shining through my bedroom window.  The white curtains were closed, but I had forgotten to close the dark blue cloth curtains, so the room was bright, and I was still alive.

I always knew I was different.  I never had had a wet dream, and Abbie Hoffman could pull off what I couldn’t.  Damn God!

So, now, here I lay, all clean, in my bathtub, with my red swimsuit on, not dead, and with nowhere to go, no one to see, nothing to do, and no radio left to listen to.  I got up, unplugged the bathtub, and dried myself off, as I looked into the mirror, above the sink, the length of the wall, across from the bathtub.  Another failure, two within twenty-four hours.  I wasn’t sure my ego could handle it.  Then again, how strong is an ego that accepts death, willingly?  I wonder what Socrates would say about that?

God wasn’t going to let me die now.  He was going to make me contend with my greatest fears, and face the music, and not the radio type.  It was all part of the plan.  It was a plan I hadn’t arranged, so, naturally, I fought it.  I had so much to learn, and so much yet to go through.

Death, to me, was more manageable and acceptable than my fears, because I had lost my faith.  The cup had quit being half full, and had become half empty.

Two months ago, I had become a convicted felon, and today, I faced fifteen years in prison.  I knew I might get raped in prison.  I just wasn’t into big black men sticking their wee-wees into my butt.  The movie, “Deliverance” with its male rape scene, played through my mind constantly, and fear controlled my life.

So, my third, and final attempt at self destruction, occured at the Pinellas County Jail, where I told the other inmates I was just trying to lose weight, so the nine days there (October 8th to October 16th, 2001 ), I ate nothing, as in nothing.  I just gave my food away.  Needless to say, the other detainees were quite happy to eat my food.  I heard if you didn’t drink any liquids for three days, you’d die.  So, I didn’t drink anything for my last three days there.  I experienced no discomfort, nor did I die. God protected me, and I no longer have a desire to destroy his creation, but, rather to celebrate it.

I spoke of one other revelation in my life, in the last chapter, besides prison that liberated my mind, body, and soul.  It was on the back roads of Iowa in 1973.  I was driving alone, and I was exhausted.  It was the middle of the day.  I said out loud:

 ”God, I need help, please help me?”

I looked over to the passengers side, and I saw an angel of the Lord.  It was a vision, an image, a light, a soul form, and I said:

“Will you drive?”

I awoke hours later on a side road, not part of my planned route.  The car was parked on the side of the road, and I was laying down on the front seat.  I knew then that I was immortal.  That there is more.  That the story doesn’t end here.  I raced home to tell my two roommates that we were immortal.  They looked at me in disbelief.  I have kept this to myself since then, because maybe, we all are not immortal.

All I know, is he wouldn’t let me go yet, and medically I shouldn’t be here, but I am, and so I will dedicate myself, and my energies, and my life to…

 

“Because he hath set his love upon me, therefore will I deliver him:  I will set him on high, because he hath known my name.

“He shall call upon me, and I will be with him in trouble;  I will deliver him, and honour him.

“With long life will I satisfy him, and shew him my salvation.”

Psalms 91:14-16

 

“In acknowledging the prison walls, I had also determined that I would be courteous to the guards.  So, “Yes sir,” “No sir,” “Please,” “Thank you,” “Excuse me,” “You’re welcome,” and all other polite phrases were in constant use whenever I spoke.  That astonished the guards, who represent the bottom 7 percent of the human race, people with little intelligence who make their living using force and fear to warehouse human beings and violence to purvey a point of view.

“Following my dad’s advice, I sought to turn a bad thing into a good thing by learning what makes the white man tick.  I spent most afternoons in the prison law library reading, mostly about criminal, Indian, and prison rights cases.”

Where White Men Fear to Tread, The Autobiography of Russell Means, with Marvin J. Wolf.

 

In confinement, August, 2002, I wrote:

I.M.U. ( I am You )

 

I.M.U.

I am an inmate, I am a thug

I’m the governor, the man with a plan

I am the guru, the teacher, the stockbroker

I’m your worst nightmare, and you’re greatest hope

I.M.U.

I’ll abuse you,

Use you,

Forget you,

Fuck you…

and Love you…

I.M.U.

I am a criminal, or so I’m convicted

I am oppressed, and I’m angry

I hurt, and I hurt

I receive, and I give

I.M.U

U.R.I.

I fear, you fear, we fear

I.M.U

U.R.I.

I hope, you care, we love

Action creates reaction

Violence begats violence

Hate engenders hate

Forgiveness is hard

Anger is easy

I.M.U.

Prison is liberating

Who would have thought?

Who else knows?

Put a lid on it!

Can’t let it out!

Too many would come

For Secondary Gains

We can’t afford it…

Stop the Madness!

I.M.U.

Scared, fear pops its ugly head again

Anger, competition, one-upmanship

Laughter, what a concept

Happiness, what a joy…

Silence

Imprisoned in my mind

I’m free to roam

You can’t hold me in your fears any longer

I will be free

I am not alone

Thank God…

We will be free

I.M. Free

U.R.I.

I.M.U.

Welcome!

 

 

“As long as the world shall last, there will be wrongs,

and if no man objected and no man rebelled,

those wrongs would last forever.”

Clarence Darrow, Lawyer, 1930

 

On July 27th, 2003, at 4:40 am, I wrote:

 

21st Century Inmate

 

i am a human being

a man by nature

a woman by nurture

i once was a bird

i now am a worm

i played your game

your rules

i lost

you sent me to the wire;  beyond the razorwire

to punish me

your system

you stripped me

you shaved my head

you yelled

you threatened me

your system

you showed no mercy

you said once that

i was an asset, a treasure

now, you say i’m

a malfunction

i’m broken, and you

and your system

don’t tolerate malfunction

or diversity

so, like the broken Christmas toy

you threw me away

behind the wire

with all the other broken toys

that you don’t want to fix

just punish

Father, forgive them,

for they know not what they do

you stuck me

you took from me

you prodded me

you violated me

your system

once, when machines were broken

we fixed them

i am a human being

a man by nature

a woman by nurture

like Jonah

i am in the belly

of the beast

out of sight

with no constituency

power you have

and power you abuse

teach

fix the malfunction

rewire the toy

you’d do it for a machine

just do it

the power of Christ

commands you

fix the broken toy

fix me, and my broken brothers

the power of Christ

commands you

do the right thing

your system

our system is broken

i didn’t know

it was broken

until i got here

i’m sorry

the circle of life

brought me here

you are just

a cog in the wheel

in the system

a puppet

a pawn

what you do to the least

of thee

you do to me

the power of Christ

commands you

i am a human being

a man by nature

a woman by nurture

you caged me like

an animal in a zoo

you fed me on schedule

the lights go on at 5:30am

and they never totally go off

yet i live in the darkness

of the belly of the beast

in your hell, you call prison

the Darth Vadar

of your broken system

Nelson lived here

Alexander, Martin, Gandhi, and Jesus

all lived here too

they understood, they knew

you don’t know,

you don’t understand,

but, it’s OK, you see,

you’re just broken

you need to be fixed

so, you’ll know and understand

i stand in lines

all i have is time

so, i’m rushed to hurry

to get ready

to stand in one line

to scurry from one point

to another

i am your house mouse

in your cage

i’m forced to choke

on your food

or lose it,

for lack of time to chew it

so, i can get back in a line

to walk in a straight line

to go and lay on my bunk

to await the next light flickering

and the blare of

“Chow Time,” or

“Education, Inside Grounds, Law Library Clerks”

to rush, to stand in another line

routine

“Sick call, lower bunk, upper bunk”

“What we got here is a failure to communicate.”

What we’ve got here is a clusterfuck

“Oh, the horror, the horror.”

you want to break me

you want to break a broken toy

you want to punish and break the broken toy

to cure and save it

remember Vietnam?

remember the Golden Rule?

who is the truly broken toy here?

Father, forgive them,

for they know not what they do

“Seven o’clock meds”

my brothers lay on their bunks

with their hospital folds

dressed in their blues

darkness outside,

artificial light in here

as they await the words

“Chow Time”

so they may rush out, to stand in a line,

to rush to eat, only to rush back here,

to again lay on their bunks,

to sleep, perchance to dream,

in hopes for brief fleeting moments,

to escape these bars and razorwire

these are my brothers,

and i am their kin,

i accept them

In Acceptance, Lies Peace

many are indeed broken toys

and some are beautiful spirits

“give me your huddled masses, yearning to be free”

my brother puts his pants on

one leg at a time

wipes the sleep from his eyes,

and unlocks his combination lock

to his locker, the box of his life and worldly possessions

on this side of the razorwire,

his deodorant, that the state doesn’t provide

his toothbrush, toothpaste, and his toilet paper

which the guards withheld from me

more than once in confinement

because it was their zoo

and i was only an animal to them

i am not an animal

i was never an animal

i am a man

i am a human being

a man by nature

a woman by nurture

Father, forgive them

for they know not what they do

 

“Not that I speak in respect of want:  for I have learned, in whatsoever state I am, therewith to be content.”

Philippians 4:11

 

Probably one of the best events in prison occurs in February, because it is Black History Month, and you get to see and hear beautiful talent.  Due to being locked up in confinement, in February, 2002, due to my medical condition, I missed it that year.  The following year, the theme was, “The Souls of Black Folk, authored by William E.B. Dubois, 1903.  I gave a speech that I had memorized, in front of about one hundred inmates in the Chapel, with the Warden in attendance, on February 10th, 2003, where I said:

“I’d like to thank Mr. Jones for inviting me, and the Warden, Mrs. Smith, Mr. Green, and the DOC for sponsoring this event.

“Gentlemen, the struggle for civil rights, human rights, and prisoner rights continues.  If you’re not already a member, join the struggle, gentlemen.

“A year ago I couldn’t participate in this event because I was in Disciplinary Confinement for fifty-eight days, and I lost all of my gain time.  Today, DOC computers have no trace of that Disciplinary Report, or that loss of gain time, because I struggled, and used the power of the pen through a grievance  to overcome that DR, and loss of gain time.  Misunderstandings and oppression will always exist, and continue, unless we try to change them, gentlemen.

“The Reverend Doctor Martin Luther King Junior, who faced oppression and tried to change it, influenced my marching for human, and civil rights, starting back in 1963, before many of you were even born.  It was his, Mahatma Gandi, and Jesus’ interpretations of non-violence, and civil disobedience, that led me on Thursday, December 16th, 1965, to wear a black armband to Theodore Roosevelt High School, in Des Moines, Iowa.

“This had been expressly forbidden to do, by the school officials.  I still wore it to protest our United States involvement in theVietnam War, and to mourn those who had died in that conflict, on both sides of the 17th parallel.  On the morning of December 16th, 1965, the Vice Principal of Theodore Roosevelt High School, asked me to remove my black armband.  When I refused, he asked me if I wanted a “busted nose?”  I didn’t want a busted nose, but I still refused to remove my armband.  It led to my suspension, and began over a three year struggle for justice through our courts, that finalized February 24th, 1969-approximately thirty-four years ago, this month, with a United States Supreme Court case, a 7-2 decision, in my favor.  It was a victory that set a precedent for all student rights across America, and which still stands today.

“My name and actions are outlined in every law library in America, along with my friends, John and Mary Beth Tinker, under Tinker v Des Moines.  It is also in many history books, along with two books specifically written about our case, by authors, Doreen Rapaport, in 1992, and John W. Johnson, in 1997.

“The 1960’s were a time of drugs, sex, and rock and roll, but for many of us, it was also a time of struggle for justice, for human rights, civil rights, gay rights, and prisoner rights.

“Martin Luther King, Jr.,  wrote from jail in Birmingham, in 1963, and I’m quoting some of his writing from that time that were originally written on the margins of a newspaper, and scraps of paper a run-around provided him, before his attorney was finally allowed to give him a pad of paper.  And I quote:

“Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere…I would agree with St. Augustine that ‘an unjust law is no law at all’…Oppressed people cannot remain oppressed forever…I suppose I should have realized that few members of the oppressor race can understand the deep groans and passionate yearnings of the oppressed race, and still fewer have the vision to see that injustice must be rooted out by strong persistent and determined action.  I am thankful, however, that some of our white brothers in the South have grasped the meaning of this social revolution and committed themselves to it.  They are still all too few in quantity but big in quality… I have no despair about the future…I have no fear about the outcome of our struggle in Birmingham and all over the nation, because the goal of America is freedom…Before the pilgrims landed at Plymouth, we were here.  Before the pen of Jefferson etched the majestic words of the Declaration of Independence across the pages of history, we were here…If the inexpressable cruelties of slavery could not stop us, the opposition we now face will surely fail.  We will win our freedom.”  End of quote.

“United States Supreme Court Justice Abe Fortas writing for the 7-2 majority, in my case, also penned some strong words in 1969, and I quote:

“It can hardly be argued that either students or teachers shed their constitutional rights to freedom of speech or expression at the schoolhouse gate…

“In our system, undifferentiated fear in apprehension of disturbance is not enough to overcome the right to freedom of expression.  Any departure from absolute regimentation may cause trouble.  Any variation from the majoritys’ opinion may inspire fear.  Any word spoken, in class, in the lunchroom, or on the campus, that deviates from the views of another person may start an argument or cause a disturbance.  But our Constitution says we must take this risk, and our history says that it is this sort of hazardous freedom-this kind of openness- that is the the basis of our national strength and of the independence and vigor of Americans who grow up and live in this relatively permissive, often disputatious society…

“In our system,state operated schools may not be enclaves of totalitarianism.  School officials do not possess absolute authority over their students.  Students in school as well as out of school are:  ‘persons’ under our Constitution.  They are possessed of fundemental rights which the state must respect, just as they themselves must respect their obligations to the State.

“In our system, students may not be regarded as closed-circuit recipients of only that which the State chooses to communicate.  They may not be confined to the expression of those sentiments that are officially approved.  In the absence of a specific showing of constitutionally valid reasons to regulate their speech, students are entitled to freedom of expression of their views.”  End of quote.

“Another one of my heros was United States Senator Robert F. Kennedy, who often said, and I quote:

“Some men see things as they are, and ask, ‘Why?’  I dream things that never were and ask, ‘Why not?’”  End of quote.

“Dream gentlemen.  Never give up your dreams.  Racism lives in our White House, our Senate, our state, and within the DOC.  Your job, gentlemen, if you choose to accept it, is to fight racism.  And the tape will not self destruct in five seconds.  Racism will continue to thrive until enough good men and women of conscience stand up, and stop the bricks of racism and hate from being thrown anymore.

“The struggle continues for civil, human, and prisoner rights.  Black or white, Hispanic, Indian, Oriental, gay, or straight, we’re all in this together.  In recognizing our similarities, we’ll overcome our differences.  If we help build each other up, and not tear each other down, we can make a difference here at Liberty and beyond.  Gentlemen, the struggle continues.  If you’re not already a member, join the struggle.  Thank you.”

I received a long standing ovation, except by maybe the Warden.

 

‘Never believe that a few caring people can’t change the world.  For indeed, that’s all who ever have.”

Margaret Mead, United States Anthropologist

 

      

By R25288  ( c )  2006

www.r25288.com

r25288@yahoo.com

 

Chapter Seven

 

Receiving My First Prison Blow Job

 

“His mouth is most sweet:  yea, he is altogether lovely.  This is my beloved, and this is my friend, O daughters of Jerusalem.”

Song of Solomon  5:16

 

“Within a few months, our life settled into a pattern.  Prison life is about routine;  each day like the one before;  each week like the one before it, so that the months and years blend into each other.  Anything that departs from this pattern upsets the authorities, for routine is the sign of a well run prison.

“Routine is also comforting for the prisoner, which is why it can be a trap.  Routine can be a pleasant mistress whom it is hard to resist, for routine makes the time go faster.

“…Losing a sense of time is an easy way to lose one’s grip and even one’s sanity.

“Time slows down in prison;  the days seem endless.  The cliche of time passing slowly usually has to do with idleness and inactivity.”

Nelson Mandela, Long Road To Freedom

 

On day sixty of my imprisonment, I wrote:

 

“Cellmate

Thank you God for sending me my cellmate

My homey, my man, my dawg, my whobe-yoube

Thank you God for sending me to prison

With a cellmate who is lessening my hate.”

 

I am a literalist. I say what I mean, and I mean what I say.  So, in Chapter Four, when I say I came out in prison, that is what I meant.  For fifty-two years, I created my own prison, and lived in it.  God sent me to prison, to escape the prison of my mind.  So, I decided to live the life that God graciously gave me, and to no longer live in shame, but to live proudly the gay life, that he chose to give to this child of his. 

However, it still took me about a year in prison, before I could live the truth of my gayness.  Thank you God for giving me the gift of gayness, and the courage to finally live it freely, in prison.

On the morning of December 24th, 2001, they sent Tom away to another prison.  A safe prison for law enforcement types.  I never told Tom that I was gay.  My wife knew, and we had good sex.  So, you can call me gay, or you can call me bisexual, but I think you would be mistaken to call me a straight white male.

On the evening of December 24th, 2001, I wrote:

“It’s Christmas eve.  I ate my Snickers

And wished Jesus a Happy Birthday

I hear in the cell next to me

An inmate reading the Bible his way

A letter from my attorney says the judge

canceled my bail-he said my appeal was frivolous

Tonight I pray, the law I’ll fight another day

The cold air blows through the window crack

Through Your Word and Spirit, there’s nothing I really lack”

 

On January 2nd, 2002, I arrived at Liberty Correctional Institution, in Bristol, Florida.  Later that month I wrote:

“Is it three months lost, wasted, or saved?

Blood was spilled today in the Liberty yard.

Deals were made unknown to the guards.

Through sadness and pain, here your path is paved.”

 

When I speak of Virginia, I do not mean the state, or Virginia Wolfe, I mean the child who asked basically, if Santa Claus was real.  Yes, Virginia , Santa Claus is real, and God is real, and the ultimate goodness of man can bring tears to my eyes.  And the next time you see Santa, ask him what does God want for Christmas?

 

On Monday, February, 24th, 2003, at 7:02 am, I wrote:

“It’s all about the honeybun.  The hustle, the con, the game, the daily chase for a soup and a chip, or a honeybun.  Something to eat in the evening after supper, before bed, when the lights go out at 11 pm  To be able to throw a solidified package of soup noodles on the floor, to break up the noodles.  It is a daily symbol of affluence, because most have no money, no paying job, and no consistent outside support system.  And everybody wants others to notice that they’ve got.  As in, ‘Hear that, man?  I got.  I ain’t po’.  I’m living off the land.  I know how to hustle.  I ain’t going to bed hungry, at least, not tonight.  I need no one.  I’m a survivor.  I’m a convict.”(a ‘convict’ is a respected term, one who has been down, and knows the games, whereas ”inmate” is a less respected term, however I continue to utilize it throughout this book, without any disrespect meant). 

They get that soup, chip, or honeybun basically through intimidation, extortion, gambling,  prostitution, and stealing.  That is the game the system perpetuates in prison, because they offer basically no paid jobs.  They perpetuate the spread of AIDS, by providing no free condoms, or buyable ones through the canteens, nor do they allow your families to send you any. 

Did President Johnson contribute to the assasination of President Kennedy?  Is AIDS a government conspiracy to wipe out the African continent?  I don’t know,  Virginia, what I do know is that the majority of people incarcerated in this country of prisons are African-Americans, and the fastest growing group of persons with AIDS/HIV is young African-American women.  The system, the American government, is perpetuating genocide on the African-American race in America through it deliberate indifference to the medical needs of it’s incarcerated by failing to offer condoms, knowing full well that 90% of them will return to the streets and infect their wives, their unborn children, and their fellow incarcerated brothers will infect their sisters, and mothers, who will then infect their fathers. 

The latest United Nations report on AIDS, of 11/’05, says that there are one million people in the United States infected with HIV; and roughly 40,000 are infected each year, and while blacks represents approximately 13% of America, nearly 50% of all new HIV cases in America are blacks;  40 million people worldwide are HIV positive, and 25 million have died worldwide of AIDS since the 1980’s.  Genocide of American prisoners and African Americans is systemic violence that must end.  If our current politicians choose to kill your families, you have no choice but to throw them out of office come November, or accept your complicity in the genocide that is being perpetuated with our current destructive, life denying policies toward prisoners, and blacks.

 

But it’s all good, Virginia, because they are just blacks, and it  is just a form of population control.  Who will stand with the homosexual infected with AIDS?  Who will stand with the African-American infected with AIDS?  Who will stand with the baby infected with AIDS?  Virginia, honey, we all must stand.  If we don’t, who will be left to stand for us, when, God forbid, our turn may come.  The bell tolls for us all, Virginia.  They took away my right to vote.  Virginia, please help me come November, by voting out of office all the haters, and those who perpetuate genocide on the weak and powerless in our country and elsewhere.  I have not had sex since July, 2005, and fortunately, thank God, I remain HIV negative.

 

In prison, “Charge it to the game,” basically means you lost, you got ripped off, you’ve been shorted, cheated, conned, and now it is time to move on, and forget it, and charge it to the game.  You’ll be back to fight another day, or back to score or win another day, and now just accept your loss.  It matters not whether it was a financial situation, physical, emotional, or the loss of a friend.  It all comes down to charging it to the game, and get on with your life.  Similar to forgive and forget.  It is always a hard thing to do, because it is of God.  And his way, doesn’t come easy.

During my unexpected sabatical to prison in America, in the 21st century, of our Lord, I discovered a liberation of my mind, body, and soul that I had experienced only one other time in my life(more on that later).  Maybe it was the food, as in, it must have been something I ate.  Or, maybe it was looking at men dressed in blue all day, day after day.  Similar to Salvatore Dali’s, Elephants and Swans painting, or pictures that you focus on hard, and then see something not originally seen, even though it was always there.  Who knows, maybe continued exposure to blue prison uniforms stimulates the left side of the brain, or creates post traumatic stress disorder, or pre-traumatic stress disorder, or maybe order, without the dis.  Maybe it was just having the time to think and read.   Maybe it was just my time, and I would have progressed, developed anyway; maybe my metamorphosis from my cocoon to this butterfly stage would have occurred without the experience of prison, but I doubt it.

Is prison a symbol of failure or an opportunity for growth and success?  In school, I had been elected the President of the Student Council, at two different schools.  I had been voted “Most Likely to Succeed.”  So, I chose to look at my time in prison as just another part of my continued success.  Life is all a process, part of that “road less traveled by”, that our former poet laureate, Robert Frost wrote about.

Now, in America’s current dysfunctional state of prison punishment, my attitude and outlook is not fully appreciated.  However, as prison changed me, so too, must America change from it present destructive incarcerative mentality, to one of a more compassionate, constructive, instructive modality.

 

On Tuesday, February 25th, 2003, at 9:09 pm, I wrote:

“Stage right-enter my little boy Blue.

 

“Memories of the Way We Were’ is playing on my headphone radio, and count just ended.  So, it is approximately 7:00 am.  Count is at approximately, 7:00 am, 11:30 am, 4:30 pm, and 9:00 pm, and various other times while we sleep.  It is basically to insure we’re all still here, and no one escaped.(In my four years, three months, and two weeks in prison, no one successfully escaped to my knowledge, but I’ll share an unsuccessful attempt later by a young prostitute, in on murdering his step father, and along with his mother, dumping the body off a bridge.  He is # 2 in my study). 

“He was a bit like the country of his birth;  everything came easy to him.’  It is funny what we remember, and the fact that I planned to use Hubbell’s words to begin this paragraph.  It was a 1973 movie, ‘The Way We Were.’  It starred Barbara Streisand and Robert Redford.  It is one of my top ten favorite movies.  But the coincidence is that the song played just now.  Who would have thought?  What dreams may come?

“I had just been awakened from a dream for count.  In the dream, which really wasn’t a dream at all, which took place this morning…you see, it was a spontaneous day.  It was not what Nelson would call a routine day.  I didn’t plan it, it just happened, unplanned, and unexpected, and it was a glorious day.  It is what I refer to as a peak experience day.  Abraham Maslow may differ with my definition, but he’s already written his book.  This one is mine, with my definitions.  The day just joyously flowed over me in waves of warm sensitivity that I’ll always cherish, and never forget. Was it a karmic event, or spiritual, or even deserving.  I don’t know, but I was touched by…

“Education, library clerks, inside grounds, go to work.’  It was 8:00 am, and the staff’s statement meant it was time for me to go to the gate.  I was a teachers aide, and I taught adult basic education.  That was until Governor Jeb Bush cut our seven teachers down to one.  So much for, ‘No Child Left Behind’.  They even cut out all of our vocational training.  San Quentin has more education programs for its’ inmates than Liberty Correctional Institution. 

“The concept is simple, keep ‘em stupid, give ‘em no job skills, and they’ll be back within three years, and the system maintains its’ job security. God Bless The Prison Industrial Complex, and the destruction of the family, brought to you through the courtesy of your Republican government, and the systemic violence it perpetuates on the weak, the blacks, the gays and lesbians, the women, and the ignorant.  And please be sure and keep ‘em ignorant.  And please God, continue to provide tax cuts for the rich, and please continue to build more prisons, so we don’t have to look at the poor among us.

“I got to the gate, and was informed that the teacher I assisted was not there today.  He was an excellent black teacher, who rarely took time off, and had a sincere love for education, and helping inmates learn.  So, I headed back to the dorm, to await the opening of the yard.

“Liberty had a weight room, two basketball courts, a volleyball sand pit, a soccer field, a football field, and a third of a mile track, one time around.  So, in my spare time, I walked the track, and I enjoyed that.  Our inmate to staff ratio was approximaetly fifty to one.  We had three gun towers.  While I often heard target practice within sight of the prison, never once, to my knowledge, was a gun fired from a gun tower.

“So, I had a day off.  ‘Yards open, if you’re not a houseman, get out,’ the staff announced over the dorm loud speaker, at 9:00 am.  That was my call to put on my headphones and head to the Rec yard for some laps around the track.  I usually walked three to ten laps daily.  I was on my second lap, about a fifth of the way around when I heard someone moving up beside me.  I glanced over and heard, ‘Hi, Chris’.  I replied to the young black man, ‘Hey, sport’.  That’s what I say when your name I’ve forgotten, or I don’t know.  Now, this tall, slender twenty-ish man, I’d seen around, but I had never spoken with him.

“I glanced back to the track, and continued my own individual thoughts.  The strange thing I noticed was that the individual had rapidly moved up on me, but now, for some reason, was not passing me, and was now keeping my pace.  I hadn’t bothered to remove , or lower my headphones when I had said, ‘Hey’ to him.  It is basically my non-verbal cue that I am into my own dream world, and not wanting to be disturbed.

“Finally, he had overcome his fear, and said, ‘Have you ever gotten a blow job from another man?’  Say what?  I thought to myself.  Did I hear what I thought I heard?  OK, and if I heard what I thought I heard, then this would definitely qualify for my world to be disturbed, and I lowered my headphones, and replied, ‘Excuse me?’  To which he repeated his original question.  I wasn’t sure of the intent of the question, so I replied, ‘Yes, I have, and I’ve given blow jobs.’  I don’t know if I said it proudly, defiantly, or defensively.  I just said it.

“We hadn’t broken our pace, as I glanced over at the dark sunglassed, clean shaven, short haired, good looking young man with a muscular face, and protruding adams apple under his chin, with a black clear complexion.  He was walking on my left side.  It was a clear, and sunny day, in the sixties, temperature wise.  Neither of us were wearing jackets.  We were both in our dress blues, and I noticed we were both wearing white, long sleeved, long john shirts, under our dress blue, short sleeved shirts.  I was wearing my  tennis shoes with holes in them, and I observed a good layer of dust on his black boots from the dry sand of the track.

“He then said, ‘Could I give you a blow job?’  Yep, that’s what he said.  OK, now maybe you have strange men in blue come up to you every day and say things like that, but I don’t, and never did.  Did I tell ya that prison is strange?  Anyway, without breaking our pace, and feeling blood rushing to my dick, I then decided to respond with the casual appropriate question of, ‘What’s your name?’  ‘Blue’, he replied.  ‘Well Blue, I’d like that,’  I finally said, by now, with a full blown hard-on.

“I had a medical call out at 9:45 am.  Blue and I walked the track several times together, chatting and getting to know each other.  At 9:40, I told Blue that I had to go.  He said he didn’t want to rush our friendship or relationship, but he asked when I would have free time again?  I told him I was teaching one of my private Stock Market classes after lunch, and we could get together after that.

“In prison, you never know what an appointment may entail.  I went to medical, and had my chest partially shaved, by the nurse, before she gave me an EKG, and that was the end of my appointment. 

“After lunch, my student John had me called to the laundry room.  The dorm is actually separated into two dorms, G1, and G2.  I saw John through the gated doorway to the laundry, through the gated doorway on his side, about ten feet away.  He needed to cancel our appointment, which was OK with me.  I then saw Blue, and asked him if he wanted to walk after the yard opened, since John had cancelled, and I was now free.  He said he’d be over after the yard opened.

“It was around 1:20 pm, when the staff announced, ‘Yards open.’  I laid on my bunk, as the dorm emptied out, and at about 1:35 pm, I decided to take a piss.  As I walked to the bathroom, I noticed about only three other inmates sleeping on their bunks, and one female officer reading in the officer’s station.

“I was at the first urinal, closest to the officers station when Blue walked around the corner, from the front door, and placed a broom at the locked utility room door.  As I looked across the shelf separating the bathroom area from the shower area, where the utility room was, I said to Blue, ‘You do have easy access, don’t you?’  ‘Yeah’, he replied, as he walked around to the third toilet stall from the officers station, a few feet behind me, to my left.  I glanced back at him while I was still holding my now enlarging dick, which seemed to forget that we were there to take a piss.

“Do you want to do something?’, he said.  ‘What, where?’, I replied.  ‘I’ll go down here’, he said, as he moved down to the eighth toilet stall, the last one, farthest from the officers station, and sat down.  I walked over to him, and pulled out my dick, that I had temporarily placed back into my pants, for the few feet journey.  I watched as he placed his sweet, wet mouth, with his soft large lips around my dick, and began sucking it.  I placed my right hand on his head and ran it down under his chin and felt his smooth skin and large adams apple.  By now, he had my whole dick in his mouth, and was pushing his roman type nose, and chisled face into my pubic haired thunder road.

“Our uniforms have front buttons for the fly, and I still had my belt on, and had only unbuttoned a few buttons of my fly,  My left hand was  holding down my blue gym shorts, which didn’t have a convenient opening for a dick, like our boxers did.  I had been watching the officer’s station, and the dorm area for any interruptions.  Each toilet stall had a four foot high divider, so from a distance Blue was not visible, and it just looked like I was standing there taking a piss.

“At one point, there was a loud noise around the officers station, that startled Blue, and he removed his mouth fom my dick.  My dick missed the warmth, and felt deserted, so I said, ‘Don’t stop.’  Did I ever tell ya that at this point, my dick has little conscience.  Anyway, Blue immediately wrapped his luscious lips again around my organ, and I tilted, and thrusted my dick farther into his mouth, with some positive feedback of, ‘Oh Blue, you’re good.’

“Blue was receptive to the feedback, and began moving his lips and mouth more feverishly up and down on my dick.  However, since I was standing in front of him, I guess the more appropriate way to describe it would be, in and out.  Of course, at this point, proper grammar usage wasn’t on my mind.

“I slid my right hand down Blue’s left shoulder and caressed the back of his neck.  ‘Blue, I’m about to cum’, I offered, so Blue could pull away, since we hadn’t discussed this before.  Blue tightened his lips around my shaft and didn’t miss a beat, as he continued to massage my dick with his tongue and lips.  It was like he was riding a horse and didn’t want to miss a thing, or get thrown off.  I looked down at Blue’s face pressed against my crotch.  His eyes were closed, and he had attractive curly eyelashes.  I felt his hands touch my balls through my pants, as I shot more than one load of cum into his hungry mouth, as he swallowed it all, and continued slowly blowing my now decreasing hard-on.

“It was one of those spontaneous, passionate moments, very rare in prison, that probably lasted all of five minutes.  While I was wearing my watch, it wasn’t where my attention was concentrated.  Yes, it was definately a fantastic moment, and a peak experience day.  I would have approximately one hundred similar type experiences in prison.  Blue is # 98 in my study.  Yeah, I’m bad.  I’m a sexual outlaw in prison, a member in good standing of God’s Gunner’s, Booty Bandits, & Bad Boys.

“If prison is an impersonal, oppressive, and inhumane environment, which it is, then this act, was a reflection, a reminder of our humanity, our individuality.  It was a defiant act of freedom, a choice we made freely in an environment that allows minimal choices, and denies emphatically our sexuality.

“I was startled by another sound by the officer’s station, and pulled my dick out of Blue’s mouth, and stepped over to the sink.  We made it , we had gotten away.  I turned the faucet on, as if in washing my hands.  Blue got up from the toilet seat, and walked over to me, in between me and the officers station.  He was facing the officers station, with his back to me, as I said, ‘That was great.’  He reached behind himself, and touched my crotch, and replied, ‘Yeah, when can we do it again?’  ‘We got to go.  Where are you going to be?,’ I asked, as I headed back into the living area past the officer, still reading, and unaware of our actions.  No inmate either had seen us.  ‘On the Rec yard’, Blue answered as he turned the corner, and headed out the door.  ‘I’ll see you there’, I replied.

“I felt lightheaded as I walked back to my bunk.  Yeah, that’s what he said, ‘When can we do it again?’  I think I could easily love this kid.  He definitely has the right attitude.  Intimacy in prison is like finding a diamond, it is a very rare commodity. Consciously choosing to reach across the great divide of space, tradition, security, rules, laws, time, and lonely isolation to touch another human spirit is also too rare.  No one was the wiser, that for a brief moment, in a bleak place in the universe, two men took refuge, and expressed love, in their shared humanity, with God’s blessing.”

 

“As the apple tree among the trees of the wood, so is my beloved among the sons.  I sat down under his shadow with great delight, and his fruit was sweet to my taste.”

Song of Solomon 

2:3

 

 

By R25288 ( c )  2006

www.r25288.com

r25288@yahoo.com

 

Chapter Six

 

Yi’l Be OK

 

“Bring my soul out of prison, that I may praise thy name:  the righteous shall compass me about;  for thou shall deal bountifully with me.”

Mas’chil of David;  A prayer when he was in the cave.    Psalm 142:7

 

“A nation should not be judged by how it treats it highest citizens, but its lowest ones-and South Africa treated its imprisoned African citizens like animals.”

Nelson Mandela, Long Walk To Freedom.

 

I was awakened from my nap by ring…ring…ring…the phone’s ringing.  Quick, get up, and get the phone.  I started to roll out of bed to get the phone, but my eyes opened, and I saw the prison cell door.  The horror!  I’m still here.  It’s not my phone.  My body was here, but my mind wasn’t, yet.  No need to get up.  Ring…ring.  Is someone going to answer the phone, since I can’t, I thought to myself.  Ring…ring.  Oh well, maybe not.  Ring…ring.  What’s up?  Isn’t this prison?  Aren’t I under some type of protective management?  Who’s minding the store? 

Ring…ring.  Are you kidding me?  What time is it?  I look out the door to see the wall clock.  It is 12:45 pm.  Where is everyone?   Ring…ring…ring.  Well, the caller is persistent, anyway.  Probably the governor calling to give me a pardon.  Yea, right.  The phone stops ringing.  I hear inmates yelling to each other through their cell doors.  Those are the bad boys, because that’s definitely against the rules.  I go back to lay down.  Nothing much else to do.

His name was Howdy.  He would come to my cell door five days out of the week, and meet my needs.  It was his job, from serving food trays, and handing out laundry, to sweeping the floors.  He was a trustee.  He was white, sixtyish, and I never knew his crime.  He said he had done four years, and had another four to go.  He said he use to deliver pizza, when he was on the “outs”.

“Hey, whar ya in fer?”  Howdy said to me, when I first met him.  “They didn’t tell me,” I lied.  I wasn’t about to say that I was former law enforcement, afraid for my safety.  “Guess they just don’t know what to do with me.”  “Yi’l be OK,” he replied.  “Wan’ somethin’ to read?”  “No, thanks,” I said.  “Ya got anythin’ to eat?”  Howdy asked.  ”No,” I replied.  “Dam’ I’m hungry,” Howdy said.  Howdy was skinny, and always hungry.

Howdy was what’s referred to in prison, as a “runaround.”  Someone whose job it is to run around and get those locked up in cells twenty-three-plus hours a day, forms, sheets, clothes, towels, hygiene items, underwear (every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday-when you’re allowed out of your cell for five minute showers), toilet paper, clean uniforms, socks, meal trays, and about anything and everything legal to have.  Staff delivered the mail.

Sometimes, you could hear another inmate going off on a runaround, because they didn’t get salt and pepper with their meal, or didn’t like the shape of the socks they were given.  Sometimes, the inmate with more than criminal behavior as their problem, as in, psychiatric problems, would accuse the runaround of stealing from them.  This, of course, was impossible, because the doors were locked.

I remember one of those types, when I first got into administrative confinement.  He was in the cell next to me.  Day and night, he would strain his voice, by projecting a Linda Blair devil type voice from “The Exorcist,” and yell out, “God will punish you!”  Stretching out the word God.  The walls were thin.  He managed to jolt me out of my sleep, more than once, with his admonishment.

“Will,” to me meant the future, as in, “You will be sorry.”  And as far as I was concerned, God was doing a pretty good job, right now, in the present, with punishing me.  I believed it couldn’t get any worse.  But, what did I know?

“He restoreth my soul.”  Well, I don’t know if it was restored, but I slept most of the next two days.  The trauma of prison, can be very tiring.  I wonder if Martha thought so, too?  Of course, she hadn’t arrived yet.

I was awakened by an officer knocking on my door.  “Hey, you want a roommate?  He’s just like you.”  The black officer asked.  “He’s just like you.  So you want a roommate?”  The officer repeated.  So, I said, “OK.”  

He then slid a blank form through the edge of the door, and said, “Sign that.”  The form said I was willing to have a roommate under the following conditions, with no reason stated.  So, I just wrote in, “Under similar circumstances.”  I slid it back to the officer, and he left.

So, I’m getting a roommate.  Well, I wonder what, “Just like you means?”  Does that mean he’s short, white, bald, old?  I came to find out it meant he also had a law enforcement background.  OK, how much can I do to clean up this small area.  Where is my maid when I need her?

After a while, a tall, slender, white, with hair, young looking man, entered the cell.  I stood up, extended my hand, and said, “Hi, I’m Chris.”  “Hi, I’m Tom.” (I do not use real names throughout this book, except my own, and other authors, the Bible, and real entities).

Tom was nothing like me.  This wasn’t the first time that the DOC (Department of Corrections) and I would have a difference of opinion, nor the last.  However, it is just a microcosm of society, and I met many good, honest, humane officers, and staff there. 

Tom was Jewish, and married with children.  He had been sentenced to five years in prison as a sex offender.  He said he only kissed her breasts, and she was almost sixteen.  It was all more than I wanted to know, or hear.

But as far as a roommate went, he was OK.  He was clean and he showered.  He had two years of college, so he was someone with whom I could carry on an intelligent conversation.  He had a supportive family, with money.  That, and not being a gay Conscientious Objector, or Vietnam War protester, probably contributed to him being released in 2003.  Three years before me, and I didn’t kiss anyones’ breasts.  He is today listed as a sexual predator.

My father, Dr. William Eckhardt was a Peace Researcher.  After twenty-five years of research, he wrote in his last book (Civilizations, Empires, and Wars), in 1992 (the year of his death from prostate cancer) that eighty percent of all war deaths are civilians, and the country that starts the war loses more often.

Dad had been trained as a Clinical Psychologist, and had been a consultant to the courts.  He had told me that sex offenders had a low rate of success, as far as a total cure went.  The fact that Tom has been out three years, may mean we may be making some progress in that area.

I accepted Tom, not his behavior, and we got along fine our sixty-eight days together, in that small cell.  I know nothing I’ve done in this life warranted me going to prison, so I chalked it up to some past life crime, that I was now doing karma for, or God giving me a new opportunity.  You see, I view the cup as half full, not half empty.

I wrote this between December 12th, 2001, to December 23rd, 2001:

 

May God Bless You, Too

 

Prison is but a stumble, Ye not let me fall

The window in my cell will not completely close

Early in the morning, I feel your cool draft, I hear your call

I see surrounded by flood lights, the fences of twelve foot, topped by barbed wire

In your daylight from my prison window, I see your light blue sky, and your light green grass, your white clouds, like cotton balls

Your words I read, of forgiveness, and in faith, you abolish my tire

Salvation has come through the crack in the window, through the sunrays on the wall, through the tears on my cheek

In hope, and in faith, Ye not let me fall

The screen mesh on the window is covered in lint and soot, the hole is filled with tissue

The slate of window is stained with remnants of grass, and a cloudy film of age, unclean

But I still see your blue sky, and the barbed wire to my right

Another warehouse of your human souls, fifty feet straight ahead

With a treetop above it, I see your light

Your word is the seed that is now taking firmer root

Deliverance is coming, but not yet today

Much still to learn to follow your Way

I say the miracle of life resides in this temple body

It can produce life, like the earth produces plants

Plentiful and never ending unto eternity, which is mine

The lights of three, of four cell windows, I see from my window, shine tonight

Some cells have no windows, housing your human souls, without your natual light

And the hum of the air conditioning in the medical trailer between us, hums off and on

The Amtrak train sounds its’ horn at dawn

Prison is now my sanctuary, as I read and learn more of thy Words

A 6′ or 7′x9′ cell, 24 hours a day, 7 days a week

Hello, my name is of He, and I am an inmate

I am a sinner, I am strong, and I am meek

Yesterday at dawn, the frog called your name

The trouble and worries of my mind left

And your calm of thoughts came

My next door neighbor cursing and yelling awakens me

Finally on day sixty-five, the heat works briefly, another miracle to see

Prison is my seminary

To let events happen, to let it just be

Today, I saw my fathers’ hand in me

I sang your praise last night

Cells away, a song replied, without the light

An unknown inmate knocked on my cell wall, and said in the night

“May God Bless You”

December 23rd, with weekend warriors

I replied, “And May God Bless You, Too”

 

“A freedom fighter must take every opportunity to make his case to the people.”

Nelson Mandela,  Long Road To Freedom

 

To do that, we both broke the rules, because communication within confinement is verboten.  I heard beautiful spirituals sung by beautiful black voices to the appreciation of all who heard, except the authoritarian officer who silenced them.  Sometimes they were racist, sometimes they were sadistic, always, they had the power, so they were right, even when they were wrong.

You could buck it, and you also could get maced, placed naked in an isolation cell, with a thermostat they controlled, or they could kill you, which has happened, and it is all documented.  Just entered the name into any search engine of Frank Valdez.  His wife has a website up under geocities.

I was often placed into isolation without my law work or my religious materials.  I filed Inmate Request forms for the same.  You see that is required first, before you can file a grievance.  You are also not allowed to keep a copy of your inmate request form.  The staff then have ten days to respond to your request.  Then they can say they never received it, and you start all over again.  The system is in need of change, and an Ombudsman/woman/men/ or women, that inmates may have faith in, so that their voices may be heard.

 

 

“This would be a hazardous life, and I would be apart from my family, but when a man is denied the right to live the life he believes in, he has no choice but to become an outlaw.”

Nelson Mandela,  Long Road To Freedom

 

My first sixty days in prison when I was allowed to call no one, not even my attorney or family, and my grievances were never responded to, and have probably been destroyed, they finally told my family that I had written down the wrong numbers, and that was why I couldn’t get through.  I’m sure you  have problems remembering your own phone number, too. Yeah, right. Of course, when I requested a copy of my phone log listing the numbers I had written down, they were never forthcoming with them, because they knew I had written them correctly the first time.  They too, no doubt have been destroyed, from all my request in October, November, and December of 2001.  I was finally allowed to call my family in January, 2002.

And if you were to ask the DOC did they lock me up for refusing to sign my name, they will tell you that it never happened,  They will just tell you that they did lock me up for refusing to follow an order.  And the order that I refused to follow, well it was to sign my name.  I refuse to sign false confessions, or forms that say it is OK to take away my rights.  Yes, Virginia, The DOC and I have truly honest differences of opinion, sometimes. 

On November 1st, 2001, I was granted a Motion For Bail Pending Appeal.  However, I was already in prison, and the DOC didn’t know how to deal with it, as so few of us get bail pending appeal, and never once you’re in prison.  So, whenever I left my cell shackled and handcuffed behind my back, I took my Order with me.  For simplicity, it was a Get Out Jail Free card.  I begged everyone to please take it out of my pocket, read it,  and let me call my attorney or family to arrange bail.  No one did.  All of my grievances were never responded to.  So, on December 6th, 2001, with no legal representation present representing me, my bail was revoked.  Once in the belly of the beast, it will not let you go, and will do everything in its power to bring you back, which it does with every two out of three of us, within three years of our release from prison. 

 

“Little can be said in favor of prison, but enforced isolation is condusive to study.”

Nelson Mandela, Long Road To Freedom

 

In any psychosexual-sociological study presentation, it is important to understand the language, the semantics, the meanings given to words and terms, and their conotations and denotations.

Webster’s 1st through 10th edition Dictionaries have no definition for gunnin or booty bandits.  If it did it might read like this:

Gunnin-verb, one who guns;  a gunner, not in the military sense, rather in the prison sense;  a person who masturbates himself, usually in public, to the back of a female staff’s body or head;  as only done by male inmates, it is heterosexual in nature;  it is maturbation, normally to climax, unless observed and stopped by staff;  a form of rape;  not to be interpreted as a homosexual act, although homosexuals may also be gunners, however the object of their affection/interest/desire would be a male.  However I never witnessed homosexual gunnin in prison.  Gunnin usually falls into the ethnic background of the African-American, but not always.  Done normally or abnormally, depending on your point of view, by men who view women as sexual objects to be used for the gunners pleasure. I was not a gunner, and I would interrupt them whenever I became aware of it.  More on this later.

 

Booty Bandit may be described as a noun:  one who likes booty, sometimes spelled boody-a vulgar slang.

What is defined from the dictionary, regarding booty:

“1.  Plunder taken from an enemy in time of war.

“2.  Goods or property seized by force or piracy.

“3.  A valuable prize, award, or gain.

“Slang-the buttock.

“Vulgar slang:

“a.  The vulva or vagina.

“b.  Sexual intercourse,

“African American Vernacular English, from obsolete Black English booty,

“body, perhaps alteration of body”

It should not be confused with “a bootee which is usually a knitted shoe for a baby, or bootie which is an ankle length disposable foot covering, used by medical personnel and others in sterile environments.”

So, a Booty Bandit, as used here and in prison, is used as a noun;  one who likes booty, as in ass;  one who takes ass, as in a bandit, a thief;  however, while used in the prison environment, the conotation usually infers to anyone interested or engaged in homosexual sex;  as used in the situational setting of prison, it does not necessarily denote that a Booty Bandit is a homosexual, although the act itself is a homosexual act.  The denotation cannot be accomplished without two people involved, and aside from the act of rape, usually involves two consenting male adults. 

When the system places normal men in cages with other men and no women, like animals, and denies them conjugal visits with their wives, or girlfriends, the system perpetuates homosexuality.

A Booty Bandit is one who enjoys and engages in normally consensual homosexual acts.  The enjoyment may be brief, and may involve pychosexual/psychoreligious emotions of guilt, denial, and self-loathing for engaging in the homosexual experience/act.

The prison Booty Bandit usually sees himself as the active male role model versus the passive one.  He is the inserter, not the inserted.  He is into the top position, not the bottom.  He usually cares little for his partner’s needs being met, or reciprocity.  On the streets he may be on the down low, as in not letting his female partner/s know of his bisexuality, or he may on the outs, only engage in heterosexual activity.

At one time, I and another experienced inmate counted fifty inmates in our institution of approximately thirteen hundred inmates that we basically knew were engaged in non-closeted homosexuality, or approximately four percent.  As I was at this institution over four years, I found this figure fairly consistent, and I guesstimated another approximate two to four percent were closeted, and chose not to engage in homosexuality in prison, and had told me so.  I believe homosexuality in prison mirrors that in our society at six to eight percent.  The fascinating item in my study, next to the WCC(worst crime committed) statistic, was the twenty-one percent who called themselves straight, but had more than one adult gay experience.  That to me, represents a much larger percentage of bisexuality, than we may be aware of.

I believe the difference could come from being a gay interviewer, and the subjects knew I would not condemn them for their bisexuality, if admitted, where a straight interviewer might.

Every interview began with asking for their ID card.  The data there provided answers to questions one through eight:

1.  Name;

2.  ID number;

3.  Date of birth;

4.  Hair color;

5.  Eye color;

6.  Height;

7.  Weight;

8.  Race.

Th rest of the questions:

9.  Nickname/s;

10.  Number of times in prison;

11.  First time in prison, subsequent times, charges, pleas, and sentence/s;

12.  Where incarcerated, and years there;

13.  Number of DR’s-Disciplinary Reports, dispositions, why, charges, guilty or not;

14.  Which prison you liked best, and why;

15.  Which prison you liked least, and why;

16.  EOS-End of your sentence;

17.  Your educational level;

18.  Married, and number of marriages;

19.  Number of children, sex and age;

20.  Age of wife;

21.  Mother alive, and supportive;

22.  Father alive, and supportive;

23.  Number of siblings, and supportive;

24.  Age and sex of sibling/s;

25.  Birthplace;

26.  Raised where;

27.  Vocation on the streets;

28.  Number of hospital stays;

29.  Most serious medical condition today;

30.  Favorite sport;

31.  Favorite TV show;

32.  Most favorite movie;

33.  Most favorite color;

34.  Favorite song;

35.  Current favorite day of the week-why;

36.  Favorite day of the week on the streets-why;

37.  Greatest lifetime achievement;

38.  Worst crime committed;

39.  Best time in prison;

40.  Worst time in prison;

41.  What one thing you’d improve in prison;

42.  Tatoos, first, last, and meanings;

43.  Have you ever had to deal with racism, or homophobia in prison; 

44.  How do you handle the lack of privacy in prison;

45.  Sexual orientation;

46.  Do you consider yourself a violent person-most you’ve done and received;

47.  Most violent thing you have seen in prison;

48.  Most violent thing you have seen on the streets;

49.  Do you have gold teeth, and if so their meaning;

50.  Do you condider yourself a leader;

51.  HIV status;

52.  First sexual experience;

53.  Best sexual experience, and why;

54.  Current job in prison;

55.  Did you have a fear of prison the first time you got here;

56.  Future plans;

57.  What will you need to help you when you get out;

58.  Were you ever in a JDC (Juvenile Detention Center);

59.  What are your thoughts on gambling in prison;

60.  What are your thoughts on drugs in prison;

61.  What are your thoughts on gays in prison;

62.  What are your thoughts on gunnin in prison;

63.  What are your thoughts on gangs in prison;

64.  What was your religious upbringing;

65.  Do you believe in God;

66.  If so, what is God to you;

67.  What are your thoughts on prison;

68.  Do you belong in prison;

69.  Do we need prisons, and if so, for whom;

70.  What are your thoughts on 9/11;

71.  What is your political persuasion, and have you ever voted;

72.  Have you made friends in prison that you think you’ll continue to communicate with once you get out, and if so, how many;

73.  Do you belong in prison;

74.  If your son was coming to prison, what would you tell him;

75.  What to you was the greatest lesson of prison.

For whatever reason, once they gave me their ID cards, and they saw me write it all down on paper, honesty basically followed.  Pedophiles even told me they were pedophiles, but on the pound, the general prison grounds, their crime was usually known as something else more acceptable.

I only had one person stop the interview, after I had obtained the answers to questions one through eight.  He was not comfortable with continuing, so we didn’t.  His incomplete data is not used in this study.

One person also started the interview three times, but continually got interrupted, and had to leave.  I gave up doing an interview with him, and his incomplete data is also not used here.  I finally decided just to number everyone one through one hundred.  I never took the study, or answered the questions.

For a brief while, some inmates thought I was an FBI plant, which I have never been.  The third person who requested to be anonymous won a four year football scholarship.  He was in on first degree murder charges, which he didn’t share at the time of the interview, but I subsequently found on the DOC website.  A few said of the interview, that it was the best experience they had ever had in prison.

Once they had told their stories, I somehow felt like an accomplice.  I had taken on their secret, their burden.  I still have not been trained in Christ enough, because while I maintained their confidentiality from other inmates during my whole stay there, I was sickened by their lack of compassion, their egotistical, narcisstic personalities and attitudes.  I was saddened by their anger, hate, misfortune, lack of education, opportunities, lack of moral and ethical training, their lack of love, and God in their lives.

Worse than their crimes, and lack of humanistic values, was the disturbing realization that we, as a society, were offering them nothing to change their behavior, and as such, we have all become accomplices to their future murders, rapes, and child abuse.  All we have done is keep them away from us for awhile, because ninety percent of them will get out, in worse shape, with more hate, than when they first got here.  Ask yourself, at the next horror news, why did that former inmate rape, kill police officers, and other vs. going back to prison.  What is going on in our prison, that people would rather take your loved ones lives, and their own, than to return to live in prison.  When death is more attractive than prison, it is time to reevaluate our prisons, and how we treat our fellow human beings there.  No other country in the world experiences this like we do.  Why is that?

Thomas Szasz wrote in his book, The Manufacture of Madness, that psychiatry basically perpetuates more illnesses through more new names, and forms, and therefore guarantees their future employment.

So, too, in the criminal prison industrial complex, judges, court administrators, and legislators promote the manufacture of crime, by labeling more crimes, and extending punishments with mandatory-minimums type laws.  We now incarcerate over two million Americans annually, with approximately one half of us being first time non violent offenders, that should never be in prison to begin with.  Prison is too expensive for first time non violent offenders.  We need to develop more alternatives and options like European and the Canadian governments have done.  Your grandmother on Medicaid needs food, medication, and housing, but we are cutting her benefits to pay for unnecessary, and too long prison terms, while offering nothing but hate and no values education or rehabilitation, only a continuing cycle of imprisonment.

 

“The struggle is my life.  I will continue fighting for freedom until the end of my days.”

Nelson Mandela, Long Road To Freedom

 

Some thoughts on gunnin in prison taken from question number sixty-two in my survey, and not everyone answered the question:

1.  “Personally, I think it’s sick, perverse.”

2.  “I dislike it-it perpetuates sex offenses-gunnin someone down, against their will, is a sex offense, I think.”

3.  “I’m against that.”

4.  “That’s their thing.”

5.  ”I’m a gunner-women should let us gun ‘em more-we’re not touching ‘em.”

6.  “Against it-when public.”

7.  ” Totally sick-she ain’t in here to be gunned at-here to do her job.”

11.  “Something unstable there for person to do that-I try not to judge.”

13.  “Hideous.”

14.  “I love it.  I do it every now and then.”

18.  “I gun a bitch down quick, so it don’t make a difference.”

19.  “Get your groove on-never gone to jail for-just be careful.”

20.  “Infatuation-memories.”

23.  “Should be charged with outside-lewd and lascivious-if gunnin staff-gunnin a book OK.”

24. “I ain’t never done that before in my life.”

29.  “It’s a sickness.”

30.  “I don’t too much like it, I guess.”

32.  “I had someone do it to me yesterday-interesting.”

33.  “Perverted as fuck-but that’s them.”

34.  “Stupidest thing an inmate could do.”

38.  “Disgusting, perverted, sick.”

41.  “To each his own.”

44.  “That’s a psychological problem.”

47.  “I detest it.”

53.  “Disgusting-should not be allowed-not where everyone can see.”

55.  “Keep it up.”

56.  “Disgusting.”

58.  “I don’t think you should gun an officer, but inmates OK, if they let you.”

60.  “Mental health problems.”

64.  “Perverts.”

65.  “Gotta do what ya gotta do in a sexually deprived environment, and nature calls.”

68.  “Disrespectful-don’t like it at all.”

69.  “I don’t understand it.”

70.  “I use to do it-only in county jail-if woman looks at it while doing it-I’m all for it, if not, it’s perverted.”

72.  “I think it’s foul-disgusting-actually raping that woman unless she initiated.”

74.  “To each his own-long as not gunnin me.”

81.  “Let him do his thing if person gets off that way.”

82.  “Disgusting-repulsive-outrageous-uncalled for-demeaning.”

83.  “Stupid-I don’t understand how you get off looking at the back of a persons’ head.”

85.  “Alright-cool.”

88.  “Oh my God-Yes, Man-I see nothing wrong with it-safest sex in prison-wish they wouldn’t gun me-desperate to gun me-locked up so long.”

89.  “They have a problem with-got to stop it-wouldn’t know how to stop it.”

90.  “They shouldn’t allow that-a waste.”

91.  “Disgusting-utterly appalled-lowest a human can go.”

92.  “Dumb-the way the cats be doing it-gunnin a tower that can’t see ya(some guys gun the towers on the Rec yard when staffed by a female).

95.  “Shit, hell no.”

97.  “It’s fun.”

100.  “Long as it ain’t me, man, they can do what they want to do.”

 

“Prison is designed to break one’s spirit and destroy one’s resolve.  To do this, the authorities attempt to exploit every weekness, demolish every initiative, negate all signs of individuality-all with the idea of stamping out that spark that makes each of us human and each of us who we are. 

“Prison and the authorities conspire to rob each man of his dignity.”

Nelson Mandela, Long Road To Freedom

 

“And ye now therefore have sorrow:  but I will see you again, and your heart shall rejoice, and your joy no man taketh from you,”

John 16:22

 

 

 

By R25288 ( c ) 2006

www.r25288.com

r25288@yahoo.com

 

Chapter Five

 

May I Please Go Home Now

 

“Therefore if I know not the meaning of the voice, I shall be unto him that speaketh a barbarian, and he that speaketh shall be a barbarian unto me.”

I Corinthians  14:11

 

So too is it with the criminal mind, like the gay mind, it is a language that many of us have no understanding of, and it frightens us, as the unknown usually does.  In breaking down the walls of misunderstanding, we open the doors to new perceptions, and increase our wisdom, tolerance, and Godliness.

 

Lunch consisted of a bag with a peanut butter sandwich, a turkey sandwich, and a cookie in it. No Grey Poupon mustard was offered.  As a Finalist in the Tampa Bay Chef’s Open, prison cuisine was not my favorite, but it was always nutritious, and tastier than I had expected.

After having my picture taken, and my fingerprints, I finally decided that I was tired of sitting on the Group W benches, with too many of my intellectually challenged brothers in blue.  I approached an officer, and pointed out page two in the manual, and requested protective custody.

I looked around the room at fifty plus other criminals.  I now had figured out that half of the guys came from Pinellas County with me, and the other half were from Pasco County, and they had arrived just shortly before us.

I was told that I was now in PC-Predetermination Confinement status.  I was led off shackled and handcuffed to dorm E2, which was the unit for Administrative Confinement.

I was placed in cell number eight, alone.  There was a toilet, sink, and two bunk beds attached to the wall.  It had a window to the outdoors.  There was a slat in the door for food trays to be placed through, and it had a window.  I was next to the back door. 

I had been given blue slip on cloth type shoes, size ten.  They fit fine.  They were called “bo bo’s,” and I still don’t know why. I was also given a white 2x tee shirt, white 2x boxers, white socks, and a 2x orange jump suit.  It had five snap-ons, four of which were capable of snapping.

I was given a black blanket, two white sheets, one pillow case, with no pillow, a comb, which I had no use for, a toothbrush, a tube of toothpaste, and one roll of toilet paper.

After another strip search, I was left alone.  I made the lower bunk, which I had been assigned to.  This cell was to be my home for the next seventy-seven days, or eleven weeks, or one thousand, eight hundred and forty-eight hours, but who’s counting? 

The cell was about six feet by nine feet.  The food slat was about one third of the way up from the floor, in the door, about four inches by twelve inches.  It was also where I would stoop to get handcuffed.  There was also a stainless steel sink, and toilet at the end of the bed, on the right side.  The bottom of the door had a four inch gap for empty food trays to be slid out.  Over the sink was a six inch by nine inch scratched up metal mirror.  Suffice it to say that these are all guesstimations, as rulers were never provided.

Prison life is the art of maximizing minimalism, and everything has value.

Beside the sink, next to the door, was the stainless steel toilet.  The sink had two push buttons for both the cold and hot water.  The cold water button did not operate for my first thirty days.  The toilet button was above the toilet, on the wall, and had a habit of sticking.  The toilet had no liftable padded seat like I was use to, in fact, it had no liftable seat at all.  Oh, the adjustments prison life forces on one. 

The view out of my cell door window was of the staff desk, about sixty feet away, by the front door.  Fortunately, there was a clock above the desk.  I could not see cells one through seven to my right, but I could see cells nine through fourteen, in front of me.

Beside cells one and fourteen was a single person shower room, about the size of a small closet.  Cell fourteen was used for storage, and a bathroom for the staff, and trustees.  By the front door was floor to ceiling plexiglass, looking out to the control room.  I use to work in a control room.  Now I am the dangerous one being controlled.  What goes around sometimes comes around.  I was in Unit 2 of E dorm, and Unit 1 was to our right, not visible.  Units 3 and 4 were visible through the plexiglass, through the Control station. 

On top of cells one through fourteen, were cells fifteen through twenty-eight.  It was similar to old prison movies, with grated metal stairs at both ends leading up to a catwalk of about three feet in diameter, surrounded by a couple of guard rails.

My window facing the outdoors was on the back wall, about five feet from the floor, about forty inches wide by twenty inches tall.  There was a knob that allowed the window to be opened.  Only about one third of the window was openable.

There was a medical prefab type like building ten feet away from my window, like a mobile home.  Past it was the Disciplinary Confinement building.  I could see four windows there.  There were more, but the medical building blocked seeing any more.  The windows were high, at about the ten foot level, from the ground.  Over the DC building, I could see the tops of a few trees.  To the right looking out, I could see more fences, with spiraling barbed wire.  With the hum of the air conditioning unit at the the medical building, I laid down to nap.  Sleep is a healer.

 

“I am debtor both to the Greeks, and to the Barbarians;  both to the wise, and to the unwise.”

Romans  1:14

 

In the struggle between good and evil, God is only a letter removed from good, and evil is spelled vile.  The man in white is not always the good guy, and the man in black may be good.

The law means what it says, or does it?  When we ignore and misinterpret the law, which is semantics, and the study of language, and the meaning of words;  when justice is abused, we have a denial of justice, and people like me imprisoned, who shouldn’t be.

Florida Statutes 918.10 (1) Charge to Jury, reads:

“At the conclusion of argument of counsel, the court shall charge the jury.  The charge shall be only on the law of the case and must include the penalty for which the accused is being charged.”

I represented myself at trial, and I asked the Judge to comply with the above law, and I did so on the record.  On this subject, the Florida Attorney General has said:

“Failure to comply with statute would not be reversible error in a particualar case if request therefore was not made by or in behalf of the defendant.”  1939 Opp Atty Gen 87

Under Brown v State, 206 So.2d 377 (1968):

“Failure to give an instruction is of no avail on appeal unless it is requested and improperly refused at trial level.”

Under Williams v State, 370 So. 2d 902 (1980):

“Word ‘Shall’ as used by Supreme Court when establishing rules of court procedure mean exactly what it usually means as defined in accepted dictionary, and thus it is error for trial court to refuse request to charge on maximum and minimum sentence which may be imposed.”

Under McLaughlin v State, 721 So. 2d 1170 (1998), the Florida Supreme Court said this:

“When language of statute is clear and unambiguous and conveys clear and definte meaning, there is no occassion for resorting to rules of statutory interpretations and construction;  statute must be given its plain and obvious meaning.”

Under West’s Florida Statutes Annotated subsection 775.021 (2003):

“(1) The provisions of this code and offenses defined by other statutes shall be strictly construed;  When the language is susceptible of differing construction, it shall be construed most favorably to the accused.”

Here is just one example of the justice I received, taken from page 679 of my trial transcript, which is public information, on this very issue, and my request to the Court to comply with the above law:

“The Court:  Okay.

The Prosecutor:  “Do you want me to research that or have you satisfied yourself?

“The Court:  I’m satisfied.  It says that, but it doesn’t mean it.

The Prosecutor:  “Okay.  Is that for capital cases?

“The Court:  I think there’s some case law that I’ve been apprized(sic) of that seems to suggest it’s related capital cases, and there’s still some confusion about it, although it’s pretty clear that it doesn’t apply in this situation.

“But, Mr. Eckhardt, again I’ll say what I did earlier, I want to confirm that you brought up something that none of us had ever heard of.

The Prosecutor:  “Baffled us.

“The Court:  Baffled us absolutely, and I put out a call for further information about it, and I’m satisfied that it would not be appropriate to instruct the jury on penalty for what you’re charged with, and I don’t intend to do it.” 

They got baffled, and I got fifteen years.  My dear gentle reader, the Judge even said on the record that I was not a threat to society.  My crime was being a Vietnam War Protester, and a political junkie. 

Americans are highly religious, but only on their own terms.  So, I, like them, am highly religious.  I can be both gay, and a Christian.  The problem, my dear Brutus, lies not in me, but in thine eye.  I refuse to be excluded, or buy the definition that God doesn’t like me.  God loves me, and my brothers in blue, and my gay brothers and lesbian sisters.  God not only made Adam and Eve, but also Adam and Steve, and Eve and Edith. 

Those who think otherwise, would prefer for gays to continue to live in the closet, blacks to return to the back of the bus, Hispanics to return to Mexico, and women to return to the kitchen, barefoot and pregnant.  Neither your prisons, nor your hating policies…

Tom was talking to his Ma:

“They sat silent in the coal-black cave of vines.  Ma said, ‘How’m I gonna know bout you?  They might kill ya an’ I wouldn’ know.  They might hurt ya.  How ‘m I gonna know?

“Tom laughed uneasily.  Well maybe like Casy says, a fella ain’t got a soul of his own, but on’y a piece of a big one-an’ then-

Then what, Tom?

Then it don’ matter.  Then I’ll be all aroun’ in the dark.  I’ll be ever’where-wherever you look.  Wherever they’s a fight so hungry people can eat.  I’ll be there.  Whenever they’s a cop beatin’ up a guy.  I’ll be there.  If Casy knowed, why, I’ll be in the ways guys yell when they’re mad an-I’ll be in the ways kid laugh when they’re hungry an’ they know supper’s ready.

“An’ when our folks eat the stuff they raise an’ live in the houses they build-why, I’ll be there.  See?  God I’m talking like Casy.  Comes of thinkin about him so much.  Seems like I can see him sometimes.

“I don’t un’erstan’, Ma said.  I don’t really know.

“Me neither’, said Tom.  ‘It’s jus’ stuff I been thinkin about.  Get thinkin’ a lot when you ain’t movin’ aroun’.  You got to get back, Ma.”

From, The Grapes Of Wrath, by John Steinbeck.

My prison was Liberty Correctional Institution, in Bristol, Florida, in the panhandle, and it provided me an “ain’t movin’ aroun’” place, and time to think, and write.

“Now the Lord is that Spirit:  and where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is liberty.” 

II Corinthians  3:17

 

God gave me the gift of prison, and I decided to go into uncharted waters. I did what has never been done before-an in depth study of the criminal mind, by an inmate, of inmates, from behind the razorwire, over three and a half years.  It is mind blowing.  I interviewed one hundred inmates, with a seventy-five item questionaire, that I developed.  The questions ranged from family history, to education, to medical, to politics, to sexual orientation, to greatest lifetime achievement, to favorite movies, colors, TV shows, to most violence seen in prison, and on the streets, to tatoos and gold teeth, to worst crimes committed, to religion, their thoughts on 9/11, to their first and best sexual experiences, to their thoughts on gangs, gays, drugs, gambling, gunnin (the act of masterbation while looking at the back of a female staff), their thoughts on prison, and who belongs there, to changes they would like to see in prison, to what was their greatest lesson of prison.  While not purely scientific, the results have merit, and are worthy of further study.

I spent four years at this level four prison.  Level seven being the most maximum.  I interviewed murderers, bank robbers, rapists, child molesters, kidnappers, drug dealers, prostitutes, and gang members.  They were Democrats, Republicans, and Independents.  They were straight, gay, bisexual, and transexual.

They all knew I was gay, and what they said would be made public.  I believe the interview process was a confessional for most of them.  Because I loved them, and was one of them, allowed for truthfulness that will amaze you.  I slowed down doing the interviews, because their stories of abuse, anger, despair, and the violence they had received, and inflicted onto others was more than I could bear.  While I had law enforcement, and interviewing experience and training, I had never received priestly training, and their pain hurt my soul.

In the final analysis, prison is full of fear, from the brown shirts-officers, to the blue shirts-inmates, to the white shirts-administration.  Only in looking at each other as children of God, each worthy of love, may we hope to bring each other up.  For the truth is we must go up together, the alternative offers no hope.

Each interview took approximately forty-five minutes.  Only three percent of my study requested to be anonymous.  One was a convicted child abuser, one had a father who had killed a police officer.  The interesting thing was that those three never said anything incriminating.  I will honor their request.

In December, 2005, I finally sat down and began correlating the data, and reading it all, from the first interview in April, 2002. It was voluminous.  It was shocking and sad.  It was humorous and inspirational.  It is the truth, as told to me, and I believe it represents the truth.  No quotes or data were invented, or deleted.

To the question of, What was your worst crime committed?  Some would respond with, “I don’t know if I want to answer that.”  I would respond with, “You decide, I’m writing a book.”

Nineteen percent of my study admitted to crimes they had never been charged with, up to and including murders in three states, kidnapping, ID theft, and various shootings.  Here is one response to the WCC (worst crime committed ) question:

 ” I don’t know-shit they charged me with-I ain’t going to tell you what I didn’t get caught for.  Judges read.  Lawyers read.”

Here is a response to the question I asked another regarding, Do you consider yourself a violent person?:

“No more than the next man.  I’ve killed seven times on different streets in New York, North Carolina, and Florida.”(Never charged with manslaughter or murder).

To the WCC question, another said:

“Murder.  I was never charged.”

When I followed up with, In Maryland or Florida?  He responded with:

“I can’t say that.”(Released from prison).

Another responded to the WCC question with:

“First degree murder-never charged.”

When I asked, What was your vocation on the streets?  He replied:

“Robbing.”

When I asked, What are your future plans?  He responded:

“Rob.”

I asked another inmate, Do you have gold teeth, and if so what do they signify?  He responded with:

I have three gold teeth-I don’t want to answer what they signify…I’m taking them out when I get out…each one represents a person I shot-all still alive-over drugs-never charged-respect-two in wheelchairs…other dead.” (Released-2003).

As you can see, they all can’t be alive, if one is dead.  That was how the interviews went.  I was shocked by the lack of remorse by some, and continually amazed at their openness.

To the WCC question , another responded with:

“Murder-never charged-drive by shooting in 1986, in St. Petersburg, (Florida)-don’t know number hurt-mother asked about it-two dead, others shot up-three doing the shooting-AK 47-one weapon, each times three-issue over rob-blacks-no one ever charged-considered an unsolved crime today-I’m concerned over telling you-no, can’t prove I did it.”

One is not allowed tape recorders in prison, and I never took short hand, so the answers are broken up like that above.  After I got a few words, sometimes whole sentences, I would follow it up with another question.  So, like above, there was one weapon used, and each person shot three times.  Only blacks were involved, and the shooting was over a robbery. 

Another reponded to the WCC question with:

“Shot someone.”

When I followed it up with, Killed?  He responded:

“No comment.”

To my question of, What are your future plans? Another inmate said:

Rape, rob, and pillage-all DOC officials of any institution whether I’ve been there or not.”

Yes, Virginia, we really do need some prisons to protect society.  The inmates in my study ranged from age twenty to fifty-six, with an average age of thirty-four.  Fifty-six percent were black, thirty-five percent were white, seven percent were Hispanic, and two percent were Asian.

For thirty-eight percent, this was their first time in prison;  thirty-seven percent had been here once before;  twelve percent had been here twice before;  eight percent had been here three times before;  four percent had been here four times before; and one percent had been here eight times before. The one percenter listed his vocation as, “Shoplifting.”

Thirty-one percent have already been released to the streets;  twenty-three percent will be released between now and 2010;  forty-three percent have release dates after 2010, or no release date;  three percent I catagorized as unknown.

Twenty-nine percent had some college;  sixteen percent had GED’s;  thirty-nine percent had less than high school diplomas;  fourteen percent had high school diplomas;  and two percent unknown.

Thirty-four percent identified themselves as straight sexually;  twenty-one percent identified themselves as straight, but admitted to more than one adult homosexual experience;  twenty percent identified themselves as gay;  twenty-four percent identified themselves as bisexual;  and one percent identified as transexual.

The number one rated favorite TV show was CSI, at thirteen percent.  The number one rated favorite movie was Scarface, at eight percent, second was Titanic, at six percent.  Blue was the favorite color at thirty-eight percent, and second was red at twenty-one percent.

Some of the answers to, What is your greatest lifetime achievement?

“Having a son-very smart-not taking path I took.”

“My daughter.”

“High School Student President.”

“I don’t think I got one.”

“I have learned for myself that if I do not make no good choices for me.  I didn’t respect law or other people-I had a negative attitude toward society.  I can see different now, and I can make better choices, and not see this place no more.”

“Overcoming hate of myself, because I’m gay-accepting myself.”

“Becoming a Christian.”

“Knowledge I’ve gained concerning God’s word and the law.”

“Getting my breasts.  Oh, that felt lovely.  That was something I always wanted to do.”

“Always wanted to be a drug dealer-when got first key to sell.”

“Making a change within myself.  The way I look at life in being a better person.  Once I didn’t care about living-it was an obstacle.  I did what I did.  I see more to life than negativity-so much.  I can’t sum it up in a couple words.  Now I feel I can get out and make it.  I have a history pattern of institutional progress.  I broke that cycle-things I’ve learned since being in prison.  I care more for myself, people that love me, children that need me, to do what’s right for myself, my children.”

The religious breakdown in my study was thirty-five percent identified themselves as Baptists;  thirty-one percent identified as Christian;  eleven percent as Catholic;  eleven percent as non-religious; four percent nothing noted;  two percent as Buddhists;  one percent Hebrew Israelite;  one percent Orthodox Jew;  one percent Muslim;  one percent Jehovah Witness;  one percent Judaism;  and one percent House of Yahweh. 

Question sixty-four was, What was your religious upbringing?  Question sixty-five was, Do you believe in God?  And question sixty-six was, If so, what is God to you?  Some of the answers:

“Baptist. Yes.  Someone that watches out for me, and makes sure I make it to see tomorrow.”

“Baptist.  Yes  A being up there, watching everything.  Why he don’t get involved, I don’t know.”

“Christian-firm believer in the Bible.  Yes.  The backbone of my strength since I’ve been incarcerated-helped me in alot of ways.”

“Christian.  Yes.  Someone with greater power than me.”

“Christian, now Judaism.  Born Jewish-not raised however.  Yes.  Indescribable entity or force.”

“Baptist.  I ain’t seen him.”

“Catholic.  Spiritual last two sentences-went to everything.  This time, I’ve not been once to the Chapel here.  No need for Chaplains here.”

“Baptists.  That’s a tough question.  Let’s come back to that one…God is anything that a person, he or she, puts all of his time into praising or glorifying.”

“Islam, and parents.  Yes.  Something that has no partners.  God is a just and forgiving God.”

“Baptist.  Of course, I am God.  Supreme being is a higher God, lower God equals me.”

“Buddhist-open minded.”

“Jehovah Witness.  Don’t consider myself spiritual or religious.  I just believe I’m saved by grace of Jehovah God.”

“Baptist, now no religion.  Yes.  God is my heart, I guess, something instilled in me.”

“I was a Baptist.  I don’t have one no more.  Too much cointradiction over which one is suppose to be right.  When I went to church, there was too much trying and bullshit.”

“Everybody here is a body of God.”

“Mixed Buddhist/Catholic.  Yes.  Essence of good.”

“I try to draw others close to Christ, so I’m a transparent Christian.  Yes.  Christ has given me life.  I want to live life the way he wants me to, so setting myself apart from this world for service of God according to his prescription for life.”

“Episcopal, not a Christian.  I was into booty.  Does that make me a Buddhist?  No world religion.  I’m a tree hugger.”

“I was brought up Roman Catholic.  Not in the way people believe in God.  I believe in a superior being, but not of the Bible.  Actually, the Bible’s an evil little book.  Every major war has religious conotation to it.  God is me.  I make my own destiny, not attributable to God, but to me.  God, to me, is an omen of evil.”

“Baptist.  Yes.  She is, oh, so forgiving, understanding, and patient with me.  Alot of people will throw the Bible in your face.  He’s perfect, and if I’m made in his image, I must be too, cause he don’t make mistakes.”

 

“And ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free.”

John 8:32